Disclaimer: All BtVS/AtS relatedness belongs to Joss Whedon.
Pairing: None, really.
Warnings: None.
Summary: What does Angel dream about at night?
Distribution: Want. Take. Have.
Feedback: Yes, please.
A/N: One-shot. Written in Angel's perspective. About Season 3ish, right before "Amends."
Her voice echoes through my mind as I stagger down the street. It looks different now, but I've been here before. Bodies litter the street around me, lying in red, bubbling pools of blood. I look away pretending not to see it and trying my hardest not to feel guilty. I walk towards the church. I know not to. I know what's waiting for me inside, but still I continue up the walk.
With a sigh I open the doors to the church, wincing slightly as the wood burns my hands. As I walk through the wall, a familiar weak feeling washes over me. I look over at a wall to see that they've been covered, floor to ceiling, in a variety of wooden crosses. I stagger onto the aisle, wanting to get away from the crosses.
In the distance, I hear a woman weeping. Instinctively, I'm drawn towards her. I know her. I've heard her cry before, I'm sure of it. She's stretched out on top of the altar, tears streaming down her face. When I approach her, she's suddenly dressed in a burial gown, a shawl hiding her identity. Slowly, I remove the shawl, wanting to see who it is.
"Buffy?" I breathlessly ask as I stare at the prone form of my lover. "No. Who…" Numbness washes over me as I realize that she's dead. Unwillingly, I check for bite marks on her neck, even though I know that they'll be there. They always are. As my fingers brush over the broken skin, her skin tone changes under my touch. It becomes pale, almost translucent.
I look up to find myself suddenly staring at Drusilla's prone form. I slowly pull the shawl of her body and throw it to the ground. As I begin to watch her, her eyes flutter open and she looks at me in fear. "You." She coldly states, recognition and sanity shining in her eyes. "Have you come to kill me too? Like you did the others?" She asks as she struggles to sit up.
I grab her by the shoulders, effectively pinning her down to the altar. "You're already dead." I tell her as I slide my hand over her eyes. When I remove my hand, she's staring at me again, but this time I can only see madness shining in her eyes.
"Daddy, have you come to play with me?" She asks me, sitting up and sliding her hands around my waist. "Or if you wish, I can be naughty and you can punish me."
I push her away, stumbling back into the tabernacle. She was so pure and beautiful when she was human. It hurt to see her like this. My obsession for her had been so strong that if I had met her now, I would easily be in love with her. Instead I am only reminded of what I've done to her.
She looks at me, both hurt and confused, as though wondering what she did wrong. She doesn't know and I don't want her to. I had wanted to mark her as mine and instead I broke her completely.
I look back at her, but she is no longer there. In her place sits a small doll- Miss Edith. I gingerly stand and pick up the small doll. It feels strange in my arms, like a bomb. Suddenly it begins to speak, "Bad daddy, play with Princess. Bad daddy, play with Princess."
I drop Miss Edith onto the ground, watching as she shatters into pieces. I stoop down and pick up a piece of broken glass. Drusilla's spaced out face stares back at me. I drop it, and pick up another. This time I see Buffy's hurt face staring back at me. I gently place the piece of glass down and pick up a small, jagged one. I see Darla pouting back at me. I drop it, as though it had burnt me and fall back against the tabernacle again. It burns my skin as I slip into nothingness and return to waking life.
Fin.
