Shadow Web

Disclaimer: These characters in no way belong to me, nor do I profit from them

Rating: Overall R/NC-17, this section probably PG-13

Pairings: S/T, S & D & T

Summary: Immediately follows The Gift. Hurt/Comfort genre. Will be posted in four sections.

Beta Goddess: Zyrya

Shadow Web

Anya had been admitted to the hospital with a severe concussion. Dawn had received several stitches and been given a sedative. Xander stayed by Anya’s side, holding her hand while Willow held Dawn’s. Giles had the gut-wrenching task of handling Buffy’s body. Somewhere in the rush to deal with the medical and practical emergencies, Tara had been lost in the shuffle. A quick hug and kiss on the cheek from Willow, a little-girl lost look from Dawn, and a welcome-back smile from Xander had not alleviated Tara's insecure impression that the Scoobies had closed rangaingainst her. Or maybe there was no way for her to help, but the effect was the same.

Tara’s grief over Buffy’s death was not as deep as theirs and they knew it, so she was, however unintentionally, left behind. She had few memories of Buffy that weren’t accompanied by Willow, Dawn and the others. The only memory she had of just the two of them had been a moment of shared grief over the deaths of their mothers. But that might not be exactly true. There was a shadow, or a web, a shadow web of some kind she couldn’t shake from her mind. Everything seemed different. If she let herself be quiet and still, the shadow web darkened, tightened the gossamer strands that crept over her. Trapping her in their maddening threads. Especially here in the hospital.

”It's dirty. It's all dirty. And all over me!” She tried to brush the filth away but her hand hurt so badly. “Dirty. Dirty. I'm bad. Bad Dirty. Dirty. I'm bad. Bad.” She had to get the filth off. The other voice, the man’s voice so cold and cruel, the one she hated most of all, that never, ever went away. “Nasty, evil, filthy demon.”

“Off, off, off.” She had to get the demon filth off. Then the gentle hand of the pretty girl played with her hair and it was better. Not clean, but better. The soothing voice that calmed and made the bad man quieter. “She's my everything.” Another voice sad and defeated, weighed down by guilt “Tara.” Then arms around her tight so tight she could barely breathe but she can’t react, can’t let them know, can’t let them see. So, so dirty. The sad voice spoke again and the fury began to build. She remembers now why she can’t get the dirt off. “I'm sorry it took me so long, but Dawn's safe with Spike, so I-I can stay as long as you need.” It wasn’t supposed to be her who was dirty but someone else.

Tara slipped out of the hospital unnoticed. She tightly pulled her sweater around her as she meandered down the sunny sidewalk. People were going to work or to school, starting their Wednesday, completely unaware of the apocalyptic battle that had been waged the night before. Tara wondered what it was like to be oblivious to what happened in Sunnydale every day. Forgetting that her eyes had been opened only a year ago. It felt much longer.

The Scoobies had always had a way of making her feel like window dressing. She had skills she could contribute in the fight against evil, but they all seemed to think of her as only Willow’s girlfriend. They either didn’t realize or had forgotten that Tara was a witch too, with real power. Now, in the freshness of their shared grief, she felt like more of an outsider than ever.

She shivered as an image of Glory washed over her. She could feel the shadow web edging closer, tightening. Walking obviously wasn’t any better than sitting. There had to be something she could do, to occupy her mind, keep the shadow web away before she started screaming and running down the street.

Her eyes widened and a smile tugged the corner of her mouth as she realized there was one person who definitely needed help. With a purpose to her stride, she headed for Spike’s crypt.

~*~

Spike had felt rather than seen the impact Buffy’s body made as it landed on a pile of debris. The earth rumbled below him and he rolled to avoid falling into the crevice. The Bit finally made it down the tower, but Spike’s right leg crumpled when he tried to go to her. He sank to his knees and wept. It didn’t matter to him that the sun was cresting over the horizon. He had made a promise to the woman he loved and failed to keep it …he deserved to die. After all, it should have been him.

He felt his face and hands begin to smoke, and he welcomed the additional pain. He deserved to suffer for failing; he always failed. Spike was crying so hard that he didn’t hear Dawn tell Giles to wrap him in his coat before he dusted. When the Watcher picked him up he felt one of his many broken ribs stab into his lungs. Passing out was a luxury he didn’t deserve, so he held onto consciousness as long as possible and cursed himself for failing yet again as the darkness rolled over him.

Giles gruffly deposited Spike’s broken body on his sarcophagus. He poured one of the Mason jars of cold pig’s blood down Spike’s throat. Relieved that the vampire instinctually swallowed the congealed mess, Giles set one of Spike’s full whiskey bottles beside him and returned to the construction site. It was his duty as her Watcher to take care of the body.

