This is my new story called Damned. I'm not sure where I'm really going with this. I mean, I have a good idea where I want to go with it, but I'm not sure it's going to go there. And, by the way, I'm trying out this new way of writing and I'm not sure if it agrees with me. So please be patient as I changed many tenses-slash-forms.
So here's the deal.

Spike never really loved Buffy. She died. (Boo-frickidy-hoo) and then came back. Spike had been taking care of her until Buffy came back because she needed him. You know the deal. But he doesn't really love Buffy, as much as he says he does.

Let's see, anymore things you need to know?

Dawn's a minor and this is going to contain illegal things. But, hey, she's about 290384203984 gazillion years old; let her do what she wants. There probably will be some, uh, disturbed things in here. There's cutting, drug use, violent sex, and umm…that's probably it. So if those things don't agree with you, you probably don't want to read the story. True, it's not very graphic, but I don't really appreciate getting flames in my inbox.

This is basically based in season 6, but a very AU season 6. Buffy and Spike are still slapping bodies and Willow is still into dark magick. Tara left. Xander is, ya know, Xander. And I'm not sure if Giles is here or not.

By the way, I don't own anything. Don't sue. I'm poor. I have about three dollars to my name, which is lunch money.

Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1
She sits on the bathroom floor. A red washcloth is pressed into her arm. Well, it used to be white, but things happen. Like taking a white cloth and turning the sin that everyone knows that's inside of her, into blood and letting it defile that pureness that mocks the hell out of her. But she sits Indian-style on the floor and her backs leaning up against the cabinets and she looking towards the tub and she thinks how easy it would be to duck tape her mouth and nose and just fall into a full tub, maybe even with a hairdryer in hand. But the key can't bring herself to that point yet and it makes her realize what a fake she is. She's so numb and so fucking dead inside, but yet she can't even think of committing suicide. Sometimes she wondered if she's faking this whole self-injure thing too.

Someone knocks on the door and it's probably Tara. Oh wait, Tara's gone. Left her just like she left Willow just because she was addicted to the magicks. And how is that fair to her? She wasn't the one getting a high that threw her against the ceiling or erasing everyone's memories. It's not that she wishes she wasn't, but everyone's addicted to something. Why did it even matter anymore? Since Tara was sliced off the list it could only be Willow or Buffy or even Xander if he was by. But it didn't really matter who it was, did it? She just had to clean up the mess she caused. The brunette slipped the caked-blood razor in her bra, so she can take it to her room, and took the soiled washcloth and put it on the side of her pants, making her look like her hips gained extra weight. Not fat, just scars. And then she rolls down the long-sleeves that she's kept for months and opened the door. She mumbled a sorry to the person who interrupted her "self" time and went into her room. Because that's all her life consisted of. A bloody razor and four black walls that she couldn't even call her own. True, no teenager could call their room their own because they didn't buy it, but Dawn didn't even belong to the family let alone pay for it. And besides, she was pretty sure that the bank is going to foreclose on the house anyway, since the bills can't be paid. And no one can get a loan. And because Buffy's too fucking busy fucking Spike to even care.

The door to her room closed. And she toyed with the idea of just keeping the towel scrap soaked with blood and just giving it to Spike as some sort of present. Because who doesn't want blood of a key who can open worlds and destroy worlds all at the same time. But then Dawn wondered what her blood would do. If it would open Spike up and destroy him. Have another world open inside of his body. Make him glow bright green and make his insides swirl. She didn't know what would happen to Spike about her blood, but she knew what the blood does to her. Because every time a drop of blood is let, she knows that she's one less droplet of the key. Of killing her sister. But, hey, let's be truthful. It's also about feeling real. And taking away the guilt.

"Dawn," said a voice at the door. And it happens to be Buffy. The slayer's sister could tell by the depressed way the voice starts out, but ends in a plea, a wish, a prayer. A plea that why does she have to be back. A wish that she didn't have to die in the first place. And a prayer to forgive her for thinking of such thoughts.
"Yes?" was the reply and it didn't hold the depressed state that Buffy's did. That died out long ago. Now she was left with green energy and bones.
"Dinner is ready. Come down and eat." And Dawn opened her door and followed her "blood-sister" down to the kitchen. Nothing was said because it didn't matter anyway. The only one who could make Buffy real was Spike. Why try when it was useless.

Dawn sat down and Buffy brought the food to her. She picked up the fork and began to eat the burnt spaghetti. How you could burn fucking spaghetti was way beyond the brunette's knowledge. But her sister made it for her and she didn't feel like witnessing another breakdown. So she twirled the food around her fork and thought about how it all would have been better if she just jumped. She idly wondered sometimes if she had a timer for her energy. That she was supposed to die at that tower, so that's all the life-line the monks put into her. So after her sister jumped in her place, the timer went off, her spirit, life, whatever the fuck you want to call it, died out and she was left with nothing but a shell. A shell that was now being yelled at for not eating. A shell who was now being hugged by Willow and Xander. A shell that was being told that the Scoobies were leaving and that Spike would be by a little later to baby-sit. A shell that really didn't care.

She excused herself to an empty table and immediately threw the pot of overcooked noodles and smelly sauce outside were the flowers used to be. Then she walked down to the basement and put that bloody towel in the washing machine, but not before she sprayed tons of Shout on it. Hopefully it will get out. Didn't matter if it didn't though. She just didn't feel like wasting a perfectly good cloth. And then she heard Spike open the door upstairs and heard his heavy boots on the floor above her. And him calling out her name. And she didn't feel like Spike smelling the blood, so she walked up stairs and came face to face with the bleached vampire that she desperately wanted to care for her.

"Looked all over the house for ya', pet," he said as he took a drawl from his cigg.
"I was just doing some laundry," she answered as she shrugged. "I think I'm going to go get changed. I'm all...dirty."

So she ran upstairs and into the bathroom. She took the razor that was still in her bra and pressed it hard against the skin that wasn't marred and scared. It was placed on her hip and she bit her lip as she did it. She chocked these new scars up for what she could never have. Namely Spike. And why she could never have it. And that she felt like a complete loser. After her little slicing episode was over, she held toilet paper to her side. Then she walked into her room and changed into black jeans and a red t-shirt. She wondered if she could talk Spike into going the Bronze. Probably not, but it was worth a shot. She threw the toilet paper that was soiled with blood in her bedroom garbage can and went down to Spike.

"Why are you all dressed up, love?" the vampire asked, his feet on the coffee table that has broke more than five times, and his hand in his hair, smoothing it through.
"I'm just bored. Thought maybe I could go out for a walk." A corner of her lips turned up and it was the best smile she's produced all week. Just for that Spike felt he owed it to her to let her go walk.
"Sorry, pet. Can't. All types of big bads out there."
"But you're the only big bad I know, Spike. And you can come with me. It's just...I just need to get out of this house." And by the end of her statement she was almost pleading. Her eyes, still dead, were pleading. Pleading for death? Probably not. But he couldn't resist when she put it that way. He knew what it was like.
"Okay. We'll go out, but it's our secret. The big sis doesn't find out about it. Or it's my balls," he confirmed as he got up and walked to the door.
"Like she doesn't have them already," she whispered, but he still caught it. And he wondered if she knew. But then he shook his head and blew it from his mind.