Buffy had met him outside of English class a week earlier. She had felt the weight of his gaze upon her, and had looked up. Tension had lay tight within her stomach, a dull ache of fear which hadn't left her body since Angel had drown beneath Angelus's rage. His eyes hadn't wavered as her gaze met his, tight and nearly hostile. It had taken Buffy a long moment to move through her haze of suspicion and see that she was looking into a pair of warm brown eyes. 

His name was Joseph Collins, and his smile was delightfully sincere as he told her that he had been admiring her for some weeks. She had fought down the renewed frission of unease that had bloomed within her upon hearing that he had been watching her, unseen. But he was warm beneath her hand, his face open and honest, and his voice genuinely kind. He was wonderfully and wholly _human_. 

She had liked him, Buffy admitted to herself. There hadn't been the love that lay across she and Angel like a shroud, nor had there been even a fraction of the passion which sizzled between her and her former lover. She hadn't needed that, hadn't _wanted_ that. It had been enough that Joseph was nice, and interested, and as far from threatening as any young man with active hormones could be. He had treated her like a young woman as any he had known. And she had pretended that was all that she was. 

He had made her laugh. 

Willow's soft whimpers sounded dull and distant to Buffy as she squatted in the filth encrusted alley way beside Joseph. She could hear the gurgle of blood in his throat with every breath he took. Buffy rested her shaking hand on his back, holding him upright and praying that he would not drown on his own blood before the ambulance Xander had called arrived. 

Angelus hadn't touched the young man's body. Only his face bore the evidence of the vampire's vengeance. A wide, deep smile had been carved into Joseph's face -- a bloody slash curving past his pinched mouth and across lightly stubbled cheeks. Blood ran freely from his mouth, and he made small, horrified noises. Angelus had cut out his tongue. 

Joseph Collins would not be making Buffy laugh again any time in the future. 

Buffy could hear the strident wail of the approaching ambulance's siren. She waited until it had pulled up to the alley in which the vampire had left Joseph's body, until he had been laid upon the stretcher and rushed into the waiting vehicle. And then, her palms resting in the pool of Joseph's blood, Buffy's shoulders shook violently as she threw up. 

She watched as Buffy writhed beneath her light comforter, tiny whimpers of protest tearing past her lips. The Slayer sounded... injured, _ancient_, even in sleep. The tension which claimed her face during the day did not drain away as she tumbled into sleep. If dreams were indeed the thoughts which haunted one's waking moment, Willow shuddered to imagine what the darkness brought Buffy. 

Willow hadn't wanted to remain at the Summer's house that night. Only Buffy's persistent, needy pleas had convinced the young red head to spend the night with the Slayer. She knew that she was safer with Buffy than she would have been, alone, in her own house. And Willow recognized that almost as important to the other girl as she had asked her to stay was Buffy's desire not to be left alone with her own dark thoughts. 

She hissed softly, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders as Willow let her head fall back to rest against the wall. She held her knees close to her chest, a tight, defensive unit, made as small as possible to avoid the unseen eyes in the darkness. Her eyes burned with weariness, but Willow stubbornly refused to lay down and let her eyes fall shut. She was obsessing, it was _impossible_, and yet... 

It had taken over half-an-hour for the thought to wind its way through her horror clouded mind after finding Joseph. And now, as hard as she attempted to banish the idea, it continued to cling within her mind -- an insistent, niggling presence which repeatedly drew upon her consciousness. 

She had known about Joseph. And so had Angel. '_Angel_,' Willow stressed to herself. 'An Angel who is just a _dream_. A figment of my imagination. Unreal. Fake. Made up.' Her protests sounded desperate even to her own ears, and Willow's stomach continued to clench with her nerves. 

Willow had told Dream-Angel about the young man. She told him everything -- a discussion with her own unconscious mind, an examination of her thoughts and feelings about the events transpiring around her. Had he been interested in the news? Had he asked more questions than Willow deemed necessary? 

Her recollections of her dreams were not sharp. Only vague impressions and sensations lingered in her waking mind as Willow first woke from her night time fantasies. His kisses, demanding and hard, remained firmly planted in her memory. She recalled the sensation of his cool mouth nipping and suckling at her breasts; the feel of his body surging within hers... but she could not find her way past the physical impressions left within her mind. 

'A _dream_,' Willow told herself firmly, because anything else was unthinkable. Anything else made the violence of which Angelus was a part as much her fault as it was his. 

Angelus had arrived on the Dreamscape before Willow. The translucent white environment which formed his surroundings had yet to be warped into a new setting, shaped by Willow's sleeping mind. He felt her arrival, a shivered caress across his spine, before the young woman even appeared. She was completely clothed, dressed in one of the modest sweaters and loose skirts which so amused the vampire. Their setting rippled around them a moment later, and Angelus found himself facing the reason for Willow's defensively clothed body. 

He fought back a smug smile as he watched Buffy hold the present he had left for her. The setting, Buffy and the boy were dull, leeched free of colour. The blood splattering the alley was brilliant, a blinding, angry red. Angelus schooled his features into a proper look of sorrow as he turned to face Willow. "Angelus?" he questioned sympathetically. 

Willow held her back towards him, her shoulders stiff, refusing to face the scene which had burned its way into her memory. "Isn't it always?" she asked sharply. 

Angelus went completely still at the harshness in Willow's tone. He studied her jerky movements through narrowed eyes. "Talk to me, Willow. Let it all out... I'm here for you, everything is going to be fine," he soothed. 

Her shoulders shuddered. When Willow swirled around to look at Angelus, there was real fear on her face. "Who _are_ you!" she demanded desperately. 

He bit back a smile at the anguish in her voice. Concern flared in his eyes. "I'm Angel. I'm your friend. What's wrong, Willow? I thought you knew that I'm here to help you, that I _care_ for you." 

Willow lunged forward, small fists pounding at his chest. "You aren't real." Her hand flashed towards Angel's face, fingers curled inwards so that her fingernails would dig into his flesh. She watched his face for him to flinch... to do _something_ that would prove him to be a separate entity. Angelus met her blow without responding. "You aren't real..." 

Her frantic attack stilled, her hands falling limply against his chest. Angelus caught Willow's wrists, raising her hands towards his mouth. He kissed the knuckles of each delicate hand and smiled at her. "I am as real as you need me to be, Willow." She moved into his embrace without resistance. "Do you want to talk about this now?" Angelus questioned, his voice coated in gentleness. 

"I don't want to think," Willow answered, shaking her head against him so that soft red hair brushed against the flesh exposed by his open shirt. "Just..." she swallowed, "just _fuck_ me, Angel," she commanded as she rose on her toes to meet his mouth with hers. 

And the world flickered about them once more, and was gone. 

~end~