Fatal Movement

The local Denny's was crowded that evening. Spike wanted to leave and go somewhere else, but for some reason I wanted to stay. Since the night at the club, the most populated place I visited was the gas station for junk food to live on.

We asked the waitress to be placed in the corner where no one would pay attention, and to our advantage no one did. It's funny how the only public place we could have our privacy would be a restaurant known to serve the drunks and stoned teenagers of the evening.

"Are we going to stay here?"

"In Denny's?" Spike asked in all seriousness. I couldn't help but laugh.

"No, in Matington."

"Do you want to stay here?"

"I don't know. I'm just tired of sitting in a car all the time."

Spike shook his head. "I don't think it's a good idea."

He said this in every town, but I didn't understand. Lately I was dizzy, dizzy from moving around all the time and never remembering where I was.

"Why not?"

Spike sighed and leaned back, this time actually looking me in the eyes. "How long do you think we can stay in one place before we fuck it all up? You really think you can build a new life here and keep secrets from the ones you become friends with? It'd only be a matter of time before we got suspicious. " I looked down, folding my arms.

"Think about it, Dawn. We're all alone."

We entered the room silently, and I was thankful to see the bed in front of me. I crawled into it and under the covers, comfortably resting my forearm over my eyes which remained slightly open.

Spike shifted from foot to foot. "I'm just gonna--"

There was that infamous line that signaled the later events for Spike of the night.

"Go. Drink the night away." I said monotone. He hesitated before me, and for a moment seemed to contemplate the decision of staying or leaving. But as always, he gave a little nod before going out the door. My whole body shook with anger.

"I hate you."

His eyes, determined. His hands all over me, gripping, pulling, dodging the spread of fire. Not looking back. My feet collapse, and I scream obscenities. Need to find them, need to save them. Strong arms lift me from the ground, and he flees to safety. I kick, scream, choke from the smoke. Grabbing at nothing, he restrains my arms and holds tighter. The heat is to the extreme yet does not burn. Can't save them, too far, too helpless and all I can do is scream.

I flinched, waking up to the sound of my own heart pounding. And to the sound of drunken laughter. I turned my head to stare at the bathroom door, and more giggles erupted from it.

A few seconds of recovering and I shifted off the bed, eyes on the door. With a turn of the knob I peeked through the opening, finding Spike huddled in the corner. I waited, but he didn't notice my presence.

I crept to him, his arms wrapped around his face. Getting on my knees, I whispered,

"Spike?"

Abruptly he lifted his head and I was met with watery eyes. "You're awake."

It was then I noticed the bottle he loosely held at his side.

He swallowed. "Saw you sleeping. Wanted to join you."

"Spike, you're drunk."

"Shyeah, not enough though." He raised the bottle. "Doesn't taste so good. It burns." Spike stared at the beer mindlessly, and in one motion threw it across the room. It smashed on the opposite wall, the action causing me to shrink back. Neither of us spoke for a few moments, only gazed at the broken pieces.

"Are you cleaning that up?"

He snorted. "Go back to bed."

"I'm not tired."

"Well bloody get tired!" He growled and stood up quickly, walking past me and to the door. I thought of several insults to shoot back, but I didn't use any of them. Resting his head on the door, he broke into another giggle fit, and I saw tears stream down his face.

A cautious whisper, "I'll clean it up."

On shaky legs I headed over to the shattered glass and kneeled down.

"Don't bother," he said, his voice breaking.

"I have to."

With a sniffle I barely managed to grab the pieces, unaware of the sharp edges that threatened to cut my skin.

"You're doing it wrong," he said in a low, hoarse voice. "You'll bleed."

"Then I'll bleed."

"Gonna go back out."

I snapped my head up, glaring. "God, I can't believe you!"

His jaw muscles tightened, but his voice didn't raise. "I'll be back in a few hours."

That's it. Finally standing back up I disposed the larger bits of glass, and walked past him in an angry stride.

"Great, go get drunk off your ass. That's all you do now, isn't it?"

Apparently he didn't understand my very coherent mumbling. "What?"

"Nothing! I said nothing. So you can just pretend everything's peachy keen and that I have no problem with you never being here, you acting like a psychotic alcoholic and doing nothing but drinking up half the town cause of your stupid grief!" I said the last word in a mocking tone, an angry smile on my face. But it soon ceased.

Spike followed me to the bedroom, staying silent but carrying an annoyed air.

"All you can think about is Buffy, not everyone else who died cause you're a selfish prick. You only care about making yourself feel better," I shot. "Think of everything I lost, and you still believe you have the rough end of the deal."

