Chapter Five

Almost laughable

A/N doubt this needs introduction, but where our story diverges and twists.

Sunnydale, the world without shrimp 2002

He swaggered into the bar, sunglasses naturally perched on his nose, his sloppy features smiling as he felt the smug energy of victory race through his veins. "Whiskey straight up." He said, edging quickly towards the bar, landing in his seat squarely as he slapped his money onto the countertop. There was a lazy song slipping away in the background as he waited for his drink. Leaning over to the guy next door for a smirk and a good shot at gloating. Finally he would have something to show for the work those morons had put in all year.

Then he slipped it into small talk and conversation, merely brushing over the fact that he'd defeated their worst enemy. He could see it all now, his life as a super villain expanded, he would be 'the evil.' Known throughout as 'the guy not to be messed with.' Then they were laughing.

He was sipping his drink like he'd seen the 'big bads' do in all the movies, he was the leader. Then he was explaining his genius plan like he had all the kinks worked out, like he'd known what he was doing, like he'd mapped every inch of the detail before taking a stab at it, or a shot. Then they were laughing. Chuckling, coy chuckling from the underground evils. The little devils playing prank with the world. Then they were laughing too much.

Getting too enthusiastic, thinking he ruled the world. "The town is ours!" He sounded like an out of sorts pirate. Perhaps he was, taking from the good, backwards Robin Hood. He was the master. He was better the master, the master had been killed off by a little girl. He had to admit though, he'd seen the pictures and maybe it was a nice dress.

"Ours maybe. You are screwed." What? No I am the master, ruler of this town. I am not screwed. Then Warren laughed harder, his teeth a yellowish, a sign of his living underground, the trio's love of pizza night. He laughed so he wouldn't believe them. Then his face fell, hearing "you're a dead man" somewhere in there.

But his mind was yet to unravel, he didn't get it. What was so funny? At least if he was going to be made a laughing stock, he should know why. "She survived." His eyes drooped, his lip failing to quiver, perhaps he was scared. No not yet, he still had a shot, she still had to heal and that would take, what, a couple weeks at least. And her puny little friends were always fighting. Anyway just last night, he'd broken one of them, even if he didn't remember half of it. He'd found the spirit sulking in a drain, it was stupid putting it into his pocket but, he thought it might be useful for something. He would be fine. He'd think of something.

"And slayers heal fast. Real fast." That's when his mind finally fell, he would sulk now. Go back to his lair and sulk. But no, that wouldn't be right would it. He still had a chance he just needed. Something. He just needed a plan. He ran out of the bar, the demons he'd left behind were still sniggering at him as the door crashed against its frame. He would think of something, he just needed time.

The door was open. It was creepy, to have no one around like that, it was unnatural. For a house owned by two, there was always someone in it. Whether it was Willow and Tara all curled up somewhere, or Buffy walking in and out at all hours; or Xander had popped over to fix something. So many people. And they all seemed to fit, it was some sort of magical extension that kept them all close.

"Buffy?" Dawn called out, not expecting a reply, she was probably being all researchy down at the magic shop, that's where they usually were. Buffy had probably just forgotten when she was coming home, even though Janice's mum hadn't really specified a time. She dropped her bag to the floor, she only half believed her theory about the magic shop. There was something off about the emptiness, Tara was always saying she could feel when something had happened, and maybe Dawn could too. The place felt eerie, the unnaturalness return to the forefront of her mind. She climbed the stairs in a panic, her shoes clapping every step as her feet wore on.

"Buffy?" She called out again, turning her head from right to left down the hallway. Her eyes fixing when she met with the open bedroom door to her right, Willow and Tara's room was empty. The door was open, which was unusual they usually kept it closed when they weren't in or when they needed some time alone. Dawn had gotten used to the signals; a hand on Tara's knee meant they would probably go upstairs in less than five minutes, oh and the whispering, Willow would whisper things when she wanted to get a rise out of her girlfriend. Dawn never quite worked out the things she said, she thought it might be useful to know, maybe she could use it one day. Or was it one of things that only worked on lesbians.

She sat down on Willow and Tara's bed, the wood seeping as it took her weight. She looked around the room, searching for the source of the emptiness. She noticed there were still countless pieces of clothing strewn about the floor, she tutted and rolled her eyes at that. It seemed like they hadn't the energy to pick them all up, clearly they'd been busy. She briefly considered calling the magic box to check but something stopped her. She had a free house. She could just enjoy the feeling of being left alone for once.

Deciding on the latter Dawn descended the stairs, picked her bag off the floor and went to go watch tv, something she often did when alone because it calmed her fear that something would attack the house and granted it was the middle of the day but it had become a habit.

The door crashed slightly as it opened, but as soon as Tara noticed Dawn's sleeping body on the couch she grabbed Willow's arm before she started shouting. She closed the door quietly then walked through the dining room to the kitchen, the doctor had given her some pain medication for her arm and now seemed as good a time as any to take it. Willow followed her in after a few minutes having been to check Dawn was alright.

