Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing at all. Just ignore me...
Author's Note: The first few chapters are between season five and six of BtVS and during book four of Harry Potter. Hope you like!
Tandwyr made a wonderful banner for this fic, the link is listed right below!
Dawn sang softly to herself, the charcoal in her hand was barely even a whisper against the paper as it swept in a graceful arc.
Below, the sound of bubbly laughter filtered through the floor boards, to her bedroom, and the fragile piece Dawn held in her hand snapped in two.
With barely even a pause, Dawn threw the pieces over her shoulder, both landing inside of the waste basket, and drew out a new charcoal stick from the box beside her.
As Dawn sang, she became lost to the world around her.
Nothing existed outside of the memories within her mind; not the people below, not the droid who was masquerading as her sister, not even the paper before her, or the drawing that she was working on.
Nothing; only the memories.
In her mind, Dawn was five and sick, Buffy sang to her a song about going out to sea. She hadn’t sung it very well and forgot more of the tune than she had remembered, but Dawn remembered the comfort that she felt as her sister had crawled in bed with her and cuddled her as she had sung.
She was ten and Buffy was sixteen, the elder Summers was teaching her how to piece an outfit together, Buffy had told her it was an essential skill, one that rated far above the ability to check the oil of car or some other useless ability.
Then there had been that time when mom had gone out of town, it had been Dawn’s twelfth birthday and Buffy had cut class to be there for Dawn’s birthday party at her school. It was only a year after Buffy had run away following the Angelus experience and Dawn remembered how strained the relationship between their mother and Buffy had been at the time, she sometimes thought that the two had never really gotten over it all. Dawn remembered the two dozen cupcakes that Buffy had made as a special surprise. There had been covered in pink and white icing and atop each one had been pink sprinkles. At that time, Dawn recalled being incredibly into pink during that month. Buffy had sworn her to secrecy and told Dawn to not tell their mother and Dawn had honestly never even thought about blabbing the secret to their mother.
It had been a special day, just her and Buffy and the prospect of telling their mother had just seemed wrong. Dawn remembered she had called Buffy mom as the Slayer had tucked her in that night. Dawn had long since reached the age that she was too old to be tucked in but lying there as Buffy had fussed over her, bringing the heavy comforted to her neck and gently tucking the blanket around her, it had all felt… some how right. Buffy had laughed softly at it and then kissed her before sneaking out of the house to go on patrol.
At twelve, Dawn had already come to terms with the fact that her sister’s calling was dangerous. And somehow, it had never really crossed her mind the Buffy could die. It had been a reality that Dawn had ignored. And now, her sister was dead, lying in a grave with a small marker which came nowhere close to telling the world how wonderful she had been. Dawn just wished that she had been able to tell Buffy before she died, just once, that she was sorry; so very sorry for everything.
She didn’t tell the others, but the younger Summers sister sometimes felt that she should have jumped. Then she wouldn’t have to be here all alone. Buffy would be alive.
That’s how it should have been.
Buffy would still be here, fighting the bad guys and the girl who had never really existed anyways would be gone.
Her hand paused mid-arc and Dawn looked down at the picture beneath her hand.
Buffy stared up from the page, looking battered and bruised, and, yet, still some how seemed calm and at peace. Just like she had after she had died, a small part of Dawn whispered in her head that today was the day; 30 days, 23 hours and 15 minutes, in another 45 minutes it will be one month. One full month since Buffy’s death....
With a violent tug, the young girl ripped out the paper and flung it away, her hand furiously scrawling as she began a new picture.
From the doorway, a figure bent quietly to retrieve the picture that had landed at his feet.
Had it been possible, the man paled even more when he saw what had upset Dawn so. Instead he stopped breathing; it was so very easy of a trick to do.
After all, what use did a vampire have for breathing?
Especially when he knew that a breath right now would mean the expulsion of the sob that was quickly welling up inside of him.
Folding the paper carefully, Spike slipped it into his pocket and continued to watch the niblet.
Her hand slashed at the paper in vicious strokes and the vampire had to admit that he was impressed. Had he not heard her singing, he never would have walked in, and the blond vampire wondered just what other things that he and the others had missed about the girl.
Until the moment, he had never even been aware that she could draw more then a stick figure.
He continued to watch in silence until her hand began to slow and her voice dropped to a mere whisper. Had Spike not been a vampire, it was possible that he would never have even heard the last line of the song because of how soft Dawn’s voice had become.
“Something wicked this way comes.” Dawn breathed out and looked down at the pad before her.
The charcoal dropped from her hand and for a moment, her hand hung suspended above the drawing; from his spot, Spike watched the uncertainty dance along her eyes as the Slayer’s sister’s hand traced over the sweeping lines of the face before her.
From his spot, all Spike could make of the picture was a mess of shaded in hair and what looked like a scar peeking out from beneath the unruly bangs.
“Dawn?” The Buffy–bot’s voice drifted up from below and Dawn shut the drawing pad with a startled oath. “Dawnie, its dinner time!”
The teen sprang off her bed, anger at the use of her nickname by that mechanical creation was visible as she turned towards the door, and, for a moment, she felt as though she had just missed something, but only the empty door way greeted.
In the silence, Dawn heard Spike’s voice, she couldn’t quite hear what he said. The Buffy-bot laughed and then just as suddenly the giggle was cut off.
In the following quiet Dawn walked over and closed her door.
She turned and made her way back to her bed on autopilot, her eyes glassy as unshed tears began to gather. Carefully lying down, Dawn curled into a ball, and the tears began to fall down her face as she remembered.
She wasn’t angry at the robot, not really. It was doing its best, but that didn’t stop her from feeling the anger welling up inside of her or the pain of realization that had she not been Buffy’s sister, had Dawn never been created, Buffy would probably still be alive.
The teenager had always felt as though something had been missing and she had never realized how much Buffy had helped to fill that void.
The teen knew that that all of her memories were just illusions and even though Dawn knew everything about her was just a lie, oh, how she wanted them to keep on lying to her.
Alone in her room, Dawn let the memories of so many yesterdays wash over her and as she hugged her pillow closer, she started humming the song that Buffy sung to her all those years ago.
Some moments later, Spike quietly opened the door and made his way towards the girl. Sighing, the peroxide blond vampire leaned over and drew a blanket over the now sleeping girl, making sure to tuck her in before he drew back slightly.
Crouching beside the bed, Spike brushed back a stray strand of hair from the sleeping girl's face, and as he watched her, Spike realized something important; he was messing this up.
He had promised the Slayer he would care for her sister and he was doing a shit job of it so far. He just didn’t know what to do and the others were too involved with their own lives to even realize the problems that were brewing.
In the end, he remained sitting there, waiting for sun to set. Dawn’s room was the only one in the house with the windows darkened throughout the day.
Spike knew that he shouldn’t have been there, he knew that he was only causing himself more heartbreak by allowing himself to think. He should be up, be out somewhere, somewhere with a lot of shade.
Soon, he was going to be broody like the poof. Still, sitting there, watching the Slayer’s sister sleep, the blond vampire felt a little closer to the woman he had loved, the woman he had failed so miserably.
In the silence, Spike wondered what would have happened had he admitted his feelings to the Slayer.
Would she still have died?
Could such a simple thing as telling her that he cared for her have changed how her story ended?
He allowed himself to dream of something that he knew could never be; a life where Dawn hadn’t been left alone. Where he and the Slayer could live happily ever after.
Dreams, they were often more painful than life could ever be.
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