By The Pricking of My Thumbs... Something Wicked This Way Comes
by Megan & Schehrezade


Chapter Nine
By Megan

Buffy stood in the front yard of the place that had been her home during the time she had been alive in Sunnydale. Lights were on inside, but she felt unable to take the small steps to the front door. The grass was cushiony, and her knees trembled. Her body shook with little tremors, and before the Scoobies knew it, she had collapsed on the lawn.

Willow stood back from the group as they rushed to the Slayer’s aid, feeling irritated that she as yet hadn’t been thanked. As the group parted and she took a good look at her best friend, a small tinge of guilt surfaced. Buffy was obviously in shock, not quite aware of everything around her, and Willow felt momentary disgust in herself for expecting gratitude so early. They had no real idea, just their imagination of the things Buffy had been through, and she was being more than unreasonable to expect coherence in her friend so soon.

Xander helped Buffy to stand, and with his support, she managed to make it up to the front door and over the threshold.

The house was silent, and for a moment Buffy thought they had lied to her. The lights may have shone throughout the house, but the Key was nowhere to be seen. As she shook in fear of what this all meant, Buffy heard a soft tread on the stairs.

“Hey guys,” she heard from the landing and she closed her eyes on a massive wave of relief. Dawn’s voice, doing something so normal as offering a greeting to her sister’s friends.

“Hey, Anne. Why are you back without Spike?” Dawn continued into the living room, and stopped as everyone stared at her, voices mute.

Buffy’s mind whirled. ‘Spike,’ she thought and another wall of something swept over her. It felt more intense than relief; it almost felt like belonging, and hope. Hands covering her eyes, she felt lost as tears pooled and slid silently down her cheeks. She so much wanted to turn and take Dawn in her arms, to in turn be taken in Spike’s arms—like a little family chain of hugs—and then she would really know that whatever her friends had done to her, she would be able to cope.

Buffy felt a gentle tap on her shoulder as Dawn said “Anne?” tentatively, and she turned, wondering at the name but so eager to see her sister’s face.

“Dawnie,” Buffy whispered, her voice still hoarse and ugly from death.

“You’re not Anne,” Dawn stated stupidly, then teared up and gasped in pain before falling in a graceful arc to the floor. Her eyes never left the unmarked mouth of whom she now knew was her sister.

“Buffy?”

Buffy fell far less gracefully but both girls wrapped arms around bodies and clung as if the world was hell-bent on tearing them away from each other. They cried, Dawn consumed with happiness and relief while Buffy grasped hard at something secure and comfortable.

The ressurrectionists stood as interlopers as the girls reconnected, sobbing uncontrollably into each other’s neck

“How?” Dawn cried as tears reddened her eyes and made them puffy.

Buffy looked at her in confusion, still unsettled and adrift from this new reality outside her wooden box. She could still feel the subtle knitting together of tendons and tissue as her skin stretched taut. It left her feeling deathly cold and as if tiny ants crawled all over her. She hesitantly shook her head and a look of fear nudged its way into her eyes.

Dawn turned a hardened glare to her housemates and friends, and allowed her voice to fill with ice as she demanded explanations. Her gaze fell to Willow and the redhead felt the full brunt of the teenager’s fury.

“What did you do?”

Willow shrunk a little at the venomous attack and flinched as she saw Buffy retreat behind her messy and matted hair, her face buried in Dawn’s shoulder.

“We brought her back, Dawnie. We saved her from a hell dimension.”

Dawn heard the words but was distracted from commenting as Buffy’s body began to shake violently in her arms. She found herself become the nurturer as her sister fell apart against her. And though she was an older than dirt Key, she was really only an immature sixteen year old who had no clue how to cradle her sister to safety.

Dawn found herself silently screaming for Spike, instinctively knowing that he would know what to do, could easy up the situation and help Buffy adjust. Unless of course he couldn’t remember who Buffy was.

Oh crap!

Dawn felt the beginnings stir of hysteria and began to shake in time with her sister.

What in God’s name had she done? Spike was going to kill her once he’d recovered.

As the sisters trembled silently on the floor, the Scoobies retreated to the kitchen, making snacks and numerous cups of tea to try and revive their number. Nervous glances were shared amongst them, but no one voiced concerns. The activity caused by food preparation left them all silent, and so far, extremely wary.

~@~@~


Spike had investigated half the town with little to no results. Even threatening to have the Slayer beat up Willy earned him zero in the information realm. He was dragging his feet now, not too eager to catch back up with Anne and finally acknowledging that things just felt too awkward when he was around her.