"So suddenly your sister's death isn't a biggie now! 'Oh I lost all my loved ones so let's not dwell on her bellyflopping into the bloody heavens!'!"

I spun around. "God, you totally have a gift for twisting people's words around!" A glance to my jacket and I reached for it, throwing it over my shoulders. "Go spend a romantic night with your shot of vodka or whatever the hell you drink, I'm not staying here."

He followed behind and grabbed my leather-clad arm.

"Don't touch me!" Turning on my heels, I hit him as hard as I could with my free hand, knuckles colliding with his cheek. The impact sent his head veering to the opposite side.

Before I could comprehend anything I was slammed against the wall so hard I thought I'd pass out. I shrieked in shock, grimacing at the pain building up in my arms and back. His face was in mine, both of our eyes widened and frozen, unbelieving of his actions.

A flicker of realization and guilt crossed his eyes, the drunken look gone completely.

"I--" He swallowed, looked down, and flinched his hands away from my skin like he'd been burned. "I didn't--"

"Ow.." I cried, staring at my stomach. "My back."

"Oh. I didn't...I never..." He grabbed at his hair insanely. "Oh god, I did it again!"

My anger was completely forgotten as I squinted at him, trying to catch his eyes with mine. "Spike?"

"Sodding strength, I never mean it but it always does me wrong," he babbled, pacing in front of me. "I hurt the girl. I hurt her. I hurt her." The mantra continued as he clutched his head, eyeing the hard surface he was stepping on.

I wanted to say something. Anything. Even an annoyed, 'Insanity is so last season for you, Spike'. But I merely stared, transfixed.

He grabbed his coat. "Gotta get away from you."

"Spike, I'm ok." I reached for his arm, but he shifted back quickly.

"Stay away from me."

"Spike..." I repeated, my voice breaking.

He blocked out my voice.

And left.

To say I was stunned wouldn't be enough for what I was feeling. Not at all. My eyes didn't leave the empty doorway, and it seemed like I just stood there for endless minutes. In my head I relived the scene, over and over.

He freaked.

I didn't get it at first, not entirely. But after a few minutes, it sunk in.

What was I supposed to do? Tell him everything was okay and that he didn't hurt me?

But he did.

Shouldn't have hit him. Stupid, stupid me…

When feeling returned to my legs and I was able to move, I flipped out. Throwing off the sheets, ripping off the curtains and blinds, all the while screaming into the silent air.

"I hate you! Hate!" Threw the clock. "You!" And the lamp. I went for the nightstand itself but other hands stopped me, gripping my wrists. My eyes traveled up to see the landlord. And that's when I broke down, collapsing to the floor and sobbing.

3:05. Spike's not here yet. He should get home, the sun is about to come up soon. Don't want him coming home in a blanket, that would confuse Ms Dennis. If she's even awake now. Her raspy, sleepy voice from our previous conversation rang in my head.

"You owe me money."

Insensitive bitch. Or bitca, as Xander called it one time as not to disturb my young ears.

I smiled. He would have really hated Ms Dennis.

Focused on the clock, the red letters harshly glaring back at me, I frowned. My conversation with her didn't turn out too well. Must have been the fact that I gave her an attitude.

"You broke a lamp, a clock, the curtain rod and disheveled the curtains and blankets! Why don't I throw both of you out right now?"

"Cause my brother's not here, and we're practically the only ones staying in this dirty hole?"

She had pointed her finger, her hair hanging in snarls around her wrinkled face. Apparently I woke her up.

I snorted at my usage of 'brother'.

Spike is my brother that I've always known, but grew up in England. I lived in the states though, hence the difference of our way of talking. Anyone who bought this was a complete idiot. I was beginning to like this town, our lies would flow very well.

My eyes wandered around the empty, trashed room, stopping at the door.

Come on, come in.

Yet, if he did, what would I say? What would I do? Pretend I was asleep, like so many other nights after his drunken activities? Would I yell at him for the bruises spreading on my back? So, so much force.

God, how can I be so weak? "Owww, my back. It hurts so much. I think I got a bruise or two. End of the world for me." When they had to suffer an incredible amount of pain in their lifetime and their deaths.

My fists gripped the sheets.

I witnessed her death.

No, no. Walk. Now.

My legs swung off the bed and I grabbed my coat in a hurry, barely getting it on before I reached the door. On shaky legs, I headed outside.

The town was nothing special at night. Didn't have beautiful lights, or magnificent scenery that stood out from the darkness. Everything seemed drab, or maybe it was just me. Sidewalks trailed throughout the town. The stores in the main section were lined up like a city street, only a few still open. But, me being only seventeen, I couldn't go in them. Still, a few kids were out, roaming the streets. Wouldn't they have school in a couple hours? Or was today Saturday…?

