Story Title: Spirit Indestructible


Season 5. Begins with ‘Spiral’ in the abandoned gas station, and goes far off-canon almost immediately.

When Dawn makes the ultimate sacrifice to save her sister, friends, and the world, Buffy’s mind snaps. When Buffy's friends give up hope of her ever recovering, and become afraid that she’ll turn violent and uncontrollable, they call in the Council to help. Fearing what the Council will do, Spike, forgotten and ignored by her friends, steps in. Will he be able to reach the Slayer when no one else could? Will he be able to keep her out of the hands of the Council and away from her ‘helpful’ friends? How much heartbreak, guilt, and failure can one girl stand before her indestructible spirit finally resigns the fight and gives up hope?




39. Lunatic Fringe


Music Referenced:

Red Rider - Lunatic Fringe

Nelly Furtado - Spirit Indestructible


Some Screencaps courtesy of Broken Innocence (others from ScreenCap Paradise which is, sadly, no more). and also from


Thanks to YOU for reading and especially to those of you who take the time to email me feedback! Love hearing from everyone! Thanks also to Paganbaby for taking time out of her hectic life to beta this for me! Her suggestions ROCK!  All mistakes are mine because I can't stop fiddling right up to the last moment.

Rating / Warnings:

Rating: 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.

Later that night...


Spike absently touched the stake in his duster pocket, then the one in his waistband as he crept up to the abandoned house. Dru was in there, he was sure. He looked at the sky and knew the sun would be up in less than two hours. If he didn’t get this over with quickly, he’d have to stay all day, and he really didn’t want to do that. Firstly because Buffy would worry, and secondly ‘cos he just didn’t want to spend that much time with Dru. Buffy was right: Dru was dangerous. He knew he could handle her, but didn’t look forward to playing her games for so long. One wrong step could put him at her mercy.


Deciding the direct approach would be best, he straightened from his stealthy crouch and simply strode up to and through the front door like he owned the place.


“Dru, need a word, pet,” he announced as he flicked the door closed behind himself.


Dru was lounging on a well-worn settee talking with Miss Edith. She looked up and smiled when Spike came in. “I knew you would come, my sweet William. I knew my presents would show you how sorry I was ... how much we belong together. Miss Edith said you were still surrounded by the Slayer, but I knew you would come home to your dark princess.”


“Look, Dru, appreciate the thought, luv, but Miss Edith’s right. Just came t’ give you a chance t’ leave town. Ya need t’ leave us be,” Spike explained, moving into the ramshackle living room of the dilapidated house.


Dru frowned dramatically and carefully set Miss Edith down on the settee, then stood up facing Spike. “That’s no way to greet your princess, my pretty Spike. I’ve come for you; I’m tired of being alone with just Hana and Miss Edith. Daddy said…”


“Daddy?” Spike exclaimed, interrupting her. “Seen the Magnificent Poof, have you? Or is this another one of your bloody games?”


Dru’s eyes widened as a grin spread across her face and she bounced on her toes. “I have a secret!” she exclaimed gleefully. “Shhhh! Don’t tell! It’s my little firefly … don’t let it out of the bottle.”


Dru pirouetted, swinging her arms out and letting her full skirt whirl in a wide arc around her legs. “He doesn’t know, Miss Edith. He doesn’t know about Daddy,” Dru whispered to her dolly when she stopped.


“What about Peaches?” Spike demanded, stepping forward nearer her.


Dru stopped suddenly, facing him, her eyes as wide and wild as Spike had ever seen them.


“Dru, don’t have time for your bleedin' games tonight. Ya need t’ get Miss Edith and clear outta here…” he began, in an exasperated tone.


“Oh no! The music hasn’t stopped yet! Daddy said we could stay as long as the music played! You’re not my daddy! Bad dog! Grrrff!” she growled at him, snapping her jaws. “Bad doggie!”


Spike clamped his eyes shut a moment, hissing out a frustrated breath through his teeth. He opened his eyes and gave her his best glare, one that used to make her shrink away from him and whimper. “Drusilla. The bleedin’ music is in your head, you barmy bint. You can hear it just as well in soddin’ Rio as you can ‘ere. I’m givin’ ya one chance here and now – pack up and move on.”


Dru frowned, letting her lower lip come out in a fierce pout. “Daddy said you wouldn’t want to play hopscotch with us. We’re having a fine gala with streamers and balloons, and gumdrops for dessert. They’re yummy, my Spike. Don’t you want one?”


