Only, Lonely
Aug. 8th, 2022 10:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apachefirecatTitle: Only, Lonely
Dedicated To: Wesley. If she ever reads this, she should know Cordelia still thinks of her.
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Spike/Buffy, Dawn
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: All they have left is each other.
Word Count: 2,684
Written For: Nekid Spike: Road Trip and 1 Million Words A to Z: O
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
"Isn't she a little young?"
The slurred, unexpected comment brought Spike to a complete stop. He turned slowly, his face already changing, his fangs baring... But there was Dawn clinging to his arm and pulling him on toward their room for the night. "No. Don't give in to them, Spike, please? I just want to take a shower and cuddle with you and -- "
He couldn't help it. He glowered at her.
"Oh, not like that!" she babbled, as though she was oblivious to the couple staring at them from a distance of only a few feet. The fat man with gold chains draped around his portly neck, a beer in one hand, most of which he's already sloshed onto the hotel's already soiled carpet, and his other hand clutching the arm of a pretty, sweet frail half his age, if that, was the one who should be ashamed! He was the one at whom people should be staring!
Spike's yellow eyes darted up the hallway in the fat man's direction and then back down the hall in the other. "Oh, please?" he murmured to Dawn, keeping his voice low but purposefully loud enough that the drunkard could hear him. "I haven't had any fresh blood in so long!"
"NO!" She scanned their key and yanked him in behind her, closing the door soundly but not before Spike could snarl and gnash his teeth threateningly at the drunkard, who had already lost every bit of what little pallor he'd had. He now looked whiter than a sheet, rather than just white as a sheet with the obvious signs of someone who had spent too much time pretending to tan.
"He's lucky you were there," he muttered, turning to Dawn and quickly defacing. He didn't like showing his true Vampire nature around the Nibblet, even though they both knew what he was and what she was not. Despite being made of nothing more than cosmic energy, she had somehow managed to attain true human feelings -- true feelings period, he knew. There were far more beings in the world than just humans who hurt and loved, who could be happy or sad, who could grieve --
"Are you going to order room service," she asked, cutting into his thoughts, "or should I?"
"I will," he said quickly for tonight he wanted blood. He knew it had to be bagged, and he knew just the number to dial now in every city, thanks to Willow. Tara had asked, the last time he'd talked to the girls, when he would be bringing Dawn back to see them, but he had avoided the question. Willow, on the other hand, had cautioned him to keep her gone until they could make certain it was safe.
Honestly, he hoped never to have to return to Sunnydale. Dawn had no made mention of going back, only of missing her sister. She rarely wanted to speak to the others even, except Xander. Spike knew why. She didn't want to voice her desire to never return to that awful place that had taken her sister from her, and the other man, to his credit, was the only one who never asked her when she was coming back. Giles sent money from the Council, and Willow kept track of them, kept track of his blood sources, and said a protection spell over at least the Nibblet every night.
Spike didn't need any such spells or prayers, but he'd sometimes had a feeling that she might be saying the same for him, even if only to keep Dawn safe. It was a sweet notion, but he could take care of himself. He didn't need any women taking care of him. He needed them for other reasons. He needed Buffy, but she was gone. She'd left a strange ache in him, something he feared he could never replace. He certainly didn't think he would ever again feel the emotions she had evoked so easily in him. She had never wanted him to love her -- she had done everything she could to convince him not to --, but he had fallen hard. He loved her far more than he ever thought he'd be able to love anyone; he knew he'd never feel that again.
But there was something else about Dawn. He didn't dare voice it for he seemed to have a uncanny knack for losing everybody he loved. That, in part, was why he wanted fresh bags tonight. He didn't ever want to become the kind of predator that rich, fat man was, and indeed he might very well slip out of the room later this evening, once he had the Nibblet fast asleep, and put an end to his predator ways. He'd have to be certain to cover his tracks well of course, but with Buffy gone and Faith already called, it remained to be seen if another Slayer would be called.
