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Dreams to Dust by maharini
 
Chapter One
 
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Notes: Based off of Challenge 234 at the Bloodshedverse. Lyrics: “Addicted” sung by Enrique Iglesias. Thanks to Basilio_the_cat for taking the time to beta this for me, and also thanks to everyone that reviewed, I really appreciate it.

Chapter One

If I close my eyes forever,
would it ease the pain?
Could I breathe again?

Maybe I'm addicted,
I'm out of control,
but you're the drug
that keeps me from dying.
Maybe I'm a liar,
but all I really know is
you're the only reason I'm trying.

“Addicted” - Enrique Iglesias


Perhaps the correct term was that he had an addiction. Addicted to some blonde that haunted his dreams at night. She was in his head, his thoughts, his blood. She was everywhere. Something Drusilla never failed to point out.


Drusilla, in fact, thought the whole thing was fucking hilarious.


Spike wanted to wring her pale, little neck. It was not funny, it was anything but funny. It was killing him. Slowly killing him. Taking over to the point where there wouldn’t be anything left soon.


And there wasn’t much left.


Feeding was a hoot and a half. His body didn’t much care for it expect for the fact it was necessary to remain in his unlife. He still fed on human blood, no substitute for that sweet ambrosia. And there was no sodding way he was going to live off sewer rats like the poof. He was still a vampire, had to keep some of his dignity. He was already turning into a laughing stock for the masses.


He didn’t kill.


And there was the problem. He had no desire to kill. It had been something he reveled in, got off on, and now just the thought of it did nothing but make him nauseous. The thought made him sick, it did. And it annoyed the bleeding hell out of him. Especially seeing as he needed to kill something, needed to get his frustrations out. But he couldn’t and that little handicap only worked to make his frustration worse.


He was turning into one lousy wimp of a vampire.


But that wasn’t the only thing that changed. Oh no. He slept at night now. Not during the day. Night.


Why? Because she slept at night.


The first time he had been angry at Drusilla and didn’t much feel like going out with her to feed. Second night he wanted to see if it was a fluke, he supposed, he wasn’t really sure. He remembered the strong desire to crawl into the bed at the same time as the night before. He had been unable to deny it. And so it had been, for two weeks, sleeping in the middle of the night, sleeping to dream, sleeping for some bloody girl.


Pathetic.


But then they stopped.


Two weeks and the stupid chit disappeared. Now two months later, not even a wink. Nothing. Not even an explanation. Only the reassurance that she was still lucky enough to be alive. He could feel her, in his gut, he knew she was okay.


She was real. Real. As in not just some bloody dream.


Not a doubt in his mind that the chit didn’t exist. Day after the first, he’d been sitting in a local demon bar and received word that a new Slayer had been called. There was clue number one. Spike was good, but even he, the Slayer of Slayers, wasn’t that good, that he had the ability to determine and see when a new one was called. That was Drusilla’s deal, not his.


Clue number two. The big staring in his face, you can’t miss this clue. The one where his habits started changing, he stopped killing, the strange desire to sleep at night. Kinda obvious. His feelings were all skewered. Some bunch of junk that he hacked up to lack of control and him losing his bloody mind. Felt things that he knew he shouldn’t, but he did anyway and couldn’t bring himself to care other than the fact that he knew he really shouldn’t be feeling the way he did. It was a confusing mess of emotions, and he was beginning to think his inner William had decided to come out to play.


Bottom line, dreams shouldn’t have such a strong effect on a person no matter what they are. It wasn't natural.


Then, add in the fact that she seemed to be calling all the shots and you had yourself a damn good set of reasons as to why he chalked these dreams as something more. Couldn’t figure out what, probably some spell or what not. But there was definitely something bigger at work here.


There was no other way to possibly explain what he was going through. What he was feeling. It wasn’t love. It definitely wasn’t that. Spike was a many things, but he wasn’t stupid enough to fall in love with some girl in two weeks that only existed in his head. Well to him, she could go be 3-D elsewhere.


A part of him knew he needed to figure it out, and the other part of him was terrified at what he might find when he did. So he did nothing, he was messed up enough as it was, there was no desire to make it worse.


She had cared though. Spike knew that much. He knew she at least trusted him, had to with the things she had been telling him; her dirty little secrets. Although you had to minus the fact that at the time she was throughly convinced that he was indeed just a figment of her little overactive imagination. But she had cared, and more than Drusilla ever had in the hundred plus years he had known her.


That had meant something. It had meant a lot. For once there was someone who didn’t look down on him in some way, shape, or form. Someone who viewed him as an equal. And at night, that was what they were. They were equals, finding company in the likes of the other. Titles didn’t matter. Someone was there, someone to talk to, someone that cared.


He had needed that.


Spike hadn’t realized how much until he had met her, but he had. Truth was adult conversations with Drusilla were few and far between. She was to far lost in her own mind, too much like a child, to understand what was really going on around her most of the time.


And Spike had needed more.