Spike’s gaze grew arctic as he studied his sire. “What the bloody hell are you on about, Dru? Where’s Angel? Is he ‘ere?” he demanded, turning and looking around the interior of the old house as well as he was able from where he stood. He should be able to feel Angel if he was nearby but he didn’t feel anyone except Dru.


“Daddy’s gone out.  Me and my girls were about to have some nettle tea, crab cakes, and candy canes; would you like some, lovely William? Miss Edith has been very naughty, she gets no candy canes; Hana shall have her share.”


“Dru.  Try t’ bloody focus. You gotta go – get outta town. Now! I can’t have you hanging about spreading entrails over m’ soddin’ yard,” Spike repeated in exasperation. He moved forward and grabbed Dru by the upper arms, shaking her slightly to try and get her to focus on what he was saying. “Are you gettin' this? You need t’ go and never come back.”


Dru frowned again and looked around Spike’s head, her eyes moving as if watching images floating around him. She leaned in nearer him, as if to whisper a secret into his ear. “She still dances … ‘round and ‘round. She’ll turn you to ash, my Spike. She burns you … forever burns … forever dances… No pretty gumdrops for sweet William. Only horrid black ones for my Spike … all the colors will soon be gone.”


Spike sighed and released her. “If ya aren’t gone when I come back ‘ere tonight, you’ll be the one tastin’ of ashes, Dru,” he warned as he backed away from her. “Stay away from me and the Slayer. Get outta town. And if Angel’s here, take him with ya.”


Spike wasn’t sure if Angel was really there or not; you could never really tell with Dru. He hadn’t heard anything about the poof since the Sunnydale collapse. Perhaps he’d been swallowed by the ‘sinkhole’ – that would be a bloody blessing.


Spike left Dru standing there alone in the dilapidated house. She watched with a petulant frown as he turned away and left the old house, pulling the door firmly closed behind him. As he strode down the front walk, he pulled out his cell phone and his finger had just begun to press down on the speed-dial for Buffy when he felt a familiar prickle on the back of his neck.


He lifted his finger off the phone and closed his eyes in exasperation. “Slayer,” he sighed. “Told ya I’d take care o’ …”


Suddenly a new warning was added to the other, racing up and down Spike’s spine like a wildfire. His eyes flashed open, his demon jumping to the fore in an instant. The phone fell from his hands as his body tensed and coiled, ready to spring.


A dangerous growl rumbled from deep inside him. “Angel.


"Slayer! Watch your ba–"  Spike's body suddenly began to convulse, his warning to Buffy cut short. A sudden feeling of déjà vu  came over him. In his final, brief moment of consciousness, he realized he'd felt this before, then his mind blanked and his body succumbed to the electricity surging through it.


"Oops ... sorry, wrong Slayer," Faith quipped dryly from behind him.


“I really should’ve gotten one of these suckers a long time ago,” Faith bragged as she took her finger off the Taser’s trigger after Spike convulsed and fell, face-first, onto the sidewalk.


“It was nice of our new friends at Wolfram & Hart to furnish it before they all died,” she continued, grinning. She walked up to Spike and poked his leg with one toe. There was no reaction at all from the downed vampire, not even a groan.


Angel smirked as he met her, sauntering up from the other direction to stand over Spike’s prone, unconscious form. “Very thoughtful,” he agreed as he reached down and picked Spike up by the nape of the neck like a kitten.


“I could’ve taken him down without it though. Capturing a castrated vampire wouldn’t have really even gotten my juices flowing,” Faith pointed out.


“This was just a test run. We’ll need it when Buffy comes for him,” Angel reminded her.


“I can take that bitch, too,” Faith asserted confidently.


“I want her in one piece. She’s mine to take apart,” Angel warned.


Faith rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “Whatever turns you on, big guy.”


“Dru’s gonna be so happy. A new dolly to play with,” Angel remarked as the two brunettes headed back up the walk to the old house, Angel dragging Spike along by the neck.




“Why the hell isn’t Spike home yet!?” Buffy demanded for perhaps the hundredth time in the last hour as she paced frantically back and forth across the front porch. He’d been gone since well before dawn and now it was well past sunset. She'd managed to remain calm during the day, telling herself that he simply got caught by the sunrise and that he'd be home as soon as darkness fell. She told herself that he'd forgotten to charge his phone, something that happened fairly frequently, and that was why he hadn't called. But as the moon rose, and more and more time elapsed without any word or any sign of him, her ability to quell her panic unraveled.