There was no previous record for any of this, he thought, reclining on the bed and taking the cell phone Willow had ordered and had waiting for him to pick up at a store as they'd not had time to set up any steady way for them to communicate before he'd swept Dawn out of the Hellmouth. With her sister dead, those who had wanted the Key would think there was no one left to protect her. They were bloody wrong. Every one of them, himself, Giles, and every one of Buffy's cherished friends who she'd come to call her Scooby Gang, would die for the girl who he could hear currently learning how to work this particular hotel's showers.
There was no precedence for this, none whatsoever. It made sense that Dawn was still wanted, and her protection had to be paramount. After all, Buffy had died not to save the world but to save her. Likewise, the Watcher's Council was divided on rather or not another Slayer would be called. With Buffy dead and Faith having long ago refused to do their bidding, he wouldn't be surprised if the old eggheads cooked up some scheme to call a new Slayer, but they still didn't know if one would still be activated or not. And if the Slayer was gone permanently, how much more would beasts like himself, other Demons, and worse overtake the Hellmouth and not just the Hellmouth, but the world?
No, he decided, beginning to make his calls, the best thing he could do was to keep Dawn safe and to keep them constantly on the move. It deprived her of the experiences of a normal childhood, but then what the bloody Hell had ever been normal about the girl's childhood? Had she even really had a childhood? They all had the memories, but with her being a key to another dimension, with her having not actually been real, did she ever once actually experience a childhood?
Spike jumped, what seemed like scant moments later, when something popped. He growled, flaring to life, full fangs, but Dawn was again there to shush him. "It's just popcorn, silly!" she said, smiling. He blinked, wondering where the time had gone between his last call to order her favorite pizza and now when she stood in pajamas before him. "We're going to have movie night!"
There was a knock on the door, and Dawn just kept chattering joyously as he sprang to beat her to the door. It should be one of the delivery men, but how could he be certain? Willow had arranged a network to bring him blood. She said that every one on her network could be trusted, but he remained uncertain. He didn't think he'd ever trust another Vampire or Demon, except for maybe Angel, where Buffy's baby sister was concerned.
It was just the pizza man, though, and Spike paid him quickly before sending him on his way. He was about to close the door when he noticed a figure standing in the shadows. He ducked back inside and handed the pizza over to Dawn. "I'm stepping out a minute. Stay here. Stay safe. Don't -- Don't move."
"Spike -- "
"Okay, you can move, but don't leave this room!"
He darted back toward the hallway with Dawn's merry voice ringing in his ears, "Okay, but hurry! They're playing all the Grease movies tonight, every one of them, even the one with Lucy Lawless! I've never gotten to see that one!"
Lucy Lawless, he thought, shutting the door securely behind him. Wasn't that the woman who had played Xena, Warrior Princess? Buffy had liked that show, but the woman dressed in flimsy, medieval armor had had absolutely nothing on his beloved, not in looks or in skill. Keeping one ear open for Dawn, he hurried toward the man in the shadows.
The Demon leaned forward, only his forked, flickering tongue appearing from the shadows. "Rosenberg said you needed this." He opened his hand, and a box sprang up. He had to remember to thank that girl. She'd had six bags delivered tonight instead of his normal three, all in his favorite type. His nose could already tell they were fresh, and his stomach gurgled with eagerness. The Demon's other hand appeared from the shadows' depth. His flesh was scaly and marked in green, black, and red stripes, but what surprised Spike was the tiny credit card slot machine he carried. He slid the card Giles had given him, paid the bill, and ran back to his room, to Dawn.
The door open! He shook it, growling, and banged on it.
"I'm coming! I'm coming!" The door opened.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his concerned, blue eyes raking her body up and down, but she had already turned away from him and was padding back over to the bed like nothing had happened.
"You forgot your key," Dawn tossed over her shoulder at him. She bounced onto the bed and picked her slice of pizza back up. "This one's really yummy. I wish you could try it."
He made a face. "Human food doesn't exactly sit well with a Vampire palate," he reminded her. "I'll save my human dining experiences for those fried onion blossoms from Outback."
She rolled her eyes. "Of course you will." She padded the bed next to her. "Come. Sit." He slowly began to approach her and the King-sized bed, and she smiled even more widely at him. "I don't bite," she teased.
