LEGAL A/N: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all characters belong to Joss Whedon, Fox, UPN and the WB. The Dead Zone and all characters belong to Shawn & Michael Piller, Stephen King, Lion's Gate Television and USA Network. No profit is being made off of this and no copyright infringement is intended.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Sequel to Real. Post-BTVS S7 "Chosen" and post-DZ S4 "Vangaurd"

8: Hope

At the same time of night, Walt Bannerman was driving his grey SUV through the streets of New York City with Bruce Lewis in the passenger seat. The buff, off-duty sheriff from Maine with short, brown, curly hair and brown eyes kept his gaze ahead, but his mind was wrapping itself around Bruce's confusing recollection of what happened.

"He said he was having dreams of her," Bruce declared as they slowly made their way through the thick traffic on their way back from John F. Kennedy International Airport. "She would appear and die in front of him. Then he'd wake up."

"What?" Walt exclaimed, baffled. "I thought his visions only worked when he touched something."

"He did touch something… but not when he was dreaming."

"What are you talking about?"

"There was a cross lying around in his house," Bruce explained. "Johnny had never seen it before, but it was sitting there – almost as if it had been laid out for him to find."

"And when he touched the cross he got a vision of this girl dying?"

Bruce nodded in reply, then added, "Last I know is Johnny's got no idea where or how this girl's going to die."

"Well if I know John it won't take long to figure it out," Walt answered. Bruce looked over at him in uncomfortable silence. "What?" Walt asked, noting his stare. There was something else, but Bruce didn't know how to explain it.

"On the way back from Sunnydale," Bruce began slowly, trying to make sense of it himself, "Johnny mentioned something about her being in a gang of vigilantes."

"We checked the files," he replied as he turned on to a less-crowed side street. "Buffy Summers does have a record dating back to when she was fifteen."

"Not that kind of vigilance," Bruce explained with some hesitance. "The superhero kind." Walt turned to him immediately and gave him the most incredulous look he could give. "One of the girls that walked into the room," Bruce added, "the one that put me to sleep, wasn't normal."

"She knocked you out?"

Bruce explained with much difficulty, "No, not like that. She looked at me and I fell asleep."

"What are you saying, Bruce?" Walt asked in confusion. "You were put to sleep by some… voodoo, cult woman?"

"No," Bruce answered, "I'm saying I got owned by Sabrina the Teenage Witch."

"No offense, Bruce, but that's insane," Walt declared.

"I know," he said, nodding his head as he rolled his eyes. "It's crazy, but Johnny's the one that mentioned it."

"Are you sure you're not both insane?" Walt said, glancing over him with a humored, half-smile.

Bruce shook his head tiredly, at a loss. "Not anymore."

Walt sighed a bit, then answered, "Well, we'll just get in touch with NYPD and—"

The steering wheel suddenly locked and the brake pedal hit the floor. Walt looked up in horror to see a woman standing in the middle of the street ahead, but couldn't steer the car in any other direction. He and Bruce braced themselves as the tires screeched and squealed until the car came to a sudden halt only inches away from the woman.

The young, redhead stood staring at them motionlessly. She wore a dark blue suede jacket over blue jeans and a beige t-shirt, her layered red hair framing her stone face. She hadn't budged since they saw her, almost as if she knew they wouldn't be successful in hitting her so there was no need to move. Bruce and Walt gazed at her with jaws agape as Bruce recognized her face.

"It's her!" he whispered to Walt.

"Who?"

"Sabrina!"

They gave each other a look, then turned back to the road as the redhead began a determined march around the car to the passenger side. She stood at the passenger door and glared inside at Bruce through the window.

"Get out," she ordered simply. Bruce stared at her through the windshield, considering his chances.

He turned to Walt and asked, "When's the last time you've been pulled over?" Walt nodded, understanding his point. Bruce then opened the door and stepped outside of the car. Walt did the same, staring at the usually friendly-looking woman cautiously.

Bruce looked down at the front of the car where she had been standing, and then turned back to the redhead with wide eyes. "Willow?" he asked. She nodded as he added with surprise, "How did you do that?"

"Magic," she shrugged.

Bruce shot Walt a look and exclaimed, "See? I told you so!" Walt simply gazed at them both, dumbfounded, glancing down at the tire marks on the road.

"I think your friend found Buffy," Willow began, "and I need your help to find him."

"Johnny got away?" Walt asked.

"At the airport earlier today," Willow answered. "He must have seen something that led him to believe Buffy was in New York and made a run for it."

"Why would we help you?" Bruce demanded. "You kidnapped Johnny and were going to do… god knows what to him once you got what you wanted."

Willow responded confidently, "I know you're going to help me."

"And how do you know that?" Bruce asked. "Because you're going to pull more magic tricks on us if we don't?"

