Die Dead Enough

After all the battles she'd fought and survived, after all the near-death experiences she'd had, Buffy never thought her life would end the way it did. It was so simple, so obvious, yet so unexpected.

She died like most of her predecessors did; in battle, felled by some unknown demon that landed a lucky blow. She'd been distracted, both by the vampires she was battling and her untrained partner. The younger Slayer, Cristina, had only been along because, as a local, she knew her way around Rome much better than recently-arrived Buffy did. She wasn't much of a fighter yet, and Buffy had to keep a close watch on her.

So caught up in her fight, the first one she'd been involved with in Rome, Buffy never saw the demon coming. It wasn't a very impressive specimen; short, fat, with more rolls than muscles. But it was strong, and it only took a single blow to her unsuspecting back to break her spine and send her into Death's embrace.

But Buffy wasn't like that Slayers that had come before her. Despite her manner of death and the way she lived, she was different. She was stronger than they were, had accomplished much more. And there were beings in high places that had things they wanted to say to her.

When Buffy came to, everything was dark. She'd expected that. When she died jumping into Glory's portal, everything had gone black and it hadn't cleared until she'd opened her eyes and found herself in Heaven. But this time was different. It didn't feel like Heaven; there was no warmth, no sense of peace. Instead, she felt leather under her back and a slight chill coming from her left.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and was greeted by the sight of a white tiled ceiling. Her hands were folded across her chest, and she slowly moved them down to feel what was beneath her.

Yeah, definitely leather, she thought. Is this a couch? She ran her hands over the material beneath her and eventually decided she was indeed lying on a leather couch.

With that settled, Buffy attempted to sit up. She muscles were stiff, however, and she only made it about halfway before giving up and sinking back into the cushions. After waiting for a moment, she took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, and tried again. This time, she was able to lever herself into a sitting position and finally get a good look at her surroundings.

She was in a room, a small one, with white walls to match the white ceiling. There were no pictures, paintings, or decorations of any kind decorating them. In fact, the only things in the room were the couch she was sitting on and a matching armchair directly across from her. And the man sitting in the chair.

"Who are you?" Buffy inquired, sliding back as far as the couch would let her go.

The man, tall and thin, smiled slightly at her loud question. The expression was devoid of any warmth and failed to reach his eyes, but for all that, there was nothing malicious about it.

"Who do you think I am, Buffy?" He leaned forward in his chair and focused his dark eyes on her face. "Do you remember what happened to you?"

Keeping her suspicious gaze locked on the stranger, Buffy nodded. "Yeah. I was fighting and something hit me from behind. I died."

"Yes, you did." He leaned back in his chair and smiled again, wider this time. "Your spine was broken. You died instantly. You were lucky, really. Most Slayers don't get a painless death."

"Oh, thanks for that. I feel blessed," she snarled, unable to keep the anger out of her response. Despite experiencing death before, several times, she wasn't any happier about it this time than she had been before. She had responsibilities, friends, family; being taken away from it all was not something she wanted.

"You should." His voice was cold, hard. "It could have gone very differently. Trust me."

"Fine! Whatever!" Buffy had no interest in arguing with the strange man. Instead, she turned her attention to her bare surroundings. "Where am I? And who are you?"

The man rolled his eyes. "We are in a room I created so we could have a little chat. And since we've already discussed your current state of being, I ask again: who do you think I am?"

Buffy stared at the man, trying to figure out who he was. Try as she might, she just could make any connections. He didn't look familiar, and there was something about him, a strong presence, she was sure she'd remember having encountered before. After a few moments of silence, she decided to take a shot in the dark. "Uh, are you… the tooth fai—"

"Death," the man stated, cutting her off there. "I'm Death." He shook his head and eyed her like he thought she was a moron.

"Well, excuse me," she said, offended by his tone and expression. "How the hell was I supposed to guess that? You don't exactly fit the bill of the typical Grim Reaper, do you?"

Dressed as he was in a lime green t-shirt and grey cargo pants, that was certainly true. But even as she spoke, Buffy felt a little stupid. While maybe guessing 'Death' right off the bat wasn't something that would have occurred to her, something a little closer to it than 'tooth fairy' was probably more realistic.