With any other woman, his retort would have been quick. He did. He always had. But he would never bite her. He would never allow any harm to come to her, especially not now that Buffy had died to save her. Keeping this girl child alive was the last thing he could do to honor Buffy, all that she had done for everybody else, and all that she had meant to him even though she'd never wanted to be anything more than an occasional ally to him. He stared down at Dawn for a moment, lost in thought.
"What?" she asked, not trying to disguise her mouth full of melted cheese and meat. Onion wafted on her breath, and for just a moment, he considered giving the meat and cheese pie that the humans raved over a chance. His stomach growled its refusal, however, and he suddenly felt weakness wash over him. No, he needed to truly eat tonight.
"You have her smile," he said, his voice sounding to his own ears as though it was coming from far away. And her hair, he thought but did not voice. Her hair was long and shimmery. It didn't shine like gold like Buffy's had every night he had known her, but it did shine like the brightest, richest copper he had ever encountered. He blinked, trying to bring his mind back to concentration.
"I know," Dawn admitted softly. Her eyes sought out the telly, eager for the distraction of smiling, singing people who were supposed to be teenagers. She didn't want to tell him how many times in the early mornings when she wasn't quite awake yet or the nights when they reached a safe spot later than usual that she looked in the mirror and for a moment her heart stopped for it was almost like her sister's face was smiling back at her. Buffy had not been her true blood sister, of course. She knew the stories. She knew she wasn't supposed to be real, but it didn't matter. She was real, and she had loved Buffy as greatly as any sister could ever love another.
Tears clogged her throat, and she realized suddenly that Spike was no longer beside her. "Spike?" she squeaked out. But he wasn't there! She dropped the remote and started to get up, but his voice came back to her assuringly.
"It's all right, Nibblet. I just stepped to the loo a minute."
She heard the tell-tale rip of fangs on plastic and knew what he was doing. "You know, you don't have to do that in there. I'm not squeamish like she was. I know you have to drink blood. You can bring it out here." When several minutes ticked by and he had not answered, she gave herself the right to admission for once, the right to actually admit that she was scared, lonely, and hurting. "Please?" she asked, sounding far younger not just than her actual age but than the teenage years whatever powers had created her had given her in this world.
He didn't answer her vocally, but he did come reluctantly slipping out of the single bathroom. He still had his bag in his fangs, and the look he gave her reminded her of a warm, wet puppy dog. It was no wonder their mother had never allowed them pets, she knew, what with Buffy barely able to keep people alive. She remembered what had happened to Willow's fish, even though she hadn't actually been there, and shuttered.
But then in Spike's eyes, even over the distance that still separated them, she saw a reflection of her own. She saw the hurt in his eyes, the unspoken sorrow and loneliness, the hurt that went beyond Buffy, that went to desperately seeking for acceptance for the way he was. She lifted her chin, met his gaze, and patted the bed next to her again. He tore his teeth from the bag and asked softly, "Are you sure, Nibblet?"
"Of course I'm sure, Spike."
She not only let him come sit beside her, but when he leaned against the headboard, trying hard not to disturb her with what he was doing, with what he had to do to survive, she scooted back against him. She laid her soft, small head on his chest, reached out, and took his arm back toward him, back to where she knew the blood bag would dangle right in front of him. He sighed, a very human expression that no Vampire should need, and allowed himself to drink. She dozed off while watching the telly and hugging his legs, as though completely heedless of all the danger in which his mere presence could have so easily placed her.
There she was, young, fresh blood draped on a Vampire's lap. There she was, a beautiful, young, nubile girl, dressed in easily-ripped pajamas cuddling with a man hundreds of years older than she was. There she was, the girl who should not exist with human flesh, thoughts, and feelings but who did and who was more emotional, at times, than anybody else he knew. There she was, Buffy's little sister, the only thing he had left of the woman he'd loved with all his being, loved far more greatly than any lowly Vampire was supposed to be able to love anything. There she was, the only thing he had left in this miserable, cruel, heartless world.
Spike finished his blood, sat the two empty bags on the nightstand beside him, and just laid there, softly stroking Dawn's soft hair that reminded him so much of her sister's until he, too, fell asleep.
