When Eternity Lies In The BalanceBy Jericho TGF
Chapter Five
Three days. The sun had risen three times since the night Glory had tried to bring down the walls separating dimensions and release chaos on this world. For Dawn, time had slipped into one of two categories: Before...and After.
She had changed. Who wouldn’t? But of all the things lost, it was the loss of innocence that was most noticeable. At fourteen, fifteen in a little over a month, she had had her childhood ripped away from her in the cruelest and most bizarre circumstances. She no longer mentioned or even thought about the fact that it wasn’t a real childhood, that she wasn’t a real person. Buffy’s love for her and the sacrifice for that love had guaranteed that. Dawn was no longer a child, no longer the brat kid sister, the events she’s lived through had hurtled her into an all too quick maturity that defied her years. She was a young woman.
And she had set the Scoobies on their respective ears in the meantime.
Released from the hospital late in the afternoon on the first day After, the gang had taken her home. They stayed with her, no one even thinking to do anything less, and tried to comfort her as best they could. Oddly enough, though, it was she who did the most comforting.
Everyone was thunderstruck when her first demand had come.
“Giles,” she had said, after accidentally eavesdropping on them whispering about what would happen to her now. “Get on the phone. Call the Watcher’s Council. Have them pull whatever strings are necessary, but get them to appoint you as my legal guardian. Do it now.”
He had stared at her in stunned amazement, they all had, as she popped her head into the dining room where they were sitting, discussing her future. They had all thought she was upstairs resting at the time.
“D-Dawn,” Giles stuttered as he tried to get his mind to work, “I-I would, n-not that I’m not, they – ”
She had crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, waiting to hear what he was trying to say. He saw the determination in her eyes but there were limits to what the council could achieve, and he wasn’t sure they would be too anxious to assist him even if they could. Not with the Slayer’s death and his role as her Watcher officially over. Plus there were still some guilt issues.
“Dawn, I don’t think the council will be able to do much in that regard, though I would, of course, be proud to be your guardian,” he had said, which was all true - if only a slight evasion of the actual problem he was having with the idea, “but I’m not an American citizen. Even the Watcher’s council has limits...”
She had interrupted him before he got a chance to complete the sentence. “Well, maybe the Watcher’s council needs to work on that first, then, don’t they?”
She practically stormed in and thumped down at the table next to Xander, who had stared at her like she’d grown another head. “Listen, all of you. I’m very grateful that you are all so worried about me, but worry doesn’t solve anything. Action does. I learned that from Buffy.”
At the mention of her sister’s name the group had seen the raw aching wound that was still there over Dawn’s heart. She was still hurting, still grieving, but she’d covered that with determination and purpose. She was trying so hard to do what Buffy told her to do. Live.
Dawn had gone on to explain herself. “One thing’s for sure, I’m not going to get sent to my father. And foster care? Don’t think so. The rest of you are too young, no offense Anya. No one would allow that. Leaves me with only one choice. Besides, Giles, you have been a father to me. Now it’ll be legal, no diff.”
She needed to convince them that this was the only way, and she knew that they weren’t convinced yet. She played a trump card. “We still live over the Hellmouth, guys, lets not forget that. Buffy’s...dead,” this time there was only a slight pause, it was getting easier - though no less painful - to say the actual words, “and I’m sure the Watcher’s council understands that a new Slayer won’t be popping up to take care of our little corner of joy in the world. We’re all they’ve got. One experienced Watcher, one ex-demon, two very powerful witches, Xander - who I believe makes up for his normalcy with a lot of dedication and experience, and me.”
The five ‘adults’ had been staring blankly at the table in front of them while she had been speaking but when she mentioned herself, Willow had looked up in surprised horror and met her steady gaze.
“Dawnie, there is no way Buffy would have wanted you anywhere near the things the Hellmouth can toss at us. You can’t expect us to let you take on the nasties in this town!”