“There is insufficient data to determine the cause,” Joan replied for the hundred and first time.


Buffy pressed the speed-dial on her cell phone again. “Mailbox full…” the automated voice began when the call to Spike’s phone connected.  Buffy growled in a fair imitation of Spike before hitting the ‘end’ button.


Buffy stomped down the porch stairs and all the way to out to the street, looking up and down the empty suburban road for any sign of him, but there was none. “Damn it, Spike …” she muttered under her breath as she continued to scan for any movement at all. “Where are you?”


“There has to be something you can do to find him,” Buffy insisted when she came back up onto the porch. “Can’t you ping his phone like they do on TV?”


The Bot tilted her head, thinking. “I do not have that technology, but I can download it. Please stand by.”


“Finally!” Buffy exclaimed. “I’m gonna call India and see if she can come stay with the babies.”


"What if William the Bloody's sire returns?" Joan wondered.


Buffy shook her head. "I doubt she will. If my theory's right, she's got what she came for: Spike. Plus, Dru can't get inside the house anyway.


"We've got to find them and get Spike back before she leaves with him or ... ... or does anything with him," Buffy asserted, fear and panic rising in her again at the thought of just what Dru might do to Spike. "We don't have much time."




 “Are you sure this is right?” Buffy questioned as she and Joan walked through a run-down section of town. “I don’t feel him at all.”


“The software for tracking cellular telephones indicates the equipment assigned to his SIM card is in this vicinity. I also detect his scent. I believe we are tracking the right train.”


“On the right track,” Buffy corrected, wishing she could smell something other than ‘Sultry Summer in the South.’


“You should now try calling the target telephone again,” the Bot suggested.


Buffy did so and they both stood on the sidewalk in front of what looked like a haunted house and waited, listening intently for Pat Benetar to starting singing ‘Hit Me With Your Best Shot’. Instead, they heard a buzzing coming from not too far away in the grass. Buffy practically leapt atop the vibrating phone, snatching it up out of the high, unkempt grass.


“Shit!” she exclaimed, recognizing it immediately. “Shit, shit, shit!”


“It appears that Spike has been separated from his cellular device.”


“Ya think!?” Buffy barked at Joan in frustration.


“Yes, frequently,” the Bot replied stoically. “It is a programmed response to stimuli…”


“Joan! We need to find him!” Buffy raged at her doppelganger. "You don't know Dru like I do! Anything could happen!"


“Perhaps I can track his scent from here,” Joan suggested, sampling the air with small sniffs as she turned in a slow circle.


Buffy waited, nervously chewing her lip and rubbing a finger over Spike’s phone, as if she could conjure him like a Genie from a bottle. Finally, the Bot stopped and looked at the dilapidated house they were standing in front of.


“He went this way … and that way … and that way,” the Bot explained, pointing first to the house, then to the right and then to the left.


Buffy sighed. “Swell … well, let’s try the most obvious vampire lair:  the haunted house,” she suggested as she tucked Spike’s phone into her back pocket, pulled a stake out, and started up the worn, cracked, and overgrown walk to the front door.


Buffy pushed the old door open hard enough that it banged on the wall behind it and bounced back at her. She hit it again and stormed through, stake at the ready, her eyes searching the dark for any movement. Joan was right on her heels. She stopped next to Buffy just inside the door.


“Can you see anything?” Buffy whispered.


“Yes. My optics are capable of adjusting rapidly to low or no-light situations.”


When Joan didn’t say anything more, Buffy rolled her eyes and asked, “What do you see?”


“A fainting couch covered in 1970’s era green plaid upholstery, a crumbling, inadequate fireplace, floorboards that require refinishing–”


“Any vampires or people?” Buffy cut her off.


“No, but … there is a sound of labored breathing and an odor of blood coming from upstairs,” Joan informed her.


“Why didn’t you say that before?” Buffy growled at her.


“You asked me what I saw, not…”


“Shine your light,” Buffy interrupted. “Where are the stairs?”


The Bot’s eyes suddenly lit up, literally, and cast a glow over the whole area, illuminating the staircase off to Buffy’s right.


“Let’s go,” Buffy whispered, as she began to creep up the rickety stairs.




Spike woke up screaming.


