Leader of the Pack

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, its characters, and other details are property of Joss Whedon, 20th Century Fox, and Mutant Enemy. Cesar Millan's Dog Whisperer is the property of Cesar Millan, the National Geographic Channel, and Cesar Millan, Inc. Cesar Millan is a real person, and the poor man has no idea what I'm doing here. Any negative portrayal by the author is purely the author's invention and does not reflect in any way on the person of Cesar Millan.

Do not try any of the werewolf behavioral techniques described in this fanfic without first consulting a professional.

Gatorade is a registered trademark of PepsiCo, and while refreshing, should not be given to any rabbits, no matter how much they've been running.

Author's Note: I heart Oz. I hate the way he was written out the first time. I loved the way he came back, and then I was disappointed when I never saw him again. Seems to me, it's time to bring him back, and Haven is just the place for him.


Leader of the Pack


Six weeks on, and life in The House was beginning to settle into a routine. Xander tripped down the stairs and through the great hall to the kitchen, where Willow had beaten him to breakfast, as usual. Willow knew him more than well enough that she handed him a cup of coffee and allowed him to root through the refrigerator without making conversation.

Once Xander had his idea of a complete breakfast – coffee, four slices of cold pizza, a leftover fried chicken leg, some potato salad, and an apple – discussion could progress.

"Any ideas on the graveyard?" Willow asked.

The graveyard had been discovered less than a week after they moved in, and it certainly made the disposal of the last of the house's champions more reasonable. So far, they'd found graves dating back to 500 C.E.

"Beyond weeding? Not really."

"Well," Willow started diffidently, "I was reading up on different plants and their symbolism. There are a lot of plants that symbolize death, but not in a scary 'you're going to die' way. The grounds on that side are pretty bare . . . "

"Will," Xander answered, chewing his mouthful of pizza, "all I care is, is the house happy. Clear the plants with the house, let me know who you want to order them from and when you need them, and I'll make sure they get here."

Willow smiled and ducked her head. In the pre-dawn quiet, before the Slayerettes were up, before the house itself really stirred, the kitchen was an oasis of calm.

And it was broken when something pounded slow, loud, and ominous on the kitchen door. Xander stopped, mid-chew, and looked at Willow. The house twitched.

"She's never let anything bad through the fence," Willow said softly.

"Yeah," Xander agreed, reaching for the kitchen crossbow, "but there are still things she doesn't know or understand, or it could have snuck in somehow."

He stepped up to the door, Willow a pace behind him, muttering something in Etruscan with the same cool focus he used to check the safety on the crossbow. Whatever it was pounded on the door again, slow and hard, as though it were very large and very tired. The light was too poor to see details of the form that stood just outside the door.

Keeping crossbow in hand, Xander unlatched the door and gave it a tug. It swung open as he lowered the crossbow to chest level. When the kitchen light fell through the door, it revealed an enormous wolf, standing upright on its back paws, panting with exhaustion. For a long second, it stared at them, and Xander could hear the wheels clicking over in its head – prey, strong and fast, but close enough to grab, hot flesh, blood, hunger. The bolt in his bow wouldn't even slow it down. It would take silver.

Then, in a blink, the eyes changed into something with a human soul behind them. The creature dwindled, pulling in on itself, and the fearsome jaws shrank into a much smaller snout, below blue-grey eyes.

"Hey," it said.

"OZ?" Willow gasped, reaching past Xander to grab him as he fell.

Xander grabbed as well, and the two of them eased Oz down to the floor. He was fully human when he touched the stone tiles.

"I need some help," Oz said, and then, he was out.


"How'd the house know we were going to need a room with silver bars across the front?" Buffy asked, keeping an eye on everything in that room and the passageway outside.

Oz slept on a comfortable bed piled with blankets and pillow set against the far wall of the cell. In the cell, there was also a small table with a bowl of fruit, a pitcher of water, and a laptop with WiFi as well as an extra large dog bed, an extra large water dish, and an extra large bowl filled with fresh, raw beef, extra bloody. After all, Xander thought, no one made werewolf kibble.

"I'll ask her next time I'm in the glade," Xander said, checking the door's latch for the twentieth time.

