Phantom Pains
Author: JimboS
E-mail: RaistlinM1@aol.com
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters used in this story only the plot is mine, and even that is pretty basic.
Author's note: I hope you enjoy the story. It has been brewing in my head for a while now and after the last episode the plot finally came together for me. So here it is. Enjoy and since this is my first try at true angst let me know what you think of it.
Author's Note 2: I want to thank Ray for helping me so much with this chapter. Anyone who hasn't read his stuff should. http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=79383.
Author's Note 3: I also want to thank everyone who has reviewed this story and those who have asked me for more. It really helps me write when I know there are people who actually want to read it.
Chapter 3
Buffy felt warmth on her cheek as droplets of sunlight streamed through holes in the blinds hanging from the large hospital window to caress her soft skin. The warmth tickled her face, as if the day itself was quietly asking for the joy of her company. She slowly brought her hands outward, extending her arms and then slowly moving them forward, smoothing out the wrinkled sheets before entwining her fingers together and pushing her palms outward above her head.
Buffy sat up and shifted her body from side to side, aligning her spine with a series of gratifying snaps and pops, all the while, keeping her eyes closed trying to put off starting her day until the last possible second. She untangled her fingers and laid her hands to rest on the cool, white, cotton sheets, as she mentally prepared herself to face the day.
Buffy's hands absently stroked the fabric as her mind turned a problem over in her head. Something did not feel right. Something was missing. Her eyes snapped open and her lazy caress ceased when she finally figured out what was missing.
"Xander!"
The young man was gone, leaving only wrinkles and a depressed mattress behind. Buffy rose from her seat and quickly surveyed the room in vain, finding no trace of her friend. She made her way to the door trying to remain calm, telling herself that he was probably just moved while she was asleep and the doctors decided not to wake her. Although the fact that she had not woken up had her puzzled to say the least seeing as how she fell asleep on his chest.
Buffy immediately moved past puzzled, past confused, and landed at confounded when she opened the door to see a lively green forest littered with brown, dead leaves instead of the sterile hospital hall way. The leaves that littered the forest floor were wet and matted down with bright green leaves scattered amongst them standing out in stark relief against the drab, decomposing carpet. Droplets of water fell periodically as small streams ran down the deep brown branches to meet with other tributaries before falling off the ends of the broad green leaves. A thin mist swirled across the forest floor as the day's rain evaporated and was trapped by the cool air.
Buffy quickly recovered from her initial shock at finding a forest outside her door and comfortably fell into the slayer mindset. It was almost a comfort to have a 'reasonable' explanation for her friend's disappearance, not to mention the simple, straightforward solution that normally came with solving these types of problems. Basically, she was going to chop, slice, beat, smash, behead, kill, and destroy until she found her friend and rescued him.
It was enough to make Buffy smile as she walked through the damp forest in search of her friend and the demon responsible for his disappearance. The thin fog curled around Buffy's feet, and as she slowly stalked through the forest, her senses stretched outward scouring the area for any sign of danger.
She continued to walk through the forest, finding no signs of life, besides the singing of birds and the buzzing of insects, until a path appeared under her feet. Appeared was definitely the word Buffy would use because, when she noticed it, she looked back to find that the path stretched behind her as far as she could see.
Buffy picked up her pace and smiled broadly once again as she thought with anticipation of what she would do when she found the thing responsible for taking away her Xander; maybe thanking it for giving her a path right to him, before touching its ears together the hard way. Her inner musings were disrupted by a rustling of leaves coming from the bend in the path. The noise was not the subtle whisper caused by the wind stirring the undergrowth; it was too loud and too jarring to not be caused by another being, and in Buffy's experience that meant trouble.
Buffy slowly walked toward the bend in the trail cautiously yet calmly. Using what Xander affectionately termed Slayer Psychology, she figured that any trap that she saw coming was not really a trap at all, but she was not prepared for what she saw when she turned the corner.
"Willow?"
The red head did not acknowledge Buffy's call. She was too busy pawing through the underbrush along side the trail with fervor, like a starved hound searching for a scrap of meat that it could smell but not see. Willow's red hair wildly framed her face like a lion's mane, her long sleeved shirt and pants were stained with mud and hung heavily on her petite form, and her make up ran down her face in pink and blank streaks.
"Willow, what are you doing?" asked Buffy, as she approached her friend.
"No time, must find it, must help him, can't help him until I find it," mumbled Willow as she continued her work.
"Willow, what are you looking for?"
Willow continued her diligent digging amid the dead forest flotsam and replied, "I already told you; I'm looking for it."
Buffy was taken back by her friend's answer and came to the conclusion that Willow was not quite Willow right now. Of course, with the strangeness that was her life, the answers could range anywhere from demonic possession to a brain suck to. well, demonic possession.
"Why are you looking for. it?" asked Buffy hoping to find out what had caused her friends bizarre behavior.
"I have to find it or else I won't be able to help him," answered Willow, before she turned and began to burrow into the other side of the trail.
"Him? Are you trying to help Xander? Well what exactly is it?"