“Oooo! My little birdie’s singing again!” Dru gushed, pulling the cross back from Spike’s smoldering chest. “Sing for me, sweet William. You know how I love for you to sing,” she continued, touching the golden crucifix, which she held with a lacy handkerchief, down onto his bare abdomen.


Flesh sizzled. Spike screamed again, his eyes blazing amber in the low light of the room, as his body convulsed in pain.


Hush little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird, and if that mockingbird don’t sing …” Dru laughed maniacally as she removed the cross from Spike’s stomach. “Silly song! Of course the little birdie will sing for his mama.”


“Druuu,” Spike growled, pulling against the restraints that held his hands and feet immobile. “Let me go this bloody minute,” he demanded.


“The little birdie has a secret,” Hana observed from a perch atop a nearby stool. Her feet swung loosely beneath her, her legs not long enough to touch the foot rail. Her luminescent teal-blue eyes were glued to the crystal globe atop her flower, which was glowing in a rainbow of colors.


“Oooo … I love secrets, don’t you, my Spike?” Dru wondered giddily as she stood over him, setting the crucifix down.


Dru tickled her long fingernails across Spike’s wrinkled, demonic brow. “Where are your secrets, William? Hidden in the cupboard? In the tea kettle? Inside the little, shiny fishes? In the coal bin?”


Suddenly Dru’s eyes went wide and she began bouncing on her toes gleefully. “All the little bits and bobs are gone!! Oooo – so many secrets, my Spike! Like lollipops on a Ferris wheel! Round and round they go … where they stop, only little lambs know!”


“Dru, let me go,” Spike demanded again, thrashing against his restraints. They held strong, didn’t even budge.


“We’re having gumdrops. Don’t you want your gumdrops, pretty William?” she asked holding up a small rectangle of paper and licking it in a long, slow motion like it was made of candy.


“No, I don’t want any bloody gumdrops! Let me go this bloody instant!” he yelled at her, rattling his chains wildly.


“But they’re so sweet and juicy…” Dru turned the paper around so Spike could see what she’d been licking. “Little Slayer gumdrops … drip, drip, dripping sugary, red snickerdoodle drops all down my dress.”


The angry demand that Spike had been about to voice again died in his throat as his eyes widened in fear and surprise. She had a photo from his wallet. It was of the twins, both laughing and covered in colorful cake and icing, from their first birthday party.


“Daddy will be so pleased. My little birdie's all bright and chipper ... chirp, chirp, chirping! Like a meadowlark,” Dru squealed in delight as she pirouetted and danced away, leaving Spike’s line of vision.


Spike growled and pulled on the chains holding him again, but it was useless. He lifted his head to look around. It looked like he was in a small room within a warehouse of some sort. It was dark, windowless, and clearly abandoned, but areas where the drywall had been broken revealed metal siding beneath. He was on a table, his wrists and ankles were bound to large, concrete pillars that seemed much newer than the rest of the room. His shirt had been removed, but he still had his jeans on. That meant Dru hadn’t really even begun her games yet.


He had to get out and get word to Buffy. He'd been wrong about why Dru was in town. It wasn't him she wanted; it was the bits, and she wasn't alone, Angel was with her. Worse yet, Spike realized now that the Slayer tingles he’d felt on the sidewalk earlier were not from Buffy, but that other Slayer bint that Buffy had told him about: Faith. And she was human. Bloody brilliant. She wouldn’t need an invite into the house. There would be nothing keeping her from snatching the bits any time of  the day or night. Nothing, that is, except Angel’s stubborn pride. He’d want to do the deed himself, just to prove how much more clever he was than Spike or Buffy. At least Spike hoped that was still the case.


Spike turned his attention to the young girl still sitting on the stool nearby, swinging her legs idly and looking bored. “What’s your name, sweet bit?”


The girl turned her radiant eyes to him, tilted her head to the side, and smiled. “Hana.”


“Hana … that’s a brilliant name. Means ‘flower’ in Japanese, did ya know that?”


“Yes. It means ‘moon’ in Albanian … I am a moon-flower.”


“Are ya now? Brilliant, that. Where you from, luv? Sounds like … Manchester, yeah?”


Hana’s smile widened. “Very close: Sale.”


“Ah, well then, you’re a ManU girl, I reckon. They’re bloody brilliant; best in the world.”


Hana shrugged as her globe-flower began to sparkle and glow again. “Not this year … quite disappointing; third,” she sighed. “But next season they will top the league again.”


Spike quirked a brow at her. “Handy little gizmo, that,” he remarked more to himself than her.


