Story: "Retrograde" Chapter 28 Part 4 - BtVS/Ats
Title: Retrograde Chapter 28 Part 4
Author: Guardian Erin
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: BtVS/Ats
Disclaimer: I do not own, and I don't make money from it.
Summary: Willow might be on the verge of death.
Author's Notes: A longer bit of the chapter! It's coming along nicely, but I want a lengthy Chapter 28 to satisfy my poor readers at FF.net
Previous chapters
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
"This has to be mystical," Buffy said. "We need to get Wesley and Giles working on this, doing whatever they can to bring her back."
"She's done so many spells, it could be anything," Kennedy countered, anger evident in her voice.
Willow took a breath, but the last of an actual breath was incredibly unnerving. She wanted to find someway to let Buffy know that she was right, but she wasn't even sure either way. It had to be mystical, there was no alternative. Because if it wasn't mystical… she didn't want to consider that possibility.
She felt dizzy as her friends argued around her. Every emotion had the effect of a tidal wave ripping through her. When Buffy finally voiced the possibility of death, Willow felt like she was being ripped apart from the emotional backlash.
The torrent of emotions quieted just as quickly, as if her friends knew that the thoughts would also tear them apart. She still felt sick, every molecule of her being rebelling, if she even had molecules. As far as she could tell, it was an astral state of being. An out of body experience. There was no touch, no physical feeling, and her friends could not hear or see her.
When Buffy left the room, she quickly turned and followed, trying to keep up with the blonde. She called out, but Buffy didn't react in the slightest, and the redhead stopped bothering to pursue her friend. She had to trust that Buffy would figure out someway to fix this. Willow returned to the room, and heard Xander speak.
"-I love her more than anything in the world. And if there is any way to make her better - any way at all - nothing is going to stop me. Not even you. I just think you should know that."
"Xan," Willow murmured. She stepped towards her friend and held her hand just a hairsbreadth above his shoulder, pretending that she could touch him. "She just cares about me." He shifted, and her hand passed through him. She quickly pulled it back, still disturbed by the sight of her intangibility.
Kennedy spoke, but she words faded away into muted silence, lips still moving. Xander's lips moved in reply, and then Dawn's, but still no sound emerged.
"What's going on?" Willow asked quietly, her voice shaking. She was relieved to know that she was not somehow going deaf, but was acutely aware of the room darkening around the edges until it was partially black with shadows. "Am I… dying?" The idea went through her like a rush of ice-cold water. If some robed figure with a sickle popped out, she was fairly sure that she'd start biting and scratching if she had to.
Then again, that probably wouldn't have any effect on Death. She took a step backwards, away from the shadows and turned to run into the fluorescent hallway, but stopped short, panic high in her chest. The hallway was gone, replaced by an expanse of darkness. She spun around and her friends were gone, leaving just vague remnants of the room and the bed were her body lay. There was a figure crouched by her side, as if paying respects, but the pure darkness that comprised it gave her chills. It stood up, and Willow had the sudden crazy idea that Death had actually appeared to take her soul.
It looked at her, blank eyes inexplicably filled with regret, and sat down on the side of her bed. Willow did not know how she missed it before, but some things just didn't let themselves be seen until it was time.
"You," Willow said to Spike, a sad statement and simple accusation all rolled into one. She let a silent moment pass, washing away any useless hatred. "Am I going to die?"
"Maybe," he answered.
Willow waited for a second, bemused and unwilling to believe that he would leave it at that. When she realized that he wasn't going to add anything more, a horrible feeling of desolation grabbed at her. "At least you're honest," Willow managed to say, her voice trying to leave her.
The blank white eyes stared at her, and Willow knew that he was able to see everything about her in this strange, shapeless space. "You want me to apologize," he said. Willow didn't respond. "Because I damned you to share my fate."
"I set you free," Willow replied, knowing that it was a waste of time to try to blame a ghost for anything. "Kennedy was right. I didn't even know what I was dealing with."
"I won't offer you any closure," he continued, ignoring her. "My actions were just."
"No," Willow had to glare at him for that. "They weren't."
He tilted his head, looking directly into her eyes. "They were necessary."
"I don't believe that," Willow shook her head, turning away for a moment. Those dead eyes unnerved her, but the gaping blackness scared her even more, and she quickly looked back at what still remained, focusing on her bed. She couldn't recognize herself anymore.
"Actions, consequences," Spike said, standing up. He moved around her, hovering, blending into the shadows, on the verge of reality and nothingness. "Actions and consequences, Witch. Inconsecutive, meaningless."
"Like your words," Willow retorted.
"Everything is intangible," he informed her. "Meaning. Reality. Open your guts. You already knew. You just forgot."
"Already knew what?"
"You'd end up here."
It took Willow only a second to recognize her old room in Buffy's house. All of the living colors were washed out, and the space was devoid of any comfort, left cold and foreboding.
She turned around, greeted with light, translucent white curtains hanging like a veil over the shattered window. Her heart leapt up into her throat and she looked down at dark stains of blood on the carpet. Willow backed away from the area, nearly tripping over her own feet.
"Why did you bring me here?!" Willow cried out. Her body shook, but somehow it was physically impossible for her to shed tears.
"I didn't," Spike said, looking down at the floor, where black shapes began to writhe. His eyes lifted towards the corner of the room, as if he could see something she didn't. "I don't dream."
"This isn't a dream," Willow shuddered, wrought with horror. "Please take it away. Tell me how to take it away."
