The Reforging of the Key

Chapter Two: Reformation

Author's Note: A couple of lines from the Angel episode Destiny are used in this.

…

It was pointless, he knew it was, but Spike couldn't stop himself from trying to grab at the scattering green motes that had once been a young girl, calling out her name and begging her not to leave him. Miraculously, as if they'd heard and understood his desperate plea, the sparks of energy stopped moving, held in stasis for one frozen moment. Then they came at him like angry wasps, stinging his skin as they pelted against it before passing through.

A crazy babble of thoughts swirled through the vampire's mind, along with the realization that Dawn's bits were scattered all through him. Cut her out. Who needs algebra in the real world anyway? Does that cute lifeguard at the community pool even know I exist? I miss my sister. I miss my slayer. In his blood. Bleed her out. Put her back together with superglue and duct tape. Good as new. Right as rain, mate. Duct tape mummy Nibblet.

He felt hysterical laughter trying to bubble up at that last thought, but he ruthlessly fought it down. He had to think. Had to-

Peace. Everything was peaceful and still, his tumbled thoughts shut down to bask in a strange green, pink, and golden glow.

Is she real? an achingly familiar voice whispered in his mind. Is she yours?

A fierce, snarled yes was the automatic answer to both questions. She wasn't just some bloody damn key. She was a girl. His girl. The voice should have known that. She was the one who had put Dawn in his care. 'Til the end of the world, Slayer. She's mine until the end of the world.

Pain. As sudden as the peace. Itchy, burning, agonizing pain. Like every bone in his body being smashed to pieces and every muscle seizing up while ants chewed their way out of him. Pain from a throat screamed raw and bloody. And then, blessed oblivion.

…

…

Despite being thousands of motes of energy, Dawn was strangely aware of herself at first. That awareness started to fade as the jumbled bits of her drifted apart, each little spark going its own way. She would dissipate, become nothing and everything all at once. No one could ever leave her again because she would be the one who was gone.

Dawn! Her name was shrieked with raw terror and pain while a hazy pinkish gold glow swirled through the emerald particles of her existence. Don't you leave me, you bloody stupid chit. I'll show you what being ripped to shreds really means if you don't mind me and get your arse back here!

Spike. Spike needed her. He'd dust himself if she wasn't there. He'd just walk out into the sunlight or starve himself. Like before, when he hadn't been able to tolerate the sight of any kind of blood because it reminded him of hers.

The sparkles of her stopped their movement, held still by the remnants of her will. The pinkish gold blob that was Spike – and how weird was that? Why was a badass punk vampire pinkish gold of all colors? – had stopped flailing after her as soon as she stilled, but a haze of that color still filled the spaces between her scattered parts, helping to hold them together. Being green glitter bits had been expected, but none of the crazy people describing her had ever mentioned the pinkish gold. It had to be new.

Suddenly, she remembered what she'd done just before exploding, and was momentarily glad she was in a form that couldn't vomit. She'd been acting on some kind of weird instinct, a compulsion so strong she couldn't stop even as it utterly grossed her out. She hadn't just bitten Spike. She'd ripped out a chunk and eaten it. There had been the expected raw meat flavor with a weird honey and pomegranates aftertaste, almost as if she'd somehow tasted his very essence. And now the same pinkish gold that seemed to be her vampire was a hazy part of her.

A new compulsion, but one she knew she could fight if she wanted to, came over her. She could let herself dissipate away and hurt people the way she'd been hurt, or she could…. She made her choice and dove towards the pinkish gold, the fact that she had some of the same as a part of her allowing her to burrow inside.

A strange babble of thoughts went through her head, but even with some of them being her own, she was more focused on the sudden feelings of warmth and safety. It was like being curled up with a large cat. A cat who could turn on her and eat her, but wouldn't because it had decided that she belonged to it. It made her think of the scrapbook she kept under her bed, full of pictures and articles about predators adopting prey animals, including a lioness who had tried taking care of a baby antelope.

Is she real? It was Buffy's voice. She wanted to call out to her, to tell her that she was real, and that she needed her big sister, but she knew the question wasn't for her. Is she yours?