After the touch that had nearly exploded his skull, he’d found it necessary for his own pain threshold to keep his distance. He didn’t understand it, why his head hurt from the smallest smell of her new shampoo, the sight of the clothes she pinched from Buffy’s closet, or even sometimes the moves while she fought. He was almost tempted to think it was from her appearance in this world, some kind of loopy aftereffect of the spell. Not like Red wasn’t known for cocking up the simplest spells, let alone the big ones.

As slow as he walked, he finally caught up to her in the cemetery close to home. He stood back and watched as she ducked a punch from a female brunette, game face absent as kicks and jabs were exchanged. Spike smelt age and moved a little closer in case he was needed.

“Tell…me…where…it…is.”

Anne emphasised each word with a world of hurt, the stake she gripped in one hand leaving deep scratches each time that fist made contact with the vampire’s skin. The brunette answered in evasive giggles, her own punches fuelled with fire and hate.


“Not for you to know, Slayer. Everything is all secret.” The smile turned to a shocked ‘O’ as the stake protruded from her chest and the vampire exploded into dust.

“And unfortunately, still a secret.” Anne clapped her hands together, coughing a little at the dust that rose. She replaced the stake at her waist and turned, almost falling over at seeing Spike so close and observing her fight.

“Hey,” she offered shyly in greeting. “Did you find the hideout?”

He was distracted from his negative answer by the abrupt entrance of the redheaded Vampire. She stood just far enough away that Anne couldn’t lunge and hit her with the stake, and Spike was held still by his need for useful information.

“Mummy found another traitor puppy. Can I pet you?” she asked while circling slowly.

“You don’t belong here,” Spike answered, feeling the hairs prickle and stand on his neck.

“All sorts don’t belong, Puppy, but we can still make it home. So how does it feel to kill your own family?” The smile receded as anger and scorn took over the paleness of her face.

Spike opened his mouth as though about to reply when he copped a lip busting kick from the redhead. Jerking back, he lifted a hand to his bleeding mouth and felt the coil of anger twist around his insides.

“It feels really good. You wanna go next, bitch?”

She smiled in that evil, considering way she did so well and launched herself at him. She ducked just as he aimed his fist at her face and he suddenly felt the force of her impact against his hardened belly. His feet left the ground and he slammed into the outside wall of a crypt several feet away. In a blurring blink of an eye she was upon him again, planting a heavy boot into his head. Blood gushed from the head wound, but at the second telegraphed kick he caught her boot and twisted away; slamming her into the wall he had been weakly resting against.

A flurry of moves in the distance made him surmise that Anne was busy in a fight of her own and he determined to stand stronger against this twisted kin of his.

“You’re not a patch on the real Red, you know.” He hoped the barbs would distract her, take a little away from the force of her hits. Instead she reveled, took it as a compliment and found her fists making target more often.

Feeling bloodied and broken from too many knocks to the head, Spike was about to give in when he felt Anne enter the battle. As she took on the vampy, witchy Willow, he sank down against the wall and allowed his swimming vision to watch.

She was a tough fighter but he could see Anne struggling to hold her own. She was a little more prepared for the vamps speed and so missed out on some of the higher impact moves, but still she was becoming winded. A sudden uppercut landed on her jaw and the Slayer shot back several metres.

While she recovered from the dazzling strike, vamp Willow returned to Spike’s side.

“Tut tut tut, little Puppy.” She reached out to give him a quick scratch under the chin before his fist shot out and he thumped her away.

“You’ve forgotten that family has your strength…and I’m Master’s favourite.” She leaned in closer, a beguiling look of interest and sympathy altering her green eyes. The female vamp made an elaborate display of sniffing him and wrinkling up her nose in mock concern. “Puppy is all woven round with magiks. Who would do that to you?”

Spike raised suddenly fearful liquid blue to watch her, knocked off balance by her mock concern. But the seed was planted—he’d suspected the wonky reactions he’d been having recently had something to do with magic. But the witch bitch had just implied it was something done specifically to him. And she was right, why would one of the Scoobies do that to him?

Willow startled to her feet as Anne, finally recovered to her senses, marched on angered feet back to the vampires.

“Sorry hun, can’t stay,” taunted the titian-haired witch as she turned and strode away from the scene.

Anne watched her leave, fighting stance held strong until she determined they were safe for now. Then she allowed herself to look at Spike and winced at the mess his face and head were. Blood streamed down his face and he looked completely worn. As she stood back and observed him for injuries he hauled himself painfully to his feet, one arm curling around his ribs as the other made a swipe at the blood clouding his vision.

“Feelin’ right knackered, luv. Let’s forget the rest of patrol and head home.”

Anne offered a silent agreement, just the nod of her head which he missed anyway due to his determined progress toward Revello Drive.

