The Dream
by spikeNdru
Chapter 3
Lilah had always been a player. The combination of ruthless intellect and sexually-charged femininity had gotten her out of sticky situations on more than one occasion. She planned to come out on top this time, too. The inside information she had gleaned would be worth a lot in the right hands. It was up to her to decide whose hands would be the right ones.
If the Senior Partners actually managed to pull this off, she'd end up a very small fish in a very large pond, so to speak. It was actually a rather ingenious plan. Use the Key to open the gates to all dimensions, then use Sahjhan to stop time. The only beings not affected by the time flux would be the Senior Partners and the multi-dimensional higher-ups under their command. The SP would be able to effect whatever changes in reality they desired-murder key people, change laws, re-draw international boundaries, re-distribute wealth; the list was virtually limitless-in however many worlds they chose to change.
With time stopped indefinitely, the Senior Partners could move through worlds as a person walking through a warehouse full of mannequins, remaking reality in their image. There was no limit to the things they could do-all of which would be a fait accompli the instant they restarted time. When every populated world in existence was under their control, what use would they have for Lilah Morgan?
If, on the other hand, she provided this information to The Powers That Be and their agents, and if those agents were successful in stopping the Senior Partners, they'd owe her big time. She could write her own ticket.
The only question was which side would come out on top? Angel and his crew, in conjunction with the Sunnydale contingent, had been inordinately successful at stopping whatever came their way. . . so far. Could they do it again? She wasn't about to get caught with her pants down, playing for the losing team. She also wasn't about to sit back and do nothing; she'd definitely be playing. She just needed to calculate the odds, cover all the bases and figure out all the angles before choosing a side
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It had been a most eventful day. Nothing more could be accomplished tonight, as the Scrappies were too tired and emotionally overloaded to even think straight. Wes suggested they call it a night and start fresh in the morning.
Giles had retired to the spare bedroom, Dawn was bunking on the couch, and since Spike refused to let her out of his sight, Wes provided him with a blanket and he bedded down on the floor beside the couch.
Finally alone in his own room, Wes found himself unable to sleep. He felt. . . devastated. He no longer knew who he was or who he had been. What had he lost? What was real? He felt a cold rage building deep inside. He had long practice in tamping down rage, thanks to Roger Wyndam-Price. Yet all the abuse he had suffered at his father's hands could not compare with his current feelings of violation. He had always been able to escape his father's "discipline" by retreating into his own mind, but his mind was no longer a safe place to be. There were hidden traps and locked doors to which only Angel held the keys.
How could he trust Angel any longer? How could he trust himself? Yet, he must. It was imperative that he not allow this to affect the current mission. There was too much at stake. He could not be the one to drive the final wedge into the current team.
Gunn was an unknown factor and neither he nor Angel trusted him at present. Neither Angel nor Giles fully trusted Spike, although he was obviously devoted to Dawn. The permutations were quite interesting. Wes took out pen and paper and began a diagram of alliances. Gunn was off on his own, connected to none of them. Fred was connected to both him and Angel, but if there were dissention between Angel and him, on whose side would Fred be? And which memories of hers were modified?
Dawn was strongly connected to Connor, Spike and Giles. Wes drew solid lines from Dawn to Connor, to Spike and to Giles. He connected Spike and Giles with a series of dashes. Angel's connections to Connor, Spike and himself were also made with broken lines. A solid line connected him to Giles.
If they were to have any hopes of averting disaster, they would all have to put aside their feelings of mistrust and work together. It was imperative. It was also very difficult. There was no other choice. He must put his feelings aside and give Angel his wholehearted support for now.
Having made his decision, Wes was finally able to relax and sleep.
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On the other side of town, Angel was also unable to sleep. He was terrified at the thought of facing Connor. What would happen to Connor when he learned his happy family life was all a lie? A lie perpetrated upon him by his vampire father who couldn't think of any other way to save him from the repercussions of all the other lies that had made up his previous life.
Maybe he hadn't really thought things through when he made the deal with Lilah. And he had always accused Spike of being the impulsive one! He would have to face Connor, and eventually Wes, Fred, Lorne and Gunn, while still managing to stop an apocalypse. Maybe he wasn't Champion Material after all. Maybe he was just a manipulating, lying screw-up who took the easy way out.
No! He couldn't allow himself to think like this. Cordy believed in him; the least he could do for her was to believe in himself. So many people had sacrificed so much for him and for the mission, he would do what he must; face whatever he had to face. He was Angel-he beat the bad guys.