The End
Dedicated To: Wesley. If she ever reads this, she should know Cordelia still thinks of her.
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Spike/Buffy, Dawn
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: All they have left is each other.
Word Count: 2,684
Written For: Nekid Spike: Road Trip and 1 Million Words A to Z: O
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
"Isn't she a little young?"
The slurred, unexpected comment brought Spike to a complete stop. He turned slowly, his face already changing, his fangs baring... But there was Dawn clinging to his arm and pulling him on toward their room for the night. "No. Don't give in to them, Spike, please? I just want to take a shower and cuddle with you and -- "
He couldn't help it. He glowered at her.
"Oh, not like that!" she babbled, as though she was oblivious to the couple staring at them from a distance of only a few feet. The fat man with gold chains draped around his portly neck, a beer in one hand, most of which he's already sloshed onto the hotel's already soiled carpet, and his other hand clutching the arm of a pretty, sweet frail half his age, if that, was the one who should be ashamed! He was the one at whom people should be staring!
Spike's yellow eyes darted up the hallway in the fat man's direction and then back down the hall in the other. "Oh, please?" he murmured to Dawn, keeping his voice low but purposefully loud enough that the drunkard could hear him. "I haven't had any fresh blood in so long!"
"NO!" She scanned their key and yanked him in behind her, closing the door soundly but not before Spike could snarl and gnash his teeth threateningly at the drunkard, who had already lost every bit of what little pallor he'd had. He now looked whiter than a sheet, rather than just white as a sheet with the obvious signs of someone who had spent too much time pretending to tan.
"He's lucky you were there," he muttered, turning to Dawn and quickly defacing. He didn't like showing his true Vampire nature around the Nibblet, even though they both knew what he was and what she was not. Despite being made of nothing more than cosmic energy, she had somehow managed to attain true human feelings -- true feelings period, he knew. There were far more beings in the world than just humans who hurt and loved, who could be happy or sad, who could grieve --
"Are you going to order room service," she asked, cutting into his thoughts, "or should I?"
"I will," he said quickly for tonight he wanted blood. He knew it had to be bagged, and he knew just the number to dial now in every city, thanks to Willow. Tara had asked, the last time he'd talked to the girls, when he would be bringing Dawn back to see them, but he had avoided the question. Willow, on the other hand, had cautioned him to keep her gone until they could make certain it was safe.
Honestly, he hoped never to have to return to Sunnydale. Dawn had no made mention of going back, only of missing her sister. She rarely wanted to speak to the others even, except Xander. Spike knew why. She didn't want to voice her desire to never return to that awful place that had taken her sister from her, and the other man, to his credit, was the only one who never asked her when she was coming back. Giles sent money from the Council, and Willow kept track of them, kept track of his blood sources, and said a protection spell over at least the Nibblet every night.
Spike didn't need any such spells or prayers, but he'd sometimes had a feeling that she might be saying the same for him, even if only to keep Dawn safe. It was a sweet notion, but he could take care of himself. He didn't need any women taking care of him. He needed them for other reasons. He needed Buffy, but she was gone. She'd left a strange ache in him, something he feared he could never replace. He certainly didn't think he would ever again feel the emotions she had evoked so easily in him. She had never wanted him to love her -- she had done everything she could to convince him not to --, but he had fallen hard. He loved her far more than he ever thought he'd be able to love anyone; he knew he'd never feel that again.
But there was something else about Dawn. He didn't dare voice it for he seemed to have a uncanny knack for losing everybody he loved. That, in part, was why he wanted fresh bags tonight. He didn't ever want to become the kind of predator that rich, fat man was, and indeed he might very well slip out of the room later this evening, once he had the Nibblet fast asleep, and put an end to his predator ways. He'd have to be certain to cover his tracks well of course, but with Buffy gone and Faith already called, it remained to be seen if another Slayer would be called.