“Don’t think Bit’s gonna be too happy ‘bout this,” he chuckled humourlessly as Anne reached his side and offered him her arm.

“’m right, pet. Old Spike’s not done for jus’ yet. Jus’ slightly bruised.”

Anne hung back a little way with sadness welling deep in her eyes, hiding in the darkness behind Spike’s back.

“Sure,” she offered too quietly. “Lets get you home.”

~@~@~

Dawn felt Buffy flinch against her as they heard the boots on the front porch.

“It’s okay,” she whispered in her sister’s ear, hoping to both calm and prepare. “It’s just Spike and Anne.” As she said the names, Dawn felt the need to prepare herself for the fallout of this particular reunion.

The footsteps stopped, seemed to slide in a strange manner before the front door nearly flew off its hinges. It slammed against the wall, and a very bloody looking Spike took a moment to lean against it.

“Spike?” Dawn called in rapidly increasing concern, for just a second forgetting that her sister was curled miserably in her lap. “What happened?”

“Bit of an altercation with the vamped witch,” he spluttered huskily, eyes lowered to the floor as he unnecessarily gasped for breath.

Dawn’s attention was diverted by the slight whimper from the unvampy witch in the kitchen doorway, but she ignored her as she felt Buffy’s continual shakes finally start to subside. In a bold move Dawn hadn’t been suspecting, Buffy slowly raised to her feet, her eyes locked on the slumped figure still panting at the door.

It took two seconds for Dawn to recognise the look of part-happiness, part-longing on Buffy’s part before dread filled her and she tried to grab Buffy’s arm. With single-minded determination, the newly resurrected Slayer shrugged her off and took a little step toward the bleeding vampire.

“Spike,” she almost whispered, her smile reflecting her awe as he finally dragged his eyes from the carpet pile to look at her.

Confusion moved across his face and he swung to quickly look out the door behind himself.

“How? What happened to the scar?” His voice was devoid of emotion, wary as had become habit with all his conversations with Anne of late. His attempts at keeping his emotional distance from the replacement Slayer had turned him aloof, but it was a predator’s instinct for survival and that was the best way he could justify it to himself.

Dawn could see the stunned expression filter into her sister’s eyes and blanched as the hurt began to enter.

“Huh?” she asked, eloquent to the last. “I… I never had a scar.”

Something about her voice arrested his attention and his eyes bored into hers. Buffy cried out in alarm as blood began to seep from his wounds, and he fell to his knees.

“Buffy?” he whimpered before clutching at his head, screaming at the pain.

“Spike?” she called out again as she wobbled to his side, tentatively patting his back in the way, she recollected, he had done for her. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t,” he seemed to sob, before pushing her away and standing. His face seemed to close, wiping away all evidence of the emotion he had just been reeling from as he took several steps away from her.

“What’s going on?” he called out into the room, and Scoobies piled out of the kitchen in answer.

“W-we brought Buffy back.” Tara’s voice was soft, offering explanation but watching closely. Having heard the commotion in the front landing, she had an inkling of what Spike was going through. She felt almost desperate to now work out what it was that was cutting off his normal emotional responses. Her heart broke for the deprivation he was experiencing with Buffy’s homecoming, knowing how distraught he would be once the spell was broken and the real meaning of her return hit him.

The bleak and pained paleness of Buffy’s skin alerted her to the depth of feeling on Buffy’s behalf too, and Tara herself felt hurt well up within her. This meeting should have meant a lot to both parties, she could tell that so easily now. Buffy had obviously been desiring some kind of welcome from Spike, and the tears in her eyes now proved how little pleased she was with what she had received. How confused she was at the happiness no show.

Tara watched as Spike turned to Buffy, looking at her quizzically, flinching slightly then greeting her with a total lack of emotion.

“Right then. Good to have you back. Need the help, what with vampy Red on the loose and the second coming of the Master.” Spike strode from the room without a backward glance.

Xander cringed at the indelicate way Spike announced their current dilemma before rushing to Buffy’s side, appalled at the tears that were sliding down her waxen cheeks.

“The Master is back?” Buffy cried into Xander’s chest, clinging to fistfuls of his shirt.

“It’ll be okay, though, Buffy. We’ve got more help this time round. Nothing is gonna happen, and hey, bonus. I got to decapitate my evil vampy twin. Was kind of a moment. Had to be there.”

She lifted her head, misery swimming laps in the blurred emerald of her eyes. Very subtly she backed him away from the group and just watched him, her eyes pleading with him for sense. Once voices were heard behind them she stood close to him, speaking into the skin of his neck. He felt the wetness of her face and lips, the warmth of her breath—proof of her living—and sighed. And a little of his Spike-ice chipped off his heart at the fear and misery that clogged her voice.