"Follow me."
Author: Guardian Erin
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: BtVS/Ats
Disclaimer: I do not own, and I don't make money from it.
Summary: Willow might be on the verge of death.
Author's Notes: A longer bit of the chapter! It's coming along nicely, but I want a lengthy Chapter 28 to satisfy my poor readers at FF.net
Previous chapters
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
"This has to be mystical," Buffy said. "We need to get Wesley and Giles working on this, doing whatever they can to bring her back."
"She's done so many spells, it could be anything," Kennedy countered, anger evident in her voice.
Willow took a breath, but the last of an actual breath was incredibly unnerving. She wanted to find someway to let Buffy know that she was right, but she wasn't even sure either way. It had to be mystical, there was no alternative. Because if it wasn't mystical… she didn't want to consider that possibility.
She felt dizzy as her friends argued around her. Every emotion had the effect of a tidal wave ripping through her. When Buffy finally voiced the possibility of death, Willow felt like she was being ripped apart from the emotional backlash.
The torrent of emotions quieted just as quickly, as if her friends knew that the thoughts would also tear them apart. She still felt sick, every molecule of her being rebelling, if she even had molecules. As far as she could tell, it was an astral state of being. An out of body experience. There was no touch, no physical feeling, and her friends could not hear or see her.
When Buffy left the room, she quickly turned and followed, trying to keep up with the blonde. She called out, but Buffy didn't react in the slightest, and the redhead stopped bothering to pursue her friend. She had to trust that Buffy would figure out someway to fix this. Willow returned to the room, and heard Xander speak.
"-I love her more than anything in the world. And if there is any way to make her better - any way at all - nothing is going to stop me. Not even you. I just think you should know that."
"Xan," Willow murmured. She stepped towards her friend and held her hand just a hairsbreadth above his shoulder, pretending that she could touch him. "She just cares about me." He shifted, and her hand passed through him. She quickly pulled it back, still disturbed by the sight of her intangibility.
Kennedy spoke, but she words faded away into muted silence, lips still moving. Xander's lips moved in reply, and then Dawn's, but still no sound emerged.
"What's going on?" Willow asked quietly, her voice shaking. She was relieved to know that she was not somehow going deaf, but was acutely aware of the room darkening around the edges until it was partially black with shadows. "Am I… dying?" The idea went through her like a rush of ice-cold water. If some robed figure with a sickle popped out, she was fairly sure that she'd start biting and scratching if she had to.
Then again, that probably wouldn't have any effect on Death. She took a step backwards, away from the shadows and turned to run into the fluorescent hallway, but stopped short, panic high in her chest. The hallway was gone, replaced by an expanse of darkness. She spun around and her friends were gone, leaving just vague remnants of the room and the bed were her body lay. There was a figure crouched by her side, as if paying respects, but the pure darkness that comprised it gave her chills. It stood up, and Willow had the sudden crazy idea that Death had actually appeared to take her soul.
It looked at her, blank eyes inexplicably filled with regret, and sat down on the side of her bed. Willow did not know how she missed it before, but some things just didn't let themselves be seen until it was time.
"You," Willow said to Spike, a sad statement and simple accusation all rolled into one. She let a silent moment pass, washing away any useless hatred. "Am I going to die?"
"Maybe," he answered.
Willow waited for a second, bemused and unwilling to believe that he would leave it at that. When she realized that he wasn't going to add anything more, a horrible feeling of desolation grabbed at her. "At least you're honest," Willow managed to say, her voice trying to leave her.
The blank white eyes stared at her, and Willow knew that he was able to see everything about her in this strange, shapeless space. "You want me to apologize," he said. Willow didn't respond. "Because I damned you to share my fate."
"I set you free," Willow replied, knowing that it was a waste of time to try to blame a ghost for anything. "Kennedy was right. I didn't even know what I was dealing with."
"I won't offer you any closure," he continued, ignoring her. "My actions were just."
"No," Willow had to glare at him for that. "They weren't."
He tilted his head, looking directly into her eyes. "They were necessary."
"I don't believe that," Willow shook her head, turning away for a moment. Those dead eyes unnerved her, but the gaping blackness scared her even more, and she quickly looked back at what still remained, focusing on her bed. She couldn't recognize herself anymore.
"Actions, consequences," Spike said, standing up. He moved around her, hovering, blending into the shadows, on the verge of reality and nothingness. "Actions and consequences, Witch. Inconsecutive, meaningless."
"Like your words," Willow retorted.
"Everything is intangible," he informed her. "Meaning. Reality. Open your guts. You already knew. You just forgot."
"Already knew what?"
"You'd end up here."
It took Willow only a second to recognize her old room in Buffy's house. All of the living colors were washed out, and the space was devoid of any comfort, left cold and foreboding.
She turned around, greeted with light, translucent white curtains hanging like a veil over the shattered window. Her heart leapt up into her throat and she looked down at dark stains of blood on the carpet. Willow backed away from the area, nearly tripping over her own feet.
"Why did you bring me here?!" Willow cried out. Her body shook, but somehow it was physically impossible for her to shed tears.
"I didn't," Spike said, looking down at the floor, where black shapes began to writhe. His eyes lifted towards the corner of the room, as if he could see something she didn't. "I don't dream."
"This isn't a dream," Willow shuddered, wrought with horror. "Please take it away. Tell me how to take it away."
"Follow me."