Willow paused in her work to fix Buffy with a purely condescending look and answered in a patronizing tone, "If I knew what it was, I would have already found it."
Willow gave a disgusted sigh and returned to searching through the undergrowth, pausing every few seconds to shake away the dead wet leaves that had stuck to her hands and clear away some of the thin fog that continued to hug the ground, while Buffy watched her friend toil in confusion. She knew that her friend was telling her something important, but she could not figure out what it was. It was like putting together a puzzle without a picture and not being sure if she had all of the pieces.
"If you don't know where it is, then how do you know if you are even looking in the right place?"
Willow froze in the middle of her work and remained still for several seconds before she moved her head from side to side and inspected her surroundings. After a visual exploration Willow stood up slowly and faced Buffy, and wiped her face with her shirtsleeve removing her washed out make up, but at the same time smearing her cheeks with mud.
"You're right," Willow said matter-of-factly. "In fact, I don't think I can find it here. I must be going."
Before Buffy could react, the red head had taken off into the woods. She tried to move to follow her, but she could not find any trace of her friend. Either she had vanished or the forest had moved to conceal her; neither option appealed to her in particularly.
Buffy stood in the middle of the trail, torn between going after Willow into the forest or continuing on the trail toward Xander and the promise of decapitating the thing responsible from taking him from her. The promise of carnage and the worry of what might be happening to Xander forced her to continue down the trail.
Thoughts of Xander kept going through her head as she continued down the trail, pictures of him being tortured and beaten, battered and bloodied; his screams echoing through her mind, flooding every cavern and crevasse.
Buffy ran down the path in the hopes of arriving in time to save her friend from the imagined atrocities that he was undergoing. Beams of light streamed through the canopy hitting her face and lulling her mind into a hypnotic state; her eyes darted from side to side as they followed the dancing lights as she passed them.
Suddenly the canopy opened to reveal the sun in all of its brilliant glory blinding the slayer. She dug her heels into the ground to stop her forward momentum, and panicked when she heard the crackle of gravel under her feet, until she finally grinded to a halt.
Buffy froze until her eyes adjusted to the brightness around her. When they finally did she could not stop the yelp that escaped her lips when she saw the open expanse that greeted her from below the edge of a cliff mere inches from her toes.
Once the vertigo from being confronted with such heights so suddenly passed; Buffy took in the scenery below her. The cliff edge did not run straight outward; instead, it curved, running outward to form a thin crescent. Below the cliff, nestled within its arms, was a large dusty circle with a perimeter of large flat stones and three crumbling columns, making a large triangle within. A lone figure stood within the center of the triangle hunched over and dressed in rags that fluttered in the soft yet constant wind. The sight of the figure elicited an immediate response from the slayer.
"Shit!"
A myriad of thoughts swept through Buffy's mind upon recognition of the First Slayer; one of which stood out above all others.
"All of this for a stupid dream!"
She had met the First Slayer enough times to know that the only time they would meet was conditional upon Buffy's loss of consciousness. However, upon closer examination, the First Slayer, the embodiment of the Slayer spirit, did not seem right; she looked off.
Then it hit her like a wrecking ball: the First Slayer was white; or rather, she was not supposed to be. Nevertheless, the layers of dried mud could not disguise the uncharacteristically pale skin and blonde hair. Upon closer examination, while the First Slayer did not look right, she did look familiar.
The strong yet thin arms, the smooth skin, and the white teeth. the dark roots?
Before Buffy could contemplate the physics of being in two places at once, the problem was solved for her, for she was suddenly standing in the circle sharpening her dagger. The surprising change in perspective caused her hand to slip, sending the jagged stone dagger slicing across her palm, drawing a line of blood.
She grabbed her wrist and stared at her hand as the blood welled up from the cut. It pooled within the ridge of skin created by the knife, before spilling out to drip onto the dusty earth. Her eyes followed the first drop's descent, inexplicably fascinated by the sight.
"Fancy that, you've started without me."
Buffy jumped slightly, coming down into a fighting stance, startled by the smooth, accented voice. Spike stood in front of her under the gaze of the unblinking sun, smirking like he was enjoying a private joke.
"What are you doing here?" asked Buffy as she dropped her defenses slightly, but still not able to overcome her instincts enough to relax entirely.
"What do you mean?" answered Spike with a question as he sized her up, like a wolf on the prowl. He opened his arms, letting his long coat stretch out like black wings and looked up at the blazing sun. "You know I would never miss a slayer's blood being spilt. Besides, I figured I would catch up on my tan, got to blend in you know."
Spike brought his arms down and began to circle the slayer, who stood still at ridged attention, not wanting the vampire to know he unnerved her. He stopped in front of her and, tilting his head to the side, smirked again at the sight before him, "You know all about that love, don't you." He said as he took her bleeding hand into his own. "Blending in."
Buffy quickly turned away, pulling her hand away, at that last comment. She wiped her hand on her hip, spreading her blood across her already soiled rags. She became aware of his burning stare taking in her body, feeling his stare crawl across her skin, like his cold hands did at one time.
