![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
snoggedTitle: Itsy-Bitsy Spider
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Co. own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I don’t. I also don’t own the poem.
Characters: Willow, Angel
Word Count: 588
Rating/Warnings: FRT-13/PG-13; language, dark/angst dream themes
Setting: Season 3 – “Anne”
Summary: Willow dreams about Angel.
Beta: The vivacious velvetwhip
Note: written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
crazydiamondsue at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
genfic_minis who wanted Angel, Crawford Street mansion, and Season Three. This may have not been what you have in mind but I hope you like it anyways as this is how the bunny bit me. :)
It starts with an Italian villa. The fresh smells of baked breadsticks and garlic butter sauce permeating her nostrils as her fingers slowly crawl up the ivy-covered walls in a parody of a spider.
The itsy-bitsy spider went up the water spout.
John Cusack reclines in the chair beside her, wrapped in his orange trench coat, and fiddling with the dials on the large boom box beside him. She wonders why he doesn’t hold it above his head in tribute to her favorite movie of all time but she doesn’t ask questions.
Instead she waits, patiently listening to the click-click of the knobs turning from side to side.
Down came the rain and washed the spider out.
Beneath her, the cobblestones split open and she barely has a chance to gasp before she’s sucked down, twisting and spiraling through the darkness. She hits carpet, white and soft and glowing, and she pinches herself as if that will wake her from this dream.
But it doesn’t. All it does is hurt and ache and sting.
So she opts to look around, hoping to find an exit from this place, hoping to find her escape before she winds up on a stage dressed in something far worse than a kimono.
There’s something familiar about her surroundings. There’s something recognizable about these old walls, about the smell of jasmine blooming somewhere in the distance. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say that John Cusack’s boom box was really a magical transporter device that sent her straight to Angel’s empty mansion.
Although for the life of her, she doesn’t know why and Buffy’s not exactly around to spread the news of what happened that night seeing that she skipped town to go off and do...whatever it is that Slayers do when they run away from her friends.
Out came the sun and dried up all the rain.
“Willow.”
She turns her head, catching a glimpse of a dark, shadowy figure coming towards her.
“Angel.”
The brunet vampire takes another step and she can see that he’s clutching his stomach, holding his guts together. Drops of crimson blood fall from his fingers but vanish instantly as they hit the carpet.
Willow’s eyes crease with concern but she can’t move, can’t go to save him. “Angel…what happened to you?”
“I got my soul back, Willow. I got it back because of you.”
She sees his lips curl upwards slightly right before he crumple to the floor in a heap. Her heart bounces in her chest and her hand shoots up to cover her mouth. “Angel…”
“Too little, too late,” Angel groans, extending his hand towards her. A flicker of flame and a curl of smoke catch his hair, setting him ablaze. He’s dust before she can even blink.
She’s not fast enough to grab him, not fast enough to save him.
That’s what Buffy was supposed to do- is supposed to do.
Buffy’s the Slayer. The Slayer who saves the world. And Willow…Willow’s just a girl in pursuit of knowledge, but the supernatural forces around her sure as hell don’t want her to achieve her goal.
And the itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the spout again.
Shivering, Willow wakes up and breathes deeply. She’s back in her bed. Back under the floral comforter her mother ordered out of some Martha Stewart catalog. But nothing about it feels normal. Not after what she’s learned. Not after the message the dream fairies gave her.
Her spell to save Angel’s soul did work, but at what cost?
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Co. own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I don’t. I also don’t own the poem.
Characters: Willow, Angel
Word Count: 588
Rating/Warnings: FRT-13/PG-13; language, dark/angst dream themes
Setting: Season 3 – “Anne”
Summary: Willow dreams about Angel.
Beta: The vivacious velvetwhip
Note: written for
crazydiamondsue at genfic_minis who wanted Angel, Crawford Street mansion, and Season Three. This may have not been what you have in mind but I hope you like it anyways as this is how the bunny bit me. :)It starts with an Italian villa. The fresh smells of baked breadsticks and garlic butter sauce permeating her nostrils as her fingers slowly crawl up the ivy-covered walls in a parody of a spider.
The itsy-bitsy spider went up the water spout.
John Cusack reclines in the chair beside her, wrapped in his orange trench coat, and fiddling with the dials on the large boom box beside him. She wonders why he doesn’t hold it above his head in tribute to her favorite movie of all time but she doesn’t ask questions.
Instead she waits, patiently listening to the click-click of the knobs turning from side to side.
Down came the rain and washed the spider out.
Beneath her, the cobblestones split open and she barely has a chance to gasp before she’s sucked down, twisting and spiraling through the darkness. She hits carpet, white and soft and glowing, and she pinches herself as if that will wake her from this dream.
But it doesn’t. All it does is hurt and ache and sting.
So she opts to look around, hoping to find an exit from this place, hoping to find her escape before she winds up on a stage dressed in something far worse than a kimono.
There’s something familiar about her surroundings. There’s something recognizable about these old walls, about the smell of jasmine blooming somewhere in the distance. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say that John Cusack’s boom box was really a magical transporter device that sent her straight to Angel’s empty mansion.
Although for the life of her, she doesn’t know why and Buffy’s not exactly around to spread the news of what happened that night seeing that she skipped town to go off and do...whatever it is that Slayers do when they run away from her friends.
Out came the sun and dried up all the rain.
“Willow.”
She turns her head, catching a glimpse of a dark, shadowy figure coming towards her.
“Angel.”
The brunet vampire takes another step and she can see that he’s clutching his stomach, holding his guts together. Drops of crimson blood fall from his fingers but vanish instantly as they hit the carpet.
Willow’s eyes crease with concern but she can’t move, can’t go to save him. “Angel…what happened to you?”
“I got my soul back, Willow. I got it back because of you.”
She sees his lips curl upwards slightly right before he crumple to the floor in a heap. Her heart bounces in her chest and her hand shoots up to cover her mouth. “Angel…”
“Too little, too late,” Angel groans, extending his hand towards her. A flicker of flame and a curl of smoke catch his hair, setting him ablaze. He’s dust before she can even blink.
She’s not fast enough to grab him, not fast enough to save him.
That’s what Buffy was supposed to do- is supposed to do.
Buffy’s the Slayer. The Slayer who saves the world. And Willow…Willow’s just a girl in pursuit of knowledge, but the supernatural forces around her sure as hell don’t want her to achieve her goal.
And the itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the spout again.
Shivering, Willow wakes up and breathes deeply. She’s back in her bed. Back under the floral comforter her mother ordered out of some Martha Stewart catalog. But nothing about it feels normal. Not after what she’s learned. Not after the message the dream fairies gave her.
Her spell to save Angel’s soul did work, but at what cost?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2010-03-09 06:46 pm (UTC)