Chapter Text
Spike honestly thought he’d be out of emotions to feel by now. Thought he’d be long past the point of giving a damn.
After the hell the past few days had been (the past few weeks, actually), you’d think the universe would stop kicking a man while he was down and leave him to crawl into a bottle in the dark somewhere or maybe greet the sunrise later.
But that’s a bloody joke, a hilarious one at that, because when, in the past few years, had the universe stopped righteously kicking his ass? When had any of his plans ever panned out in Sunnyhell?
Still, you’d think he’d be done caring. You’d think after everything, the demon in him would find its way to the surface, would dredge up every bit of ugliness he knew resided in him. That it would tell the ungrateful witch at his door to bugger off and solve her own damn problems and then go find some booze and violence. He had half a mind to do just that when he first heard the pounding at his crypt door. When he’d wrenched it open to find her there, the rims of her eyes as red as her hair.
Despite his nature, crying women did often have an effect on him, a distant echo from an upbringing and an era long past. Except, he wasn’t that person anymore. No, he was a thing. A soulless monster Red and the rest of their little Scooby Gang had told to get lost not 48 hours before.
So no, he didn’t feel a single sodding thing when he opened the door to her tears and sniffles. He felt annoyance, anger, and the rising urge to wretch her brilliant little head off her tiny shoulders. Because what right did she have to be bothering him now? Now, when he was just coming off a hangover and was about two seconds away from launching himself into another one.
What more could they possibly want from him? He had tried. He had tried and failed. He’d marched into battle against a hell god with a promise to keep and a willingness to die if need be. He hadn’t done either. He’d lost everything. He’d lost the woman he loved. The one person he’d loved more than anything in his whole existence…even more than Drusilla herself. And now she was gone. Because he failed.
She was gone, and no sooner had the dust cleared did her precious friends tell him to take a hike, because the Slayer wasn’t around to keep them from staking him anymore. They wouldn’t even let him stay with the Bit and make sure she was okay after he had carried her home (his broken leg and ribs and about a dozen other things be damned)
So yeah, he was done. He shouldn’t give a single solitary fuck about them or any of their problems. And yet…
The moment the words left the witch’s mouth, the whole world fell away. Again.
“Spike, w—we need your help. It’s Dawnie! She ran off and we can’t find her anywhere,” Willow blurted out through barely contained tears. She looked like she’d been crying for a while.
Without warning, Spike felt his stomach flip and he was sure if he had a heartbeat, it would’ve been in his throat. His head was suddenly spinning. He wished he could’ve blamed the alcohol.
“We thought she just wanted to go to bed early, get some sleep after everything, but her window was open and some of her stuff is gone and I can’t do a locator spell because everything is still all ooky after the ritual and the dimensional walls and Buffy—“
Willow abruptly clamped down on her words mid-ramble. She simply stared at him for a moment, opening her mouth a few times only to close it again. He didn’t truly care at this point, but Red looked tired.
“Spike please,” she eventually managed, her voice quiet, and yet loud in the eerily still night.
And it was abnormally still. Like the whole world was taking a moment of silence for the light it had lost.
Spike didn’t say anything. He just held the witch’s gaze with something not quite a glare, but certainly akin to it, his jaw muscles ticking furiously.
There were a million things he could’ve said and a thousand things he wanted to. He wanted to throw it back in her face, balk at her for asking for his help now . Now, after they had kicked him to the curb like yesterday's rubbish, even after he’d fought alongside them. He wanted to shout at Red and the Watcher and the Whelp for not keeping a better eye on Dawn. Dawn, the last remnant of Buffy. Dawn, the person she had loved enough to die for, had been willing to do anything to protect.
Spike felt his grip on the stone doorframe tighten, knowing that if it had been simple wood it would’ve splintered by now.
It had barely been 48 hours and the Slayer’s mates had already dropped the ball.
Yeah, there were a million things he could’ve said, and none of them were friendly. However, in the end, he was too tired to drag any of it out in the open right now. If he were being honest, he was exhausted, mentally and physically, and any bit of energy he had left was rapidly being rerouted to the growing space in his brain that was dedicated to worrying about Dawn.
He could feel it, the steadily rising fear and anxiety crackling beneath his skin. Had this been how Buffy felt all the time towards the end?
Spike drew in an unnecessary breath and clenched his teeth. He only nodded and gave a low grunt in response, turning away to retrieve his duster.
He went alone.
Not only because it was faster that way, but also because he didn’t have the restraint or patience to deal with anybody else right now. Not Red, not the Watcher, not their little Scooby search party. Not even Glinda, and he actually almost liked her.
Spike moved quickly and efficiently through the town, despite the nasty limp his still-broken leg sported. He made sweeps of all the usual places; the school, the park, the Magic Box, the ER, the graveyards Buffy frequented the most. He even went back to the tower, as much as the sight of the thing physically made him feel ill.
(And if he found one of Glory’s minions still hanging about and used him as a punching bag before quite literally ripping his head off with his bare hands, he told himself that was fine. It wasn’t like he didn’t have some aggression to work off and it wasn’t like the scabby bastard didn’t deserve it; he had played a direct part in killing his Slayer and harming his Nibblet.)
It was nearly an hour later when Spike finally (mercifully) caught her scent. His pace instinctively quickened and he ignored the twinge in his leg it caused. He breathed deep, the lungful he got confirming that it was indeed her and it was fresh.
