COPYRIGHT: �October 2001
RATING: �PG
SPOILERS: �All of the Buffy canon, specifically "Bargaining."
DISCLAIMER: �I don't own any of the characters from BTVS or ANGEL. �They're owned by Joss Whedon (who ought to treat them nicer), MutantEnemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, David Greenwalt, the WB, UPN, Fox, etc.
SUMMARY: �Buffy returns from the dead.
NOTES: �First let me say that this was inspired by Trixie Firecracker's wonderful ficlet, "Through Fire," although I don't bring Angel back into Buffy's life, as she did, because I'm waiting to see what actually happens with Angel and Buffy on the show(s). �
THANKS: �To Anja, for being the best beta and for her encouraging words. �Thanks, sweetie! *hugs*
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����What - ?
����Sudden awareness, with no memory of what came before. �
������A jolt, like you get when you're just dropping off to sleep then suddenly you feel like you're falling and your whole body jerks. �I open my eyes.
������Where - ?
������It's black, pitch dark, and I can't see a thing. �I breathe in and the air is old, stale, with a mustiness to it that seems familiar. �I'm lying on something soft . . . not soft like a mattress is soft because right beneath it I can feel something hard, but whatever I'm lying on is . . . smooth, that's the word, like silk. �Or satin.
������I blink but I still see only blackness, thick and impenetrable. �I raise a hand to rub my eyes and it brushes against something only a few inches above my face. �Cautiously I press my fingers against it. �It's another hard surface blanketed by something soft and silky. �My heart begins to beat hard. �Further explorations confirm the horrifying truth that I don't want to believe. �I'm lying in a box, a box with a puffy, satin-covered interior.
������Like the one we buried Mom in.
������I push hard now, both palms flat against the lid, but nothing yields, not the slightest bit. �I can sense immense density above me, pressing down, claustrophobic and crushing. �Oh, God, no! �Please no!��I'm panting now, harsh, loud gasps that race with my pounding heartbeat. �My finger catches in a tiny slit in the satin and I feel it tear. �Frantically I rip away at the cloth, and feel bare wood. �I start punching at it with my fists, mindless in my panic. �The air is growing worse and bright starbursts flicker in and out of my vision; my chest is burning.
����Wood gives way to something damp yet crumbly . . . Soil. �No! �Oh my God, how can this be happening? �The sounds coming from my lips, thin, breathless, strangled sobs, are barely human, they're more like something an animal would make. �My frenzied hands are tunneling through earth, clawing out handful after handful of dirt and other things, gritty things, slimy things. �And it's all pouring down over my chest and stomach and legs and I'm choking because there's no more air and I - can't - breathe! �Then all at once my hands grasp - nothing! �It takes a second for me to realize that I've broken through the barrier of earth and that air - cool, fresh, blessed air - is wafting in.
������It's only a moment's work to enlarge the opening and then I'm pulling myself up and out, my legs scrabbling for leverage, until I'm lying out in the open, gasping and shaking so much that I can't even move for several long minutes, not until the panic recedes and I can breathe without coughing and tears have washed my eyes of dust so I can see again. �Although as I finally begin to look around me I realize my vision is still cloudy in spots. �And all the time I'm lying panting on the damp ground my brain is screaming, "Who did this to me? �Who buried me alive? �Where am I?"
������I look around and see that I'm in a small grassy clearing surrounded by woods. �Vaguely I notice candles spilled on the ground, as though dropped there. �Nothing looks familiar. �Shakily I get to my feet, still gazing around me for some clue to tell me where I am. �I turn - and then I see it.
������A headstone, exactly like the countless others I've seen in the cemeteries I patrol so diligently. �I blink, blearily trying to read the words engraved on its face:
Buffy Anne Summers
1981 - 2001
*
Beloved Sister
Devoted Friend
*
She Saved The World
A Lot
������Buffy Anne Summers? �Buffy . . . ? �I don't understand. �That's me. �It's my name on the headstone! �Dizziness spirals through me and I feel like falling, but somehow I manage to stay upright. �I have to find them, Giles and Willow and Xander, and tell them it's a mistake. �I'm not dead, I'm alive! �Oh my God, Dawnie! �She thinks I'm -
������The moment I think Dawn's name something opens inside my brain. �It all comes rushing back - and I remember. �Everything. �I remember about the Key and Glory and the tower. �Again I see Dawn's blood pooling around her feet and her desperation. �("I have to jump!" �"It'll kill you." �"Look at what's happening!") �I remember the magickal storm raging around us as Glory's portal opened, the rumble of thunder and the sizzle of lightning striking and fissures in the earth splitting open with deafening cracks. �And people screaming.
