Author: Bastille Kain
Title: The Real Me
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters of any show or other medium; comics, movies, and books that are unfortunate enough to be used here all belong to other people. Again I own nothing and make no profit from these writings.
Rating: MA-18. Just to play it safe. Eventually there is going to be adult themed subject matter, gratuitous violence and explicit sexual scenes not to mention strong language.
Feedback: Is always appreciated.
Archive: If you like it that much, sure. Just be sure to let me know where it's going, and give me the credit, good or bad, for my work.
Author Note: Sorry. I really did try to keep it much shorter, but it just kept growing and growing. I could have keep going too; I've got about four or five more scenes, but ultimately felt hinting at certain things would be better. I've never been a big fan of spilling everything in one go. Probably why my favorite authors are King, Jordan, Rice, Feist… Lot of comic book writers in there to. They seem to have a knack for doling out little driblets of information and still keep the readers interest. Anyway, I've rambled on enough…
Enjoy the Story,
Kain
The Real Me
Chapter One: Wish You Were Here 2
Aug 9, 2010
The shot glass filled with amber liquor sat on the white speckled counter top. Lana stared at the glass attempting to figure out how to make a phone call she's been putting off for quite a few years. Picking up her cell she dialed a number she's had memorized but had never used.
Within a few rings a deep, rich voice answered saying, "Clark Kent. How can I help you?"
Taking a deep breath Lana began saying, "Clark, it's…"
"Lana," he cut in.
"I'm not interrupting or anything am I?"
"Of course not," he quickly assured her.
"Yes," a woman in the background said clearly annoyed by the interruption to their evening.
"Lois," Clark pleaded in a placating tone.
Lana took a calming breath. "I'm sorry Clark. I wouldn't be bothering you so late if it wasn't important."
"It's fine Lana," he told her in a calm voice. With a patient tone she didn't share he said, "Why don't you tell me what the problem is?"
"It's Dawn," she started, attempting to figure out the best way to explain what was going on. "My daughter. Recently she's been displaying meta-human abilities. I'm not positive but I think someone might have uncovered my connection to you and considering some of the people you're associated with I was concerned that someone might be targeting her."
"I'll have to rearrange some previous obligations," he told her. "It'll take me a little time to arrange a flight."
"I'm living in LA now," she said. "There's a little bistro near my condo. I'll text you the information once you land," she added giving him her cell and home number.
"I'll see you soon," he said before ending the call.
/ / /
One Day Earlier
Aug 8, 2010
"You brought this to the team," Oliver told his former protégé. He wished there was an easier way, wished he could bring his apprentice back into the fold but Roy was just so angry these days. "It's their mission, which means it's hers now too."
Roy turned towards the teleporter. "Then my jobs done," he said taking several steps.
"Recognized, Speedy" the computer announced as his presence activated its sensors.
"That's Red Arrow, B Zero Si—"
A bolt of lightning the size of an economy hatchback flashed between Red Arrow and the Zeta-Beam transporter. Being the closest to the impact Roy was tossed clear across the room like a piece of flotsam in a jetty. Most of the others were knocked back, thrown aside like dust caught in a gale force wind. Only Miss Martian and Super-boy stood their ground and were the quickest to recover.
The floor was a charred husk of concrete. In the center of the cracked concrete knelt a teenage girl, bare as the day she was born, her sandy blonde hair would have hung to the small of her back if she were standing; lank and greasy, with a number of thin braids woven throughout.
Waifishly thin, the girl's body was sleek and sculpted like a world class triathlete during the height of their rigorous and grueling training schedule. Her right hand was clenched in a tight fist, the knuckles were pressed into the shattered concrete. Blood dripped from a long gash in her left side where someone had sliced her open and fresh bruising along her right side left her ribs an odd assortment of various colors.
Strapped to her left forearm was buckler style shield red, white and blue with a white star in the center. At some point the shield had been melded back together with an odd type of metal that seemed to burn with an eldritch fire.
Batman tensed but remained relaxed at the same time, as Robin pushed himself up on legs that wanted to give out. A pair of green fletched arrows zeroed in on her as Superboy growled, Aqualad and Miss Martian prepared themselves physically and mentally. Kid Flash whistled in appreciation.
There was a feral look in her face and her lips were pulled back in a silent snarl as crimson energy leaked from around the edges of her eyes. For a moment she wavered, whatever force that had been keeping her from crumbling seeming to drain away as her eyes returned to a deep sea blue, like the depths of the ocean before the light was swallowed by the black depths of the ocean. A moment later the girl collapsed, seeming to fall in on herself as she toppled to the floor where she knelt.
