Dead Woman Walking
By: Chen
Disclaimer: They all belong to ME, not me.
A/N: Set in the future. I have no Buffy issues people, just thought I would
write a 'what if she was the last one left standing?' story.
Thanks to my BETAs and the ladies of Spike's Salvation.
***
They were all gone. She had always thought she would be the first to go. Slayers were supposed to burn bright and not for long. Instead, they had all fallen, and she still stood. Looking in the mirror, she hardly recognized the reflection there. Not the same girl with golden hair. Just a middle-aged woman with joints that hurt and wrinkles crisscrossing her face.
When darkness came, she still felt the stubborn tugging of her senses, urging her now too weathered body, into alertness. It failed to accept what her mind had to: the limitations age and misuse had imposed upon it. She was the first slayer to ever reach comparatively old age - 56 years. The first slayer to live way past her teens and have to deal with thinning hair and a bad back. The girl who had been told a lifetime ago that all slayers died young, and who had panicked at it, would have thought herself lucky if she had known how far she would make it. Her prolonged expiration date could have been a blessing, instead it was a cruel joke.
Buffy felt something in her stirring. The pain was still there, even after so many seasons had come and gone. She rarely allowed herself to think or feel for the ones who were no longer there. The pain brought nothing but a deep despair of fading faces and the overwhelming loneliness that comes only by having been left alone in the world.
She traced the creases with her finger. The ones on the sides of her face belonged to Willow, who had finally been consumed by the dark arts she had refused to give up, even after the crazed vendetta that had nearly turned into the end of the world. Buffy had tried. They had all tried, Xander the hardest, to help her. But it had been too late. An apocalypse was averted, but Willow had been lost a couple of nights later when she had turned on them and killed Giles.
The coven was not forgiving, and apparently had been monitoring the dark powers of the witch, ready to strike. Buffy and the others had been spared another battle with her when Willow had burst into flames by the Watcher's lifeless body.
Xander's efficiency in drinking himself to death after Willow's execution had been curtailed by another impending apocalypse. Mercifully this time brought by someone he hadn't known since kindergarten. His final sacrifice had been more about finding peace than saving the world. He had said it himself when he stopped her from going in. "Let me Buffy. You and I know that it's this or going back to Jack and a slow death." Before she had the time to react, he was gone. She had been too stunned to cry.
So by fall, it had been only the Slayer and the little sister, who now towered over her, keeping Sunnydale safe from the monster of the week and the apocalypses foretold in way too many prophecies. Dawn had become invaluable to her - her best and only friend. Until they had come and taken her little sister away. Freed her, the monks had said. Freed her from what? Dawn had accepted it with a resignation Buffy had not understood.
"It has always been borrowed time, Buffy. I understand that now."
She'd been angry with Dawn, angry that she so willingly gave up mortality. She had screamed and pleaded. All to no avail. Her beautiful baby sister had just smiled and turned away. Buffy's hair had gone white that night.
Dawn. After so many years she still couldn't forgive her for leaving.
Spike had left to who knows where before that summer and had taken his time showing up. When he finally did, he was no longer Spike, but a demented man who had wasted away in a corner, crying for days over his past, and long ago, forgotten atrocities. She had tried to tell him that it was all forgiven - that she needed him now more than ever. He had only turned those haunted eyes of his to her. She had then understood that Spike was no more.
There was nothing of the brazen vampire left in those eyes, just terror and useless shame for what he had done. Even his love for her had been gone - his new soul having no space left, being so full of guilt, shame and regrets.
It had been harder than she would have admitted to anyone, save Dawn, to give up on him. But in the end she had no choice. He had died without even a token resistance, killed by newly made vampires looking to score a reputation and her heart had been irreparably broken. William the Bloody had deserved to go in a blaze of glory and not like a dog, whimpering and helpless in the face of danger.
She had lost them all. She continued to fight the fight, but when Faith had gotten out of jail, she quietly packed her things and left Sunnydale never to return. The ones she had loved were all gone and the town had too many ghosts lurking in the corners. It was Faith's turn to lose all.
She would stay in that little town, in the middle of the desert, waiting for death to finally catch up with her. Sometimes she thought Death had become tired of being cheated by the Slayer, and it had exacted the ultimate revenge upon her. Death would pass her by until her suffering was so deep that she would beg for it.