And she believed in him.
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Wesley awakened in a much better frame of mind-which lasted until he entered the bathroom and found himself unable to shower.
Approaching the kitchen, where his houseguests had congregated, he asked, "Who left all the wet towels on the floor?"
Dawn answered immediately, "Spike."
"Did not!"
"Did, too!"
"Did not."
"Did, too."
"Did not!"
"Didtoodidtoodidtoo!"
Wesley raised an eyebrow and looked to Giles for help. "Are they always like this?"
Giles removed his glasses and began polishing them. "Unfortunately, yes."
"I can take them to the Laundromat," Dawn offered helpfully.
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary. Since we have no idea how long it will take to accomplish our goals, it might be wise to purchase some extra towels and bedding."
"Oooh, shopping! Can I come?" Dawn requested.
"Certainly," Wes smiled. "I'd be glad of the company.
And he was. Dawn was surprisingly intuitive for a seventeen year old girl.
As soon as they had gotten into the car and fastened their seat belts, she turned to him and placed her hand on his forearm.
"Wes," Dawn looked at him with concern. "There's something really bothering you, isn't there? Something more than this whole 'save the world' deal. It's something personal. And if you want to talk about it, maybe I can help. Or if not help, I could just listen, anyway. Um, if you don't want to talk about it, I mean, if it's none of my business, and it probably isn't, and it could be something totally not connected to any of this stuff, I'll understand. You can just tell me to mind my own business, you certainly won't be the first person to say that to me, but if there's anything I can do to help, I'd like to and okay, shutting up now."
Wes let out a burst of laughter and Dawn giggled in return and added, "I've also been called nosy and told that I talk too much. I mean, Buffy is like the 'Triumph the Insult Dog' of Sunnydale, so go ahead, you won't hurt my feelings."
Looking into her clear eyes, he saw the echo of more pain than any teenager should have to carry, and he realized that she was in a similar situation. None of her memories were real. She had been completely manufactured as a person and was aware of it, yet had found a way to live with it. Yes, he decided, he could talk with her and she would understand.
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Returning, laden with bags full of towels, pillows, several blankets and something Dawn had called a "comforter" that actually did look rather comforting, in addition to toothbrushes, shampoo, conditioner and, in lieu of soap, something called "body gel", Wes found his parking space occupied by a forest green Jeep.
"He's here!" Dawn exclaimed. "Connor's here."
Wes felt very disconcerted at the thought of finally meeting Connor. He let her out, with her share of the packages, in front of his building and drove away to search for a parking spot. He was glad of the brief reprieve to get his unaccustomed emotions under control.
Dawn felt no such ambiguity. She hurried to Wes' apartment, knocking with her elbow, as her hands were full of shopping bags. Spike answered the door with an odd look on his face.
"Connor's here, isn't he?" Dawn brushed past Spike with an apologetic smile and shoved her load of bags into his arms. As she rushed into the living room, Connor stood and they hugged each other tightly for a long moment. Reluctantly breaking away, but continuing to tightly hold his hand, Dawn turned to Giles and Spike.
"So you've met Connor," she said brightly. The "what do you think?" was implied, but as obvious as if she had spoken it aloud.
Giles smiled. "We have indeed. And he's a fine young man," he added, answering her unspoken question.
Spike continued to stare at Connor, one eyebrow raised, head tilted to the right, amusement evident in his sparkling blue eyes.
"He has Angel's nose and hair colour, but the rest is pure Darla-eyes, mouth, chin, hair texture, and, lucky for you, mate, forehead."
Connor gave him a quizzical look, but Spike only smirked, and failed to elaborate. Dawn jabbed her elbow into Spike's ribs-not at all gently.
"Spike. Shut up."
"Right," he replied and made himself comfortable on the far end of the couch.
Connor and Dawn exchanged wordless glances. What was he talking about? Dawn's answered: Don't worry. Just ignore him. We'll talk about it later.
Giles went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. He was sure Wesley would be in need of a bracing cup of tea after his shopping excursion with Dawn. Remembering the horror of his own trips to the mall with various Potentials, he poured a measure of brandy into Wes' cup.
The whistling kettle had covered the sounds of Wesley's entrance, and Giles had already poured the boiling water over the tea leaves in the pot by the time he noticed the dead silence in the room.
Wesley and Connor were staring at each other in shock. Wes looked ghastly. His tanned skin was the color of old parchment and he was grasping his throat as if he were in pain and unable to breathe.
