Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fan Fiction ❯ S W I T CH. ❯ Down the Rabbit Hole. ( Chapter 5 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

They had been sparring almost every night since their unfortunate encounter with the other vampires, and the new-found Slayer had been making remarkable, almost unnerving progress. They had switched from actual weapons to those made of dull wood. More for Spike's safety than anything, should their battles grow anymore heated during her training. And like he'd predicted, as her confidence increased, they had.
Smiling, Dawn pulled her weapon away from the vampire, and resting it on her shoulder, stepped back to allow him room to get up. He did so, brushing the dust off of his worn jeans, and shaking his blond head.
"You're getting bloody good at that," he remarked dryly, eyeing her weapon.
"That's good, isn't it?" Dawn beamed, pleased with herself. It had been about a month now since the switch had been made, and while she was slowly growing accustomed to her strength and more comfortable with the idea of dusting vampires on her own, Giles and the others' still insisted that she train with him until he felt she were absolutely ready to be on her own.
Of course, she hadn't objected to that idea, either.
It was the perfect opportunity to spend every moment of her free time with Spike.
And nobody, not even him, suspected a thing. At least, she hoped not.
She had been putting a lot of effort into the training, and doing her own little exercises when not with him. She wanted to prove to her sister that she could handle this, and there wasn't anything to worry about. Up until this point, it hadn't seemed so bad. Everyone was behind her, and Buffy had almost almost seemed like she'd accepted the fact, and started to relax herself a little bit. She'd even gone shopping with Willow the previous day.
"It's good," Spike nodded, finally, lifting a hand, "I think we're down for now. Take a break. Cool off, you've been working pretty hard, Pet. Don't want to over-do it."
Dawn shrugged, and hid the fact that she was pretty exhausted. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she let her weapon slip from her shoulder into her hand, where her fingers curled comfortably around the hilt. She turned and set it on the ground, before stretching and letting out a small, soft noise of approval as some of the tension in her aching muscles were relieved.
"So, when d'you think I'll be able to go out on my own?" she asked curiously, as Spike fished inside the pockets of his leather jacket, strewn across the couch, for a cigarette, "maybe tonight?"
Blue eyes lifted from their task, and Spike arched an eyebrow. Pulling his lighter from the jacket pocket, he shrugged his broad shoulders before lighting his smoke and taking a deep, deep drag.
As the poison slid from his mouth and nostrils in a plume of smoky toxins, he tilted his head back and looked towards the ceiling of the crypt.
"I don't know, Bit," he began, "I mean, you've got all the powers, and the skill, clearly," he made a motion to her with one hand, "and I'll admit that I'm being biased when I say you're not ready, simply because of the fact that I don't want to see you get hurt."
Dawn's heart skipped a beat, and he looked at her oddly, before continuing.
"I mean, of course you're the Slayer now and all that, but I've still the mindset of you being little Dawny."
This didn't please her as much, and so she frowned.
"I'm not a little girl anymore," she grumbled, crossing her arms and dropping down onto the couch, "why can't anybody see that?"
"I do see it," Spike responded after a moment, and she turned to give him a sharp look. Something in his eyes was different now. The look he was giving her was...familiar, but she couldn't quite place where she'd seen it before. "You're not a little girl. You're a clever young woman, who's got more going for her than she thinks, an' I'll be damned if I'm the reason you get any of that taken from you."
"But I have to do it," Dawn whined, throwing her hands up in the air. "I'm supposed to. I can handle myself. You're just mad because you can't go out patrolling with Buffy. And you're stuck with me."
Alright; Dawn couldn't help the bitterness that leaked from her voice when she spoke of her sister. To anyone it should be quite obvious; she was fairly positive her crush on Spike was no secret. It embarrassed her to know that he knew what she was talking about. Spike sighed, and dropped down onto the couch beside her. Letting his arm fall against the back of the couch, and rest on her shoulders, he took another drag before casting her a sidelong glance.
"Why d'you have to be so damn cynical?" he asked mildly, "you're exactly like your sister in that respect. But," another drag, "you're wrong, either way."
"How?"
Her heart racing now, she swallowed and tried to control the rate of her pulse. She could feel his cool fingers through the thin material of her t-shirt, and his proximity was unnerving.