"There's a great deal we don't know about this house," Giles said. "It's far more than a simple tree and dryad symbiont. We need to research this."

"After we figure out Oz," Jenny answered. "After we find a teacher who can handle the core curriculum. After we get the school credentialed. And after we figure out how to keep a doctor or at least a registered nurse on tap for stuff like this."

Giles stepped closer to her for a whispered conference.

"What sort of issues did Oz have with his lycanthropy in your world?" he asked her softly.

Jenny shrugged with a sigh. "Really, once he'd had a few months to get used to the rhythm of it, not much. Then, when we ran into the Order of Therian, they were able to give him some pointers on controlling his transformation. But you know Oz. Not exactly the most talkative of people. He never felt it was necessary to go into detail about how he did things or what sort of trouble he had."

"Well, he's certainly had enough trouble in this world."

Willow left the cell and closed the door behind her.

"How is he?" Xander asked.

Willow frowned. "I cast a low level healing spell on him, but I can't even tell if it took. His lycanthropy makes everything hard to figure out."

"Is there anyone you can ask?" Dawn asked, hanging back behind Xander. "I mean, someone's got to know about werewolves, right? We're the ones in charge of vampires."

"Dawn has a point," Giles said, chewing on the stem of his glasses. "All of our resources are bent towards vampirism with a few spent on the Hellmouth itself. None of the previous Watchers concerned themselves with werewolves, beyond what a Slayer might typically encounter."

"I'll ask the Devon circle," Willow responded.

"I've got some boards I can check," Jenny added.

"How long will it take?" Xander asked. "I really don't like how Oz is loo- hey!"

He leaned over and picked up a small, white bunny.

"Baxter, how'd you get down here?" he asked, petting the bunny as it kicked in protest. "This is pretty much the last place you want to be."

Oz turned in his sleep, growling.

"Xander, if you would . . . ah . . . take the . . . abbitray back upstairs," Giles said, gesturing with his glasses. "I'd rather not have Oz stir himself."

"Good idea," Xander agreed.


They met several hours later, without Buffy as she was running the Slayerettes through their paces. Willow was the only one to stay inside the cage, and she sat at Oz's side with him propped up on pillows. Oz was even paler than usual, his freckles standing out against his skin. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his lack of reaction was less his laconic personality than it was sheer exhaustion.

"We lucked out on timing," Willow said, hand a printout through the bars to Giles. "Most of the members were just home from work, so they were able to consult and give me an answer pretty fast."

Giles scanned the sheet until he reached the name the Devon coven had given in consensus.

"I'm not familiar with his work," he said, giving it to Jenny.

Jenny looked it over. "Same name as I got from my sources. They all recommend him very highly."

She handed it to Dawn, who shared it with Xander.

"Not what I expected," Xander said.

"Well, it kind of makes sense, doesn't it?" Dawn asked.

"Will he help us?"

"I got a reply to my email only half an hour ago," Willow said. "He's already on his way."


He arrived without fanfare. No camera crews and no assistants other than two leashed dogs, which panted happily beside him. He was shorter than everyone else, including Jenny, and he wore a tidy beard peppered with gray. His stance, though, told a great deal about him.

The Scooby team, without Andrew or Slayerettes, greeted him in the front hall with handshakes and worried smiles.

"Welcome to the house," Xander said. "You'll meet her in person later. This is Willow, Giles, Buffy, Dawn, and Jenny. We're . . . we're really glad you could come."

"Thank you," he answered, nodding. "When I got your email, I knew I needed to help."

"He's not doing very well," Willow said. "We can use all the help we get."

"Well, it's not my usual case," the man said, "but I know a few things."

"Are you going to be able to help us?" Giles asked, frowning a bit.

"Giles," Dawn hissed, embarrassed, "he's worked miracles with dogs. Didn't you watch any of the shows I downloaded for you?"

"No, no," the man replied. "It's all right. I prove myself when I come into a situation. So long as you're willing to work with me, there's a lot we can do."

"Well, your expertise, extensive as it is, seems to be limited to an area only tangentially related to what we're dealing with," Giles said.

