Chapter 10
"Rupert!" Anita had a solid grip on her lover's burning face, all her weight on his prone form, and every bit of power that she had focussed on him, but it did not seem to be enough. His churning, thrashing aura was streaked with a cancerous, gangrenous, blackness that was spreading its sickly tentacles faster and faster. She was losing him. Losing him to the power of the Slay, to the Hellmouth and its corruption. He suddenly bucked up underneath her, roaring something filthy. "RUPERT STOP FIGHTING ME!" She cried out in desperation, struggling to stay atop. If he heard her he did not react to her plea, but instead grabbed at her forearms and slid his hands downward to grab at her wrists, to pull her away.
Oh no you don't – hear me. Hear me baby, hear me.
Annie had never been shy about her abilities; never shrank from them, or tried to hide their degree, but equally she had never tried to actively seek out their true extent – not like this. Not to attack, not in an effort to enforce her will like the Slayer wielded her sword, her stake. She had never had cause, until now, but now she didn't know if she had enough left in her to make the attempt. Rupert snarled, and his grip on her wrists suddenly became crushing. She couldn't hold on for long.
It was now or never.
Always wanted to know how the Slay felt for you Ru. Always wanted you to let me in, let me learn about it. Guess now I'm going to. Forgive me.
Heart hammering in her chest, head light with a fresh burst of adrenaline, Anita found out the hazel eyes she knew so well. Met their wild ferocity without flinching, saw the madness churning in their in their depths, and without hesitation dove in.
Power.
Rage.
Hunger.
It was a whirling frenzy of ecstasy, fury, colour and heat that scalded and tore at her; shredded at her protective shields with an energy, a single minded purpose, that was terrifying. This Thing, this Calling, though it was part of this man that loved her also wanted her dead. Intruder, it spoke to her in its own unique language of heat and rage, intruder; get rid of it, kill it. Slay it. Slay. Slayer. Slayer? Where is my Slayer? WHERE IS SHE? WHERE! The roaring demands pierced her in a thousand places. Sharp slices against her skin, her innards, her soul. In her mind she saw blood, her blood, billowing out in plumes of red; trailing out and into the churning whirlpool. Until all the world was described in shades of scarlet. She heard his laugh, sharply cut like a hyena around a kill. And she screamed.
Oh god, what have I done? RUPERT!
There was no reply, but she felt him all around her: a menacing, circling predator that had suddenly smelled her weakness where poor blinded-Rupert had not. But now, corrupted by the Hellmouth this Watcher had lost his discrimination and weakness was weakness and an easier kill – demon prey or no. He was going to kill, to Slay, and there was nothing she could do about it. She was outmatched and they both knew it.
But then what of this man she loved?
If he survived this and she did not, and at his hand? What then? She knew the answer to that without even thinking and she could not bear it. But she also could not stop it from happening. He was too strong, too crazed and too filled with something that spoke no language she could contend with, for her to reach him now.
She had failed.
But the yawning depth of that failure ran far deeper than that, and far deeper than Rupert would ever know, for she had also failed to find the courage to tell him the most important thing of all: why she had come to Sunnydale. And in so doing, she had not explained to him why she had emerged at last from the binding shadows that had kept and preserved her from the cruelty of time; and why, knowing that in surfacing this would be her final journey, she had taken it anyway because she could wait no longer to go to him.
He would never know any of this, because she had not told him and she would not be there to correct him when he blamed himself for what this foul place was about to be responsible for; despite the fact that it would merely be responsible for reducing her time with him by hours, not years. That, perhaps in reality even the Hellmouth was going to be less responsible for her death than the poisonous, cancerous mass, for many years kept from spreading through the talent of her sisters, that was once again spreading through her body.
But, he would never know unless …"Why are you trying to kill yourself?" Her hand grasps his chin so tightly that he cannot force his aching head back to the floor. He does try though, which gives her heart, until he realises it's too late, and instead opens his eyes to glare blearily upward –
"Fuck off Annie and leave me alone." His voice sounds like ashes, and the fine scarlet fog of his aura has become arterial-dark, boiling and writhing around her hand, her wrist. The pain of its touch burns her, but to make her point she keeps her grip tight on his chin.
"No." She says. And waits for the inevitable. After all, she has come here for a fight and knows just how to get one. His bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes open fully for the first time and the bleak glare warms into real anger. Here it comes.
"Go. Away."
"No." She says again and watches the aura sizzle. Then, with a sound somewhere between a choke and a growl he suddenly moves, whisky-heavy limbs coming up to slap at her clutching hand, and then braces himself so that he is suddenly up on his knees.
