Buffy found herself standing alone on a dark street corner in a city she didn't recognize. She ducked quickly into the shadow of the nearest building to give herself time to assess the situation. She knew something had gone wrong - even more wrong, if wrongness could be so graduated - this had to still be a nightmare, but she knew both that and exactly who she was. So what was going on?
Buffy took a few moments to examine her surroundings more closely. With the exception of an ornate church spire she could see in the distance, none of the buildings were over three stories tall, and all of them seemed uniformly old and foreign in architecture. Even the streetlights were subtly different than what she was used to, and shone their light on what she decided must be a cobblestone pavement, wet with recent rain. Buffy began to fear that she had been cast adrift in some stranger's dreams and would never find her way out. This was nothing she had ever even imagined before.
Her attention was suddenly drawn by a commotion at the end of the street, and she realized that the previous stillness had been quite unnatural. The tumult grew in volume and Buffy drew back further into the concealing shadows of the nearest alley. Some way down the street, a man and a woman staggered around a corner. The woman struggled with her long skirts and was half dragged, half carried by her companion. He himself seemed to be having some difficulty walking, but never stopped supporting her. They stumbled from wall to curb to lamppost and on with an air of desperation, as if in flight from some deadly pursuit.
Beyond them an angry crowd spilled into the street. The people bore an assortment of weapons, ranging from kitchen knives to rifles, with every imaginable possibility in between. They roared with one voice in animalistic fury as they spotted the two fugitives, who tried desperately to increase their pace. Buffy could see the fear in their bearing, but also their grim determination. She had just stepped forward to call them to shelter in the alley when the man moved into one of the scattered pools of illumination thrown by the streetlamps. Light flared off slicked back pale hair and highlighted a profile she knew almost as intimately as she knew her own face in the mirror. Her words died unspoken in her mouth.
"Spike," she whispered, and then realized who his companion must be. "And Druscilla. Oh god." Her legs weakened and she stumbled back against the wall for much needed support. She was still in a nightmare - only this one was Spike's. This was Prague, and he and Druscilla would be captured and Dru nearly killed by the mob pursuing them. But this time, Dru would be killed, in this warped retelling of Spike's memories and fears.
Let her die, whispered a cold voice in Buffy's mind. She deserves it - and then Angel, Kendra, Giles and Mom will all be safe. She shook her head angrily to clear it. This was not time travel, and this was not real - only a memory. Angel would still be gone and Kendra would still be dead no matter what she did here. But if this nightmare were allowed to play itself out to its dark conclusion, Spike - William - would suffer as though it were real. His anguish would feed the Nightmare Master and he would weaken as she had done. Without her intervention, he would eventually die - as she would have without his. Remembering what she had undergone trapped in her own nightmares, she knew she couldn't abandon him.
I am never, ever going to be able to explain this to anyone, she thought. I can't believe I'm really doing this. She repeated to herself sternly that she was doing this only because she would need Spike's help to break free of the dreams. Ignoring the fears and the outraged scream of the Primal Slayer in her mind, Buffy stepped into the light. "Spike!" she shouted, waving one arm to attract his attention. "Over here!"
He looked up, saw her and the two of them redoubled their efforts to flee the pursuing mob, but Druscilla's flowing skirts tangled about her legs and sent her sprawling to the damp street. "Spike!" she cried, "don't leave me!"
"Never," he replied, lifting her bodily and breaking into a limping run towards the alley mouth and the promised sanctuary.
Buffy withdrew into the alley to scout potential escape routes. Further along, it branched into several smaller laneways, each containing a number of doorways, back entrances into various commercial and warehouse properties. She kicked open a few doors to serve as a distraction to their pursuers, then found one that could be easily blocked shut again from the other side. She waved Spike and Dru through, then barricaded the door. The two vampires clung desperately together. Buffy saw that Spike's amulet was still intact on his hand, but the centre stone was cracked and dark. He didn't show any sign of recognizing her.
The three of them found themselves in a warehouse storing unused shop equipment; display cases, shelving units and clothing racks filled the floor. The cavernous interior was divided on one side into two levels by a suspended platform. The upper level was jumbled with a collection of mannequins in various states of assembly - arms, legs and torsos piled haphazardly. Others more complete, clothed and unclothed, stood like blind sentinels overlooking the floor below. It was up into this forest of limbs that Buffy directed them.
"I don't want to go up there," Druscilla moaned piteously. "They want to take us apart. Stacked like cordwood for the winter and burned."
Buffy had no patience for her hysterical visions. "If you want to survive," she said to Spike harshly, "you get her up there and shut her up."