Spike had yet to regain consciousness when Tara arrived.

~*~

Tara knocked on the crypt door. After waiting a courteous amount of time with no response, she finally let herself in. Her eyes darted around the room searching for the vampire. There, on top of the sarcophagus, lay Spike.

She cautiously walked towards him, stopping only one step away. Her hands flew to her mouth as she fought the urge to throw up. When the nausea eventually passed, Tara took that last step towards his body. She breathed slowly and tried to remain calm as she catalogued his injuries.

There were burns on his face and hands. His right leg was lying at an impossible angle and his chest looked like it had caved in. As her fingertip traced the broken arm without touching it, she realized his clothes would have to be cut off before his wounds could be tended.

Tara didn’t have the supplies she needed to treat Spike’s injuries. She had never imagined his injuries would be that severe. Doubt clouded her mind and she wondered if she could help him at all. Shaking off the thoughts of uselessness that were spinning round and round in her head, she left in search of supplies. If treating Spike’s wounds didn’t keep the shadow web away, nothing would.

Tara headed to the dorm room she shared with Willow. She hesitated outside the door. She felt nervous about going inside and couldn’t figure out why. Perhaps it was because she hadn’t been there in weeks. Several seconds passed before she built up the courage to go inside. Something was there, something wrong, and she was immediately caught up in the shadow web.

“I mean... it frightens me how powerful you're getting.” Hands clutched tightly in lap, must keep them still. Can’t wipe the dirt off or she’ll see, she’ll know. Dirty, filthy, nasty, wrong…

“It frightens you? *I* frighten you?” Emerald eyes imploring her to say what’s on her mind. But she can’t, can’t, can’t, can’t. “D-don't you trust me? Wh... what is it about me that you don't trust?” Begging, pleading, has to know. Can’t tell about the things in the dark that need to hurt you because you're bad ... little pinching things that go in your ears ... Frightened, scared, so powerful, so cocky. Pinch, pinch, pinch.”

Tara dug her fingernails into her palm and shook her head fiercely to clear the shadow web. Taking a final, calming breath, Tara entered the room and immediately sensed something wrong. Keeping a wary eye open, she checked the answering machine. No message from Willow. It hurt in a way she didn’t think she could hurt. Had no one noticed she’d left the hospital? Was she really that unimportant? Tara pushed the pain aside; for the moment she had a job to do. She’d worry about their relationship later.

Tara scribbled a note saying she had some things to take care of and wouldn’t be back for a while. She then packed an overnight bag, the first aid kit and debated whether or not she should take magic supplies to Spike’s. Finally she decided it couldn’t hurt and maybe she could find a spell to keep the shadow web away. Decision made, she opened her trunk and packed a variety of basic herbs, candles, unguents, and other necessary magical tools. With her supplies gathered; she only needed one more thing: the Book of Shadows she had inherited from her mother.

Tara crossed the room. The closer she came to the bookshelf the more the wrong feeling strengthened. As she knelt before their magical library, the sun went behind a cloud and the room darkened. She felt an unmistakably evil presence behind her. Gathering her courage, she whipped her head around expecting someone or something to be behind her. Nothing was there and she felt like a fool. Laughing nervously, she ran her fingers along the spines of the old and worn, leather-bound books, searching for the right one.

Tara’s gaze landed on her Book of Shadows, but before she could pick it up something pricked her finger. Eyes widening in surprise, she looked at her hand and was surprised to see a drop of blood. She sucked the blood off her finger and immediately saw the culprit … and the shadow web wrapped its glistening threads tighter around her mind. There on the bookshelf, mixed in with helpful and educational texts, were grimoires. Books that Giles from the restricted section of the Magic Box. The grimoire that had her blood on the spine was so dangerous Giles had instructed Willow to ship the book to the Council for specialized storage. The wrong feeling was becoming oppressive and it seemed to be feeding the shadow web. It constricted around her, suffocating her. She grabbed what she came for and fled the room. When things calmed down, she had to tell Giles that Willow was studying black magic and maybe even practising it.

Safely outside, she catalogued her supplies, worried she’d missed something in her flight from the dorm room. Momentarily pleased with herself that she hadn’t forgotten anything, Tara realized she had one more stop to make before she could start working on Spike. He had to have fresh human blood.

~*~

After closing the crypt door behind her, Tara searched the room for something to bar the entry. Not surprising to her, although it would have been to the Scoobies, she found several lengths of lumber and a couple of metal obviously meant for a barricade. She easily slid the lumber into place but couldn’t budge the steel. She stared wistfully at the metal and she hoped Spike would be well enough to put it in place before dark.