Refocusing on his agenda to get her to help him, he continued, “Bet you like ice cream, yeah?”


“Oh, yes!” Hana gushed.


Could get ya some … all ya wanted, any kind. Just undo these shackles and we can go…” Spike suggested.


“Miss Dru promised me gumdrops. I like gumdrops with my ice cream … fancy, dripping, red gumdrops – they’re the best kind.”


“Got all the gumdrops you could ever want, luv … all the ice cream and candy. It’s like Willy Wonka’s bloody Chocolate Factory at my house. Just undo these…”


Liar, liar, pants on fire, nose as long as a telephone wire!” Hana sang giddily, shaking her head in the negative.


The girl jumped down from the stool and was next to Spike in the next instant. “It’s not nice to lie to little girls,” she chastised, picking up the crucifix that Dru had left and laying it down on Spike’s stomach.


Spike growled and thrashed and finally screamed in pain as his flesh sizzled and blackened.


Hana grinned sweetly, and then skipped happily away, her long hair bouncing and swinging from side to side.




“Hi, I’m an old friend of Buffy and Spike’s. Are they … home?” the man asked, peering in past the small, dark-haired woman and through the front door of the Pratt home.


India looked up at the tall, brunette man that stood on the front porch with annoyance. “It’s nearly midnight,” she informed him, standing firm.


She wasn’t sure how long Buffy and Joan would be gone – they hadn't been entirely certain, and hadn’t really given her much information before they'd rushed away.  India hadn’t seen Spike at all when she’d come over at Buffy’s request to sit with the babies; she had no idea where he was or when he’d be home, either.


The man looked back at her, meeting her violet-grey eyes with his brown ones. He unconsciously licked his lips as he took in the ample curves and slender waist of the woman before him. She appeared to be in her twenties, with long, straight, midnight-black hair that hung to her waist, olive complexion, and light eyes that flashed with an inner fire. She was no taller than Buffy but had curves to spare in all the right places. She’d make a tasty morsel…


“I know it’s late, but we all used to be … night owls together. I thought maybe they still stayed up late. I just got into town; was hoping to catch up with them. It’s been so long since we’ve had a chance to really visit. Can I … come in and wait?”


“I don’t think so. If you want to leave your name and number, I’ll have them call you,” India offered.


“Oh, sure, I understand. Do you have … a pen and paper?” the tall stranger asked hopefully.


India sighed and turned to go get a pen and paper from the kitchen, but stopped at the last moment, gave the man a sweet smile, and closed the door in his face, clicking the deadbolt for good measure.


Angel balled his hands into fists as he waited outside the door, utterly frustrated. He was out of practice in the art of getting invited in. Of course, it used to be all he had to do was smile and look pretty – that ploy wasn’t working on this woman.


When he heard her coming back, he quickly moved away from the door and down to the other end of the porch. He leaned casually against the porch railing and put on his most charming façade. If he couldn’t get invited in, then he’d just have to draw her out.




Buffy skulked up the creaking stairs as quietly as she could, Joan right on her heels. When she got to the landing she heard what Joan had heard: a soft moaning coming from one of the rooms down the hall.


She crept forward, stake at the ready, toward the sound. She and Joan took up positions on either side of the closed door and, with a silent nod to her twin as a signal, Buffy kicked the door open and burst through, Joan right behind her.


They stood in a fighter’s crouch, back-to-back ready to take on whoever or whatever was in the room, but no threat presented itself. The moaning continued, however, and they both moved toward the source of the sound.


While Joan kept watch for baddies and continued to light the room with her glowing eyes, Buffy reached out and touched the shoulder of the person lying in a crumpled heap on the dirty floor. The man rolled over onto his back with a gasp and another cry of pain.


“Giles!” Buffy exclaimed, the simple revelation colored with shock and horror at the sight of her ex-Watcher.


He was covered in bruises, cuts, burns … in fact, he looked very much like Buffy had looked after her four days in hell at the hands of his former employer. Blood pooled on the floor beneath Giles, enough to be quite worrisome, and he was barely conscious.


“Giles, what happened?” she asked anxiously, pulling an old curtain down off the window and rolling it into a ball. She slid it under his head as a pillow and began searching for the source of the blood.


“An … gelus,” he croaked out, reaching a hand out to her weakly.


“Ang … elus?” Buffy repeated, stressing the ‘elus’ part, her eyes growing wider.


