| Summer Crossover Series 2003: Tear in My Hand By Kuzibah |
| A Buffy/Sandman (comic series) Crossover Disclaimer: Dawn and other characters and situations particular to "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and other individuals and corporate bodies. Dream (Morpheus), Death and other associated materials are the property of Neil Gaiman and DC Comics (Vertigo Division). No copyright infringement is intended or implied. Introduction to the Series: Well, Buffy has at last come to an end, and while I will most likely continue to write Angel fanfic, it has been suggested that I expand my options. In that interest, my fanfic series this summer will give me an opportunity to explore other fandoms through a series of crossovers with Buffy and Angel characters. Some will be less serious than others... Introduction to "Tear in Your Hand": When Dawn was last seen, she was riding away from the remains of Sunnydale with Buffy and the surviving Scoobs and Potentials. Dream, as imagined by Neil Gaiman, is based on the Morpheus of Greek myth, a God who presides over the realm of dreams. Death is his sister. They have several other siblings, incidentally: Destiny, Desire, Despair, Delirium (who was once Delight), and Destruction (known as the Prodigal). The series ran about 80 issues, with several shorter arcs, and they have since been collected in a series of graphic novels. Since completing the comic series, Gaiman has become an acclaimed author, and has won numerous fiction prizes, including the prestigious Hugo Award (for American Gods, 2001). He has also written for television and film. I want to be just like him when I grow up. Visit Neil Gaiman�s homepage here: NeilGaiman.com Rating: PG Archive- Please email request. Feedback- Absolutely. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* I tell you there�re pieces of me you�ve never seen� ~Tori Amos *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* "Where do you think the couch should go?" Buffy said, and Dawn looked up. "Huh?" Buffy sighed and set down her end of the navy "Fagelbo" sofa-bed they'd picked up at IKEA. Xander did the same, and dropped onto the end, wiping the sweat from his face. Buffy came up behind her sister and gave her a little hug around the shoulders. "You okay, Dawn?" she asked softly. "It's just weird here," Dawn said. "When we moved to Sunnydale, we at least had all our own furniture, but nothing here is ours." "Sure it is," Buffy said with mock-brightness. "It says 'Summers' right on the receipt." Dawn gave a weak smile and Buffy hugged a little tighter. "Give it a little time," Buffy said. "Once the cushions have softened up, and your clothes are all over the bedroom floor, it'll be a little bit better." Dawn nodded, but said nothing. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Buffy and Dawn unpacked their carry-alls, the few possessions they'd managed to carry away from the hole formerly known as Sunnydale. It had been over a month, and they'd only just now been able to bring themselves to go through these things they'd carried, but now that they had a new apartment, new furniture, and new clothes, they had run out of excuses to put it off. They'd decided to do it together, formalizing it, sharing any feelings that arose to maybe take away the sting. Maybe. They hoped. On top, they both had a stuffed animal: stuffed-pig Mr. Gordo for Buffy, yellow terry cat Ginger for Dawn. They exchanged a sad, knowing smile. Next, Buffy had clothes, only a few pieces, her favorites. There was a party dress her mother had given her, and a lavender tank top with sparkly she always thought brought out her eyes. She grinned at the thought of the cowboy hat and silly backless tops that were now gone forever. What had she been thinking? Dawn removed her journal, restarted after her mother's death when she'd needed the outlet of putting her feelings down in tangible form. They both removed trinkets and jewelry and mementos that meant nothing to anyone else, placing them gently, reverently around them on the couch, the tables, the floor. In the bottom, Buffy found what she'd been looking for, really: her photo collection, carefully pressed between sheets of tissue paper in a sturdy cardboard box. She'd taken them out of the frames to save space, and leafed through them, now, placing them carefully on the floor before her. An 8x10 of her and Willow and Xander from sophomore year. Her prom portrait. Snapshots of picnics and parties and just hanging out. A formal engagement photo of her mother, done years before. Her parents' wedding pictures, and baby pictures of her and Dawn. Then, in the bottom, a series of quickly snapped polaroids done when she realized they might not all make it out. Willow trying to look brave. Xander actually looking brave, with his arms crossed. Anya with her usual expression- partly confused, partly annoyed. Giles looking strong and wise, his glasses dangling from one hand. Dawn caught with one hand smoothing down her hair. Dawn snatched the last picture from Buffy's hand. "What did you take this for?" she snapped, waving it accusingly. It was Spike, on his wire cot in the basement, in his usual black t-shirt and jeans. He wore the expression they'd become used to in the past year, a smug grin that stopped at his eyes, which seemed lost and haunted. "I don't want any pictures of him in the house," Dawn said. Exploiting her slayer speed, Buffy took it deftly back, saying nothing. "He tried to rape you," Dawn said. "But he didn't," Buffy said calmly. "Then he went and got a soul." "What difference does that make," Dawn said. "All the difference," Buffy told her. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Buffy put the pictures away, and moved to sit beside Dawn. She told Dawn about her conflicted feelings for Spike, and what she thought Spike felt for her, and Dawn, too. She told her what they had done, and how she'd felt about it when it happened, and now with the perspective of time and loss. She was honest, realizing herself that she had never been entirely so, even to herself. She let Dawn ask questions, and the conversation drifted to others they had lost: Tara and Anya and their mother. They held one another, and cried. Finally, Dawn pled the late hour and went to bed, but she still was torn by grief and guilt. Hot, bitter tears ran from her eyes, and her breath came in shuddering sobs. Spike had been tortured for her, had pledged his life to care for her. Had sacrificed himself when one he hated was willing to do so, and died believing he was unwanted and unloved. She did not know how much time had passed when she looked up to see a young man standing by her bed. His face was pale, and his long black hair stood up in spikes around his head. He was dressed all in black, but Dawn couldn�t quite make out the style. It looked like a long coat or robe, but it didn�t seem to hold still long enough for her to see. Only after several moments staring did she realize she had no fear of him at all. �Such sorrow, little one,� he said. �The foundations of the worlds are weeping.� �Who are you?� Dawn said. �My given name is Morpheus, but those who know me well simply call me Dream. Don�t you remember?� The black-haired man shook his head. "I see that you do not. They took away what you were before.� �A key,� Dawn said bitterly. �Just a blob of green energy.� �Have you forgotten so much?� Dream said. �In the spaces between the worlds where the endless and nearly endless dwell, such boundaries do not exist. Living, not living. Aware, unaware. Corporeal, spirit. These mortal concepts have no meaning.� Dawn thought on this. �You mean I was a� self-aware blob of energy?� Dream smiled kindly. �Human eyes and human minds saw you only as energy. They weren�t able to see the real key. And now that you are one of them, you aren�t able to remember. Pity.� Dawn sat up, excited. �Tell me,� she said. �Explain it to me.� �Would that ease your unhappiness, little one? I do not think so. The pain of keyness is long over. This grief is new.� �But if I remembered,� Dawn said, �I might remember other things. Things that would answer the questions in my head.� "And what questions would those be?� "The big questions," Dawn said. "Where do we come from? Why are we here?" Her voice grew very quiet. "What happens to us when we die?" she said. Dream held out his hand. "Come with me, then," he said. "The answers must come from another." "Another..?" "My sister, little one." Dawn swallowed. She felt a chill at this, but she wasn't sure of the reason for it. It seemed almost there, flittering around the shadowy edges of her mind. It must be something I knew before, she thought, and then forgot when I became a girl. But she said, "How will we get there?" �You will travel with me,� he said. �And through the Dreaming we will go.� �The Dreaming?� �My realm. Created by the dreams of all who dream.� Dawn took Dream�s long, white hand. �But how can we travel through places that aren�t real?� �To the Dreamer, they are real, and for me, that is real enough.� And they stepped through Dawn�s bedroom wall. They found themselves walking through a place of blue light and mirrors, filled with people laughing. They passed a woman who was singing to a squirrel in Korean, then walked through a giant TV screen. They were at a party, mingling among the guests. They were all famous celebrities, but the colors of their faces were wrong. There was Marilyn Monroe with a blue face and pink hair, Dennis Hopper in green, and Mao-Tse Tung in red and yellow. The high-pitched laugh of Liza Minelli split the air, and they stepped through a swirl of light. They were at a carnival, and a crying woman pushing a baby carriage hurried by, followed by a man in a suit rolling a wheel of Gouda like a hoop. Dawn saw a flash of white hair and black leather, and felt a tightening in her chest. �Stay close. We�re nearly there,� Dream said. They were in a hospital room. A frail-looking boy with sunken eyes lay in the bed. A nurse dozed lightly in a chair nearby. �Is your sister here?� Dawn asked. �Nearly. Patience.� A girl about Dawn�s age entered the room. She could have been one of the Goth-chicks who worked at Hot Topic with her tousled black hair and spandex tank top. But the makeup on her eyes resembled the Egyptian Eye of Horus, and a large silver ankh hung round her neck. She spread a sheer black veil over the nurse�s face and went to the bedside. The boy�s eyes fluttered open and he stared at her. �You�re� you know, aren�t you,� said the boy. �I am,� the girl said. �Then I�m�� �Afraid so, kiddo.� �It�s not going to hurt, is it?� �Not anymore,� she said, and smiled encouragingly. The boy nodded, and Death bent down to cradle him in her arms. A shadow fell over him, and Dawn heard the sound of beating wings. After a moment Death stood up and looked in Dream and Dawn�s direction. �Hey, little brother,� she said, grinning. �And how are you, Dawn?� �You know me?� Dawn said. �Do you know I�m the key?� �Were the key,� Death corrected. �Now you�re Dawn.� �She came with a question, sister,� Dream prompted. �You want to know where he is,� Death said. �Where all of them are.� �Yes,� Dawn said, relieved that she didn�t have to explain. �I have to be honest,� Death said. �I don�t know where they are. I only help them pass over, but I�m unable to go myself.� �Oh.� �But I have a few theories,� Death continued. �That which is evil is chaos. It is entropy, and decay. Evil would not maintain the order of my purpose, it would simply let the dead wander. That I exist suggests to me that there is someone concerned that the dead reach a certain destination.� �Buffy said she was in heaven,� Dawn said. �She said my mother was there.� �Then who am I to argue?� Death said. �Our time is short, sister,� Dream said. �I must return the little one to her own home.� Death stepped forward and put her hands on Dawn�s shoulder. �Better now?� she said. �Done making the skies in the Dreaming pour rain?� �Better,� Dawn said. �Done.� Death kissed Dawn gently on the forehead, and Dream took her hand again. A veil seemed to fall over her face, and she heard Death ask faintly, �seen the new pirate movie, little brother? I think you�d like it�� Dawn blinked and sat up in her own bed. Outside her window, the sun was just coming up. Main Menu ~ Return to Crossover Menu |