Rolling his eyes again, the man shrugged. "Whatever. That's not important. What is important is the reason why I brought you here instead of allowing you to pass on."

"Yeah, why did you do that?"

He sighed. "If you'd let me finish…"

"Oh, sorry. Go ahead."

"Thank you. Now, you're not a typical person, Buffy Summers. You know all that stuff you hear about fate and destiny and all that?" She nodded. "It's all bullshit. There is no fate. Humans, demons, whatever; they all make their own way through life. You all make your own decisions and walk your own path through life." He paused and raised a hand. "But, the time of your death is foretold. It's written down as soon as you're born. Not how you'll die or anything like that; just when. Understand?"

Buffy nodded. "Sure. No fate, but date of death is set in stone." A thoughtful look came over her face then. "But what about prophecies?"

Death waved away her question. "Those are just predictions. They don't have to come true. But that's not relevant right now. What's important is that nobody ever lives past their given time of death. Nobody. Except for you."

"Me?" Buffy's eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

"Yeah, you." He cocked an eyebrow. "Are you really that shocked?"

She waited a beat, then let the surprise slip off her face. "No, not really. I mean, I've died a couple times now, not to mention all the times I almost died. I'm pretty sure I'm the luckiest person in the world when it comes to death. Or unluckiest, depending on your perspective." Her faced clouded a little, as she remembered how she felt after being pulled out of Heaven.

"Indeed. You are unique. Not only have you avoided your foretold time of death once; you've done it four times." This time, the surprise on her face was real. "You should have stayed dead after the Master killed you. You were supposed to. But your friend brought you back. That shouldn't have happened. But it did and your date of death was rewritten. Then there was the incident with the witch. She should not have been able to pull you out of Heaven. And yet she managed it, and so your time was rewritten once again."

He paused there and Buffy took the opportunity to speak. "How does that work? The rewriting, I mean. Is everyone's time just written on a giant list somewhere?"

"It's a wall, actually," he replied. "A stone wall standing just outside the gates of Heaven. Every time someone is born, their name and a date appear on the wall. And since you're the only person whose time has ever been changed, I'm not really sure how it works. A second date just appears in place of the first one."

"Ah, I see." She didn't really, but he looked like he wanted to get on with his story.

"The third date given for your death was the day you defeated the First. You were supposed to die in the Hellmouth. But your vampire tapped into the power of that fucking amulet Wolfram and Hart provided and you didn't even come close. You were barely even injured. With the previous two dates, at least you did die. You just came back later. This time, there wasn't even that!"

Death's voice had gotten louder and louder as he spoke, and by the end, he was yelling. He glared at her from his chair, a vein in his forehead pulsing menacingly. Buffy shrank back against the cushions, unsure of what she should do, and if she was even capable of fight Death. Fortunately, after a moment, he took a deep breath and continued in a calmer voice.

"That was when I decided something important. Your most recent death just hammered my decision home. You were supposed to die six days ago. That was the fourth date given for your demise. And yet you bypassed that day as if it were just another date. A six day delay on what should be a final death date is entirely impossible. You, my dear, are an anomaly. An impossibility." He steepled his fingers under his chin and stared directly into her eyes. "And so I've decided that I'm no longer interested in you."

Confused, Buffy narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to the side. "What does that mean?"

Death spread his arms wide and shrugged. "It's very simple. Death no longer wants you, Buffy Summers. Every day, I go and I take the life from millions, billions of beings throughout the universe. That's my job, and I do it well. I enjoy it. But I don't enjoy trying taking your life anymore. You always find some way to wriggle out of it. So I'm not going to do it anymore. Congratulations; you've beaten Death."

Buffy just stared at him, not fully comprehending his words. The silence slowly stretched on, until she finally shook herself out of her mini-trance and spoke. "Okay," she said slowly, "but what does that mean, exactly? I mean, I'm already dead. You said it yourself."

"I'm sending you back to Earth. I'm sure if I sent you back to Heaven, or to Hell, you'd find some way out of it. I've got no interest in coming back in another two years and doing this shit all over again." Rising to his feet, Death walked over to Buffy and held out his hand. Slowly, she reached out and grabbed it, and allowed him to pull her to her feet. "Come along," he said, releasing her and striding toward the door that had magically appeared in the wall.

