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halfamoonTitle: Sacrifice
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Spike/Buffy, Dawn
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: He'll keep going. For her.
Word Count: 1,152
Written For: HalfAMoon Day 11: Senses
Warnings: N/A
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She swung at him. Spike ducked, easily evading her blow. He came back up, caught her weapon in between his pale palms, and whisked the makeshift staff out of Dawn's grip. For a moment, they exchanged blows, her hands and feet trying hard to get pass the staff he'd made out of the broom handle the maid had left behind in their current, ratty accommodations. He blocked her with ease until he could tell she was growing desperate and let her slip pass his guard. She knocked the staff from his hands. The clatter it made upon striking the hotel floor echoed in their room.
She charged him then, flailing at him with quickly striking hands. Again, he blocked her with the ease of fighting skills honed over centuries. Tears pricked his Immortal, blue eyes as he recalled to mind another scenario, very similar, even down to the woman who had wailed against him. He should have stopped her. He should have found a way to save her. He'd known what she was going to do that night.
For a moment, he just let Dawn beat him, her tiny fists placing one sharp, rapid strike after another on his chest. He didn't breathe; he didn't move. He simply stood there, letting another Summers woman beat on him. And she had become a woman over this past Summer. She was no longer a girl, but she still had so much to learn. And no one but himself to teach it to her.
At last, she ran out of steam. By the time she did, they were both crying, silent tears trailing down both their long faces. She gasped, and her palms laid still against his breasts. If he had been another man, a better man, she could have felt his heart beating, but he was not. For all of her sister's sacrifices, for all the changes she had wrought in him, he was still a monster. He had failed to make the sacrifice before her, or better yet to stop her altogether from sacrificing herself. He had as much driven Buffy to death as she had leapt to it to save her baby sister.
He knew the girl sobbing against him now was supposedly just energy, but he knew, just as well as her sister had, how bloody wrong they were about her. Dawn was life. She was passion and heart, possessing more of both than any of the other Scoobies combined. She had stood her tests at far too early an age. It didn't matter what the Watchers or the so-called gods said about her. She was not ancient. She was a mere slip of a girl whose heart knew no end, and whose pain also knew no end. An audible sob escaped her, raking both their bodies.
He moved at last, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close against him. His black lips pressed a chaste, soothing kiss to her pale and sweaty forehead. His heart had not beat in over two hundred years, but the sound of her young heartbeat, pounding with both adrenaline and grief, seemed to fill his every sense. Speaking of sense, he reminded himself, that is what he was supposed to be doing. He might not make the next battle. He might not make the morning light, and she was all he had left. No! Spike reminded himself with a low, gutteral growl. He was all she had left.
He had to teach her. He had to make her into a better fighter than Buffy, better than he himself. She had to survive the coming war, or her sister's sacrifice would be all for naught. And she had to be able to survive it on her own terms, in case something happened to him. In case he was staked, or his grief got the better of him and he succumbed to the desire he felt every bloody day now that her sister was gone, the desire to walk right out into that sun.
That would end his misery. He'd never feel anything again. But it would also leave her alone. He'd made a promise to Buffy, and to Dawn. He'd promised Buffy he'd take care of her baby sister, of the young woman who she had died to protect, and he'd promised the Nibblet herself sometime, in the aftermath that remained a blur to him when he'd somehow managed to keep hold of himself and get her out of that bloody city before Glory or worse could strike again, that he'd not leave her alone. Buffy had asked one last thing of him; he'd damn sure do it. Joyce would want him to take care of Dawn too, and he'd never known a better woman than those two.
He had a Hell of a job to complete, training Dawn not just to be a warrior better than her sister but also to be worthy of leaving up to the heritage those two had left. His black shirt was soaked now, from the kid's tears, and she was still crying. They could spend all night crying, and well into the weeks to come, but that would not prepare her. That would leave her as she had been before her sister had jumped. She'd still be a lamb to the slaughter.
He was no shepherd, but he had become a protector because of Buffy. He'd helped her save the world for Dru back when he was still evil. He might still be a monster, but he was far from the monster he had been back then. Buffy had taught him well. Now it was his turn to teach her sister, his turn to make her a sacrifice and look beyond his own selfish pains to building the girl into a warrior who would survive instead of letting the sacrifice of the best damn who'd ever lived be for naught.
Spike growled again and pushed Dawn again. He felt her, trying to stare at him from behind her blindfold. She started to reach for it. "No," he said and placed the broomstick firmly in her hands. A fleeting thought made him wonder if Witches like Willow had ever trained to fight with such, but that didn't matter. The past didn't matter, nor did the future, much. What mattered was the present. What mattered was Dawn, and Buffy's memory. He paid homage to her every time he trained her sister, every time he was there for her in ways Buffy had never allowed him to be for her.
"Again," he snarled and readied to block her as she came at him. He'd teach her. He'd teach her as long as he existed, and he'd not walk into that damn sun. For Buffy, he'd live. For Buffy, he'd train. For Buffy, he'd survive as long as he could, and keep her kid sister surviving too.
"Again."