������I remember the First Slayer's words ringing over and over in my mind, "Death is your gift," and finally, for the first time, understanding what they meant. �I remember Dawn's tears and then diving off the tower platform, and the crackle of magickal forces searing my body. �And then - nothing.
������Until I woke to find myself in a coffin.
������Instinctively I take a step backward, then I turn, fighting the knowledge my brain is screaming at me. �It's true; the headstone isn't wrong. �I'm dead. �My steps are stumbling at first, awkward, and I wonder if this is how all dead people wake up in the afterlife, thinking that they're still alive and clawing their way out of their graves in a bizarre, symbolic ritual of rebirth. �I wonder if all dead people think they still feel their hearts beating and their lungs breathing in and out, the way I am. �I wonder if they all feel as numb as I do. �I wonder again where I am. �Is this - heaven?
����Things kind of fade out for a while, until loud engines roar, rousing me from my stupor. �I look up as motorcycles stream past me, their riders smashing cars and windows as they pass. �The crash of shattering glass fills my ears, and harsh, wild laughter, and I realize the riders are demons of some kind. �I also realize that at some point I wandered out of the woods and onto a paved street. �
������In the distance I hear more motorcycles and demonic laughter and there's a leaping red glow that tells me something's on fire. �Probably more cars, like the ones littering this street with their windows smashed and their doors caved in from immense blows. �I start walking in that direction, I'm not sure why except that I'm so confused and the demons are the only form of life I've seen so far. �Maybe, I think (and my brain is muzzy), maybe they can tell me what this place is. �It sure isn't like any kind of afterlife I've ever dreamed about.
������Except in my nightmares, where even after death I'm doomed to fight demons endlessly, without respite no matter how exhausted or heartsick I become, until the end of time. �I feel like I'm in one of those nightmares now when I approach a large circle of the demons and see what they've captured.
������It's me. �Oblivious to the yells and cheers around me, I stare, sure that my eyes must be playing tricks on me. �But, no, it's me, all right. �I recognize myself, no mistake there. �I could be looking in a mirror - except for the clothes. �For the first time I look down at the clothing covering *this* body. �I don't remember the dress, with its cool, black elegance, or the slingback shoes, also black with tiny, ridiculous heels. �I think with one corner of my mind that if I had to fight or run in them I'd probably break my ankle. �I gaze again at the other me, and recognize the white sweater top and dark pants - they were what I was wearing when I jumped from the tower.
������Everything starts to run together. �Dizziness again makes my head swim. �Am I really Buffy, or is the real me that other one, the one the demons have taken prisoner? �The one, I now notice, who has chains wrapped around both wrists and both ankles. �That doesn't look good, I think vaguely. �Just then several engines rev up, earsplitting and grating. �I look again and realize that the chains around the other Buffy (who seems strangely calm about everything) are attached to four motorcycles, and it's these that have just gunned their engines. �Her eyes meet mine, and I see her surprise, and then she mouths my name: �"Buffy?" �Before I can do anything (what would I do?) the bikes take off. �In a split-second the chains tighten - and the other Buffy is pulled to pieces before my horrified eyes.
������"NO!" �The scream hangs in the air. �Suddenly I'm surrounded by silence and as demon heads swivel en masse in my direction I realize that I was the one who screamed, but I'm staring in shock at the wires and things protruding from the body fragments on the street. �It wasn't me that just got dismembered, it was the Buffybot, �Spike's mechanical love-toy that he had made so he could live out his disgusting fantasy of being in love with me.
�������The head demon also turns his attention to me. �"Well," he leers, "here's another one for the fire." �I jerk my head up and my heart begins to thump again, pounding against my chest. �Wait, it can't be doing that; I'm dead. �Then the demon leader yells, "Tear her!" but before anyone can make a move toward me instinct takes over and I'm running, as fast as I can, forgetful of the unsuitable shoes I'm wearing, mindless of anything except the need to escape.
������It seems like forever before I'm able to get away from them by scrambling over a tall, solid wall they can't manage due to their bikes. �I land on the other side, stumble, and fall to my knees. �I look up, ready to run again. �My adrenaline is on maximum high.
������They're standing there. �Xander. �Anya. �Willow. �Tara. �With weapons in their hands and strain showing on their faces. �I stare. �What are they doing here, in - well, wherever this is? �I shake my head a little, trying to make some sense of this senseless and terrifying world I've landed in.
������"It's the Buffybot," says Tara. �Xander cracks some barbed joke I don't pay attention to because Willow's looking at me with shocked awareness in her eyes. �
������"Buffy?" she says, her voice high and thin.
