Hauling himself up from behind a tombstone, where he had not been hiding, or sleeping, or knocked out, just thrown, in a manly way, and resting his eyes for a second, Xander looked over the former battlefield, to see Buffy, shirt torn, soot-darkened and chest-heaving, and Willow sitting on the ground, in a scorched circle, with piles of ash all around them.

“Here I come to save the daaaaaaiiieee!” Xander warbles, then trails off in a shriek as he falls over Jeannette Pritchards eternal resting place. Buffy and Willow look up and smile simultaneously, and then Buffy returns to helping Willow to her feet.

“And again, I say ‘wow’ Wills, that was some heavy-duty mojo!” Buffy says as she hauls the other girl to her feet.

“Darn skippy! If it was heavier-duty, we’d need a dustbuster!” Willow enthuses, before she promptly falls backwards onto her butt, prompting Xander to try to catch her, but slip on some ash and join her on the ground. Face first in a pile of ash, Xander sneezes explosively, nearly propelling himself off the ground, “Which, we sort of do, Wills…”

“Okay, point made, which could have happened without blowing boogers all over my leg, and I think I’m just gonna sit here for a second, ‘cause that spell made me all light-headed.” Willow admits, pulling Xander to sit next to her, resting against another convenient, and surprisingly comfortable, headstone.

“Too pooped to pop?” Buffy quips, settling down on Willows other side, fingering her torn shirt. “That makes sense, you only dusted about a bajillion of them. No Slayer needed here tonight, no sirree.”

“Buffy! You’re totally needed! Staring at your torn shirt alone is all that’s keeping Xander alive!”

“Hey!” exclaim Buffy and Xander in unison.

“But seriously,” Willow begins, as Xander makes a ‘boom-chick-a’ drumbeat noise behind her, “I am indeed mojo-ed out. A bloodsucking squirrel could have his wicked way with me.” “Wicca’d way?” Xander mutters behind her, but Willow goes on, ignoring him. “I don’t think I’ll be conjuring any more stakes out of thin air tonight.” She finishes, holding up her finger and flexing it experimentally, while a tiny spark of light feebly pulses on her fingernail, like a lonely firefly.

“So no more flying wood for everyone? ‘Cause that was a sight to see!” Buffy says, poking at a pile of ash with her toe, and then pulling back with a grimace when it stains her pink sneaker, ‘damn vampires, they ruin everything!’ she thinks, somewhat unfairly.

“Nope, all woodied out. I don’t think I have enough magic left to even give Xander a woody.” Willow says as the last spark of light from her fingertip flares up and goes out, sending a current through all of them, like a warm sunny breeze.

“Hey!” exclaims Xander, not for the first time, nor for the last. “Not needing any Wicca Viagra here, doing just fine.”

“And besides,” Buffy adds, “It’s not like he’s ever needed help before. Remember how he used to walk around school with that bookbag over his…” she starts before a large hand claps over her mouth.

“Ha ha, funny story.” Xanders says sarcastically, before checking his bare wrist for an imaginary watch, “Oh look at the time, we should be getting home.”

Buffy starts to haul to her feet, pulling Xanders hand away from her mouth and looking at it clinically while he futilely tries to pull it free and then dropping it, causing him to again end up on his ass as he pulls away and falls backwards. He just lies there, resigned to not get up until Buffy and Willow are safely not watching, when Buffy makes a strangled cry. “Ow. That really pinches!”

Looking at her friend standing, grabbing herself awkwardly, Willow timidly stage-whispers, “Um, I think one of your spare stakes slipped out of your pocket or something…”

Looking up, drawn by the sound of women whispering, and therefore saying something they don’t want him to hear, Xander also notes the intruder in Buffy’s pants, “Whoa, nice package there Buff! Looks like I’m not the only one here not needing Viagra! Be a 21^st century gal and go with the sportage of wood!”

At this point, Buffy has raised her eyebrows threateningly and turned with a sort of whimper of discomfort as she fiddles with her pants, which for the first time she realizes are unhealthily too tight. She nearly destroys the buttons in her haste to make room, and as she reaches her hand down her panties, bravely struggling to ignore Xanders catcalls and throwing of pocket-change, she encounters something most definitely not wood.

