Here's the next part, guys. Hope you're still reading. Let me know what you think! A few good reviews and I'll write the next part! J
Dawn Summers was a girl with a mission. A mission that would mean big trouble if her sister found out. Which was why she was trying to be as stealthy as humanly possible as she pulled up her window, climbed out, and managed her way down the trellis by her window.
As she hopped to the ground, brushing wood splinters and peeled paint off of her hands, she laughed inwardly. Whoever had thought of putting that trellis so close to her window had obviously not known a teenage girl would one day occupy that room. She smirked, glad for that fact.
She looked around to make sure she wasn't being watched, then set off on her way.
Spike rolled the neck of the bottle between, glaring at the amount of liquid inside the greenish brown bottle. He'd started out with intent to get smashed and forget all about his troubles, but as he knew, things didn't always turn out the way he wanted. Still, he'd never have guessed that the thing keeping him from fulfilling his plans for the night would be himself. He was sitting cross legged on Joyce's grave with a six pack of beer by his side, the missing bottle still full in his hands.
"Cheers, Joyce," he said, taking a sip.
He frowned as the liquid made its way down his throat, and picked up the flimsy cardboard case that held the beer, tossing it into a nearby bush.
For the first time in a long while he had no desire to down the liquid for an easy way to forget his worries. He wanted to float blissfully into nothingness, but the beer wasn't the way he wanted to go.
A twig snapped in front of him, and Dawn pushed away some branches to step out of the foliage and into full view.
"Didn't expect to find you here," she said quietly.
"I could say the same of you," he said, gulping the beer, now thinking that beer bliss might not be such a bad thing after all. "Shouldn't you be in your bed, dreaming of puppies and sunshine?"
She pressed her lips together. "I don't dream of those things anymore, Spike.I dream of monsters and death. Part of living on the Hellmouth I guess."
He nodded sadly. "Didn't s'pose you did. What're you doin', Bit?"
"I came to see you," she said with a shrug.
"You shouldn't have," he said, staring at the epitaph on the girl's mother's grave.
"It's a free country, Spike," she said sharply. "I'm a big girl now."
"Well, if you walk alone in graveyards in Sunnyhell, it won't last very long," he said just as sharp.
"I can take care of myself," she spat. "but you wouldn't know that, would you?"
He sighed. "No."
Dawn rolled her eyes, composing herself again. "I went to your crypt looking for you. When I didn't find you there I went around the grounds to see if you were passed out drunk somewhere."
He glanced at the beer in his hand and shrugged, launching it high into the air. It smashed with a tintinnabulation of falling glass, deafening in the silent night.
Dawn cringed. "I wanted to give you this."
He stared at the brown paper sack as if it were an alien. "Whassat?"
"Blood," she said, shaking it slightly.
*FLASH*
Blood rolling down a child's neck, soaking into the collar of her white dress.
"Have a taste, my sweet Spike," Dru's singsong voice said, tantalizing him. "It tastes so deliciously alive."
Spike, in game face, licking the side of Dru's mouth, where blood had trailed down when she was feeding. He smiled a wicked smile and bit down on the neck of the seven year old, hearing her please echo through the dark alley.
"Mommy!"
*FLASH*
"Spike?" Dawn asked in a concerned voice.
He stared at her.
"You were zoning," she said.
"What's it for?" he said nodding his head at the blood.
"For you to drink, duh," she said with a small laugh.
"'M not hungry," he mumbled, feeling sick.
She gaped angrily. "You've got to eat, Spike! Look at you, you're like a frigging skeleton! You're gonna die if you don't feed!"
"So?" he said stubbornly.
"So?" she repeated, then exploded. "SO!? You can't die, Spike! You can't leave me like Mom did! Are you stupid? Do you want to die?"
Her voice got smaller with the last five words. It tore at his heart.
"What if I do?" he said in a serious, wondering tone.
"I'll kick your ass," she glared, tears spilling from her eyes. "Nothing's that hard, Spike. Nothing."