"That's better, now I can talk to you properly. Face to face."
"I don't want to talk. I want to be left alone. What part of that concept don't you understand?" He wobbles backwards to sit on his heels. One hand wipes at his face, then across his filthy shirt. He looks dazed, but she is not fooled. This was how he looked after it had happened and he had still been capable of knocking Ethan's teeth loose when the man had suggested disposing of the body in the Thames. "I don't want to talk to anyone about anything. There's nothing to say!"
"I think there is. I think that there is a hell of a lot to say, to talk about-"
"Annie, don't."
"Don't? Don't what? Don't mention it and it will all go away, is that what this is all about? Stick your head in a bottle and everything will go back to the way it was before-"
"No!" He says, explosively and heaves to his feet.
"Really? Because that's how it looks from here." He ignores her, staggers to the other side of the room, and starts rummaging through the empties that are stacked all over the sink. The clink of bottles is loud in the silence. She waits for him to respond, trying to find any changes in the dark red swirling fog that smudges him head to toe, but the aura remains unchanged. So instead, she looks at the man and feels her fierce resolve begin to waver.
He looks terrible. It has been a mere handful of days since Gerald died, hideously and at their hands. All of them trying and failing to bring him back, before having to resort to murder to defend themselves from Eyghon, his possessor (poor Gerald). Only a few days since the death and already Rupert looks halfway there himself. He hasn't shaved, or changed clothes, and he reeks of whisky and sweat. And tears. Poor Rupert too.
Pity on all of us. All of us damned, through and through.
Pity on us all…
Then she sees his shoulders shaking in tiny tremors and starts to relax. His aura pulses with so much emotion she can read nothing except the raw size of it. Its a good sign, and faster than she'd hoped, but its one that tears at her too, so she hurries across the room and slips her arms around him from behind. Rests her cheek against his back. "Oh Rupert-"
"NO!" The explosive shattering of glass is shocking, as is his sudden explosion of movement. He pushes away from the sink, sending her sprawling onto her back on the floor, winded. Before she can recover herself he is upon her, all of his weight pinning her to the ground. His hands land around her throat, but not squeezing. Not yet. Oh god…
"I SAID NO! NO, no, no, no, no, no, NO!" He's roaring, spitting in her face, less than an inch from her, aura churning, thrashing and she realises with horror that what she had taken for tears had been anger; a rage that had so utterly consumed him that he had shaken from it. And now- "Why won't you leave me alone. God damn it! Don't you know…"
"Rupert," she interrupts, knowing full well that she does not have a moment to lose. "I do know. I do. You think this was all your fault, but it wasn't. Gerald knew what he was doing as well as any of us. It wasn't your fault. I know you feel it was - " He interrupts her with a sudden hard bark of laughter and she freezes.
"Fault?" His face is twisted in a laugh that boarders on the hysterical. "This is not about fault. Who cares about fucking fault? We're all of us right royally damned for what we did, but fault?" He laughs again and his aura ripples in shudders, discordant tears and jagged reefs of blood and ochre run through it, tearing at her and terrifying her.
"Rupert." Her voice is husky and weak, conscious as she is of his hands not quite pressing over her throat, but it refocusses his attention. He stares down at her.
"Get out." He says it flatly, as devoid of feeling as he had been full of it mere seconds ago. His aura is suddenly still and calm. She doesn't move. Neither does he. This is it, the eye of the storm, she can feel it. Whichever way this is to go, what happens next will decide it. She only hopes her dice are lucky…
"No." She says once again and he stares at her. She stares back. "No." She says it again, willing all of her determination, all of her love, into that one word. Kill me or let me up, Ru, but either way I am not leaving this room without you. They stare at each other and she waits.
"If it's not about fault, then tell me what it is about." She says after a minute of nothing. He continues to stare, still on top of her, hands still locked around her throat. Had he even heard her? She looks deeper into his eyes and wonders if he is seeing her at all in this moment.
"All right, if you want to talk then answer me this question: if I kill you, right here and now, will I enjoy it?
"I enjoyed Gerald, so would I also enjoy you?" He frames the statement in a question, but she doesn't answer because he isn't really asking. "I don't think I would, but then I didn't imagine that I'd get such a high from old Gerry either. Until I heard his neck snap that is. Wasn't all that much fun you see, until then, but when those bones crunched and he just seized up like he was having a fit, did you see it? It was beautiful. I can't remember ever having gotten so hot over anything before in my entire life. All I could think about was doing it again, and again and again." He stops then, and she can feel the effects the memory is having on him; sees his aura flare and flash as she has only ever seen it when he has been rambling around the city blitzing Nests with Ethan and Co. She can see the hatred that stains it too, stabbing cruelly into the heart of him.
