All characters belong to Joss Whedon, The WB Network, and 20th Century Fox. I am just a fan.

Dead. Buffy was dead. He had seen her body laid out on the rubble almost as if she had been placed there instead of landing there after having plunged an infinite number of stories to her death. Spike didn’t want to believe it. What was death really? He was dead. He had died over a century ago and yet he was still here walking and talking among the living. Didn’t that make him alive?

No longer living. Without life. Without feeling, motion, or power. Extinct. That’s what death was supposed to be, but he defied it all didn’t he? Wasn’t it possible she could to? She was the slayer surely she could not just die. She had fallen. So had he. He had walked away so why didn’t she? Why didn’t her slayer powers kick in and fix her?

She was in the ground now her body resting in a coffin. Did that make it final? Was that the end of it? Was she just another entry in the Watcher’s Guide a slayer called and a slayer fallen? After everything she had faced and everything she had fought this was it? She saved the world a lot. She saved the world a lot and this was her reward decomposing in a coffin.

Death was her gift. What a load of crap. Death had been his gift. He had died to be reborn. She died to rot. If the fates were a physical entity Spike would personally seek them out and show them what a great gift death was. Death wasn’t a gift not for her. The world had been nothing but cruel to her. It wasn’t fair.

The thought made Spike laugh. It was a cruel hate filled laugh. All those corpses that lay in his past and he didn’t care one bit about them. To be honest their deaths hadn’t been fair either. He had enjoyed killing them. It was what he did. He was death and he brought death to people, but not to her. It wasn’t supposed to happen to her, and it was his fault.

Guilt. There was an emotion he wasn’t used to. He didn’t even know what it was at first, but it was guilt. Guilt because he should have been the one to die. He had said he would die for her and he meant it. He wished he were the one who was dead. The one who no longer existed, because he didn’t know how to deal with the guilt. He had failed, and his failure meant Buffy had to give her life. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He didn’t want to be in a world she wasn’t a part of.

Yet that was where he was. He was walking the earth and she wasn’t. He didn’t breath, his heart didn’t beat, and there was no air in his lungs, but he was still here. Couldn’t she be here too? Was that too much to ask? Apparently so because she was in the ground not breathing, her heart not beating, and air not filling her lungs. She was deader then him, but her life had been worth something more then his. His life didn’t seem to mean anything anymore. He had zero to live for.

Spike stared at her headstone as he stood above her grave. He came here every night since she had been laid to rest. This was the last place she would ever be. This was her home now, and he was invited. Of course he could come here because it was a cemetery, but even so he had been invited into her home into her life again.

Spike forced himself not to cry. Something had passed between them that night in her house. A wall had been torn down and it wasn’t the invisible one keeping him out of her house. It had been the one keeping him out of her life and out of her heart. He wasn’t deluding himself. He knew her better then he knew himself. She had accepted him that night. She hadn’t returned his love. He wasn’t that stupid, but she had accepted him, and his love for her.

Spike forced the what ifs out of his mind. What if she hadn’t died? What if he hadn’t failed? What if she was here beside him now on patrol not wasting away in the ground? Spike hated the what ifs. They haunted him every second of every day. They were driving him around the bend. They were torturing him to the point that he couldn’t bare it any longer.

His fingers closed tighter around the stake in his hand. He had come here tonight with a purpose. It wasn’t a noble purpose. It was actually a pretty cowardly purpose, but Spike had always been weak. He had been a slave to love. He was love’s bitch and it kicked him around until he bled. He couldn’t take it anymore. He had nothing left in this world. Nothing but pain, and he would rather die then turn into Angel a brooding guilt ridden shell of a vampire. No he had reached the end. There was only one thing left to do.

He raised the stake and pressed it against his heart. His only regret was he would not be joining Buffy. No he was on his way to hell, and he was pretty sure Buffy was in heaven. He didn’t really believe in heaven. He knew there was a hell, but heaven he wasn’t so sure about. He wanted to believe there was one because he wanted Buffy to be there. He wanted her to be at peace with no more battles to fight with no more pain to endure. Yes he believed in a heaven because Buffy was there he was sure of it.