As the pair made their way out of the room and down a long, narrow hallway, Buffy tried to get more answers out of her companion. "What does this all mean for me?"

Death shrugged, not even bothering to look at her. "You're immortal now. You can't die. That's basically it."

"Does that come with some cool new superpower or something?" A little bit of excitement crept into her voice. "'Cause that would be awesome!"

"Nope. No superpowers. It just means you'll be able to heal from any injury you receive. You're no stronger than you were before." He paused suddenly and looked down at her. "You're going to want to avoid getting your head cut off or being lit on fire. You'll heal, but that shit is painful and not quick. Just a word of advice."

Buffy nodded, eyes wide, as Death continued on his way. After a second, she shook herself and hurried after him. "So I'm sort of like a vampire, right? I remember when Spike was in a wheelchair. The same injury would have killed a human or crippled them for life. But he recovered. That's what I'll be like?"

"Exactly." Death fell silent then, and remained that way until they reached the end of the impossibly long hallway. It opened up into another small room. There were two doors on the far wall, and Death led the way over to the one on the right. "Here we are," he said. "This door will deposit you back on Earth."

Buffy eyed it for a second, then glanced at the other door. "Where does that one go?"

"That's a closet."

"Oh." She turned back to the first door and took a deep breath. "Where am I going to end up?"

"I have no idea. Probably your apartment. I teleport, so these door portals aren't really my thing. Sorry." Buffy just nodded, eyes still locked on the door. "What are you waiting for?"

"This is a big deal! I'm dead right now, and when I step through this door, I won't be. Give me a minute!" she snapped.

Death raised his hands and stepped back. "All right, all right; take your time. Jesus."

There was a moment of silence, then, "Is anything else going to change? Is there anything I should know?"

"Not really. There are a couple of other true immortals wandering the planet, and they'll probably sense you and come to visit. But other than that, there isn't anything you should be too worried about."

"Okay, good." Taking several quick breaths, Buffy reached out and grasped the silver doorknob. Slowly, cautiously, she opened the door, unsure of what would be waiting behind it. She was envisioning some blue and swirling, some type of weird energy, like in movies and television shows. Instead, there was just empty space. 'Well, that's pretty anti-climactic."

"Yeah, it really is. No creativity." Death shrugged. "But what are you gonna do? Angels maintain these portals and they're probably the most boring beings in existence."

"Right. I'll just be going then." Buffy took a step forward, but came to halt when she felt a large hand close around her arm. She turned her head and found herself looking up into Death's dark eyes.

"Another word of advice, Buffy Summers." She gestured for him to go on. "Ever since you were called, you've allowed yourself to take orders from the Powers That Be. I know you're a good person at heart, and you could never give up helping people. But keep in mind that you're different now. In some ways, you're stronger than the Powers. One day, I will kill them. You don't have to worry about that. So, just remember you don't have to follow their rules and take their orders anymore."

"Okay." Buffy cocked her head to the side, confused. "What exactly are you trying to say?"

Death sighed and released her arm. "I don't know. Maybe, just think about other stuff, other than being a hero. You're going to be around forever. Maybe it's time for you to start doing things for yourself. Go, travel; let your friends deal with the problems that crop up. Go visit Angel, Wesley, and Spike in Los Angeles. Go see your father. Do something else."

Buffy smiled softly at his words and nodded. "Thanks, Death." She paused. "Man, that is ultra-weird to say. You need a name that's a little less… evil-sounding." She shuddered.

Death grinned. "I'll keep that in mind." Then he stepped back and gestured for her to step through the door. "Goodbye, Buffy Summers. You won't be seeing me again, I think. Lucky for you."

"Bye." Buffy turned, and after taking a fortifying breath, closed her eyes and leaped through the doorway. Immediately, she felt a strange sensation, like she was being pushed on from all sides. The pressure slowly grew, getting more and more uncomfortable, and Buffy felt herself start to fade into unconsciousness.

Before she was completely gone, however, one last thought passed through her mind.

Wait. Did he say Spike was in Los Angeles? Spike is alive?