And the realisation hits her like a frigid blast of air.
"Rupert." She carefully brings her hands up to frame his face. "Ru, its all right." She kisses his lips. "Its all ok. Listen to me now, listen." But he isn't, he's shaking his head. "You asked me a question, Ru, so hear my answer. Would you enjoy killing me? Do I really need to answer that?
"Look at yourself. Now. Look at what you're doing to yourself: is this the behaviour of a man who enjoys killing like you say you do.
"Ru, you are not responsible for what you carry inside you, your Heritage."
"I- I can control it-"
"Can you, could anyone entirely control it? Has any other? You say this isn't about fault and you are right, but that includes you too. Shush, no, it does – let me show you. Tell me what you saw, what you felt, when we were raising Eyghon?" She watches him squeeze his eyes shut. He says nothing for a long time, but then it all comes out in a wash of shame.
"I felt, alive." His voice is so hushed she almost can't hear him. Self-hatred drips from every forced word. "I wanted the rush of the possession, but I also wanted to take it on. I wanted to hunt it down, regardless of who it had hold of and…" He trails off and stops.
"You told me once, that you were different Ru. You've told me bits and pieces since, and I've seen you when you and the others have gone to play chicken with all sorts of nasty beasts. I've seen you pull Ethan out of Nests he might have died in. And yes, I've seen you kill, Ru. I've seen you kill vampires, demons and the like, but I know that you would never harm a person, let alone a friend, like that. Not for a thrill.
"Remember the Walk of Death Ru? Remember that night? You could have done as you wished to me that night and I couldn't have stopped you, but you stopped yourself. Didn't you.
"You didn't want to kill Gerald either, Ru, you were after Eyghon, you know you were. No one could have saved Gerry, but you did stop Eyghon from taking the rest of us. You saved our lives."
"No, I-"
"Shush, you know I'm right. Use that Oxford brain of yours."
"Oh no Annie. Oh no. What have we done? What's happening, what's happening?" His hands disappear from around her throat and suddenly she has her arms full of the man she knows. His tears seep straight through her shirt.
What was happening? What was happening was the ending. The end of the world. He had to go back. He had to or next time it would be worse, for him, for everyone. He had to return and reclaim what he had lost, take back his birthright, and in it find his purpose and his salvation.
She only wished it was that simple for the rest of them. She only wished she could stay with him…
"TILEA!" Giles came out of the roaring red gale in an explosive rush. He burst free, senses still ringing and blood still boiling with the gorgeous brilliance of the Slay, back into the 'real' world, and screamed. The shocking grief of the transition was too much to hold inside.
His head was pounding too, ears ringing, heart racing, and soul shaking with the shock of his expulsion back into the tunnel: this disgusting, smothering, foul-tasting, dull and insipid burrow of dank earth. He wanted to be sick. Just roll over and heave-to, but he was so weak he just lay their taking in large, fast lungfuls of tepid air and baring his teeth at the ripe decay of the mortality that surrounded him once again. Yes, he could still smell the sharp, clean stink of vampire and the death that came with it, but the flaming pleasure of its presence was fast collapsing in on itself, disappearing into the blackhole void inside him. So he just lay there, reeling, and dumb with shock.
But the low feelings did not last and slowly he was back, really back, once again.
What an unbelievable dream that had been. Possibly the most shamefully exhilarating experience he had had in years, and so insanely real he was going to be feeling it for days. And there was at least one person nearby who would have seen him have it. Oh bloody hell, how embarrassing. Ah well, at least he hadn't dreamed her into it. Nodding off like an old man was going to be hard enough to live down without those knowing, teasing looks haunting him all the way back out of the tunnels.
Perhaps, hopefully, in the raucous chatter going on all around him she had missed it…
But Tilea, why had he called for Tilea when he had been dreaming of the Slay? Why think of Tilea when he was- Oh god, Tilea! It all came back with a rush. Ethan's smirk, the Muttune't, Spike and Dawn, racing through the tunnels, Buffy, Annie and Frost. FROST! Frost. That was it! So, there was more recorded from Tilea's venture than he had been told by the Council. They did have at least some of the written records of the below ground search, which meant that the hapless detective had made it out alive. He had returned to the Council too, and they knew far more than they had let on. It made no sense why they had withheld it all, damn them, but their boy-soldier had unwittingly brought it all down here anyway. And now Giles was going to have it, all of it, every last detail. At last.