"Please," he smiled, showing his canines, "the work most people know me for is my first calling, it's true. But you don't work in south central Los Angeles or Mexico with the stray dog populations there and not run into a few werewolves. I don't really bother advertising it, because who's going to believe, right? It's not like National Geographic is going to do a season of The Werewolf Whisperer."

"He's got a point, English," Jenny said, smiling.

"Yes, well . . . if you'll follow us, Mr. Millan?" Giles offered.


In the basement, outside of the cell where Oz rested, Cesar stood and took in the details of the situation – Oz's exhausted sleep, the silver bars of the cage, the claw marks gouged in the floor, and the half eaten raw beef.

"Dammit, Baxter!" Xander protested. "I put you in that cage for your own good. Come here!"

"Leave him," Cesar said in an easy command.

Xander looked up, pausing. "Uh . . . did we mention how werewolf Oz responds to just the mention of abbitrays?"

Cesar glanced at him, puzzled by the last word. Then he figured it out and smiled. "Yes, but that is no ordinary, how you say? Abbitray. And it's here for a reason. I think it can help."

"'Curiouser and curiouser,' said Alice," Giles muttered to himself.

"Quiet, you," Jenny muttered back.

"So, tell me what you're dealing with," Cesar said, turning his attention to them.

"Well," Willow started, "Oz was originally infected with lycanthropy-"

"Gifted," Cesar interrupted her. "It comes with its own burdens, but it is a gift. It is important for all of you to understand and accept this."

"Ah . . . " Willow glanced around for reassurance. "Right. Oz was gifted with lycanthropy in high school. His cousin, a werewolf, bit him. At first, the transformations were only on the nights with a full moon. When he's wolfed out, there's no Oz left. It's just a wild animal. It responds a little bit to the right people, like me, but there's no controlling it. If it's loose, it will attack people. It's . . . he killed another werewolf once. A woman."

Cesar listened intently, nodding along with everything she said.

"And when he transforms, does he stay on two legs, or does he go down to four?"

"Mostly two legs," Xander answered. "Sometimes, he's on four, but it's really awkward."

"So, he doesn't reach full wolf form."

The team exchanged looks.

"No. He's a werewolf. He doesn't become a full wolf."

"Mmmhmmm. And the cousin, where is he?"

There was another exchange of looks.

"No one knows," Giles admitted. "The town we lived in was destroyed. We hadn't kept in touch with Oz, as he was traveling far and wide, the last several years under an assumed identity. Wherever the cousin's family went, we have no idea."

Cesar nodded a little more, taking this in. He pressed his hands together, his first two fingers from each against his chin.

"Okay, so what we have here is a red zone case for werewolves, and that is very dangerous."

"We knew that part," Giles agreed.

"And do you know why his clan never came forward? Never took him in?"

"Clan?" Willow asked. "What clan?"

"Lone werewolves," Cesar explained, "are very rare, and they usually don't last long. The fact that your friend has managed for so many years, it says a great deal about him. Werewolves live as both humans and wolves in clans. Packs. The fact that he has had no clan explains why he hasn't completed his transformation, and that is why he is in such bad shape. That is why he is a red zone case."

"I've never heard or read any such thing," Giles argued.

"Well," Cesar answered with a little humor, "you don't see wolves hanging out in bars or at the library, do you? Their pack is their life. They don't write things down. They don't need to. They don't go around talking about it. Who are they going to tell? When they are with their pack, all their needs are met. He has no pack, no clan. He is out of balance. What we have to do is bring him back in balance. And that takes a clan."

Baxter hopped forward until he stood at Cesar's feet and then laid down between the two pit bulls.

"See, he knows. He wants to help."

"How are we going to find Oz a clan?" Dawn asked. "And if he's not one of theirs to start with, will they take him on?"

"This is his pack," Cesar said, pointing to each of them. "You have the history with him. If you want him to be healthy and happy, then you will be his pack."

"But, we're not werewolves," Buffy said, eyeing him.

