Til the end of the world

Summary:  The key was meant for destruction and pain. It was her purpose, her fate. Who was she to deny her place in the world? 

Warning: graphic death(s), suicide, and dark fic. This fiction takes place between season five and season six; therefore Buffy  is dead. 

Dedication:  Written as a present to a true and wonderful friend, Uncaged Muse.  She wanted dark, graphic and character death(s).  I obliged. *Hugs to the betafish for the beta*

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Chapter One
The Key

Dawn stared at the mirror.  Was she real?  They said she was real. They said that she actually was; a sister, a daughter, a friend, a girl. Not just a key.  Not just a made up memory, or a fragment of an implanted dream. 

But who was she?  What was she? Why did the monks create her, and why in this form that caused her such pain? Was she created for the sole purpose of being the Slayer’s sister, of being always dependent, always afraid, always scared that they made her wrong?

It wasn’t right.  She wasn’t right. 

Dawn stared at the reflection.  Why did everything hurt, what was it about herself that caused everyone pain?  All her friends, her so-called family, they didn’t really know what it meant to be the Key. They thought she was created for protection, but if that was true why was she given this weak form? 

She knew the secret, her secret; the true meaning of her life, of her death, of her purpose for being in this world.  She was the Key; she was created and put in form.  Not for protection, but to bring pain, to bring destruction.  She would be a force of nature, ripping apart dimensions, or lives that she thought she should hold dear.

She refused to be weak, refused to be constrained by this body that she was given.  She hadn’t asked for this pain, she never asked for suffering, she never asked to be put in a form that was weak.  

She could feel the pain well up; the suffering, the fake memories taunting her, any real memories lost forever.  She was trapped. Trapped in a world that didn’t want her, with people who thought she was a burden, weak, young.

It hurt. 

Why did they do this to her?  What did she do to deserve this?  Pain crashed into her, hounding her, tormenting her. 
 
Was she real? Was anything real?  This world, her memories, the life that was given to her… would one day she awaken to find it was a dream.  Or worse, awaken to find everything unchanged.  That she was still in this world.  The Key, created to destroy.

She toyed with the razor blade. One stroke and her blood would flow.  If she died, what would the key be, what would she become?  Would her blood open portals? Would she not exist? Would she become nothingness, to find relief in the silence that was the void? 

But she was afraid. 

Not of dying, but of living.  What if the pain never stopped?  What if she cut herself, if she watched the blood drip down her wrist, watched her life fade away and then awoke with nothing changed?

What if this was hell? What if she had to live knowing that everything was her fault and everything she touched would wither, die and fade away? 

She longed for peace, the silence that nothingness would bring.  That was why she hesitated.  Not because she was afraid to die, but because of the fear that even in death she might fail.

Moments passed.  A lifetime of memories floated around her.  It was lies.  Always lies.  Tears sparkled on her eyelashes.  Could she take the chance?  Would she? 

Dawn stared at the razor blade.  It was beautiful, a compact package that promised release.  She thought about everything she read, everything she researched and smiled at the irony.  Who would have thought that the ones who hurt her the most would have proved most useful?  She learned from them the value of research, the need for it and applied it to her death with precision. 

There would be no second chances.  There would be only release and a fevered hope that it would be the nothingness she sought. The key was meant for destruction and pain. It was her purpose, her fate. Who was she to deny her place in the world?

She was mesmerized. The razor beckoned.  She couldn’t be rash.  She had waited until she would be alone.  Everyone was gone. They were off doing adult things, dealing with Buffy’s death, too tired, too angry to comfort a fake memory.  She should have the house to herself for at least six hours.  It should only take two. 

She ran the water.  How hot could she stand it? How hot could she make it?  She lighted a few candles; vanilla.  It would comfort her and see her out of this world. Some music and Jack Daniels to ease the pain, and remind her of Spike. She had researched well.  She knew how long it would take and what would help; water, booze, music and the blade. 

She wanted the pretty razor.  Wanted it for the statement it made, wanted it for its delicacy.  It was the one thing she wanted, yet she couldn’t have.  It was too small, too delicate, a statement yes, but a cry for help.  She needed more. 

Sighing she put away the razor.  The symbolism was fine, but not if there was a chance it wouldn’t work.  She had stolen a blade, a beautiful dagger from the Magic Box.  It seemed almost profane to dirty the blade, but it would make an impact as well; beautiful, deadly, and final.

