Dawn was nervous.
It's not every day one starts High School. Especially one that seemed to be a penchant for straight-up-end-of-the-world evil.
Slow down, Tiger, you can do this.
Mental checklist: stylish yet respectable outfit? Teeth brushed? Breakfast? Check, check, and check.
Be an adult. At least as adult one can be in ninth grade. She could do that right, be a grown-up? Heck, Buffy took her patrolling nowadays and she even totally made a good impression on the principal. Before homeroom even started!
Dawn had a good feeling. And those didn't happen so often. She happily fondled the cell phone in her pocket.
Really? I mean, really? Honestly, how cool. Bette's parents wouldn't get her a cell phone until she had her license, and it was literally all the girl would talk about. Dawn made a mental flag to keep all mention of Buffy's gift as far away from Bette as possible.
She'd been wondering when her family would pick up on modern technology. For a group of people (one of which was a computer-science major) in dire need of constant communication, they sure seemed to be slow on the uptake.
Dawn twisted through the hallway, skirting narrowly to avoid major collisions with large backpacks, stocky athletes, gaggles of girls, and general traffic.
Everything was so...big. The lockers, the football players, even the classrooms seemed supersized. No one looked at her, everyone was far too busy with the hullabaloo of the first day back.
Dawn felt like a dandelion-whisked into the wind about to be lost.
As if choreographed, lockers slammed simultaneously, high fives were given, lipstick was hurriedly put on, and everyone scattered like ants and disappeared into different rooms.
Suddenly alone in the hallway, Dawn swallowed the butterflies down. She could do this. She'd done way worse things than the first day of school. She fought demons, had been kidnapped more times than she could count, was almost sacrificed, stayed up late doing research about things that would give other kids nightmares, and by golly, she had a cell phone.
Dawn smiled and looked at her schedule. Crap.
"O-kay, where is D-Wing again?
Day Twenty.
That's what it was, twenty days since she chose to go back. That meant nineteen nights she had lain awake, barely sleeping afraid that in a moment of exhaustion, the blackness would come claim her and change her mind.
Because now, returning wasn't an option. The calls had been made, flights schedules, taxis reserved, and within a span of 28 hours Willow found herself without even a choice to back down.
Articles of clothing in various piles of organization were scattered around the room, a sprinkle of clutter amongst as well. Empty suitcases lay open, beckoning Willow to pile them with things.
Willow was not looking forward to going back, to say the least.
Half of her still desperately wanted to crawl away, worried that even England was not far enough away from Sunnydale. Yet at the same time, she could not help a tiny part of her from believing that staying so far away was wrong. She was a widow. And of all the guilt she carried, not staying with Tara had been her greatest burden and mistake.
How could she? How could she dare to leave when she'd just gotten her back? Willow abandoned her love, left her alone with the carpet for a shroud and Dawn to find, unadorned and bereft, cooling in the shadows.
Willow knew that that was her greatest crime of all.
It haunted her at night during the nightmares. Tara would lie on the floor in the darkness, her flesh tinged blue, limbs sprawled out with that damned red splotch in the middle of her shirt. Then her eyes would open, like a porcelain doll, and stare straight at Willow. Mute and motionless, Tara would look at her, blank and empty until Willow would wake up gasping with the cool, unblinking eye burned into her retina.
Someone knocked at the door and startled Willow out of her daymares. Slightly dazed, she cleared her throat. "Come in," she called. Giles peeked from behind the door and pulled his glasses off. "Aah, Willow, you're here, excellent. Would you mind terribly if I pulled you away from packing for a few minutes?"
"'Course, Giles," she replied, and let a shirt she'd been folding flop to the floor as she stood.
Anything to get away from this.
Willow followed him outside and closed the door to the cottage behind her.
Giles walked leisurely with his hands in his pockets, the collared ends unfolding loosely near his elbows. Side by side they strode for a few minutes, enjoying the timid weather afforded to them after some rain the night prior. It was cooler now, and the air felt fresh.
Willow looked up at Giles. His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips tight. Just as she was about to say something, he spoke.
"Willow, I do hope you can forgive me."
No.
"What? Giles, y-"
"No, Willow. This is my place, my apology. So, please, let me make it."
He paused for a moment.
"I am a Watcher. It is my responsibility to guide and teach the Slayer in her duty to protect the world against the forces of darkness. There were rules and protocol written by the Council many years ago for every possible circumstance. But all of that changed in Sunnydale. Buffy changed it all. You and Xander…" he trailed off.
Her cheeks flushed, unaccustomed and uncomfortable at the apology directed at her. He was Giles, steadfast and wise, right to call her the rank amateur she had been. He shouldn't be asking for the apologies, not after her hands had thrust him into the ceiling and smashing down to the floor. That right was reserved for her.
But her throat was shut, thick like honey with emotion.
"I know now that I Watch more than one. And because I…hesitated, I looked away, I was not Watching. I'm so sorry, Willow.
Huh.
It had never occurred to her that someone other than her could be blind.
And no, it didn't ease the shame she felt or changed the responsibility she carried, but she could take some comfort in knowing it wasn't just her that sometimes screws up. It wasn't just little Willow Rosenberg who was laden with penitence. And you know? Maybe, just maybe she could give someone the comfort she knew she'd never feel again. She could give the gift of Tara, a small pocket of peace to the closest thing she'd ever come to a father. He deserved it more than he knew.
"It's okay. I forgive you. I'd always forgiven you." It barely came out as a whisper, but she knew he heard. Giles always heard.
That ease in which the slight feel of relief came ruined it all. That taste of forgiveness soured her system and the Blackness lay claim to her once more. Willow didn't even have time to shout before she collapsed, her forehead splitting on a rock as her head hit the ground. She didn't hear Giles cry out. She only felt Black.
In the darkness came teeth.