The urge usually hit him late at night. He called them his 'attacks' and they
came most often when he was lying in bed trying to sleep. They came when it
felt like the whole world was sitting on his shoulders and each time they came;
it was that much harder to shake them off. The urge was strong. The urge was to
To run and leave everything behind, the Slayer, the children, the Hellmouth, the latest apocalypse, his duty, his responsibilities, his burden. To run and keep running, until it all disappeared. To shake off the eyes that kept looking at him to save them, to hold them, to make it all go away. He wanted to run from the screams and the pain and the failures.
But more than that, he wanted to run away from the loneliness of having to carry this burden alone. He wanted to run away from the emptiness in his bed, in his arms, and in his heart.
The urge to run was strong, but it was easily quashed. He stayed and fought and carried on, hoping one day when the urge hit him, he would have someone to run to.