Spike closed his eyes as he held the stake to his heart the tip piercing his flesh. He could do this. Really he could. He hated his life. He had nothing anymore. All he had to do was jerk his hand, and it would be over. All the pain…all the grief…all the guilt.

“Don’t do it”

The voice was soft and quiet like a whisper in his head. Spike squeezed his eyes shut harder. It was just his imagination. It was just his mind playing tricks with him, but he wasn’t going to listen. No he was going to do this. He had to do this. He couldn’t go on.

“Please don’t do it.”

It was louder this time and closer. He could hear the desperation and fear in it, and it was familiar. Very very familiar. A warm hand rested over his. It was small and soft the pulse beating against his skin. Spike took an unneeded breath before opening his eyes.

She was staring at him with liquid brown eyes reflecting a million shed tears as well as a million more waiting to be cried. Spike wanted to cry. He wanted to cry for her pain, for his pain, for everyone’s pain. So much pain. It made him hate the world. A world that would do this to a girl. She had lost her mother, and now her sister. She had lost everything. What kind of world was this?

Spike’s fingers relaxed and the stake fell from his hand. He didn’t hear it hit the ground all he heard was her breathing. She was still alive. She was still living. She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t dead because Buffy was dead. How he hated this world. Her tiny hand grasped his and squeezed. If she noticed the cold she didn’t let on, or maybe it was because her hand was warming his skin. His dead skin.

“I come here every night too,” she said quietly.

He could hear the pain in her voice, but also the hope that he was someone she could share it with.

Dawn continued. “I usually don’t come this close. I don’t know why. I guess I don’t want to disturb you, or because I can feel her when I’m this close. Do you feel her?”

Spike cleared his throat trying to dislodge the lump that had formed there. He wasn’t going to cry.

“Yeah I feel her.”

Dawn turned her head and looked at the headstone. “I was made out of her you know. Sometimes I feel like I’m in there with her.” Dawn’s voice started to crack. “I get cold, and I can’t breath, and I feel like I’m in this dark place and I can’t get out.” Tears fell down Dawn’s cheek causing a gut wrenching pain to lace through Spike’s heart. “Do you think it’s dark where she is?”

Spike felt like he was dying again. He pulled Dawn’s trembling body against his. Her pounding heart echoed inside of his own heart as she buried her head into his chest seeking comfort. He held her tightly as she unleashed a waterfall of tears.

He wondered if she had talked about Buffy’s death with anyone else. He imagined she hadn’t. She was like Buffy in that respect holding it all in. Why she chose him he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to let her down. Not now. Not after he had made a promise.

The promise. He had promised Buffy he would protect Dawn until the end of the world. He had failed that night but the world still turned didn’t it? He could still protect Dawn even if it was just from feeling alone. Maybe if he did that she would forgive him.

Forgiveness. Not exactly something he ever cared about, and it was something he would never get. She was dead. He would never know if she could have ever forgiven him not that he deserved it. She was dead and he was still undead. That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. No she would never forgive him. He couldn’t even forgive himself.

Dawn pulled away from Spike and looked up at him questioning him. What the question was Spike didn’t know, but he hoped his eyes held the right answer. A small smile appeared on her lips and Spike figured he answered correctly to whatever the question was.

“It’s not your fault,” she said as if she had read his thoughts. He made a scoffing sound, and she continued. “It’s not. It’s mine.”

He saw the guilt in her eyes. He hated himself more if that was possible. He grabbed her arm more forcefully then he intended and she let out a little shriek. He relaxed his grip. “Now you listen to me. It is not your fault.” His voice was hard and Dawn trembled slightly at the harshness of his words. “It is not your fault and you are not going to blame yourself do you understand me?”

Dawn wrenched her arm from his grasp. “Everyone says that,” she shouted as guilt and anger at herself overwhelmed her. “But I am the key. I was supposed to die. All of it is my fault.”