"I don't have to blend in, I am in, I belong." she said turning around to stare at him.
"Now, now, no need to deny it, " said Spike in a soothing tone, taking a step forward to capture her hand again. "You can't say that we didn't work well together; we were one and the same, moving together in harmony, dancing. Don't you miss it? The dancing?"
Buffy stood quietly her shoulders tensed and her back tensed and knotted, not trusting herself to not go to the man standing in front of her. Her heart denies his words completely, remembering the way he made her feel, like something hurt, something broken, something dead. Yet her mind cannot help but tell her that at least she was feeling something besides emptiness, which is not a feeling at all.
"We never danced, we just went through the motions."
"You don't believe that, we danced and we were good, we felt good," he said imploringly, his eyes meeting hers, searching for a spark of recognition.
"I never felt it."
"You must have felt something."
"Yeah, something," said Buffy looking at the hand he held and the blood staining her hip.
Spike smirked again as he moved his other hand around her hip, "How about a dance for old times sake?"
"We can't dance, there's no music."
Spike just lifted a finger and shook it back and forth and then pointed to his left. Buffy followed his finger to find an orchestra set up on the rocks dressed in tuxedoes.
"If you want music, I give you music," said Spike as he grabbed her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist.
The band began to play a sensual tango as the duo moved across the ground, kicking up dust wherever they stepped. The music slowly rose in tempo, with the bass drum growing in prominence while the dance became more graceful and physically demanding. Buffy began to feel her hand and waist grow hot. Wherever her body came into contact with Spike's touch she felt a burning fever.
The music began to change as the dance moved on, becoming more tribal in nature, with the drums banging louder and the horns falling away to be replaced by chanting, until he sent Buffy spinning outward as part of the dance and the music stopped, leaving only the echo of the drum bouncing off of the cliff walls.
She watched his smirk turn into a feral smile; his teeth gleamed in the sun, but he did not move to continue the dance, though she could still feel the energy in the air, telling her to continue, that it was not concluded. She continued to watch as Spike's head fell and his shoulders began to shake slightly, and moved to comfort him when she heard his quiet sobs. However, she stopped when the sobs grew louder, and she discovered that he was laughing.
Spike lifted his head and stared at Buffy, as his laughter became hysterical, trilling up the scale and then down again. The laughter was so wrong, so perverted, and so happily insane that it chilled the slayer to her soul, echoing in her chest and clasping her rapidly beating heart.
His face no longer held any familiarity, stretched and pulled as it was by his hideous smile. Slowly his face began to change form entirely; his bleach blonde hair grew longer and spread down his face framing his smiling mouth and wild eyes. His mouth began to narrow and protrude outward, merging with his nose that became extended and blunt forming a muzzle, while his eyes became almond shaped and sunk inward.
His body, which normally looked thin and malnourished, started to expand and grow, his arms thickened and elongated, while his legs inflated and bent, his muscles coiled tightly like a spring constantly ready to release. His chest expanded to several times its size and his spine straightened slightly causing him to hunch forward.
Buffy looked on in horror as the metamorphosis continued and the final stage of the change became apparent. Standing before her was the beast that had imprinted itself in her mind as something to hate and destroy above all cost. It was the wolf monster that had attacked Xander, except its coat was the same shade of bleached blonde as the vampire that it had taken the place of. Its sick laughter had continued through the transformation, only stopping when the change was completed.
"Come now slayer, the dance isn't over yet," the beast said with a slight lisp, as the air whistled through his rows of razor sharp, yellowed teeth.
Taking that as their cue, the band began again with the same primal beating and singing that filled the air before, with the monster adding his own roar, as he flung himself toward the slayer.
Buffy tightened her grip on the stone knife and lunged toward the beast as well. She watched the long arms swing toward her, ready to rake across her body and end the fight quickly. With a quick change in direction, she moved to the creature's right side, ducking the wide arm and swiping at the appendage with the knife hoping to sever the wrist tendons. To her surprise, the beast pivoted to his side and swatted the slayer as she passed, drawing long, angry lines across her back.
"Really slayer, are you even trying?" asked the beast in the same condescending tone that Spike used only muddled by his misshapen mouth.
Buffy watched the beast with a growing sense of dread, realizing that it was not really a beast, but Spike in the beasts form, possessing all of Spikes cunning and guile along with the monster's strength and speed. Not to mention claws, she reminded herself mentally when she placed her hand against the gashes on her back.
However, she could not shake the image of the animal hunched over Xander, reaching with its muzzle for his soft neck. One death was not good enough for the vengeful slayer, and so she launched herself at the demon.
The beast only gave her a lupine smile and moved to bat away the slayer with a strong swipe. The arm swung around, ready to smash into the side of Buffy's head blind siding her and causing severe damage.
Using her heightened speed and senses, the young woman ducked the potentially devastating blow and lunged forward to puncture the beast's thick hide and bury the knife in his side. The beast lifted its great head and roared its pain to the sky and then brought its arm back around to backhand the dangerous slayer, but Buffy was no longer there.