/ / /
Thirteen Days Previously
July 26, 2010
The information simply didn't make sense and no matter how he analyzed the data the results continued to confound him. For a man with his level OCD it was driving him crazy but like he did with everything else he compartmentalized. He would learn, he would adapt.
Street level crime was dropping in several large metropolitan areas. At the same time several new meta-humans had appeared. The most prevalent were a trio of Spider themed heroes; Spider Man, Spider Woman, and Spider Girl.
Spider Girl had staked a claim to New York City. She had been spotted all over the City that never sleeps; from Harlem to Queens, Manhattan to the Bronx. At seven in the morning or one in the afternoon to midnight. Like Spider Man and Spider Woman, Spider Girl traversed the city on web-lines, but wasn't adverse to utilizing public transportation hitching rides on the roof of city buses, cabs, private cars, the occasional Police Cruiser, limos, even utilizing the New York Subway system.
There was even CCTV footage of Spider Girl, in her skin tight black costume with a white spider motif emblazoned upon her chest, reading the fashion section of the Daily Planet as she waited for the subway as she paced the subway platform's ceiling. New Yorkers and tourist alike snapped photos of her with their cell phones from a comfortable distance. Of the three she was easily the most approachable, and would answer questions put to her by both the public and local law enforcement.
Spider Man was at the other end of the spectrum. He apparently had taken up residence in Gotham of all places. From all reports he was glib and quick to quip; whether it was with the public in general, the police or the criminals he spent a good deal of time subduing. He was the most active of the three and photos of him had begun to dominate the pages of most Gotham publications as well as internet media sites.
Two men, a photo journalist by the name of Ben Reilly and a chemical engineer named Peter Paler, both of whom had also moved to Gotham four to five months ago had a connection to Spider Man. Reilly was making a name for himself selling pictures of the masked vigilante, nearly fifteen percent of Spider Man's photos could be traced back to Reilly and while that wasn't proof it was hard to overlook.
Parker had invented a compound whose chemical formula was nearly identical to Spider Man's webbing. Parker had listed a number of uses for his compound, one of which was a non-lethal form of restraining violent criminals, crowd control. There were also application in the construction field and according to preliminary testing it made an excellent fire suppressant.
The curious thing about the two men was that they were identical. If he didn't have verified evidence of them being on opposite sides of the city at almost the exact same time he would have suspected they were the same person. Of course he wasn't quite willing to rule that theory out just yet. He had seen stranger things in his life.
Of the three, Spider Woman might prove to be the hardest to track down. She was easily the most mobile having been spotted in New York, Boston, Hartford, BludHaven, Star City, Gotham, Springfield, Philadelphia, Washington, Metropolis, and about a dozen other cities up and down the East Coast. From what he had been able to learn she possessed some skill as a detective, possibly working in law enforcement or having a relative that worked in the field. New York appeared to be her home and she could be found there for up to three weeks at a time. Every other place she had been spotted was for a day, four at most and then she would disappear for a day or two before popping back up somewhere else. She was on fairly good terms with the police and seemed to have developed a relationship with New York City's Chief of Police George Stacy. It was similar to what he had with Gordon, though he was still uncertain how she made contact. If he could figure that out he might have a chance of tracking her down.
There was also very little to link them to the League of Shadows operative the Black Spider. For one, while Black Spider possessed the ability to adhere to surfaces for the most part he was simply a very well trained man, while the three new comers all displayed enhanced strength, speed, agility, and what might even be described as a sort of early warning sense in addition to the ability to scale vertical surfaces unaided faster than world class sprinters could cover fifty meters to go along with three different mechanical web-shooters.
Keying a set of commands into the console Bruce called up another image and tried to find something he might have missed on previous viewings. A lean face man appeared on the screen. Intense blue eyes seemed to glare through the video. A check mark scar was etched into his left eyebrow. Sharp cheekbones along with deep, hollow cheeks were his dominate features. Barely six feet tall and thin, he displayed the various powers of a Kryptonian, though at a much weaker level than Clark, an indication he was newly arrived to Earth. What he lacked in overwhelming power he made up for with superior fighting skills; a tenacious will, and a love of brawling. He had been making a name for himself out in the California area; from Mexico and New Orleans in the south to as far north as Siberia and Anchorage. He had defeated the Terror Twins outside of San Diego and took down Solomon Grundy in the Mississippi Bayou after having driven him out of New Orleans. He rescued a family whose boat had capsized off the coast of Cancun. Unlike Clark this new comer didn't deal so well with the media or law enforcement. In that regard he was more like Batman.
