TITLE: "State of Mind"
AUTHOR: Diesel77
E-MAIL: summer_1212@hotmail.com
SUMMARY: Evil's afoot in Sunnydale. Can an unlikely pair snap the gang out of its hold in time to save the world?
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: Through "Grave"
DISCLAIMER: Mutant Enemy owns all, I just borrow.
FEEDBACK: Like, this is my very first fanfic? So I would like, just totally **die** if you didn't tell me what you think? You know?
Prologue
Part One: Dawn, Shattered
There are so many things she wants to know.
It is too hot to sleep, so she paces the dark house. Restless. Relentless. Searching for answers to questions that she doesn't want to ask. Doesn't want to? Can't? Won't? She can't ask her sister. She won't dare speak any words that might send her back into her depression. And what words are those? The same words that haunt her dreams, keep sleep at bay. Tara. Willow. Warren. Spike. Rape. Trust. Chip. Heaven.
She pours herself a glass of iced tea and takes it to the porch, tentatively stepping out into the damp inkwell of the night. She can't bring herself to drink, the thought of the liquid slipping down makes her throat tighten. The images haunt her when she closes her eyes--she doesn't even want to blink. Back against the door, nerves on alert for the slightest sound, she knows it isn't safe out here. No one to protect her. Her eyes drift shut, against her will, like being drawn to the scene of the accident. Tonight she sees him.
Sometimes it's Tara, shambling and rambling after Glory's wicked fingers twisted into her brain. Lying on the carpet bathed in blood. Covered with black plastic…. Sometimes it's Willow, threatening her into a corner, bathed in black…what? Dye…blood…magic…it doesn't matter. Sometimes it's her mother.
Tonight she sees vivid blue eyes and ashen hair. A moment of hope as he races towards her on the tower, determined, battered. And then gone. A split second of pain and terror and then that look. Disbelief, shock, sorrow, apology flashing through his eyes and then he was gone. She thought then that that was the worst moment, seeing Spike killed before her eyes. Slashed and flung off the tower and she thought that was it... until the moment on the ground. She still can't bring herself to remember her sister's body, wrecked and lifeless. But she sees Spike, sobbing and bleeding and breaking. That's when it hits her, every time---that she expected to get to the bottom and find them all, clinging to each other, rejoicing again because the world hadn't ended. It never ended, they had been through this before and it never ended. But it did, that day. That was the day she realized that it wasn't all about close calls and happy endings. They failed; they died. She forced her eyes open, even though that started the tears. Her own muffled crying was the only sound in the house as she blindly crept back inside and collapsed on the kitchen floor. It was so quiet, even quieter than last summer, when they mourned. Now Buffy was here, asleep upstairs, but the others were gone. Forever? Fear chased the question from her mind.
There is no comfort here.
She rolls over on the cool linoleum and stares at the ceiling. She can't close her eyes; she can't help but close her eyes. The images come at her fast, a speeding train of moving pictures that she can't forget: memories of him that are ruined and leave her bitter. Her friend, her protector, refuge. She forgave him a hundred years of fangs and fists and murder because she never looked at him and saw a monster. Now she doesn't know if she can ever look at him again. A centipede of chills runs down her spine and clenches its cold feet around her gut as the dream that woke her flashes in Technicolor glory behind her lids.
Dusk. Footsteps on the sidewalk and she knows it's him. He's come back, and she races out to meet him, laughing and crying and flinging herself out the front door. "Spike!" she squeals in happiness and he holds out his arms for her. She flies at him, sins forgotten, but as she approaches he vamps. Her momentum carries her forward and she screams as his hands turn to claws around her arms. He is going to kill her, rip out her throat because the chip is gone. But she knows, somehow she knows he won't, if she can just say the right words she can snap him out of it, bargain him away from evil. But her voice won't work, only screams and begging gibberish fall from her mouth until the stake rips through his chest and she falls to the sidewalk because his dust won't support her. She gets a glimpse of Xander's cruel, triumphant face shimmering through the vampire remains before she slams into wakefulness…
Because you never know when someone will turn on you. It was supposed to be just the evil things that hurt and betray. But that's not the truth. She knows. Humans, humans with souls send bullets through hearts. Poison or magic runs through veins and your friends, your family, will feed you to the wolves... Funny thing, that dream. She doesn't know which scares her more…that Spike will return to kill them all or that Xander will be the final one to betray her trust.
Because what has she learned from all the havoc of her short life? When the going gets tough---trust no one. Lovers turn evil. Fathers leave. Mothers die. Sisters jump off cliffs. Friends answer the beckon of the dark side. And you are just expected to forget and forgive and go on being shiny and happy.
She has cried herself out, and creeps back up the stairs with a prickly feeling of unease niggling somewhere right between her shoulder blades, right where she can't reach…
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Morning comes and they are sluggish, the two sisters slothing around the kitchen in search of easy breakfast pickings. No words have been spoken yet, and Dawn feels as always suffocated by the unanswered questions that haunt her nights. Days are better, days bring sunshine and plans for the future and bicker and banter. But the nights are getting worse; their memory taints the morning, while the promise of the night to come worries the afternoon. She doesn't know why she can't just speak. Buffy, explain to me why things happen. Why all the bad things happen to us. Maybe she simply doesn't want to know. After all, it was evil that brought her to life, wasn't it? The dark thoughts threaten and build like stormclouds but she forces them away.
"You didn't sleep well again last night," Buffy's voice is soft but unsurprised.
"No," Dawn speaks even more softly, a little bit of warmth starting inside at the concern in her sister's tone.
"Dreams?"
"Nightmares."
"Dawn, I think…." She starts to blurt, composes herself and starts over. "I think Spike might be coming back."