William checked on her every half an hour throughout the night. He didn’t set an alarm, he didn’t even really plan on it, but every thirty minutes, his concern for her woke him up, and he peeked in her door to make sure she was alright. She was asleep each time, still in her school clothes, a pained look on her pretty face.
He assumed the expression was because of her injuries, because of the stress of her evening, because of his own harsh behavior towards her.
There was no way he could know what was going on in her mind.
It was the same dream, at first. Except this time, she was herself, not a cloud, not pointless. There and present. She was in her body, she was feeling everything. In Angel’s apartment, wet from the rain, cold, sinking back against his chest.
“I love you. I try not to, but I can’t stop.”
Angel’s words were in surround sound, coming at her from all sides, too loud, so loud she wanted to cover her ears, and would have, if she had any control over her own body. But she didn’t. She could only relive it, not change anything.
Her response was quieter, only heard in her own mind. “Me...me too. I can’t either.”
The room spun into a black hole, so dark, then she felt herself lurch, and was looking into the smiling face of Drusilla, on a bright, sunny day, in the high school quad.
“Hi, Principal Snyder asked me to show you around, it’s Buffy, right?”
“Yep,” she felt herself reply happily. “Buffy is me.”
“I’m Drusilla, it’s nice to meet you!”
“I’m nice to meet,” she then said to Tom the evil frat guy. The sun was still warm on her skin.
A searing pain in her head, and then she was in a graveyard, at night, with Spike. No. With William.
“Buffy, that was sloppy,” he scolded, making a notation in his leather bound journal.
“Excuse me?” She scoffed, hand on her hip, head cocked.
“Your punches were all over the place, and you left yourself open to attack at least three times.”
“If you don’t like the way I’m doing my job, why don’t you hire someone else?”
“You are a frustrating little chit, aren’t you?”
“Don’t insult me in British!”
Another black hole, more pain, so much pain.
“Buffy. I want you to go to the dance with me. You and me. On a date.” Xander looked at her hopefully.
He had said it. He had come out and said the one thing she never wanted him to confess. “I-I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything!” Angel said from behind her. She spun, a swirl of colors made her nauseous, and she was in an unfamiliar room. A boy’s room, clearly, from the sports posters and swimsuit calendar and flannel sheets. “I don’t really want to hear your explanation. Thanks all the same.”
“Angel, I’m sorry—“
“You have nothing to be sorry for, right? It wasn’t your fault? Some stupid love spell and you’re breaking up me and Darla, because you always get what you want. But you didn’t mean it, right?” His tone was bitter, his eyes glittering. “Whatever, Buffy. I don’t care.”
“I don’t care,” She was saying, staring at Giles, eyes stinging with tears, a sinking feeling in her gut. “Giles, I’m sixteen years old. I don’t want to die.” She threw her cross necklace on the ground, she walked resolutely out of the library.
Into her mother’s funeral.
William was behind her, hands on her shoulders. Drusilla was holding one of her hands tightly. Angel was on her other side. She was broken.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
And then, later, sinking a stake into her mother’s heart, Joyce was truly dust. Buffy fell down sobbing, laid down on her back in the cool grass.
“Welcome back,” Xander said softly, brushing her hair from her face as he gazed down at her. The boy who had brought her back to life.
The ground split open beneath her, and she fell for what felt like hours, but was probably just a second.
“Welcome back!” Snyder frowned. “I hope that suspension taught you a lesson.”
“It did,” her head bobbed up and down enthusiastically, intensifying the pain in her brain.
“And the lesson was?”
“Um…”
She was spinning, she felt as if she was going to throw up, and as her feet hit solid ground she swayed back and forth.
“Hello, cutie,” Spike grinned, sizing her up.
“Who are you?”
“You’ll find out on Saturday.”
He shifted into William. Blond hair darkens, grows. Clothes change. Eyes stay the same.
“What happens on Saturday?” He asked her, putting on his glasses.
“The winter formal! Duh, William. Get a clue. Mark’s taking me.”
“STOP!” Buffy pleaded as she hurtled through another black hole. No one listened to her.
Willow entered the room awkwardly, dressed in a little black skirt and crop top.
“Wow! You’re a dish,” Buffy insisted. “I mean, really.”
The girl shifted uncomfortably. “But this just isn’t me.”
“It’s me,” Buffy smiled into the phone, averting her gaze from William standing next to her. “Sure, I’d love to, Mark. See you there?” She hung up and giggled. “I’m off to the Bronze later, that’s cool, right?” She bounced off and didn’t wait for her Watcher’s reply.
She walked into rain.
Angel was dripping wet, she was dripping wet, they stared at each other across the room.
“You know what the worst part was, huh? Pretending that I loved you. If I'd known how easily you'd give it up, I wouldn't have even bothered.”
The pain deep inside her shifted, lessened, and she was crying on Drusilla’s shoulder.
“GOD. What a slut,” she mumbled. “I mean, out of every person Mark could have cheated with? Harmony? Really?”