The Watcher took a few moments to curse himself though. He was an idiot not to have registered Frost's blather earlier, before the muttune't had arrived. They perhaps could have avoided all this unpleasantness and he could be, at this minute, booking a flight home to punch Knightly's lights out. Oh, you really are getting old Ripper, my son.
Now, where was that stupid boy?
Giles heaved himself up onto his elbow and rolled over straight into a soft shape. Ah ha, so he was not the only one to have age catching up with him. He pushed up to peer over Annie's shoulder and into her sleeping face. Caught out! Ha ha! Caught-
…..
Annie wasn't sleeping. Her eyes were open, staring across the tunnel, but she wasn't awake either. Oh my god. Annie wasn't sleeping. She wasn't awake. Not asleep, not awake. Not asleep, not awake. Not asleep, not awake. Not asleep, not awake-
"Mr Giles!"
This is not happening.
"MR GILES. SIR!"
Not asleep, not awake.
She was unconscious. He had seen people out cold, staring like that, before. He had. He had. Many times before. Not uncommon. Not asleep, not awake. His dumb eyes just couldn't see it like he usually could. That was all. He reached out a hand to touch her lips, feel for her steady breath, but stopped when he saw the blood: a tiny smear of red on her lower lip and a little more on her teeth, from where she must have bitten herself. Tiny little bead of blood for such a wound. Tiny. As if the blood had not the means by which to flow and –
….
….
"Oh god, Annie." Somehow he was on his knees. Somehow he had taken her quiet face in his hands. Somehow he had found his voice. "Oh no, no, no, no. Oh god, no. Please don't die, don't die, not like this… Not like this-" Annie, can you hear me? Annie? What's happened? Say something love, I can't hear you. I can't see. Help me. He stared, but could not find her. Help me, I don't understand.
Oh no. No, no, no, no-"Annie!" This is not happening. Wake up Annie, and tell me what to do!
"MR GILES! SIR, PLEASE - " Edward's shrill cry suddenly, inexplicably, registered. And with it, the rest of the world poured back into the silence, filling it, not with the loud chatter he had supposed, but with the sounds of violence. He looked up.
Edward Frost, ruffled and bloodied, stood between Buffy and Dawn, facing down the former with nothing but his pencil, whilst the latter lay dazed on the ground behind him. The young would-be councillor had the tiny instrument in a slashing grip in one hand, whilst the other made strange karate motions at the Slayer (who was gathering to spring, muscles tensing). It was in point of fact, the most utterly ridiculous sight Giles had ever seen in his entire life, but it suddenly took his total attention. I can do this, I know what's to be done here, and I can fix this.
"BUFFY SUMMERS!" He rose to his full height as he called across the narrow space, putting all his strength into the command. She whirled around instantly, but that was where her response ended. Oh dear god. His charge, or what was left of her, was wild with a raw dark energy that was almost unrecognisable, such was its degree. The Slay. This was it. Fuelled by the Hellmouth, its intensity, its totality, was simply terrifying – and he froze. How the hell did this happen? Ethan-
"What the fucking hell is going on!" Spike suddenly bellowed and Giles jumped, startled. His surprise was all the incentive the Slayer appeared to need, for she came at him so hard and so fast he was thrown into the tunnel wall, slamming into it so that all the air was knocked from his lungs. He went down. She sprang again. This time landing over his chest, straddling him in an uncanny repeat of Spike's bedchamber, not much more than a week ago. She snarled, green eyes almost black. He imagined that this was much how her aura must appear, and despaired.
"Buffy!" He wheezed, completely stunned and unable to move, let alone put up even a token resistance or find the capacity to reach out and save her. Her hands, curled into the talons he had felt before, went straight for his neck.
"Buffy!" Dawn. The young girl's shriek was piercing, but did nothing to stop her sister's determined efforts to kill him. There was nothing called Buffy here anymore, he realised, and there was nothing to be gained by appealing to that name. This was The Slayer, but this was also wrong. This was The Hellmouth's Slayer, not the World's, not Sunnydale's and certainly not his. This Slayer had no sister, no family, no Watcher, and no discretion. Then she squeezed down and he was choking.