YES! The affirmative was practically roared, sending her burrowing deeper within the pinkish gold, rolling in it, making it a larger part of her.

She knew, somehow, that what was happening right now would change her. She had been made out of Buffy, but that wasn't enough to hold her to human form indefinitely without her sister there to reinforce it. Buffy was still a part of her, would always be a part of her, but now there was more. She would be different, but still Dawn in all the ways that mattered.

She let go and let herself be remade.

…

…

"Bit?" Spike croaked hoarsely as he came to. His throat felt like he'd been gargling broken glass and hot peppers, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that his little bit was there, flesh and blood, curled up on the floor a few feet away from him.

He groaned as he forced himself up onto his hands and knees to crawl to her. Christ, I've felt better after one of Angelus's more creative punishments. At least nothing actually seemed to be broken.

He stopped only a few inches from Dawn, his outstretched hand hovering just over her hair. Her hair…. It seemed shorter now, a few inches of the glossy, dark brown length swallowed up by corkscrew curls. He gently pulled one out, straightening it out to the former length, then watched it sproing back when he let it go.

Okay… so, eating vampires and exploding is apparently a cheaper way to get a home perm. He knew even as he thought it that it was one of the stupidest things to ever flit through his head, and he'd once had the closing credits song from a children's show with a person in an elephant suit stuck in there for a year and a half. Still, it distracted him for a second from the most likely reason for her sudden case of poodle-itis.

He took a deep breath to steady himself, but that only made things worse. Her scent was different. Joyce was still there and Buffy, but as if they were both somehow her mother. And the only hint of Hank Summers came through the Buffy smell. He leaned in closer and breathed deeply, tongue curling in his mouth as he both tasted and scented the air around her. According to her scent, her father… her father was…

There's no belonging or deserving. You can take what you want, have what you want, but nothing is yours. Angelus's words from over a century ago, swirling through his head. Like I told you, boyo, nothing is yours. Not Dru, not even yourself.

He scooped Dawn up in his arms and held her tight, frantically petting her newly curly hair as he rocked slightly and babbled to himself.

…

…

The first thing Dawn noticed as she slowly came back to herself was that she was being held. The second was that someone was petting her hair and babbling at her.

"Mine, mine, mine," the babbler whispered frantically. "She's mine now, and they can't change it. Mine. Not even Angelus can take her away. They can beat me to a soddin' pulp and keep us apart, but she'll still bloody well be mine!"

She squirmed a little, more to let Spike know she was awake than to get away from him, even if he was being weird. Well, weirder, anyway. He immediately pushed her away, but only enough so he could look her in the eyes. His were wide and shocky, bits of yellow flecked through the blue as if he was fighting not to switch to his vamp face.

She opened her mouth to say something, but was distracted by a curly tendril of hair brushing against her cheek. Spike winced and backed away from her a little when she brought her hand up to slide through her hair.

"It...it's curly," she said, blinking in surprise.

"Yeah. Um… sorry about that, Bit. You must'a inherited from me." His eyes had gone back to solid blue with more of a wild look, and he seemed to now be fighting off a case of hysterical giggles.

"'S'okay if you want to straighten it. God knows I can't stand the bloody things." He did that little head tilt thing of his again and looked her over. "Gotta say, they do look good on you, though. Long enough that Harris won't call you a demented sheep."

The sheer grumpiness and relative normality of that last sentence startled a laugh out of her. "I-I think I'll keep it this way."

Must'a inherited it from me. The words circled through her mind. Must'a inherited it from me. She didn't really feel any different. All of her memories included her hair being straight until now, so they hadn't been altered by being reformed. Had it just been her body? Had she been remade as Spike's daughter?

"I… am I?" She reached up to touch her face. Did it look any different? Oh, God, do I still look like me?

"Sh, sh, it's okay, Nibblet," Spike said, pulling her hands from her face. "Except for the hair, the only difference seems to be your scent. You've still Buffy and your mum in you, but your absentee wanker of a father… isn't anymore."

She swallowed hard and tried to get her breathing under control. She knew what he was trying to tell her, but couldn't stop the words that spilled out of her mouth laced with false happiness. "You… you mean he showed up?"