Ugh.

I pray to whatever controls the universe that Spike will not make me go to school. It's doubtful he will—wasn't he the one who said it was useless anyway. Then again Spike thinks everything is useless except—

Wait. No thinking about Spike. Think about…

The demon snarling at you from ten feet away.

"Oops."

"The cleaning crew is still going through Sunnydale for any survivors or clues to what has happened."

The reporter on the television seemed too loud for Spike's ears, and he tried to block the words out. He knew there wouldn't be any survivors, any hope of America finding out what really happened. If the government caught something unfamiliar, they would just cover it up like they always have done.

"So far they have only identified one body by the teeth, that body belonging to—" The television shut off.

"No need to hear that to ruin the rest of your night." The bartender rested his elbows on the counter. "You don't look familiar."

Spike lifted his head. "What?"

"I haven't seen you before. Usually the people that come here are the ones who were born in this town and had no reason to leave. Where are you from?"

Sighing, Spike stared at his glass mindlessly.

"Not in the mood for small-talk, mate. Just give me another shot."

The man hesitated, sliding the glass toward him. "I think we'll stop the shooting for today. I'll call you a cab; we're closing up in a few minutes anyhow."

"No need," Spike waved his hand dismissively. "Can handle myself."

"You su--"

He stood up, almost knocking the stool down as he stumbled from the counter.

"…sure."

I looked at my surroundings.

During my speeding thoughts, I managed to walk myself right into a secluded cemetery. And I realized the only potential weapons were sticks and tombstones that were too heavy to pick up.

The sunburned red demon continued to sneer at me. I was food and I knew it. Food…or a toy it could torture and play with for as long as it would like. I'm not sure which I'd rather be.

Not realizing I backed myself up against a tree, I tried to moisten my mouth. But everything was numb. I didn't move, partly because I couldn't and…partly because I didn't want to.

It was in front of me in a matter of seconds, pulling me down to the ground. I kicked and screamed but didn't try with all my strength. It heated and suffocated me, bruising my chest and limbs as it crawled over my body. Everything throbbed with pain.

Slamming my foot into its chest, I sent it flying to the ground. My fingers clawed the earth beneath me, pulling myself along the dirt ground. The demon attacked again, and I felt my back crush under its weight.

My cries shattered the surrounding air.

He lightly staggered through the alley, focusing on the ground he walked on. Noises passed through his ears but didn't interrupt his muddled thoughts. Everywhere in his mind he saw the night's event. Played it over and over.

With a frustrated grunt he threw his bottle of liquor against the alley wall.

That was becoming a habit lately.

He gingerly held his head as it pounded heavily, corrupting his thinking and senses. His ears failed to hear the commotion around the corner until the deadly blood-curling scream that was followed by silence.

His body awakened, but not so much to run fast enough. He stumbled and tripped while he struggled to the sight of a vampire draining the life of a familiar figure.

It was too late.

Spike darted toward the vampire, pulling out his stake. But his movements were slow and noisy, and the vampire spun around to knock the stake out of Spike's grasp. They took turns attacking each other with dissimilar blows, Spike too drunk to do much harm. But he managed to grab the vampire's wrist when he went for another punch, and dragged them both to the ground. He reached for his stake and with a stressed grunt pierced him through the heart.

The dust irritated his eyes causing them to water. He looked over to the victim.

The bartender.

Spike, still on the ground, dragged himself over to the man. His face fell when he was met with beady eyes. Too late.

A sigh escaped his lips. Spike didn't walk away. He didn't grimace with disgust.

His hand shook lightly as he clutched the man's shoulder.

The neck moved closer and closer to his mouth.

He tasted it.

I grabbed at everything—dirt, pebbles, grass, until I felt a larger rock buried into the ground. With everything I had I pulled at it until it finally rested in my hands. I let out a fierce cry at the exact moment I smashed it into the demon's head. It got off me to cradle its head, but I knew I only had a few seconds before it would attack again.

I never stopped to look back. Just headed for the hotel hoping I lost the demon. When I reached the downtown area, the few people that were out worriedly gaped at me. But I didn't slow down. My clothes were torn and in the gaps of the fabric, bruises and deep gashes throbbed and made themselves clearly visible.

In a matter of minutes I was limping up the hotel's path. I barged into the vacant main room and hurried up the stairs, clutching my stomach in agony.

Wait.

My fingers weaved through my jean pockets, searching for the key. Still there.

I unlocked the door, rushing inside to close it with a bang. My legs gave way and I slid down the wall, my need for breath disrupting my sobs.