“Aaaaaahhhhhh!” she exposits, spinning around with her hands over her now free and much-relieved, but supernaturally enhanced, anatomy. “I have a…” she looks at Xander, “a” and again at Willow, “a… problem, yes, a problem that requires immediate attention.”

Xander perks up with a look that tries to be jaunty, but ends up somewhere between salacious and about-to-get-staked-the-miserable-perv, “I’m there for ya Buff, anytime, anywhere, you know that right?”

Willow at this point has reached surreptitiously into her much looser trousers and encountered a similar predicament, which, since she is sitting with her knees to her chest, isn’t as noticeable. “Oh shit.” She says, uncharacteristically.

“Where shit? No see shit,” Xander begins, in a really really bad ‘Number Five is alive’ sort of voice, looking around on the ground, but Buffy’s hand spins him around so that he is facing away from her and Willow, while she adds the necessary caveat, “If you turn around, I will kill you. Twice.”

“Ohhhkay…” he replies, for the first time actually worried. “It’s not a snake is it, ‘cause that’s not a good place to be bitten, except when it’s Anya, and…” he mercifully shuts up, having just embarrassed himself.

Willow looks up, and Buffy has moved her hand enough that Willow can see her predicament, which has mercifully subsided. “Okay, there has to be a perfectly logical explanation for this.” She begins as Buffy just looks at her accusingly.

“For what?” whines Xander.

“I HAVE A DICK!” Buffy exclaims, trying to impress upon Willow how illogical any explanation is going to have to be.

Xander turns around, completely ignoring Buffy’s warning, or perhaps thinking it could be worth it, “Holy jumping mother of crap!”

Buffy’s hands go back to her groin. “I told you not to turn around.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you’ve got your hands full.” Xander reminds her, eyes riveted on the sight, which her hands have blocked.

“Yes, very full,” Willow mutters, blushing. “Mine isn’t nearly that big.”

Buffy and Xander both turn to her to see her poking at a bulge in her own pants. “Oh! My! God!” they both say, but Buffy’s hands have fallen away, as she covers her mouth, and Xanders eyes return to her exposed flesh. “My eyes!” he exclaims, putting both hands over his eyes, but parting his fingers so that he can see anyway. “Okay, Will, funny joke over, make it go away! It’s traumatic enough to see a girl with a penis, but seeing a 70 pound girl with a penis bigger than mine is going to give me nightmares!”

“Um, maybe it isn’t real, maybe it’s just a snake that crawled up her leg.” Willow begins, as her instinctive denial-reflex, highly developed thanks to growing up in Sunnydale, temporarily takes over. “A trouser-snake?” Xander adds, still huddled a few yards away, with his hands over his eyes, “No, a demon snake thingie, or something…” she finishes lamely.

“No Will, this puppy is attached, and it isn’t like you haven’t seen one before, miss ‘I’m dating a musician, or was,’ so don’t play little miss innocent with me!” Buffy says, before looking down finally at her new addition without actually cringing. She begins to move side to side, watching it sway. “Oh God,” Xander chokes, actually turning away under his own power. Meanwhile Buffy has begun to experimentally poke at ‘it,’ with a frosted fingernail, before finally grabbing it between thumb and finger daintily and making a deep voice vaguely reminiscent of purple dinosaurs, while waggling it around like a curious snake, “Hi kids, I’m Spiffy, the magic demon trouser-snake, and I want to be your friend!”

“Gah,” retorts Willow, stumbling to her feet and crossing over to stand next to Xander with her back turned to Buffy. As she gets closer she can hear him muttering like a mantra, “Not going to look, can’t be real, Buffy does not have a bigger dick than I do…” while nervously patting his own trousers, as if trying to reassure a startled horse. Or perhaps a smaller animal, in this case.

Buffy has meanwhile crossed to him, and puts a hand on his shoulder, catching the last act of his mental breakdown and adding with a macabre cheery grin, “Beg to differ, it’s actually pretty huge. Biggest one I’ve ever seen.”