"And you don't have to be. All you have to do is understand the mindset of the werewolf. Dog is wolf shaped by human. Werewolf is human shaped by wolf. You see? There is a trade. There is an equalness. When he is human, he needs his friends, his family. When he is wolf, he needs his pack. You are both."

"Very well," Giles finally said. "Where do we start?"

"We start," Cesar answered, "with the wolf."


Oz roused long enough to eat something other than raw beef and talk privately with Cesar. They spoke quietly, and Oz looked more relaxed than he had in years. Cesar left the door standing wide open showing a lack of concern that left the others a bit wide-eyed. Buffy took position nearest the door, just in case Oz wolfed out.

"You've managed a great deal on your own," Cesar said.

"Not really on my own. Everywhere I went, I looked for people who could tell me how to deal with this," Oz answered. "I probably had the best luck in Tibet."

Cesar nodded. "The Yeti clan, yes. Very well respected in werewolf circles. Look, you rest and eat now. When you're ready for the change, we go outside."

Oz napped again as Cesar spoke quietly with Buffy, Giles, Xander, and Willow.

"I can do that," Willow answered. "It won't last very long. Five minutes, tops. Wolves were never meant to be held by magic."

"Five minutes is all we need. Buffy?"

Buffy stared into space, deep into thought. "How many will you need?"

"At least . . . six," Cesar answered. "And I need to work with them beforehand. Willow will need to make sure they're included in the spell."

"Okay," Buffy agreed.

"And Xander?" Cesar asked.

"Yeah," Xander answered, hands on hips. "I want to talk to the dryad about this. In fact, if I could bring you along, that would be great. The house has been able to make some pretty hefty changes, so long as it has the raw materials. I don't know about the grounds. The dryad will be able to understand better if you're there."

"I'll get busy rounding up the supplies," Giles said.


"The cool thing," Xander said, climbing through the narrow gorge into the ravine, "is that after you've been here once, there's an animal representation of you that stays in the forest. It's kind of like . . . "

He glanced back and stopped. The person who climbed through the crevice after him was . . . not a person. It was . . . Xander couldn't make up his mind. Was it a dog or a wolf? It was big for a dog, small for a wolf. Its coat was black with a sprinkle of silver around its muzzle. Its ears were peaked, flicking from side to side whenever there was a whisper of sound. Large paws, but the tail curled up a bit.

"Aaaah, you're going to change back when we leave, right?" Xander asked. "Otherwise, it's going to be really hard to explain."

"rrrrrrRUF!"

"Okay then."

The canine trotted alongside him, glancing regally from side to side. The other wildlife of the forest and glade watched with wary eyes, ready to spring away at a hint of predation. When they reached the tree, spreading over nearly an acre of mossy ground, the dryad waited for them.

She sat and smiled up at Xander while the dog-wolf snuffled around her. Xander kept his hands at his side, doing his best not to appear nervous. The dryad wasn't afraid, so he shouldn't be afraid for her. After a moment, the canine settled down beside her and began to pant happily, tongue lolling out of his mouth. She immediately hugged him around the neck, buried to her shoulders in shaggy fur.

"Great," Xander said, taking a seat on the ground. "A conference where only one of us can talk."

"Wuff."

The dryad hugged Cesar again and then came round in front of him. There, leaning on the end of his snout, she stared deep into his eyes. Cesar whined a bit, then barked, surprisingly deep. Then he began to lick the dryad's face. She giggled silently along with it before climbing up Xander's shirt to give him a kiss.

"Ugh . . . do you have to?" he asked. "I mean . . . blech! Dog slobber!"

Cesar the canine was now staring directly at him.

"Look," Xander started. "I didn't mean-ACK!"

Cesar gave him a slobber up the left side of his face.

"Ack. Ew. I just . . . oh." He stopped and blinked several times, putting together what Cesar had just communicated. "Oh! Hey, that should work. Can you do that?"

The dryad nodded and gave him another kiss.


Emerging back into the stone hut below the ancient church below the library at the back end of the 13th century, Cesar was human again but gave himself a vigorous shake, like a dog shedding water.

"You know how old she is?" he asked Xander.

"We think she's about three thousand years old," Xander answered.