She gasped as she stepped in the tub, so hot.  She took the first swig of Whiskey and almost gagged, so bitter.  The acrid burn at the back of her throat made her wince. She elevated her legs on the rim of the tub and picked up the knife. She cut with as much force as she could put behind the stroke.  One long cut up each of her forearms.  No wrists, not for her, not for this. 

She watched as the blood spurt out of her arms, so shiny and red.  No portals opened, no hell-gods watching, no angels weeping. She would pass from this world, alone and unwanted. Leaving behind her a path of destruction, Spike would be so proud, he may have killed two Slayers in fights, but she had killed one purely with her existence. 

Dawn sighed as she started to get cold.  She wondered if it was the water temperature cooling or the effects of losing so much blood.  She giggled as she realized she was kinda disappointed that she didn’t open a portal with all this blood.  Was this what being drunk was like?  She felt light-headed and rather sleepy. 

Her eyes fluttered shut, hopefully it wouldn’t be long now, she would return to nothingness.  She wouldn’t be the Key, wouldn’t be Dawn, she would be nothing. 

She was so tired.

And internally she began to wail. Why hadn’t they noticed her?  Why couldn’t they have accepted her?  Not as sister or mystical key but as Dawn.  As a human being, as a friend, perhaps one day as someone’s lover; to them she was death, she was destruction and now she would be nothing.

She was fading.  Then she was confused.  The music was gone.  The water was receding.  She felt arms, cool against her skin.   

She fought, she couldn’t live.  She wouldn’t live.  She was dead, she had to be. She couldn’t face this world. 

She felt the pain of fangs slice into her.  She was saved. 

Sighing she felt the first drip of blood in her mouth. 

Tomorrow she would wake and they would know her pain. 

Chapter Two
The Childe

Dawn’s eyes fluttered open. She looked around the musty crypt, taking in the darkness and was confused. Where was she? How did she get here? Her eyes began to adjust; they narrowed when she heard the scrape of a lighter being flicked. Steel and flint followed by the bright light of a single blue and yellow flame. She smiled, Sire, and then as her memories began to slowly return, she glared.

It was suppose to end. Everything was going to fade away and she would return to the nothingness, to the void where the Key belonged. She wasn’t real, but death was. It was the one thing that couldn’t be denied to her. It was the only choice that could truly be hers.

Rage welled up inside her, fury, pain. Her eyes flashed gold and she slid into game face. How dare her choice be taken away from her! She couldn’t be alive. Not after everything she had gone through. Death was her gift; her only gift and now it was torn away from her; ripped away by some do-gooder.

The last thing she remembered was the soft music, the bitter taste of whiskey and then the blessed nothingness.

She cocked her head and thought about it for a moment; her first truly coherent thought was of… “Sire.”

She saw Spike jerk to attention, and became aware of several things at once. She could hear a soft mummer coming from the street, the inhaling and exhaling of breath as her sire smoked, the soft beating of someone’s heart, faint - indicating a lack of proximity but in the graveyard nonetheless.

The overwhelming smells were there - she could identify them instinctually - the tangy taste of blood in the air, the pollution of the cars, the faint smell of sweat, clinging to a body, one that was growing closer to her location.

Even the air felt different. It caressed her cooled body, wrapped itself around her like an ardent lover, whispered its secrets and teased her with naughty thoughts, of blood and violence, of darkness and delight.

She looked down in surprise, a simple black t-shirt hung on her frame. She wrapped her arms around herself, enjoying the feel of the well-worn cotton on her skin. It smelled of Sire, of home, of things familiar.

Dawn jumped up, her golden eyes gleaming; fury retreated into a look of wonderment, followed by awe, “You turned me?”

She watched as he approached her, his moves graceful. One strong hand reached out to caress her face, his eyes sad but loving. She leaned into him. He was hers, her sire, her savior, her best friend, everything she ever wanted, and everything she could never have. Her questioning eyes met his as her face transformed into the human guise. “Mine?” She questioned in a soft hesitant voice.

“Yours, til the end of the world.”

She nodded. She knew he had promised Buffy, but now he would really be hers. She was in death more then she had ever been in life. She could feel her demon, feel its connection to her sire, to the part of her that housed the key, to her memories of her human self, and she laughed.

She was finally real.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It took them by surprise; their senses neglected, silently wrapped up in each other. No words, no movement, just standing there. His hand resting on her cheek, their eyes locked on each other, the feel of her laughter on the air. They were lost in their own little world, where nothing could intrude, not paying attention to their surroundings, because what would attack them within their own lair?

