Author's Note: I'm aware of the fact that not all of the Potentials in this fic are still alive, according to the original storyline of BtVS – but I wanted as many of them in this fic as possible, and so I chose them pretty much regardless of where they stood according to storyline.
Anyway, thank you to anyone and everyone who reviewed - I really appreciated it. I still haven't made up my mind about pairings, but right now I'm not really leaning towards Dawn/Connor – it's been done too many times, and it seems as though they would make better friends than lovers. But I might actually start out with one set of pairings and then change them as the story progresses, so you never know.
And finally, as the summary indicates, I've tried to bring up the story quality a little to match my usual standards – hopefully, it will make the story more enjoyable.
Sidebar: Connor's thoughts and behavior in this fic might not correspond immediately with his appearance on the show, but I wanted to keep his character as intense as possible. (Who knows – maybe brooding is an inherited trait?)
Chapter IV: Collision Course
Somehow, Connor couldn't seem to focus.
He was staring absently at the darkness outside of the van window, barely noticing the few buildings they passed on their way through the outskirts of Sunnydale. His mind had drifted to a place where nothing besides his own thoughts and memories existed; a place where he was almost a prisoner in his own head.
There were so many thoughts flickering and dying in his mind that he couldn't keep track of them, and he didn't try to; he just let them pass, like silent shadows slipping across his consciousness. His memories were more difficult to ignore – some of them were still vivid in his mind, fresh wounds from past battles, haunting him whenever he dwelled on them for too long.
He remembered, somewhere along the road, hearing Tyrone calling him 'too deep for his own health'. And that was only scraping the surface; if he had known him better, that one summary wouldn't have gone far enough to describe Connor the way he was when there was no one else around to distract him.
But no one really did know Connor well enough to be familiar with his thoughts - because he didn't let anyone get that close to him. Only once did he let anyone see truly inside of him, and that was during the one night he had spent with Cordelia.
He had honestly, and for the first time, believed in love during that night. Cordelia had never mentioned the word, but somehow he knew she had felt it – and the thought was almost enough to break down the barriers he had built around himself.
Almost, but not quite. Because when it had really mattered to Connor – when she had been faced with the choice between him and Angel – Cordelia had told Angel she had never belonged to Connor, and that she never would.
There was denying that it had hurt; it had hurt more than he could handle, and that was why he ran away that night. It wasn't about sex, as Angel seemed to assume: it was about love. And Connor had relinquished even the thought of love, after being rejected by Cordelia. In his eyes, it was a betrayal: in hers, it was simply an accident, a mistake.
Connor had often wondered what she thought had given her the right to toy with him like that: sleeping with him after she had known him as a baby and had almost been a surrogate mother to him, and then leaving him for his own father. In some ways, it was more than just incest - it was disgusting. Angel had thought so, after he had found out; and now, Connor couldn't blame him.
"There's only about a five minute drive to the motel from here," Bryce said, turning around without taking his hands off the steering wheel and bringing Connor out of his reverie. "We should be able to find a room there – maybe not top-quality, but at least livable."
"I can handle living in almost anything," Connor responded, more as a true statement than a boast. If he survived in Quor-toth, he could definitely survive in Sunnydale.
"Good. Then we shouldn't have any problems." In the dim light inside of the van, Bryce's eyes – now a golden amber – almost seemed to glow in the dark.
"Do you do that on purpose?" Connor asked, suddenly curious; at least asking questions would keep him from becoming lost in his own thoughts.
"Do what? Oh, you mean my eyes… No, it just happens naturally. I don't even notice the changes."
"We've been trying to work out if it's according to mood or anythin'," Tyrone added, "but so far it's been pretty random."
"My father was a shape-shifting Aurac demon," Bryce told them, "and my mother only found out after she was pregnant. I usually have to wear lenses to keep people from asking too many questions."
"And you?" Connor gestured at Tyrone's cheek.
"My momma wasn't a demon, she just had some sort of genetic defect," Tyrone replied, touching the scars on his cheek lightly. "Supposedly somethin' to do with feline DNA gettin' mixed into hers."
Bryce gave out a low whistle. "It's a strange world out there." Then he turned back to Connor. "So, what's your story?"
Connor paused, opening his mouth and considering whether to completely lie or give them an alternative version of the truth. Meanwhile, his gaze went to the windshield - and for a single moment, his breath caught in his chest.
Tyrone had turned as well, and he drew in a sharp gasp. "Bryce, man, turn around – look out -"
But it was too late. Everything from there on moved in slow motion: the van approaching the intersection… the other two cars coming in from different directions… the stop light glaring red… Bryce trying to regain control of the car, panicking…
Screeches of brakes and skidding wheels… The loud, shrill, grating cry of metal on metal… Fumes and smoke… And then…
Silence.
It was the last thing Connor was aware of before he passed out.
To Be Continued.