"Spike." Dawn again, her voice echoing tinnily in his ears. Somehow he found the strength to raise his hands to his neck and grab at the crushing grip locked there. Blackness tinged the edges of his vision. "Do something! SPIKE!" Suddenly there was a commotion, a thrashing above him and he thought he heard Buffy scream, but it might have been the cool dark rushing roar that was suddenly filling his ears.
Black. Quiet.
Annie?
Then suddenly there was air. Beautiful, stale, fetid air. It poured and rushed into his mouth in a sweet violent flood. Not thinking further than that, he desperately sucked it down. And now voices. Screaming, yelling voices, and the scraping, rushing, thumping aural carnage of total panic crashed into his senses, tearing the quiet apart once again. He coughed, and tried to roll over, but suddenly she was back, and they slammed together again right beside Annie. Not an inch away from her. But the Slayer did not even turn nor glance aside. Which meant that she knew what was there, which meant that-
"Oh my god, what have you done?" His voice crackled through bruised vocal cords. No. Buffy had… He, they, had…? No, not that, never that… But he knew. He knew what had happened and he couldn't look away. His dream had been no dream after all. The beautiful terror that he had burst from had been real. He remembered. He remembered, and he went mad with it.
Dawn had her back to the wall when Buffy finally threw Spike aside and went back after Giles. She had a fast grip on a jutting piece of it too, clamped on so hard she could not feel her fingertips. Panic and terror had frozen her there and she could not move. Annie, Annie was dead. Dead, like in for real and total. Lying there, twisted onto her side and staring at the wall. Not moving dead. And who had done this thing? Buffy? Giles? Either option was too much to think about and couldn't be real. It just couldn't be.
Then Giles said something to Buffy, where they lay twisted together on the ground, and they both froze, but only for a moment and then the Watcher roared. Just like totally screamed, bellowed and tore the air apart, filling the cramped tunnel with such unimaginable grief and rage that Dawn found herself joining in. She felt burst open, torn apart and broken.
"Dawn!" It was Spike. Coming to her aid once again. Bastard! Too late, too late. You did this, you started it! You shouldn't have hit Eddie! She flailed out at him, felt her fists connect with cool flesh, then concrete strong arms grabbed at her, pinning her fast. She shut her eyes and screamed again, struggling for all she was worth. "Dawn, stop it!
"Here, you, take her out of here!" Spike yelled above the din. She opened her eyes to see that creepy guy, Ethan, standing white faced by the far wall, near where they had entered. He was staring at Annie, not moving, face as pale as Spike's and eyes as black as if the vampire had punched him. "You! ETHAN!" Spike called out again. She heard Buffy and Giles screaming and fighting behind the vampire's back. She struggled harder. "ETHAN! You fucking prick, look at me! For fuck's sake!" And then Ethan was obeying. He did not move, though. And he looked as strange as he had when Buffy, Spike and Giles had first started fighting, but this time the puzzle pieces fit together in Dawn's mind with a sickening snap.
"YOU!" She screamed across the tunnel. "YOU DID THIS! WHAT DID YOU DO TO THEM? WHAT DID YOU DO?" Spike froze, no longer trying to hold her to him, but before she could get out from his arms he was pushing her away, back into the wall and in to Eddie. She looked up in time to see him looking down at her, really looking at her for the first time in what seemed forever, and then vamping out, the liquid shift from human to demon happening so violently it looked painful. Eddie started against her, his hands clamping down upon her shoulders.
"Fix it." Spike turned to Ethan, his voice, rasping through his fangs, sounding as inhuman as a snake's. His lips peeled back over diamond sharp fangs. "Fix it you fuck!" Ethan doesn't move and the Watcher and Slayer are shredding each other, and Annie is still dead. He's not going to help them, she can see it.
"Kill him!" Dawn called out, commanding her vampire. "Spike, if he won't help us then kill him and break the spell." Spike rumbled and it sounded like vampire for "yesssss!"
But then Ethan was moving after all, his hands were fluttering around in front of him and his lips were moving. She couldn't hear what he was saying above the din, but her threat had worked so-
Spike suddenly shook his head - abrupt and violent, like a dog with water in his ears. He jerked as if stung. And then he was looking at Buffy and Giles, where they had moved across the tunnel. They too started, as if shocked. Then Spike growled and Dawn looked back to see him looking at her. As if she was lunch.
"Ethan!" She called out, but he was already on his way out of the tunnel. Spike turned back. Oh my god. "Spike. Spike, what are you doing?" But she already knew and it was already too late. He sprang forward.
