|Story Title:||Miles To Go Before I Sleep|
A bad day turns even worse for Spike, Bess, Angel, and Buffy.
Music Referenced: Bad Day, David Powter : http://youtu.be/RmNTAvnSais
|Thanks:||Giant thanks to Anona for betaing this chapter, including her grammatical and punctuation corrections, wonderful commentary, and final review. Also thanks to Capella42 for her insightful suggestions that made the whole story better. All mistakes are mine because I simply cannot stop fiddling right up to the last moment.|
|Rating / Warnings:||
NC17. Content is only suitable for mature adults. Contains explicit language, sex, adult themes, and other adult situations that some people may find objectionable. If you are under the age of 17 or find any of these themes objectionable – GO AWAY.
Thursday, May 5th, 2011. About an hour before Bess and Angel shot the octopus …
All the air left Buffy’s lungs and the pain jarred her awake when she hit the ground. She moaned and rolled into a tight ball, trying to get everything to stop hurting. Her head was spinning, she was woozy, and her stomach was doing flip flops. She instinctively reached up to touch the painful knot on the back of her skull, wincing when she found the golf-ball sized protrusion.
What the hell happened? she wondered silently as she blinked her eyes open and tried to piece together where she was and how she got here. Everything she’d done over the last couple of hours flashed in her mind in just an instant.
She remembered waking up in her bedroom with Giles sitting on her stomach, then taking a shower and opening the bond with Spike, then the talk with Annie, and the call from Bess.
After that, Buffy and Tara sat in the great room and waited nervously for Bess to call back. While they waited, Buffy told Tara again about her plan to go back in time and fix things in the other dimension. Just as soon as Spike was back, Buffy had insisted, she wanted to go forward with going back. Tomorrow wouldn’t be too soon.
Then Tara realized that tomorrow was garbage day. When she started to get up to take care of it, Buffy had stopped her.
“I’ll get it – you’ve done so much. All I’ve done for the last five days is lay in bed, apparently,” Buffy offered as she stood up, happy to have a little something to distract her mind from the wait. It actually felt good to be up and walking around, even if it was something as mundane as gathering up the trash and taking it out to the curb.
She remembered Tara giving her a grateful, tired smile and Buffy thought the white witch suddenly looked quite a lot older than her thirty-one years.
Then what happened? She’d taken the bags out to the cans and the cans to the curb. She’d checked to make sure the lids were on tight so the raccoons couldn’t open them … and … and …
“Oh G…” the words caught in Buffy’s throat as she finally focused on where she was. Her heart started to race, her adrenaline kicked into overdrive, and she began scrambling up the side of the demon doodlebug pit as fast as she could. She had no idea how she’d gotten here, but there was no doubt where she was: back in the Gift-less dimension, back in the bottom of the demon trap, and about to become a tasty morsel for the giant owner of said trap, Bob the Bug.
Buffy climbed and slid back down … climbed back up and slid down, her arms and legs scrambling as fast as they could in the loose sand to get to the rim. Then it occurred to her: why wasn’t the bug kicking dirt up on her like it had before? Maybe she was just dreaming … maybe this was some leftover effects from the Gesundheit demon’s poison.
Buffy stopped scrambling and, when she came to a stop in her slide back down the incline, she looked down into the bottom of the pit. The large demon bug that had so terrorized them lay on its back, dead and rotting at the very bottom of its sand trap. Spike’s blessed sword was still embedded in the thing’s throat, the hilt just visible above the decaying flesh.
“Spike,” Buffy whispered, as a small feeling of relief trickled through her. Spike was alive … or undead, anyway – what else could explain that? Buffy slid the rest of the way down the incline on her butt, scanning the sky for bats and the rim of the crater for Jacks. She saw neither. She retrieved the sword from the stinking corpse, which not even the other demons apparently wanted to eat, and began back up the side of the pit.
