Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, et al, is not mine. No infringement intended upon the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, or anyone else involved.
Author's Note: All mistakes are that of the author. Thank you to all who reviewed my last story.
Summary: An encounter with a newly risen vampire triggers unpleasant memories for Buffy, causing her to reevaluate her new state of existence. Early Season 6. Buffy POV.
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Blood RisingThe dozen graveyards in Sunnydale should be more than enough to keep a motivated slayer in the vampire dusting business. Assuming, of course, that there's a motivated slayer out there.
The slayer out there happens to be me, and I've a glorious lack of motivation. Buffy, you'd say, it's a five-year slump--everyone gets that way, regardless of their vocational calling. Maybe, but not everyone gets dead. And then…undeaded. Twice.
I wanted the ultimate vacation (no sick days for the slayer); I was ready. I think Spike is right about Slayer's having a death wish. But an equal drive to live and protect balances this, and hope, the most human of emotions, is the antidote to the darkness inside all predators. My hope quota was gone. I saw my end, though, my duty and my choice. And I didn't mind taking the plunge.
Needless to say, my one-way ticket was thoughtfully upgraded to round-trip, and I was deported from Heaven. Thanks, guys.
As the grey predawn spreads in the east, I find myself wondering if last night's patrol for death didn't give me an answer about tomorrow's life.
--oOo--
Earlier…
The darkness of the cemetery didn't bother me; I wondered if my eyes were like a vampire's, specially attuned to dim light. Maybe it was my 'slayer-sense' that made up for the lack of illumination. Regardless, I was confident that I would be able to spot any problems long before they got to me. And I hoped there were—problems. Then I could shut my brain up and do my job.
Fledgling vampires are both the easiest and the hardest to dust on a patrol. They arise disoriented with only animal instinct to feed. No rational thought; just to feed. That is also why they are so dangerous. A wild, soulless, mindless bloodsucking demon emerging from the grave with unparallel desperation is not to be underestimated. Angel tried to make me understand the all-consuming urge to feed; only after their bodies received blood would the rational, calculating thoughts emerge. I find staking them just as they emerge a good means of population control. They sit up; I quip and stake. Quick and efficient.
I moved silently through the headstones. Once I had flipped my stakes and anticipated the hunt. Even before that, I had people with me. Faith, Giles. Angel. The Scoobies. Now, I was programmed to hunt and kill. I was detached from all of it. Numbness was the answer to my pain.
Sound from my left caught my attention. Changing course, I ducked around a crypt and inspected the field of plots. Focusing on the instinctual feeling I've had since I was Called, I quickly found the relatively fresh grave. A quick glance at the date of death confirmed my suspicions. Gripping a stake, I settled into a fighting stance and waited. The ground above the soon-to-be risen vampire began to break and tremble. A moment later, my stomach lurched as I wondered if it had looked like that when I was struggling to the surface. The memory of that horrid awakening assaulted my mind with unprecedented vigor. No, I thought, do not think, do not feel, forget, focus on here, don't thinkdon'tthinkdon'tthink.
The earth in front of me tore open, and I remembered the feel of the damp dirt on my hands. The utter black of the coffin consumed me, and I recalled the stale air that first filled my reanimated lungs. I grabbed for my head, as though that would stop the deluge of memory. Distantly, I heard the primal growl of the vampire and the shattering of wood. My stake fell to the ground. Locked in my mind, I felt the satin lining of the coffin, the frantic tearing of the stitching. My hands encountered the hard wood, and I pressed against it. My fingers scrambled to find purchase on the smooth surface. Panic set in and my mind screamed "out". Bucking and writhing, I was an animal in its death throes, desperate to live. The wood gave, splintering into a thousand jagged edges, and I clawed at it, adrenaline coursing through my body giving me a type of single-minded determination. When the coffin lid finally gave, the dirt fell down onto me. My shallow, frantic breath inhaling the natural particles, choking me. A wave of panic inundated me, and I remember nothing until my head was above ground, gulping in air and coughing, gagging. Without conscious thought, I pulled myself out. I was being pulled. No, I pulled myself. Why was I being pulled?
With a snap I brought myself out of my trauma-ridden mind and back to the present graveyard. I was being pulled, I registered dimly. Right. Vampire. Slayer. Damnit.
Residual panic from my recollections was replaced with real panic for the present. I twisted in his grasp and heard his grunt of surprise. I wiggled with every dirty fighting trick I knew as I looked at his hands encircling my body. His hands. Torn. Scratched. Nails broken.
