Andrew knew before he ever got into bed that night that he wouldn't be sleeping. He didn't even bother changing into his pajamas or pulling back the covers. Why bother? Despite having been living at Buffy's house for the past three weeks, he still didn't feel like it was his home. And it wasn't even the same sort of feeling he got when his family would spend the night at a hotel during one of those long-ago vacations they used to take. No, he just felt out of place here, like a Star Wars action figure placed among a set of Star Trek figures – sure, you'd get used to seeing it there if you left it long enough, but it would never belong (despite what certain crossover fans would have people believe).
His eyes fell to the clock in the corner: 3:27 am. Sighing, Andrew pushed himself to his feet and picked his way over the various sleeping bodies of Scoobies and potentials that filled that particular room. Making his way to the kitchen, he was able to feel his way in the dark towards the door and pull it open with minimal squeaking. Slipping outside, he shut the door behind him and stepped out into the backyard.
"Hello, Andrew."
Andrew had to through a hand to his mouth to keep his rather high-pitched yelp from waking anyone in the house. Whirling around he found himself face to incorporeal face with the first whom had predictably taken the form of Warren.
Taking a brief moment to calm himself, Andrew glared at the false image.
"Why don't you just leave me alone?" he hissed, eyes narrowing in the best glare he could muster. "I know you're not Warren, and I'm not going to help you anymore! You... you made me kill one of my best friends..."
It was disturbing how accurately the First could mimic that cruel, amused smirk of Warren's. The sight made Andrew's stomach twist into knots just from the memory.
"I hardly made you do anything, freakazoid. I couldn't force you to stab Jonathan, now could I? Hello, incorporeal remember?"
"Stop that! You're not Warren so stop looking and talking like him!"
The First only grinned at him, obviously pleased at having gotten to him. Andrew only looked away, wrapping his arms around himself and clutching the fabric of his shirt defensively.
"Well, I guess I can understand that. You obviously don't want to see Warren again anyways, right? I mean, why else would you be staying with the Slayer and her murdering little witch friend?"
Andrew froze at this. He could have sworn his heart stopped at that last jab. His mouth opened and closed once in hopes of defending his decision, but his mind was flailing uselessly as he groped for a reason as to why he was here.
Well, Willow had found him at the butcher's shop that one day and dragged him back so that they could pump him for information, and after that they didn't want him going off on his own (obviously because they feared his super villain potential) and now... Well, now he was almost helping them. He did regret killing Jonathan and did want to redeem himself and all that, but...
Was he betraying Warren?
A chill ran through him as he could feel the First leering at his discomfort. He was trying to unsettle him. He was trying to manipulate him again, just like before! Using him for his own means! Just like...
Just like Warren had.
Andrew had spent many of his sleepless nights going over the events of the past year or so carefully. His conclusions were, even to this day, ever changing. Sometimes he decided that Warren really had been using him, or else he'd have rescued him back in jail. Sometimes he reasoned that Warren couldn't have possibly rescued him, what with being too busy getting flayed alive. But, when the jetpack first malfunctioned, shouldn't Warren have gone back to check on him? Wasn't it possible that Warren just led him on to keep a devoted minion for his plans? After all, near the end he hadn't really cared whether or not Jonathan lived or died. As much as it hurt, lately Andrew had been leading towards the possibility that Warren... that Warren had never loved him.
"I... I'm good now. Warren was just using me before, but now I'm doing something good and no one's using me. Now I'm worth something."
The First scoffed, taking a few steps closer to Andrew who backed quickly away in response.
"Get with the program, pal! They don't care about you! No one in there would shed a tear if you were killed in all this. They just want another body to throw between themselves and what's to come. They're the ones using you. Not like Warren."
Andrew had backed his way into the fence now as the phantom Warren continued to slowly move closer and closer to him.
"Wh-what? What are you talking about?"
How he wished that imitation-Warren would stop smirking at him like that.
"Warren wasn't using you."