Using the sword to poke into the sand like a ski-pole, she was able to pull herself up the side. It still wasn’t easy, but it was a lot easier than it had been without it. And, the plus was, sticking it in the sand like that cleaned the putrid, gooey, rotting bug guts off it.
An even more gruesome sight than the dead demon bug awaited Buffy at the top of the crater. Xander and Tara’s bodies had been torn, literally, limb from limb. There was little flesh left on them, but it was clear who the bones that were scattered between the wrecking ball and the warehouse belonged to.
The smell of death … of decaying flesh, filled the air with a putrid stench. Buffy pressed her hand against her lips to hold back the bile and willed her eyes to look away from the carnage, but they refused. Instead they stared in horror and swam with tears. Her stomach rolled, both from the sight and the smell that assailed her, but still her body refused to move or look away. Purely on instinct, she scanned the ground near the wrecking ball for the dropped scythe – she didn’t see it.
That small trickle of relief about Spike surviving was washed away with a renewed feeling of guilt and sadness over the sacrifice the others had made for her and Annie. Buffy swallowed back her tears and her guilt as her resolve hardened within her. This could still be fixed. She still didn’t know how she’d ended up back here and wasn’t 100% sure it wasn’t another vivid hallucination. For safety’s sake, she decided to act like it was real.
Certainly this time her friends would know where to look for her, but she’d rather they not have to venture into this dangerous, godforsaken dimension. She needed a new plan.
“Ok, Slayer … think,” she admonished herself, forcing her eyes closed at last.
It didn’t take long for a new plan to bloom in her mind. Go back to base, get some of Dawn’s blood, open the portal … Then back to the original plan. Come back with reinforcements, Willow mojos me back in time, and I fix whatever went wrong here.
With a new plan firmly in mind, Buffy forced her body to move away from the carnage towards the warehouse. She passed by the altar, her altar, and picked up a familiar picture of her, Willow, and Xander from high school.
“I swear I’ll fix it,” she whispered to the photo, tucking it into her back pocket. She could still keep her promises. All of them.
Buffy held the sword at the ready as she rounded the corner of the building and headed for the sewer entrance that Oz had brought her through. She kept a keen eye out for demons on the ground and in the air, her Slayer senses on full alert. She met no resistance getting to the sewers, though. Apparently the stench of death that wafted through the air here was even more than the demons could handle.
At the heavy double doors that led into the old Initiative headquarters, Buffy’s chest tightened with renewed fear. After making it all the way from the warehouse here without meeting more than a couple of the big rat demons, her hope of finding Spike unhurt in the safety of the base camp faded quickly. The heavy doors had been wrenched from their moorings and lay crumpled like used tin foil off to one side of the entrance. The electric light that had seemed like a beacon welcoming her back to civilization the first time she’d seen it, was in shards on the concrete; the wire that had been protecting it gone.
Buffy raised her sword again, and stepped over the glass, careful not to crunch on any of it and announce her presence, and through the opening. All of her senses were peaked, on edge, and alert as she moved into the hallway of the base camp. Her eyes darted around in the dark trying to catch a glimpse of glowing red eyes, her ears strained to hear movement or voices, her Slayer senses reached out, trying to get a tell-tale tingle, warning her of danger. Buffy held her breath as she picked her way silently down the narrow hallway. There were a few emergency lights still glowing dimly in the base camp, just enough so her eyes couldn't adjust to the deep shadows that filled every corner. The harsh florescent lights, which had burned before in a constant, white glow, were all dark.
She wanted desperately to call out for Spike, but knew that would be a really bad idea. Then it dawned on her – the bond. The bond had made the connection with him in her dreams … those dreams that she didn’t want to think about. She should be able to use it to find him, maybe even communicate with him.
