Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters here within depicted. They belong to Lord Joss of Whedon, who makes all the bucks off this franchise. May he smile upon Andrew and grant him a prolonged life of servitude under the Scooby Gang. Cuz I don't wanna cry anymore. Jonny will always be my Slurpy Guy (reference, "The Wish". Harmony is so cruel!), and I miss him already. *Sniffle* Yes, I am a loser. I admit it. Now, please read, and drop me a line. I always appreciate it.
Saw it Coming, I Did Not
Jonathan gazed up at Andrew, realizing for the first time that he did not know the blond boy glowering down at him. Yes, glowering because that was as vicious as Andrew could look. Jonathan knew now that he had misjudged Andrew, had taken it for granted that he was too much of a follower to be a threat. They had both been threatened by Willow in her moment of true evil. They had both fled to Mexico, where they would be safe from the witch's wrath. They had both agreed to return to Sunnydale, to try to make it up to the Slayer and her gang. Now Jonathan found himself wondering how much of that decision had really been his to make.
Andrew cast a glance over his shoulder, as if listening to someone else. He still held the bloody sword, loosely, though, as if he wasn't sure what to do with it now. Jonathan tried to move, but it only evoked pain. He tried to cry out to Andrew, to ask him for help, to reason with his so-called friend, but the only sound was a mangled version of a moan. Jonathan knew he was dying. He was terrified. He had no idea what the symbol beneath him meant. What was going to come up out of the depths, freed by the blood that flowed freely from the wound in his side?
The blond boy was glowering at him again. A month ago, even a week ago—hell, this morning, Jonathan would have said he knew Andrew like he knew his sister, but not now. The creature hovering over him, awaiting his final breath, that wasn't Andrew. Not the Andrew who had painted the Death Star on their get-away van, or who protected his Boba Fett figure as if it embodied all things holy.
There was a flicker of movement behind Andrew, and Jonathan squinted to see who else was here to witness the spectacle of his death. His eyes went wide as he recognized Warren. But how could that be? Warren was dead. Willow had skinned him alive. Warren stepped closer to Andrew, and a chill crawled down Jonathan's spine. He tried to point, to warn Andrew to get away, but his strength was gone, and the darkness was taking over. Skinless Warren grinned hideously down at his former co-conspirator, his eyes burning with anticipation.
Jonathan tore his eyes away. He didn't want that visage to be the last thing he saw. Instead he gazed at Andrew, wondering why. He recalled countless afternoons spent on the couch playing video games, and then his eyes closed, and he gave in.