AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first fanfic, and as the title might suggest, it focuses mainly on Xander. Please let me know what you think of it, else my poor, battered ego might just give up the ghost. RATING: Mostly PG-13 for language and adult themes. A couple of parts will be R.DISCLAIMER: I don't own jack. Correction--jack's probably the only thing I do own. The rest belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the Frog Network. SPOILERS: Everything up to "Becoming".

*~*~*~*~*~*

Hell was an unpleasant place to be at any time of the year, but summer was especially bad. Time in Hell flowed at a congruous pace with that of Earth, so for three "months" of the "year," Hell was even hotter than usual--and if the heat didn't get to you, the humidity would. Of course, the passing of seasons, even that of years, was all an illusion created by the demon lords for their own sick amusement; thus, while it might get hotter in summer in the parts of Hell that were already hot, the only places that got any colder in winter were those that were already cold. Spring and autumn brought their own terrors, as well, as did any other particular day that caught the demon lords' attention for whatever reason.

As has been said, Hell is never a pleasant place to visit--and no one in their right mind would ever want to live there. Fortunately (for the sake of the realtors, so they would have something to do in the afterlife), there were all sorts of not-right types that wanted their own plot right on the shores of the Lake of Fire, or in Abbathor's icy ambiance (great ice-fishing, but the climate sucks), or right in the limits of the Infernal City so as better to treat with their inhuman masters. Unfortunately (for the sake of the realtors, so they would have *plenty* to do in the afterlife), the inhabitants of Hell were mostly transient; while a few (a very few) got out from time to time, either on assignment or because of good behavior (brr!), most moved constantly within Hell's boundaries, looking for a better deal or an easier job. Occasionally, someone would just disappear, consumed by the dark plane's energies or one of its bigger inhabitants, but no one really noticed--after all, what's one less damned soul?

This summer had been worse than usual; of course, since the demon lords spent most of their time thinking up new and better ways to torment their charges, that can be expected. Adding to the stink and wretchedness of the place were the enormous number of major and minor demons who kept coming back to Hell with some sob story or another about a human girl with ash-blond hair and a cheerleader accent. The accounts had finally grown into something of an urban legend among Hell's elite--not really believed, but something that gave most of them a slight start anyway. The fact that most of the demons that had been "returned to their natural habitat," so to speak, were relatively minor ones was a comforting fact for Hell's rulers.

There was a major rumor going around that Moloch the Corrupter--a greater demon, first cousin of the Lightbringer, and all-around bad-ass--had fallen prey to this same demon-slaying cheerleader, resulting in a large number of dirty jokes and limericks. While Moloch enjoyed a good laugh as much as the next demon, he also preferred that laugh in much the same way as the next demon--that is, at someone else's expense. Sullen and silent, Moloch had holed up in his palace in the Infernal City and only been seen a couple of times since he had plummeted in from Earth. The one time he spoke to one of his tormentors was to deny that he had been defeated--he had simply decided that he didn't like California's weather, so he said.

A few in the upper hierarchy--not including those demons that had witnessed the girl in action personally--knew the rumors to be true. There was one being in the World Above who knew how to defeat them, how to battle them on their own terms. That blasted treaty that had trapped them all down here had made sure of that. Of course, most demons didn't get told that sort of thing if they were going out on assignment; it would be bad for their already shaky morale. As for the few demons who could confirm the legends... well, safe to say that most of them wouldn't be confirming anything for a millennium or three. It was the oldest and most heavily enforced law of Hell: the strong dominate the less strong, and there is no place for the weak at all. If you had been beaten by a *human*, then you were obviously weak; the only reason Moloch was still in power was his relationship with the Lightbringer.

So it came to pass on a hot summer day in Hell that two strangers came to visit the palace of Moloch, Lord of Corruption and Viceroy of the Provinces of Hell. The two--one exceedingly tall, with burnt-black skin and horns, quite obviously a demon; the other small, almost as short as a human, with a playful look and a burning gaze--walked through the gates of Moloch's palace, right past the guards as if they weren't even there. Something in their steady walk, their unfaltering gaze, convinced the squad of demons that the pair were guests of their dark lord, despite the fact that Moloch had specifically ordered them to keep out all visitors. Demons are pretty easy to bluff, if you know how to act.

