If I only could make a deal with God;
And get him to swap our places;
Be running up that road, be running up that hill;
Be running up that building
-Running Up That Hill, Placebo
The darkness had faded into light. The sky was no longer black, but clear as spring. The sun shone hazy through the disintegrating clouds. A new day was being welcomed – a new day without Buffy. Buffy, who lay on the ground, her eyes closed, her body stiff.
Buffy, whose blonde hair was fanned out around her face. Her face left unscarred, as delicate and beautiful as always. Her face completely still.
She had sacrificed herself for Dawn. Something had made Buffy jump off the edge into the realm which posed so much threat and danger. As soon as she'd jumped, the world was becoming safe again. The only proof that things had changed was the ruins of stones and scaffoldings… and Buffy lying dead among them.
Willow cried with Tara's arms around her. Xander and Anya cuddled into each other, a look of shock on his face and a defeated one on hers. Dawn could only cry out of guilt and horror at what had just happened. Her sister was gone. Because of her.
Spike's quivering sobs increased in volume as he held his head in his hands, balanced on his knees. His entire body shook. He clutched at his bleach blond hair, wanting to feel as much pain as possible to match his emotional state. The love of his life was dead. No longer would she be alive. No longer would he watch her kill another vampire. No longer would he share a rare intimate moment with her that consisted of looks and understanding glances. No longer would she walk this earth.
The realisation hit him.
If she hadn't been the Slayer- this wouldn't have happened. She would still be alive. She didn't ask to be the Slayer, she didn't want the task that could so easily cut her life short – like now. All of a sudden, Spike hated his kind. He hated vampires. If there were no vampires, there would be no Slayers.
Maybe if he had gotten there fast enough… saved Dawn before Buffy made it up that scaffolding and jumped to her death. A quicker step, a swifter move – Spike could have saved Buffy.
The sob in his throat strangled him.
Close to hyperventilating, he jumped up from his knees and sank down beside her lifeless body, and pulled her up to his chest, not wanting to ever let her go.
"Buffy, wake up. Love, wake up. Please… wake up. Don't do this. Open your eyes. Show me you're okay," he whispered frantically, pushing her hair behind her ears. He brought her closer. No heartbeat. She was truly gone.
"BLOODY HELL!" he shouted in frustration, tears drenching his cheeks. Buffy was dead.
Spike was undead.
He no longer wanted to carry on living.