"How would you even know?" he asked, realizing how stupid a question that was too late.
"How?" she said stonily. "How would I know? Me? The glowing ball of mystical energy? I'm not even real. That woman who died? She wasn't my mom, my best friend. I didn't watch my sister sacrifice herself to close a portal and save the world when it should've been me. None of it ever happened. Cause I'm not even real. I guess you're right, Spike. I couldn't know unbearable pain."
"'M sorry Nibblet," he said softly. "I am."
He looked to his lap, where he was picking at one of the scabs from earlier that night.
She bit her lip to keep it from trembling so much.
"I shouldn't have said that," he said. "I know what you've been through…I'm sorry."
She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. "Spike…I don't know what would happen if you died. You're the only one I could ever talk to. Before, when we thought you were dead…the final kind of dead, I could even get out of bed for a week. I thought I was gonna die myself. I almost…"
"Almost what?" he prodded.
She held out her arm, revealing a white bandage over one wrist.
No wonder he'd smelled blood. His eyes went wide and he sprung to his feet, a wave of dizziness threatening to take him down again. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. "Don't you ever, EVER do that again! Don't even think about it!"
She was scared, but touched at the look of fear in his eyes when he saw the bandage.
"Buffy found me in the middle of it," she said. "She stopped me…we're trying not to think about it."
He swallowed hard, thinking of his Little Bit laying pale and lifeless in a pool of her own blood and his heart wrenched.
"Bit…"
She nodded, and he knew she understood. He knew it wouldn't happen again.
"I was so scared," she said. "I could feel the life leaving me, and I was terrified."
He touched her arm, unwilling to get any closer to her.
She held out the blood to him sniffing. "Eat."
He shook his head. "I can't, Bit."
"Please?" she asked.
"I can't," he stressed. "I just can't."
"But why?" she pleaded. "You'll die!"
*FLASH*
Blood and flesh, dead bodies littering the streets, Dru, drinking beside him, Angelus, Darla, the screams. God, the screams.
*FLASH*
He swallowed and almost fell to his knees, clutching Dawn's shoulder.
"It's too much, too soon, Bit," he rasped. "I can't."
She nodded, fighting tears.
He took in deep breaths, which did nothing but help him relax slightly. He needed a cigarette.
"What do you see?" she whispered.
"What?" he asked, brow furrowed.
"When you space out," she clarified. "What do you see?"
"Lots of things," he replied, not wanting to go any further in detail.
"Like what?" she persisted.
*FLASH*
A man pinned down by a railroad spike, blood oozing from his neck and mouth, brain matter oozing from his ear.
*FLASH*
"Just things, Bit."
"Are they that bad?" she asked, reading his look.
Worse, he wanted to say.
"They're bearable," he lied.
She was quiet, not sure of anything she could say to make it better.
There was nothing.
"Go home to bed," he said, taking the bag from her finally.
"Only if you eat," she said doggedly.
"Fine," he sighed. "I'll eat."
She stood there with crossed arms.
"Not with you watching!" he cried. "Can't a guy get any privacy?"
"No," she said. "Cause when I leave you'll just pour it out."
He sighed. She had him figured out.
It was hard to keep himself from slipping into his vampire mask as he brought the plastic cup of blood out of the bag and slid the lid off, raising it to his lips.
He shut his eyes tightly and drank the cold liquid as fast as he could, throwing down the cup as he finished, wiping the excess blood from his lips with the jacket sleeve.
"Good," she said, satisfied.
"Now go to bed," he told her.
She nodded. "Good night, Spike."
"'Night," he said back, watching her go.
He listened with his heightened hearing that, while he was weak, was still greater than a human's. When he was sure she was gone, he let out a deep shuddering breath.
He turned in the direction of his crypt, intending to return sleep for a day, maybe two, maybe forever, so he could forget the memories that kept surfacing.
He took a step in that direction…and was sick in the bushes that concealed his leftover beer, regurgitating all that he'd stomached.