Another new, not so friendly, vigilante had taken up patrolling the streets of New York over the past several months. From the reports he had been able to obtain the entity dressed in biker leathers over what appeared to be an authentic female skeleton that burned with mystical flames. While everyone that saw the supernatural being called the entity Ghost Rider the creature normally refereed to itself as the Spirit of Vengeance and prowled the streets on a motorcycle of supernatural origin that was covered in the same mystical fire. There were reports that the Rider was capable of riding the motorcycle up the side of buildings and over large bodies of water like the Hudson River and achieved speeds that exceeded the sound barrier. The Rider also appeared to be impervious to conventional weapons. A direct hit from an RPG didn't even cause the creature to falter in its pursuit of vengeance.
Rand al'Thor was also a new face that he had begun keeping tabs on since he first made his presence known a week ago when he appeared before the United Nations petitioning for sanctuary. Unlike the others he made no attempt of battling the criminal world. The style of his attire was that of a bygone age, the finest quality silks and satins with fanciful scrollwork and embroidery of gold and silver, crimson and violet, emerald and sapphire hues. His mannerisms marked him as a man of substance; a Lord at the very least if not the King he claimed himself to be.
He moved like a man who has spent his entire life training, the sword he carried was as much a part of him as his arm. With or without the sword the man was dangerous. His grey eyes never wavered or faltered. They didn't change, not even when he smiled. Most people probably weren't aware of the fact that his smile never reached those grey eyes. Or that he saw more than he let on and was quite adept at maneuvering people without them being aware of it.
From several sources he managed to acquire al'Thor's story. He claimed to have become untethered during a climactic battle with a nihilistic entity known as the Dark One. An omnipotent being bent on unmaking reality; destroying everything if the prison the Creator had crafted for the entity when he forged the Universe wasn't resealed. He entered the bore fully expecting to die that day, that very instant but he hoped beyond hope that his presence would be enough to seal the Dark One away from the world.
His greatest fear wasn't of dying, of being trapped in a constant, endless battle he couldn't possibly hope to win but what would happen if he failed to hold. It wouldn't just be him that suffered but everything; the very universe itself would simply be erased from the very fabric of reality as if it never existed.
So he prepared himself for the worst. It was a fate he was willing to endure if it meant freedom for his world.
What he hadn't been prepared for was waking up upon the shores of this distant world so very different from his own, yet in some odd way extremely familiar. He spent several weeks pondering what he should do, studying the culture and the people and learning several of the dominate languages. While he considered simply buying a tract of land, he possessed more than ample funds, he felt he could contribute much more to the world than growing crops or herding sheep.
He hadn't gone into specific details but Bruce could tell that al'Thor had plans.
He learnt multiple languages in just a few weeks, an indication to just how intelligent he was, and if he did come from an advance civilization and possessed technology beyond Earth's current level, he was going to be thorn in the League's side for years to come. Facing him in a boardroom or on a battlefield was going to be a challenge, as much as the Shadows or Savage, or even Luthor.
Their best option would have been preventing him from establishing any sort of powerbase, but he had come out of nowhere and had moved quickly to establish himself. The UN was already fast tracking his petition and if he gained Diplomatic status, especially that of Royalty in exile then there would be very little the League could do to deter him.
/ / /
Seven Days Previously
July 15, 2010
The limousine didn't feel quite as cramped as most of the other vehicles Rand has been forced to travel in since his arrival upon this world. In many ways this world wasn't so dissimilar to the world he had been born on, while in other ways the differences were vast.
In some ways he felt like a man trapped between worlds. A price he was willing to pay for retaining the memories of two very distinct worlds. His own; The Third Age and that of Lews Therin Telamon… The Second Age, The Age of Legends.
This world appeared to be somewhere between the two. It must be at least a hundred years more advance then his own time period with its internal combustion engine and crafts capable of traveling between planets, their philosophies of the universe and understanding of nature. At the same time they were still a thousand years from achieving even the simplest engineering marvels that were commonplace during the Age of Legends.
Spending the afternoon taking a leisurely ride on a well trained stallion would have suited his mood better. Taking his ease in the library; pouring over the latest scientific journal with his pipe and a glass of brandy to relieve the days stress. Only the time had come to put the next phase of their plan into action.