Cesar made a noise that wasn't quite doggie or human. "Tcha. Try twice as old. My people, we have stories about her. Used to be, any member of any clan could find sanctuary in her valley. Then, for a long time, she was gone. We thought she was dead. I guess Oz is the first one in a long time to find her."

"Any member of any clan?" Xander asked. "Cesar, are . . . you . . . ?"

Cesar only smiled, toothily.


Xander was working on the grounds with the information the dryad had given him. For the time the moon was in the sky, Oz as a wolf would not be able to leave the land bound by the iron fence of the house's grounds.

Now, Cesar stood with Buffy to brief the five other Slayers – Violet, Roma, Lucy, Arizay, and Shannon. At a glance, they looked like a cohesive squad. Cesar, shorter then all the girls except Lucy, stood with the same even-footed, ready stance. He was Buffy's equal in calm assertiveness.

"In every pack," he told them, "there is a leader, the one all the others look to. Now, you have a large pack, and because you are human, perhaps you have more than one leader. Mr. Giles, he's the oldest. He holds the wisdom. Mr. Harris, he is the heart. But your leader of action, your leader as Slayers, that is Miss Summers.

"Oz is werewolf, and werewolf has one clan, one leader. Oz has been alone all his time as werewolf, and he needs his pack. That means, beginning tonight, we become his pack, and we must be werewolf as well."

"How do we do that?" Buffy asked.

"That, we do with a little help from Miss Rosenberg. We could do this without her, but, it would take longer, and there would be a lot of bumps and scrapes. Miss Rosenberg, she will cast a spell that makes Oz the werewolf smell, hear, and see us as werewolf. Because you are Slayers, you are strong as werewolf, fast as werewolf. We take time to establish the pack hierarchy, then we live as werewolf. We bring Oz into balance."

The girls glanced back and forth. They'd been chosen for their strength, physically and mentally. From argumentative Roma to flashy Ari to quiet Lucy to stubborn Violet to intense Shannon. All of them had faced danger without buckling. None of them had ever seen a werewolf, but all of them were now prepared.


"So, any reason for all the Slayers?" Oz asked, taking the magazine Xander passed through the bars.

Xander sighed. "Whole end of the world thing. You know how it goes. Only, instead of a giant snake, it was the First Evil."

"That's not good," Oz responded.

"In a definitive way, yeah," Xander agreed. "Willow ended up activating all the potential Slayers during the big battle. We had a couple of dozen with us at the time. Still tracing the rest of them and bringing them in."

"Willow?" Oz asked, the tone of his voice carrying volumes of meaning. In this instance, he wanted an update on Willow.

Xander sighed heavily. "You met Tara. Tara died, killed. Willow went evil for a while. She got better. Then, she got together with a potential, Kennedy. After Sunnydale cratered, they broke up. Kennedy died, killed by some anonymous freak in New York. Willow's been pretty alone."

"You don't mean she's-" Oz asked, showing a sliver of disbelieving surprise.

"Ah, no," Xander corrected. "Still a big fan of the double Xs, not that I blame her. But, after we get you figured out, if you could hang out for a while, it'd be great. There aren't that many people in her life she has those ties to."

"Also, it makes one more XY in a sea of XX," Oz observed.

"Oh my God, yes," Xander agreed, wide-eyed. "Giles and I take turns fleeing for the most testosterone soaked venues we can find. Monster truck rallies, paint ball tournaments, lawn care supply stores."

"Yeah," Oz murmured, staring a thousand yards in some unseen direction. "It would be nice to have some . . . purpose again."

"Which is good," Xander said. "Because I just ordered about ten bales of general purpose. We aren't short on stuff to do."


Just inside the kitchen door, Oz stood with Willow.

"Think this will work?" he asked.

She paused, thought about it a moment, and nodded. "Yeah. Cesar's got a real . . . vibe to him. He knows what he's doing."

Oz nodded in turn and settled himself to wait a few minutes. At the moment, he wore only a towel, having learned that wearing clothes on a wolf night was an exercise in futility.