Buffy backed herself into one of the dark corners and closed her eyes a moment to really concentrate on opening the bond. It took longer than she was used to, but after working on it for about a minute or so, she got a sense of Spike. He wasn’t dust, of that she was sure. That brought some hope back to her heart and she tried sending him a message, tried to communicate with him. After a couple of minutes of trying, all she got back was silence and a feeling of … nothingness.
He might be hurt, unconscious, she thought. Buffy changed tactics and concentrated on sensing his location. After a few moments, she opened her eyes and began to move in the direction her gut told her to. There wasn’t any conscious thought to where she was going, only instinct to guide her.
She crept slowly down the dim hallway towards the common area of the base camp. As she got closer to the large open area, she began to hear noises of a struggle – a fight. It sounded like someone, or something, was banging wildly on a metal door. There were voices: Jacks. The shrill tone of their voices and hissing manner gave them away, even though she couldn’t see them or understand the words.
She swallowed hard and hugged the wall as the hallway she was in spilled into the large atrium. She ventured a quick look around the corner towards the sounds. There were five to seven Jacks trying to open a heavy metal door. Next to the door was the number ‘314’. She hadn’t been in that area when she was here before, although she knew the history of that room from the memories the PTB merged into her from the other dimension.
Buffy snuck her head out again, rubbernecking around the corner, and her eyes darted to the armory; perhaps she could get more weapons than just the sword. There were more Jacks there – apparently they’d discovered the joy of blasting each other with stun guns. Several of the large vampires had the weapons and seemed to be playing a game of tag with them. Well that looks like more fun than a barrel of dead monkeys. For some reason Steve Martin’s voice, doing the shtick from SNL, rang in her head, ‘We’re just a couple of wild and crazy guys!’
Buffy pressed her back against the wall again in the hallway and let out a breath. It came out slowly and sounded like a tire deflating, which was pretty much how she felt. She was beginning to think this was real – why would she hallucinate about this place? It was last on her list of places she’d like to visit, definitely not on the Zagat’s guide, even on a bad acid trip. This wouldn’t even rate a mention on Lonely Planet.
Buffy flexed her fingers around the grip of the sword. She’d been holding it so tightly that she was starting to lose feeling in them. She knew what she had to do – she had to get inside that door, into Room 314. That, her gut was telling her, was where Spike was. Well, that and the fact that the Jacks wanted in there – if they wanted in, there must be something in there worth killing … like Spike and maybe Dawn. Buffy just wished she had some plan other than taking on a whole squad of Jacks by herself. She’d feel infinitely better if she had her scythe, but she didn’t.
“Well … you could’ve stayed a Victorian lady, but noooo, you wanted to be a Slayer. Dumbass!” she chastised herself in a whisper.
An hour or so after Buffy landed in the bug pit ….
It seemed like they’d no sooner pulled the triggers on their harpoons than Bess and Angel were hurtled backwards from the explosion. They smashed against the rocks behind them, then the water around them began to swirl, just as Willow’s magical lure had been doing.
Bess lost sight of Angel as she was pulled down and spun around in a dizzying slurry of water, magic, and glittering, glowing, purple bubbles. It would've actually been pretty if it weren't so disorienting and frightening. Her stomach quailed and retched as she almost immediately became woozy. It reminded of her when she was a child. She and her friends would turn in fast circles on the grass, then try to walk in a straight line, but usually just ended up collapsing on the lawn as the world continued to spin around them.
As suddenly as it began, the spinning stopped. What came next wasn’t much better, however. She began to fall, her speed growing with each passing moment. Bess fell with the water for what seemed several minutes, and again she got the impression of being flushed down a drain. The purple glow faded and she passed through a dark abyss. She reached her hands out to try and catch hold of something – anything, but there was nothing but her and the water. She finally splashed down into another body of salty water; this one was, for the most part, still. She was still under water, but it wasn’t spinning or dark at least. That was an improvement.
