Fandom: BtVS/Ats
Pairing: Spike/Dawn
Genre: Romance/Angst
Rating: R
Warnings: Character Death, vampire!Dawn, underage sex (if vampires are considered underage?)
Word Count: ~ 1,400

For the Spike-and-Dawn-a-thon, written for [info]papervalentine, who requested: "Anything but fluff. Any piece where Buffy gets hers (and not in the good way) will make me happy." Hope you like it!

All Fall Down


Dawn watched, idly picking at the polish on her nails, as Buffy stormed down the sidewalk.

"Where in the hell have you been?" Buffy tromped up the steps, arms across her chest, jaw clenching.

Dawn slouched further into the porch swing, one foot dangling gently back and forth. "At Janice's. Duh."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Janice's mother called, Dawn, yesterday, to talk to Janice. Of course, Janice wasn't here, was she?"

Dawn sat up, mirroring Buffy's cross-armed stance. "I don't know, was she?"

"Don't get smart with me."

"What? It's possible to be in two places at once. This is the Hellmouth, in case you'd forgotten."

"You think you're funny, don't you? This is so un-funny it's not…funny."

Dawn rolled her eyes, slouching back again.

Buffy sighed, pulling open the door, and gesturing. "Get inside. NOW."

Dawn followed Buffy into the house, licking her lips.

"…and if you think you're ever leaving this house again, well—"

"Buffy?" Dawn pushed the door closed with her foot as Buffy turned around.

"Are you even listening?"

Dawn smirked—"Shut up."—as her fangs dropped.


Dawn whistled as she left the house, smoothing down the leather mini skirt she'd 'borrowed' from Buffy. She smirked as she glanced down at her feet, where the brand-new "don't even think about touching them, Dawn" boots struck the pavement as she sauntered down the street.

She smiled, reveling in the power she felt. She'd heard that Slayers were special, but damn that Slayer blood was good stuff. It was sizzling through her body like the little carbonated bubbles in soda, fizzing and popping in her veins and filling her with so much energy she thought she might explode.

She strolled through the darkened streets of Sunnydale, for once, unconcerned, unafraid. There was nothing to be afraid of: She was the big bad.

She'd have to thank Justin for his little gift. Well, she might not; she wasn't sure if the fruit basket company would take "the pile of ashes in Fielding's Cemetery" as a valid delivery address.

Oh, well.


She threw the door of Spike's crypt wide open.

Oops, not quite used to the new and improved vampire strength, yet.

Spike climbed up from the lower level, bare-chested and sleep-mussed.


"Nibblet, what are you—?" Spike's eyes popped open and hurried towards her, stopping an arm's length away. "Oh, Bit." For a moment Dawn was afraid he was going to cry, but in a moment, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. "Who did this to you? When I find the wanker, I'll—"

"Don't worry about him. He's decorating the Sunnydale landscape as we speak. You know, the staking your Sire thing? Not as difficult as one might think."

He turned away for a moment, grabbing a T-shirt and shrugging into it before stepping closer and pulling her snugly against his side. "Come on, Nibblet, we'll find big sis and get you sorted out."

Dawn pulled away, flipping her hair over her shoulder and crossing her arms over her chest. "And be turned into Ms. Broody Britches? I'm thinking 'no'."

"Bit, you know Buffy's not gonna let you snack around on the public."

"Buffy…," Dawn's lips twisted into a little smile, "Buffy won't be a problem."

Blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, Spike leaned closer. "What are saying?"

"Let's just say that I've decided you're right – Slayer blood is the best."


"Shhh." She pressed a finger against his lips, leaning into his firm, cool body. "It's just you and me, now," she spoke, soft breath caressing his ear.

"Oh, Dawn." She smiled as one of his hands cupped the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled away, just enough to see his face. "Don't worry about anything, Spike," she traced his features with her fingers, the sharp cheekbones, the chapped lips, the scarred brow…she'd been waiting for this for what seemed like forever. "I'll take care of you now."

She pressed her lips against his, once…twice…three times

She groaned as he pulled her closer, burying his face against her neck.


He couldn't believe they were gone.

Buffy…was gone.

And the body in his arms…beneath the smell of Dawn's green apple shampoo, it smelt of dirt and cobwebs.

His Nibblet was dead.

He sighed as lips, smooth and soft and cool, traced the lines of his neck and a slick tongue lapped at his Adam's apple.

"Dawn," his hands found her hips and he pushed, separating their bodies. "Dawn, we can't do this. It's not right."

She pouted a moment, but when she spoke, the look in her eyes was shockingly sincere. "It's what I've always wanted. You…always treated me like…a person, not like a freak or a helpless little girl."

"Bit…you are a little girl."

"Not any more." Bright blue eyes were solemn with the knowledge that she had changed.

He nodded; she wasn't a little girl any longer.

She was a vampire.

She smiled at his concession, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling their bodies flush once more. Spike let himself be drawn into her embrace, her kiss, lips and tongues wet and slick and cool against one another. After all, he was already damned, and Buffy wasn't around to stake him if he took what he wanted.

Together, they stumbled down into the lower level of his crypt, shirts and boots and jeans and bra discarded until they landed, naked, on his bed.

He traced her curves reverently—he'd known from the first time he'd seen her, years ago, that she'd be gorgeous. Long, silky dark hair, bright, expressive blue eyes, pert breasts, full hips…she was bloody well perfect…and she was his for the taking.

She squeaked when he rolled them over, his weight resting on her body, and he began to devour her. He traced the curve of her breast with his tongue and remembered how a little girl with wide eyes and pigtails had brought him blood while he was chained in the Watcher's sodding tub. His fingers traced slick folds as he thought about telling her ghost stories, how she'd been scared to death but wouldn't even flinch at his gruesome tales. And as he pressed himself into her depths, he remembered the desperate young woman on the tower, dripping blood and sweat and tears, and the look on her face as he fell…farther and farther…

They surged together, and Spike was lost in memories and grief and ecstasy, in the feel of her small hands in his hair, nails biting into his skin, the way she was still a little warm inside…

"Spike," she whispered against his neck as she clenched around him, and with a shout, he came, emptying himself into her.


Spike sighed, looking at the body sprawled across his chest. He'd never been so confused. He'd loved his Nibblet, loved her innocence and her mischief and the way she always smelled of apples and sunshine. And that little girl was gone…forever—he knew that better than anyone.

The girl he'd sworn to protect with his unlife was dead.

But Dawn was still here; curvier, edgier, stronger…and yet, there was something utterly familiar about her. And the way she'd looked at him…he'd seen that look in Dru's eyes every time she'd gazed upon her 'Daddy', and every time the Slayer had thought about Peaches…it was love.

She loved him, and that was something he'd been waiting a century to find.

But she didn't have a soul, and she wasn’t chipped, and his time with the Scoobies had made him see that humans weren't all walking happy meals, that they were people with feelings and families.

He'd gone soft, and the thought of sinking his teeth into a human made him think of…

Dawn, sparkling and full of life…

Harris, annoying and infuriating, but funny and resourceful and loyal…

Glinda, soft and wise and gentle…

And the Watcher, hard and calloused and fiercely protective…

He'd seen the good in humanity, and he didn't know if he could make himself forget, even for Dawn.

He sighed, pressing a kiss against the sleeping vampire's cheek. With one hand, he combed through the dark strands fanned across his chest, fingers scratching at her scalp.

The other hand, hidden beneath the pillow, fingered a stake.

The End

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