(no subject)
New Spike/Dawn fic...post chosen.
Titled: Tell Her So Many Things
He watches her as she runs to the bathroom, her hair flowing behind her and her face buried into her hands. She slams the door shut, just to smite the ghosts and pumps the music loud. He hears the shower run, but does nothing to ease her pain. He knows there is pain because he hears her sobs muffled by the towel she presses against her face. Towels Buffy used. Towels Joyce used. Towels the little girl who left the house that morning used last night. They’re all in the living room, crying their bloody eyes out. The demon’s unconscious again and the Whelp’s sobbing. Red and Glinda look passionately at each other, waiting to regain their nightly orgasm sessions. He hates them. The old man surprises him the most, heading strait for the Jack Daniel’s Joyce kept hidden under the sink. He would have gladly joined the bastard but changed his mind the second he saw Dawn. He thought he’d hate her because she ripped away the love of his life…but he didn’t, not at all. He blamed himself, so he did the only logical thing he could think off. He swooped her into his arms like a bloody bride so she didntt have to see the crumbled body of her fallen sister. He carried her all the way home in the sun, and though he didn’t burst into flames, he felt his skin sizzle.
Ripper told him the powers did it to allow him to save her. The water still runs, washing the tiles. Her sobs are too loud, they are drowning him. He feels Anya wake, and the Whelp embrace her. Never embrace Buffy. Only Dawn now, only thing left. Red and her girlfriend slip by him, hands held and eyes locked on the door. He curses at them, yells, and shouts the Buffy is dead. When the door clicks he realizes he never opened his mouth. Rup is halfway through that bottle now, and she’s still in the bloody shower, and he just sighs.
He wants to tell her so many things. Tell her it wasn’t her fault, that her sister loved her so much. He wanted to tell her how Ripper wanted to kill her, how her mum talked about her all the time. How Buffy loved her so much she died for her. How he loved her so much he gave her his eternity. How he was as good as dead without her. He wanted to tell her how great her sister was, how wonderful and sweet. How powerful. He wanted to tell her how wonderful she was. He cried for Buffy, for Joyce, and for Dawn. For Anya, and the witches, and the watcher who only has the JD in his gut. He cries for Angel, who lost his soul mate and the Whelp who lost his hero.
The Whelp is holding onto Anya so tight, he hears her ribs crack. They were already broken though. He knows his were too; his leg was at a strange angle and his skin burned. His hands are stained in blood. Dawn’s blood. She had lost so much. She is still crying, flooding her pain with tears of ice. The water is still beating heavily, pounding, The words of the music become slurred. Then it stops. The water shuts off, and it is silent. She opens the door, her head bent. A towel is wrapped around her, and her face is clean of soot, instead marred by tear tracks. Her big blue eyes drown him. The purple dress is in the corner, and the medical alert kit is open on the sink, bandages heroes would never use strewn about. He wants to tell her so many things. He doesn’t say anything, not even when he notices that her hair is dry.
Authors Note:
Always wanted to write a Dawn/Spike fic that was directly Post-gift. Please..tell me whatcha thing.
Titled: Tell Her So Many Things
He watches her as she runs to the bathroom, her hair flowing behind her and her face buried into her hands. She slams the door shut, just to smite the ghosts and pumps the music loud. He hears the shower run, but does nothing to ease her pain. He knows there is pain because he hears her sobs muffled by the towel she presses against her face. Towels Buffy used. Towels Joyce used. Towels the little girl who left the house that morning used last night. They’re all in the living room, crying their bloody eyes out. The demon’s unconscious again and the Whelp’s sobbing. Red and Glinda look passionately at each other, waiting to regain their nightly orgasm sessions. He hates them. The old man surprises him the most, heading strait for the Jack Daniel’s Joyce kept hidden under the sink. He would have gladly joined the bastard but changed his mind the second he saw Dawn. He thought he’d hate her because she ripped away the love of his life…but he didn’t, not at all. He blamed himself, so he did the only logical thing he could think off. He swooped her into his arms like a bloody bride so she didntt have to see the crumbled body of her fallen sister. He carried her all the way home in the sun, and though he didn’t burst into flames, he felt his skin sizzle.
Ripper told him the powers did it to allow him to save her. The water still runs, washing the tiles. Her sobs are too loud, they are drowning him. He feels Anya wake, and the Whelp embrace her. Never embrace Buffy. Only Dawn now, only thing left. Red and her girlfriend slip by him, hands held and eyes locked on the door. He curses at them, yells, and shouts the Buffy is dead. When the door clicks he realizes he never opened his mouth. Rup is halfway through that bottle now, and she’s still in the bloody shower, and he just sighs.
He wants to tell her so many things. Tell her it wasn’t her fault, that her sister loved her so much. He wanted to tell her how Ripper wanted to kill her, how her mum talked about her all the time. How Buffy loved her so much she died for her. How he loved her so much he gave her his eternity. How he was as good as dead without her. He wanted to tell her how great her sister was, how wonderful and sweet. How powerful. He wanted to tell her how wonderful she was. He cried for Buffy, for Joyce, and for Dawn. For Anya, and the witches, and the watcher who only has the JD in his gut. He cries for Angel, who lost his soul mate and the Whelp who lost his hero.
The Whelp is holding onto Anya so tight, he hears her ribs crack. They were already broken though. He knows his were too; his leg was at a strange angle and his skin burned. His hands are stained in blood. Dawn’s blood. She had lost so much. She is still crying, flooding her pain with tears of ice. The water is still beating heavily, pounding, The words of the music become slurred. Then it stops. The water shuts off, and it is silent. She opens the door, her head bent. A towel is wrapped around her, and her face is clean of soot, instead marred by tear tracks. Her big blue eyes drown him. The purple dress is in the corner, and the medical alert kit is open on the sink, bandages heroes would never use strewn about. He wants to tell her so many things. He doesn’t say anything, not even when he notices that her hair is dry.
Authors Note:
Always wanted to write a Dawn/Spike fic that was directly Post-gift. Please..tell me whatcha thing.