Spike flinched at that, and Dawn could have kicked herself. Why had she said that? He didn't have a soul, but anyone with two brain cells to rub together could tell he had feelings. Big neon sign somewhere inside to tell him that people are so not part of a nutritiously balanced breakfast? Nope. Emotions that could be stomped on the ground under one's heel? Absolutely.

She slowly reached out to him and rubbed one short lock of just curling platinum hair between her thumb and index finger. Soft. That must be why her conditioner kept mysteriously running out sooner than it should. She'd get mad about that later.

"My dad isn't absentee anymore. He's right here with me."

Spike nodded jerkily, then abruptly grabbed her shoulders, accidently knocking her arm away in the process. "You can't tell them. No one can know."

She pulled away from him, hurt and confused. He… he doesn't want me? Why doesn't he want me? That didn't make any sense. Why had he been babbling about no one taking her away from him if he didn't want her? Was he embarrassed that some mystical weirdness had made him her father after she'd gone all Hannibal Lector on him?

"No, no, no," he said in immediate response to her pulling back. "'S'not like that, Li'l Bit. Not ashamed of you. Right proud actually. But… you know what the others think of me. Don't want them lookin' at you and seein' me. Got that?"

She nodded slowly, believing him. She didn't know if it was the lack of a soul or something else, but it never immediately occurred to him to lie to spare people's feelings. It usually took him a few seconds at least to figure out if it might be a good idea, and then his lies were pathetically obvious. This sounded like truth, and even made sense.

Tara would understand, but the others? Xander would call Spike a disgusting, evil thing and accuse him of corrupting her. Then they'd drive him away, never mind that he watched over, read to her at night so she could sleep, and even packed her lunch for school on the days when Tara and Willow had early morning classes. Spike was part of her now, and they would think it was obscene.

"Okay, I won't tell them. But I'm keeping the hair," she said with a defiant head shake. "And if Xander calls me a sheep, I'll… I'll call him a bloody wanker."

Spike laughed at that and flashed her a shaky grin. "That's my girl."

Then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he slumped over towards her, flattening them both to the floor. Before Dawn could react, she slipped into unconsciousness as well.

…

…

He was there, at the tower, looking up at where Dawn was waiting. The slayer was fighting Glory, and Doc was nowhere to be seen. This time, he wouldn't be too late. This time, he'd keep his promise. He'd keep Dawn safe, and Buffy wouldn't die. He'd save them both.

He ran towards the stairs that would lead him up the tower, only to stop in confusion when a familiar door suddenly blocked his way. He opened the door and walked through, immediately closing it behind him. Mustn't let bugs or Glory minions into Joyce's nice, clean house.

It looked and felt mostly like the Summers home, the only differences being the strange, almost empty feeling and the bassinet set up next to the couch. Is that… Dawn? His attention was drawn from the baby in the mini crib by a sound from upstairs, and then all thoughts of anything else were driven right out of his head by the sight of her.

"Buffy," Spike whispered hoarsely.

She walked down the stairs with determination, completely focused on him. He tensed, waiting for her to tear into him for failing her. Waiting for her to yell or hit him or both. She shoved him against the door, raised her hand…

… and buried it in his hair as she pulled his head down for a kiss.

…

…

Aside from puppets on TV singing about the dangers of eating paint, the house was strangely quiet when Tara got home. It was just dark enough outside that Spike might have taken Dawn out for ice cream, but his coat was still draped over the stair railing, and he was more likely to leave an actual limb behind.

"Dawn? Spike?" She stepped into the living room and gasped. The teenager and vampire were sprawled in a tangled heap on the floor, unconscious.

Their auras were tangled together as well, though that seemed to be slowly sorting itself out. It reminded her of the times she'd watched the auras of a mother and newborn while helping her own mother in her work as a midwife. The thought that Spike might have turned Dawn was there and dismissed before it really had time to form.

She hurried over to the pair of them and knelt beside Dawn. "Dawnie? Sweetie? Wake up." She gently patted the girl's cheek, then shook Spike's arm. "Spike?"

Sudden fatigue hit her like a ton of bricks, and Tara fell across the other two, fast asleep.