Instead, she utilized the jagged sides of the knife by ripping it out of the beast, tearing away a large portion of flesh before moving to get behind the monster. She crouched as she watched the beast swing at her previous position and then allowed its momentum to turn itself around to face her. Its arm swung easily over her head and she moved forward to strike again.
However, Spike moved quicker. He let his momentum play out and bring his body forward to tackle the crouched slayer. Two feet planted themselves into his, gut pulling on the grisly wound in his side, as Buffy went down and curled up to allow herself to poll with her attacker's force. The slayer drove her legs upward when she rolled up to her shoulders, sending the lupine monster flying over her head.
So the battle continued with each combatant attacking and counterattacking, trading minor wounds and inflicting pain, but through it all Buffy continued to hear the music in the back of her mind. The music pervaded the battle, keeping time with each punch, kick, and rake. It was like the music was dictating the fight itself, as if she was locked into an inescapable pattern.
The pattern became more prominent as the slayer focused upon it more, moving with the music, but, at the same time, distancing herself from it, until the music reached a crescendo and the moment to strike became apparent. The lycanthropic Spike lunged forward to attach his powerful jaws to her vulnerable throat over extending his reach while trying for the finishing blow.
Grasping the stone knife underhand, and then, with both hands providing strength, Buffy fell backward along with the lunging beast, lining up the tip of the blade with the demon's throat and letting the impact of the fall drive it forward. Warm blood washed over the knife and onto her clenched fists as the life poured from the demon and the music ceased.
She wiggled out from under the heavy carcass of the beast and wiped away the blood on her hands and arms in the bleached pelt. She left the knife buried under the demon unwilling to retrieve it.
With the fight finished and the job done, Buffy looked around to find any sign of Xander. She did not know why she felt the need to continue searching, it was only a dream, but she could not leave without knowing his fate, and she could not help thinking that she needed to find her Xander before she would wake up.
She looked to the sky and surveyed the cliffs, looking for any sign of what was to happen next. The sun had begun to fall during the battle and the shadows of the surrounding cliff fell on the dusty, earth leaving her in shadow with only a column of light reaching into the alcove from the open passage.
A shadow fell across the pillar of light at Buffy's feet, taking an all too familiar form. Xander stood at the alcove's mouth dressed in the white hospital gown that was now a pale yellow from the dust picked up by the steady breeze.
Buffy covered the distance between them at a sprint, barely slowing down enough to keep from knocking him over when she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. Buffy pulled away from the embrace to look into her friend's face and smiled at the sight of the familiar grin that she had known since high school.
"Thank God, you're okay. I thought that something horrible had happened to you."
"Nothing's gonna happen to me while you're around to keep me out of trouble," replied Xander while stroking her back softly with his callused hands.
"Xander, where were you?"
"I had to find myself, apparently I was misplaced," he responded in a joking tone of voice.
"And where did you find yourself, you know, in case I have to find you next time," asked Buffy picking up on the light-hearted conversation.
Xander's smile tightened slightly and his right hand fell away from her before he responded again, "I'm never going back there again, I can't, I found me and I never want to go back."
His smile was still familiar and quintessential Xander, yet his eyes were no longer right. Seconds before they were a deep and warm chocolate, holding love and caring, no matter how many times they sparkled with laughter or ran with tears, but now they held nothing at all. They were now opaque, lifeless pools of brown so dark they bordered on black, taking in from the world yet giving nothing, reflecting what they saw with a cold exactness. Buffy's chest tightened and her throat constricted at the sight of his lifeless look, but it did not last for long; instead his gaze moved to his right arm and the wall fell away revealing all encompassing horror and pain.
She looked at the object of Xander's gaze to find his arm twisting and writhing, large cuts and gouges appearing all over the forearm and the portion of the bicep that was uncovered by the hospital gown. Her eyes mirrored his as she continued to stare at the horrifying appendage. She could even feel the pain, but in her chest, feeling each convulsion and laceration keenly. With a great scream that poured from his throat and echoed throughout the alcove, he fell to the ground. His arm disintegrated and was carried off by the constant wind.
Buffy heard his scream seconds before her own poured from her chest and burned hotly through her throat to flood out of her mouth and join her friends. The pain was too much and her vision swam in front of her, but she clearly saw Xander fall and her pain only increased.
* * *
Buffy sat up with a shout and felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked behind her prepared to be kicked out by a concerned nurse or doctor, but she found none.
"Relax, Buffy, I'm awake, there's no need to shout," said a raspy voice from the bed.
She saw his eyes open and hold the same loving look that was missing in her dream and began to cry. The feelings were just too much, so relieved to see him awake, so happy to see him not looking like his dream self, and so scared that what she saw would happen, it was all too much for her to hold in and it all spilled out in her burning tears.
She buried her face in his chest, letting his white gown catch her liquid emotions while he ran his left hand through her soft blonde hair. It felt good to feel him and reassure herself that it was all just a dream, until she heard the question that she had hoped would never come.
"Buffy, why can't I move my arm?"
