The Reforging of the Key

Chapter Seven: Finding Home

…

"Wake up, wake up, wake up!" Dawn shook Spike's limp, lifeless body with each repetition of the phrase. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

"Dawnie…." Tara fell to her knees next to the distraught girl and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. She opened her mouth to give her Spike's message… and couldn't. She couldn't make herself say the words.

Damn it, Spooky, I'm not giving up on you. I know you. You always put the needs of those you care about above what you think you want.

Though, honestly, she didn't think she'd be able to blame him if he didn't come back to them. In the dream world, he'd been respected and loved and free of the chip. Here, he was constantly belittled and mocked, mostly unwanted and unloved, and he was vulnerable to his natural prey. She was pretty sure that the mugging Xander was always laughing about hadn't been the worst thing to happen to Spike at the hands of a human since he'd been chipped.

Beside her, Dawn sobbed and collapsed bonelessly across her father's body. "Stupid, selfish vampire. I know it hurts here, but you have to come back. Please don't leave me."

Tara looked away, tears starting to form in her own eyes. That's when she saw it. The faintest twitch of Spike's hand.

"Dawn," she called out urgently, gripping the girl's shoulders and pulling her up onto her knees.

"No! I'm not giving up!"

"No, no, Dawnie, look!" She pointed, drawing Dawn's attention to Spike's face as his eyes flickered open.

…

...

In the dream world, Spike sat alone on the park bench, watching the eastern sky. There was still time. Not to get to the house – and why would he ever want to go back there now that it was empty? – but to close his eyes and let himself drift off. He'd wake up back in the real world with his girls. God, he missed them.

But if I do that, eventually whatever it is that's wrong with me will rear its ugly head, and I'll be alone again. Unloved and unwanted.

Sometimes he wondered if he'd been cursed. If some demon in human guise had come across his poetry when he'd still been alive and had been deeply offended by its utter terribleness. But no, there was just something wrong about him. There always had been. That was why…. He instinctively shied away from the thought.

Bugger it, about to go all over crispy critter, might as well do a bit of poking into things. He remembered his mother after he'd turned her, the vile things spewing from her mouth as she talked about wishing he'd find a girl so she wouldn't have to put up with him anymore. Remembered her…. He shuddered in revulsion and quickly shoved those memories back down in the depths of his psyche where they belonged. Not even imminent death could make them bearable.

He shivered and hugged himself, his fingers caressing the sleeves of the leather coat he still privately thought of as Nikki's. He was proud of the skill it had taken to dance with Nikki, proud that he'd been both her best and last partner, but the coat was more than just a trophy to him. It symbolized her essence. Her strength.

She'd begged for her life even though she was beyond ready for it to be over. Not for her own sake, but for her son. If she'd been anyone else, he might possibly have let her live. But he'd loved her, in his own way, and so he'd ignored her words and had given her what she needed. Death at the hands of a worthy foe rather than due to a careless mistake against a fledge, which would have left her son convinced she hadn't cared enough about him to live.

And, oh god, the look of peace on her face as she died. The same look he'd seen in the eyes of countless girls he'd spent weeks draining to the brink over and over again, teasing them with death until they craved it, literally cried for it, because then he could see it when they died…. The peace that part of him had longed for ever since Angelus had shattered his illusions of ever having any real control over his own life or destiny.

But Dru had needed him, so even as he'd thrown himself recklessly into dangerous situations, he'd always held back his own death wish to be there for the one he loved. And now he'd do it again. Eventually, Dawn and Tara would realize he was an unlovable monster, and maybe then he'd finally have that playdate with Mr. Sunshine, but right now, they needed him.

Spike sighed, curled up in Nikki's coat as if wrapping himself up in her strength, and closed his eyes just as the sun began to rise.

…

...

Dawn gave Spike a minute to sit up before she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. I forgot how thin and bony he is here, she thought. Now that she wasn't freaking out about him not waking up, the differences were jarring. In the dream world, he'd been healthy and happy. Here, he was way too thin, looked exhausted, and his eyes had a dull, listless look to them.

"What took you so long? You worry me like that again, and I'll… I'll set you on fire, you stupid vampire!" She figured her threat would probably have been more effective if she wasn't hugging him for all she was worth, but she couldn't bring herself to let go.

"Sorry, Bit," he whispered hoarsely, lifting his own arms to circle around her. "Just… got a bit lost on the way, is all."

He shuddered suddenly, and Dawn knew his memories of the waking world had just reasserted themselves as the dominant ones. There was a small, sympathetic sound from Tara, and suddenly she was there as part of the hug.