Straight into Eddie. The little guy was suddenly there, in front of her, rushing up to meet vampire-Spike halfway. "RUN!" He called out to her. "RUN, RUN!" But she couldn't, there was a wall of rock behind her, Spike to her right and Buffy and Giles to her left. She was blocked in, nowhere to go. All she could do was watch.
Eddie was no match for Spike, but he landed one good solid punch to the vampire's nose before Spike pinned him still. Dawn couldn't tear her eyes away. She'd seen it all before, in those African lion documentaries, but it was all so much worse when it was happening for real, right there in front of her. Eddie struggled, but it did no good.
But then Buffy! The Slayer, coming in, straight and true at last; so fast was all a blur as she wrested Eddie free from Spike, sending him sprawling onto the ground to lie next to Annie. Then Buffy and Spike picked up from where they had left off: fighting. Really fighting, with vampire speed and strength so that she couldn't see a thing but a blur of colour and noise and whirlwind movement. And again there was nothing she could do but cower against the wall.
Help me!
Then they were gone. Just like that. One moment, they were in front of her, and then next they were tumbling and thrashing out of the tunnel and were gone. Dawn sank to her knees. Shaking.
Buffy?
Gone. She was gone. Gone.
The tunnel was silent. She was alone.
No, wait a minute-
Eddie! Oh god, Eddie. Dawn crawled, clawed, her way across the sandy floor to where he lay curled next to Annie. Where Annie still lay, but now looking at Eddie with her direct nowhere stare, as if she meant to take him where she herself had gone. A terrified, hopeless, sob burst from Dawn's lips, but she persisted and crawled over the little guy's body to look into his face. Blood. Everywhere, from his chin to his shoulder. She couldn't see the wounds in the dark like this, even with the light from the discarded flashlights, so he could be dead-
He coughed.
"Eddie!" Dawn heard, rather than felt, herself speak. "Oh thank you, thank you. You're not dead. You're not dead." He wasn't dead. That was good. Focus on that. He wasn't dead. Now, she had to make sure he stayed that way. Giles. She needed Giles. Then she needed to get out of here, and then to a hospital. She could do- Oh help, Giles! "Giles!" She called out. Nothing. No, wait, there by the far wall there was an ex-librarian shaped lump. Scrambling to her feet she raced across the space, landing and skidding on her knees. Wait a minute, no. She stopped, inches from grabbing onto his jacket. This was crazy Giles; crazy, frog-in-a-blender Giles that Ethan had put a spell on. If he woke up who's to say he wouldn't eat her like Spike tried to? Indecision made her hands hover for a moment, but then Eddie coughed again and she knew what she had to do.
"Giles, oh please wake up. Please wake up! Help!"
"I'm awake. What's going on?" Giles suddenly spoke as he sat up from his slump. He sounded weirdly flat, but he sounded like Giles, and that would do more than fine right now.
"Buffy's gone and Eddie's been hurt. I need your help to get him out of here."
"Buffy? Eddie? Frost? Oh. Alright then. Certainly." But the Watcher did not move to get up. He just looked around and frowned. OK, so this wasn't going to be so easy. She pulled on his arm.
"Uh, Giles: little help."
"Oh, right, right. Of course." And he was getting up, using her (crushingly) as a prop, but he was moving. She pushed him back against the wall. He put a hand to a battered cheek and his fingers came away smudged red. He was clearly even more confused at this as his forehead suddenly creased even more deeply.
"OK, are you going to stay up?" Maybe Buffy had hit him in the head?
"Hmm."
"I'll take that as a yes." Dawn gave him another shove and stepped back. "Eddie's over here, come on."
"Right." Giles said, but this time he sounded more like Giles. "How bad is it?
"I don't know, but he's still breath- Where are you going?"
"Where's the Slayer?" Giles was frowning again, but this time the expression was darker, more intense. He looked around, and Dawn looked at him; there was a weird light in his eyes and since when did he refer to Buffy as The Slayer? The hair stood up on her arms.
"Uh, she's gone uh home. Yeah. Uh, home. She… She told me that we need to take Eddie back and she'd meet us there." The instinctive lie came out in a stuttering babble. There was something seriously wrong here. "Uh, Giles?"
"She's not here, but she was." He cocked his head, ignoring her. "And a vampire. Ah! Yes." He suddenly grinned, lips tight, eyes glowing, and started out of the tunnel. Dawn started, alarmed. Oh no, she wasn't going to get left alone down here. NO WAY!
"NO!" Without thinking Dawn lunged after the Watcher, grabbing at his arm. His skin felt so cold. "Giles, don't go! You can't go! You can't leave me here." He stopped and turned back. Looked down at her, dazed and bewildered once more.