End of Chapter 3
Author: JimboS
E-mail: RaistlinM1@aol.com
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters used in this story only the plot is mine, and even that is pretty basic.
Author's note: I hope you enjoy the story. It has been brewing in my head for a while now and after the last episode the plot finally came together for me. So here it is. Enjoy and since this is my first try at true angst let me know what you think of it.
Author's Note 2: I want to thank Ray for helping me so much with this chapter. Anyone who hasn't read his stuff should. http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=79383.
Author's Note 3: I also want to thank everyone who has reviewed this story and those who have asked me for more. It really helps me write when I know there are people who actually want to read it.
Chapter 3
Buffy felt warmth on her cheek as droplets of sunlight streamed through holes in the blinds hanging from the large hospital window to caress her soft skin. The warmth tickled her face, as if the day itself was quietly asking for the joy of her company. She slowly brought her hands outward, extending her arms and then slowly moving them forward, smoothing out the wrinkled sheets before entwining her fingers together and pushing her palms outward above her head.
Buffy sat up and shifted her body from side to side, aligning her spine with a series of gratifying snaps and pops, all the while, keeping her eyes closed trying to put off starting her day until the last possible second. She untangled her fingers and laid her hands to rest on the cool, white, cotton sheets, as she mentally prepared herself to face the day.
Buffy's hands absently stroked the fabric as her mind turned a problem over in her head. Something did not feel right. Something was missing. Her eyes snapped open and her lazy caress ceased when she finally figured out what was missing.
"Xander!"
The young man was gone, leaving only wrinkles and a depressed mattress behind. Buffy rose from her seat and quickly surveyed the room in vain, finding no trace of her friend. She made her way to the door trying to remain calm, telling herself that he was probably just moved while she was asleep and the doctors decided not to wake her. Although the fact that she had not woken up had her puzzled to say the least seeing as how she fell asleep on his chest.
Buffy immediately moved past puzzled, past confused, and landed at confounded when she opened the door to see a lively green forest littered with brown, dead leaves instead of the sterile hospital hall way. The leaves that littered the forest floor were wet and matted down with bright green leaves scattered amongst them standing out in stark relief against the drab, decomposing carpet. Droplets of water fell periodically as small streams ran down the deep brown branches to meet with other tributaries before falling off the ends of the broad green leaves. A thin mist swirled across the forest floor as the day's rain evaporated and was trapped by the cool air.
Buffy quickly recovered from her initial shock at finding a forest outside her door and comfortably fell into the slayer mindset. It was almost a comfort to have a 'reasonable' explanation for her friend's disappearance, not to mention the simple, straightforward solution that normally came with solving these types of problems. Basically, she was going to chop, slice, beat, smash, behead, kill, and destroy until she found her friend and rescued him.
It was enough to make Buffy smile as she walked through the damp forest in search of her friend and the demon responsible for his disappearance. The thin fog curled around Buffy's feet, and as she slowly stalked through the forest, her senses stretched outward scouring the area for any sign of danger.
She continued to walk through the forest, finding no signs of life, besides the singing of birds and the buzzing of insects, until a path appeared under her feet. Appeared was definitely the word Buffy would use because, when she noticed it, she looked back to find that the path stretched behind her as far as she could see.
Buffy picked up her pace and smiled broadly once again as she thought with anticipation of what she would do when she found the thing responsible for taking away her Xander; maybe thanking it for giving her a path right to him, before touching its ears together the hard way. Her inner musings were disrupted by a rustling of leaves coming from the bend in the path. The noise was not the subtle whisper caused by the wind stirring the undergrowth; it was too loud and too jarring to not be caused by another being, and in Buffy's experience that meant trouble.
Buffy slowly walked toward the bend in the trail cautiously yet calmly. Using what Xander affectionately termed Slayer Psychology, she figured that any trap that she saw coming was not really a trap at all, but she was not prepared for what she saw when she turned the corner.
"Willow?"
The red head did not acknowledge Buffy's call. She was too busy pawing through the underbrush along side the trail with fervor, like a starved hound searching for a scrap of meat that it could smell but not see. Willow's red hair wildly framed her face like a lion's mane, her long sleeved shirt and pants were stained with mud and hung heavily on her petite form, and her make up ran down her face in pink and blank streaks.
"Willow, what are you doing?" asked Buffy, as she approached her friend.
"No time, must find it, must help him, can't help him until I find it," mumbled Willow as she continued her work.
"Willow, what are you looking for?"
Willow continued her diligent digging amid the dead forest flotsam and replied, "I already told you; I'm looking for it."
Buffy was taken back by her friend's answer and came to the conclusion that Willow was not quite Willow right now. Of course, with the strangeness that was her life, the answers could range anywhere from demonic possession to a brain suck to. well, demonic possession.
"Why are you looking for. it?" asked Buffy hoping to find out what had caused her friends bizarre behavior.
"I have to find it or else I won't be able to help him," answered Willow, before she turned and began to burrow into the other side of the trail.
"Him? Are you trying to help Xander? Well what exactly is it?"
