FIC; Dio De Los Muertos(1/2)

[JDMeans@xxxxxxx]

Hey gang! I meant to have this one done before Halloween, but RL interfered. 
So here it is, a couple of days late. Enjoy your leftover Halloween candy 
and hope you like my story. I'm still semi-out of the loop regarding what's 
happening on the show, so forgive any inconsistencies. Oh, and if you still 
like Spike, well, you won't like the ending of this one.

Disclaimer; I don't own Buffy and crew, Joss, UPN and Paramount do. Cole 
Sear was created by M. Night Shyamalin, and is owned by him and Touchstone 
Pictures.

Archives; Just let me know, I have enough ego to say yes.

Spoilers; Season six in general, and some early season seven. Kinda AU after 
'Same Time, Same Place'. And in case you didn't figure it out, it's sort of 
a crossover with 'The Sixth Sense'.

Rating; PG-13 to R

Pairings; Buffy/Willow and Xander/Anya

Feedback; Oh you know I want it! JDMeans@xxxxxxx

Summary; In response to my own recent Day of the Dead challenge. Halloween 
night brings some unexpected visitors to Sunnydale…


Dio De Los Muertos
By Kirayoshi

I can't get to sleep
I think about the implications
Of diving in too deep
And possibly the complications

Especially at night
I worry over situations
I know will be alright
Perhaps it's just my imagination

Day after day it reappears
Night after night my heartbeat shows the fear
Ghosts appear and fade away
--Men At Work
"Overkill"


He sat on the passenger's side of his mother's car, gazing absently out the 
window. His mother occasionally took her eyes off the road and glanced at 
her son. She wondered what he saw as she drove toward Los Angeles to visit 
his aunt. Whatever the twelve-year-old boy saw, she could safely assume it 
wasn't just the landscape.

They had just passed through a small town called Sunnydale en route to their 
destination, and until they went past the sign saying, "Please Come Again" 
the child's body seemed to tense, as though shot through with electricity.  
At one point, they had stopped at a local fast food place, the Doublemeat 
Palace, for a quick bite. As they ate their burgers, she saw the pained 
expression on his face. She couldn't help but lean toward her son and ask, 
"Are you okay, honey?"

"Yeah, mama," the child assured her, but not with conviction. "It's just 
this town. It's noisy."

"Okay," she said simply, not wishing to discuss the matter any further. It 
was over a year since her son revealed his strange gift, how he could see the 
spirits of the dead and communicate with them. She didn't fully understand 
this strange ability, but from what he said about his conversations with her 
late mother, she could not deny that he had this gift.

If indeed 'gift' was the proper word. Cole would gladly give up his gift for 
a chance at a normal life. The dead visited him constantly, to speak of 
their deaths and their lives, to finish some unfinished business, to be 
heard. This town, Sunnydale, was especially haunted. He didn't know if it 
was the location, or simply the fact that it was Halloween, but the ghosts in 
this town were more numerous than in his home in Philadelphia. Many of them 
died violent deaths, some from strange causes. And Cole saw all of them, and 
they wanted to speak to him.

"All I wish," his mother muttered quietly as Cole looked at his half-eaten 
burger, "is that the dead would leave you in peace for one day. Just one 
day."  

As they left their lunches behind, they didn't notice a chestnut haired young 
woman who sat a couple of tables away from them. She sipped her soda and 
watched the child and his mother returning to their car.

Anya nodded toward the boy and his mother and said, "Done."

<<>>

"Hey Buffy."

"Dawn," Buffy smiled as she heard her sister's voice on the telephone.  
"How's the Halloween party at the Bronze going?"

"Kinda slow," Dawn admitted, leaning against the sink in the Bronze's women's 
room, the only place in the club quiet enough for her to use her cellular 
phone. "Janine and I are gonna hang for half-an-hour, then we're cutting 
out. I'm gonna walk her to her place, then head straight home, okay?"

"I dunno," Buffy pursed her lips. "Vamps don't normally go out on Halloween 
for some reason, but I still don't like the idea of you walking alone at 
night."

"Hey," Dawn defended herself. "Janine and I will be fine till we get to her 
house, then it's just a couple of blocks back home from there. And I'll stay 
on well-lit streets all the way."