When she was released from the water’s tight grip, Bess frantically swam back the way she’d come in an effort to get back to where she’d been: in the cave with Angel and Casper and the octopus that had Spike. After a few moments, she broke the surface of the water. To her dismay, all she found around her was more water. An unending ocean of water greeted her. She turned around quickly, looking for the whaling boat – it was nowhere to be seen. A few hundred yards away she saw some other boats, though – bigger boats, cargo ships actually, several of them. They seemed to be moored – she was near a port, she realized, but had no idea what exotic port-of-call she’d landed in.
Bess sputtered the salty water from her mouth and lungs and took a deep breath of smoky, astringent air, which stung her throat and eyes. “Angel! Spike!?” she cried out, spinning around in a circle in the choppy sea.
Suddenly, from above her, a rain of glowing purple blood, accompanied by demonic sushi, began falling down on her. It was the octopus, she realized. It was cut into large chunks, as if it had been pressed through a screen made of Ginsu knives. Hundreds of smoothly cut squares of sea demon dropped from the sky, each easily as large as she was.
She dove back under the surface of the water and began to swim away from the downpour. She’d only gotten a few feet when Spike dropped into the water right in front of her. She stopped and gasped in a lungful of water. He looked confused and surprised, but probably no more confused and surprised than she looked. His hair was all but gone – nothing but short, brown fuzz adorned his head, and he was naked, but seemed basically unhurt.
She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away with her, away from the large chunks of chum and glowing purple blood that stained the water. When the water finally cleared, and she no longer felt octopus-kabobs raining down, she surfaced with him.
Blowing and coughing the water from her lungs, she grabbed him in a tight hug. “Dad! You’re alright! We did it!” she exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him enthusiastically.
“Do not mistake me, young lady. You are quite lovely, but this is wholly improper. I am a married man and … Oh, dear,” Spike pushed her back to arm’s length. “I do appear to be extraordinarily underdressed,” he realized. His words were strained with embarrassment. “And … errr ... a bit lost, as well. Could you perchance direct me to Macaulay Road?” he asked, looking around pensively.
“Huh?” Bess asked, looking at him quizzically. Why was he talking like that? He sounded like Giles. No, she realized, it was worse than that, he sounded like her adopted father, John Weatherford ... from over a century ago. “Spike – it’s me. It’s Bess.”
Spike smiled at her amicably. “‘Bess’ you say? My daughter’s name is Bess, as well. It’s short for Elizabeth, Elizabeth Anne. My name is William. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Spike offered, bowing slightly in the water. “Despite the rather reprehensible circumstances,” he added, looking around at their unfamiliar surroundings.
“Dad – I’m Elizabeth. I’m your daughter,” Bess tried to explain.
“His marbles have been rattled loose,” Angel’s voice boomed unexpectedly from behind her and Bess spun around quickly, sending a splash of water into the air, which barely missed hitting Angel in the face.
“What … what do you mean?” she asked, looking at the dark vamp with confusion.
Angel twirled a finger around his temple. “Being alone and probably in a lot of pain – he’s gone Cuckoo’s Nest,” he explained.
“Cuckoo’s Nest?” Bess questioned. “He’s a … bird? He doesn’t look like a bird,” she pointed out, looking quickly over her shoulder at Spike then back at Angel.
Angel rolled his eyes. “He’s lost his grip on reality,” he clarified. “I’ve had it happen a time or two. He’ll probably get over it.”
“Probably?” Bess exclaimed, her eyes going wide with worry.
Angel shrugged. “I think the more immediate problem is – where the hell are we, ‘cos this ain’t Kansas anymore.”
“Kansas? We weren’t in Kansas to start with – that’s one of the ones in the middle! We were off the coast of California. Are you sure you haven’t gone ‘Cuckoo’s Nest’?” Bess wondered, tossing his words back at him and looking at him warily.
Angel sighed and rolled his eyes again. “It’s a saying. ‘The Wizard of Oz’?” Angel shook his head. “You really need to watch more TV,” he advised her.
