Sequel to Whispers of the Night
Paring: Spike/Xander/implied Dawn
Los Angeles, 2005 - Xander
No one would consider her to be innocent any more.
It was perhaps one of his biggest regrets. You wouldnít have thought so. How could his sins against one girl outweigh all the violence he had committed?
Yet it haunted his dreams. Not the rivers of blood, the screams of his friends or their looks of betrayal. Their broken bodies never haunted him. He could blame them, their own actions responsible for his descent into insanity. If they had only believed him, if they had only protected him from the voices, it never would have happened.
But they hadnít. They locked him away and never looked back. They never visited. They never noticed that without the pain he couldnít block out the demented voices. Their deaths were tragic, yes. But it really was their fault.
It was times like these that he worried if he truly regained his sanity. Once Spike had slipped the cool metal bracelet on his arm he had been healed. The voices fell silent; they were his companions no more. He had been distraught. Buffy, Willow, Giles; they had been his family. They had been there for each other, they had saved the world, and now their blood was on his hands.
The whispers had demanded it so; the Watcher, the Witch and the Slayer. It had sounded like a freaking book. He couldnít have resisted. Not then. His lover wouldnít have stopped him. He was still a demon, albeit one who had been restrained for a time. It wasnít Spike who killed them though. It had been Xander. The rivers of blood, the pain, it was all the results of his madness. Who would have known that a man with the element of surprise could do more damage then a legion of demons?
When the bracelet slipped on he thought he would die. The pain was overwhelming. It was only the solace of the vampire which helped him heal. It wasnít his fault. They locked him away, they caused the insanity, and they brought forth their own destruction.
His vampire saved him, together they in turn saved the girl.
Sunnydale, Autumn 2000 Ė Dawn
Dawn hadnít known what to think at first. She had known something was wrong after a while. She hadnít seen her sister in close to a week, and while Buffy usually avoided being at the house after their momís death, she eventually showed up - or had food delivered - so that Dawn could eat.
Anya had still been working at the Magic Box, but she hadnít seen Giles or Willow. The core team had disappeared. Neither a phone call nor a body had illuminated the situation. She would have gone to the police, but what if nothing was wrong? What if they had simply forgotten her, or were injured? She didnít think it was likely, but the Hellmouth was a strange location. They really could have been involved in a ritual where they couldnít contact her; of course the odds were just as likely they were all dead. She didnít want to contact the police; even at the worst she really didnít want to go live with her dad.
That was when her knights arrived; a broken and scarred Xander; a tormented demon. They needed her, they would protect her. They would be hers and she was theirs. She knew she was the Key. She wasnít supposed to know, but after a week without a word from anyone except Anya she had researched. She had found hidden notes. She knew what she was. Was she even real or just a figment of their imagination? Was she something that would destroy the world or perhaps she would fade away; an object that if not used would disappear. She hadnít known then which would be worse.
It was from Xanderís nightmares that she learned the others were dead. She had cried, of course, screamed and yelled. Her family was gone. Except they really hadnít been her family; they hadnít been her friends. After all, they only cared about her because the monks had orchestrated it so.
She wanted to know if she was real. At least she knew she was needed; all three of them were broken and bloody inside.
She had watched Spike try to heal Xander. The voices still tormented him if he took the bracelet off. She wondered why no one had believed him. It was obvious to her. Was that because she was more perceptive? Or perhaps it was because she wasnít a person. Perhaps it was all much clearer. Or perhaps she was evil. Evil called to evil didnít it? Perhaps they were all lost and insane.
So she watched, hidden as the vampire coddled his lover. Letting him rage over the acts they committed and taking comfort in his fangs. The bite, the delicious pain, she never doubted that they were real. Night after night she watched the vampire and his lover; the slice of the fangs, the caress of the hands, the naked bodies as they entwined. Every night she watched Xander become more real, more normal; his sanity returning one bite at a time.
She wondered if Spike could smell her arousal. She couldnít stand it. Time and time again she watched the beautiful dance that their bodies created. Light and dark, man and demon; she craved what they had. Something that could never be taken away, never fade.
Her hands crept down to her panties. Rubbing herself though the fabric, feeling herself grow wetter. Wishing she knew what to do to alleviate the ache that consumed her every time she viewed them. She wondered if watching them was wrong; if it was further proof that there was something fundamentally bad about her. Was there something different about her? Was there something dirty, something unclean? She was fantasizing about killers, those responsible for deaths of her fake sister and friends.
Did it really matter? How long had she really known that family? Did they even really love her? Was she a tool for them? A Key to hide away from one who wished to use her? With Spike and Xander at least she knew the feelings were real. They had to care for her. They were here. They had to love her. With a twist and a pinch of her clit she came. Her first orgasm, her first release; hidden away in a closet while she watched her boys fuck.
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