"I love you, Dad," she whispered. "I don't care what the others think or say, I'll always love you."

He didn't say anything in response, just shifted so that he had one arm still around her and the other around Tara. We're his girls, and he's our vampire, she thought, feeling like everything was going to be okay now. They were family, and they'd get through all of this together.

That, of course, was when Willow came home. And, unfortunately, she wasn't alone.

"Hi, Spike! You're looking very attractive today," the Buffybot announced perkily.

With what sounded suspiciously like a choked off whimper, Spike scrambled away from them and bolted for the kitchen. Before Dawn could react, he had fled through the back door into the night.

"Geez, I know he doesn't like the bot anymore, but drama queen much?"

Dawn and Tara shared a look, fourteen years of living together giving them enough knowledge of each other to silently communicate. Tara took off after Spike while Dawn turned her wrath on the redheaded witch.

"You get that thing out of my house!" she screamed, her voice rapidly rising to the levels of a patented Dawn Summers Power Shriek. She really wanted to go with Tara, but she was pretty sure Spike needed to just completely fall apart right now, and wouldn't be able to do that with her there. "Get it out! Get it out!"

"D-Dawnie, what?" She looked from the screaming teenager to her girlfriend as the other woman headed out of the house. "Tara, baby? What's going on?"

…

...

By the time she caught up to him, Spike was in his crypt, sitting against the wall of the upper level and working on drinking his second bottle of Jack. She had gone straight there without dawdling. He had just been that determined to get as drunk as possible, as quickly as possible, and had used his vampiric speed to help achieve that goal. Without saying a word, Tara took the bottle away and sat beside him.

"Gonna need that back, pet," he said quietly.

"Not just yet." Her voice was calm and confident. Two things that wouldn't have been true before the dream world.

He sighed and hugged his knees to his chest. "You should be off having a snog and a snuggle with your honey, not playing babysitter to Sunnyhell's most pathetic excuse for a vampire."

Tara hated seeing him like this. He looked… broken. And his aura….. It hurt to look at his aura. He was trembling slightly as he fought to sort out all of the feelings that had so suddenly become unfuzzed. She still remembered the long litany of things he'd listed during their first real conversation in the dream. All of that to process all at once. It was no wonder he was trying to seek at least temporary oblivion in the bottom of a bottle.

"I miss her." He laughed suddenly, a dark, bitter sound. "Hell, I miss me. All that's happened since I first came to this bloody hellhole…. I don't even know who I am anymore. In the dream… that was close. It was different, but you can't just stay the same, yeah? I adapt. It's what I do. It's part of who I am. But now, here… now I'm just this. Miserable and alone. That's not…. I can't…. I don't wanna be this!"

It was a little incoherent – mostly from the emotions themselves being hard to put into words – but Tara understood.

"I know who you are," she said softly. He looked up at her, startled, when she murmured the words to her binding spell, locking his wrists together with the version he couldn't get out of on his own. "No matter what, you're my Spooky."

He stared her for a silent moment as she held out her arms. Then he let himself lean into her embrace. She held him and murmured soft bits of nonsense as he cried over Buffy and over all of the mangled pieces of himself he was still trying so desperately to fit back together.

I don't know who you're becoming, she thought as she gently stroked his hair, but Dawn and me, we'll help you get there. And no matter what, you'll always belong to us.

…

...

While Dawn ranted and raved at a confused and increasingly upset Willow, and Tara comforted her vampire, Giles threw down in his glasses in disgust and got up from the tome of prophecies he'd been reading.

Why couldn't I have found that bloody thing before? When it might have done some good.

He hadn't read enough to see if it might have held a way to keep his slayer from dying. He couldn't deal with it. Not now. I need a drink. He'd stayed away from the scotch since the unfortunate incident where he'd snogged an equally – if not more so – drunken Spike in front of Dawn, but he couldn't remain sober. He'd just stay in, safely away from any vampires who alternated between being weepy and overly affectionate when utterly rat-arsed.

Underneath the watcher's temporarily discarded glasses, the misunderstood section of prophecy waited.

From the flesh of the Knight,

The Key shall be reforged.

If Giles had read further, he would have realized that the passage didn't refer to Dawn being made from Buffy.

Aspects three: love, light, and dark

To which the first and last be assigned

The journey will tell the tale.

The Warrior of Light will be restored from

Her just rewards and be asked to choose.

Follow love or turn down the path of dark.

She must choose the Knight or the Champion.

…

-Fin

End Note: This is the end of this particular story, but I'm already working on the sequel - Dawn's Fairytale - which will show more of their interactions and the reactions of the Scoobies.