They needed to establish their presence and gain the support of the public. He had been the obvious choice; smart, attractive and extremely charismatic. He was skilled in the game of houses, having been trained by both Moiraine Damodred and Thom Merrilin, and schooled in its ruthless subtleties, first in Tear and later still in Cairhien. He had to stand out in this new world. Be powerful and intriguing, altruistic on a grand scale all while not appearing to be too great of a threat.
He had resisted wholesale alterations to his wardrobe, being far more comfortable in the style of clothes he had grown accustomed to. Adjusting the cuffs on his green coat, with a quartet of silver roses climbing the sleeves, he attempted to conceal the dragon heads that poked out from under his white silk shirt and his crimson jacket.
He settled back into the leather seat. The single edge, slightly curved blade rested on the seat beside him and he ran his thumb over the rough leather hilt. He would greatly enjoy his pipe right now but had agreed to forgo so long as he was in an enclosed space, especially one as confined as an automobile. Besides the tabac in this age did not compare favorably to what he was accustomed to. It certainly was not anywhere near the quality of Two Rivers Tabac.
"Everything is going to be just fine," Jean Grey said into the silence filling the car. She was an amazingly attractive young woman with long flaming red hair that reached the middle of her back with green eyes that made the finest emeralds appear as nothing more than baubles. She would have been considered a little on the short side for an Aiel but it was a near thing. Among them she probably would have been treated with the respect reserved for a Wise One, or perhaps an apprentice because of her age. Unlike in her own world where mutants like her were treated with fear and outright hatred just because they possessed abilities and powers that set them apart from ordinary humans.
A deep fear had coursed through his veins for months after discovering he had the ability to channel. He felt trapped and alone believing that even his closest friends would lead a mob to tear him limb from limb. "Of course it will be," he affirmed.
Laura snorted at the comment but otherwise kept her mouth shut. She was of the opinion that even the best plan went to shit once first contact was made and it was always best to have a dozen or so contingencies to fall back on.
She was a tiny girl. Moiraine might actually be taller than Laura. She was younger than Jean at fifteen or sixteen. It was hard to pin her down on the subject, possibly because she was attempting to avoid this world's school system; something about repeating high school, for a third time. Her hair was black as a starless night and hung just past her shoulders. Dark eyes, like polished opals, gazed out of a lean face with sharp bones and hollowed cheeks. Laura ate like a starving bear but possessed a pixyish physique. He might be able to wrap his hands around her waist and still have room to spare.
Like Jean, Laura was a mutant. While Jean's powers included Telekinesis and Telepathy; an ability that allowed them to maintain a non-verbal line of communications, Laura's powers were physical in nature; heightened senses, an accelerated healing factor, increased strength, stamina and durability along with a pair of nine inch retractable claws housed in her forearms and a third claw in each foot. Her skeleton and claws had been coated with a thin layer of adamantium; an indestructible metal on her world.
"My stop," Laura said as Conan, the last member of their little group, came to a rolling stop and the young girl quickly exited the car. Conan pulled away before the door was fully closed.
The dark haired man with the sun bronzed skin was a physically intimidating presence. Not quite six feet tall he was broad through the chest and shoulders. His dark eyes saw things that most others would miss and he moved with the quickness and stealth of a large cat on the hunt. Skilled with whatever weapon he put his hands on or none at all the man was easily one of the deadliest Rand had ever been around. He also possessed an unnatural strength. Rand didn't doubt Conan could hurl the carcass of a large stallion a dozen feet if he was so inclined.
He was also intelligent, and picked up modern tactics and warfare quickly and spent hours devouring any book he could lay his hands on that touched upon the subject. To Conan it didn't matter if it was written before the turn of the last century or published last week, if it was about naval conflicts or the dog fights of World War Two, or the American Civil War, Vietnam or the campaigns of Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, or how the Ottoman Empire rose to prominence thousands of years ago to their final collapse less than a century earlier.
Their plan was rather simple. Laura would discretely slip in with one of the numerous schools touring the building and then lose herself within the massive structure and plant the program Kitty had written and then get out with no one being the wiser.
Rand felt a passing moment of concern for the girl. Like the Maidens, Laura wouldn't appreciate the sentiment. She was a warrior before anything else and she had proven herself extremely capable during the numerous training sessions Howlett spent hours running them through with very little mercy. Knowing what each and every member of their team was capable of, both individually and as a member of a group was vitally important to the success of their overall mission.
