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Buffy the Vampire Slayer:
Dark Reflection
Disclaimer: I don’t own BTVS.

Previously: Warren Meers showed up at Buffy’s house and shot her and Spike before they could finish making up. Just before Buffy lost consciousness. she saw her sister Dawn, shot in the neck and bleeding from another of Warren’s bullets.

A cruel smiled lit Warren’s face as he saw the Slayer and her pet vampire lying on the grass, one already dead, and the other close to death. His eyes were open wide, gleefully laughing like a lunatic. Then he saw them, the wiccan and the kid sister. He reloaded the Desert Eagle and took aim at the Wicca.

The first bullet whizzed by the Wicca’s ear. Her eyes were bulging in fright as the bullet missed her, yet passed close enough for her to feel the heat of the bullet on her face. The second bullet was fired just as Dawn charged toward her fallen sister and friend, and it caught her in the neck, close to her jugular. The tall girl fell backward, a spray of her blood shooting into the air from the pulsating wound at her throat.

Warren aimed at the Wicca again, intending to be sure that she died as well, but she had already charged into him, her small shoulders plowing deep into his gut and sending him flying backward into the fence. The gun was dropped in the quick scuffle, and Warren attempted to get it again. Before he could reach it, a blinding power seized him and sent him flying backward into the street, his face scraping against the curb, drawing blood.

Tara looked at Dawn, lying on the grass bleeding to death, and immediately ripped the blue sweater she had been wearing off and wrapped it around Dawn’s neck in an attempt to stem the flow. She reached into the pocket of her jeans and grabbed her cell phone, dialing a short number with trembling fingers.

“Nine one-one. What is your emergency?” a bored voice said on the line, as if he was expecting it to be either a prank call, or something as boring as a cat stuck in a tree.

“Warren came into Buffy’s backyard and shot her and her sister and tried to kill me, too,” Tara blurted out in a rush, unsure of what to do or say.

“Where are you, ma’am?” the no longer monotonous male voice asked.

“I’m at 1630 Revello Drive. Please hurry,” Tara pleaded.

“I just dispatched an ambulance. Please, ma’am, stay on the line and tell me how bad the situation is.”
“Pretty fucking bad or I wouldn’t be calling you!” Tara yelled into the phone, angry at the person on the other line for his stupidity. Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling onto the plain white tee shirt she had on.

“You’re going to have to cooperate if you want us to help,” the voice droned on. “Please tell me if there are any visible injuries on the victims.”

Tara strode over to Buffy on trembling legs. “Buffy, she has three bullet wounds, one through her stomach and two through her chest,” Tara said. “And Dawn was shot in the neck, possibly in the jugular.”

“Shit,” the dispatcher said on the line, alarming Tara with the shocked sound of his voice.

Tara put more pressure on the sweater, now drenched in Dawn’s blood. “Please hurry. They might not make it.”

“Anyone else hurt?”

Tara looked at the fallen vampire, but realized that it would be pretty hard to explain a vampire’ s situation to medical staff. Still, Spike was in need of medical attention, attention far more advanced than any she could provide. “Yes. Randy Giles. He’s been shot multiple times in the face.”

“Is he dead?”

“Um, I think he’s still alive,” Tara sobbed into the phone; her tears driving home to the operator the extent of the emergency.

Tara still held the phone, and , never stopped the pressure onto the sweater wrapped around Dawn’s neck. The lanky teen was unmoving, except for the faint rise and fall of her chest. The panic suddenly became too much for Tara, who froze, at a loss as to how to assist her fallen friends. The mystical stuff was no problem, but watching her friends get shot -- watching Dawnie bleeding so horribly from the throat -- was more than the Wicca could handle.

She did not know how long she cried, but finally she heard the sound as the back door of the house was slammed, and suddenly,medical personnel were storming toward her with three stretchers. They ran past her and began laying Dawn on one of them, then rushed her toward the ambulance that was waiting right behind the Summers’ fence. In fright Tara ran toward the ambulance, but was grabbed and held back by a tall man with curly blonde hair.