He felt something inside him loosen. Some coil that was wound too tightly finally let up. He didn’t want to admit it, but he’d been starting to well and truly panic. He soon caught sight of her through the bus station window and he let out the breath he was unnecessarily holding.
It had been a last resort, checking here of all places. But it made sense, didn’t it? That’s what kids did when they ran away. That’s what Buffy did a few times…according to Joyce, anyway.
Spike took a moment to compose himself, closing his eyes and trying to reign in the raw emotions that bubbled over the surface. He was going to give the Bit an earful for this, for endangering herself and scaring all of them. But he had to be careful not to push it over the line or scare her too much. Because it would be so easy right now.
He felt like there was a wound inside of him, something raw and festering. Something dark, angry, and ugly, and she was the very last person he wanted to take it out on.
Spike opened his eyes and again focused on her through the haze of passing people as they shuffled off to their arriving bus. The world seemed to narrow down to just her for a moment. A wisp of a girl.
He took another moment before yanking the glass door open with an air of determination. He strode inside, his duster flaring and an onslaught of righteously angry words already forming in his mind. If she noticed him, she didn’t react. Spike kept his jaw set as he approached, his shoulders straight and rigid. He took the final step to stand in front of her and he felt the words on the tip of his tongue, ready to burst forth and tear her a new one and—
She finally turned her head to look up at him and he felt every word die right in his throat.
Her eyes weren’t red-rimmed, but they were puffy. Like when you’ve cried so much for so long the evidence lasts for hours after and leaves the corners of your eyes sore and irritated. But no, it wasn’t the tears that got him, it was a hollowness that lay behind her eyes. She looked so tired. Exhausted and utterly empty.
Spike no longer had a reflection, but for a brief moment, he could’ve sworn he saw one in the kid’s blue eyes. He held her gaze, floundering and hoping he had at least kept his hard and angry mask up. Somehow he knew he hadn’t and that his expression was betraying him; it always did.
“Leave me alone, Spike.” Dawn preemptively bit out, crossing her arms tightly around a little bag in her lap as she looked away from him again.
That finally shook him from his muted haze.
“Not bloody likely.” He snorted derisively before flopping down on the bench next to her.
“I’m leaving, you’re not gonna change my mind.” She still refused to look at him, a raw sort of edge tinging her voice.
“Look, Platelet, believe me, I understand wanting to get the bloody hell out of Sunnyhell, but you can’t just—“
“I said I’m going,” she cut him off coldly.
“No, you’re not . If you run off you’ll end up in foster care, or worse .”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. ‘Sides, it’s not safe for you out there.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do!”
“Well, I don’t!”
“Well, Buffy did!”
Those words cut her to the bone and she flinched like she’d actually been hit. Spike supposed maybe he might’ve felt bad, had he not been reeling from the utterance of her name himself. Dawn’s entire face crumbled and any composure she had slipped away. He watched as the already small girl somehow became impossibly smaller when she curled in on herself, sobs shuddering through her thin frame.
“She’s gone. She’s really gone!” The words sounded like they were being torn from her chest.
Spike felt his own resolve and anger crumble as he quickly reached for her and dragged her to him, pulling her securely into his embrace.
“She’s gone! And mom’s gone and it’s all my fault! It’s me, Spike, it’s me, I did all this!” Dawn half-sobbed and half-wailed into his chest, fingers clutching tightly at the leather of his duster.
Her words rattled something in his unbeating heart and he took her firmly by the shoulders, pulling her away just enough too look at her.
“Now you listen to me,” he began, a fierceness in his voice. “ None of this is your fault. Not what the Monks did. Not what sodding Glory or Ben or Doc did. And certainly not what happened to Joyce! Not even Buf—“
His voice wavered and stuttered, the word making his chest clench painfully.
“Your sister made a choice,” Spike continued, trying desperately to keep his voice steady. “It was a choice she made because she loved you more than anythin’, but it was one she would’ve made no matter what, eventually. Because that’s what those hero types do, that’s what she’s already done so many times. She always saves the day, no matter the cost. That’s just who she is and that isn’t on you , Dawn.”
She regarded him for a few beats, raw emotions flashing through her eyes. A fresh wave of sobs washed over her then and she practically fell forward into him.
“Shh. Shhh. None a’ that now,” he pulled her close without protest, his hands gently carding through her long brown hair. “Just breathe. Breathe through it. That’s it now. Shhh, I’ve got you.”
Spike lost track of how long she cried, of how wet and messy she got the front of his jacket. Of how many minutes or hours they spent just sitting in silence on the hard plastic bench after she had finally calmed. But somewhere along the way she must’ve tired herself out, because at some point Spike realized she had fallen asleep beside him, hands loosely holding his arm and her head resting heavily against his shoulder.
He knew he needed to get her home. Needed to alert the others so they’d stop panicking and before they ended up doing something stupid. They needed to go; it was late and he could feel the dawn approaching, the sun inching towards the horizon, making the air buzz with its warmth.
But they still had time, just a bit, and honestly Spike felt safe here anyhow. Safe from judgement and prying eyes. Nobody really cared here, not really. Nothing was permanent, nobody knew him and they were all too busy trying to get from one place to the next. He felt safe and he began to feel something inside of him slip, his vision starting to blur.
He spared one last glance at Dawn, checking to make sure she was well and properly asleep.
Then he let himself break just a little.