Dawn, who had been prepared for that argument, smiled slightly. “Research only, Willow, trust me. I’m young, but I can help with the planning and bookwork, plus, you can start training me in magicks - protection stuff only, if you want. And I won’t always be young, either.”
Anya had looked at Dawn and cocked her head slightly, “Yes. You seem to be growing old right in front of my eyes. You’re even talking differently. What’s happening to you?” She had turned and grabbed Xander’s hand and asked him, “What’s happening to her?”
He had flushed slightly at the embarrassingly forthright question and told her he’d explain it later.
Giles had listened to everything, but had been weighted down by guilt and depression. He finally realized that he couldn’t keep the truth from Dawn any longer. She needed to know what she was asking, and whom she was asking it from.
He reached a tired hand up and removed his glasses before saying, “Dawn. I have to tell you something and it’s very difficult to admit. Last night, before we came for you, I told Buffy we would have to...kill you...if Glory got to start the ritual. I would have done it myself.”
Giles couldn’t look at her; he was too overwhelmed with shame and pain. For a long time no one spoke.
Dawn had been surprised, and admittedly a little hurt, but she knew what the ramifications were of opening the dimensional walls - they had all seen it. And she had a pretty good idea of what Buffy’s reaction had been to the news. She felt...sympathy for what Giles must have gone through.
After giving herself time to digest the information, she had finally shrugged one shoulder and told him, “And I tried to throw myself off the tower. She wouldn’t let me. No more than she would have let you, I expect. We were all trying to do what we needed to do. I understand. It’s okay, Giles.” She had tried to insert a lighter atmosphere to the room, feeling suddenly stifled by the heavy emotions swirling around. “Just...don’t do it again, okay?”
She had smiled at him, and he felt the huge weight of his burden of shame lift off his shoulders. “Right then,” he had said, stunned once again at her maturity and grace. “I can assure you I won’t.” He had smiled and stood up from the table. “I guess I’ll go put in that call now. I can’t wait to hear Quentin’s reaction.”
Dawn had left soon after, telling everyone she was going up to study for the make-up Geography test that she was going to take the next day. Fortunately, the school had decided not to expel her after Giles had taken it upon himself earlier to contact them about Buffy’s death and the reason behind Dawn’s absence (heavily edited reason, anyway). The principal had been sympathetic to the loss of her sister so soon after the loss of her mother and had agreed, if Dawn passed the test, to allow her to stay.
Once she had gone upstairs, Xander had turned to the rest of his friends and said, “Is it just me, or does the Dawnster suddenly remind you of anyone?”
They had all nodded, Willow being the one to say, “She’s like a mini Buffy.”
On the second day After, their thoughts were confirmed.
Dawn had come in to the magic shop and laid her book bag on the table. She told everyone that she was pretty sure she had passed her test, and that school had been awkward because none of her friends knew how to treat her anymore. The gang had sympathized and congratulated her on the academic achievement. When she had come back from the training room after grabbing something to drink from the fridge (no one had seen her run a trembling hand down the punching bag, or wipe the tears from her eyes that suddenly sprung up when she thought about Buffy) she had sat down at the table next to Willow and Tara and dropped her next major bombshell.
“Guys, I want you to do a spell to find out where Spike was taken. We’re going to get him back.”
That hadn’t gone over too well. The gang was in no way convinced they even wanted him back. No one thought he was still alive either, no one except Dawn, anyway. She couldn’t explain it to them. It was just something she felt. She knew he wasn’t dead...yet. And she was determined to get him back. She needed him, and she knew the group did too. He promised to protect her and she would make sure that promise was both kept and extended to the rest of the gang, whether he liked it or not.
Twisting the witches around to her way of thinking in much the same way she had done to Giles the day before, they had finally agreed to try. And it had worked…kind of anyway. They had tracked him to another dimension using a spell to light up his path in the nether realm. But they had lost it, and had to tell Dawn that it had just stopped, cut off abruptly, and they didn’t know why.