In the five months they have been on this world they have already gained access to the White House and Congress, the Pentagon, CIA, FBI, NSA, The KGB and the Kremlin, along with a dozen other governments. Their next set of targets were going to be harder to gain access to; Star Labs and Luthor Corp, the computer core at an underground institution known as Cadmus. Wayne Enterprises and the Watch Tower, the League of Shadows and an apparently immortal named Vandal Savage. Institutions such as those were going to take months of planning with the one of their options being a simultaneous multi prong operation with one of them designed to fail or be driven off.
/ / /
Forty-Three Days Previously
June 4, 2010
A year. Closer to thirteen months actually before it would be the end of her high school career. She actually enjoyed school. Well, except for the part where she was approximately three and a half years younger than her class. Her birthday was March 1st and she had just turned fourteen a little more than three months ago and she would turn fifteen in eight more months and then graduate about fourteen and a half weeks later.
Dawn picked up her large cup of hot coco and took a sip, savoring the warmth and the flavor of the drink. Her mom didn't want her drinking coffee, claimed the last thing she needed to deal with was a caffeinated Dawn, which made absolutely no sense since there was caffeine in coco just like there was in coffee.
Then again her mom did and said a lot of stuff that didn't make any sense to the teenager. Dawn just chalked it up to being a mom thing and let it go. Sort of like not allowing her to test out of high school because she was worrying about her developing socially. At times Dawn wondered if senility had set in or if her mom had just forgotten what high school was like. Of course her mom had been like Ms. Popularity of Smallville High, class of Nineteen Ninety-Five.
"Thank you," Dawn said to the server and turned away from the counter. She scanned the crowd for a couple of her friends that were going to be meeting her here but apparently they were running late.
Her eyes stopped as she spotted him. A tall, lean man with hallow cheeks, piercing blue eyes and platinum blonde hair that was cropped short… Not a military buzz cut, but short. He drew in a lungful of smoke from his cigarette as he stared directly at her with an unwavering fire burning in his eyes. He stood at the very lip of the sidewalk, in the brilliant light of day as if he were defying the golden orb.
He was wearing black jeans and a blue silk shirt that hung open over a black tee that clung to his torso like a second skin and did nothing to conceal sleek, sculpted abs. His black, calf length duster appeared to be a woman's coat if she knew anything about fashion, and with who her mother was she better know about fashion. His left ear had several piercings and he wore half a dozen rings, a gold wedding band on his left pinky to a silver Death's Head on his right-thumb. The black polish covering his nails was chipped with age.
It couldn't be him. He was a dreamscape vision. A figment of her overactive imagination. Only there he was. Right across the street in the blinding light of day and he wasn't bursting into a smoldering pile of dust. Why wasn't he? In the dream that's what would happen if he spent too much time in the sun. Like only a few minutes.
"Dawn," Janet called out as she entered The Coffee Shack.
She blinked turning her head slightly. Somehow the fiery haired brunette missed seeing her troupe of classmates as they entered the eatery her attention had been so focused on… He was gone. Even though she had never actually taken her eyes off of him, he was gone.
"Hey, you okay?" Sharon asked seeing the distant look in her eyes.
"Yeah," Dawn said shrugging off the weirdness that was her morning. "Yeah. I was working on this project last night and I didn't get a lot of sleep…"
"Right, Friday night and Dawn was up late working on a project," Millie commented dryly. "Check."
Dawn glared at the lanky blonde, "I'm not that bad," she fumed.
Tabitha mimed putting a phone to her ear. "Hi Mrs. Lang. Is Dawn… Up in her room working on one of her science projects. No, nothing super important, just let her know I called if she comes out before the next ice age, or you know the state drops off into the Pacific."
Balling up her hand Dawn lightly tapped the shorter girl's shoulder. She didn't dare punch her any harder than that. It had been years since she hit anything in anger… Billie Hollawey had just broken up with her in seventh grade and she cracked the school's foundation just by stamping her foot. She had always known she was different, what people referred to as a Meta-Human but being able to crack a building foundation in a fit of anger had terrified her. What would happen if she lost control with a person, a friend… Her mother?
"Fine, so maybe I am that bad," she relented. Where did he go to? "What are we doing today?"
/ / /
One Hundred and Nineteen Days Previously
Feb 3, 2010
"What do we have?" The nurse demanded as the paramedics rushed the stretcher into the USC Medical Center ER at quarter to three in the morning. His voice was strong, confident and calm, he had the physique of a long distance runner.