"Oh god oh god oh god…." I looked at myself. Everything was less severe than I felt—there were scratches and bruises but nothing fatal.

My cheeks reddened. The dramatic run throughout the town made its way into my memory.

"Ugh."

Standing up, I stumbled my way to the bathroom. Time to clean up.

Creak.

The hotel door slid open, and the same dead scent crept through the air. Spike's jacket fell to the floor.

"Lil' bit?"

"Mmmm…" I murmured. One eye popped open.

I waited.

But no more words escaped his mouth. He untied his shoes and crawled into bed, resting closer than usual.

Even though I was facing the opposite direction, I could tell he was staring at me.

"I'm fine," I said. My voice was much harsher than I intended it to be, but I let my words hang in the air. He remained quiet.

I was surprised. Vampires can smell blood even if it's been scrubbed from the tub.

Then why can't he…? Never mind that.

"Stop staring."

"I'm not staring," he protested.

"Yes you are. I can tell."

"How?" he challenged. I turned to face him.

Cause anyone who isn't brain dead can feel your eyes on them. "I have a sixth sense."

He snorted. "Really."

"Yes."

We stopped.

Spike shoving me against the wall full-force flashed in my mind. I rolled back.

A sigh from Spike was clearly heard, and he too settled in. Turned away.

My eyes closed drowsily, but when I tried to sleep all I could hear were strange voices hollering at me from all directions. Flickering, my eyelids fought to keep a single thought, a sole image.

Minutes had past before I fell asleep.

Xander threw out his hand, stalling.

I waited. The ground shook under my feet.

He looked over to me. "You can feel it too?"

Frantically darting over to the weapon cabinet in the Magic Box, I cracked it open and placed axes and crossbows on the floor. "It's coming! Where's Buffy?"

He made himself busy getting magiks for Willow, who was back at the house trying to weaken the apocalypse.

"At the house…with the others. We don't have a lot of time, Dawn." He came over and placed his hand on mine. "Just take what you need to get from here to there."

Holding the bag of necessities in one hand, he picked up an axe with the other. Swung it around.

"Nice?"

He grunted like Thor. "A man's weapon."

My smirk was interrupted. A demon broke down the door, and five followed. I got up from my feet, ancient axe in hand.

"Don't die."

He stepped back, horror-struck. "Right back at you."

The demons attacked, and three came racing to me. I twisted the handle but the blade sliced through the air, missing its target. One demon struck my face with its spiked hands and my head veered to the left. I dropped to the ground. "Xander!"

"Just keep goin'."

I looked up from my place on the ground.

Xander, sitting cross-legged on the Magic Box chair, pointed from me to the demons. "Come on."

"What…why aren't you helping me!" I yelled. The demons hovered over me, waiting for the right moment.

"Well, why should I? You didn't add much to our fight." He held his knee with both hands, and the look in his eyes was—resentment. "While we were being beaten to our deaths, you were running. So I figured, Dawn should get a chance to really feel what its like to—"

Head nudging into the pillow, I slowly became aware of what was real. The cloth under me was wrinkled from my tossing, and my head pounded until I thought it would explode. I hopped out of bed and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

The mirror's reflection glared back.

"You idiot."

I placed my hand on the cold knob of the faucet, turning it ever so slightly. Rinsing my face, I looked back up at my reflection. Buffy's words rang in my head.

"We're going to make it out alive. I'm not losing anyone."

My eyes dropped to the counter in shame.

"Rally up the troops! Dawn, I'm trusting you to handle front."

I stopped the faucet water. The room blurred.

"Where is everybody?"

"No idea." Spike's eyes wandered around the burning town. "Everything's scattered." He looked back at me with worry. "I can't find Buffy."

Four vampires jumped out from the shadows, grabbing at our shoulders. I managed to knock one off and staked him in the heart, while Spike quickly dispatched the other three.

"We have to go find them."

I went over to the door and opened it, peered through the gap. There, an empty bed. I hadn't realized that when I woke up.

My vision reverted to the mirror. I studied the dark circles, the redness covering my temples. Light cuts on my collarbone and naked arms.

The next thing I knew I was smashing the mirror with my bare hands, screaming all the while. The jagged edges pierced my skin but I didn't care. All I wanted was for the mirror to be gone. The sound of glass shattering on the floor did little to block out my cries, and when I finally stopped I realized what I'd done.

I fell to the floor in pain. The blood spilled off my fingers and onto the bits of glass that surrounded me. I could still see my distorted reflection on the broken pieces.

But instead of the sudden silence, several familiar voices bombarded my head. I tensed. There, my very own sister, my dear friends.

"All my fault."