That day was close.
The End
Thanks to my BETAs and the ladies of Spike's Salvation.
***
They were all gone. She had always thought she would be the first to go. Slayers were supposed to burn bright and not for long. Instead, they had all fallen, and she still stood. Looking in the mirror, she hardly recognized the reflection there. Not the same girl with golden hair. Just a middle-aged woman with joints that hurt and wrinkles crisscrossing her face.
When darkness came, she still felt the stubborn tugging of her senses, urging her now too weathered body, into alertness. It failed to accept what her mind had to: the limitations age and misuse had imposed upon it. She was the first slayer to ever reach comparatively old age - 56 years. The first slayer to live way past her teens and have to deal with thinning hair and a bad back. The girl who had been told a lifetime ago that all slayers died young, and who had panicked at it, would have thought herself lucky if she had known how far she would make it. Her prolonged expiration date could have been a blessing, instead it was a cruel joke.
Buffy felt something in her stirring. The pain was still there, even after so many seasons had come and gone. She rarely allowed herself to think or feel for the ones who were no longer there. The pain brought nothing but a deep despair of fading faces and the overwhelming loneliness that comes only by having been left alone in the world.
She traced the creases with her finger. The ones on the sides of her face belonged to Willow, who had finally been consumed by the dark arts she had refused to give up, even after the crazed vendetta that had nearly turned into the end of the world. Buffy had tried. They had all tried, Xander the hardest, to help her. But it had been too late. An apocalypse was averted, but Willow had been lost a couple of nights later when she had turned on them and killed Giles.
The coven was not forgiving, and apparently had been monitoring the dark powers of the witch, ready to strike. Buffy and the others had been spared another battle with her when Willow had burst into flames by the Watcher's lifeless body.
Xander's efficiency in drinking himself to death after Willow's execution had been curtailed by another impending apocalypse. Mercifully this time brought by someone he hadn't known since kindergarten. His final sacrifice had been more about finding peace than saving the world. He had said it himself when he stopped her from going in. "Let me Buffy. You and I know that it's this or going back to Jack and a slow death." Before she had the time to react, he was gone. She had been too stunned to cry.
So by fall, it had been only the Slayer and the little sister, who now towered over her, keeping Sunnydale safe from the monster of the week and the apocalypses foretold in way too many prophecies. Dawn had become invaluable to her - her best and only friend. Until they had come and taken her little sister away. Freed her, the monks had said. Freed her from what? Dawn had accepted it with a resignation Buffy had not understood.
"It has always been borrowed time, Buffy. I understand that now."
She'd been angry with Dawn, angry that she so willingly gave up mortality. She had screamed and pleaded. All to no avail. Her beautiful baby sister had just smiled and turned away. Buffy's hair had gone white that night.
Dawn. After so many years she still couldn't forgive her for leaving.
Spike had left to who knows where before that summer and had taken his time showing up. When he finally did, he was no longer Spike, but a demented man who had wasted away in a corner, crying for days over his past, and long ago, forgotten atrocities. She had tried to tell him that it was all forgiven - that she needed him now more than ever. He had only turned those haunted eyes of his to her. She had then understood that Spike was no more.
There was nothing of the brazen vampire left in those eyes, just terror and useless shame for what he had done. Even his love for her had been gone - his new soul having no space left, being so full of guilt, shame and regrets.
It had been harder than she would have admitted to anyone, save Dawn, to give up on him. But in the end she had no choice. He had died without even a token resistance, killed by newly made vampires looking to score a reputation and her heart had been irreparably broken. William the Bloody had deserved to go in a blaze of glory and not like a dog, whimpering and helpless in the face of danger.
She had lost them all. She continued to fight the fight, but when Faith had gotten out of jail, she quietly packed her things and left Sunnydale never to return. The ones she had loved were all gone and the town had too many ghosts lurking in the corners. It was Faith's turn to lose all.
She would stay in that little town, in the middle of the desert, waiting for death to finally catch up with her. Sometimes she thought Death had become tired of being cheated by the Slayer, and it had exacted the ultimate revenge upon her. Death would pass her by until her suffering was so deep that she would beg for it.
That day was close.
The End