Fragments of a Dream

By magista
For the purposes of this story, the season 6 episode "Hell's Bells" takes place about a month after "As You Were". That's the only way I can make everything happening in this story fit. You understand, I'm sure :-)

Nightmares

The first sensation that met her when she recovered consciousness was the metallic tang of blood in her mouth. She thought she must have bitten her lip when she . . . fell? She raised herself groggily to her knees from the wet floor where she found herself lying and looked around. The last thing she could recall was following Collin down into the catacombs. She had come to challenge the Master and defy prophecy about her death, but now she couldn't remember what had happened.

The cavern echoed with the sound of dripping water. She got slowly to her feet, smoothing her long white dress down over herself. At least it didn't seem to be any the worse for wear, only wet. If she had managed to destroy the Master, maybe it was still possible to make it to the prom. Of course, she reflected, the only trouble with dusting a vampire is that you couldn't prove a thing afterwards.

Dizziness suddenly threatened to overwhelm her and she leaned heavily against a crazily tilted pillar. She took several deep breaths; they didn't seem to help much. A dull ache began deep in her gut, and her vision narrowed to a bright centre. Her whole body throbbed with the pain. She staggered toward the passageway to the upper world, hoping that Giles would be able to figure out what was wrong with her.

Movement in the passage opening caught her eye and riveted her attention. Two figures emerged, one after the other. The first didn't interest her at all, but the second . . . Her vision closed down even further, centring only on him. There was an unmistakable scent of . . . what? He seemed to promise salvation, though, deliverance from this torment that wracked her body. They were saying something - a name, perhaps? - but all her senses were subsumed to sight and smell.

The first man came forward and grabbed at her arms. He smelled dead, and cold, and she shook off his hold easily, sending him flying across the cavern to crash brutally into the wall where he lay still, his neck twisted at a crazy angle. The other man stopped, uncertain, but she flung herself into his arms before he could decide to leave. He almost seemed to glow with the promise of warmth, health and life, so she nuzzled up close against him, wrapping herself tightly around him. He stiffened suddenly, and she didn't understand why, but glorious warmth began to fill her, easing away all her aches, and she didn't care any more. She just wanted him closer; she'd draw him inside her if she could.

His knees buckled suddenly and he slipped limply from her grasp. She stepped back uncaring as he slid to the floor, a delicious lassitude suffusing her limbs. Slowly, the room came back into focus, and hearing, touch and taste returned to her. A rich flavour filled her mouth, and she savoured it, but winced when her tongue suddenly encountered razor sharp teeth. The skin of her face burned for a moment, and then everything seemed to return to normal.

"Buffy," said the man at her feet, weakly, and she looked down. Blood flowed sluggishly from a jagged wound in his neck, and his body sagged lifelessly even as she watched.

"Xander?" she said, confused. Then again, in anguish: "Xander!" She fell to her knees beside his body, and gathered him into her arms, rocking helplessly. Cold tears rolled down her face, as she understood what had happened, what she had done. The prophecy had been fulfilled after all. She had died, and now she would take her friends with her. And she could already feel the hunger beginning to stir again . . .

Buffy sat bolt upright in her bed, clutching at her pillow, which was damp with her sweat. A stale, sweetish taste filled her mouth and she almost spat in disgust. The inside of her cheek burned, and she realize she must have bitten herself in the course of her nightmare.

She went to the bathroom to rinse her mouth out and refill her water glass. A fleeting nausea gripped her when she spat pink-tinged water into the sink, recalling the inhuman hunger of her dream. And yet she couldn't help but wonder if that was what it felt like to be a vampire - those paradoxical feelings of near limitless power and crippling need. She shook her head to clear the intrusive thoughts. Vampire Slayer, not vampire psychotherapist, she reminded herself. I really don't need to know.

Buffy climbed back into bed and tried to compose herself for sleep again, but it was a long time coming.