The End
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Spike/Buffy, Dawn
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: He'll keep going. For her.
Word Count: 1,152
Written For: HalfAMoon Day 11: Senses
Warnings: N/A
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She swung at him. Spike ducked, easily evading her blow. He came back up, caught her weapon in between his pale palms, and whisked the makeshift staff out of Dawn's grip. For a moment, they exchanged blows, her hands and feet trying hard to get pass the staff he'd made out of the broom handle the maid had left behind in their current, ratty accommodations. He blocked her with ease until he could tell she was growing desperate and let her slip pass his guard. She knocked the staff from his hands. The clatter it made upon striking the hotel floor echoed in their room.
She charged him then, flailing at him with quickly striking hands. Again, he blocked her with the ease of fighting skills honed over centuries. Tears pricked his Immortal, blue eyes as he recalled to mind another scenario, very similar, even down to the woman who had wailed against him. He should have stopped her. He should have found a way to save her. He'd known what she was going to do that night.
For a moment, he just let Dawn beat him, her tiny fists placing one sharp, rapid strike after another on his chest. He didn't breathe; he didn't move. He simply stood there, letting another Summers woman beat on him. And she had become a woman over this past Summer. She was no longer a girl, but she still had so much to learn. And no one but himself to teach it to her.
At last, she ran out of steam. By the time she did, they were both crying, silent tears trailing down both their long faces. She gasped, and her palms laid still against his breasts. If he had been another man, a better man, she could have felt his heart beating, but he was not. For all of her sister's sacrifices, for all the changes she had wrought in him, he was still a monster. He had failed to make the sacrifice before her, or better yet to stop her altogether from sacrificing herself. He had as much driven Buffy to death as she had leapt to it to save her baby sister.
He knew the girl sobbing against him now was supposedly just energy, but he knew, just as well as her sister had, how bloody wrong they were about her. Dawn was life. She was passion and heart, possessing more of both than any of the other Scoobies combined. She had stood her tests at far too early an age. It didn't matter what the Watchers or the so-called gods said about her. She was not ancient. She was a mere slip of a girl whose heart knew no end, and whose pain also knew no end. An audible sob escaped her, raking both their bodies.
He moved at last, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close against him. His black lips pressed a chaste, soothing kiss to her pale and sweaty forehead. His heart had not beat in over two hundred years, but the sound of her young heartbeat, pounding with both adrenaline and grief, seemed to fill his every sense. Speaking of sense, he reminded himself, that is what he was supposed to be doing. He might not make the next battle. He might not make the morning light, and she was all he had left. No! Spike reminded himself with a low, gutteral growl. He was all she had left.
He had to teach her. He had to make her into a better fighter than Buffy, better than he himself. She had to survive the coming war, or her sister's sacrifice would be all for naught. And she had to be able to survive it on her own terms, in case something happened to him. In case he was staked, or his grief got the better of him and he succumbed to the desire he felt every bloody day now that her sister was gone, the desire to walk right out into that sun.
That would end his misery. He'd never feel anything again. But it would also leave her alone. He'd made a promise to Buffy, and to Dawn. He'd promised Buffy he'd take care of her baby sister, of the young woman who she had died to protect, and he'd promised the Nibblet herself sometime, in the aftermath that remained a blur to him when he'd somehow managed to keep hold of himself and get her out of that bloody city before Glory or worse could strike again, that he'd not leave her alone. Buffy had asked one last thing of him; he'd damn sure do it. Joyce would want him to take care of Dawn too, and he'd never known a better woman than those two.
He had a Hell of a job to complete, training Dawn not just to be a warrior better than her sister but also to be worthy of leaving up to the heritage those two had left. His black shirt was soaked now, from the kid's tears, and she was still crying. They could spend all night crying, and well into the weeks to come, but that would not prepare her. That would leave her as she had been before her sister had jumped. She'd still be a lamb to the slaughter.
He was no shepherd, but he had become a protector because of Buffy. He'd helped her save the world for Dru back when he was still evil. He might still be a monster, but he was far from the monster he had been back then. Buffy had taught him well. Now it was his turn to teach her sister, his turn to make her a sacrifice and look beyond his own selfish pains to building the girl into a warrior who would survive instead of letting the sacrifice of the best damn who'd ever lived be for naught.
Spike growled again and pushed Dawn again. He felt her, trying to stare at him from behind her blindfold. She started to reach for it. "No," he said and placed the broomstick firmly in her hands. A fleeting thought made him wonder if Witches like Willow had ever trained to fight with such, but that didn't matter. The past didn't matter, nor did the future, much. What mattered was the present. What mattered was Dawn, and Buffy's memory. He paid homage to her every time he trained her sister, every time he was there for her in ways Buffy had never allowed him to be for her.
"Again," he snarled and readied to block her as she came at him. He'd teach her. He'd teach her as long as he existed, and he'd not walk into that damn sun. For Buffy, he'd live. For Buffy, he'd train. For Buffy, he'd survive as long as he could, and keep her kid sister surviving too.
"Again."
The End
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Date: 2024-02-13 05:18 pm (UTC)