Connor didn't look any better. Dawn was clutching his arm with both hands, which may have been the only support keeping him on his feet.
Spike went to Wesley and guided him to a chair as Wes was obviously incapable of navigating under his own power.
"You remember everything, don't you?" Wes spoke without taking his eyes from Connor's. Connor could only nod. "As do I," Wes concluded.
Dawn knew she had to get Connor out of there, if she was to have a chance of reaching him. He looked like he was close to going catatonic and Willow wasn't here to bring him out of it, like she'd heard Willow had done for Buffy. She yanked on his arm and he glanced down at her.
"Let's go for a walk," Dawn suggested, dragging him toward the door. "We need some air."
As soon as they had gone, Giles handed Wesley the tea cup containing the brandy, and when he had drunk it, took the cup back to add tea and a second measure of brandy. Pouring additional cups for himself and Spike, Giles carried the tea tray into the sitting room as Wesley began to talk.
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Once outside the apartment, Connor dropped to a crouch, wrapping his arms around his knees. He couldn't seem to stop shaking.
"My life. . . my parents. . . my family-none of that is real. I'm not real." He raised anguished eyes to look at Dawn.
She gently brushed the hair back from his face. "I'm not either. It's OK, Connor, you'll get through this-we'll get through this together."
"How can we? You don't even know who. . . what. . . I am!"
"Yes, I do!" Dawn spoke with certainty. "I know who you are. Who you were doesn't really matter so much. Spike told me that. He said it doesn't really matter how you start out, it's how you end up. So you originally started as the mystical child of two vampires. So what? That's not who you are now."
"But knowing that about me. . . I was raised in a hell dimension so terrible you can only get to it by tearing reality. I tortured my father by sinking him to the bottom of the ocean. I'm not a good person. I'm not even sure I am a person. How could you still like me?"
"Do you like me?" Dawn asked quietly.
"Of course-you know I do!"
"Even if you didn't know who or what I was either? I didn't start out as a human. I started as a mystical green blob of energy-a key that unlocks dimensional portals. A bunch of monks made me human, dropped me into a family and changed everybody's memories so they'd think I'd always been there. Just like you. When I first found out, I freaked. I cut myself, started fires, acted out. I figured it didn't matter what I did because I wasn't real. Spike's the one who helped me understand that no matter how you start out, your life can be whatever you make it to be. I'm me now. I'm Dawn Summers. Are you going to stop liking me now that you know what I was?"
Connor stood and put his arms around her. "It doesn't make any difference to me what you used to be."
"And it doesn't make any difference to me, either, about you."
"But what about my parents and my sisters? They don't know?"
"Nope," Dawn replied. "My Dad and his girlfriend don't know either. My Dad thinks I'm a normal kid-his own daughter. My mom knew. And my sister and Giles and Spike. It's not easy, developing your own life, and lots of time it gets pretty schitzy, keeping track of who remembers what, but you can do it. I can help you."
"Uh, Dawn? The Spike I just met? Is that the Spike you told me about that used to be a vampire and died? Um, what exactly is he now?"
Dawn laughed. "He's still a vampire and he totally died. I mean, not just undead, but burned to ash. I'm not sure what happened, but he came back as a ghost and now he's real, too. He knew your first parents for like a hundred years, so if there's anything you want to know about them, Spike's the one to ask. Oh, wait! I don't think he likes your father very much, but that might be because they both have a thing for my sister, so you might want to keep that in mind if you talk to him about Angel. I'm not sure how he feels about Darla."
"I don't know anything about Darla," Connor said regretfully.
"Hey, don't worry about it! The way people keep coming back from the dead around here, she'll probably show up anytime now and you can ask her yourself. You did meet her in Art class already, after all."
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Spike cocked his head, listening. "They're coming back, now," he informed the others.
Giles looked at Wes with concern in his eyes. "Will you be alright, Wesley? Spike and I can speak with the children if you would prefer to be elsewhere."
Wes unconsciously touched his throat again. "No, I'm fine. The issues I have are with Angel, not Connor. Angel was correct; this is not the time to dwell on those issues. When this is all over, then we shall see if Angel and I can come to some resolution. Right now, it is Connor who needs our support."
Dawn and Connor entered the apartment and paused in the entryway, unsure of their reception. Spike was at Dawn's side in an instant. He touched her hair and looked searchingly into her eyes.
"You okay, Nibblet?"
"Yeah, I'm fine and Connor will be, too, once he really gets that he's still the same person and not some. . . thing."