There was no previous record for any of this, he thought, reclining on the bed and taking the cell phone Willow had ordered and had waiting for him to pick up at a store as they'd not had time to set up any steady way for them to communicate before he'd swept Dawn out of the Hellmouth. With her sister dead, those who had wanted the Key would think there was no one left to protect her. They were bloody wrong. Every one of them, himself, Giles, and every one of Buffy's cherished friends who she'd come to call her Scooby Gang, would die for the girl who he could hear currently learning how to work this particular hotel's showers.
There was no precedence for this, none whatsoever. It made sense that Dawn was still wanted, and her protection had to be paramount. After all, Buffy had died not to save the world but to save her. Likewise, the Watcher's Council was divided on rather or not another Slayer would be called. With Buffy dead and Faith having long ago refused to do their bidding, he wouldn't be surprised if the old eggheads cooked up some scheme to call a new Slayer, but they still didn't know if one would still be activated or not. And if the Slayer was gone permanently, how much more would beasts like himself, other Demons, and worse overtake the Hellmouth and not just the Hellmouth, but the world?
No, he decided, beginning to make his calls, the best thing he could do was to keep Dawn safe and to keep them constantly on the move. It deprived her of the experiences of a normal childhood, but then what the bloody Hell had ever been normal about the girl's childhood? Had she even really had a childhood? They all had the memories, but with her being a key to another dimension, with her having not actually been real, did she ever once actually experience a childhood?
Spike jumped, what seemed like scant moments later, when something popped. He growled, flaring to life, full fangs, but Dawn was again there to shush him. "It's just popcorn, silly!" she said, smiling. He blinked, wondering where the time had gone between his last call to order her favorite pizza and now when she stood in pajamas before him. "We're going to have movie night!"
There was a knock on the door, and Dawn just kept chattering joyously as he sprang to beat her to the door. It should be one of the delivery men, but how could he be certain? Willow had arranged a network to bring him blood. She said that every one on her network could be trusted, but he remained uncertain. He didn't think he'd ever trust another Vampire or Demon, except for maybe Angel, where Buffy's baby sister was concerned.
It was just the pizza man, though, and Spike paid him quickly before sending him on his way. He was about to close the door when he noticed a figure standing in the shadows. He ducked back inside and handed the pizza over to Dawn. "I'm stepping out a minute. Stay here. Stay safe. Don't -- Don't move."
"Spike -- "
"Okay, you can move, but don't leave this room!"
He darted back toward the hallway with Dawn's merry voice ringing in his ears, "Okay, but hurry! They're playing all the Grease movies tonight, every one of them, even the one with Lucy Lawless! I've never gotten to see that one!"
Lucy Lawless, he thought, shutting the door securely behind him. Wasn't that the woman who had played Xena, Warrior Princess? Buffy had liked that show, but the woman dressed in flimsy, medieval armor had had absolutely nothing on his beloved, not in looks or in skill. Keeping one ear open for Dawn, he hurried toward the man in the shadows.
The Demon leaned forward, only his forked, flickering tongue appearing from the shadows. "Rosenberg said you needed this." He opened his hand, and a box sprang up. He had to remember to thank that girl. She'd had six bags delivered tonight instead of his normal three, all in his favorite type. His nose could already tell they were fresh, and his stomach gurgled with eagerness. The Demon's other hand appeared from the shadows' depth. His flesh was scaly and marked in green, black, and red stripes, but what surprised Spike was the tiny credit card slot machine he carried. He slid the card Giles had given him, paid the bill, and ran back to his room, to Dawn.
The door open! He shook it, growling, and banged on it.
"I'm coming! I'm coming!" The door opened.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his concerned, blue eyes raking her body up and down, but she had already turned away from him and was padding back over to the bed like nothing had happened.
"You forgot your key," Dawn tossed over her shoulder at him. She bounced onto the bed and picked her slice of pizza back up. "This one's really yummy. I wish you could try it."
He made a face. "Human food doesn't exactly sit well with a Vampire palate," he reminded her. "I'll save my human dining experiences for those fried onion blossoms from Outback."
She rolled her eyes. "Of course you will." She padded the bed next to her. "Come. Sit." He slowly began to approach her and the King-sized bed, and she smiled even more widely at him. "I don't bite," she teased.
