| TITLE-----The Dragon (part 1) AUTHOR-----Puca Dentata [email protected] DISTRIBUTE-----http://www.scary-septic-cat.com/pennydreadful/ and the lists. You want it, email me. Or send one of those pigeons with the note on the leg. That would be cool. DOES IT HAVE A PLOT?----- Dawn and Spike need to find a way to deal. They start to hunt down the dragon that was released by the portal. SPOILERS-----Season 5 IMPROV-----reckless -- false -- pallor -- spice LEGAL-----It is against the law for a monster to enter the corporate limits of Urbana, Illinois. Compared to that, what's a little harmless fanfic? In otherwords, please don't sue. NOTES-----Thanks to Kita for pushing me to write. She gives great beta-head. Thanks to Joss for providing such alluring enigmas such as the Dragon. Thanks to whomever asked for a Dawn and Spike "on the road" fic on the lists. *********** (-----day 1-----) Dawn has money, thanks to the life insurance given out for her mother's and sister's deaths. A lot of it. She also has Spike. Spike hasn't much of a problem stealing her account information from Giles. It's all too easy to distract Giles while Spike eases through his rooms and finds what they need. Dawn is also packed. And Spike has the Desoto. Dawn leaves a note for Giles. Telling him not to worry, she's with Spike and that they will be back soon. That it was all her idea. She wonders if they will try to find her. Willow, especially, worries her. She'll have magic that can trace Spike, if not Dawn herself. So Dawn writes a special letter to Willow. Willow helped her once before. Hopefully she is still sympathetic. Willow has Tara. Xander has Anya. She knows that Giles is trying to have her as someone to watch out for, as someone to take his mind off of the grief. But he's not very good at it. When he tries to talk to her, to comfort her, it's...stunted. Like he's afraid she'll start howling. Or maybe he'll be the one to start howling in misery? No matter what her dead sister's friends say, Dawn has no one. Neither does Spike. So. ***** The air still has that crisp scent to it, an olfactory warning signal shouting "sunlight." His eyes are burning mildly, and when he opens his mouth, he can almost feel his gums trying to pull back from his teeth. The sun has scarcely set enough to be safe. If he was younger, it *wouldn't* be safe yet. But they need to put miles between themselves and Sunnydale tonight. Granted, they have no real clues about where to begin. Dawn has a laptop computer. She'll look for news reports that hint of the dragon. It's a thin line, all right, but it's enough of an excuse that they'll take it. Spike is standing at his usual spot under the Summers' tree. Dawn had earlier told Giles she wanted to get some books. And of course Giles let her. Anything that seemed to show that Dawn might be perking up was a good thing. As if thinking about Dawn draws her from the house like a genie from a bottle, the front door opens and she crosses the yard to him. "I'm ready. You ready?" Dawn sounds nervous. He nods, drawing a last puff from his cigarette. He's smoking more and more recently. He's always been prone to fidgeting, but it's becoming ridiculous. They walk towards the Desoto parked next to the curb. The windows have been scraped clean of paint. While Spike could handle himself if pulled over by police, to be pulled over for the paint with Dawn in the car would be bad. So they will drive at night. Dawn tosses her backpack in the back seat after handing Spike a suitcase to place in the trunk. He's pleased that she's not the type to pack enough to clothe a small third world nation. Maybe they will be able to survive this trip without killing each other. Bad use of words.... They get in; doors shut and a battered car pulls away from the curb. No one starts to run towards the car yelling for them to stop; no accusing fingers are pointed at Spike as if to ask him what he thinks he's doing, taking a young girl away from her home. An anticlimactic beginning to this trip. ***** Dawn rolls down her window enough that the cigarette smoke clouding the car is less noxious. She hates smoke. Spike knows this; she's told him. But do you think he cares about the dangers of second hand smoke? They are heading West. Dawn was able to find reports of unexplainable scorch marks found on a golf course in Needles, California. Sounded like the dragon. Dawn wonders briefly what they would have done if the dragon had headed east, out to sea. Would they have flown to Australia and rented a cottage near the beach? Might Dawn be sitting on the beach one evening waiting for the sun to set and Spike to rise when she would see it, pink sunset glinting off its wings? Shoot. She needs to stop reading old "Dragonlance" books. "Cigarettes suck," she says crossly, staring out the window. "You've been smoking *how* long?" "Century. Maybe." "Bet your lungs are shriveled black prunes." "Perhaps. Or maybe they rotted away a long time ago. Maybe I hacked them up rotten piece by rotten piece. Vampires don't * need* lungs, you know." Dawn looks sharply at Spike. He continues to stare forward, one arm casually leaning against the edge of the open window. Not an expression on his face to be seen. She can't tell if what he said was a joke or not. Mental note: vampires are creepy. Duh. ***** The rest of the people who had been present that night aren't there in the dream. It's just Dawn and her sister's lifeless form. In the dream she reaches out and touches Buffy's battered, bloody face. In real life there hadn't been much blood. At least not at first glance. It had only begun to flow from Buffy's back once they moved her. But in the dream there are copious amounts of blood, covering the ground as far as she can see. She can feel it beneath her bare feet. As she moves, it comes up in little splatters like mud after a rain, coating her legs in thin streaks. There is a smell this time, though. The smell of smoke. That isn't right. With that thought, Dawn realizes she's dreaming and the smell of smoke isn't something this dream is supposed to include. She wakes instantly, disorientated by the neon sign mounted outside her window casting a blue haze onto the motel wall. It's still dark, not yet dawn; she must have been asleep for a very short time. Where are they? She can smell the smoke again, but recognizes it as coming from one of Spike's ever-present cigarettes. Wait. Interstate 40. She remembers now. Needles. A three-hour drive from Sunnydale. They had snuck into the golf course and looked at the scorch marks earlier. They were a couple weeks old; cool to look at and certainly from the dragon. But not much help. So they had rented a room for the night. Try again tomorrow night if they can find any leads on the computer. Spike's sitting on the bed, staring down at her. She rolls over so she can stare back. Spike is utterly silent, his face unearthly in the flickering light. People, as a rule, can't just sit without making noise. They fidget, they breathe, and they swallow or blink. Spike does none of these things. The living dead, thinks Dawn tiredly. Yippee. Spike finally moves, life seeming to flow back into his body and features as he raises his hand to his face to inhale from the cigarette. Dawn wrinkles her nose at the scent of the smoke and yawns. "Spike? Something wro--" "I'm sorry." Dawn pauses, waiting for him to continue. When he doesn't, she asks, "What do you mean?" "I'm sorry I didn't save you in time. Just so you know. I wasn't sure...wasn't sure if you did." She turns over so that her back is to Spike. She doesn't hear him move away from the bed, but then, she probably wouldn't, would she? Not if he doesn't want her too. Dawn falls asleep like that, wondering if Spike has drifted away or if he's watching her and wondering if she blames him for her sister's death. She hadn't answered him because it felt good. Felt good to know that someone else had guilt not unlike hers. Tomorrow she will tell him that it wasn't his fault, because it's true. It was *her* fault; though she'll keep that part to herself. But for tonight she'll pretend it really was Spike's fault. Petty and mean; but Dawn is able to sleep the rest of the night with no bloody dreams. And that's worth all the petty games she can think of. ***** |