Dawn Summers was a girl with a mission. A mission that would mean big trouble if her sister found out. Which was why she was trying to be as stealthy as humanly possible as she pulled up her window, climbed out, and managed her way down the trellis by her window.
As she hopped to the ground, brushing wood splinters and peeled paint off of her hands, she laughed inwardly. Whoever had thought of putting that trellis so close to her window had obviously not known a teenage girl would one day occupy that room. She smirked, glad for that fact.
She looked around to make sure she wasn't being watched, then set off on her way.
Spike rolled the neck of the bottle between, glaring at the amount of liquid inside the greenish brown bottle. He'd started out with intent to get smashed and forget all about his troubles, but as he knew, things didn't always turn out the way he wanted. Still, he'd never have guessed that the thing keeping him from fulfilling his plans for the night would be himself. He was sitting cross legged on Joyce's grave with a six pack of beer by his side, the missing bottle still full in his hands.
"Cheers, Joyce," he said, taking a sip.
He frowned as the liquid made its way down his throat, and picked up the flimsy cardboard case that held the beer, tossing it into a nearby bush.
For the first time in a long while he had no desire to down the liquid for an easy way to forget his worries. He wanted to float blissfully into nothingness, but the beer wasn't the way he wanted to go.
A twig snapped in front of him, and Dawn pushed away some branches to step out of the foliage and into full view.
"Didn't expect to find you here," she said quietly.
"I could say the same of you," he said, gulping the beer, now thinking that beer bliss might not be such a bad thing after all. "Shouldn't you be in your bed, dreaming of puppies and sunshine?"
She pressed her lips together. "I don't dream of those things anymore, Spike.I dream of monsters and death. Part of living on the Hellmouth I guess."
He nodded sadly. "Didn't s'pose you did. What're you doin', Bit?"
"I came to see you," she said with a shrug.
"You shouldn't have," he said, staring at the epitaph on the girl's mother's grave.
"It's a free country, Spike," she said sharply. "I'm a big girl now."
"Well, if you walk alone in graveyards in Sunnyhell, it won't last very long," he said just as sharp.
"I can take care of myself," she spat. "but you wouldn't know that, would you?"
He sighed. "No."
Dawn rolled her eyes, composing herself again. "I went to your crypt looking for you. When I didn't find you there I went around the grounds to see if you were passed out drunk somewhere."
He glanced at the beer in his hand and shrugged, launching it high into the air. It smashed with a tintinnabulation of falling glass, deafening in the silent night.
Dawn cringed. "I wanted to give you this."
He stared at the brown paper sack as if it were an alien. "Whassat?"
"Blood," she said, shaking it slightly.
*FLASH*
Blood rolling down a child's neck, soaking into the collar of her white dress.
"Have a taste, my sweet Spike," Dru's singsong voice said, tantalizing him. "It tastes so deliciously alive."
Spike, in game face, licking the side of Dru's mouth, where blood had trailed down when she was feeding. He smiled a wicked smile and bit down on the neck of the seven year old, hearing her please echo through the dark alley.
"Mommy!"
*FLASH*
"Spike?" Dawn asked in a concerned voice.
He stared at her.
"You were zoning," she said.
"What's it for?" he said nodding his head at the blood.
"For you to drink, duh," she said with a small laugh.
"'M not hungry," he mumbled, feeling sick.
She gaped angrily. "You've got to eat, Spike! Look at you, you're like a frigging skeleton! You're gonna die if you don't feed!"
"So?" he said stubbornly.
"So?" she repeated, then exploded. "SO!? You can't die, Spike! You can't leave me like Mom did! Are you stupid? Do you want to die?"
Her voice got smaller with the last five words. It tore at his heart.
"What if I do?" he said in a serious, wondering tone.
"I'll kick your ass," she glared, tears spilling from her eyes. "Nothing's that hard, Spike. Nothing."