Dawn had been afraid she’d been wrong, that maybe he was, in fact, dead, and she almost lost the tenuous grasp she had on her emotions. Willow was quick to point out that she didn’t believe that to be the case. If he had died, or been killed, she would have sensed it. No. It was something different. She and Tara both believed he was still alive, just somewhere that they couldn’t track him.
When Dawn had dictated that they keep trying, no one even questioned how effortlessly she seemed to take command of the group’s actions. And they didn’t question how reassuring it was, having Dawn - despite her age - acting so much like her big sister.
The third day, the current day, was set aside for one thing and one thing only. It was the day Buffy was buried. Dawn had decided to allow herself this one day to give in to all of the anguish she was feeling. She allowed herself to mourn. They all did. Buffy was on everyone’s mind. Nothing else was given any room.
It was a daytime ceremony held under a canopy to allow for the one guest that they all knew would come. Willow had been the one to go and tell him in person just the night before. Angel was there. As was Wesley and Cordelia.
No one but the minister spoke, there just weren’t words enough to express their grief. The gang supported Dawn, who sobbed painfully through the entire service, and there were few dry eyes in the small crowd.
Angel’s were one. He hadn’t shed a tear since Willow had told him. He hadn’t said much, either. A quick, “let’s go,” back in LA and the four of them headed to Sunnydale. Grief blanketed him, it was palpable, practically visible, but he said nothing. His dark, brooding features said it all.
Giles had filled him in on what had happened when they got to Buffy’s house late last night. He had walked out soon after, haunting the streets of his old stomping ground like Death himself and purged his rage and hatred on anything evil that crossed his path. On his own, he had sent several of the town’s worst demonic villains straight to hell. A place he was very familiar with both in a literal sense and figuratively, as his soul had been chained there since he had seen Willow.
As with all funerals, guests slowly dispersed as soon as the service was over. Soon the gang was pulling Dawn away from her sister’s gravesite. They had planned on going back to the house after it was over. As with her mom, Buffy wouldn’t have wanted a wake or anything, so they didn’t have the added strain of mourners there. They were going to go and just be with each other, gaining comfort from each other as they had for the past three days.
Dawn allowed herself to be guided away, but a glance back over her shoulder at the lone figure standing so desolate and alone had her breaking out of Willow’s arms and hurrying back to his side. She didn’t think he noticed her, so she reached out tentatively and touched his arm. The slight jump she felt underneath her hand told her she’d been right.
“I’m sorry, Angel.”
He finally tore his gaze away from the lowering coffin and glanced at her grief stricken and tear-stained face. “I know. So am I.”
“She would be glad that you’re here.”
He just nodded, unable to force words past the lump in his throat.
They stood side by side for a while, both just staring down at the remains of the person they both loved so much. It looked so barren without a headstone, but that wouldn’t be finished for a few more days. It was a pretty spot, though, a Weeping Willow shaded it and it was just a few feet from her mother’s grave.
“I picked out the headstone,” Dawn told him, not sure why it would matter but needing to say something. “It’s pretty, I think. She would like it. I told the man just to put her name on it, and the dates...you know. I was going to leave it at that, thought maybe simple would be best, but it seemed too little for her, for the big things she did. I had him add ‘Beloved Sister’ and ‘Devoted friend’ and then, at the bottom, I asked the man to write, ‘She saved the world a lot’. He didn’t understand, kinda gave me a weird look but I had to put it. People didn’t know - how special she was. How much she gave,” Dawn was crying again, the tears wouldn’t stop. “They couldn’t see it when she was here and now...now that she’s not, everyone can see it. Even if they don’t understand, they’ll see it and know.”
Angel didn’t turn, didn’t say anything for a long time. They stood there, still side by side with Dawn’s hand on his arm as the sun faded out of the sky. Once the sun had set, Angel knew it was time to go. He had done what he needed to do. He had said his goodbyes. Tomorrow would come. Life would go on. It would be a different life, a life knowing she was no longer there, in the background, and he didn’t know yet how it would feel.