"Female," the paramedic responded quickly with a sure and confident voice, her dark hair was pulled back in a long tight braid. "Caucasian in her early twenties… Looks like some animal did a fair job of gnawing her throat open. Her pulse and respiration are almost non-existent. Thought we lost her a couple of times…"
Medical jargon washed over the unconscious girl. Another pair of nurses came over along with a resident. The first needle they attempted to push into the girl's flesh bent as did a second and than a third. "What the hell?" The nurse mumbled.
"I thought her throat was all torn up," another nurse added.
The resident shook her head before announcing to the ER, "We've got a Meta here." She hated dealing with these situations and shoved her own feelings aside. "Whatever happened, she seems to be recovering quickly." The paramedic said she suffered from a sever throat lacerations. "I'm still not getting any sort of pulse and our equipment is only picking up the faintest blood pressure readings." An indication of a super-dense musculature accompanied by an accelerated regenerative ability, but if she possessed them before hand…? Or did they activate after she was assaulted? She wondered absently. According to hospital protocols she was suppose to contact her superiors. Glancing down at the young woman lying on the stretcher she just hoped they weren't as bad as the rumors she's heard made them out to be.
/ / /
Four Hours Earlier
Feb 2, 2010
Buffy's fist slammed into Spike's jaw with as much strength as she could manage. It wasn't much all things considered. They had been searching for Dawn for almost two days now and still there was no sign of her little sister. It was as if she didn't exist here, but that couldn't be. She was here. Spike was here. Dawn had to be here.
Only, wherever here was, it was killing her.
And Spike, he wasn't healing properly. Even without blood his wounds should have been gone by now but they were lingering. She swung again but this time Spike caught her fist, stopped her swing cold. Before he could react she grabbed his shoulder with her free hand and drove her right knee into the fleshy part of his thigh.
He grabbed hold of her with a low growl and swung her around, slamming her into the side of a building. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" He spit at her as he held her there.
"One of us needs to find Dawn," she told him.
"Fine, then you bloody well do it then," he shot back with a snarl.
Buffy coughed. Her body ached, felt like it was burning up from her very core. "We both know it ain't going to be me," she said. "I'm not going to make it. Something about this place and the Slayer… They're not mixing very well and the slayer's losing and it's taking me along for the ride. Not one of the ways I ever figured would kill me. Trapped in some alternate universe with my arch nemesis –"
"Bollix all that," Spike said. "Your friends'll figure out where you shuffled on off to and pull your lard out of the fire yet. 'Sides what am I suppose to tell the 'Bit when I find her and she wants to know where big sis is. Sorry, but I was feeling a might peckish and Slayer was looking just a bit too scrumptious for me to pass up."
"Tell her I didn't make it," Buffy said just before another fit of coughing wrecked her body. It took her several moments to get herself back under control. She looked at him with soft blue eyes, pleading with him. "My blood will help you heal. It'll make you strong. You find Dawn. You watch over her."
Spike brushed back her hair. Ran his thumb under her eye wiping away the tear. "You are the most amazing person I have ever had the pleasure of trying to kill."
"I know," Buffy said pushing down the fear pulsing along her veins. "Just so you know. Turn me and I will spend the rest of my un-life making yours a living hell."
/ / /
One Day Previously
Feb 2, 2010
Spike leafed through one of the papers he'd nicked from a street vendor before the Slayer and he found this cozy little condemned three floor walk up over an old, fire gutted Thai restaurant. In the last six months or so a group of homeless derelicts, bums and shiftless vagrants had taken to calling the building home. That was until they showed a bit of good judgment and decided to move on once he showed up in the wee hours of the morning, before the first rays of the dawn's early light could turn him into a flaming pile of ash on a street corner.
The Slayer wasn't going to be happy when she put it all together. She believed they were still in their reality, but the more he read the less likely that seemed possible. The paper was filled with the exploits of Superman, The Flash, Batman and their disciples, along with the rest of the heroes and villains. According to the date on the paper they'd also skipped about ten years into the future. Unless the Doctor shows up with his handy police box we're well and truly balls deep in the arse end of a donkey.
"Spike," Buffy whispered from the open door.
The vampire frowned at the sound of her voice. It was hoarse and weak, seemed to crack from disuse. Turning he choked down his reaction. She was pale and haggard, a sheen of sweet glistened her brow. If not for the fact that she was leaning against the doorjamb Spike didn't think the tiny Slayer would even be able to stand.
"It's dark," she said. Her voice sounded a bit stronger… Maybe? It might have just been wishful thinking on his part. "We should get going. Dawn ain't going to find herself," she murmured in a soft whisper.