"Because Buffy is a good person," Willow answered calmly, a softness arising in her green eyes which gave them pause. "She's lost, and-and confused… and scared. She's my best friend. I'll do anything to make sure she's okay. And I'm sure you understand what I'm talking about."

Bruce eyed her suspiciously, but heeded her words. After a few moments of hesitation, he nodded in agreement. "I can start by telling you this," Bruce declared. "Johnny Smith isn't the bad guy."

Walt added, "If John wants anything from your friend it's to save her."

"Save her?" Willow repeated, her face full of bewilderment. "From what?"

"Greg Stillson," Buffy declared, her mind mulling over the name. She sat next to Johnny in the shadows beneath the Queensboro Bridge, their backs up against a cement pillar near 59th street. The moon shined down on the East River around them, casting a glowing sparkle off of the waves. Johnny watched as Buffy gazed down at the moon's reflection with heavy, aged eyes that had seemed to see the birth and death of many, many ages. Such an old expression for someone so young and seemingly innocent.

"He's the one that'll end it," she added, musing over the horrifying visions that she and Johnny shared. "Funny. I always thought it would be something with horns."

"I'm almost certain he's got them," he scoffed with a bitter tone.

"How do we stop him?" Buffy calmly asked.

He sighed, shaking his head, "I wish I knew." Johnny leaned back against the pillar tiredly as he explained, "I see a jigsaw puzzle in my head. I can only keep moving the pieces around until I like the picture that comes out."

"I guess now our jigsaw's broken," Buffy frowned.

He rolled his eyes as he considered, "And the pieces are missing."

Buffy turned to him with a hopeful expression she obtained from her memories of every conversation she'd had with Johnny in her dreams. "I'm sure we can figure it out together."

Johnny looked over at her with a worried face. "Oh, no. I don't think so."

"What?" she responded, offended.

"This is for me and me alone to solve," Johnny answered.

Buffy gave him an unimpressed look. "If you're going to go on the Lone Ranger path, trust me – I've blazed the trail. But if we're going to stop this from happening you'll need my help."

"No," he answered strongly. "I really don't."

Buffy gave him a glare as she crossed her arms. "Okay, Percepto-Boy. When's it going to happen?" Johnny was silent for several minutes as her eyes burned him to the third degree.

"I…" he began to answer, and then let the words trail off in defeat. "I don't know."

"How does it happen?"

"Nuclear weapons," he answered quickly.

"You sure?" she asked. Johnny opened his mouth to answer, but paused again – he wasn't. He turned away from her in defeat as she observed, "You don't know enough about it to stop it, do you?"

"No," he whispered with a dark voice. "I don't. I don't know, Buffy." His volume rose as he turned back to her, "I don't know how, I don't know when." Johnny snapped at her in bitter anger, "All I know is that it's going to happen, Stillson's the cause of it, and I don't need you!"

The second his sentence was over he regretted saying it. Buffy stared at him blankly, blinking as she reeled back from his lashing of words. She turned her shamed face away from him and gazed out at the water.

"I see," she quietly responded as his hard expression melted away, replaced by one of guilt. "Maybe you'll need my help when the world's going up in flames." Buffy stared out at the river with a hurt, angry expression that she bottled up. Johnny looked out at the water with a sigh, then looked back over at her and began humbly.

"That's not what I meant—"

"Then what did you mean?" Buffy cut him off. Clearly, his careless phrase, 'I don't need you,' was one that had scoured her before.

Johnny gazed at her hesitantly, then stared down at his hands as he answered. "I've told three people I care about the truth about Stillson," he began. "One of them left me. One of them is dead. The other could end up dead any day." Buffy turned to him as he sighed with a gloomy, exhausted tone, "No matter how hard I try, the people I love end up getting hurt."

She viewed the sadness in his eyes and understood the sincerity of his actions. This was the Johnny that she knew: the one that understood the weight of the world. He said hopelessly, "Every time I've tried to face Stillson somebody that doesn't deserve it ends up disappearing. And there's absolutely nothing I can do to stop it." A bitter half-smile appeared on his face. "Ironic, isn't it?" he replied. "The great John Smith is perhaps the most powerless person on the face of the earth." The smile faded as the truth of the words jabbed him in the heart.

Buffy stared at him quietly, her expression warm and understanding. "I don't think that's true."

Johnny turned to her with a curious gaze, a bemused smile forming. "I thought we agreed that you didn't really know me?" he softly asked.

"Granted," Buffy sighed with a light tone, "for a while there I did think you were a figment of my imagination. But it's not like that's the first time that's happened, either."

"Really?"

"Just be glad I didn't tie you up in a basement and almost feed you to a demon," she smiled. He grinned at her response, but Buffy stared at him intently, the honesty and sincerity returning to her voice. "But… I think you're the kind of guy who would travel back and forth across the country to help a girl you've never even met," Buffy began appreciatively. "You're the type of guy who would spend his time watching the worst parts of a stranger's life unfold… just so you can relate." A warmer smile formed on her face as she declared kindly, "You're the kind of person I've been trying to find for a very long time, Johnny. A person that'll save me for a change."