“That blast must’ve opened some kind of wormhole or something. We aren’t anywhere near where we started,” Angel clarified for her.
“Oh, yeah, I figured that out myself based on the lack of boat, a port I don’t recognize, and all this smoke in the air,” Bess told him, rolling her eyes.
“Pardon me, I don’t mean to interrupt, but if you could simply direct me to the local livery, I’m certain I can find my own way home,” Spike spoke from behind her in the voice of her father … from 1890.
Bess sighed. She wondered momentarily if having plans turn to shit was like blue eyes and high cheekbones … something that your father could pass on to you in your DNA.
“Let’s go,” Angel instructed as he started swimming towards the large cargo ships and the wharf.
Bess frowned but began to follow; there wasn’t much choice really. “C’mon,” she said to her father, who looked, more or less, like Spike but spoke like William.
Spike looked past her and eyed the dark man warily. He looked familiar … but, no, certainly that was impossible. He’d dusted the monster that had attacked his household and killed Cassandra, Theresa, and Avengelyne. In addition, this man was clearly a yank … not Irish.
Bess stopped swimming and turned around. “We’ll find a way home,” she assured him.
Spike brightened slightly and nodded. “I do need to get home soon. I know the children will be extremely disquieted with my tardiness.”
Bess blew out a breath as they both began swimming in Angel’s wake. “That’s an understatement.”
Buffy drew in a deep breath and took off running towards the door that the Jacks were trying to break down. As she ran, she noted that there were, in fact, eight Jacks there – great. They were making so much noise that they didn’t hear her approach. One of them must have felt her presence though, and turned around just as she reached them. Buffy swung the sword at its neck and turned the vamp into a pile of red, glittering booty dust before it could scream out a warning cry.
Unfortunately, the sound of her sword slicing through bone and flesh drew the attention of the other vamps anyway. Buffy swung again, decapitating the next one nearest her and slicing a deep gash into the arm of the one next to it. The vamp she'd cut screamed out and grabbed for its arm and Buffy swung again – three down, five to go.
The remaining Jacks stepped back and formed a wide circle to surround her. One started to sound a battle cry, to summon the others that were still playing ‘tag’ in the armory, she assumed. Buffy stabbed her sword into its belly, effectively silencing the call. As that one gurgled a painful wail, Buffy turned in a circle and swung the sword in a wide arc. She didn’t hit any of the Jacks, but they all backed up another step. When she got back around, facing the wall and the one that she’d injured, she slashed the sword down on its neck and put it out of its misery.
Buffy dashed through the red glitter that hung in the air towards the locked door. The Jacks to either side of the one she’d dusted reached for her. Their long, sharp, claw-like nails tore at her shirt and scratched her arms, but it wasn’t any worse than she had done to herself in the shower, and she barely noticed.
Now covered with the red glitter-dust, Buffy spun back around, putting her back to the door, and faced the remaining vamps. “Spike!” she called, not certain that he was even conscious or even if he was, if he could hear her through the heavy door. She banged on the door with her elbow and yelled again, "SPIKE!"
Buffy kicked one of the Reds to her left in the knee – the weakest part of their body she could actually reach – and swung the sword at one to her right. The one she kicked yelled out in pain as its knee crunched grotesquely under the Slayer’s power and bent backwards like a bird’s. The vamp to her right, however, jumped back in time to avoid any injury from the blessed sword.
“SPIKE!” Buffy screamed again, daring to turn her head slightly to try and make her voice heard through the heavy door. Buffy reversed the momentum of the sword’s swing, which had missed the vamp on her right, and came back around in an arc to dust the vamp whose knee she had shattered. Only four left.
Despite the Reds making all her Spidey-senses burn up and down her spine, she knew Spike was behind that door – she could feel him above it all. Buffy spun around and planted a straight-leg kick into the groin of another Red, sending him stumbling back away from her. She used her momentum to turn in a complete circle, bringing the sword around quickly.