Somehow keeping abreast of one another in spite of their disparate heights, this unlikely pair made their way through the twisting corridors and winding passages of the Palace of Temptation, pausing only once when the smaller of the two gasped at something he had seen in a mirror--not his own reflection, but a vision of the thing he wanted most. This was the power of Moloch's palace, to tempt and corrupt those that walked its halls until they could resist none of his orders. As the larger being watched in amusement and mild annoyance, the image in the mirror kept shifting, flickering between two opposing desires--which was sound enough, considering his small companion's dual nature. Finally, with a grimace and a quiet roar of indignation, the smaller one pulled away from the mirror and continued on; his companion said nothing but nodded slightly, as though congratulating his ally.

After a time that could have been an hour or a century, they came into Moloch's master chamber. The demon himself--once a proud and horrid figure, full of power and wrath--was seated on his obsidian throne, idly flipping channels on the Lightbringer's greatest invention. They watched him for a moment, malicious amusement quite plain on the small one's face now, before announcing their presence. As expected, Moloch's reaction was less than positive.

"How dare you enter this unholy place without my permission!" thundered the demon lord angrily. "And how dare two such outcasts as yourselves come here--of all places, here!" The smaller being giggled, breaking Moloch's rant but darkening his mood; it was a dangerous path the visitors walked, and failure could mean the Final Death for both of them.

"Ease up, Molly," said the small one in a smoothly placating voice that held just a tinge of ridicule as he raised his hands in mock surrender. "We come in peace... and we also come to offer a solution to your problem."

"My problem? I don't know what you-" began Moloch in a haughty tone. This time it was the big demon who cut him off.

"Your problem is that you were beaten. By a human." The big demon's slow, measured tones were calculated to have the maximum insulting impact to them. They did, and Moloch's face began to darken from its usual sickly green to a baleful yellow-green. His hands clenched involuntarily as he stood, his talons shredding the remote control like a ginsu knife through wet paper.

"Calm down, your scaliness," said the small being, this time with a tremor in his voice. He hoped that he hadn't pushed the old bastard too far. "We don't mean anything by it. After all, it seems like more and more of our kind are getting the shaft all the time. It's nothing to be ashamed of," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise, "and we genuinely want to help you get revenge." Intrigued in spite of his anger, Moloch sat back down, draping his black robes about himself ostentatiously. He now looked and sounded every inch the demon monarch he was, except that his tone was strained and tight. He commanded them to continue.

"Well, your evilness," said the small one, apparently the spokesman of the two, "my buddy here wants to get back to the Upper World. So do I, for that matter, but right now he's the important one." He smiled a false smile at his compatriot, a gesture that was not returned. "He's got a plan to make the winning move in this little game of ours and kick Good's ass up between its shoulder blades. If you give us what we need from you, we can guarantee you that, before the summer is out, Earth and Hell will be as one."

"Interesting boast," Moloch said in a bored voice, hiding his true curiosity behind a veil of disdain, "but how do you intend to carry it out?"

"That's the cool part. Watch this." With that, the small one nodded to his demonic companion, who closed his eyes, raised his arms high above his head, and began to concentrate. In mere moments, the chamber had gone from cool (every demon lord gets air conditioning) to warm to hot. After a few minutes had passed, the demon's body was standing out in sweat, his small companion had gone to his knees on the marble floor, and even Moloch was starting to look uncomfortable.

"Enough!" yelled the Lord of Corruption. "End the demonstration!" The big demon dropped his arms to his sides, and immediately the room began to cool down. In less than half a minute, the throne room was as cool as ever. The small one stood, mopping his prominent brow with a dark-colored sleeve, and smiled a broad and genuine smile.

"You see, by concentration, my friend here can channel the flames of Hell in any way he pleases. A few millennia ago on Earth, he even had his own cult." He paused a moment, then cocked his head with a cryptic grin. "Well, it wasn't so much a cult as it was a mystic protection racket. What he would do is, he would send visions to villages near Hellmouths and threaten to make all their water dry up if they didn't worship him and sacrifice to him. Neat, huh? He kept this up for a good five or six centuries--but who's counting?--until some bastards in boats and pointy metal hats showed up and killed off all his potential sacrifices.

"That sucked pretty badly, especially considering how as he had most of his power tied up in controlling the territory's weather at the time. When the sacrifices stopped coming, he had to give it up and come back here. He went through the exact same thing you're going through now--snubbed by 'polite' society, laughed at behind his back, had dirty limericks made up about him... well, you know the rest," he finished, seeing Moloch's anger returning. "Anyway, he sulked for awhile, basking in his own crapulence, before he decided to get up off his scaly ass and do something about it."

"And what, pray tell," said Moloch, barely suppressing his fury, "can he do? Or you for that matter? Both of you were killed on Earth. That means you can't ever go back; you're stuck here for all eternity--just like me! You are powerless!" Moloch stood suddenly and moved forward faster than either of them could follow. By the time they realized what had happened, the small one was dangling three feet off the ground, his throat tightly gripped in Moloch's claws. "Give me one good reason I should not destroy you right now--I still might anyway, but I want a reason I shouldn't!"