“Do you really think you’re ready, Buffy?” Her mother asked her, then her plate slipped from her fingers and shattered on the ground.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” William asked her as she reached out to gently touch his face. Their eyes connected. He looked at her hopefully.
“Yes, good idea, yes, she’ll patrol,” Giles nodded as they stood in the library.
Buffy was suddenly, immediately, in nothing but black space. It felt…endless. And she was floating. Weird.
“Hello?” She called out tentatively. “Is anyone there?”
“Everyone’s here,” an unfamiliar voice said softly. “Everyone and no one.”
“That’s cryptic, and not at all helpful.”
“Well, I’m not exactly here to help you.”
“Then why are you here? And where’s here?”
“Here is nowhere.”
“Again with the cryptic. You should write poetry, most poetry is really cryptic.”
“Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”
“Sure, but if it’s a riddle, I’m going to be pretty annoyed.”
The disembodied voice sighed. “You know what? Never mind. Figure it out for yourself.”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please.”
“You’ll be quiet and listen?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. You are who you are, and nothing can change that.” Buffy stifled a protest at what she felt was a useless observation. “When you have to choose, know that neither is the right answer. But what you choose is permanent, and what you don’t? It won’t cease to be. Do you understand?”
“No!”
The voice sighed. “Do I really have to make this explicit?”
“Pretty much. I’m not exactly great at the symbolism.”
“Stop resisting. Either accept where you are, or return to where you came from, but having both will destroy you.”
The world spun around her.
Buffy awoke in her bed with a blinding headache. Tears began to stream down her face as she fought to suppress the almost unbearable pain.
“William? Spike?” she tried to call out, but her throat and mouth were dry, her voice was strangled and weak. She struggled to sit up, and found she could stand, she could walk, because none of the pains from her earlier fight could compare to the throbbing, the pulsing, the burning in her skull.
She fumbled for more painkillers, swallowed more than she probably should, but she had a feeling they wouldn’t help.
Buffy staggered from the room, and made her way down the stairs, seeking something, anything, that would help her. Fresh air, she suddenly craved it, and left the house.
It didn’t work, nothing worked, nothing ever would, the pain was so intense she couldn’t even breathe, she couldn’t think, she could only let her feet carry her into the cool night air, no destination in mind, going over the events of her dream.
Was it a dream? Was she remembering? Was it a hallucination or reality or fact? She didn’t know.
She just walked.
William awoke at 4:40, and instantly leapt from his bed to check on his Slayer. When he found her gone, he felt a rage build within him that he hadn’t felt since he was in his late teens, since he had been a punk who called himself Spike.
He ran to his room and pulled on jeans, then grabbed the nearest coat to him.
Realizing halfway out the front door that it was his old black leather duster, he laughed bitterly to himself at the irony. He followed his instincts, and headed towards the same park where he’d found her earlier.
She wasn’t there, but as he growled his frustration, he caught sight of a small blonde figure disappearing around the corner a block away. He broke into a run and caught up to her quickly.
“Buffy, bloody hell, what are you doing?”
“It hurts,” she murmured as he grabbed her roughly and spun her to face him.
“Well of course it hurts, you’re walking around after being beaten senseless a few hours ago.”
“Leave me alone.”
“I won’t. Stop being such a stubborn little bint, let’s go home.”
“Oh…oh my head, my head is what hurts,” she looked up at him, her face contorted in agony. “I had dreams. I remember things.”
“What do you remember?” he softened his tone and placed his palm to her forehead, checking for fever. But she was cool to the touch.
“My mom…I slayed my mom? And you, I remember you. I remember wanting…” She swayed back and forth, and he grasped her shoulders firmly.
“We need to get you home, pet. I’m going to pick you up, okay? I’m going to take you back.”
And so for the second time that night. William carried his Slayer home, again panicked, and listened carefully to her ramblings.
“I have to choose? Choose what? Remembering both, it hurts my head. It hurts, Spike, why can’t you make it stop? Was it a dream? Was it real because if it’s real why do I remember both, I can’t do it, I can’t, and I don’t want to have to pick and leave you or stay or destroy…”
She kept mumbling as he put her back into bed, kept moaning in pain as he laid down next to her and wrapped himself around her, kept crying pitifully as he placed kisses on her temple and forehead, trying to sooth the tiniest bit of her misery.
It took a few hours, but finally, Buffy fell unconscious. Sleep wasn’t even a possibility for William, though, but he couldn’t contemplate leaving her alone. Even asleep, she was restless, letting loose pitiful whimpers. He pulled her closer to him, feeling tears of his own stinging his eyes, wondering how she was remembering, and what could possibly have caused her suffering.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks for everyone who's reviewed! I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. And a HUGE thank you to whoever nominated this story at the Spuffy Awards for "Most Original Plot", and at the Sunnydale Memorial Fanfiction Awards for "Best Episode Rewrite". Let me know who you are so I can thank you personally! This chapter was fun, but definitely difficult for me to write. So I'd love love love to hear what you think, since it was kind of far out of my comfort zone. Chapter title from a song by 30 Seconds To Mars.