He looked down at Dawn’s wet eyes. Angel would make sure she got home safely.
“What you had them write,” he finally said, “on the headstone...it was good. Buffy would be proud of you.”
Dawn smiled slightly at the praise. The large, brooding vampire and the small, sad girl walked home, taking comfort from one another as best they could.
~*~*~*~*~*~
“Well,” said the sarcastic voice heavy-laden with a north London accent, “this is one fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, mate.”
No sooner had the door leading into the realm been sealed up behind him than Spike realized just what the Oracles meant by it defending itself against him. As soon as he entered, huge, angry-looking clouds, sickly yellow in color, gathered large on the horizon, rolling and frothing in his direction. Lightning flashed down brightly a few feet from where he stood and the thunder cracked viciously, making him jump. He needed to move if he was going to live any longer than five minutes.
And the atmosphere was really the least of his problems. It was the feeling, the bugs-crawling-under-your-skin feeling that had him totally freaked. As soon as he stepped in, it felt like the eyes of God himself were boring into him from all directions. It wasn’t painful exactly, but it didn’t give him warm fuzzies, either. Somehow he knew, despite the absence of anything but the clouds and towering mountains in the distance, that he was being watched and weighed and found severely lacking. What a bloody surprise.
The demon in him wasn’t happy, there was nothing he could do to prevent it from emerging full force. His game face was on and he scanned the landscape with enhanced eyesight, looking for a way to go.
“All right, luv,” he muttered to himself quickly, “where in the bloody hell...heaven are you?”
He had to cover his ears to protect himself from the next crack of thunder. It was getting closer and hurt his hypersensitive hearing.
Something in him, some small piece of his cold, dead heart whispered to him. It was urging him to move, and move fast, but it was also telling him which way to move. Not bothering to question the feeling, Spike took off to the left, heading towards the mountains in the distance and directly toward the most hostile looking area in the place. Broken ground and nasty fissures in the earth lay in his path and he saw them stretching out before him as he drew closer.
“Of course,” he muttered, talking to himself just to hear himself speak, “it would be the ugliest route. This is just soddin’ wonderful.”
Staying just ahead of the approaching storm (calling it the stalking storm wouldn’t be out of line, considering he had seen it change direction as he did and follow him as he ran) he came to an abrupt halt just before leaping over the first jagged, open split in the ground. Steam issued forth out of the opening at his feet. The vapor burned his skin with vile intent and he had to take a step back. There was no way he would be able to jump it without getting massively singed.
“Okay, Spike, what’s the next brilliant plan?”
Through a break in the steam he thought he could see a way around the chasm and he moved off to his right.
Three steps later the situation he was in got quite a bit worse. He was edging his way around one fissure and trying to keep from falling into another when he felt it. His stomach seized up in fear and he froze. Perched precariously between two large cracks in the ground, trying to ignore the burning of the vapor against his skin, he thought at first he had imagined it.
But no, there it was again. Spike girded himself and leapt to a wider stretch of hard-packed dirt, bellowing in pain and rage as the move forced him to go through the acidic steam. It wasn’t like he had a choice - underneath his feet the earth had moved.
Spike was standing in an area of Swiss-cheesed terrain, with jagged tears in the surface hungering to suck him in and break every bone in his undead body, caustic vapors ready to disintegrate his flesh on contact, a psychopathic storm hunting him down like a dog, and now, to top it all off, the ground was rolling and pitching under him.
It was an earthquake.
Rolling his eyes at the latest horror, Spike tried to keep his balance as the ground bucked and fell under him. It didn’t work. He was thrown with all of nature’s fury to the unforgiving dirt, almost getting tossed into the opening he had just leapt over. Spike shuffled quickly backwards on his hands and knees and tried to keep from falling into another one right behind him. He looked up at the storm, down at the crack in front of him and shook his head. This so wasn’t his day.
“Bloody hell”