“Please, ma’am. We got her. We can take you to the hospital, but Dawn is going to need some emergency assistance, and you can’t be with her right now.” Tara struggled against him, and he released his grip.

“I understand, sir.”

“Keith.”

“Huh?”

“My name’s Keith. Will you need a ride to the hospital, or do you have a way of getting there?” Keith asked.
“I’ll have a ride.”

Two other medics laid out the Slayer and Spike onto other stretchers and took them to the ambulance as well.

*Xander…*

Tara grabbed her phone and dialed the carpenter’s cell phone number. The two rings that sounded before it was picked up felt as if they lasted a lifetime.

“What’s up, Tara?” Xander spoke into the phone, obviously having recognized her number.

“Buffy and Dawn were shot by Warren. I need you over here now.”

“What?” Xander nearly screamed.

“Please, hurry up, Xander.”

“Be there in five,” Xander responded, his voice taut and trembling with fear and shock.

“Your ride’s coming?” Keith asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

“Yeah,” Tara assured him with a shaky nod.

“Randy Giles. He’s a vampire ,isn’t he?” Keith asked.
Tara’s eyes widened, startled. “How do you know?”
“Come on, ma’am, this is Sunnydale.”

“It’s Tara. Take care of him, make sure he gets a package or two of some blood.”

“Will do, Tara.” Keith headed off with the rest of the medics, and they drove to the hospital, hoping that all three victims would be okay.

Later, at Sunnydale Hospital

Spike’s eyes fluttered open. How much time had passed, he was unsure. The pain in his jaw was horrific, though he could tell it was healing, his vampire abilities slowly yet surely regenerating bit by bit the large piece of flesh that had been blown from his face. His chest and back hurt too, but it wasn’t the first time that he’d been shot through the chest. But never had he been shot in his face, and God, it hurt! But now that he was over the initial shock of being shot, there was only one question on his mind -- how Buffy was doing.

He was a vampire – but she was only human. Even though she was the Slayer, Spike knew all too well that she could still die. Spike had seen the initial bullet that went through her stomach, as well as the two that had gone through her chest. He tried to stand up, but was in too much pain, and was forced to simply lie there, succumbing to the horrible thoughts that went through his head.

*I failed… I failed to protect her, and now she could die. I could lose her again, because I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t strong enough, smart enough…this could be twice that she dies on my watch. Because I failed…*

Tears blurred his vision, and his heart demanded that his body stand, the demon residing within him vowing to break free of the broken constraints of his flesh. Mustering all his strength and concentration, Spike pulled himself up, ripping off the useless needles piercing his body. But when he tried to stand, he only fell off the bed and onto the marble floor, hurting even worse than before.

He reached out with his hands, fingernails digging into the marble floor as he dragged himself across it, tears pouring rapidly onto the tile. He knew he had to be a mess, covered in blood and tears, his normally slicked back hair a rumple of bloody curls, but that wasn’t important at all right now -- Buffy was. As he struggled toward the door to the room, a nurse noticed him and yelled for the doctor.

The white clad doctor stepped into the room, gripping Spike’s shoulders to lift him to his feet and set him in a wheelchair. Spike fought against his grip but was too weak, though he noticed with surprise that he felt no shock from the chip at his attempt.

“Mr. Giles, we know what you are, and you’re going to need a lot more blood before attempting to walk around. Your wounds haven’t healed completely, son.”
“Son…I’m probably older than you,” Spike scoffed bitterly.

“Or so you think, Mister the Bloody. We deactivated the chip in your head; apparently it was about ready to self-destruct when they got you here. Kinda looks like they gave you an expiration date. And it was today.” The doctor extended his hand toward a stunned Spike in introduction. “Dr. Harrison.”

Spike silently shook his hand, watching him warily for a few moments.

“How’s Buffy?” he asked. He voice trembled and for a second Spike felt more vulnerable than he ever had, even when he was stuck in the Initiative.