She extended the weapon as far as she could reach towards the necks of the remaining Reds that surrounded her, but they had backed up further than she realized and she only succeeded in barely scratching them with it. Not meeting the resistance that she expected threw her off balance and she stumbled.
In that one moment of weakness, the three Reds closest to her converged on her as one. They knocked her to the floor, face down, and one of them stomped down on the hand that held the sword with a large, heavy boot. Buffy screamed out in pain when three of her fingers were crushed between the Jack’s shoe and the hilt of the sword, but there was no time to dwell on that because there were two more Jacks atop her back now. Buffy struggled under their superior strength and tried to move her left hand to retrieve the sword from her now nearly useless right.
The fourth Jack had recovered from her kick to his groin and stomped down on her left hand as she tried to reach it above her head towards the sword. Buffy felt and heard her fingers breaking as he ground the heel of his boot against her digits, smashing them against the concrete and twisting them at unnatural angles. She couldn’t help but howl in pain as he continued to grind her bones against the floor with every ounce of his considerable strength and weight.
She heard one of them let out their now too familiar trill cry of victory from above her. Buffy had grown to dearly despise that shrill warble, which reminded her of Xena, The Warrior Princess – only the sound the Reds made was even more piercing and really, really annoying. Possibly the annoyance factor was amped up because it always signaled some victory over her.
When the Red that was grinding down on her hand lifted his boot up to get it ready to stomp down again, Buffy snatched her hand away. She got it moved just in time to avoid another devastating blow to her crushed fingers as his boot came back down hard against the concrete just above her head. Frustrated, the Red pulled his foot back and kicked Buffy in the top of the head. Suddenly, the shrill cry of the Reds morphed into cute little cartoon birdies flying and chirping around her drunkenly.
Buffy shook the vision off, although her head was still spinning from the blow, and pushed through the pain, trying to flip over and get out from under the vamps that were on her back. But they were too strong and held her down on the concrete like a bug stuck to a glue trap.
“SPIKE!” Buffy tried again, turning her head towards the door. There was a small crack under the door and she thought she could see a shadow moving behind it. Was someone really there or was her mind just playing tricks on her?
“SPII…” she tried again, but was cut off by another boot crashing down – on her face this time. The little birds and their annoying chirping returned with a vengeance.
She fought through the pain; she had no choice but to fight – fight or die. It was her life. It’s all she knew. Tears of frustration stung her eyes as all the promises she’d made crashed through her mind like the bulls running in the streets of Pamplona – trampling everything in their path.
“Goddamnit…” she muttered, angry at herself for letting her mind momentarily wander down a path of defeat.
Buffy reached her left hand out and forced the mangled fingers of both hands to wrap around the hilt of the sword, which still lay above her head. Before the large, male vampire that had been kicking her could react, she screamed out in pain and effort, pressed the hilt of the sword between her palms, curled her broken fingers around it, and swung it as hard as she could at his ankles.
Blood spewed from the wound and the vampire howled, then collapsed in pain. It hadn’t chopped his foot off, as Buffy hoped, but it had ‘Kathy Bates’d him, giving him a taste of ‘Misery’ in one of his ankles, at least.
Looking up in surprise when its partner screeched, the vampire on her back let the pressure off slightly. Buffy used the distraction to swing the sword backwards over her head. She caught the distracted Red, which was sitting on Buffy’s back, square in the forehead with it. Piercing screams and blood rained down on Buffy as she pried the sword out of the vamp’s skull with a grotesque squelching sound.
Suddenly, confusion and chaos leaked into the Reds’ coordinated attack of the Slayer, and Buffy took full advantage. She rolled out from under the vamp whose skull was now split open, kicking her feet frantically to free herself from the other two that were holding her. When she hit the wall a couple of feet away, she scrambled back to her feet, her sword at the ready, gripped with the mangled fingers of both hands.