Andrew felt like he'd suddenly been dropped from an airplane.
"How... how would you know something like that? You're not really Warren!"
The First's smirk turned to placating smile, dancing on the edge of a sneer. He was standing toe to toe with him now, leaning forwards to further invade Andrew's personal space. His mind told him that the First couldn't hurt him, but Andrew couldn't help but shrink away from the image of Warren before him.
"Come on, Sparky, haven't you figured it out by now? I know everything Warren ever knew. His soul is mine now. Everything he ever loved or hated or even just thought about... it's all in here." The First gestured to his head, still grinning.
"Oh... oh yeah?" This couldn't be true. He had to disprove what this thing was saying. He just had to! If he didn't, then that would mean that... that Warren had... "Fine then. Who was the best Bond?"
The First seemed taken aback for a moment, having clearly not expected a question like that.
"What, are you serious? Come on, Sean Connery all the way. There's not even a contest there."
Andrew swallowed. It sounded so much like Warren. The mannerisms, the inflections in its voice, even the way it looked at him like that.
"N-nuh-uh! Timothy Dalton so owns Bond."
"Timothy Dalton?! You little heretic, what kind of blasphemy is that? Timothy fucking Dalton?!"
Warren... no, the First's hand rose, ready to smack Andrew upside the head, causing Andrew to cringe and cower against the fence in preparation for the blow. Only after it didn't come did Andrew open his previously shut eyes to look up at the First with wide-eyes. He could have sworn for a minute there that it really was Warren. So, that meant...
"He... he really did love me?"
His question was met with a nod, but this time there was no smirk. The look on the fake Warren's face was serious and sincere, which made it even worse for Andrew.
"But then... why didn't he come back for me?"
As soon as he'd said it, he regretted the words. They sounded so selfish in his own ears.
"Well, you know he'd been kind of busy avoiding Goth-Wicca-Carrie and all. It really wouldn't have been the most productive thing in the world to try and break into the Sunnydale pen and drag you and Jonathan out while she had her ear to the ground for the slightest sign of him. Then of course there was the whole being skinned alive thing that made it kind of hard to get to you."
Andrew wanted to just crawl into a hole in the ground and die.
"But... but he..."
"Yup. He loved you. I mean, it made sense, didn't it? You're everything Warren ever wanted in a partner. You're submissive to the point where you're lost without someone to tell you what to do, you're blind to all of his flaws but always focus on his strengths, you're willing to do or go through anything for him. And hey, who else could he trust in this world not to turn on him? You knew exactly what he liked, but at the same time you didn't make things too easy or fake to the point where he'd get bored with you. What more could a guy like him ask for? If only he could have seen what you did to Jonathan for him. I'm sure he'd have been impressed."
It took some effort, but Andrew managed to swallow nervously. Tears were springing to his eyes, stinging them until he blinked them away. It was true then... And now he was staying with Willow and the Slayer and everyone who was responsible for Warren's death. Not just staying with them, but helping them. It was too much; he needed to get away. Turning to one side, he leaned towards the house to try and head inside just as an arm slammed down against the fence in front of him. There was no sound, and Andrew knew that if he wanted, he could have walked right through it, but somehow he felt frozen to the spot.
"Oh, don't go now... look at you, crying so pretty like that. Warren always wanted to know what you'd look like crying for him."
Andrew's breath caught in his chest again. His eyes met the gaze of the First and he felt very much like a rabbit staring at the headlights of an oncoming car.
"What?"
"You heard me. That was just one of Warren's little thoughts that he never bothered to say to you. If he'd have lived, you would have heard all about it."
The hand not pressed against the fence moved up to cup Andrew's face as he stared helplessly at the First. Andrew felt nothing against his skin, but all the same he couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to. And right now, he didn't want to.
"T-tell me more..."