"There is something about your sister, I'm not sure what anymore, that drew me to her. I've accepted a long time ago, that she doesn't love me, Bit. And to be frank, I'm quite fine with that. It would never work between us, anyway. There is definitely tension, somewhere in the mix of her undaunted hatred for me," he chuckled deeply, before continuing, "but there's no feeling behind it anymore, really. I don't think there ever was. It's easy, to confuse lust with love sometimes. Especially for people like us."
A long silence, and as Spike finished his cigarette, Dawn tried to make sense of what he'd just said.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Why not?" Spike scoffed, tilting his head back. Closing his eyes, he squeezed her shoulder, "You're not a kid anymore, but there's definitely a lot of things you don't understand."
Dawn tried to hide a shy smile, and elbowed him in the ribs, "Shut up."
He'd seen the tired Bit off with a half-hearted wave and a tired smile of his own. She had quietly closed the door to his Crypt, before heading off into the Californian sunshine, no doubt to return to her own home and crash. Thank God for Saturdays.
Once he was left in the silence of his home, Spike heaved a heavy sigh and set the weapons away. Once that was finished, he sauntered over to the couch before dropping with little grace, onto its yielding cushions. Staring up at the granite above him, his blue eyes grew distant as he recalled what he'd told Dawn not but an hour before. What he'd said had confused him, not because of how easily the words had left him, but more so the sincerity he'd felt when he spoke.
What did Buffy mean to him, now?
There was no doubt in his mind, or his unbeating heart, that he still felt something for her. What puzzled him was that he was no longer able to pinpoint exactly what it was. He'd been used; Spike wasn't an idiot, he could see and admit to that much. What's more, he'd let her use him. He had wanted her to find solace in him. He'd wanted to be the one she would come to; would want to come to, to feel something. Anything. Because he'd wanted it too. They'd taken advantage of one another in similar ways, but the love he'd had for her was useless to the both of them. Even now, what good would come of it?
And then there was Dawn.
She'd been like him, in a way. A misfit in the tightly knit 'Scooby Gang'. Unappreciated, unnoticed.
Her spunk and attitude had impressed him at first; grown on him over the months, and eventually, he'd come to rely on her. She never let him down; always greeted him with a bright, hopeful smile. It had made him smile himself, the way a glance from him would set her heart racing, and it amused him at first, her little crush. She was quiet about it, as she should be. Nothing would come of that, either, for more than one validated reason.
But something was there now, between them. Unspoken.
He wanted to believe it was the Slayers' powers he was drawn to, much in the way he had been drawn to Buffy at first because of them. He had felt the same attraction while fighting in the crypt filled with vampires, that he'd felt when knocking down other beasties with her sister. But then, even while in his own crypt, after the weapons had been forgotten, and they would sit down and talk, it lingered. An affection growing perhaps a smidgen beyond his original feelings for the Platelet. And this wasn't good.
He was looking at her differently now, too. Like he'd said, he had noticed she was becoming a young woman. Growing out of her awkward in-between years, and although he was unsure where the confidence came from, her newly found self-esteem was unnervingly alluring. Her slow but definite transformation had caught his eye, and it pained him to realize she was more than just "the little Bit" now.
"How'd training go?"
As soon as Dawn had entered the premises, her sister was on her back. Spatula in hand, she stood over the stove, watching a frying pan attentively. It smelled like bacon and eggs. But then again, Buffy was never the best cook, so it could have been anything. Tired from being up all night training (well, mostly training—she did admit they'd stopped a few times for tea, and something to eat) she shrugged her small shoulders and faked a yawn.
"It was really good," she breathed around her fingers, "Spike says I'm getting really good at fighting, he even said I might be able to go out tonight."
"Alone?"
This piqued Buffy's interest, and tore her gaze away from the cooking food.
"Well, with him, of course," Dawn responded slowly, turning on her heel. She offered Buffy a mischievous smile, before back stepping into the hallway.
"How're you doing?"
Buffy shrugged, her small frame looking more delicate than Dawn had remembered. Maybe it was because she knew that she no longer possessed the brute and supernatural strength of the Slayer. The blonde's eyes grew very focused on the frying pan, and she lifted it from the burning element. With a heavy sigh, she tilted her head and turned to place the pan on the counter.
"I'm okay," she replied after a moment, her voice dripping with false cheer, "I mean, it's still really hard to get used to. You know me, I have that thing with control." Nervous laugh. "But, it's getting better I guess. I just don't want anything to happen to you. That's the hardest part. Knowing I can't protect you anymore."
