The bus smelled like old vinyl and dust, sunlight streaking through the grimy windows. Kids shoved past me, laughing and shouting, their voices bouncing off the metal walls. I lingered at the edge of the crowd, my bag heavy on my shoulder. I tried to slip away and go to the hospital before anyone noticed.
I took a step back toward the parking lot—freedom was right there—when Principal Flutie's voice cut through the noise.
"Damien!" Too cheerful, way too cheerful. "Field trip means everyone participates. No exceptions."
"I'd rather not," I muttered, shifting my weight, hoping he'd let me vanish.
Flutie's smile didn't falter. "Nonsense. You'll love it. Educational, bonding, fresh air. Now, hop on."
His hand guided me firmly up the steps before I could argue. The bus door hissed shut behind me, sealing me in.
Rows of students filled the seats, chatter spilling everywhere. Flutie scanned the crowd, then pointed like he was assigning me a destiny. "Right there. Next to Buffy Summers. Perfect spot."
Buffy looked up as I slid into the seat beside her. Her eyes narrowed slightly, sharp and assessing. She shifted, giving me space but not warmth.
"Guess you're stuck with me," I said, voice edged with irony.
She did not respond.
I dropped my bag at my feet, staring out the window. "Not my choice."
Buffy smirked faintly. "Yeah, well, welcome to the club. None of us chose the zoo either."
The bus lurched forward, the chatter rising around us. I kept my eyes on the glass, the reflection of my own face staring back tiredly.
The bus rattled as it pulled away from the school, the vinyl seats sticking to my arms, the air thick with chatter. I kept my eyes on the window, watching Sunnydale blur past, wishing I'd slipped out before Flutie shoved me inside.
Buffy shifted beside me, her shoulder brushing mine. "You don't look thrilled about this."
I smirked faintly. "Guess I'm not the zoo type."
She tilted her head, studying me. "What type are you then?"
"The type that doesn't like cages," I muttered.
Her eyes narrowed, catching the edge in my voice. "That's… cryptic."
I shrugged, keeping my gaze on the glass. "So is this town."
Buffy leaned back, arms crossed. "You know, you're not exactly subtle. Last night you fought like someone who's been hiding secrets. And today you're acting like you'd rather be anywhere but here."
I tightened my grip on my bag. "Maybe I would."
She didn't look away. "You dropped a name last night. Darla. Who is she?"
The word cut sharp, twisting in my chest. "She's someone I need to kill."
Buffy's brows lifted, her tone sharpening. "That's not exactly casual conversation material."
"She's not casual," I said flatly. "She's dangerous."
Buffy studied me, her expression unreadable. "Dangerous how?"
"She's a vampire."
Buffy's jaw tightened; her voice dropped low. "I saw it yesterday, that rage on your face. You looked like you wanted to tear her apart like a mad dog."
I turned to her, meeting her gaze. "Isn't that the job? To kill them?"
The bus jolted over a bump, kids laughing in the back, oblivious. But between us, the silence was sharp, heavy, and charged.
"First of all, it's my job. And second… I've never hated a vamp that much." Buffy said
I turned to her, meeting her gaze. "Well, maybe you haven't suffered enough to hate like that."
Her eyes flashed, offended. "Excuse me? You don't get to measure my suffering. You don't know anything about me."
The words hit harder than I expected, sharp and raw. I looked away, the silence between us thick. Kids laughed in the back, oblivious, but Buffy's anger burned beside me like a live wire.
The brakes squealed, jolting me forward. Kids pressed against the windows, voices rising with excitement. Ahead, the zoo gates loomed—iron bars, faded banners.
The doors hissed open, and students spilled out. Buffy stood quickly, jaw tight, still refusing to look at me. Willow appeared at her side, her smile soft, curious eyes flicking toward me.
"Hi, Damien," she said, her voice gentle, almost hopeful.
I opened my mouth to answer, but Buffy's hand shot out, gripping Willow's arm. Her face was sharp and angry, her eyes burning. "Let's go," she snapped.
Willow blinked, startled, glancing between us. But Buffy didn't give her a choice. She pulled her toward the aisle, her leather jacket brushing students as they stepped off the bus together.
The crowd spilled through the gates, voices sharp with excitement, sneakers squeaking against the pavement. Teachers barked instructions, corralling kids into groups, but I slipped toward the edge, keeping my distance.
I found a corner near the entrance. From there, I could watch everyone without being seen. Willow laughed as she walked beside Buffy. Cordelia strutted ahead, already complaining about the smell.