Buffy paused and thought for a second. "Well, okay. See you in hour?"

"I'll be there. Love ya."

"Love ya back, Dawnie," Buffy smiled as her sister hung up her cel. After 
all that had happened to them over the last couple of years, it was 
gratifying for Buffy to finally succeed in reconnecting with Dawn. Her new 
job as student councilor at Sunnydale High was working out well enough, and 
she finally was able to stop worrying about the bills and the budget and 
build a real relationship with her sister.

If only it were that easy to reconnect with all the people that mattered to 
me, Buffy mused.

It had been nearly a month since Willow had returned from England. Giles had 
called from London to give Willow a clean bill of health, and to assure 
everyone that she wouldn't go ballistic again. And Buffy had hopes of 
getting her best friend back.

But even though she had moved back in with Buffy, Willow just wasn't the 
same. She seldom spoke, and when she did speak, it was halting, almost 
formal, and seldom more than a few words at a time. She hadn't heard a 
single one of Willow's trademark babbles, or even a Willow smile. Sure she 
occasionally smiled, but only with her lips; the smile never reached her 
eyes. It was like everything that made Willow the special person whom Buffy 
called her best friend was leeched out of her, either from the trauma of 
Tara's murder or Willow's descent into darkness or from the ordeal of her 
recovery. All she saw was the shell of the beautiful and vibrant person 
Willow had been.

Buffy's heart went out to Willow, but she didn't know what to say to her.  
Even now with her own life changing for the better, there was still a hole in 
her heart. A large, Willow-shaped hole. And Buffy didn't know how to fill 
that hole.

The chime of the front doorbell brought Buffy out of her melancholy, and the 
young woman grabbed the bowl of Snickers bars by the sofa, and opened the 
door. When she saw who was at the door, Buffy nearly dropped the bowl of 
candy.

"Hi, Buffy," a familiar buxom blond greeted her, waving her hand shyly.

Buffy stood stock still at the door, her eyes snapped wide and her mouth 
hanging open as the candy bowl dropped from nerveless fingers. "T-tara?" she 
whispered.

The ghost at the door smiled. "I thought stuttering was my thing," she 
teased Buffy.

<<>>

London, England

Giles sat in his favorite chair, looking outside his window at the milling 
throng of celebrators in their garish costumes, all celebrating the Feast of 
All Souls, commonly known as Halloween. All Hallow's Eve, he recalled. Dio 
de los Muertos, The Day of the Dead. Buffy was probably either at the Bronze 
with Xander, or at home riding herd over Dawn and her friends. Willow, on 
the other hand, he had no idea.

What are you doing now, my young pupil? Are you sitting alone in meditation? 
Perhaps marking the Feast of Samhain with other wiccans? Mourning Tara?

More and more frequently, Giles' thoughts turned toward the sad young woman 
who left for Sunnydale less than a month ago. He didn't know if she was 
ready or not, but she wanted to go back home, among her friends again. She 
had to return to the place where it went wrong. She had to face her demons.  


Where better to face demons than the mouth of Hell?

Her state was partly his fault, he realized sadly. He should have done more 
for her, tutored her in magic instead of trying to dissuade her from 
practicing it. Magic was a part of her, as much a part of who and what 
Willow was as her appearance or her name. Asking her not to study magic was 
like asking her hair not to be red.

But he feared that she couldn't handle it. He feared that she would become 
another Ripper, that the power would consume her the way it almost consumed 
him during his 'angry teen years'. So he discouraged her at every 
opportunity, even to the point of berating her when she used the Urn of 
Osiris to resurrect Buffy last year. Of course, this only caused her to dive 
deeper into the magic pool, until she nearly drowned in it.

"It's my fault," Giles muttered sorrowfully. "It's all my fault."

"Don't do this, Rupert," a kindly voice replied to his quiet musings. "She 
made her decisions. You are not to blame."

Giles turned quickly, and gaped as he saw a disheveled figure reclining 
casually in his favorite chair, a snifter of brandy in his hand. Despite his 
uncombed gray hair and shaggy chin, he still gave an air of authority, and 
his eyes sparkled with intelligence. Giles stood transfixed, unable to speak 
or to look away as he beheld the man he once called his mentor.