With any other woman, his retort would have been quick. He did. He always had. But he would never bite her. He would never allow any harm to come to her, especially not now that Buffy had died to save her. Keeping this girl child alive was the last thing he could do to honor Buffy, all that she had done for everybody else, and all that she had meant to him even though she'd never wanted to be anything more than an occasional ally to him. He stared down at Dawn for a moment, lost in thought.
"What?" she asked, not trying to disguise her mouth full of melted cheese and meat. Onion wafted on her breath, and for just a moment, he considered giving the meat and cheese pie that the humans raved over a chance. His stomach growled its refusal, however, and he suddenly felt weakness wash over him. No, he needed to truly eat tonight.
"You have her smile," he said, his voice sounding to his own ears as though it was coming from far away. And her hair, he thought but did not voice. Her hair was long and shimmery. It didn't shine like gold like Buffy's had every night he had known her, but it did shine like the brightest, richest copper he had ever encountered. He blinked, trying to bring his mind back to concentration.
"I know," Dawn admitted softly. Her eyes sought out the telly, eager for the distraction of smiling, singing people who were supposed to be teenagers. She didn't want to tell him how many times in the early mornings when she wasn't quite awake yet or the nights when they reached a safe spot later than usual that she looked in the mirror and for a moment her heart stopped for it was almost like her sister's face was smiling back at her. Buffy had not been her true blood sister, of course. She knew the stories. She knew she wasn't supposed to be real, but it didn't matter. She was real, and she had loved Buffy as greatly as any sister could ever love another.
Tears clogged her throat, and she realized suddenly that Spike was no longer beside her. "Spike?" she squeaked out. But he wasn't there! She dropped the remote and started to get up, but his voice came back to her assuringly.
"It's all right, Nibblet. I just stepped to the loo a minute."
She heard the tell-tale rip of fangs on plastic and knew what he was doing. "You know, you don't have to do that in there. I'm not squeamish like she was. I know you have to drink blood. You can bring it out here." When several minutes ticked by and he had not answered, she gave herself the right to admission for once, the right to actually admit that she was scared, lonely, and hurting. "Please?" she asked, sounding far younger not just than her actual age but than the teenage years whatever powers had created her had given her in this world.
He didn't answer her vocally, but he did come reluctantly slipping out of the single bathroom. He still had his bag in his fangs, and the look he gave her reminded her of a warm, wet puppy dog. It was no wonder their mother had never allowed them pets, she knew, what with Buffy barely able to keep people alive. She remembered what had happened to Willow's fish, even though she hadn't actually been there, and shuttered.
But then in Spike's eyes, even over the distance that still separated them, she saw a reflection of her own. She saw the hurt in his eyes, the unspoken sorrow and loneliness, the hurt that went beyond Buffy, that went to desperately seeking for acceptance for the way he was. She lifted her chin, met his gaze, and patted the bed next to her again. He tore his teeth from the bag and asked softly, "Are you sure, Nibblet?"
"Of course I'm sure, Spike."
She not only let him come sit beside her, but when he leaned against the headboard, trying hard not to disturb her with what he was doing, with what he had to do to survive, she scooted back against him. She laid her soft, small head on his chest, reached out, and took his arm back toward him, back to where she knew the blood bag would dangle right in front of him. He sighed, a very human expression that no Vampire should need, and allowed himself to drink. She dozed off while watching the telly and hugging his legs, as though completely heedless of all the danger in which his mere presence could have so easily placed her.
There she was, young, fresh blood draped on a Vampire's lap. There she was, a beautiful, young, nubile girl, dressed in easily-ripped pajamas cuddling with a man hundreds of years older than she was. There she was, the girl who should not exist with human flesh, thoughts, and feelings but who did and who was more emotional, at times, than anybody else he knew. There she was, Buffy's little sister, the only thing he had left of the woman he'd loved with all his being, loved far more greatly than any lowly Vampire was supposed to be able to love anything. There she was, the only thing he had left in this miserable, cruel, heartless world.
Spike finished his blood, sat the two empty bags on the nightstand beside him, and just laid there, softly stroking Dawn's soft hair that reminded him so much of her sister's until he, too, fell asleep.
The End