They didn’t notice as the boy crept closer; his eyes flashing in fury; his mind not processing the damage already done. Just seething hatred masquerading as caring. Fury at seeing a vampire he despised with another Summers woman. His face etched with pain; the knowledge that the vampire was a trusted friend, confidante and fighter to the family he wished he could be a part of.

He saw the locked eyes, the touch of Spike’s hand and he struck out with a loose board that he had picked up on his way there.

Xander stood as he knocked the blond vampire into unconsciousness. Action overrode thought; not asking why Dawn was at Spike’s crypt, or about the blood that had splashed in the bathroom the night before. He saw another of his women with Spike, and his fury knew no bounds.

His last coherent thought as Dawn slipped into game face, was about her primal beauty. Momentary awe filled him as she stripped off her t-shirt; a scathing glance was directed at him as she arched a Spike-like brow “Can’t get my new shirt bloody – it’s the only clothing I have.”

Then came the futile wishes and screams for unconsciousness and escape. Even as a fledging; the Key was powerful. Her rage was great as she slowly applied every story she had heard from Spike, every form of torture she had gained from Giles books, to this new toy before her. She would break him for his transgressions.

The Key rejoiced in the power of the blood.

Chapter Three
The Blood

Dawn knew the moment that Spike awoke. She could feel him stalk towards the lower level of the crypt. She felt the powerful emotions that radiated off of him. She felt his demon come forth as he set out to find his newest childe, to find the source of the blood that permeated the crypt, to find her.

She smiled - a wicked and devious grin - as he caught sight of her. She was sprawled out naked on the bed, every inch of her covered in the carpenter’s blood. The still body of Xander tossed in a corner. He raised a single eyebrow at her. “I was hungry.”

As he continued to look at her, she stirred restlessly. He kept staring. Had she done something wrong? She could feel her old insecurities rising and it infuriated her.

She shifted on the bed and watched as his eyes flashed gold momentarily. “Sire?”

She could tell he was fighting an internal battle. He didn’t want to see her, not as the creature she had become. He wanted to keep her fixed in his mind. As he always thought she should be, an eternal innocent, sister of his beloved, a childe to be protected and cherished but never real, never flesh and blood, never a demon.

An eerie smile crossed her face, as she stood up and slid closer to him. She would have to prove she was real.

This could be fun.

Dawn brushed past Spike, letting her body come tantalizingly close to his, yet refraining from actually touching. She began to climb the stairs and quickly headed out of the crypt. She reveled in her power as every demonic eye in the cemetery turned towards her. She ran a single hand over her naked body, pleased to see that the blood was slightly sticky and hadn’t began to dry.

She smiled as she felt Spike behind her. He still hadn’t spoken to her, at least not more than that one line. She knew he wanted her, could scent the desire he was trying to fight. The regret he was feeling was there as well. She was torn. A desire to please her Sire and act the innocent warred with her desire to finally be free.

Nodding to herself, a final decision was made. She accelerated; smiled as every eye was drawn to her beautiful dark hair, nubile body, and the dark red blood that shone under the moonlight. She raced from the cemetery to the more familiar streets of her neighborhood. She stumbled up onto the porch and began to bang on the door.

Faux tears sparkled on her lashes as she quickly practiced a convincing cry.

Willow cautiously opened the door to find the bloodied, naked girl in a sobbing heap. She stumbled out of the house, startled by Dawn’s appearance.

Willow reached out to Dawn and engulfed her in a matronly hug, her mind devastated by the amount of blood streaking every part of the young girl’s body her mind desperate to deny what the scene would suggest.

“Spike … his chip … it stopped working… Oh God, Willow…”

Dawn broke into another round of sobs, her young breasts heaving as the blood smeared on the clothes of the witch who tried to comfort the young brunette.

“Oh Dawnie…” Willow’s lip trembled as she took in the girl’s devastated state.

“Come inside, let’s get you cleaned up…”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dawn finished licking the last drops of blood from Willow’s body. Her soft darting tongue swirled over the whip marks that covered every inch of her victim. The torture of the redhead had been most delicious and had lasted for hours. Ages longer then Xander’s in fact. She had caressed, licked, whipped and bit, never allowing the witch the luxury of passing out. She had kept her alive, on the edge of death and past the point of desire. She had made the girl cum, and plead for death within the first hour. Three hours later she had finally granted it.

She had used every weapon at her disposal against Willow. Hands, tongue, her very body was designed to bring pain and suffering, desire and delight. She reveled in the shill screams she had wrought as much as the throaty moans.