"So, Ripper," Merrick asked cheerfully, "how is Buffy these days? Still a 
pain in the ass?"

<<>>


Xander had just punched out from his job at the construction site for the new 
wing of the Sunnydale Mall and had taken his regular seat at the Espresso 
Pump when the first little monsters emerged from their homes. So far, he had 
seen four Spider-Men, two Green Goblins, three Spongebob Squarepants and one 
Martha Stewart, along with the normal assortment of mummies, ghosts, witches 
and clowns.  

The one person he hadn't seen was Anya.  

And he still wasn't certain whether or nor he wanted to.

He did the right thing, he knew that, by leaving her at the altar. He had 
been shown a dark future, one where he became the very thing he feared most.  
His father. He wouldn't do that to Anya. Better that she be jilted now than 
destroyed later.

But later, when she returned to her old life as a vengeance demon, he 
questioned the wisdom of his actions. Now, he wondered if he was responsible 
for unleashing a greater evil. Man, I thought I was helping her, but now I'm 
second guessing myself. Did I drive her back to D'Hoffryn? Did I make her 
the enemy?

"Hey, how's the mocha here?" someone took the seat opposite of Xander.  
"Still a little light on the chocolate?"

Xander took a sip of his drink. "Yeah, but it still beats anything at 
Starb---" He found himself spitting out his drink as he recognized the figure 
sitting across the table from him. "Jesse! What are you doing here? You're 
dead!"

"Yeah, I know," the sandy-haired young man answered brightly. "I was there, 
remember?"

"This ain't real," Xander gasped, "this is a dream and I'm gonna wake up any 
minute now. This is not real."

"Hey, for the record, Xander," Jesse chuckled, "even if this were a dream, 
which it ain't, I resent being called not real. Of course I'm real.  
Everything's real, right? What's the first law of metaphysics, Mr. Spock?"

Xander couldn't help but laugh as the ghost of his high school friend quoted 
from one of the Star Trek movies at him. Halloween night in Sunnydale, he 
reasoned. What else should you expect? "Nothing unreal exists," Xander 
answered his friend. "But what are you doing here?"

"Oh, unfinished business among the living, that sort of thing." Jesse 
dropped a small key on the table, saying, "I wanted you to have this. I 
can't think of anyone I trust more with this key."

Xander picked up the key, and looked at it. A simple nickel plated key, with 
a small plastic tab attached to it, bearing the name 'Taylor's'. "What's 
this for?"

"You'll find out, buddy," Jesse smiled, before he faded away quietly. Before 
Xander could ask any more questions, Jesse was gone, as silently and as 
subtly as a dream.

Xander leaned back and studied the key once again. "And again, Jesse," he 
muttered to himself, "you've been a font of nothing."

<<>>

"Willow," Amy greeted the young hacker after their wicca group ended their 
weekly meeting, "how is the meditation going?"

Willow lifted her head and smiled weakly at her former classmate. "Slowly, 
Amy. I'm still maintaining control of my magic, but the temptation's still 
strong, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know," Amy sat next to Willow as the redhead stretched her limbs, 
still sore from sitting in lotus for an hour. "I'm still having flashbacks 
from those bad trips that Rack gave me." She lowered her head and took 
Willow's hand in hers. "Hey, I'm sorry I hooked you up with that sleaze.  
Maybe if I hadn't set you up with him, none of that crap would have 
happened."

"No," Willow shook her head, "don't blame yourself for what happened. My 
need for power would have brought me to him sooner or later. I'm just glad 
that you were able to get away from him."

"Hey, you're the one who finally took him out."

"Yeah," Willow puffed absently, her voice weak with sorrow and guilt. "Only 
to take his power and turn it against my friends." Standing up, she shook 
the dust of the floor off of her jeans, and nodded to Amy. "Hey, I'm heading 
for home, you need me to walk you back to the dorm?"

"No, I'm gonna hang here for awhile," Amy smiled. "You go back home, spend 
some quality time with Buffy and Dawn, you'll be fine."

"Yeah," Willow sighed, "but will they?" She smirked for a moment. "I'll see 
you around campus, Amy."

"Merry part and merry meet again," Amy said in farewell.  