"Bloody hell Slayer," Spike cursed as he stood tossing the paper to the floor. "You look like shit."
"You really know how to win a girl over," she said as anger flared in her eyes.
"Can you even walk, or just stand there looking all night of the living dead-like?" Spike demanded. "I'm sure not lugging your carcass around LA."
Buffy pushed herself off the doorjamb with a glare. He thought her legs began to buckle but he might have been imagining things. "I'll bloody well leave you here," she told him in a harsh voice.
A glimmer of amusement flickered in his blue eyes. "Sure you will Slayer," he said as he grabbed his duster and slipped into the heavy leather garment. Liberating a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and retrieved his lighter. "Your accent's for shit by the way," he told her as he lit the end of his cigarette.
"You burn the building down and I don't think they're going to give us our security deposit back," Buffy told him.
Spike laughed at the comment as he followed her out of the building. "We need to talk…"
"About where we are," Buffy nodded. "I kind of figured we aren't in Kansas anymore Toto."
"I am so not the mangy mutt," he growled as he blew out a lungful of smoke.
"Would you rather be Auntie Em?"
"Bugger off you sodding bint," he said as he pulled the door open. "If I'm anyone from that god awful piece of claptrap its…"
"The flying monkey," Buffy interjected with a smile as they headed into the heart of LA proper.
/ / /
Earlier That Evening
Steam rose from the vent in the floor; hot with a putrid stench of something rotting under her feet. Shadows thickened, stretched for her with gruesome intent as she raced through the burnt out wreck of a factory. Tried to race, but it felt as if she were sloughing her way through congealing molasses.
"Dawn," the distant voice called out again. She sounded closer this time but distances were strange here. She had been sure she lost the woman long ago, but every time she called her name she sounded just a little bit closer.
Crouching down low she tried to catch her breath but the air here was filled with the stench of decay and madness. "Lil'Bit," a man shouted from a different area. Almost as if they were hemming her in.
The way ahead was covered with rubble and the walls on both sides were broken but the way back… She couldn't go back. There was something even worse behind her. Something that wanted to make her bleed. Make the world go away.
Staying low she inched her way forward in her crouch. Her heart beat fast, sounded loud in her own ears and it took every ounce of her will not to rush ahead before she made sure the way was clear.
Pressing her back against the wall she strained her ears as she listened, but there was too much background noise; the distorted rumblings of broken machinery. She could feel her pursuers closing in on her.
She turned the corner and froze in place upon seeing the woman standing in front of her. With a soft cry she stumbled away from the woman and landed on her backside. This wasn't the woman that had been chasing her. She was tall with blonde hair that was twisted into a thick mass of ringlets. Desperately Dawn made an effort to crab walk backwards scrambling away but her shoulders and back collided with the wall.
A tight smile blossomed on the woman's face and her eyes shone with insane glee. "You didn't think escape would be that easy?" She took a step forward. "What's a reality or two between a Goddess and her Key?" She reached out with her hand only it wasn't a hand. It was something grotesque and deformed that pulsed with a sickish light.
Dawn opened her mouth to scream, her only thought was getting away.
She bolted awake in her bed. Her breathes coming in ragged gasps as her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest. A wet tongue licked her face and hot breath filled her nose. "Ugg, Xander. Gross," she complained as she pushed gently on the hairy chest giving herself a little space from her favorite friend and constant companion. "Your breath stinks," she informed the large two and a half year old German Shepherd.
Sitting up she reached out and scratched him behind his ear. Alexander the Great, or Xander as she often referred to the Shepherd practically swooned at the attention. That has to have been the worst dream I have ever had.
"Come here boy," she said with a very specific hand sign. "I need my Xander hug." The massive dog bounced upward, standing on its hind legs as he rested his front paws on her shoulders. A normal girl her size would have been driven under by the dog's weight but Dawn bore it without the slightest hint of strain. Dawn placed her head next to his as she wrapped her arms around the dog's thick chest and simply relaxed.
/ / /
Earlier That Evening
"Aargh," Spike growled as he attempted to gain a bit of leverage so he could pry himself off of the wrought iron fence he found himself impaled upon. "What sort of frilly little pounce puts a fence up in a spot like this?" He grumbled loudly as he took in the suburban neighborhood. It was mildly upscale, plenty of two story houses with garages with a fair number of white picket fences enclosing modest little yards.
A bit of relief washed over him that he hadn't landed on one of those. Still, being perforated by several iron rods wasn't his idea of a good time; unless he was the one doing the perforating. He got his hands on the cold steel and heaved. The push didn't accomplish much as the rounded edge of the spade tip lodged into his back. "Right couldn't make this easy on a bloke could you?"