Willow paused in her work to fix Buffy with a purely condescending look and answered in a patronizing tone, "If I knew what it was, I would have already found it."
Willow gave a disgusted sigh and returned to searching through the undergrowth, pausing every few seconds to shake away the dead wet leaves that had stuck to her hands and clear away some of the thin fog that continued to hug the ground, while Buffy watched her friend toil in confusion. She knew that her friend was telling her something important, but she could not figure out what it was. It was like putting together a puzzle without a picture and not being sure if she had all of the pieces.
"If you don't know where it is, then how do you know if you are even looking in the right place?"
Willow froze in the middle of her work and remained still for several seconds before she moved her head from side to side and inspected her surroundings. After a visual exploration Willow stood up slowly and faced Buffy, and wiped her face with her shirtsleeve removing her washed out make up, but at the same time smearing her cheeks with mud.
"You're right," Willow said matter-of-factly. "In fact, I don't think I can find it here. I must be going."
Before Buffy could react, the red head had taken off into the woods. She tried to move to follow her, but she could not find any trace of her friend. Either she had vanished or the forest had moved to conceal her; neither option appealed to her in particularly.
Buffy stood in the middle of the trail, torn between going after Willow into the forest or continuing on the trail toward Xander and the promise of decapitating the thing responsible from taking him from her. The promise of carnage and the worry of what might be happening to Xander forced her to continue down the trail.
Thoughts of Xander kept going through her head as she continued down the trail, pictures of him being tortured and beaten, battered and bloodied; his screams echoing through her mind, flooding every cavern and crevasse.
Buffy ran down the path in the hopes of arriving in time to save her friend from the imagined atrocities that he was undergoing. Beams of light streamed through the canopy hitting her face and lulling her mind into a hypnotic state; her eyes darted from side to side as they followed the dancing lights as she passed them.
Suddenly the canopy opened to reveal the sun in all of its brilliant glory blinding the slayer. She dug her heels into the ground to stop her forward momentum, and panicked when she heard the crackle of gravel under her feet, until she finally grinded to a halt.
Buffy froze until her eyes adjusted to the brightness around her. When they finally did she could not stop the yelp that escaped her lips when she saw the open expanse that greeted her from below the edge of a cliff mere inches from her toes.
Once the vertigo from being confronted with such heights so suddenly passed; Buffy took in the scenery below her. The cliff edge did not run straight outward; instead, it curved, running outward to form a thin crescent. Below the cliff, nestled within its arms, was a large dusty circle with a perimeter of large flat stones and three crumbling columns, making a large triangle within. A lone figure stood within the center of the triangle hunched over and dressed in rags that fluttered in the soft yet constant wind. The sight of the figure elicited an immediate response from the slayer.
"Shit!"
A myriad of thoughts swept through Buffy's mind upon recognition of the First Slayer; one of which stood out above all others.
"All of this for a stupid dream!"
She had met the First Slayer enough times to know that the only time they would meet was conditional upon Buffy's loss of consciousness. However, upon closer examination, the First Slayer, the embodiment of the Slayer spirit, did not seem right; she looked off.
Then it hit her like a wrecking ball: the First Slayer was white; or rather, she was not supposed to be. Nevertheless, the layers of dried mud could not disguise the uncharacteristically pale skin and blonde hair. Upon closer examination, while the First Slayer did not look right, she did look familiar.
The strong yet thin arms, the smooth skin, and the white teeth. the dark roots?
Before Buffy could contemplate the physics of being in two places at once, the problem was solved for her, for she was suddenly standing in the circle sharpening her dagger. The surprising change in perspective caused her hand to slip, sending the jagged stone dagger slicing across her palm, drawing a line of blood.
She grabbed her wrist and stared at her hand as the blood welled up from the cut. It pooled within the ridge of skin created by the knife, before spilling out to drip onto the dusty earth. Her eyes followed the first drop's descent, inexplicably fascinated by the sight.
"Fancy that, you've started without me."
Buffy jumped slightly, coming down into a fighting stance, startled by the smooth, accented voice. Spike stood in front of her under the gaze of the unblinking sun, smirking like he was enjoying a private joke.
"What are you doing here?" asked Buffy as she dropped her defenses slightly, but still not able to overcome her instincts enough to relax entirely.
"What do you mean?" answered Spike with a question as he sized her up, like a wolf on the prowl. He opened his arms, letting his long coat stretch out like black wings and looked up at the blazing sun. "You know I would never miss a slayer's blood being spilt. Besides, I figured I would catch up on my tan, got to blend in you know."
Spike brought his arms down and began to circle the slayer, who stood still at ridged attention, not wanting the vampire to know he unnerved her. He stopped in front of her and, tilting his head to the side, smirked again at the sight before him, "You know all about that love, don't you." He said as he took her bleeding hand into his own. "Blending in."
Buffy quickly turned away, pulling her hand away, at that last comment. She wiped her hand on her hip, spreading her blood across her already soiled rags. She became aware of his burning stare taking in her body, feeling his stare crawl across her skin, like his cold hands did at one time.