It wasn't the first anymore. It was Warren. These were Warren's thoughts he was hearing, straight from his mind and not the First's. Warren smiled at him, his expression surprisingly tender as he drew even closer still, supporting his weight against the fence. His head hovered beside Andrew's ear and Andrew could almost feel his breath blowing across his skin as he spoke.
"Well, kitten, I was going to tell you all about it after we were ruling things. I had it all planned out. We'd have moved into a mansion of our own, and you'd be living with me. I would have filled it with everything we'd ever dreamed of. And you would be mine, just as much as anything else in the mansion. Oh, Andrew... you don't know how long I wanted to make you mine. Sure, in theory you already were. We both knew that, even back when Jonathan was hanging around and keeping us apart, but I wanted to really take you into my arms and make you my Andrew. I'd carve my name across your chest and lick away the blood."
A shiver ran down Andrew's spine as Warren pulled away, his eyes still locked on Andrew as he shifted his head to his other side, whispering now in his other ear.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd do anything to make me happy, even if it hurt. You might even like it, wouldn't you? I'd sometimes lay awake at night, imagining what your face would look like twisted in pain for me. I think you'd be beautiful like that. My little pet, always so willing for me..."
Andrew whimpered. He wasn't looking at Warren anymore. Instead he stared through him, not really seeing anything at all as he focused on those words. He'd never heard Warren's voice like that before, but somehow he knew it was the truth.
"I thought you were going to be mine, Andrew... but in the end, I guess you never really wanted me. You turned against me, just like everybody else. I guess I can't blame you, though. You've really done well for yourself, allying yourself with the Slayer and everything. Anything to save yourself, right? I'm sure that's the only reason you've betrayed me."
His lips moved, but all of Andrew's protests to this were trapped in his throat. The tears were still streaming down his face.
"You were mine, Andrew... you were the last thing they managed to take from me."
Before he knew what he was doing, Andrew found himself running. He fled right through the First, heading straight to the fence gate and out down the street. His eyes were blurry from the tears, but he didn't need to see where he was going. His legs were moving on autopilot, taking him back to where he used to go for comfort. Back to his old haven. They didn't stop until he was standing outside the cellar door of Warren's house. He found the key to the lock under the same garden gnome it had always been under, and unlocked the doors as quietly as he could.
Slipping down the stairs, he found that most of their stuff was still there. Warren's mother had never been told what really happened to her son. The last she'd ever heard from him was his apologetic letter he'd sent after they'd gone on the lamb, telling her that for reasons he couldn't explain that they had to leave Sunnydale. She probably expected him to come back some day...
The trio of beanbag chairs were still positioned over by the large flat-screen TV they'd bought together so long ago. Andrew's legs carried him over to Warren's designated chair, then folded beneath him as he collapsed onto it, out of breath from running. His head pillowed against the slightly plastic feeling fabric and he inhaled slowly. It still smelled faintly of that cologne Warren used to wear when they went out to clubs together. Andrew's hands moved under his cheek, half to rest his head on and half to hold more tightly to Warren's old chair. With the force of a floodgate being opened, he broke down into sobs, his body shuddering violently with the intensity of it all. The tears fell against the smooth surface of the chair, trailing down to the fold created by his grasping hands and pooling there.
"Shhh... it's alright, kitten. You just let it all out."
Andrew opened his eyes slowly to see the First sitting in the beanbag chair he was currently leaning on. It had positioned itself so that when Andrew looked, it seemed like he'd been curled up with his head in Warren's lap.
"Warren would have-"
"No... please..." Andrew looked away, his head again resting against what was now Warren's leg.
"You want me to go then?"
There was concern in that voice, Warren's voice. Concern that sounded so real...
"No. Just... please, just be Warren right now..."
Warren smiled, his hand resting on top of Andrew's head.
"Sure thing. Anything my kitten wants. As long as you don't leave me again, baby."
Andrew nodded between his sobs, still clinging to the chair. No, he was with Warren now. He'd left him, but now he was back and everything would be fine again, just like it used to be. Like it was going to be...
"That's my Andrew... so loyal."