“What’s wrong with Spike?” she whispered, and he could hear the heaviness of tears in her voice. “Why isn’t he happy I’m here?” He felt the tears prickling at his own eyes at her lost confusion. “I thought he loved me.” Having got all her questions out, she collapsed against him and gave in to sobs.

Xander rubbed his hand against her back, letting her rub her matted hair against his chin as he tried to reassure.

“We’re not sure, Buffster. Wills and Tara think there is some kind of spell. He was suicidal when you …left, but then all of a sudden, he changed. We’ll sort it out. We’re just glad to have you back. Saving you from Hell and everything. How about we settle you down on the couch over there, and we’ll get some things to fix you up. You know, brush your hair and stuff.”

Her hand swept to her hair, vanity taking over finally as she gasped in horror.

“Oh my God. I’ve never had so many knots.” And then she was silent as activity resumed about her. She found an unoccupied corner and shrunk into it, trying to become invisible to the crowd.

Dawn retrieved a brush and began to untangle the knots that death had created and soft conversation continued to flow.

Memories swamped Buffy, causing a continual flow of moisture down her face. She recalled so much of her life before she died the confusion, the frantic and desperate running, and the almost yearning to claim something that wasn’t ‘all about Dawn’.

That kiss she had given Spike when he’d surrendered to Glory’s torture—a reward for his bravery and loyalty—was something warmer than she had ever expected. His bruised lips, just a bare touch against hers, had broken something she had held against him. Then his speech at the foot of her stairs as they collected weapons and prepared to save Dawn and the world. She had suspected one of them would die, and the loss of promise had filled her with a dark pain that she was unable to shake, right up to the moment she plunged into the crackling shift of electrical doorways to untold dimensions.

Far from feeling peace about her decision to gift Dawn her death, she had felt sadness at all she would be unable to explore. And Spike’s unselfish devotion to protecting her sister had sparked Buffy’s interest and own loyalty.

The one thing she had been clinging to since her friends pulled her out of her coffin was that seeing Spike would be some kind of affirmation. That she could survive this thing they had done to her. That she had someone who truly cared about her to protect and shield her.

Now after his non-reaction, Buffy felt so cold, so bereft that she wanted to hide away and cry herself back into the ground. Nothing was how it should be, with him being standoffish and saying odd things. He didn’t even seem to recognise her, and it hurt. So deep and wrenching.

Lost in her own space, Buffy began to piece together some of what Spike had said, and her brow furrowed in a nervous but confused show.

“Why did Spike say something to me about a scar?”

The sudden silence set her on edge, and Buffy felt ready to fly. Slightly nervous and fearful expressions met her gaze as she looked from one supposed friend to the other. No one rushed to answer her, though, and she began to piece together other little sparks of information.

Realising that that line of questioning was going nowhere fast, she asked another. “Where’s Giles?” Her voice was still husky with disuse and a prickling unease was beginning to settle over her skin.

“Mr. Giles went back to England.” Tara chose to answer what she was suspecting to be the easy question first. At Buffy’s surprised and wounded look, she was not envying whoever chose to tell the Slayer about Anne.

Dawn sat on the coffee table in front of her sister and held her unmarred hands.

“He found it really difficult after you…when you were gone. I don’t think he could bear to be around Anne, what with her reminding him so much of you.”

Buffy jerked to attention. A new name; a name Dawn had mentioned earlier. Why were they all talking about someone named Anne, and where was she?

Willow opened her mouth and was about to tell her friend about their recent activities and only just managed to get started.

“Spike destroyed the Buffybot, and the Hellmouth was unprotected,” she began in an apologetic manner.

Buffy nodded slowly, mesmerised by the movement of Willow’s lips as she brought back Buffy’s purpose in living colour.

“So, Anne,” the redheaded witch continued, giggling nervously.

Before she could squeeze out any more explanations, another figure entered the still open front door, drawing all eyes in the room.

Buffy gasped and stood, moving back away from what looked like herself. Her fear escalated as the girl slowly forced her way into the room.

Anne had heard some of what was going on while she had waited out on the front porch.

As she and Spike returned to the house, she could hear the crowded occupants of the living room, and despite her earlier reassuring conversation with Willow, Anne was in no rush to put herself in the middle of the Scoobies. But the longer she sat, the more she heard, her heart tearing more into pieces as words were uttered and explanations approached.

Stepping into the house, her eyes immediately sought out the mirror-image of her own. Crystal clear green caught the terrified response in Buffy’s and she felt herself break a little more inside. Being brave and bold she carefully positioned herself in front of her double, and held out her hand.

“Hi, Buffy. I’m Anne.”

And dropped it as the screams began.

To be continued