Gasping and strangling, the small one managed to choke out four simple words that made Moloch drop him in surprise: "We found a loophole."

After he could speak again, the small one continued.

"My big, bad friend here," again, he indicated the large black demon, "is actually the one who figured it out, but it wasn't of much use to him until recently. I popped in down here, and almost right away he came to meet me. I was kinda doubtful, too, but the way I see it is this: better a slim chance than none at all. As it turns out, I'm pretty vital to the loophole he found in the Treaty of Midpoint."

"What loophole, already," shrieked Moloch, losing any semblance of cool he might have once had. "Tell me, or I shall tear you eyes out of your head and devour them! I shall have you thrust bodily into the Lake of Fire! I-"

"Easy there, big fella, I was just getting to it." The small demon cleared his throat, not so much because he needed to as he wanted to annoy Moloch. "The loophole in the treaty is this: Section CLVI, Article 9, Paragraph 4, first line." Moloch's brow scrunched in concentration. "In case you've forgotten, that's the 'Righteous Man' clause: If a righteous soul should somehow wind up down here, we can't keep him. Evil's our job, and we're good at being bad; the other side gets all the goody-two-shoes in the universe. So, if a good and kind soul should get stuck down here, we have to return him to Earth within one week of his confinement, or else Good's goons get to storm the place and pull him out." The small one smiled and winked.

"Well, actually, the wording's kind of vague right there. It could be interpreted to mean we have to return him to Earth, or we have to guide him back to Earth; I chose the latter meaning. And the really good news is that we get to pick our representative to guide this poor, misplaced fellow back home--anyone we see fit to give the responsibility to, and there doesn't seem to be any time constraint on the chaperone for when he has to come back!"

Moloch's evil smile continued to grow, until it threatened to burst his reptilian lips open at the corners. He started to stand, then changed his mind and sat again, fidgeting in his seat with excitement unbecoming a demon lord.

"Well, then," declared Moloch, "just take me to this poor, misguided soul, and I'll make personally sure-"

"Sorry, Molly," chuckled the small one, "it doesn't work that way. I should have said, 'almost anyone.' While we can choose to take the righteous soul back or wait until the saints come marching in, demon lords can't shirk their Hellacious responsibilities just for such a small task. Same section and article, next paragraph, third line. According to the treaty, you and your fellow bigwigs have way too much to do besides gallivanting across the Earth plane... How did you wind up there in the first place?"

"Long story," muttered Moloch, slightly disappointed now. "Don't ask."

"Okay... Anyway, here's what we figure: You send us back, the righteous guy gets stomped, we barbecue the planet, the Boss is so happy with you that he makes you his second-in-command--and we all live unhappily ever after!" Moloch's expression had become one of confusion and distrust.

"Didn't you say that only one 'chaperone' could go back?"

"Yup, and my bald friend is that chaperone."

"Where do you fit in, then?"

"Me?" he asked innocently. "I'm the righteous soul, trapped in an underworld too hot and smelly, a place where my halo needs constant buffing and waxing." He smiled and shrugged. "Just trust me on this one, Molly. It'll work."

"How do you intend the ascent?" asked Moloch, apparently having accepted the plan at face value. After all, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

"I'm sure you have some people on the outside. Not necessarily devil worshipers, mind you--those guys are funny as all get out, but not too bright--but somebody who still passes you information, sacrifices, that sort of stuff." At Moloch's reluctant nod, the small one continued. "Then just get them to kill somebody and cast one of the rites of renunciation; at the same time, we'll put a whammy on one of the Hellmouths and it'll pop right open--at least, long enough for us to get through. And if I'm lying, and I'm not a righteous man, then my buddy and me both get fried. Happy now?"

"One last thing," said Moloch, eager now but unwilling to proceed before he clarified something. "There's a saying here in Hell: 'Anything free is seldom cheap.' What are the two of you getting out of this?"

"We get out of this shithole, for one thing," said the small one bitterly. "I haven't been here a week, and already I don't like it. Maybe after Hell and Earth get back together, you can make it a little livelier, huh?" He looked over at his ally, who was standing impassive as a stone. "He just wants to toe the party line and live it up a little."

"I assume you want something else," said the demon lord resignedly.

"Yup, but nothing from you. I want to help you send the world to Hell, but before we do, I want to take care of a little unfinished business--for you and for me...

"I want the Slayer."