Willow clutched her jacket closer to her to ward off a sudden chilly wind as 
she headed back home. No, she corrected herself, back to Buffy's house.  
It's not really home anymore. I don't get one of those.

It had been over three weeks since she came home and she still didn't feel 
right. She hadn't seen her parents, she didn't participate in her classes 
the way she had before, and she still didn't know where she stood with her 
friends. And the wicca group, while friendly enough, was still populated by 
'wanna-blessed-bes'.  

All she wanted was her old life, to be Willow again. Well, you got it, she 
thought morosely. You're back to being the lonely little girl standing 
outside the rest of the world. Just like you were before you first met 
Buffy. Only this time it's deserved.

Of course, Buffy wouldn't think of throwing her out on the street. She 
welcomed her home, chatted with her nightly, and even gave her some of her 
strength to speed her recovery from the skin-eating demon. Willow could 
still feel the remaining vestige of Buffy's strength moving through her, like 
a portion of her best friend now resided in her. That thought brought her 
comfort, but only so much. She still saw Warren's leering face in her 
nightmares, either boasting about how he killed her beloved Tara, or damning 
her for taking his life. And in the deepest recesses of her heart, she knew 
that she deserved damnation for her crimes.

Not wanting to think about it anymore, she picked up her pace, seeking 
shelter from a chilly Sunnydale night. Against her normal common sense, she 
decided to take the short cut through Whetherly Park, and avoid the 
trick-or-treaters. She forced her eyes to stare straight ahead, casting only 
furtive glances left and right at the occasional twig snapping beneath her 
feet.

"Willow-" an eerie voice whispered to her. She tried to ignore the voice.

"Willow-" The voice was louder, more menacing. Willow spun around, pullinga 
stake out of her purse. "Who's there?"

"Hello, Willow," a hoarse voice breathed behind her. "You don't look at all 
well." Willow turned around again, only to face two bloody eyes that stared, 
unblinking at her. The reason that these eyes didn't blink became apparent 
as Willow gazed at the hideous head before her; they had no lids. Indeed the 
entire head was skinless.

Willow backed away, taking in the body before her. He stood before her, 
naked, stripped of all skin, revealing a bloody musculature, and some of the 
internal organs in the stomach cavity. He rather reminded Willow of that 
anatomy model she constructed for a science fair in the fifth grade. "Oh, 
come now, Willow," the skinless man growled at her, "don't you recognize me?"

Willow could feel fear clutching her heart like a cold bony hand.  
"W-warren?" she squeaked.

"In the flesh," he chuckled. "Or not." 

<<>>

Spike swigged down the dregs of his Guinness bottle, tossing the empty glass 
aside absently as he made his way through the graveyard. He spent much of 
his time drunk, or attempting to reach that condition, since he returned from 
Africa. The alcohol deadened the pangs of guilt, the terrible images of his 
past life that threatened to drive him mad.

He wondered if this was how Angel felt when the gypsies first restored his 
soul. The constant guilt, the knowledge of his past crimes, the cringing as 
he heard people screaming in fear from the demons and monsters of Sunnydale, 
each cry of pain a stab at his heart. This was life for a vampire who 
possessed a soul.  

"Yo," a voice called out to the hapless Brit. "Nice jacket."

Spike glanced toward the voice, seeing a tall African-American woman in an 
afro. Blue eyes sparkled with a feral knowledge, almost a predatory gleam.  
"I said, nice jacket. And I should know, considering that it was mine."

Spike blinked at the unwanted visitor, as a jolt of recognition pierced his 
drink-fogged mind. "I know you," he slurred, "you were a Slayer, weren't 
you?"

"Very good, Spike," the woman smiled darkly. "Anything else coming to you?"

"Yeah," Spike pointed at her. "I-I killed you."

"Give that vamp a cee-gar!" She whooped. "The name's Nicky, Spike. You 
killed me in a New York subway car in 1980, and stole my jacket."

"Nicky?" Spike asked, a rush of adrenaline burning out the alcohol in his 
system. He started to back away, tripping on an old tree stump and landing 
gracelessly on his rump. Nicky stepped over his body, standing over him with 
a cold contempt.