The trip to Willy’s had netted several bottles of human blood. The brief excursion had made her very nervous, but apparently the demon hang-out only had human daylight customers. Or what she thought were humans. Placing the blood in the refrigerator, she spotted Spike’s radio. Tara switched it on and tuned directly to the classical music station.

Tara pulled the coffee table to the sarcophagus and unpacked her magic supplies. She smiled a little when the radio station began playing Brahms. Perfect for the sleeping vampire and her nerves. After adjusting the volume several times and unpacking her overnight bag, Tara realized she was procrastinating. Time to stop avoiding the problem.

She grabbed the fabric shears from the coffee table and finally approached SpikHe dHe didn’t look any better than he had a couple of hours ago, so she guessed that the famous vampire healing took longer to set in.

Thankfully, Giles had removed Spike’s duster so she didn’t have to wrangle him out of the leather or cut it off him. She really didn’t know where to start: there wasn’t one end of him more obviously hurt than the other. His whole body seemed to be crushed. Sighing, she placed the shears by his side and started removing his boots.

They fell to the floor with a thud, revealing porcelain white, delicately formed, perfectly arched feet. With the easiest part of her task completed Tara picked up her shears and decided to work on the lesser of the two evils: his shirt. She’d only ever seen Spike wear black T-shirts and black jeans, and she idly wondered if he owned more than one set. With that in mind she cut along the seams, just in case she had to sew his clothes back together once she’d finished with him.

The thin cotton easily fell to the razor sharp blade of the shears, revealing Spike’s battered torso. Concentrating on his injuries made her stomach clench with nausea again. He wasn’t sporting a couple of contusions and cracked ribs; Spike’s chest was crushed. His sternum was concave and his ribs twisted in, twisted out, doing things ribs were physiologically unable to do. Tara’s meager medical knowledge suggested wrapping broken ribs, but it was apparent wrapping wouldn’t help much in this case.e moe most effective thing to do would be to slice Spike open and manually reset his destroyed rib cage and breastbone. Effective if she could stomach it, that is. And then how much longer before he healed from the incisions?

Tara tried to look beyond the injuries. She had to escape the horror of them for a moment. Injuries relegated to the background for the moment, she reveled in the beauty of his skin. It was silky to the touch, alabaster, ivory, creamy, milky, every word she’d ever heard to describe white and beautiful all at once. It wasn’t cold under her fingers but it wasn’t warm either. As long as she didn’t look at his injuries, he was beautiful. Beautiful in a way she’d never considered a man could be. Beautiful in the way that Renaissance artists sculpted their statues; lacking human flaws. Tara firmly shook her head to focus herself.

She glanced at Spike’s jeans. She figured she could treat the injuries beneath his jeans better than she could his torso, but that involved removing his pants. Spike hadn’t been wearing any s ans and logic dictated he wouldn’t be wearing underwear either. Back to his chest, then. She thumbed through her mother’s spellbook looking for some guidance from beyond.

Tara lit candles at each end of the coffee table and selected incense to burn. She took the bloodiest section of Spike’s shirt and placed it in a bowl beside the Book of Shadows. She murmured an incantation, set the scrap of fabric on fire and waited for the Book to turn to the appropriate pages. A gentle breeze blew through the crypt, playing with the ends of Tara’s hair and tickling the hair on her bare arms before heading towards Spike. Tara could see the energy of the wind encircling the vampire, concentrating on his more severe wounds. After several minutes she felt the wind caress her cheek; she could almost feel her mother’s touch and smell her unique scent. “I love you, Mama,” Tara murmured to the breeze. In response the Book of Shadows opened and the pages turned themselves, passing over spell after spell before finally settling on a blank page.

It wasn’t the first time that had happened and Tara knew what to do. Her fingers automatically found her athame. She crossed to Spike’s body and ran the flat of the knife over his wounds until the blade was covered with his blood. Kneeling again in front of her makeshift altar, she pl the the bloody knife on the empty page. Within seconds the spell began to write itself in Spike’s blood.

~*~

Tara knew it would take a while for the spell to write out its ingredients, instructions, and incantations. The crypt, although cozy, was dirty. Too dirty for her to be comfortable in, and she had to have something to do to keep the shadow web away. A thorough search revealed no brooms, rags or any cleaning supplies, so she headed towards the Summers’ house because it was closest to the crypt.

She felt the shadow web closing in as she gathered the broom, mop and bucket, rags and 409, sweeping her back to places she’d rather not go.