"I don't have to blend in, I am in, I belong." she said turning around to stare at him.
"Now, now, no need to deny it, " said Spike in a soothing tone, taking a step forward to capture her hand again. "You can't say that we didn't work well together; we were one and the same, moving together in harmony, dancing. Don't you miss it? The dancing?"
Buffy stood quietly her shoulders tensed and her back tensed and knotted, not trusting herself to not go to the man standing in front of her. Her heart denies his words completely, remembering the way he made her feel, like something hurt, something broken, something dead. Yet her mind cannot help but tell her that at least she was feeling something besides emptiness, which is not a feeling at all.
"We never danced, we just went through the motions."
"You don't believe that, we danced and we were good, we felt good," he said imploringly, his eyes meeting hers, searching for a spark of recognition.
"I never felt it."
"You must have felt something."
"Yeah, something," said Buffy looking at the hand he held and the blood staining her hip.
Spike smirked again as he moved his other hand around her hip, "How about a dance for old times sake?"
"We can't dance, there's no music."
Spike just lifted a finger and shook it back and forth and then pointed to his left. Buffy followed his finger to find an orchestra set up on the rocks dressed in tuxedoes.
"If you want music, I give you music," said Spike as he grabbed her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist.
The band began to play a sensual tango as the duo moved across the ground, kicking up dust wherever they stepped. The music slowly rose in tempo, with the bass drum growing in prominence while the dance became more graceful and physically demanding. Buffy began to feel her hand and waist grow hot. Wherever her body came into contact with Spike's touch she felt a burning fever.
The music began to change as the dance moved on, becoming more tribal in nature, with the drums banging louder and the horns falling away to be replaced by chanting, until he sent Buffy spinning outward as part of the dance and the music stopped, leaving only the echo of the drum bouncing off of the cliff walls.
She watched his smirk turn into a feral smile; his teeth gleamed in the sun, but he did not move to continue the dance, though she could still feel the energy in the air, telling her to continue, that it was not concluded. She continued to watch as Spike's head fell and his shoulders began to shake slightly, and moved to comfort him when she heard his quiet sobs. However, she stopped when the sobs grew louder, and she discovered that he was laughing.
Spike lifted his head and stared at Buffy, as his laughter became hysterical, trilling up the scale and then down again. The laughter was so wrong, so perverted, and so happily insane that it chilled the slayer to her soul, echoing in her chest and clasping her rapidly beating heart.
His face no longer held any familiarity, stretched and pulled as it was by his hideous smile. Slowly his face began to change form entirely; his bleach blonde hair grew longer and spread down his face framing his smiling mouth and wild eyes. His mouth began to narrow and protrude outward, merging with his nose that became extended and blunt forming a muzzle, while his eyes became almond shaped and sunk inward.
His body, which normally looked thin and malnourished, started to expand and grow, his arms thickened and elongated, while his legs inflated and bent, his muscles coiled tightly like a spring constantly ready to release. His chest expanded to several times its size and his spine straightened slightly causing him to hunch forward.
Buffy looked on in horror as the metamorphosis continued and the final stage of the change became apparent. Standing before her was the beast that had imprinted itself in her mind as something to hate and destroy above all cost. It was the wolf monster that had attacked Xander, except its coat was the same shade of bleached blonde as the vampire that it had taken the place of. Its sick laughter had continued through the transformation, only stopping when the change was completed.
"Come now slayer, the dance isn't over yet," the beast said with a slight lisp, as the air whistled through his rows of razor sharp, yellowed teeth.
Taking that as their cue, the band began again with the same primal beating and singing that filled the air before, with the monster adding his own roar, as he flung himself toward the slayer.
Buffy tightened her grip on the stone knife and lunged toward the beast as well. She watched the long arms swing toward her, ready to rake across her body and end the fight quickly. With a quick change in direction, she moved to the creature's right side, ducking the wide arm and swiping at the appendage with the knife hoping to sever the wrist tendons. To her surprise, the beast pivoted to his side and swatted the slayer as she passed, drawing long, angry lines across her back.
"Really slayer, are you even trying?" asked the beast in the same condescending tone that Spike used only muddled by his misshapen mouth.
Buffy watched the beast with a growing sense of dread, realizing that it was not really a beast, but Spike in the beasts form, possessing all of Spikes cunning and guile along with the monster's strength and speed. Not to mention claws, she reminded herself mentally when she placed her hand against the gashes on her back.
However, she could not shake the image of the animal hunched over Xander, reaching with its muzzle for his soft neck. One death was not good enough for the vengeful slayer, and so she launched herself at the demon.
The beast only gave her a lupine smile and moved to bat away the slayer with a strong swipe. The arm swung around, ready to smash into the side of Buffy's head blind siding her and causing severe damage.
Using her heightened speed and senses, the young woman ducked the potentially devastating blow and lunged forward to puncture the beast's thick hide and bury the knife in his side. The beast lifted its great head and roared its pain to the sky and then brought its arm back around to backhand the dangerous slayer, but Buffy was no longer there.