“No it’s not. No one was supposed to die.” Spike’s voice softened and dropped to barely above a whisper. “I was supposed to protect you.”

And then he found her in his arms again sharing a guilt that was neither of theirs to bear.

They sat side by side at her grave a vampire and the key. She wore his duster as protection against the cold night air. He held a cigarette between his fingers occasionally taking a hit off of it, but mostly just letting it burn. The moon shone down on them as they stared straight ahead both lost in their own thoughts.

Dawn finally broke the silence. “Have you thought about it?”

Spike thought about acting like he didn’t know what she was talking about, but he knew. He had thought about it many many times since she had died, and lying about it wouldn’t do any good because he knew she knew he had thought about it. Just as he knew she had.

“Yeah,” he admitted knowing it would make her feel less guilty for thinking about it herself.

“Me too.”

They fell into silence again. Spike brought his cigarette to his lips and took a drag letting the smoke fill his lungs before he blew it out. Sunrise was coming soon, and all of a sudden it occurred to him that Dawn was out all night and that the gang would not be too happy about that, and were probably worried. He was about to say something when Dawn started talking again.

“Why haven’t you?” She turned her head to look at Spike.

Spike flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette before answering, “Don’t really want a zombie Buffy.” Dawn nodded, but she looked confused. “What?”

“Nothing just you had a robot made. I just figured you…” her voice trailed off.

Spike flinched at the memory. “Yeah well the bot was a bad idea. It wasn’t Buffy and well made me realize that in life you really can’t accept any substitutes.”

Dawn smiled at his joke. Spike crushed out his cigarette against the sole of his boot, and tossed it into the fading night before standing up.

“Let me walk you home.”

A fresh batch of tears sprang to Dawn’s eyes and fell silently down her cheeks. A look of confusion washed over Spike’s face. He had no idea how an offer to walk her home had caused her to cry. He knelt down next to her and rested his hand on her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s not going to be my home after today,” she revealed with a sniffle.

Fear, and shock rocketed through Spike. “What do you mean?”

Dawn wiped her nose with the sleeve of Spike’s duster, and he ignored it. He was more interested in why her home wasn’t going to be her home anymore. She couldn’t leave. She needed him and he needed her. He knew that now.

“My dad is taking me back to LA with him.”

“Why?” Spike asked still confused.

Their father hadn’t even visited when Joyce had died, and he knew the man had missed his own daughter’s funeral two weeks ago. They had held the funeral just after sunset. Spike didn’t fancy they had done it so he could be there. No they had done it so Angel could be. Yet even so he was in too much grief to care why they did it. He just knew that Mr. Summers hadn’t been there.

“He’s my dad,” Dawn simply stated as if that meant something.

Spike supposed it did mean something even if it didn’t make any sense considering the man had abandoned his daughters. He hated the man on principle knowing the pain he had caused both Dawn and Buffy over the past few months. If he could he would have killed him both for what he had done and what he was going to do which was rip Dawn away from the people who truly cared about her, and the people who had truly loved Buffy.

“Bugger that. What’s Giles going to do about this?”

Dawn shrugged and Spike could see how distressed she was about this. God he hated this man for doing this to her.

“He said there was nothing he could do. He’s my dad. He has rights or something.”

Spike started pacing his mind working a mile a minute. He had to stop this. He couldn’t let Dawn leave not like this not when she didn’t want to go and not when he had finally discovered his reason for still existing.

“Spike?”

Spike stopped and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. She was looking at him with such loss, and fear. He wanted to make everything okay for her. He needed to make everything okay for her.

“What is it niblet?”

Dawn smiled at his pet name for her before looking at her hands and nervously asking, “Would you…I mean is it possible that maybe you could…” she stopped not able to continue.

Spike knelt down next to her. He ran his hand through her hair an action he had seen Buffy do numerous times and he figured it was comforting for Dawn.

“Anything.”

Dawn looked up locking her eyes with his. “Come to LA.”

Drowning In You: Part II
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