He snarled and thrust a fanged and bloodstained face into hers. "Who the hell are you to-"
"I'm the one who's going to save your ass," she interrupted brusquely. "Answers later, if we make it." Spike growled, but offered no further argument. He herded the reluctant Druscilla up the stairs into the concealment of the lifeless crowd, and Buffy followed closely behind. With any luck, anyone looking up into their hiding place would see them only as three more figures in the inanimate throng.
Restless minutes passed as the grumbling of the mob grew in the laneway outside the warehouse door. Buffy didn't dare to risk a look out over the edge of the platform, but heard glass breaking up and down the alley as the crowd vented its frustration. Spike clapped a hand quickly over Druscilla's mouth when stones shattered the windows on the floor below them.
A few people climbed in through the broken panes, looking for something to loot or vandalize after being deprived of the fun of killing vampires. Buffy tried to signal to Spike with her eyes the desperate need to keep quiet; he gave a sharp nod as if he understood. She steeled herself; fighting humans, even dream ones, was not how she ever wanted to use her abilities, but she would if given no other choice. Luck was with them, though; after a few cursory glances around, the vandals left, finding nothing in the warehouse to interest them.
Buffy released the breath she felt as though she had been holding for hours and turned to the others. Druscilla collapsed to the floor like a puppet with cut strings, clutching at her head, and Spike was instantly by her side murmuring soothing words and stroking her bare arms.
He looked up at Buffy with his feral face. "You saved us; I'll return the favour," he said. "Get out now and we'll not hurt you."
Dru gripped at his coat to draw him closer. "She walks wrong on the skin of the earth," she muttered, "can't you hear the lost angels singing?"
"What are you seeing, Dru?" Spike asked her. "What about the girl?"
"Power," she sighed.
With another caress, Spike released her and stood, advancing toward Buffy. His head tilted as he inspected her more closely. "Something familiar here," he said in a low voice. "Something I haven't felt since . . . Slayer!" he cried suddenly, lunging for her throat.
She whirled to evade his attack. Lacing the fingers of both hands together, she brought her fists down on the back of his neck as he flew past her, sending him face first into the floor. Before he could recover, she had dropped on top of him, pinning his arms to his sides with her legs and using one forearm to hold his shoulders down.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "How do you know my name? Why did you help us?"
"All very good questions that I'd love to answer, if you'd only-" her words were suddenly choked off by Druscilla's hands at her throat, dragging her back and off of Spike's prone form. Buffy swore at herself inwardly; just because Druscilla was Miss Froot Loops most of the time didn't mean she could be safely ignored. She threw herself backwards into Dru's hold instead of resisting, catching her off guard and breaking free. She carried her movement into a back shoulder roll and pulled up in a crouch with her feet tucked under her.
Before she could recover further Spike had launched himself at her again. She landed hard on her back, the blow driving the air from her lungs. He straddled her hips, trapping her legs, and held her hands pinned beside her head. Buffy gasped for air and struggled to free herself, but his grip was too strong. Golden eyes assessed her coldly.
"Dru, my precious pet," he said, "come and see the treat Daddy's got for you. Your very own Slayer to taste."
Druscilla sidled up beside them and ran a black nail delicately along Buffy's throat. She flinched, but couldn't pull away. "I don't want her," Dru said abruptly. "She wants to take you away from me. She thinks you belong to her. Tell her to go away."
Spike shrugged. "She's always been a finicky eater," he said, as though he always indulged in casual conversation with his victims. "But you'll find I'm not so fussy." He bared his fangs and leaned forward.
Buffy cringed at this horrific parody of some of the times she'd been in his bed. There had to be some way to reach him, to snap him out of his nightmare - though it had rapidly become hers too. She had often wondered what would happen to people who died in their dreams, but she hadn't ever really wanted to be the one who found out. She sought his eyes with hers and whispered, "William . . ."
Druscilla shrieked; a banshee wail of loss.
Buffy watched relieved as the demon's face above her melted back into the man's and shocked recognition filled his eyes. "Buffy?" he asked, releasing her suddenly and backing away. "What am I doing?"
"It wasn't you," she replied, "it was your nightmare. The Nightmare Master's become linked to you now, instead of me. It wasn't you," she repeated for emphasis, seeing the growing horror in his face.
"It was me," he contradicted, his voice shaking. "It was." He turned away. Buffy wanted to reach for him, to comfort him, but let her hand fall. She had no words for this. She felt the tingling in her skin that heralded the shift; it couldn't come fast enough for her.
"I thought he was mine, but he was yours all along," Druscilla cried, covering her face with her hands and rocking helplessly.
The scene ran like a watercolour in the rain and they were gone.