“A master vampire in love?” the doctor observed with a knowing smile. “That’s hard to find. Your Buffy’s stable. She hasn’t awakened yet, but she’ll live. It’s her younger sister I’m worried about.”

“Dawn!” Spike gasped in shock.

“Yes, she was shot in the neck. And while your friend Tara did all she could to stem the flow of blood, Dawn still lost a lot.”

Spike shot up and grabbed the doctor by his lapels and lifted him in the air . “How is she?”

“The sudden loss of blood made her go into a coma. We don’t know if she’ll ever wake up,” the doctor admittedly softly.

Spike let him go and fell out of the chair to his knees, crying. He had failed again. He had promised, and he had failed. His body shook as the sobs racked his body. The doctor could do nothing more than pat his shoulder sympathetically, as Spike had once done for Buffy.

“Please save her,” he begged, his voice hoarse from crying.

“We’ll do our best Spike.”

With that the doctor stepped out of the room, and Spike collapsed onto his bed, his body spent and exhausted, pumped up with drugged blood. His body wanted nothing more than to sleep, though his heart longed to find Buffy. He fought against the lure of sleep, but before he could even process the thought of how to fight it, his eyes were closed and sweet unconsciousness had mercifully taken him.
Hours later at Willy’s Bar…

Warren Meers still couldn’t get over the initial shock of what had happened.

He, a mere human, had killed the Slayer. He had killed Buffy Summers. And all it had taken was a bullet to her chest. Even funnier was that he had killed Spike, and her bratty sister, too. Sure he hadn’t seen Spike dust, but there was no way that Spike could have survived the onslaught Warren had bestowed on his face with the Desert Eagle.

He sat down on a stool by the bar, and clapped a vampire on the back. Seeing two angry yellow eyes looking at him, he hurried to explain his friendly good cheer. “Hey, didn’t you hear the good news, bro? The Slayer’s dead.”

The vampire merely laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m serious. Today I killed that bitch of a Slayer, so Willy, grab me a pitcher of beer, it’s time to celebrate,” Warren declared, eyes shining madly.

“You killed the Slayer?” The vampire finally spoke, raising his eyebrow doubtfully at the human.

“Didn’t I just fucking say that, bro? You should buy me a shot,” Warren replied, his arrogance and cockiness building.

Willy brought Warren a pitcher of Budweiser.
“Thanks,” Warren replied as he gave Willy two twenty dollar bills. “Just keep ‘em coming.”

“So how did you off the Slayer? What did you do that we vamps can never seem to figure out before she stakes us?” The vampire spoke calmly, not betraying the fact that he had nearly just eaten the kid for touching him seconds before.

“I shot the bitch. Really effective, guys of the undead. You should look into modern technologies, work wonders I tell you,” Warren said, snorting contemptuously as he grabbed the pitcher and poured some beer into his glass.

“Really. Did you make sure she was dead, shit for brains?”

“No,” Warren stuttered, foam trailing down his chin.
“Slayers regenerate quite quickly. And it’s funny that you come down here bragging and shit. About twenty minutes ago on the news it said someone shot Buffy and her sister in her backyard, and that Buffy was recuperating but her sister was not. Her sister’s in a coma, not really dead, not really alive, and the doctors, they don’t think the kid’s waking up – ever,” the vampire informed him. “I was gonna kill you, right after I finished my beer, but I think I’ll let the Slayer finish the job for me.” The vampire shoved Warren to the ground. “What with her sister and all, I’m sure she’ll be much more creative about it than I could be!”

“You’re wrong,” Warren stuttered, suddenly pale and wide-eyed with fear.

“You calling me a liar, boy? Cause I just might change my mind and eat you myself.”

Warren whipped out the 9mm and shot the vampire in the head, dead center. The vampire,fell over, but did not dust. Warren stood up and staked the prone body, feeling a brief sense of satisfaction as the dust flew. Finishing his pitcher of beer in a matter of seconds, he said defiantly, “I gotta go. I got a job to finish,” as he stalked out the door of the bar into the night.





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