My swollen lips shook uncontrollably, collecting the many tears that fell. In a hurry I grabbed one of the sharp portions of the mirror.

I looked over to my wrist. Glass in hand, I raised my arm enough to glide the pointed edge across the skin.

A moan escaped my mouth. I cut my arm harder this time, from the wrist down. Blood seeped through. Stopping, I let out a painful cry.

I switched arms, following the exact path on my right. The blood flowed out from all sides, overwhelming my skin. I focused on the pain. The stinging, the emptying of blood and life. I didn't know how much time passed before Spike arrived.

I knew he was there before he made a noise.

"Is this what they felt?"

"God, Dawn."

My red eyes worked their way up to his face. "This is what they felt, isn't it."

I've never seen him so pale, so horrified. I rocked to my side, my arms cradling each other. Spike rushed over, grabbed my wrists to see the damage. His rough hands hurt them even more, though I was too weak to say anything.

Strands of hair attacked my eyes as they met his. Wide, penetrating. They were mixed with incredible emotions, ones I couldn't begin to understand. But I recognized desire…fear. They hauntingly crept over his face, almost unwillingly.

He dropped my arms to retrieve bandages in the bathroom drawer. I could hear his rapid pants of breath as he searched for them, something I've never thought to come across.

My eyes closed.

Everything drifted away until all that was distinct was the sound of my own weakening heart.

Spike's head whipped around.

"No, no." He straightened my limp body, opening the bandages. "Don't doze on me now, you hear?" I nodded meekly. But as he clumsily dressed my cuts, everything seemed to blacken, alienate themselves until all I could feel, think and see was darkness.

"She's lost a lot of blood," the doctor said. She eyed the man, mixed with wonderment and intimidation.

"Yeah, tell me something that isn't so bloody obvious."

Doctor Hayes sighed.

"Is she…?"

"She's going to be fine. For now." The doctor added. "Listen."

She took him gently by the arm, leading him to two chairs in the corridor. But he refused to sit.

"Her intent for doing this is way beyond what we can heal. Dawn has some serious psychological damage, and we can't ignore that."

Spike remained quiet, which urged her to go on.

"And…there are some other physical matters I would like to discuss with you. Now, the cuts on her skin can be easily explained by her crushing the mirror with her bare hands."

"Yes…" he said slowly, waiting for her to reach her point.

"But there are—bruises—covering her back, ones only brought upon a just little while ago…"

Flashes went through Spike's mind as the doctor droned on. What he did, the pain he caused. He didn't think it was so severe…

"Now this is not my place, there will be a family counselor, among others that will be brought in."

"You think I did this--?"

Doctor Hayes looked up, unsure of what to answer. "Well, like I've told you, a family specialist is coming in and—"

"Look," Spike interrupted, waving his hand. "Our problems go way beyond their comprehension. They can take their writing knacks and know-it-all galore to a family one picket short of a fence—tell them to sod off."

"I'm afraid these are issues they can't ignore."

"Well, they should let us handle the situation without them gnawing at our backs."

"Tell me, are you handling it well so far?"

The door swung open. Spike's dark, solemn figure entered, his coat swaying along with his weary walk.

"You're awake."

My eyes darted left to right. "I think so."

He smiled sadly, sitting in the chair beside my hospital bed. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but he didn't make a sound.

After long moments of staring at his bowed head, I spoke.

"How did you…I mean with who we are."

"Made use of some fake names I've gathered over the years."

I looked down, voice weak. "Got ya."

Funny how we talk about the subjects we don't necessarily care about. His head went back to being lowered. For as long as I've known Spike, he was always the one being straight-forward, hated to beat around the bush. Never could shut his mouth. Seeing him like this was unnerving.

"How long do I have to be here?"

Without glancing up he replied. "A while."

My eyes began to water. I wanted him to talk, to speak like he's always had before. Before we left Sunnydale.

"I'm sorry."

His eyes finally lifted, but they darted around the room, avoiding mine. He shook his head, waving my apology.

But I said it again. "I'm so sorry." Sobs erupted from my body, and I began to shake. "I couldn't do it. I can't do it now either." My words were broken as I cried. "It's too hard, Spike."

Tears began to fill his eyes, but he refused to look.

"You won't talk to me. Say something."

Or you're gone, just like them.

I waited for his voice. But it didn't come. My lip trembled and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stop the cries.

Slowly, his hands draped over mine. Like a moving rag doll.

So this is what he feels like.

He kissed my fingers. Gently. But the sensation lingered, my lips parting.

"I've got you."

Those three words, his skin on mine—the look in his eyes—all comforted me. My body willed itself to sleep, but his voice still stayed in my mind.

"I've got you."

TBC