"Look at you," she chided. "William the Bloody. The Scourge of Europe. The 
Slayer of Slayers. Man, I must have been way off my game to be iced by a 
loser vamp like you!"

"Look, Nicky," Spike stammered, "I'm sorry about that, but I've changed! I'm 
not the same person from New York-"

"Yeah," Nicky grabbed Spike by the collar, shaking him until his inner ear 
vibrated. "You've gone from being a pathetic vamp to being a pathetic whiner 
with a soul! What did a punk like you ever do to deserve a soul?"

"I did it for Buffy!" Spike tried to crawl away from the dead Slayer. "I 
wanted to give her what she deserves!"

"She's getting what she deserves," Nicky laughed mirthlessly. "But not from 
you! As for what you deserve…" she gestured to her left, "I think I'll leave 
that up to my friends."

Spike screwed his eyes, focusing on the landscape behind Nicky. Slowly, 
shapes emerged, shadowy figures slowly stepped forward, a sea of 
blood-drained bodies, eyes sunken in their sockets, hands bony and pointing 
condemning fingers at the bleached-blond vamp. "They all had souls too," 
Nicky snarled contemptuously at Spike, "but you stole them. Now they want to 
return the favor."

Spike backed away, struggling to his feet, and started to run from the army 
of his victims. Diving behind a tombstone, he wiped his brow, thinking he 
was safe. "Think again," Nicky's voice taunted him, as more lost souls 
converged on Spike. Fleeing in blind terror, Spike stumbled toward his 
crypt. Rushing inside the crypt, he slammed and barred the door, and 
collapsed in an exhausted heap.

"You think you can escape us that easy, Spike?" Nicky's voice boomed from 
every wall and every stone inside the crypt. "We've been a part of you from 
the moment you became the monster you are! We've been screaming inside you, 
unheard for over a century! Now, we're gonna be heard!"

One voice became ten. Ten became a hundred. A hundred became a thousand.  
Ten thousand. Fifty thousand voices and more, each one listing the 
particulars of how Spike had taken a life or stilled a beating heart. How he 
robbed a mother of her daughter, a boy of his father, a husband of his wife, 
a parish of its priest, a town of its children.  

Unable to shut out the terrible litany of his crimes, Spike screamed, and 
screamed until his voice gave way. And still he howled, the agony of guilt 
stripping him of his sanity, his mind.

His soul.

<<>>

"So," Janine started to quiz Dawn as they walked home from the party, "you 
scope out Steve at the Bronze?"

"Steve?" Dawn feigned innocence. "Which one was he?"

Janine rolled her eyes at her friend's seeming ignorance. "Steve Bisette, 
you know, in the Phantom of the Opera costume. Was he not the finest thing 
at the Bronze tonight? And he was eyeing you, girlfriend. He was digging 
your genie costume."

"No way, Steve from the basketball team?" She lifted her veil from her 
costume and cinched her denim jacket a little tighter around her body as a 
slight breeze caused her satin pants to flap around her legs.

"The one and only," Janine giggled. "Trust me, mi amigo, he's in the 
'scoping you out' stage, thinking to himself, 'What to do, what to do.' I 
figure in two weeks we'll see him reach Stage Two, the 'asking out' stage."

"Followed by the 'getting past Buffy' stage," Dawn quipped. "You remember 
Buffy, right? Star of the new hit series, 'Eight Simple Rules for Dating my 
Teenage Sister'."

Janine laughed out loud at Dawn's observations. "Hey, Buffy's cool, and 
Steve's not into anything hinky. He's an athlete, his GPA is higher than 
yours, he's funny, smart, doesn't drink or do drugs…Hey, any cleaner and he'd 
be an Osmond!"

"Yeah, but can he cook?" Dawn challenged. The two friends shared a laugh, as 
they reached the wooden gate in front of Janine's house. "Hey, thanks for 
seeing me home, Dawn."

"No problem," Dawn answered. "You wanna meet up at school early tomorrow?  
We can do some quick cramming before our Social Studies pop quiz."

Janine raised her eyebrow in thought. "I thought that the idea behind a pop 
quiz was that it isn't scheduled, therefore it's a surprise."

"Right. Now if only someone would explain that concept to Mrs. Thompkins, 
who always holds pop quizzes on Fridays." Dawn stopped for a second. "On 
second thought, don't. It'll be our little secret."