I stayed apart, my bag heavy at my side, the knife inside pressing against me like a reminder. The cages loomed in the distance, iron bars glinting in the sun, animals pacing restlessly.
I hated it. The confinement. The waiting. The sense of being trapped.
My ribs ached with every breath, but it wasn't the pain that gnawed at me—it was the thought of my mother lying in that hospital bed, still asleep, still fragile. Every minute here was a minute stolen from her.
I leaned against the wall, eyes fixed on the crowd, silently begging the trip to end quickly. Let them finish their tour, let them laugh at the animals, let them waste their time. I just want to leave. I need to see her. I need to know if she is awake or not.
2 hours later
The sun was already sliding lower when we filed back toward the bus. The smell of animals clung to my clothes, the echo of cages still rattling in my head. I kept to the back of the line, ribs aching, bag heavy at my side.
The students were buzzing, voices sharp with excitement—stories about monkeys, lions, and snakes. Normal chatter. I didn't join in.
I climbed the steps slowly, the bus groaning under the weight of returning bodies. The vinyl seats were just as sticky and the air just as stale. I dropped into a corner seat, away from the others, pressing my shoulder against the window.
Buffy was sitting alone near the end. I dropped into the seat beside Buffy again; her jaw was tight, and her eyes were fixed forward. She didn't look at me, didn't say a word. The silence between us was heavier than the cages we'd just left behind.
From the seat behind us, Xander leaned forward, his grin fading. "So… you two look like you're about to kill each other. Should I move before the claws come out?"
Buffy shot him a glare. "Not funny, Xander."
He raised his hands in mock surrender, but his tone shifted—less joking, more serious. "I'm just saying, whatever's going on, maybe don't tear each other apart on a school bus. We've got enough monsters waiting for us outside."
I turned slightly, meeting his eyes. He wasn't grinning anymore. There was something sharper there—concern, maybe, or suspicion.
"You think I'm the problem," I said flatly.
Xander shrugged, his voice lower now. "I think you've got a lot of secrets. And secrets in Sunnydale? They usually end with blood."
Buffy crossed her arms, still refusing to look at me. "He's not wrong."
The words stung, sharper than I wanted to admit. I leaned back against the seat, staring out the window as the town blurred past.
Xander didn't press further, but his silence was different now—watchful, guarded. His attitude had shifted from clown to skeptic, and I could feel his eyes on me even when he leaned back.
Buffy stayed rigid beside me, her anger simmering. And me? I just wanted the ride to end, to get off this bus, to see my mother at the hospital before the shadow's laughter drowned me completely.
Xander leaned forward again, his voice low but edged. "You know, Damien, I did not like what you said to her earlier."
I turned slightly, meeting his eyes. "How did you?"
Xander's grin was gone. His tone had shifted from clown to something harder. "Willow told me, see, that's the problem. You're here, sitting next to her again, acting like you belong. But you don't. And if you hurt her—if you even think about it—I'll make sure you regret it."
Buffy shot him a look, half warning, half weary. "Xander—"
But he didn't back down. His eyes stayed locked on me, his voice steady. "I'm serious. You're a prey, Damien. And where are the hunters?"
I clenched my jaw, staring back at him. "You think you can do it?"
Xander leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. "I could do worse. I'll be watching. Every move you make."
Buffy shifted, her anger flaring again. "Enough. Both of you." She turned toward the window, shutting us out, but the tension didn't fade.
The bus rattled on, laughter spilling from the back rows, but between the three of us, the air was heavy, charged.
I leaned back, eyes on the glass, the reflection of my own face staring back—tired, tense, and already haunted. Let him watch. Let her hate me. Darla will die, and none of them will stop me.
The bus screeched into the school lot, brakes whining, voices spilling out as kids rushed for the doors. Buffy shot up first, Willow close behind, her arm caught in Buffy's grip. Neither of them looked back at me.
I rose slower. The crowd poured onto the pavement, laughter echoing, but I kept my head down, slipping past them toward the street.
The air outside was cooler and sharper. I didn't turn toward home—I couldn't. My mother was waiting, fragile and silent in that hospital bed.
I started walking, each step pulling me closer to Sunnydale Hospital.
But I felt it—the weight of eyes on me.
I glanced back once, and there he was. Xander. Standing near the bus, arms crossed, this morning's smile vanished like someone else's. He wasn't joking now. He was watching me, steady, suspicious, like he was waiting for me to slip.