*** Please remember, I own no characters except for Blaine who I made up,
everything else belongs to the all might Joss, put another way, Joss' toys,
my sandbox; and pretty, pretty PLEASE send in them reviews, otherwise I get
sad and suicidal, jks! Come on, you know you want to! Story takes place a
couple of months after the gift. ***
Blaine sat in his tiny flat with the stranger, drinking a cup of black coffee. He would have usually had a cup of tea, "it's calming," he would tell you. But he did not wish to be calm tonight. He had his first, (and hardly last) run in with supernatural demons. Plus he was suffering from a hell of a hangover. The stranger seemed to be entranced with the brick- ka-brak on the few shelves around the room. Why the hell had he invited him in anyway? Was he going out of his mind?
"Your not crazy, you saw the man explode. And don't let yourself do the blissful 'selective memory' thing. Lot's of people do that. . . slip into the peace of forgetfulness. . .remember, we need you on our side." Whistler said, finally breaking the silence.
"Why?"
"Why we need you?" Whistler asked.
"No, why me? Out of all the people in England, out of all the people in the world, why me?"
" Now aren't you a piece of work? You know, when Buffy was called, she accepted it. She was strong. . . took her awhile, but she knew that it was the right thing to do. And you have the nerve to ask 'why you'?"
Blaine looked at the floor, suddenly ashamed of himself.
" I could tell you why, but it's better if you see it. . ."
"Where?"
" Sunnydale, California."
"Ok, I think I was a pretty good sport about the man exploding, and inviting you in, but there is no way I am going to fly half-way around the world to see the grave of some girl I don't even know."
Whistler took this in. . . he needed more convincing.
" You ever wonder why you never got sick as a kid? Ever wonder why you never broke an arm? Why your dad never talked about your mother, how she died?"
" How the hell could you know? What the bleeding hell is going on?"
"You're not all that human, on your mother's side."
Blaine couldn't believe what this stranger was saying. His mother was pure! She was the one he would pray to, to stop his father from giving him beatings. She would be there to protect him. Even if she did die. She was the last bit of him; of his life that he knew there was some good in. His father was a loud, violent drunk, who would drink paint thinner if he thought it would give him a descent buzz. His life was a piss poor excuse. No one loved him, and he loved no one. He had no past, no future. But his mother, the one person he loved in his life, even if he never met her. She had to be the reason he didn't turn out like his father. Seeing everyone else who touched his life, she had to be the pure part. And now some whack job!
"Get the Fuck out of my hous-" he started, but suddenly, a wave of pain shot him. He fell grabbing his head, trying to keep his innards inside. He screamed in pain. The girl in his dreams flashed before his eyes. But this time, instead of seeing the beautiful blond girl jump, he saw the man from the sketch. It hurt more this time, but he pain was different. It was the feeling of loss, of grief, of hurt beyond words.
"What the? Bloody hell"
" They are called visions my friend. And you'll be getting many of them. But for the powers, it's the only way to tell you where you're needed. You are really needed. It wasn't time for her to go. You have to know that. . ."
Blaine looked up from his place on the floor. Something in him knew he was right.
Blaine sat in his tiny flat with the stranger, drinking a cup of black coffee. He would have usually had a cup of tea, "it's calming," he would tell you. But he did not wish to be calm tonight. He had his first, (and hardly last) run in with supernatural demons. Plus he was suffering from a hell of a hangover. The stranger seemed to be entranced with the brick- ka-brak on the few shelves around the room. Why the hell had he invited him in anyway? Was he going out of his mind?
"Your not crazy, you saw the man explode. And don't let yourself do the blissful 'selective memory' thing. Lot's of people do that. . . slip into the peace of forgetfulness. . .remember, we need you on our side." Whistler said, finally breaking the silence.
"Why?"
"Why we need you?" Whistler asked.
"No, why me? Out of all the people in England, out of all the people in the world, why me?"
" Now aren't you a piece of work? You know, when Buffy was called, she accepted it. She was strong. . . took her awhile, but she knew that it was the right thing to do. And you have the nerve to ask 'why you'?"
Blaine looked at the floor, suddenly ashamed of himself.
" I could tell you why, but it's better if you see it. . ."
"Where?"
" Sunnydale, California."
"Ok, I think I was a pretty good sport about the man exploding, and inviting you in, but there is no way I am going to fly half-way around the world to see the grave of some girl I don't even know."
Whistler took this in. . . he needed more convincing.
" You ever wonder why you never got sick as a kid? Ever wonder why you never broke an arm? Why your dad never talked about your mother, how she died?"
" How the hell could you know? What the bleeding hell is going on?"
"You're not all that human, on your mother's side."
Blaine couldn't believe what this stranger was saying. His mother was pure! She was the one he would pray to, to stop his father from giving him beatings. She would be there to protect him. Even if she did die. She was the last bit of him; of his life that he knew there was some good in. His father was a loud, violent drunk, who would drink paint thinner if he thought it would give him a descent buzz. His life was a piss poor excuse. No one loved him, and he loved no one. He had no past, no future. But his mother, the one person he loved in his life, even if he never met her. She had to be the reason he didn't turn out like his father. Seeing everyone else who touched his life, she had to be the pure part. And now some whack job!
"Get the Fuck out of my hous-" he started, but suddenly, a wave of pain shot him. He fell grabbing his head, trying to keep his innards inside. He screamed in pain. The girl in his dreams flashed before his eyes. But this time, instead of seeing the beautiful blond girl jump, he saw the man from the sketch. It hurt more this time, but he pain was different. It was the feeling of loss, of grief, of hurt beyond words.
"What the? Bloody hell"
" They are called visions my friend. And you'll be getting many of them. But for the powers, it's the only way to tell you where you're needed. You are really needed. It wasn't time for her to go. You have to know that. . ."
Blaine looked up from his place on the floor. Something in him knew he was right.