Title: Home
Author: Delilah Draken
E-Mail: delilahsdarknessyahoo.de
Website: www.delilahsdarkness.de.vu
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Pairing(s): Angel/Spike (implied)
Sequel/Series: This is a companion piece to my story Bad Luck.
Status: Finished
Started: October 08, 2005 – 08:51 hrs
Finished: October 08, 2005 – 10:59 hrs
Disclaimer: The stories are mine. All the rest - characters and locations you've heard of in TV shows, movies, books etc - belong to their respective owners. I am just borrowing them.
Summary: Before a dead man arrives where he needs to go, he has a visit to make.
This was written for the Halloween challenge on darkerspike at LiveJournal.
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by
Delilah Draken
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Fire. Burning. Ripping pain. No breath. Need to fight. Need to fight. Pain. So much pain. Why is there light? I don't like the morning sun. No breath. Pain. Something is wrong. Wrong. Not right. No breath. Pain. Pain. Pain. Silence. Blessed silence.
"She will make you proud." I don't turn around, away from the dream that holds me here, to see a man that doesn't belong. Neither do I ask how he got here. I already know.
My eyes follow the path of a boy who, forgotten by those around him, makes his way through the room to see for himself, to finally believe what ripped his world apart. With trembling fingers he touches a sweaty brow, combs tangled hair he once helped to braid away from a cherished face, only to realize that eyes, which before always looked at him with love, are now cold and unseeing.
A scream pierces the air. It is a sound full of yearning for what now cannot be had, but also innocent in its loneliness. The cry of an orphaned newborn for its mother.
When the boy takes the child from a disapproving midwife, cuddles the little girl to his heart and murmurs soft lullabies so that she may know she is not all alone, I speak: "He will be her death."
"That he will be." replies my unwelcome guest. "She is the only one he will ever mourn." It comforts me to hear that in all the years to come, even when his heart is filled with regret for those whose time he cut short, my son will only mourn one life taken.
"You are not here to guide me." I say, already knowing his answer. My path was chosen the day my little boy was conceived.
"I only wanted to see how it began." With those words he walks away, a warrior clad in shadows, his hair almost gleaming white in the sun, like a fallen god from the north.