Pinching, crawling, itching, burning, dirty, dirty, dirty. Evil women, touching, kissing, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong! “I'm really sorry that I didn't elishlish my lesbo street cred before I got into this relationship. You're the only woman I've ever fallen in love with, so ... how on earth could you ever take me seriously?” The man’s voice again “You’re a sinner, burn in hell with the other sinners.” Feel the flames of hell pinching, crawling, itching, burning, dirty, dirty, dirty.

Tara discovered she could function when it was affecting her, but her actions felt hazy and distant. She barred the door behind her and was relieved to see the Spell was ready. Finally, something that could save her from her own mind.

She had all the ingredients with her and the spell itself was remarkably easy to do. Mix together the ingredients, chant the incantation, let the resulting unguent cool, anoint the body, chant some more, burn some incense an>voi>voila: magically healed vampire.

But first, did she want to feed him pig and heal him with human? Or did she want to feed him human and heal him with pig? Hadn’t Buffy always called him a pig? Aren’t you really what you eat? Which would of course mean she was a great big pussy who was terrified of cutting off his pants and facing the reality tha mat matter how neutered Spike was, he was still 100 percent male.

A quick glance at the sky told Tara it was early afternoon. She had enough human blood for the spell, barely. When Spike woke he would need to feed, probably a lot. She’d definitely heal and feed him human. If she were a vampire wouldn’t that be what she’d want done for her? She’d watched the weight slide off his frame over the pastr anr and wondered if a swine diet provided enough nutrients. After the spell she’d go get some more human blood.

~*~

Dawn’s eyes fluttered open. The first thing she saw was Willow holding her hand and crying, and she remembered. Buffy was dead. A sob escaped her before she could stop it and suddenly all attention was on her.

“Dawn, the doctor said you could go when you woke. Would like to go to my apartment?” Giles’ voice was tight and heavy, weighed down with his grief. Dawn nodded, pried her hand from Willow’s and got out of bed. “Willow, would you like to come along?” Giles offered his hospitality, using his manners as a shield.

Willow shook her head. “Someone needs to stay with Xander.”

Giles nodded and lead Dawn out of the room.

Now was Willow’s chance. Xander was sleeping and Anya had yet to wake up. The concussion was severe and the doctors had said they were worried she wouldn’t come out of it. She studied herest est and dearest friend. Even in his sleep he gripped Anya’s hand as if he were afraid that she would slip away and die. Like Buffy.

Before he’d fallen asleep Xander had talked non-stop to Anya, promising her a better future. No demons, no monsters. He’d even talked about their wedding. Willow’s hackles had risen at that. Xander couldn’t marry Anya; the greedy, obnoxious, rude, sex-crazed demon wasn’t good enough for him. Willow couldn’t let Xander ruin his life like that, obviously his grief had impaired his judgement. She had to stop it, save him from himself. She knew what she had to do, but she had to do it now. While he was sleeping.

Willow placed a hand on each side of Xander’s face. She closed her eyes and concentrated on seeing what was inside, power left her fingertips and found its way inside Xander’s mind. His body flinched against the intrusion, but Willow carried on. There, right there, if she inserted a teeny-tiny bit of her will, she’d be able to keep him from making stupid, life-altering decisions. All done, Willow sat back smiled peacefully.

“Hey, Will?w’s w’s Anya?” Xander asked rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Xander, but there hasn’t been any change in her condition.” Willow reached out and grasped his hand giving it a little squeeze.

Xander’s shoulders sagged, but he pulled Willow into a fierce. “. “Where’s Dawn?”

Closing her eyes, Willow relaxed into his embr “G “Giles took her to his apartment.”

“And Tara?” Xander asked as he sat back down and reached for Anya’s hand.

Willow looked around, expecting Tara to be there, and a little bit of anger slid through her when she realized she wasn’t. “I’m not sure. She probably went home to rest. Come on, Xander, you need to get out of here.”

“No, I’m not leaving Anya. You go ahead, Wills.”

Willow walked behind Xander and slid her arms around him. “I’m not leaving you here to do this alone, Xander. I’m going to take care of you.” She’d take care of Xander, she wanted what was best for everyone. Even if they didn’t know what it was.

~*~

Tara completed the spell and sank to her knees, panting for breath. She watched as a blood-red mist coalesced at Spike’s feet and slowly enveloped his body. She stared in fascinated horror as his skin moved, stretched, and bones popped into place. The mist slowly moved up his body, hovering over the injured places and when it reached his ribs Tara had to look away and cover her ears. The bones popped, cracked, and grated against each other… it looked like someone trying to crawl their way out of his skin. Finally the mist moved on, past his neck, his face, and stopped again at the top of his skull. The mist solidified and grew brighter and brighter until it was a burning red light. Spike’s eyes flew open, his body convulsed, and he screamed in pain. In a blinding flash, the spell ended. Spike was healed.