"Dawn!" Buffy called out from a few houses to the right of where he was impaled.
The memory flooded back. Buffy jumping off the rickety catwalk with Dawn clutched tightly in her arms. Him following the pair as they all hurtled toward the portal. Just catching hold of Buffy and then… Nothing.
"Dawn!" Buffy called out again.
"Over here Slayer," Spike shouted back.
A second later Buffy stumbled out from around the side of one of the houses. "Spike?" She question with distant eyes, like somebody was playing the worst practical joke in history on her. "What the…? No matter where I go, there you are." She staggered slightly as she made her way over to him.
"Little help here pet," he inquired plaintively.
Buffy eyed the fence, the welding along the joints as she asked, "How'd you even get here?"
"Followed you and the 'Bit down the rabbit hole," Spike said as Buffy gripped the fence.
"You jumped?" She tugged and popped one of the seams.
"All the cool kids seemed to be doing it," he answered as she gave the rail another short pull. "'Sides, you didn't think I was going to let you and little sis just wonder off to any old place did you?" Buffy freed the first rail completely.
"Yeah well, you really didn't need to," she said and began prying loose the second rail. "We're pretty close to where I grew up. Once I find Dawn I was going to call the gang. See about having Giles or Xander come and pick us up. Guess you could ride back in the trunk of Giles' car or maybe we can pick up a heavy duty tarp to cover you with."
"The 'Bits not with you?"
Buffy frowned as she got the last joint free and help Spike straighten up. "I don't know. We hit the vortex and everything got all wonky. I still had her though, but just before… I must've let go or she slipped out of my grasp or something because she wasn't with me when I came to."
Spike grunted as Buffy pulled the first rail out of his back. "If the way you're limping around is any indication I doubt if she could've gotten that far. We've got a few hours before sunrise…" Something about that statement felt off. "…Shouldn't take but a moment to pick up her trail and track her down. Give her a right what for, for wondering off."
/ / /
A Few Minutes Earlier
The skies over Los Angeles roiled with heavy storm clouds blanketing the City of Angels; hanging low, thick and black. Lightening flickered in a myriad of scintillating colors; reds and blues, greens and purples.
Gazing upon the spectacular display Lana lifted her cup of coffee, steam rising from the cooling liquid, as she took her ease on her small condo's back porch. While California was no stranger to its share of natural disasters; earthquakes, mudslides and landslides, drought and raging wildfires that could take months before they were brought under control. One of the few phenomenons that almost never trouble the state was a truly epic thunderstorm.
She was kind of hoping that this one might be the exception to the rule, even if it brought a torrential downpour that put her evening plans on hold it would be worth it even if it took a couple more weeks before she was able to get together with a few of her girlfriends for a memorable night out. Maybe she'd even find herself a guy who managed to spike her interest.
Closing her eyes Lana drew in a deep breath. Taking a sip of her coco she looked up to the clear night sky. The stars were bright and brilliant, shining down upon them. She would swear they could be seen from the other side of the planet.
With a brief pause before standing, Lana wondered why she had been thinking about thunderstorms? Perhaps a bit of homesickness. It's been almost fifteen years since she left Smallville, three months after Clark vanished and four months after prom. Almost five and a half months before her life was forever changed.
Turning she headed inside, a rueful smile playing at her lips as she gave her head a bit of a shake. That had been a long time ago and while Clark's help might have made certain aspects of her life easier she didn't regret anything, wouldn't change a single thing.
A brief flicker of something to her left drew her attention. A sliver of light from the Diaz place five houses over had caught her eye. Out of everyone in the neighborhood Marcus Diaz was the only one to have put up a wrought iron fence around his property.
For the most part he was a decent enough, said hello when he saw you, went jogging several days a week or bike riding or the occasional day hike. He practiced Tia Chi or some sort of martial arts in his back yard and he wrote the music for radio jingles, and even scored a couple of short lived TV series, and contributed to a few top one hundred billboard hits back in his early twenties but now he spent the majority of his days giving private lessons out of his garage.
It was after midnight and she needed to check on Dawn, make sure her soon to be fourteen year old daughter was actually in bed sleeping and not finishing up another one of her projects. Being a single mother was difficult enough. Being a single mother to such a gifted child was like juggling half a dozen flaming chainsaws. It didn't help that her father had no idea she existed, but Lana had no intention of tossing her daughter into that den of lions.