“Willow, please stop the madness!” Xander pleads, pinching himself in a vain attempt to wake up as he pulls away, still refusing to face Buffy. “I didn’t do it!” she claims, “Even if I was going to go on some insane penis-granting magic free-for-all, I wouldn’t give myself one! I don’t even like them anymore, remember?” she looks down, plaintively, “and I wouldn’t have given myself a small one, even if I was a mad Penis Fairy.”

“Besides, no mojo left, remember?” Willow finishes, holding up her finger, which is no longer glowing, as if to illustrate her point. Xander grabs said finger and squeezes it experimentally, shaking her hand, as if to get more magic out. “Hey, let go! That’s not going to help.”

“Yeah, we need her with working mojo-fingers if she is going to get rid of these things.” Buffy adds. “Dammit. It just doesn’t fit!” Xander looks around reflexively to see her trying to cram her no-longer-erect-but-still-pretty-darn-big member into a pair of pants designed to be spray painted onto an anorexic six-year old and buttoned shut with industrial freight-moving machinery. She gives up, leaving it hanging out, “Okay, this isn’t working. How do you guys actually walk around with these things?” Xander is looking traumatized again, but manages to respond, while looking off into the distance over Buffy’s head, “We wear clothes that fit?” he begins, but hastily backpedals as Buffy approaches him threateningly, bobbing jauntily with every step. “You can take off your sweater and wrap it around…” he begins, before noticing that Buffy is wearing a tiny shirt, with no extra cloth, and slightly torn already, showing off a fair amount of midriff. He looks to Willow, who is wearing a tee-shirt and he can tell has nothing on underneath.

“Give,” Buffy says, arms crossed and one hand extended. “What?” Xander says, backing away again, not understanding. “Your shirt,” Willow clarifies. Xander looks down at his tee-shirt and then back at Buffy, still hanging out of her pants, and decides on the least traumatic option, shrugging off his shirt and handing it to Buffy.

Buffy wraps said shirt around her waist, and Xander breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, we go to Giles and he helps us find a spell to…” he begins before being cut off.

“No Giles!” both Buffy and Willow exclaim. “Just no.” Buffy finishes. She turns to Willow, “Can you undo this?” “I don’t even know how I did it, or even if, but darn tootin’ I’ll undo it without Giles ever having to know about it!”

They both turn to look threateningly at Xander, who backs away, hands in the air, “Know about what? Nothing to see here. Tra la.” He finishes lamely. “So, lets get back to the house, ‘cause I’m officially getting cold.”

“Yeah, we can see that,” Buffy says, pointing at his exposed chest. “And that you need to cut back on the Twinkies working-guy.”

“Hey, just because I actually have multiple meals in a single day, unlike some people, doesn’t mean that you have to be all critical.” Xander says defensively. “Man, give some people a dick and they turn into one…”

“Hey!” Buffy adds, but Willow is closer so she is the one to wap him on the arm.

“And what’s the deal with that freakish size anyway?” he mutters to Willow.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s genetic and she’d been a Biff instead of a Buff, she’d have been huge or something.”

“Could be ‘cause I’ve always had more balls than anyone,” Buffy adds, before looking at her friends shocked expressions. “No seriously, I mean, you know, testosterone, I’ve always been the ‘Man’ around these parts, maybe it’s normal for me to be,” she looks down, “a ‘big dog.’”

“Thank God Faith isn’t here. We’d need to roll it up and carry it for her…” Xander mutters.

“What’s that supposed to mean!” Buffy exclaims, but Willow is now in on it, “Oh my, can you imagine if Cordelia were here? Or Anya? They’d be like bungee cords! But, no, that can’t be it, I’m gay, which makes me more ‘man’ than any woman, doesn’t it? Shouldn’t I be all ‘grr’ and huge? This is so not fair…”

“We really have to get home.” Xander repeats, “And then I have to stick my finger in a light-socket until I forget this entire evening…”

“Can’t handle not being the ‘big dog’ Xander?” Buffy teases. “Oh, I think he’ll always be a dog,” Willow perks up. “God save us from chicks with dicks.” Xander moans.