"How would you even know?" he asked, realizing how stupid a question that was too late.
"How?" she said stonily. "How would I know? Me? The glowing ball of mystical energy? I'm not even real. That woman who died? She wasn't my mom, my best friend. I didn't watch my sister sacrifice herself to close a portal and save the world when it should've been me. None of it ever happened. Cause I'm not even real. I guess you're right, Spike. I couldn't know unbearable pain."
"'M sorry Nibblet," he said softly. "I am."
He looked to his lap, where he was picking at one of the scabs from earlier that night.
She bit her lip to keep it from trembling so much.
"I shouldn't have said that," he said. "I know what you've been through…I'm sorry."
She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. "Spike…I don't know what would happen if you died. You're the only one I could ever talk to. Before, when we thought you were dead…the final kind of dead, I could even get out of bed for a week. I thought I was gonna die myself. I almost…"
"Almost what?" he prodded.
She held out her arm, revealing a white bandage over one wrist.
No wonder he'd smelled blood. His eyes went wide and he sprung to his feet, a wave of dizziness threatening to take him down again. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard. "Don't you ever, EVER do that again! Don't even think about it!"
She was scared, but touched at the look of fear in his eyes when he saw the bandage.
"Buffy found me in the middle of it," she said. "She stopped me…we're trying not to think about it."
He swallowed hard, thinking of his Little Bit laying pale and lifeless in a pool of her own blood and his heart wrenched.
"Bit…"
She nodded, and he knew she understood. He knew it wouldn't happen again.
"I was so scared," she said. "I could feel the life leaving me, and I was terrified."
He touched her arm, unwilling to get any closer to her.
She held out the blood to him sniffing. "Eat."
He shook his head. "I can't, Bit."
"Please?" she asked.
"I can't," he stressed. "I just can't."
"But why?" she pleaded. "You'll die!"
*FLASH*
Blood and flesh, dead bodies littering the streets, Dru, drinking beside him, Angelus, Darla, the screams. God, the screams.
*FLASH*
He swallowed and almost fell to his knees, clutching Dawn's shoulder.
"It's too much, too soon, Bit," he rasped. "I can't."
She nodded, fighting tears.
He took in deep breaths, which did nothing but help him relax slightly. He needed a cigarette.
"What do you see?" she whispered.
"What?" he asked, brow furrowed.
"When you space out," she clarified. "What do you see?"
"Lots of things," he replied, not wanting to go any further in detail.
"Like what?" she persisted.
*FLASH*
A man pinned down by a railroad spike, blood oozing from his neck and mouth, brain matter oozing from his ear.
*FLASH*
"Just things, Bit."
"Are they that bad?" she asked, reading his look.
Worse, he wanted to say.
"They're bearable," he lied.
She was quiet, not sure of anything she could say to make it better.
There was nothing.
"Go home to bed," he said, taking the bag from her finally.
"Only if you eat," she said doggedly.
"Fine," he sighed. "I'll eat."
She stood there with crossed arms.
"Not with you watching!" he cried. "Can't a guy get any privacy?"
"No," she said. "Cause when I leave you'll just pour it out."
He sighed. She had him figured out.
It was hard to keep himself from slipping into his vampire mask as he brought the plastic cup of blood out of the bag and slid the lid off, raising it to his lips.
He shut his eyes tightly and drank the cold liquid as fast as he could, throwing down the cup as he finished, wiping the excess blood from his lips with the jacket sleeve.
"Good," she said, satisfied.
"Now go to bed," he told her.
She nodded. "Good night, Spike."
"'Night," he said back, watching her go.
He listened with his heightened hearing that, while he was weak, was still greater than a human's. When he was sure she was gone, he let out a deep shuddering breath.
He turned in the direction of his crypt, intending to return sleep for a day, maybe two, maybe forever, so he could forget the memories that kept surfacing.
He took a step in that direction…and was sick in the bushes that concealed his leftover beer, regurgitating all that he'd stomached.
