Author's Note: I wrote this story a few months ago, but since I'm the biggest procrastinator, I'm only posting it now. (Had to make sure the quotes were right and whatnot...) Anyway, Wes, Fred, and Illyria belong to Joss Whedon, the lucky duck. Enjoy!

P.S. This story was all nice and spaced out, but the edit system is strange...

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"I don't suppose you have nightmares. Or sleep, or any of that human crap."

"In my time, nightmares walked among us. Walked and danced, skewering victims in plain sight, laying their fears and worst desires out for everyone to see. It used to make us laugh...and now nightmares are trapped inside the heads of humans; pitiful echoes of themselves. I wonder whom they angered so to merit such a fate."

--"Underneath"

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Dreams and Nightmares

By. Libby Sarah

Dreams are a human construct.

Illyria always thought so. She never slept; therefore, she never dreamt. But as of late, with learning all she could about the modern world through Wesley, sleep was a welcome break. Short rests at first, on an old cot in the lab that smelled of formaldehyde. Soon, however, her eyes would close and unconsciousness took over for up to an hour.

The first time it happened, there was merely a fragment of memory—a time when she'd conversed with a fern in the hallway of the Wolf, Ram, and Hart. Simply a flicker, and then the image was gone.

Nonetheless, it made Illyria shoot up, breath ragged, blue hair matted to her forehead. Her mind had created something while she slept.

Wesley had taken this in stride. "Dreams are perfectly normal, Illyria. Mostly they are harmless and we rarely remember them when we awaken." He paused, a shadow crossing his features. "It is said that dreams help us to sort out what we ourselves cannot when we're awake. That whatever problems are too much for us when we're conscious are dealt with when we're asleep."

"Do they cause physical pain?" the Old One had asked, tilting her head.

"Of course not."

"Then why do you look as if you've been injured?"

Wesley swallowed hard; silence followed. Illyria then went about her business, believing the matter to be at an end. She thought there would be no more dreams to affright and confuse her.

Even she couldn't stop what was to come.

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In the vast darkness, a whisper could be heard. Everywhere in the recesses of her mind it echoed.

All at once, she could make out a single question above the dim:

"Why?"

"I do not understand." Illyria responded.

Faster than she could think, harsh whispers enveloped her.

"It's my boys."

"I am not the damsel in distress!"

"You won't leave me?"

"They have to know I wasn't scared..."

"Why can't I stay?"

Then one voice rang out, louder and more abrasive than the rest.

"Why?"

Illyria whirled around and as she did, the darkness rose. Before her stood a lone figure, tears in her infuriated eyes.

Winifred Burkle.

"Why did this happen?" she demanded. "Why did you do this to me?"

"It was not what I wished." Illyria narrowed her blue eyes at the former owner of her shell. "There was nothing I could do. It was preordained; set in motion long before you were born."

Fred's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You think that makes everything alright?"

The god began to turn. "I owe you no explanations, human."

Before she could walk away, Fred grabbed her arm and forced Illyria to face her.

"You owe me everything." She shook slightly with rage. "You owe me my life. My family and my friends. You owe me Wes—"

Fred's words caught and she brought her hands to her face. Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks.

"You loved him." Illyria's eyes were downcast.

"Yes." Fred nodded, swallowing. "And he loved me. Only thanks to you, nothing will ever come of it."

"Perhaps not..." Illyria began sadly. "But Wesley continues to love you, despite your death. I have seen the way he looks when there is mention of your name."

This made Fred pause for the briefest of moments as she took it in. But soon enough, her wrath was once again a force to be reckoned with. She took a deep breath, pulled back her arm, and brought it to the Old One's face with a resounding slap.

Illyria was taken aback; the human's strike stung her already reddening cheek, and she stared at Fred in shock. She was a god-king; an ancient demon who was beyond the pain humans inflicted. But there was pain.

"You'll never understand." Fred said quietly. "You'll never know what it's like to be loved, or to care—really care—about someone."

"I know." Illyria's voice was hollow; empty. For she knew the human spoke the truth. She could learn of these creatures' emotions: their names and what they meant. But never feel them, experience them

Fred stared at Illyria, the hate and anger she'd felt slowly being replaced by something else.

Pity.

"Maybe you don't need my 'punishment'." Fred sniffed. "I don't think anything I could do would compare to what you'll go through."

"And what is that?" Illyria asked, trying to remain stoic.

"A world of feelings that you'll never belong to. No one to laugh with or hold or cry over." Fred's mouth trembled as its corners turned upward slightly. "No one to love."

Illryia's eyes grew wide at the thought. 'Love' was nonexistent in her time. Demons killed without malice or remorse and not one knew any different. And humans were not even a thought in their heads. Only now...

Now, here she was, increasingly becoming attached to Wesley, with new feelings overwhelming her everyday. This human who stood before her—she knew. It was as if she could see through her. Fred—and her world of complex emotions—were powerful indeed.

All at once, Fred turned and began to walk away. Illyria watched her, eyes watering against her will.

"One more thing." Fred stopped and faced Illyria again. Her voice and demeanor remained calm, but did little to put the god at ease. "Should you ever hurt Wesley, well...if you thought this was frightening...wait."

A blinding flash encased Illyria. The next thing she knew, she was on the cot in the lab; Wesley sat beside her.

"Illyria, are you alright?" he asked, concern apparent on his face. Illyria gasped, looking wildly around, clutching the blanket draped over her form. Wes raised his hands up, trying to put her at ease. "Calm down."

Once she had somewhat, Wes took a tissue from a nearby desk. Carefully, he wiped her cheeks, drying tears Illyria hadn't even known where there. "Care to tell me what it was about?" Wes asked softly.

Illyria wanted to tell him everything: about the light and the dark all around her, about Fred—everything. Only, as the very words began to spill from her lips, Fred's warning echoed in her mind.

If you ever hurt Wesley...

She knew any mention of his deceased love would cause him great grief. So Illyria spoke, with a hint of fear that she couldn't contain.

"Nothing. It was only a dream."