For a second I stopped breathing.
My hands. His hands. Hands that had clawed their way out of their own grave. For a moment I could only see my battered, bloody hands.
But his hands were not bloody, and I suddenly remembered that he would need to feed before he bled. Feed on me, so his gave-torn hands could bleed onto his own grave.
The Slayer in me reasserted herself, and I used his momentum to overbalance him. I caught him with my foot as I fumbled for another stake. We both fell to the ground in a pile of undead dead and undead living flesh. Pinned under me, he reached up with one hand and caught me by the neck. The feel of his uneven nails drove me to near madness. With a final movement, I embedded the stake deep into his chest. My body hit the ground as the vampire faded to dust.
For a long moment, I lay there beside a demolished grave with the dust of its occupant and the blades of grass pressing into my skin.
No blood.
But I had blood. Immediately. Blood is the Life.
I was alive. I had been from the moment I woke in my dark prison. I might have been undead, but I was alive and undead. Suddenly, it made all the difference.
Slightly hysterical laughter began to bubble up in my chest. Clamping my mouth shut, I got up and walked away. I was alive, and I was the Slayer. And maybe I could find Buffy on the way home.
--oOo--
I entered the kitchen on cat-feet, hoping no one had waited up for me. They were doing that, since I came back. I didn't want to face them, especially not after a patrol when I was too tired to pretend.
I noticed a covered plate on the counter and a note.
Buffy-Know you're tired and don't want to be pestered. Eat dinner and go to bed. Told Dawn I'd have you look in on her when you got home. –Tara
Unexpectedly, my eyes burned with tears. I was touched, and even more surprised that I'd managed to have an emotion other than anger and hurt. Mentally thanking Tara, I devoured the sandwich, apple and brownie before heading upstairs.
Stopping in Dawn's doorway, I looked in on my sister. She was sleeping deeply, arm thrown out and hair tousled. I smiled. Dawn had been my one saving grace since I'd been back; I still loved her unconditionally. If I had been willing to die for her, I needed to be willing to live for her. And really live, not just exist.
Turning, I went into the bathroom and stood under a scalding shower for a long time. The night replayed itself in my mind's eye. I had blood, my own blood; that makes me alive. I didn't know if I was human, if I was Buffy, but I was a Slayer and a sister. It was a start to a life.
Getting out of the shower, I dried off and studied my reflection. Another thing I have, I thought, ironically. The marks from the fledgling's nails still adorned my neck. So did the scar from Angel. It hadn't faded, even though Dracula's had. I don't mind.
My mind wondered as I dressed and moved to my room. Angel had once dug out of his grave, as had Spike. I wonder if we could compare notes, I thought with a hint of macabre humor. But my breath quickened and suddenly I did want to tell someone, if only to see if the memory would be less intense. I considered going to Spike, but my feelings for him were…conflicted at best. Cool metal on my fingers surprised me. I looked down to find I had subconsciously gotten the silver cross Angel had given me out of its case. I hadn't worn it in a long time, but often slept with it, like a Slayer security blanket. Did I really want to share my private hell with some one? Turning the cross over in my hand, I decided against it. My death had been hard enough for them. For him. I shouldn't burden them with my new life. It was mine to live. Besides, I'm the Slayer. I can handle it.
I still wasn't sure Buffy could.
I looked again at the scratches on my skin, already fading. They were red against my pale skin. Red from the blood beneath, healing the damaged tissue. My blood. My Life.
The thoughts and memories were still in my head, clamoring for my attention. I wouldn't tell them to anyone, but that didn't mean they had to be trapped inside my mind making laps around the inside of my skull. I rummaged through a desk drawer until I found a long-unused journal. I sat down on my bed as the first birds began to call their song to the night sky, telling it to relinquish its inky hold on the world. I stared at the pen in my hand for a long moment before letting the words pour onto the page, like blood flowing from a wound. I could feel my blood pulsing through my body in time with the ancient rhythm of life.
--oOo--
Now…
The sun is up now, and the walls in my room are bathed in the red light dawn. Everyone will be up soon, and I will have to face them and 'Everyday'. On no sleep, as per usual. Maybe today I can make this undead living thing work. Maybe today I can help Tara pack Dawn's lunch and ask Willow how her classes are. Maybe today I'll try to find parts of Buffy that have been gone too long. And I can take comfort in the fact that tonight I will be the Slayer.
At least I know Sunnydale's cemeteries will keep me in business.