������I can't answer because her disbelief washes over me like acid. �The remaining three look back and forth from Willow to me, and then their faces change too. �I can't stand it, don't want to see the horror in their expressions, so I run. �Again. �They shout my name but I find a dark corner and huddle into it, shivering, wringing my hands. �They're wet. �I wonder vaguely why, then realize it's because they're bleeding. �My nails are torn, my fingers and knuckles scraped raw, and I can feel the sharp bite of splinters everywhere, but there's no pain, only terrible emptiness and fear and confusion.
������They've followed me. �They form a circle and look at me, saying my name. �"What's wrong with her?" I hear Anya ask, and I cover my ears and hide behind my hair. �Don't they know I'm dead? �Aren't they the ones who buried me? �Why am I here? �What's going on? �My teeth are chattering and Xander says something about being stupid and about a spell and resurrection and a coffin, and then they're all squatting before me and words are coming out of their mouths but it's all just noise to me, like the shouts and screams and engines I can still hear in the distance. �Leave me alone! I want to shout at them, at this whole world that's obviously a war zone. �I don't understand anything that's happening! �Go away and leave me alone!
������Then something penetrates the fog of disorientation and fear that's clouding my mind. �"We brought you back, Buffy. �You're home."
������I grow very still, and slowly lift my head. �My vision is still cloudy and I can see my friends only dimly. �"You're home," Xander repeats. �I stare at him, unable to comprehend his meaning.
������Home? �He's telling me that this nightmare of demons and destructions is Sunnydale? �That somehow Glory's portal didn't close, after all? �That I died for nothing? �I want to throw up, but just then a voice breaks in. �A harsh, croaking voice that grates down my spine like steel claws.
������"Yeah, welcome home, Slayer." �It's the demon leader, and he's got a bunch of his friends with him. �"Alive and kicking after all!" �An evil grin twists his lips. �"Well, alive anyway. �Not looking too good though, is she?"
������Once more the world blurs and sounds dissolve into meaningless noise - until I hear a cry of pain. �It came from Willow, lying in a crumple where she landed after the demon hit her. �Tara's bent over her, and I see the fear in her face. �Xander's on his back too, following a failed attempt to battle the demon. �Slowly I lift my eyes to the demon, and I hear him threatening the girls with rape and torture. �Something stirs deep inside me, sluggishly.
������"So," he's saying, "who's gonna go first?" �I stand up and slowly walk over to where he's standing. �He laughs. �"Good! �I was really hoping it would be you." �He lashes out and my head rocks back. �For the first time since waking up in this nightmare I feel pain. �Physical pain.
������With an effort I raise my hand and touch my lip. �I look down. �There's fresh blood on my fingertips. �Blood from my split lip. �The sting of it, and the sight and taste of the blood, fuel the spark growing within. �I raise my eyes. �He lashes out again - and I easily catch his fist in my hand. �Disbelief flickers in his eyes, but before he can react my blow sends him flying. �He lands on his back, hard, and doesn't move. �Another demon starts for me. �I take a couple of running steps and kick him in the face, and he smacks into the wall with a force that stuns him. �He slides down to the ground, unmoving.
������After that it's a melee, with Willow and Tara and Anya and Xander all joining in, just like old times. �Slayer reflexes take over completely, and with grim gladness I give in to them. �Now I don't have to think, all I need to do is act. �I dodge fists and chains and clubs, raining blows and kicks on the demons, and I'm doing it all mechanically, in an unthinking adrenaline fog. �After a while I look around me and realize the demons are all done for. �They're either dead or unconscious. �And the Scoobies are once again gathered together, looking at me.
������"She's Buffy," Xander says, and his voice is glad. �"She's herself again."
������I stare at him, wondering what on earth he can mean. �How can I be myself again, when I'm dead now? �He steps forward. �"It's true, Buff. �You're really back." �He takes another step, and I back away. �He stops, his face clouding with concern.
������I'm back? �No, I'm dead. �I know I'm dead because I remember dying and because I saw my grave. But if I'm dead, then what is this place? �It's obviously not heaven, so - Once again I feel sick to my stomach. �I turn and walk away, leaving them behind.
������A scuffling noise comes from behind me. �Without thinking I turn and grab the demon rushing me. �Using his own momentum I hoist him into the air and send him sailing. �He lands hard and struggles for a moment, keening, then grows limp, a pipe now growing out of his chest, glistening with his blood. �But I'm not looking at him anymore because I see something in the distance. �It rears high above the town, steely and menacing.
������Glory's tower. �The one she built to sacrifice Dawn on. �The one I jumped from, dying to save my sister and the world. �Dying, so I could wake into chaos. �I find myself climbing upward, hearing the structure groan and creak as I go. �Why am I doing this? �I reach the platform and walk out to the end and look down. �Down, far down . . . to the pavement below, the pavement my body must have ended up on even though I have no memory of hitting it. �I close my eyes.
