"Destruction - End of the Innocence"

Author: Vatrixsta Cruden
Contact: trixieangelsomething@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: The credit for the lyrics goes to Don Henley.
Dedication: To the awesome Esmerelda for top-notch beta work. And Carrie, for asking for more.

Remember when the days were long
And rolled beneath a deep blue sky
Didn't have a care in the world
With mommy and daddy standing by
But "happily ever after" fails
And we've been poisoned by these fairy tales

She had been crying.

It was the last thought -- the only thought -- that ran through Joyce Summers' mind. My baby's been crying, and she looks hurt, and dear God, is that blood on her neck?

A day and a half had passed since Buffy had gone missing. Spike was staying in the house with Joyce and Dawn. The others had gone to the Magic Shop for supplies, all except Anya, who had been elected to make sure Spike behaved himself.

"Mom, I... I think I'm dying," Buffy had whispered from outside her own front door.

Years of being coached by Giles, by her own daughter, had been tossed aside in a fit of motherly concern.

"Buffy, quick, get inside, baby, what's happened?"

Joyce didn't even see Buffy's face change. It all happened so fast, Joyce barely had time to experience the horror of her daughter draining every drop of blood from Joyce's body.

Buffy had let her mother's boneless corpse drop from loose fingers, lazily licking her lips. Family blood had been sweeter than Riley's. Really, she'd only bothered to drain him because she'd been so hungry. Her sire, if you could call him that, had met the business end of Mr. Pointy as soon as she'd woken up.

Old instincts dying hard, Buffy supposed. Slayers must be extra strong when they rise. Maybe I'll ask Giles about it. Maybe I'll turn Giles. Can't really imagine un-life without him.

Spike had chosen that precise moment to enter the room, and his gaze had gone first to Joyce, then to Buffy, her game face still evident. While she was almost positive he wouldn't try to stop her, Buffy hadn't made it to this stage of the game by counting on "almosts" to save her. His shock had given her the upper hand, and she'd knocked him out and tied him up in a matter of minutes.

It seemed such a waste to stake him. He'd always been hot, but her high moral fiber had insisted she stay away from him. Morality wasn't really an issue anymore, so Buffy pressed a soft kiss to Spike's forehead, then practically skipped from the room.

Anya had been next, though Buffy hadn't drained her. She hadn't been all that hungry by that point. The killing was more for sport than food. Dawn, though... she had been curious about Dawn. Family blood was sweeter, but what about =fake= family blood? Would having memories of Dawn being annoying her entire life make up for the fact that on a fundamental level, she didn't really exist?

Taking a page from Angelus' book, Buffy had snapped Anya's neck, then left her body in the corner to play with later. Dawn had been upstairs at the time, and Buffy had enjoyed knocking on her sister's door, feigning happiness when the young teen expressed relief at Buffy's safety.

The girl's screams were heard down the next block, but this being Sunnydale, no one paid them much mind.

Done committing carnage in her own home, Buffy had hoisted Anya's body over her shoulder, snagged the keys to her mom's minivan, and haphazardly driven to Xander's apartment. His landlord, recognizing Buffy as one of "Xander's girls" had been kind enough to not only un-lock Xander's door, but also given her verbal permission to enter. Another fun fact she'd noted that evening was a vampire's ability to enter a person's home if that person's landlord said it was okay.

As she'd arranged Anya's body on Xander's bed, Buffy had half-hoped Giles accompanied the boy home. Talk about doubling her pleasure, doubling her fun. The memories this would bring back for Giles would be priceless. Plus, he'd have to deal with Angel in a matter of days. Sometimes, it was just too easy.

What would be better, Buffy had wondered, letting them wonder who committed these horrible crimes, =then= lowering the boom that it was their precious slayer, or hitting them with both shocks all at once?

In the end, her decision had been made for her. Spike had woken up and explained "the slayer's gone off her rocker." Then, what was left of the Scooby Gang had piled over to Xander's just in time to witness Buffy leap from the living room window, Anya's body still warm on Xander's bed. Buffy was still a little ticked at having missed the expressions on their faces.

She'd had bigger fish to fry, though. The blood that wasn't her own had been calling out to Angel. Her mate. The longing she normally ignored was undeniable in her current state. She needed him, on a desperate, animal level. She needed to punish him for leaving her; then she had to ensure that he never would again. On the way to Angel, she had swung by her dad's office to catch up.

With a little whipped cream, he'd made a fabulous dessert.

But I know a place where we can go
And wash away this sin
We'll sit and watch the clouds roll by
And the tall grass wave in the wind

There had been three messages on his answering machine.

Angel had pulled his numb body from the chair with an adrenaline rush of fear. He'd called Cordelia first, then Wesley, warning them not to invite Buffy in. Both had attempted to draw more information from him, but when he'd insisted they not let Buffy in, they'd both understood. After a quick debate, he'd called Gunn as well, though he wasn't even sure Buffy knew the young man worked for Angel.

