Sunnydale, 1998: Phases
All night, Giles sits outside the barred cage door and watches the wolf sleep. Its deep, steady breaths reassure him; for a while he worried that the dose of phenobarbitol was too high.
He's never seen a werewolf before. They've never been common, and they've grown scarcer since urbanization and modern weaponry. Yesterday, listening to Xander and Cordelia' story, he was excited about the research possibilities.
The wolf doesn't look much like the illustrations he's seen. Not surprising, really, as old woodcuts and engravings are rarely accurate. Somewhere, perhaps, there are photographs, but it would be just like the Council to keep them secret.
In illustrations, werewolves look like enormous, fang-toothed dogs. This is something else. Coarse brown fur covers a massive body, larger and heavier than Oz's own. That oughtn't to be possible, but apparently it is. The wolf's not exactly a quadruped; when it attacked, it ran on hind feet and knuckles, like an ape. Betwixt and between, like a demon in a Bosch painting, one with insect legs and a bird's beak.
The face isn't really wolflike, and certainly not human. It's a monster's face, malformed, unnatural, ugly. Far uglier than a vampire's ridged brow and reptilian eyes. A vampire looks almost human, veils the monster even when it kills. This monster is plain and unmistakable.
Giles drinks cup after cup of tea, which doesn't settle him at all. He needs a whiskey, but that's at home. Perhaps he ought to have a flask here, in the library. An emergency remedy for injuries, for the bad news that keeps roaring down on them all like a river in flood, leaving them drenched, gasping, clinging to broken spars. Endless bad news, since Angel turned. Poor Buffy, so pale and still and brave that day.
The moon sets at a little after four. Giles doesn't have an almanac; Willow found the information on an astronomy website. So eager to help. She's a loyal friend to Oz, if a slightly officious one. If she hadn't taken it on herself to bring him the homework he missed, she wouldn't have been attacked. And Oz would have kept his secret that much longer.
How long has he known? How long has he hidden this?
Buy an almanac, Giles scribbles in his planner. He doesn't quite trust himself with a mental list, right now.
The change is horrifying to watch. Bones bend and slide, muscles shudder, twist, seem to melt and flow and reform, and the creature whimpers like a beaten dog. Fur and nails retract, skin pales to pink, snout becomes nose, brow smooths, and Oz lies naked on the cold linoleum. Giles realizes, then, how much he's been hoping it was all a mistake, hoping Willow got it wrong somehow.
Oz looks just the same, except for a few scratches and the bruise where the dart hit him. His skin feels the same as Giles dresses him in the clothes he sent Willow to fetch, hours ago. There's no sign of the wolf that inhabits him, that's in every cell of his body.
"Shh," Giles says as Oz begins to wake, making groggy, incomprehensible noises. "You're all right. Come on, let's stand up now." Oz clings and his head lolls on Giles' shoulder. "I know you're sleepy. I'll help you, come on. Try for me."
The first time, Oz falls and pulls Giles down after him, but on the second try they manage it. It's a long walk out of the library, down the corridors and across the parking lot, and Oz is heavier than Giles remembers.
The dawn is beginning by the time Giles parks the car in front of his building. Luckily no one's about to see him half-carry a dazed boy into his flat.
Once Oz is settled on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, Giles makes more tea. A ridiculous instinct, one of those bits of English nonsense that Buffy laughs at. English first aid; English therapy. He makes it very strong, adds three large teaspoons of sugar to Oz's mug and a carefully small tot of whiskey to his own.
Oz looks a little more awake now, but Giles holds the mug for him, blows on the tea to cool it, coaxes him through each sip. He wonders how much tea he can force down Oz, because once that's over, there'll be nothing else to do.