"Good idea. See ya at the library tomorrow?"

"I'm there," Dawn nodded. Janine waved a good-bye, and Dawn turned away, and 
headed up the street, toward home.

Home. A simple word that meant so much. Protection, hearth, heart, family 
and friends, all encapsulated in four letters. And so many times in the last 
couple of years, Dawn had come close to losing that home, either to an insane 
goddess, irate vampires or an unpleasant child services employee. Her 
mother's death, Buffy's death and subsequent resurrection, Tara's death and 
Willow's moment of madness, all the events that had changed her life over the 
last year and a half, all threatened to erode Dawn's concept of home.

Now she had her sister back, Willow was back, and things were starting to gel 
again for her. But once in a while, she would catch Willow in an unguarded 
moment, and see the sadness in her green eyes. Or she would notice Buffy and 
Willow staring at each other with more than a filial concern; Buffy perhaps 
staring too long at the swell of Willow's breasts, or Willow's eyes following 
the curve of Buffy's back. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that they 
were checking each other out!

The more that she considered it, the more she warmed to the idea. She had 
always liked Willow before her fall from grace, and had managed to begin 
rebuilding her trust in the young woman. She always regarded Willow as 
something like a foster sister, and a part of her family. Would it be too 
difficult for Willow to actually become a family member?

A rustle in the bushes behind her caught her attention, causing her body to 
assume a defensive posture that Buffy had taught her. She slipped her hand 
inside her purse, taking comfort from the weight of the stake inside. She 
quickened her pace, remaining alert for the slightest sound.

The figure stalking her growled from hunger and lunged toward her. Dawn had 
just enough time to twist around before the vampire landed on her, trying to 
push her to the ground. She fell backward as the vampire attacked, rolling 
on the ground and lifting her leg to kick her attacker off of her and into a 
nearby tree. Quickly scrambling to her feet, she grabbed the stake from her 
purse. The vampire collected himself and charged Dawn, who stood her ground, 
unflinching. "Hey, vamp-boy, do you like apples?" She suddenly parried just 
as the monster was within reach, piercing his unbeating heart. "Well, I just 
dusted you. How do you like them apples?" A cloud of dust whipped past 
Dawn, who smiled smugly at the remains of her fallen foe. "Piece of cake," 
she commented, brushing vamp-dust off of her jacket.

"Nice moves, friend," a deep feminine voice called from behind her, causing 
Dawn to spin around. "Did Buffy teach you that?"

Dawn regarded the stranger guardedly. A woman about Buffy's age, with dark 
brown skin, black hair tied back into a severe pony tail, wearing a white 
muscle shirt and black leather pants. "Uh," Dawn asked, "do I know you?"

"Not personally," the woman answered, and Dawn noticed the thick Jamaican 
accent. "But I knew your sister." Extending her hand to Dawn for a 
handshake, she announced, "I am Kendra."

Dawn gasped slightly, as she took the woman's hand. She was surprised to 
feel a solid hand, especially considering who she was speaking to. "Buffy 
told me about you," Dawn said casually. "Mainly that you were dead."

"Yes, I know," Kendra answered. "Drucilla was too tough for me to beat 
alone."

"Yeah," Dawn whistled calmly. "Uh, no offense, but why are you here, 
tonight?"

"Where else should a ghost be on Halloween?" Kendra answered. "There's one 
night where ghosts walk among the living, Dawn."

"I guess," Dawn admitted.

"Listen, my friend," Kendra told the younger girl, "My time is short, and you 
must hear me. You are a capable girl. You have much power that you still 
haven't harnessed. And that power will be needed in time. I cannot tell you 
what is going to happen, but a storm is coming. Buffy, your friends and 
family, they will all need you. And you will need them." The ghost of the 
dead Slayer began to shimmer, to fade away. "Take care, Dawn. Be there for 
your sister…"

Dawn stood alone on the sidewalk, pondering what Kendra had said to her.  
Slowly placing her stake back in her purse, she resumed her trek home.  
"Man," she whispered, "I can't wait to tell Buffy about this!"

<<>>

Part two will be out in a minute. I had to cut it in half to fit the email.

Kirayoshi