Giles had called two and a half hours ago, while Angel and his crew had been at Caritas, celebrating a successful case. He'd been drinking while his love had been murdering her family. The first call requested Angel's presence in Sunnydale. Something had happened to Buffy, and they would prefer not to go into it over the phone, but Angel's help was required.

Before he heard the second message, some small measure of hope still existed in Angel's heart. Maybe it was like that time with Willow, he'd thought madly. Maybe this vampire that wore Buffy's face was from an alternate reality and all they had to do was send her back, and their Buffy, =his= Buffy would be just fine, like Willow in her fuzzy pink sweater, just standing there in the back of the library.

The second message had been more direct, and Angel had known hope was a luxury he could no longer afford. "Buffy has been turned, and we believe she is on her way to Los Angeles, either to kill her father, or you, or both. Be on guard, we're packing and shall arrive by morning."

Ironically, the third message was a thank you from Virginia Bryce. Angel had assisted her in choosing an anniversary gift for Wesley. Six months ago, the British Watcher had impersonated Angel and saved the young heiress' life. Virginia's happy voice inspired Angel to rip the machine from the wall, and hurl it across the room.

Next, he attacked his desk, papers, picture frames, pens flying everywhere. An inhuman howl left his mouth as he upturned the couch, before moving on to the coffee table. In a matter of minutes, his entire room was in a shambles, but he didn't feel any better. He sunk to his knees, at the center of the
mess, too horrified to cry.

Was this what he'd left her to?

There was supposed to be sunshine and picnics, boys and happiness amidst her darkness. Buffy was supposed to be the slayer that defied the statistics, the one who beat those stuffy watchers and uncaring powers at their own game. It was supposed to be different for her, better. He'd left so her life would be better.

He should have been with her. No matter how illogical it was, he should have stayed, should have done anything to make it work. For the moment, all the reasons he'd left faded away. It didn't seem to matter that they were destroying themselves wanting each other, but never being allowed skin on skin contact. Never mind that every time he'd closed his eyes, he'd dreamed of being buried inside her living warmth.

Angel had wanted to give Buffy everything, to be the man who'd be parted from her only by death. He'd wanted to marry her, to give her children, safety, and a lifetime by his side. Barring all that, he'd been willing to surgically remove himself from her life so she'd have a chance with someone else. He'd left the woman who gave his existence purpose so she could have a life, and it had been for nothing.

The door opened quietly, and he didn't even move. Let whatever it was kill him and end it. At least then, maybe his soul could find Buffy's.

*Who would then do what must be done?*

Angel didn't know where the voice came from, but it got through to him. Buffy and I don't belong to ourselves, he remembered saying to Doyle once, we belong to the world.

"Angel?"

"What are you doing here, Cordelia?" Angel stood and grabbed Cordelia by her arms roughly. "I told you what's happened, why did you go out at night? She could still be out there, she could have killed you." He shook her once, sharply. "You could be =dead=."

Cordelia's eyes filled with tears. "I was worried about you. And before I was worried about you, but I didn't say anything. And maybe if I had, you wouldn't have more stuff to feel guilty for. Maybe if we'd all been better friends a lot of bad stuff could have been avoided."

She didn't say so, but he realized he must have been hurting her, and he released her immediately. "I'm...I'm sorry," he whispered, abruptly turning from her.

"Don't," she ordered, coming up behind him, pulling at his shoulder to make him face her. "Don't you dare try to pull away from us again. I won't let you this time."

"I'm not--"

"Not yet," she admitted. "But if Darla got under your skin... what's Vamp Buffy going to do?"

Under my skin, in my blood, in my head, a permanent lock on my heart and soul, he thought crazily.

"Wes is on his way. So is Gunn." Cordelia wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight. "We aren't going to let you slip away this time."

"It wasn't your fault," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her lower back. "I was falling, and nothing could have stopped it."

"That's what I told Wes, but he's consumed with guilt," she confided, and they both laughed, though the sound was pained.

"I'm not going to flirt with darkness over this, Cor," he said softly.

"Good," she said, pulling back so she could see his eyes, and therefore determine if he was lying to her.

His hands wrapped around her wrists, and he squeezed once, gently, to make sure she had his attention. "I won't fall into darkness," he said, "but that doesn't mean I'll survive this."

"Angel," she began warningly, but before she could continue, Wesley came through the door, followed by Gunn.

"Woah. Looks like a semi breezed through here," Gunn commented, his gaze caught by the chair that seemed to be imbedded in the wall.

"Well then," Wesley said, "let's clean it up."

"Guys," Angel began to protest.

"Don't 'guys' us," Cordelia snapped. "We're going to be here for you. We're going to help you through this."

Angel smiled weakly at her, but didn't voice his thoughts. She tried so hard, they all did, and for now, it was best to let them believe what they needed to. He knew the truth.

The only person who could have helped him now was dead.

And he would have to kill the demon that wore her face.

Somewhere, Buffy had to be laughing at the irony.

Just lay your head back on the ground
And let your hair fall all around me
Offer up your best defense
But this is the end
This is the end of the innocence

The End

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