������(The roar of the portal opening and the glimpse of faces looking through it, faces that chill my blood, beings just waiting for the opening to be complete so they can come through it and occupy our world. �Dawn, pleading with me not to do it. �Telling her it was what I had to do, but that she had to be strong and live, for me. �Diving off the platform, soaring into the white, crackling light . . . . )
������("Buffy, no!")
������Still caught up in memory, I whisper, "I have to." �I hear her voice again. �"Buffy?" �It takes a moment to get through my abstraction, but then I turn and see her. Dawn.
������"Buffy. �How - ?" �Her eyes fill with tears. �"Is it you? �I mean, really you?" �Her voice breaks and the suspicion that I've been trying to push down and ignore ever since I first saw the demons on their motorcycles can no longer be denied. �I know where I am now. �I don't know why I'm here, but it's the only explanation I can think of that fits. �Shaken and fighting nausea, I turn again and stare down at the concrete below. �The tower sways as she takes a step toward me.
������"No!" �It's almost a scream. �"Don't jump!" �I would, if I thought it would do any good, but I know it would be futile. �I'd just end up here again. �"Just walk to me. �Please." �I stay where I am, gazing downward, longing for the peace of oblivion. �"I'm your sister. �Dawn. �We were here, together, and then you - went away. �But you don't want to do that again!" �Now there's fear in her voice. �"I don't know how you're back, but you are. �So, please, just stay still!"
������The tower shakes again, and I hear a gasp. �"Or, or move! �But, toward me! �Because this tower was built by crazy people and I don't think it's holding up too well!" �
������I almost smile.. �Crazy people. �I'd say that's the understatement of the year.
������"Buffy, talk to me. ��Please. �Say something."
������"Is this hell?" �I sound as lost as I feel.
������"What?" �As if she can't believe what I've said.
������I face her. �"This is hell, isn't it? �I'm in hell." �Why? I wonder in despair. �I fought evil demons for five years. �I died twice to save the world. �Was my life before I was Called as the Slayer so bad that I deserve to go to hell because of it?
������She gasps and her eyes grow wide with horror. �"No! �Buffy, no! �You're here, with me, and whatever happened to you, wherever you've been - it's over now." �Again the tower sways, the creaks and groans a terrifying counterpoint to the motion. �She shrieks, "We have to get off this tower!"
������The concrete below looks so calm. �Peaceful. �"It was so clear," I mumble. �"I remember . . . how shiny and . . . clear . . . everything was. �Now - ��Now. . . ."
������"Buffy - " �Dawn's voice cracks. �"Please, listen to me. You told me I had to be strong and I've tried. �But it's so hard without you! �I'm sorry."
������My certainty is shaken. �It looks like Dawn and sounds like her. �Could a demon really act so convincingly, with such emotion? �I try to remember what Angel told me about being in hell, and I realize he never talked about it. �Refused to talk about it, really. �Then I think, If this is really hell Angel would be here. �A demon pretending to be Angel, I mean. �Because I love him. �Why would they show me Xander and Willow and Dawn, but not Angel �Or Giles? �Or Mom? �
������"Buffy, please," she (Dawn?) continues, "I promise I'll do better. �I will- if you're with me. �Please, stay! �I need you to live." �I hear her crying, and now I know that this is real. �I'm not in hell, I'm in Sunnydale. �Home.
������I still feel numb. �Then something crashes down and Dawn screams. �Instinctively I whirl around. �"Dawn!" �I run to her and the next few minutes are a blur of crashes and a thick cable in my hand and falling. �The next thing I'm really aware of is lying on the ground and seeing a large portion of the tower appearing out of the sky, right above us.
������I grab Dawn and we scramble to safety as the platform crashes down. �Then Dawn's gazing into my eyes and tears are falling down her cheeks. �She touches my cheek and says, "Buffy, you're really here. �You're home." �Then she pulls me close and holds me tight.
������I let her embrace me and soak my shoulder with her tears, but all the while I'm wondering bleakly what all this means. �Why am I alive again? �And behind it all, one thought slowly coalesces.
������Angel.
������First it's just his name, but then the memories come, not singly but in a massive wave that takes my breath away. �("When I'm around you all I can think about is how much I want to kiss you" - "When I look at the future, all I see is you. �All I want is you" - "I want to take comfort in you, and I know it will cost me my soul and part of me doesn't care!" - "In two hundred and forty-three years I've loved exactly one woman" - "Are you still my girl?" - �"Always.")
������And I know that one of the first things I have to do is call him. �Because he's the only one who might understand what I'm going through.
