Rating: Hard R
Disclaimer: The B:tVS universe belongs to Joss.
Time: Roughly three years after Chosen
Note: Written on 01.08.2006 and revised for it's premiere on ff[dot]net. New sections were added, plus some general grooming to grammar, etc.

Home

I don't wanna be old and sleep alone
An empty house is not a home
I don't wanna be old and feel afraid

It was the end, the apocalypse, and they all knew it. Although Willow gave the "we can do it, good triumphs over evil, we're strong" cock and bull speech that was usually delivered by Buffy with her usual vigor and pep, they all knew it was for naught. A week ago, they were optimistic. Hell, a week ago, they were planning out what stores they were going to raid to after the battle. This was another notch in the belt. A hard earned notch, but just another apocalypse nonetheless. But when they went into battle last week, not only did they lose a slew of potentials and the God-King once known as Winifred Burkle, they lost Buffy and Angel in one fatal blow.

There was a silence now. Everyone was playing a funeral mass in their head nonstop and clinging to each other seemed the only thing that was keeping people sane. The remaining potentials clung together in little clusters, whispering in low tones, often touching each other. Those who were at ends with each other exchanged glances, begging eyes pleading for forgiveness for their past grievances. There was an air of acceptance that was considered deadly to all Slayers, and most of them knew it. The once-potentials cuddled together like puppies- the past complaints about lack of space and privacy long dismissed in favor of as much physical and emotional contact as possible.

The only people who seemed to be alone were the original Scooby Gang, lost to their own worlds.

Xander was constantly fiddling with things. He must have sharpened over a thousand stakes in the past few days. He had taken to fixing things in the warehouse they were residing in. It didn't matter, the factory was abandoned years ago and will probably resemble Sunnydale tomorrow, but he couldn't keep his hands still. Still hands meant idle thoughts, and he couldn't allow himself to stop because then it would really hurt. He was the normal guy who kept fighting, who could deal with all things supernatural. In a way, many of the potentials looked to him to gage the seriousness of the situation because if a "normal" person could handle it, so could they. So he couldn't crack, not for a second. Because then he would break. Figuring out whether to use a box-end or a combo wrench kept away the images of too many mangled bodies. Every now and again, Dawn would join him and he would teach her how to remove stripped screw. Other times, she would quietly sit beside him as the whittled away at the hundredth stake.

Willow meditated, did a lot of chanting. Kennedy died in the battle with the others, Willow wasn't quick enough to save her. She didn't want to admit to herself that she could have been faster if she wanted. Would have been faster if it were Tara she were saving, and not Kennedy. But she still lost a lover, one she had been with for four years, and the last thing she wanted was to lose her cool this close to the war. She wore Kennedy's favorite shirt a lot. It was a pale blue shirt on it with a cartoon kitty pawing at a kite string. She was wearing it when she made her speech to the troops. Most of them just stared at it. It was so out of place in this war, where most of them were wearing clothes that had been rewashed and patched up after each battle. But Willow was always a little out of place. Her scarily calm exterior fooled them all into thinking that if Willow wasn't panicking, Willow who could always sense how the tide was turning, then they had no reason to. The only time her true feelings came through were when Xander gently tugged her hair as he passed by. A flicker, but it was enough.

Faith trained a lot and smoked even more. Whenever someone needed to find her, they just followed the trail of cigarette butts like a twisted version of Hansel and Gretel. She had to rechain the bag enough times that she didn't even need to ask Xander to do it for her anymore. Sometimes, took to beating at the machinery that he hadn't gotten to yet. He reserved all the machines that were in actual working order for her. When Faith realized what he had done, she teared up and ended up giving him the most platonic hug anyone had ever seen come out of that girl. But the best times for Faith was when Spike spared with her. They came out of the room beaten and bloody, but with a little more spark in their eyes than anyone else there.

Dawn disappeared. No one knew exactly where she went off to, but when she came back, she smelled like cigarettes. A lot of people saw the looks that she and Spike exchanged, dark hungry looks that were polished off with a wicked grin. But despite the rumors of a sexual relationship between her and Spike, the two were rarely seen with together outside group meetings. She was often with the potentials, giving comfort and guidance to those who needed it. She gave them a good push in the right direction and the gentle Summers smile. She never flinched when they mentioned Buffy's name. Her strength startled Willow when she remembered how the girl had been a mere shadow of herself after Buffy's dive from the tower. Sometimes, in private, she admitted that she had underestimated her.

It was the night before the final battle. No one was whittling stakes or chanting or training or exchanging secret glances. The world was still. The eye of the storm.

Spike wandered through the labyrinth of halls, listening to the various moans, thumps, and groans. Everyone lost their modesty, didn't bother being quiet. Almost everyone was doing the same thing, and no one cared who saw. He wasn't surprised when he saw Willow straddling Xander. Both their eyes squeezed shut, Xander calling out for demon girl and Willow whimpering Glinda's name. Both of them moving together, grinding away like there was no tomorrow.

Because there was no tomorrow.

He made his way to Dawn's room. He wanted to talk to her, hold her, hell, shag her if she'd let him. Since the war started a year ago, he and Dawn were as thick as thieves. It was like the way it was before Buffy came back, only better. She started to smoke cigarettes and he noticed how she filled out her bra a lot better than Buffy did. They kissed a couple of times, and he held her every night when she slept. They loved each other, in their own special way. And now it seemed fitting for him to be with her, to consummate everything, even if it was only for one night.

Perhaps that's why he was shocked to find Dawn naked and wreathing under the pressure of Faith's mouth on her clit. She let out little kittenish noises and threaded her fingers through the rogue slayer's hair. Her eyes were clamped shut and she was arched up off the bed, beads of sweat decorating her beautiful pale skin.

It suddenly made sense to him why she'd started to smoke, why she went on patrols with Faith, why she began to talk like her. Dawn had been waiting for him all this time, and when he didn't come to her, she went to someone who smelled like him, acted like him, and fucked like him.

Her eyes flew open as if sensing him in the room. Blue connected with blue before hers went black with desire and slammed shut once more. Her nose wrinkled and she let out a low keening noise, bucking wildly against Faith's face. Finally, finally, she was still.

Dawn's eyes fluttered open, still clouded over. She stared at him, watched him take her body in, fully grown. When Spike's eyes finally met with hers again, she opened her arms to him, pleading with him to her.

Faith turned to look at him, her cheek resting against Dawn's warm thigh. She flashed her trademark naughty grin at him and winked, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

A moment passed before Spike slowly tilted his head and a lazy smirk spread across his face. He stalked towards them, shedding his clothes. Spike let himself be enveloped by Dawn's need and Faith's hunger.

It was only in that tangle of limbs, with the scent of war and death hanging over them, that three lost children found home.

.end.

Notes: Written for kseenaa of LJ, who simply requested Spike/Faith/Dawn