Dawn idly wondered if her personal vampiric skills for torture were improving or if Willow had that much more internal strength than her first victim. She would have to ask Spike, once he snapped out of the trance he seemed to be in.

Her second victim took her last gasp, and with it the danger of regaining her soul was no more.

She glanced up, sensing the arrival of her sire and then gracefully rose to her feet. Smiling, her eyes sparkling, she strode over to him.

Her voice husky, her body coated in cum and blood she touched his face.

“Sire” she repeated again. “Haven’t I made you happy? Can’t we play?”

She watched him. Watched as the emotions played over his face. Her very actions had proven that she would never be one to accept the return of her soul. She had sought her own death, and confirmed the desire by killing both Xander and the only person capable of returning it to her; all within the first night of rising.

To her, a soul would guarantee that she would walk into the sun. Her sire knew these things, and she took comfort in the fact that he would never inflict that on any vampire, much less his own childe.

The only question was; if he was willing to turn “good” for Buffy, could he turn “evil” for her?

Finally a defeated smile touched his face and he reached out to stroke her hair. “Til the end of the world bit”

Their lips touched.

Their bodies rejoiced.

Epilogue
The End

Spike leaned back on a tombstone; his arms crossed as he watched the night sky light up with an assortment of colors. It was quite beautiful: shades of reds, oranges, greens and the occasionally blues; all streaking across the night sky, their beauty a mockery of the damage they were causing. Each color signified a different type of bomb, a different missile, a different form of death. Some carried chemical payloads, others biological, while the more boring ones were simple variations of twentieth century nuclear weapons.

Who knew where these particular warheads were off to –most of the United States had already been decimated along with all the major super powers of the world. There were pockets of resistance here and there – but he had never figured out who they were resisting. Who was even left alive to fight or even care? The world was destroyed, if man didn’t finish himself off within the next few days, the nuclear winter and plagues would decimate the remaining populations within the next few months. For all intents and purposes, the world was dead.

He had promised to take care of Dawn until the end of world, but he had failed. They had gone out hunting tonight, like all recent nights, separately - desperately, hunting for a food source.

Spike started humming an annoying pop tune that Dawn had liked to sing, “It’s the end of the world as we know it…”

A slight giggle erupted from his chest and in a moment of clarity he realized that his sanity was fading as the aching sensation of his mate’s death consumed him. Two hundred and fifty years they were mated. Two hundred and fifty years together - forever bonded – ended, and he didn’t even know why. Was it a rogue human she’d tried to capture and bring back, a stray missile that landed while she was hunting, or, by random chance, did she encounter the last slayer and watcher? Even if it was the end of world, the Council would be after them. They had never forgiven either demon for the massacres they had caused.

A smile crossed his face. In the history of the world, he couldn’t think of one demon who had been more perfect, more bloodthirsty or more worthy of adoration than his Dawn. Together they had been the perfect team. They were known for their exquisite torture methods, their devious plans of destruction, but above all else for their desire to hunt, maim and kill all those associated with the Watcher’s Council and their Slayers. Those who caused them pain in life and unlife, felt their vengeance for centuries after.

Dawn’s power had continued to grow, unharnessed and unpredictable until they kidnapped a Council Mage to teach her how to utilize the innate power of the key. Once she could control the magical energy she removed the chip and they teleported into the headquarters of the Council. There were no survivors that day, or the next day in the military base they found. Well, there had been a survivor for awhile. Once they found Riley they turned him. Humans, after all, can only take so much torture before they die…but a vampire can last months.

The bright flare of a missile startled Spike out of his reflections and his anger grew. Demons were supposed to be the bringers of destruction, but had proven themselves a distant second. The truly evil were not the demons. It was those who started this war, this human war which cost him his mate, cost the world its existence, and in a few minutes when the sun rose would take his life forever.

He wondered if anyone would remember Robert Burns, “Man’s inhumanity to man, makes countless thousands mourn”. But then again, would there be anyone left to mourn? Certainly not him, not without his mate.

“It’s the end of the world as we know it,” Spike began to hum again, his tune eerily accurate as his mate’s namesake crested over the night sky.

There was nothing left for him here, not now.

Ashes fell and the last morning began.

Fini

Final Author Note - thank you to everyone who reviewed. For those who asked for more or to find out what happened to specefic individuals in this new world then I can, and will do a birthday drabble/ficlet/chapter for you. Thank you again. Happy belated birthday Rae - it is finally completed!