Giles started to nod, but began to cough up blood. Still coughing, he pressed his closed fist against her stomach insistently.


Buffy took his hand in both of hers. “Giles … how? What … how?”


The old Watcher opened his closed fist and Buffy felt something brush against her palm. She looked down to see the handful of platinum curls Giles had been clutching fall into her hand.


She gasped, recognizing it immediately. “Spike!”


“Angelus … says,” Giles rasped out. “Trade him … for … you.”


Buffy’s eyes darted away from the snippets of her husband’s hair to Giles’ pallid and bruised face. “Where?”


Giles shook his head and began to cough again.


Buffy looked up at her twin. “Call 9-1-1 and get an ambulance out here,” she instructed.


“Where, Giles?” Buffy demanded again, looking back at her ex-Watcher.


“Don’t … know. Said … he would … contact … later.”


“Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it!” Buffy snarled, clutching the locks of hair in her fist angrily. “I knew I should’ve staked that bastard before when I had the chance … chances.


“Joan!” Buffy called, looking up at her twin who was on the phone relaying the address to the 9-1-1 operator. “You need to get back to the house. Don’t let anyone in but me or Spike. India should probably stay until I get there so you can walk her home.”


The android nodded her understanding, still talking to the operator on the phone.


Buffy looked back down at Giles. “How did this happen? How did he lose his soul? ‘Cos I know it wasn’t skank-ho Faith!” Buffy questioned angrily.


Giles shook his head weakly and let his eyes fall closed. “The amulet … the weapon he used against … the First Evil. It … cleansed him of the Gypsy’s curse. Removed his … soul.


“We … thought he had … perished … in the Hellmouth,” Giles continued, his voice frail, barely audible. “But … Wolfram & Hart … resurrected ...” Giles began to cough again; this time blood splattered from his lips as he tried to get it under control.


“It doesn’t matter,” Buffy assured him. “How doesn’t matter…”


Giles sighed and laid his head back down on the folded up curtain, letting his eyes fall closed in relief.


Buffy sighed heavily and shook her head in dismay. Angelus was on the loose and he had Spike. She rubbed at her exhausted eyes; her head ached and her pulse was pounding painfully against her eardrums, making it nearly impossible to think straight.


“Why … why did he do this to you?” Buffy wondered after a few moments.


Giles blinked his eyes open and looked up at her. “Said he despises … leaving a job … half done.”


“I estimate that the ambulance will be here within three and one half minutes,” Joan announced. “I will wait at home for you to arrive.”


Buffy looked up at her and nodded. “Be careful. Don’t let anyone get too near you, okay? You remember what Angel looks like, right?”


“Yes. I have a full file on the Magnificent Poof,” Joan assured her. “He wears lifts.”


“And Dru? Do you know Dru?” Buffy pressed.


“Yes. I have detailed information on William the Bloody’s sire. She’s off her gourd most of the bloody time.”


Buffy took a deep breath and nodded.  “And you remember Faith, from when we were in Sunnydale?”


The robot nodded sharply. “The skank-ho that stole our axe and insinuated that your ass was in need of a tuck and a lift.”


Buffy rolled her eyes. “Right. Ok – get home and stay there. I’ll be there soon.”


Joan turned on her heel and headed out of the room. Buffy immediately regretted it, since the Bot was the only light in the damn place. Shit!


“Buffy,” Giles gasped out, grabbing her arm as she began to reach out to pick him up and take him downstairs. “Don’t … trade. Can’t trust … trap.”


Buffy nodded. “I know. Don’t worry. I’m not playing by his rules anymore.”


“Dru … Faith … too many to … fight … alone,” Giles warned.


“I’m not alone,” Buffy assured him as she gathered his limp form up into her arms and began feeling her way out of the room in the dark.




Red Rider - Lunatic Fringe





Lunatic Fringe
I know you're out there
You're in hiding
And you hold your meetings
We can hear you coming
We know what you're after
We're wise to you this time
We won't let you kill the laughter

Lunatic Fringe
In the twilight's last gleaming
This is open season
But you won't get too far
We know you've got to blame someone
For your own confusion
But we're on guard this time
Against your final solution

We can hear you coming
(We can hear you coming)
No you're not going to win this time
We can hear the footsteps
(We can hear the footsteps)
Way out along the walkway
Lunatic Fringe
We know you're out there
But in these new dark ages
There will still be light

An eye for an eye
Well, before you go under
Can you feel the resistance
Can you feel the....thunder



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