Just outside the door, beyond the kitchen's herb garden, was the brick patio Xander had spent the last four weeks installing. The pergola was half built, lending an air of ancient ruins to the late autumn night. In the moonlight, Cesar, Buffy, and the five other Slayers stood, dressed for combat and running. On the brick barbecue was a box covered by a heavy black cloth marked with wards against seeing, hearing, or smelling what was inside.

"Okay," Willow said, taking a deep breath. "I'm going to go cast the second spell. As soon as you see me give the signal, come on out. And don't worry. They'll be ready for you."

He watched as she joined the others and painted the faces of everyone but Cesar. Even through the door, he could smell the sudden change in their scents. The gamy tang of wolf rode the breeze.

Willow signaled him.

Steeling himself, Oz opened the door, waited a moment, and stepped out.

As soon as he stood in the moonlight, the transformation began. Like always, it hurt. Bones stretched and bent, ligaments pulled tight, hair sprouted all over, his teeth grew, as did his ears. His pupils changed shape, and what had been a half-bright night was now noon under the crescent moon.

He crouched on his hind legs, growling and whining with the pain of it. He had to stay in control. He couldn't . . . let . . . go.

"TCH!"

The sound came from a male wolf standing before him. Another wolf, a female with a buff coat, stood opposite him. They were the alphas. All the other wolves were female, ranging from beta to omega. The youngest, practically a cub, barked at him and wagged her tail, and began sniffing him. He snarled in response.

"TCH!"

Startled by the sound, he fell onto all fours. Two more wolf bitches began sniffing at him, trying to find out who he was. Skittish, he turned to get away, but he was circled. The females smelled healthy, clean, and wild. It was too much. He wanted to . . . he couldn't . . .

He couldn't lose control. He couldn't-

TCH!

He flinched at the shock of that sound. The smells grew sharper. The wolves around him were just as big as he was, bigger even.

He snapped at the one smaller than him, who had been checking his scent glands. She yiped and jumped back. As soon as she did, the other male knocked him down and clamped his jaws on his throat. Oz struggled, and the jaws tightened.

Have to fight. Can't lose control. Can't let go. Can't-

And the wolf spoke. Submit. Let go.

For a second longer, he held out, but then, his will buckled. He let go. He submitted to the wolf holding his life in its jaws. And the wolf within him stretched out.


"I'll be damned," Giles whispered, watching through the bank of windows directly above the kitchen sink. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Except maybe on National Geographic," Xander said. "I guess that's why they hired him."

Outside, on the patio, the scene stood, frozen.

Buffy and the other Slayers were arrayed around Oz in the kind of poses one might see at the beginning of a cocktail party. Hello. Hi. My name's _blank_. I'm _blank_, and I'm in banking. Cesar knelt beside Oz with one hand at his throat, just below his jaw.

Oz was no longer human. He didn't even resemble the werewolf they were used to seeing. He was fully wolf and had become so three seconds after Cesar had brought him down and applied the hold.

"This is amazing," Jenny said. "Don't you wish there were a scholarly journal, so we could submit a paper on this?"

"You have no idea," Giles answered.


Smell and scent dominated. He knew each member of his pack by the details of their scent – age, strength, health, mood. He knew he ranked just below the alpha male and female, above the other females. He knew they were his pack. His. And he was theirs. His alphas would communicate what was needed, when it was needed. Everything else was taken care of.

He was.

He was, and it was exquisite.


"Everyone is all right?" Cesar asked, checking the girls.

Lucy had sat down hard when Oz had snapped at her, but other than that, everyone was fine. More than that, the girls all wore expressions of delighted anticipation.

"Do not take this for granted," Buffy warned them. "He looks wolf now, but if you lose your center, he could lose his. Oz's werewolf shape is very strong, and he'll be enraged."

The girls checked their delight and nodded, each of them settling back in her own calm center just as both Buffy and Cesar had taught them.

"Are we ready?" Cesar asked.

Six readies were given, and Cesar removed the spelled shroud over the box. Inside was a wire cage. Inside the cage was Baxter. Baxter stood on his hind legs and looked over the crowd of Slayers, werewolf, and werewolf whisperer. He trembled in anticipation.

"Buffy," Cesar directed her to check Oz, who had already gone into silent stalker mode.