"Dawn?" OK, back to Mr Space-y, but at least he wasn't trying to leave. She pulled on his arm until he started walking back to Eddie, then she rushed to gather up Spike's forgotten duster.
"OK, just come back here and… And, we can use Spike's coat to - Where are you going?" This time she did not even hesitate, but grabbed him immediately. And again he stopped trying to leave. She let go, his focus went with it. She grabbed his arm again and he looked at her. Hokay, even more weirdness, but this was one she didn't have time to puzzle over. There were issues of possessed garden gnomes, evil magic guys and crazy vampires and Slayers ready to jump back out at them from the shadows, and she knew that every second wasted was another that brought one or all of those issues back into their faces.
Dawn grabbed Giles' hand and steered him back over to Eddie and Anita. She pulled him down to sit with her, and without letting go of his hand, she pulled at Spike's coat, but it was almost impossible to manoeuvre it, let alone try to twist-and-throw it over Eddie's shivering body with only one hand. But that was all she had, so she strained and twisted and pulled and cursed. Oh come on!
And Eddie? She could hear him making little wet coughing sounds. Just keep on doing that, she encouraged, just hang on and we will get you out of here.
"Giles, I need you to-" But he was gone again, this time staring at Anita. Anita. How were they going to get her out of here as well? She watched Giles as he sat there, just looking, as if the woman were an interesting painting hanging in a gallery. He didn't try to touch her. "W-we can't take her as well as Eddie you know, Giles. I'm sorry, I-"
"Yes, I know. It's alright." The Watcher's voice was still that weird flat tone, but his mild compliance was suddenly more devastating than if he had shouted her down with denials and accusations. Dawn felt fresh tears fill her eyes. No. No, she couldn't stand this.
"W-we can," And Dawn found herself frantically looking around the tunnel, for something, anything that she could use so that she could take back her words. Anything. But there was nothing. "I don't know, but we could, maybe, uh-"
Giles wasn't listening to her though. He was reaching into his pants pocket. She watched the filthy bloody knuckles disappear, watched the pocket material writhe as he felt around for something. She watched the shape of his fist form under the cloth, and then he was pulling something out. Putting it to his lips he kissed it. It was some weird little stone, with something drawn on it. And, was that- did it have its own vibrating ring tone or something? It seemed to buzz in his fingers. Then he pressed it to his forehead, muttered something, and reached over to fold one of Annie's hands around it. "Here Annie. For you." He said. "I can always find you if you have it with you." Dawn stared at the closed fist. The Watcher leaned in and kissed Annie on the lips.
"Dawn." This time it was Giles who prompted her. There was a clearer look in his eye this time and she almost fell over with relief. Giles was back, he was back and she had never ever been so anxious to be told what to do in her entire life. "We have to go."
Dawn did not realise that they were free from the underground labyrinth until she ran into the tree that suddenly appeared in front of her. She smashed into its broad trunk, and fell hard onto the dewy grass at its base. Edward, still so heavy on her shoulder, was dragged down with her, falling limply to the ground. Giles staggered on by himself for a few feet as if he didn't realise what had happened, but then she heard him go down too: a soft thump in the dark. His ragged breathing sounded raw and wet. He did not come back to find them, and Dawn dug her fingers into the damp soil and tried not to burst into tears – again.
They were free.
They were back in the world at last.
Oh god…
She pulled her bruised body free from Eddie's dead weight and looked back at the tomb. The broken doorway, like a yawning mouth, gaped back at her: so quiet now. No gibbering goblins were chasing them this time (although she could have sworn she had seen a glimmer of eyes watching their stumbling journey). A lump of tears, of grief and terror and anger, surged up to close her throat; her stomach filled with ice and stone. How could it look like that after everything that had happened – that it had done to them? How dare it look like that! She bit down on the rising sob, refusing to let it enjoy the sight of any more suffering.
Buffy where are you?
"Mmph."