An uncomfortable silence filled the room, and Dawn's chest suddenly felt very heavy. Weather it was from guilt, apprehension, lack of sleep, or all three she didn't know. Yawning for real this time, she could only offer her sister a sympathetic smile, before casting a glance to the stairway.
"Well, I'm super tired," she began, backing up towards the stairs, "I think I'm going to go get some sleep. It's really hard not being able to catch up on it during the week!"
"I know," Buffy responded solemnly, her eyes following her out of the kitchen. "I know."
Up in her room, Dawn didn't even take the time to shower. Shedding off her clothes, she nearly crawled to her bed, and dove into the cool sheets. As her aching body molded into the mattress, she let out a soft sigh, and closed her eyes. Knowing that she didn't have to wake up for any particular time made falling asleep much easier, and although the worries that swam inside of her were many, they faded to a dull grey as exhaustion consumed her.
This feeling was vaguely familiar. Turning slowly, her eyes searched the shadows, and her grip on the stake grew more secure.
"Between who?" Dawn spat, spinning round, "Me and who?"
"The vampire," was the response. "Like all intelligent beings, he too, recognizes change. The change in you is different and unexpected. He is intrigued."
"Because I'm the Slayer," Dawn nodded, "he's still kind of getting used to it. Everyone is."
"I've told you before," the voice responded, as if it had repeated itself thousands of times over, "you can have your energy returned to the rightful beings, without the option of 'permanent death'," a long pause. "and I've told you that death does not always mean the end of existence. He is key to that."
"Spike's a key?" Dawn asked, now truly confused. Scratching her head, she whipped around again, still trying to find the voice of whoever spoke from the darkness, "What do you mean, he's the key? He can help fix this problem?"
Sitting up in bed, Dawn gasped, as her eyes flew open. Gripping her sheets, she clutched them to her chest and sat alone in her dimly lit room a moment, before peering out to the window. The sun had just set, she could barely see the rays of light dipping down below the houses across the street, and the sky was a deep deep blue. Shivering, she realized she had the chills, and raked her hand through sleep tousled hair. As her mind cleared, she struggled to hold on to the dream, and slid form her bed. Stumbling towards her dresser, she fished around for a loose piece of paper, and quickly scribbled on it in pen, Spike = the key?
She pondered this a moment, but the urgency she'd felt in her dream was fading with its memory as she became more awake, and stretching, she tried to shake the remaining sleep from her. Grabbing her house coat, she wrapped it tightly around her little frame, before opening the door and peeking out into the hallway. She could hear voices downstairs—the lowered murmurs of Giles, Willow, and Xander, but no Buffy. Frowning, she tip toed down the hall and into the bathroom, where she was met with a tired-looking reflection. Small shadows under large, sleepy looking eyes, and a pale complexion.
Leaning into the sink, she squinted at herself, scrutinizing, before sighing heavily, and turning on the tap.
"Where's the Bit?" Spike asked, as he stepped across the threshold. It was now well past 7, and the sun had set about an hour earlier. Willow and Giles were in the kitchen, drinking tea and whispering amongs themselves. Anya was in the living room, reading a book, but still managing to look incredibly bored at the same time. Xander looked anxious, and as soon as he set sights on Spike, stood to greet him. Arching an eyebrow, the vampire turned to return the hello, if not but a little cynically.
"What," he scoffed, "nobody else wants to talk to you tonight, so I'm all you've got?"
"Well," Xander began, opening his mouth to speak. A pause, before he looked to Anya. Sighing, he shrugged and ran a hand through curly hair. "Listen, Spike, I'm going to be blunt."
"Aren't you always?"
His voice dripped with sarcasm.
"We all know what you've been doing, to help Dawn," Xander interjected, ignoring his last comment, "and well I just thought you'd like to know I appreciate it. Everyone does. I guess... you're not so much of a jerk, after all."
"Keep in mind, just because I can't take a lil' chunk out of you doesn't mean I wouldn't fancy it," Spike retorted, although his tone was friendly. Xander looked uneasy, but gave him an awkward smile. "Besides," he continued, "Dawn's always been safe with me. Nothin' the Big Bad can't handle, especially now that we've got a bite-sized Slayer in our midst. Wouldn't dream of touching the Platelet, though."