Night and his Golden girl had given him that. And then she had taken it away.


He was consumed by her. She was everywhere, and he was fading away because of it. He didn’t want it. He didn’t understand it. But that didn’t change the fact that he needed it. Needed her.


It was a load of tosh.


Every part of him craved her. The demon included. And yet he knew the wrong that would come of it, was coming of it. And he didn’t care. In fact the whole point was that he found himself more bothered by the fact that he didn’t care when he knew he should, than the changes and feelings he was experiencing.


It was almost like he didn’t know himself anymore. He was confused. And he needed her to make the confusion go away, because when he was with this Slayer nothing else mattered. And he needed her to help him forget because nothing else seemed to be working.


Two months of nothing, nothing but unexplainable change and disappointments. And yet just like every other night he stared at the bed in front of him, debating whether or not he’ll cave and climb into it. Which he will, but it doesn’t make the process any easier.


He was weak.

But he couldn’t give up. Not yet. Not when she had cared. Not when she had treated him better than second best. And not until he figured out what was going on. Because until then, he couldn’t confront his feelings. He couldn’t understand them. He wouldn’t know if it was real or some illusion cast by a spell.


Until then he was setting himself up for a fall. But he didn’t care. He just climbed into bed and slept to dream. Just like he did every other night. It was the only thing that made any sense anymore.


***


Buffy wasn’t completely stupid. She knew perfectly well that she couldn’t play avoid-o girl forever. That it would eventually come back to bite her in her fashionably covered behind. But then again, was it even really her fault? How was one girl suppose to handle the enormous amount of pressure that came with being the one and only Vampire Slayer?


She just wanted a normal life, which in her opinion wasn’t to much to ask for. She wanted her parents to not think she was crazy. She wanted friends that didn’t think she was majorly weird. And she really wanted to stop seeing vampires around every corner.


Her mother just had to move to the Hellmouth, the one place where she couldn’t rest, the one place where demons and the supernatural would always swarm. One lousy day in some sorry excuse of a town and she was already thrust back into the world that she so desperately tried to run from.


Major suckage right there.


Was a little more time too much to ask for? Because she needed it. Maybe get the chance to ease back into the slayage, little by little while she established her place at Sunnydale high. Give her the chance to get settled in, and maybe raise her grades a tad so her mother didn’t think she was a complete failure.


She was so tired of being a failure.


The answer though wouldn’t change. She could moan all she wanted, but she knew she wouldn’t just sit back and do nothing. She couldn’t. Even when she was retired she still did a little something if she came across a quarrel. Then she just pretended it didn’t happen to keep the illusion, the denial going strong. It made her feel normal.


She wasn’t normal. She would never be normal.


Buffy’s eyes strayed to her bed. She had stopped being avoid-o girl now, she had fully embraced her duty, to an extent anyway, so she could. She could climb under the covers, fall asleep and dream of her grove, never having to worry about nightmares.



She could have peace again.


In that little grove with her vampire, she felt surprisingly safe. In the grove there were no worries, just them. They were all that mattered. The dreams made her happy, made her forget, made everything bearable.


And she ignored them.


As far as she was concerned they were a part of that world she was trying to avoid, vampires being the creatures she slayed and all, even if she didn’t feel like slaying that particular vampire. Point of the matter was the dreams, the vampire, they were associated with her life as a Slayer. And she wanted to have nothing to do with that, even if they gave her a good feeling.


Which was totally weird. She was a Vampire Slayer, she should so not like, or even tolerate a vampire, even if he was just in her dream world.


Did that make her a bad Slayer? Probably.


Better to just avoid the whole thing. Right. Cause if not, she had a feeling these dreams of hers could get her in a whole mess of trouble. It didn’t matter that for a short time she got some form of peace, some type of rest, some sort of satisfaction out of the whole thing. It was a whole road of badness. It was not of the good.

Not that she cared.


She missed him. God help her, but she did.


The dreams were nice, made her feel good. It felt right. And when she didn’t dream, a part of her felt almost empty. It would take all her willpower not to dream of the wooded grove. Her nights were filled with little sleep and lots of tossing, turning, and tangled sheets. Peace was hard to find without the dreams. But she hadn’t given in. That, at the time, hadn’t been her life.


But now it was. So why shouldn’t she give in?


She knew the answer. She knew it was wrong. Vampire equals evil and all things bad. That had been drilled into her head since she had first picked up a stake. The thing was, she didn’t think he was bad. He was her vampire. She could feel it, and when she was with him everything else faded away. It was a good feeling.


And that was the scary part. She forgot. What kind of person, no, what kind of Slayer did that make her. Even if only in her sleep, she was giving into a feeling that was so powerful that she forgot everything else around her.


It was an excuse. Who cared. The fact of the matter was by dreaming she wasn’t hurting anybody. Except perhaps herself.


She had wanted a reason not to. But now she didn’t need one, she just needed him.


That night she would sleep to dream.





 
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