Spike clapped Connor on the shoulder. "No worries, mate. I was an 'evil, disgusting thing' for years, and I did alright. Didn't stop Pint-size here from wanting to be my friend." He raised an eyebrow in the direction of the others. "Rupert, on the other hand. . ."
"Spike." Giles broke in. "The situation with Connor is very different. Please," he gestured to Connor and Dawn, "come and join us.
When everyone was comfortably seated in the living room- Connor sitting stiffly upright at one end of the couch, Spike sprawled at the other end, Dawn between them, leaning against Connor, with her feet in Spike's lap and Wesley and Giles in the matching armchairs-no one was quite sure how to begin.
Giles began to polish his glasses, out of long habit whenever he found himself in a stressful situation. He cleared his throat and addressed Connor.
"Apparently, when you and Wesley came face-to-face, that contact negated the spell and you both obtained full access to your memories."
Connor spoke haltingly. "I think I already had the memories, I just didn't know what they were. Some parts of the Dream now make perfect sense, but there are other parts I don't understand."
Wesley leaned forward, loosely clasping his hands between his knees.
"Connor, if there is something you don't understand, perhaps I can help."
"In the dream, I was a baby. . . I had parents who loved me very much. There was laughter and warmth and I felt safe and loved. Those parents-in The Dream-they were Angel and Cordelia? But I don't remember Darla."
"Yes," Wesley confirmed. "Darla sacrificed herself to give you life. Her body was unable to give birth. . . she felt your heartbeat slowing and she knew she was losing you. She loved you very much and she asked us to make sure you knew that, when you were old enough to understand. You were dying, and knowing you both couldn't survive, she made the choice of a loving mother and staked herself, allowing you to live. Angel loved you with all his heart. You were a miracle. . . a son he never thought himself able to have. The wonder in his eyes whenever he looked at you. . ."
Wesley paused and drank down his cold tea. "Cordelia loved you like a son. She and Angel were the best of friends and they bonded further over you. They had. . . we all had such high hopes. . . plans for raising you. Angel wanted to take you to hockey games, Gunn was looking forward to teaching you to play baseball and basketball. Lorne sang you to sleep. . ." Wesley's throat tightened and he couldn't go on.
"Then he lied. My fath- Holtz lied about everything."
Wesley nodded. "Yes, he did. Holtz was a good man, but he became bitter and twisted with his need for revenge. Angelus had destroyed his family, so he determined to destroy Angel's."
"Then they really are two different. . .people? Angelus and Angel, I mean?" Connor asked.
Spike spoke up. "That's how Angel sees things so, for him, it is true. Had a soul forced down his throat, din't he, an' his demon din't like that a bit. The demon was bloody pissed and Angel, who din't have a bleedin' clue as to what was goin' on, called the demon part Angelus and shoved him way down deep when he reinvented the souled part of himself as Angel. Spends his life terrified that Angelus will get free and the only way he can stop that is by keepin' him in a box as somethin' separate from his normal self."
Spike grinned at Wesley. "That's why Angel's all dark an' broody all the time. Angelus got all the personality."
Giles looked at Spike with interest. "You don't have that dichotomy, do you? I've always wondered about that."
Spike tried to explain. "When I got chipped I had to mostly stop bein' a vampire. Couldn't hurt humans, couldn't fight, couldn't kill. Had to find other ways of meetin' my needs. Had to suss out my place in the world. Reached an accommodation with my demon long before I got my soul. Demon can be controlled if you just learn how. I give mine what it wants, but I say how. Demon likes to fight? Plenty of brawls a bloke can get into without killin' humans. When I just couldn't stomach another swallow of soddin' pig's blood, well, Willie always had the O neg on tap. Lot's of little accommodations you can make, if you want to. Me an' my demon, we get along alright. We're both part of Spike. That's how it works for me, anyway. Angel's different."
Dawn giggled. "So there's no alternate personality, no. . . Spikeus-just you."
He nodded and smiled back at her. "Just me. What you see is what you get."
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Once the new sleeping arrangements had been decided upon to accommodate the addition of another houseguest, everyone was more than ready to turn in. Dawn inherited the spare bedroom previously occupied by Giles, Giles was bunking in with Wesley, Connor had the couch, and Spike, once again, took the floor, enhanced by the new comforter Dawn had bought for him.
Spike had briefly protested his separation from Dawn. He had failed once to keep his promise to a lady, and nothing would stand in his way again.