Johnny gazed at her in speechless silence, a smile forming on his face of gratitude and most importantly – hope.

Sunlight poured in through the stein-glass windows of the hotel suite as Greg Stillson paced back and forth with a piece of paper in hand, going over his lines for his upcoming speech. Malcolm Janus stood nearby, staring at him with beady, narrow eyes and a long, observing face when Ethan Rayne walked in, still in the shirt and dress slacks he wore the night before.

"How did it go?" Janus asked.

"Not as well as I had hoped," Ethan declared with a frown on his face. "They haven't brought us the Slayer yet." Stillson turned towards them and watched as if he were standing on the other side of a window and trying to climb through.

Janus' face fell with disappointment and fret. "That's not good news, Ethan. I thought we had an agreement."

"This isn't an exact science," he sighed with explanation. "Keep in mind, she's no fool."

"Of course not," Janus replied. "She's the greatest Slayer the world has ever known. Speed. Agility. Intelligence."

"Looks," Stillson grinned with attraction as he gazed down at a beautiful, professional picture of Buffy Summers taken when she was a senior sitting on his table that they had brought to him. "She's pretty hot. What do you boys have planned for her? Please tell me that with a body like that I'll have the pleasure of meeting her."

"Don't worry, Congressman," Janus turned to him with a smile. "You'll have your way with her soon enough. That is, if Mr. Rayne keeps his end of the deal."

"Don't worry about me," Ethan declared defensively. "How is the dim Mr. Knox doing?"

"Illyria has risen," Janus answered with a pleased tone. "Team Angel is up in arms over the loss of one of their own."

"Do they suspect anything?" Ethan asked.

"Absolutely nothing," Janus smirked. "That hermit Drogyn told them what he believed – the sarcophagus simply vanished as it was predestined to."

Ethan grinned, "And Drogyn can only speak the truth…"

"Or at least what he believes to be true," Janus added as he and Ethan burst into prideful laughter. Stillson stood in between them with wide eyes, looking back and forth at them as they chuckled villainously, completely lost.

"Right…" Stillson declared with confused eyes as he slowly walked to the door. "I'm gonna go get an Egg McMuffin."

The moon shined overhead as Johnny Smith walked down a residential street and crossed over a luscious, expensive, emerald lawn. He was dressed in dirty, torn clothes and his face was smudged with soot. He stared at the windows of the home and could make out the blurry silhouettes of two adults. He could hear indistinct shouting and arguing coming from inside the house, particularly in the room where the two adults were swarming around each other.

Johnny continued to walk across the lawn to another section of the house and stopped as he came to a small window. Inside, he viewed what he had been looking for. Fifteen-year-old Buffy Summers stood inside of her bathroom, staring at the cabinet mirror, watching the sad tears roll down her cheeks as she listened to her parents shouting in the next room.

He looked away from her tearful face, his heart aching inside of his chest. He couldn't stand to see her bruised and torn heart, and wished he could keep it safe and warm it with his own. Johnny's eyes lifted off of the ground and found the bathroom window again to see a terrifying sight – one that didn't belong.

Buffy stood in the window, gazing out at Johnny with tearful, horrified eyes and a strong hand covering her mouth. Greg Stillson, with eyes as black as night, held Buffy still with one arm and quiet with the other as he gazed at Johnny tauntingly. Helplessly, Johnny watched as Stillson's face morphed into that of a vampire's, but with his eyes remaining blacked-out. He heard a muffled scream as Stillson buried his teeth viciously into the left side of Buffy's neck.

Johnny gasped as his eyes opened wide and he popped into consciousness. Buffy, sound asleep on Johnny's shoulder, awakened with a start after he jolted from his nightmare. She looked around her unfamiliar settings and remembered that they were still under the bridge and how they got there. She turned to Johnny as he stared down at the ground, cold beads of sweat forming on his face.

"What is it?" she exclaimed with worry. "Did you see something?"

Johnny hesitated, then answered, "I-I can't really explain. It happened again. It was a nightmare… but it was real."

"Like I said," Buffy sighed, "I've had plenty of those. Trust me. Listen to the little voice."
Johnny considered her words for a few moments, then turned back to her with a decided expression. "I think Stillson's a vampire."

Buffy stared at him peculiarly in silence. "Okay, maybe you should talk to your little voice first."

"It sounds crazy, I know," Johnny said, shaking his head as he contemplated deeply. "You said vampires don't have souls, right? That's not a very far walk for Greg Stillson. We need to look into it."

She sighed in agreement, "You're right. But first… we need to eat. I've been starved since last night." She came to a stand and brushed the dirt off of her jeans, leaving Johnny in deep deliberation.

He looked up at her with a surprised expression. "You know, me too," Johnny answered, getting up to follow her.