Instead, she utilized the jagged sides of the knife by ripping it out of the beast, tearing away a large portion of flesh before moving to get behind the monster. She crouched as she watched the beast swing at her previous position and then allowed its momentum to turn itself around to face her. Its arm swung easily over her head and she moved forward to strike again.
However, Spike moved quicker. He let his momentum play out and bring his body forward to tackle the crouched slayer. Two feet planted themselves into his, gut pulling on the grisly wound in his side, as Buffy went down and curled up to allow herself to poll with her attacker's force. The slayer drove her legs upward when she rolled up to her shoulders, sending the lupine monster flying over her head.
So the battle continued with each combatant attacking and counterattacking, trading minor wounds and inflicting pain, but through it all Buffy continued to hear the music in the back of her mind. The music pervaded the battle, keeping time with each punch, kick, and rake. It was like the music was dictating the fight itself, as if she was locked into an inescapable pattern.
The pattern became more prominent as the slayer focused upon it more, moving with the music, but, at the same time, distancing herself from it, until the music reached a crescendo and the moment to strike became apparent. The lycanthropic Spike lunged forward to attach his powerful jaws to her vulnerable throat over extending his reach while trying for the finishing blow.
Grasping the stone knife underhand, and then, with both hands providing strength, Buffy fell backward along with the lunging beast, lining up the tip of the blade with the demon's throat and letting the impact of the fall drive it forward. Warm blood washed over the knife and onto her clenched fists as the life poured from the demon and the music ceased.
She wiggled out from under the heavy carcass of the beast and wiped away the blood on her hands and arms in the bleached pelt. She left the knife buried under the demon unwilling to retrieve it.
With the fight finished and the job done, Buffy looked around to find any sign of Xander. She did not know why she felt the need to continue searching, it was only a dream, but she could not leave without knowing his fate, and she could not help thinking that she needed to find her Xander before she would wake up.
She looked to the sky and surveyed the cliffs, looking for any sign of what was to happen next. The sun had begun to fall during the battle and the shadows of the surrounding cliff fell on the dusty, earth leaving her in shadow with only a column of light reaching into the alcove from the open passage.
A shadow fell across the pillar of light at Buffy's feet, taking an all too familiar form. Xander stood at the alcove's mouth dressed in the white hospital gown that was now a pale yellow from the dust picked up by the steady breeze.
Buffy covered the distance between them at a sprint, barely slowing down enough to keep from knocking him over when she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest. Buffy pulled away from the embrace to look into her friend's face and smiled at the sight of the familiar grin that she had known since high school.
"Thank God, you're okay. I thought that something horrible had happened to you."
"Nothing's gonna happen to me while you're around to keep me out of trouble," replied Xander while stroking her back softly with his callused hands.
"Xander, where were you?"
"I had to find myself, apparently I was misplaced," he responded in a joking tone of voice.
"And where did you find yourself, you know, in case I have to find you next time," asked Buffy picking up on the light-hearted conversation.
Xander's smile tightened slightly and his right hand fell away from her before he responded again, "I'm never going back there again, I can't, I found me and I never want to go back."
His smile was still familiar and quintessential Xander, yet his eyes were no longer right. Seconds before they were a deep and warm chocolate, holding love and caring, no matter how many times they sparkled with laughter or ran with tears, but now they held nothing at all. They were now opaque, lifeless pools of brown so dark they bordered on black, taking in from the world yet giving nothing, reflecting what they saw with a cold exactness. Buffy's chest tightened and her throat constricted at the sight of his lifeless look, but it did not last for long; instead his gaze moved to his right arm and the wall fell away revealing all encompassing horror and pain.
She looked at the object of Xander's gaze to find his arm twisting and writhing, large cuts and gouges appearing all over the forearm and the portion of the bicep that was uncovered by the hospital gown. Her eyes mirrored his as she continued to stare at the horrifying appendage. She could even feel the pain, but in her chest, feeling each convulsion and laceration keenly. With a great scream that poured from his throat and echoed throughout the alcove, he fell to the ground. His arm disintegrated and was carried off by the constant wind.
Buffy heard his scream seconds before her own poured from her chest and burned hotly through her throat to flood out of her mouth and join her friends. The pain was too much and her vision swam in front of her, but she clearly saw Xander fall and her pain only increased.
* * *
Buffy sat up with a shout and felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked behind her prepared to be kicked out by a concerned nurse or doctor, but she found none.
"Relax, Buffy, I'm awake, there's no need to shout," said a raspy voice from the bed.
She saw his eyes open and hold the same loving look that was missing in her dream and began to cry. The feelings were just too much, so relieved to see him awake, so happy to see him not looking like his dream self, and so scared that what she saw would happen, it was all too much for her to hold in and it all spilled out in her burning tears.
She buried her face in his chest, letting his white gown catch her liquid emotions while he ran his left hand through her soft blonde hair. It felt good to feel him and reassure herself that it was all just a dream, until she heard the question that she had hoped would never come.
"Buffy, why can't I move my arm?"
End of Chapter 3