Except, he had.Which was a little disturbing, for the Vampire to admit it. Because up until today, he hadn't thought of her as anything but Dawn. Vampire's didn't dream often, and Spike was rarely given the luxury. Were he to have any sort of REM activity, it usually reminisced the night of his siring, or that god awful experience he'd had when he'd sired his own Mother. No, the dream he'd had that day had nearly sent him in a frenzy. He awoke flustered, restless and hungry. But for more than just blood.
"So where is little Dawny?" he asked, clearing his throat, "I came to take her out tonight, for a bit of a walk round the cemetery."
"Oh, she's still asleep," Xander responded, looking to the stairs, "Buffy is out with Terra, she's trying to calm her down. She's been real...upset, lately."
Interest lost, Spike's eyes drifted to the stairs. He assessed the distance between them and his person, and gave Xander a rough pat on the back, as well as simultaneously moving him to the side.
"Right then," he nodded, "well, let me know when Buffy gets back, I want to talk to her about this before we go anywhere."
"You're not going to wake her up, are you?" Xander asked, incredulous, "she's been training so hard for the last month. You guys have been working her like a dog. She deserves some rest."
"I've worked just as hard as she has," Spike growled under his breath, "if I can do it, so can she."
He ignored anything else the stupid git had to say as he made his way upstairs, feet light, avoiding the weak spots hidden beneath the carpet. Dawn's bedroom door was open, and he could tell from a quick glance that she was not inside. He heard the distant running of the shower, down the hall however, and shrugged before sauntering into her room. He reasoned she'd be quite pleased with him, despite how anxious he felt about it all. It was true, he didn't want Dawn to get hurt. Granted he'd had an easy enough time fighting alongside and against Buffy, but that was different. He'd never known Buffy to be simply...human. And their attraction was animalistic. Feral. With Dawn, his growing affection was almost...innocent. He scoffed shortly after the thought.
Spike couldn't recall a time where anything he'd done had been innocent. At least, not in the days of his Vampirism.
Stepping back, he sank onto the bed and exhaled an unneeded breath. Resting his head in his hands, he closed his eyes and thought over the last several months events. So much had transpired, so many things had changed. He wasn't sure if it would ever be the same. Willow didn't know anything new, aside from the only method of reversal. Which, in itself was sort of redundant. The thought of either of the Summers sisters dying set his stomach in knots. He could still recall the empty ache in his heart when Buffy had died. Now, to imagine the both of them gone, or even the little Bit. He didn't want to mull over it.
A delicious aroma filled the room then, and sitting upright, Spike turned towards the door. What he saw shocked him speechless, motionless, and Dawn in turn, looked too surprised to do anything. He recognized the scent from her shampoo, an alluring almost edible strawberry smell, that wafted from where she stood in the doorway, over to him. Her damp hair hung around her face and bare shoulders, and she had nothing but a towel wrapped around her slender figure. Hugging a house coat tightly in one arm, her free hand rested on the doorknob.
He could hear her heart begin to pound, and a brief memory of his dream fluttered through the recess of his brain.
The feel of nails digging into his back; lips on his ear.That strawberry shampoo. Her eyes, huge, as he looked down at her.Large, trusting, needy.
"I came here," Spike said, matter-of-fact like, before he remembered he was supposed to finish the rest of the sentence. "to get you. I came here to get you. I thought we could go for a walk down to the—uh, cemetary. You know, and dust a couple'v vamps. Something of the sort."
A pause, and Spike did his bloody well best to avoid staring. He fixed his eyes on her face, and ignored the strong pull downwards he felt. Swallowing hard, he watched her expression change from embarrassed and cautious to glowing and excited.
"Really?" she asked, "like, for real?"
"Of course," Spike scoffed, "why would I lie about something like that, pet?"
Standing from the bed, he dusted himself off, adjusted his coat, and rolled his shoulders. His fingers were itching to remove that towel. Run them over the soft contours of her warm body, and draw her close.
"Ridiculous!" he spat out loud, and Dawn blinked, looking startled.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing," he shrugged quickly, giving her a devilish grin. "Just make sure you're out of that little get up and in something that you can get dirty in, within the next ten minutes, ay love."
She moved to the side as he left her room, and he had to hide the slow, almost satisfied smirk that claimed dominance along his lips as her heart rate sped up. Something was definitely wrong with him. If he wasn't already a vampire, and destined for Hell anyway, the fact that he received even the smallest sliver of enjoyment from this was a sure sign that's where he was headed regardless.