"You got your own room while I had to share with about a gazillion Potentials! Turnabout's fair play," she announced.
Hugging him tightly, she whispered, "Take care of Connor for me, okay?" and gleefully appropriated Giles' former room.
Within a very short time, the relaxed sounds of respiration told Spike that all four humans were asleep. He soundlessly got up and went into the kitchen to heat a mug of blood, removing it before the microwave could produce its distinctive "ding".
One hip leaning against the sink, he stared out the window as he sipped. It never really got dark in Los Angeles. Too many lights, too many people. He missed the velvety darkness; the darkness that was never really black, but appeared blue to him due to his enhanced night vision. He sensed a presence behind him and took another sip before saying quietly, "Hullo, Darla."
The presence moved to stand before him, intently searching his eyes.
"It's true," she said softly. "You do have a soul."
Spike tilted his head and raised one eyebrow in surprise. "So do you."
"Yes," she replied. "When I died the Powers reunited me with my soul. They said I earned it. I was used by the Powers to fulfill the prophecy by carrying Connor, but I always had free will as to the actual birth. Apparently, if I had done nothing, the hope of averting the apocalypse would have died in my womb. By loving him and sacrificing myself for his sake, I obtained grace and earned back my soul."
Spike produced a wicked smirk. "And Peaches' formerly exclusive club just keeps addin' new members. Getting' bigger by the day. Soon we'll have to come up with a code word an' secret handshake."
"Spike!" Darla said reprovingly.
"Got my soul. Din't lose my personality."
Darla turned to look into the living room and smiled gently. "He's beautiful, isn't he?"
"Looks like you."
Darla turned her smile on Spike. "Thank you. That was a lovely thing to say. You will help him, won't you Spike? Watch out for him?"
Spike met her eyes. "My first priority's Dawn. You understand that? But I'll do what I can for the boy."
Darla nodded and once more turned to look at Connor.
"Sleep well, my darling boy," she whispered before disappearing.
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Teotixouxin, possessing the body of Charles Gunn, stalked through the warren of underground rooms in an area of W&H the A.I. team had no idea even existed. He roared his frustration.
After Justine had trapped Sahjhan in the urn, one of the W&H attorneys had retrieved it and hidden it here-somewhere. When the Beast massacred the entire contingent of the LA branch, with a single exception, the employees' essences were dispersed among different hell dimensions.
Naturally, any individual essence could be summoned to Headquarters but without knowing which individual had hidden the urn, summoning them all would not be cost effective. He would just have to find the urn on his own. And he would. Oh, yes, he would. And when he did, that witless attorney would pay dearly, for failing to make his report.
Teotixouxin roared again. He or she would learn that the unwritten eighth deadly sin was procrastination.
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Angel had changed clothes three times already and was in the process of contemplating a fourth. Everything he owned just seemed. . . wrong. The whole wardrobe that had come with the apartment was way too corporate. Nearly everything else he owned was black. That look fairly screamed "Creature of the Night". Or, conversely, "I'm from New York."
Why didn't he own any normal clothes? And how did normal people dress anyway?
He searched the very back of the closet and came up with a shirt that had to be Lorne's. And Angelus' leather pants. Now there was a look!
Hello, Connor. I'm your pimp Daddy.
He looked down at himself again. The black pants could stay, but he exchanged the burgundy shirt for a gray turtleneck sweater. There. He looked like Wesley. Connor was staying with Wes, so he must have developed some level of trust for him.
Hello, Connor. I'm your father. You can trust me. I look just like Uncle Wes.
This was too soon. Maybe he should put off this meeting for a few days. It was only yesterday that Connor found out he wasn't the person he had thought he was. The kid should have some time to adjust.
Hello, Connor. I'm your father. I'm such a good father that I put a spell on you and all my friends that wiped all of your memories. So, how've you been?
How could he face Connor? What could he say to him? He could never explain. Angel wasn't sure he understood anything anymore, so how could he expect Connor to understand?
Hello, Connor. I'm your father. I used to help the helpless, but now I'm CEO of an evil law firm. And what are your career goals?
He couldn't do this! Connor would hate him forever. And why wouldn't he? Why should Connor feel anything but revulsion for him?
Hello, Connor. I'm a vampire. I used to be the Scourge of Europe. I murdered thousands of people. I haven't murdered anyone lately. Except for that time I tried to smother your Uncle Wes. Oh, and I bit Faith. And planned to chop Cordelia's head off. Come give me a hug.
There was no way this would go well.
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Continued in Chapter 4