"Eddie!" Dawn started. She reached around the limp body and hooked her hands over his shoulder, feeling the wet ragged tears in his jacket, and pulled him onto his back. In the darkness, the blood looked like black coffee stains. There was a lot of spilt coffee. Dark lines ran from his nose to his chin, and from his eyes like tears. She didn't need to be a doctor to know that this was really, really bad. "Eddie? Eddie?" She gave a little shake of his shoulders. Not you too, not you too. "Giles, help me! Giles!" No answer. "GILES PLEASE HELP ME!" Oh god, oh god, oh god. Her hands rose up of their own accord to hover over Eddie's face, fluttering there like butterflies. He looked so broken up she was afraid to touch him. "What do I do? I don't know what to do? Somebody help me! I don't know what to do! Buffy? BUFFY!" She screamed as loud as she could, but no one called back, no one came to help, not even Giles. She was abandoned for real this time, and Eddie was dying right in front of her. "I- I'm going to get help." She said to him. Giles was just around the tree, so, like no problem, right? Giles would fix it. He would know what to do. Yeah, that's why he isn't right here doing it… Oh god. "J-just don't d- go anywhere, ok?"
"W-what ha-" The English guy's eyes flicked open.
"Eddie?" Dawn responded without thinking, reaching out to frame his face in her hands, as she leaned over him. "Eddie?" She saw his eyes roll in her direction, wobble and settle, and her heart started to race anew in her chest, thumping painfully against her ribs. "Eddie? Say something, please. What do I do?" There was no reply, but Giles' breathing and the wet wheeze that she now realised, to her horror, was coming from Eddie. Oh no, please no. "I'm going to get help, ok?"
"No-o, don't…!" The Englishman started, and suddenly convulsed, head bouncing against the ground, and she felt the skin under her hands flood with warm liquid. She recoiled, to horrified even to think. More not-coffee bubbled up from his mouth, from his nose. His breath gurgled horribly in his throat and Dawn thought her heart was going to explode with terror.
Then he stopped moving.
So did she. She froze, although the adrenaline icing her belly, her limbs, told her to run, run, run. Run away to where this wasn't happening. Back to where Mom would be waiting, arms crossed as she sat on the couch. Waiting to tell her off for staying out late, sending her to her warm, dry and safe bed where she could be happily grounded for life. Anywhere but deep dark holes where horrifying creatures sat waiting for her, where evil wizards were waiting to send her sister insane and take her friends from her. And anywhere but where this kind, cute, dweeby guy that had fought to save her life, was losing the battle for his own. Anywhere but here…
Eddie suddenly inhaled again. A big drawn out, wet sounding wheeze that started somewhere around his boots and opened his mouth wide. The whites of his eyes showed her that he was looking at the stars. The cold, uncaring stars that swayed in and out of sight through the branches above them. She looked up too, then back at his face. He looked like a ghost already: skin so transparent and pale under the moonlight that even she could see that he was already fading away. That last effort to make her stay had taken everything he had left and she knew there was no use in running for help. And she couldn't leave him here to stare at the lonely stars until...
Dawn found her hands miraculously steady as she touched his face again. She turned it slightly, slippery as it was with blood, until he was looking at her. He blinked slowly, the movement looking heavy and stiff.
"It's ok, I'm not going anywhere." She felt her face crease into a small warm smile, though her insides still felt icy. "I'm here." He didn't react. Could he even see or hear her anymore? He had asked her not to leave, he didn't want to be alone, but if he didn't know she was there... "Eddie?" She asked, leaning in close. "Can you hear me?" This close she could smell the blood that was glistening in the moonlight, and see the wounds that had messed up his throat. Spike's wounds. His breathing was getting fainter, wetter. Eddie. Tears leaked free from her eyes then, despite her best efforts, and she watched as they dripped onto his face, mixing with the blood. She watched him blink as they hit. Dawn started. He had felt that! Eddie! Without thinking, she lunged closer and pressed her lips to his. The blood covering his mouth felt disgusting, but she didn't pull back, instead she willed with all her strength for him to know that she was there – that someone was there. Feel me here with you, I'm here, you're not alone, not alone, thank you for looking after me, thank you for saving my life, thank you for trying to save Giles' friend, thankyou for everything, I'm here with you, you aren't alone. Eddie's breath rattled horribly, but his lips did not move, he did not so much as twitch. He couldn't feel her - it was too late even for that. The excruciating pain of that knowing tore at her more viciously than even the calling of the Hellmouth in her 'dream'. She pulled back; suddenly trembling so hard she could barely stay up on her knees.
I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry. Too late, too late.
But no, wait-
Eddie's pale fingers were reaching up to touch his lips. A look of wonder passed over his face, his lips curved into a smile, and he was suddenly reaching out to her. Dawn grasped the icy hands and held on, pressing them to her face.
"Eddie?" Dawn's whisper caught in her throat.
"I can see you!" The awed whisper slipped from his lips, away into the breeze; and Edward Frost followed after them, gliding away into the dark.