Buffy didn’t waste any time worrying about how badly her fingers or her head hurt, though – she knew better. The two uninjured Reds were already starting towards her again. Buffy clenched her jaw and took a deep breath as she drew back the sword and then swung forward in one fluid motion. To her utter relief, they both burst into red sparkles as the blessed weapon sliced through their necks.
Unfortunately, the momentum of her swing put more pressure on her mangled fingers than they could stand. The sword flew out of her hands as she came around with it and it clattered loudly as it skittered across the concrete floor and away.
“Shit!” Buffy swore as she followed it with her eyes and cradled her broken, painful hands against her sternum.
Buffy stole a quick look across the expanse of the common area at the armory. All the commotion and screaming of the fight had drawn the attention of the Reds that were ‘playing’ down there. They were starting her way.
“Double shit,” she muttered under her breath as she stepped past Misery’s head to go retrieve her weapon. The hobbled vamp was still writhing on the floor in pain, holding his broken, bloody ankle with both hands.
Buffy was barely aware of Misery, however; her full was focus on the sword that had come to rest about ten yards away. She had to get it back, like now.
Before she could take another step, however, Misery reached out and grabbed Buffy’s ankle, pulling with all his demon strength and sending her sprawling face-first on the concrete next to him.
Buffy let out a surprised squeal when she began to fall. The surprise was immediately replaced with searing pain and a litany of curses when she landed on her crushed fingers. Buffy began to scramble and kick at the vamp, trying to free herself from its grip. Her kicks were ineffectual, however, because Misery had already released her legs and started crawling up her body.
Buffy could feel Misery’s weight pressing down on her. Her arms were caught underneath her. She tried to push up, to flip them over, but the pain shooting up her arms rendered them weak and ineffective. With the weight of the large vamp pressing down on her back, the muscles of her arms quivered like Jell-O. She was able to rise up only a few inches before her arms gave way and her chest dropped back down onto the floor.
Buffy could smell Misery’s putrid breath as he plunged his mouth down against her neck, fangs bared. Buffy screamed when his incisors cut into her flesh and redoubled her efforts to get free, squirming and thrashing under him.
She could hear someone else approaching. The rest of the Reds from the armory had no doubt come to share in the bounty. Or more likely, rip the bounty away from Misery and into little shreds, like hyenas ripping a gazelle apart.
She almost felt like a bystander to her own death. Buffy could feel the blood flowing out of her body – it was at once strange and familiar. The strange part was how much this large vamp was taking with each pull. She’d been bitten before, of course – by Spike, certainly, but by others: Angel, the Master, the Turok-Han. She didn’t remember this feeling of being, quite literally, drained, come over her so quickly with them, not even with the uber-vamps.
Buffy kept trying to get away, to fight, but her head felt like it was a balloon, floating weightlessly above her body. Her body felt leaden, every movement took a monumental effort. She heard the footsteps coming nearer – the other vamps approaching.
Buffy held her breath, clenched her jaw, refused to give up. She had promises to keep. It couldn’t end like this – there was more to do, miles to go. Her family needed her to keep those promises. But the promises, like the bulls in the streets of Pamplona, had run past her now. They were just stars in the sky – out of reach.
Buffy’s eyes fluttered closed and her body stilled, her will alone was unable to fight the inevitable. This was it. She would die just like every other Slayer in history. Alone.
Oh no! Angel and Bess have rescued Spike - except that he's lost in the past and thinks that he's William. And, to make matters worse, they're not in Kansas anymore. Gift-less!Spike seems to have survived the demon bug pit, but where is he? Why didn't he answer Buffy's calls?
What do you think of fuzzy-headed William/Spike? Unfortunately, I won't have a lot of screencaps for that look.
And, at the risk of giving a spoiler away (although you probably already figured out Buffy won't die here), just who do you think will rescue Buffy?
Lots more to come!!
Bad Day, David Powter
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