"I thought I would leave her sleeping for now, until we know more about Buffy." Willow said, wrapping her arms around Tara's middle, tracing little swirls onto the white casting material. "We'll have to draw some little doodles on here baby." She mumbled quietly into Tara's neck, pressing her lips against her skin. Tara turned around, her smile was droopy, a sadness washing over her as she took Willow's hand. She kissed Willow softly, it was gentle and tender and expressed all their fear and worry about Buffy, all they could picture was her laying there on a slab alone, covered in blood. Willow wished they were still at the hospital so they knew what was going on, but Tara smiled weakly, reminding her that Dawn needed them. Buffy would want it so, that someone was there, in case she didn't.

"Aww." A sleepy eye rubbing Dawn said as she entered the kitchen. "You guys are sweet. Almost sickening but I like it." She smiled, her mind not tampered with the knowledge yet. Her innocence kept within her dreams of love as she watched her friends almost slow dance. Willow wanted to forget all the worries she had stored up, live in Dawn's world for a bit. She didn't know yet, she was still naïve and young and pretty.

Will don't even. She said to herself, mentally slapping herself as she leaned further into Tara's warmth. They turned slowly, Willow held Tara's free hand and stretched out her elbow. She smiled at Dawn and gave her a wink, her other hand snaking around Tara's back, holding her tightly as she brought their lips together again.

Tara blushed, her cheeks flooding a deep crimson, her face only a match for Willow's bright red hair. She pulled slightly away from Willow, turning before Dawn as she let her emotion flow down her face. Her lips detaching from Willow slowly, as they broke apart. Dawn looked sheepish before her lip turned and quivered.

Tara walked slowly towards her, dragging Willow behind her, they stood united as they told her, told her they weren't sure how bad it was, whether Buffy, whether Buffy would be ok, t-to wait, t-t-to be patient.

Dawn broke slightly, she'd already lost Buffy once, and her mum. It was the thought that she was being punished, that somehow how Buffy coming back had been a fluke and now someone had found out and she was being taken away again. It was unfair, so unfair. She couldn't lose anymore. She wouldn't let it happen.

She was going to run away, but her legs failed and she fell into Tara, her arm hurt but Dawn needed her more. Her sobs dried quickly onto Tara's sweater, her warm shoulders a rest for Dawn's busy mind. Willow came round Dawn's other side and they bound her into a tight hug. Comforting her between the two of them. The daylight still haunting them from outside the window.

It fizzled, the barrier between what was real and what was achievable. It made his skin tingle as he walked inside Rack's decrepit hole. He waited for what seemed like hours, really was barely a few minutes but his fidgeting got him thinking it was longer. The door opened, his feet hitting the ground energetically as he rose. He was out of breath strangely, having not let himself relax. The figure in front of him looked him up and down before speaking, a dark brooding voice erupting from the throat of the dark looking man, he was scarred, face charring with the burn of magic. He mimicked a style of drug dealer, a man of control over his clients, dealing in their money before slipping them something tainted. Traced.

"You're new." He said sharply, the deep voice bellowing Warren's soul, his soon-to-be empty soul. He was still fidgeting, he never stopped fidgeting. A contrast to the starky spectre of Rack, he was still, stable. Warren held up the money he had tightly grasped in his fingers, it smelt like dead paper.

Rack showed him in, slamming the door, closed. Fixed. The bolt shattering to the ground. "How'd you find me?" He said, still deep, still calm.

"I talked to a guy." Warren replied far too quickly, his words running out of his mouth. Then he rambled on about money to peek an interest from the dealer. He was pushed back, Rack continuing the small talk Warren was trying to escape. He just wanted to be out of here. To work on his plan, he'd figured one out in that waiting room, and on the walk over.

"Killin' a slayer. That's big business for a kid." Rack returned, he bore into Warren's eyes, patronising his mistakes.

"I'm not a kid." He wasn't a kid. He believed he wasn't and that made it real enough.

"Okay." Rack didn't believe, he saw a frightened boy in front of him, one like so many others that had traipsed through these halls in the decades he'd spent roaming around Sunnydale. Then he saw the boy puff out his chest and make him believe, some spittle about a band of sorts. Evil, and whatnot. Nothing he'd remember in the morning. Rack was out of it, like most days, he'd spend them locked up in the den with people coming by every hour just to be mindlessly drugged, over and over. No wonder he was addicted. He needed it to keep himself from realising the pain of relieving everyday the same.

"You know, we were evil." He heard the boy say. Evil. No there was nothing evil about this. Vengeance maybe but evil, no. The boy continued, "Robots were my thing." Rack shuddered, not paying attention. Robots, robots are people without emotion, the slayer wouldn't be beaten with robots.

There was more unimportant drivel, before Rack gave up and interjected. He wants protection. He wants magic. I can do magic. Rack thought to himself, dropping his shoulders and turning away from the boy. "Robots you say." He returned, bowing his head a little, he thought he'd side with the slayer on this one. But he played along.

"Yeah, what about them? Can you magically enhance them or something?" He was so naïve, playing the fool, he was a smart kid. He knew what magic could do. Then he saw the boy rub his hands together, dropping the reel of money onto the table.

"Or something." Rack twisted, his body shifting back towards Warren, uttering something unspoken, in Latin. His hand gushing out from his side, black magic shot from his hands into the boy's mind. Letting his body crumble to the ground, a dark mass of energy expanding, where his soul used to be.