Buffy intercepted Oz and forced him to give way. Cesar took the bunny out of its cage, brought it to the edge of the patio and set it down in the grass.

The bunny took off at a run before its paws even touched the ground.

"Let's go!" Cesar yelled.


The hunt lasted the better part of the night. It was conformation for everyone watching that there was something . . . different about Baxter. No rabbit should be able to keep up those speeds for more than a few minutes.

While the house lent its help by porting the bunny from one spot on the grounds to another, Baxter still spent hours sprinting from bush to brush, whizzing past a wolf here, charging a wolf there. Not only that, but Baxter could climb trees. Buffy later said she could have sworn he stuck his tongue out at them.

Not that any of that mattered to Oz. In his full wolf shape, he tore after Baxter with his tongue hanging out, fell over himself when the rabbit took a 90 degree turn, and nearly climbed a tree on his own. So long as Cesar and Buffy chased the rabbit, he chased the rabbit.


The night lasted as long as the moon did, and when it set, well before the sun would rise, even the hardiest of Slayers was panting with exertion. The house ported Baxter back to his cage, covered with a shroud to protect him from the prying eyes, nose, and teeth of any werewolves, and supplied with water, feed, and Gatorade.

As Oz was still in wolf form when he went down for good, the others stayed with him. Xander brought out heavy duty sleeping bags and started a fire in the copper fire pit to help keep them warm. Then, he and Dawn camped out with a thermos of coffee and whispered arguments about the plotting of the latest issues of comic books until the rest woke up.


He was lying on something hard. There was something slightly heavy and resilient on his shoulder, holding him down. There was another something, very light and warm, blanketing him from the waist down. There was a small something resting against the top of his head which was very warm. It was freezing cold. Usually, he knew what this meant.

It meant that he'd lost control and wolfed out. It meant that he might have killed or maimed any number of innocent bystanders. It meant he had no idea where he was or what he was going to do.

Except . . . it was okay.

Everything was okay.

"Huh," he said, raising his head.

The slightly heavy and resilient something on his shoulder was Lucy's head. He could tell by the scent. Sometime during the night, she'd lost her pillow, and in her sleep, she'd secured him instead.

He'd slept half the night with his pack, sprawled on the patio outside the kitchen. They'd stayed with him until he'd resumed his human form. Naked human form.

"Hmmm."

Xander rescued him.

"Okay, Lucy," he said, pulling her up. "Time to go to bed upstairs."

"But I don't wanna go to bed," the fourteen year old whined softly. "Wanna stay up for the vampires."

"Lots of vampires later," he assured her.

Groggy and tousled, Lucy picked up her blanket, her pillow, and her rabbit – the warm bump just above his head – and started for her own room. Then Xander handed him a large shirt, which he pulled on over his head, and a pair of pants, which he pulled on under the sleeping bag.

Dawn started waking the others.

Inside the kitchen, Cesar sat with Willow, sipping a cup of coffee.

"But how many dogs?" Willow asked.

"Oh, I say start with three. It makes a good pack, and you can practice your calm assertiveness with them. Then build up from there. The house would love more creatures around, and not just dogs. Cats, horses, maybe some goats."

"Goats?"

"So long as we don't have to deal with el chupacabra," Xander said.

"Ugh!" Cesar responded. "I hate that guy!"

"Oz!" Willow smiled wide on seeing him. "You look much better."

"I feel better," Oz said. "I feel . . . like I'm home."


"So, we repeat this until the dark of the moon," Buffy said, checking with Cesar. "That's three days off. After that?"

"After that, Oz will be able to tell you," Cesar answered. "And then, once he's accustomed to being stable, he'll only need to run with the pack on the nights of the full moon. Though, you can do it more if you like."

"I think we will," Buffy said. "It's great training."

Handshakes all around began.

"Thanks, man," Xander said.

"It was my pleasure."

"It was a pleasure meeting you and getting to know your techniques," Giles said, finally won over.

"Thank you, Mr. Giles."

Cesar looked down at the two dogs which had accompanied him.

"Come on, Daddy. Come on, Junior. Let's go."

The End.