Seeing is Believing

Author: Karen
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, they belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and ect.
Summary: Buffy's cousin didn't die of the flu when she was eight-they were in a car accident. And though Buffy got away with her life, she lost something very important to the now teen- her chance for a normal life.
Author's Notes: This I got from a challenge, but I'm not posting the full challenge because I'm not following it. I'm using the main idea, and making things more believable...
I am also going to be making up two semi-major characters, both of which can be found in my original stories, so I guess this could be called a crossover. Also, while the guide dog school in this story is a true place, I've never been there, so I'm making up all of the descriptive details. I have never gone through the process of getting a guide dog, so I'm making up what I could not find out on the school's website. And though my eye sight is bad enough I run into things and fall down stairs without my glasses, I'm not blind, so the way I portray things might be so totally off from what it's really like. I'm sorry for any discrepancies I might make; I'll try my hardest to make this as plausible as it can be, with a blind slayer.
Spoilers: If you haven't seen the first season, then don't read this.
Distribution: If you want, please ask.
Feedback: A must.
Dedication: I want to dedicate this to Rachael.

ORIGINAL CHALLENGE:
Buffy - Blind Challenge
Premise: What if Buffy lost her sight when she was a child but still became a slayer when she was 15 years old.

"Mom?" she called, walking down the hall, her hand trailing on the chair railing, in the direction of the kitchen.

"In the kitchen!" her mother called.

"I've got my bag packed," she said, coming to the doorway.

"Good. Sit down, breakfast's almost ready," she said, setting a plate on the table. Buffy made her way to the table, sat in her chair and picked up her fork and knife. Using the two utensils, she methodically ate the scrambled eggs and home fries.

"Are you sure you're ready for this, Buffy?" her mother asked, sitting across the small table from her.

"Yes, Mom. It's time to get my life back," she told her, "I know that since the accident, things have been tough. But I can't depend on you for the rest of my life, and you can't keep working around me. I'm 16, Mom. If I do this, we do this, then we can get on with our lives."

Her mother nodded, then, as an afterthought, said, "You're right. But are you sure you want to go by yourself, I mean New York is a long ways away-"

"Mom, I'll be fine, don't worry about me. You'll be coming out in 28 days, and in 31 we'll be back home, getting ready for one final adjustment."

"Actually, that might not be completely true," Her mother looked at her daughter even though she didn't look back, "I've been thinking, Buffy. Since the divorce, things have been tough, and I've been having a hard time getting a job that I enjoy. About a month ago I went and checked out a space. I put in a bid, and I was accepted."

"That's great, Mom!" she said, lifting her head up to acknowledge her mother as she knew she liked her to, before going back to her food.

"And I know that we just got this place…" she looked around, "livable, but this space, it's a ways away."

"Mom, if you want to move, it's fine with me. You've given up so much for me, I can make a few changes in my routine for you."

"Are you sure, Buffy? You'll have to get used to a new school, and a new town. But it's a small town, there's really not much town," she laughed softly.

"Mom, don't worry about it. I'll be fine. This is great. Everything's looking up." Her mother flinched at her choice of words, but Buffy didn't notice as she finished her eggs, cleaned up her place. Then she stood, her plate in her hands.

"Buffy, let me do that-"

"Mom, I can do it," she chided her mother softly, safely navigating around the small island in the middle of the small kitchen, placing the plate into the sink, a bit harder than she meant to, but she got it there safely. Happy, she turned, "I'm going to go get dressed, okay?"

"Do you need help?" Joyce asked, standing.

Buffy heard the scraping of the chair across the hardwood floor, and inwardly shook her head, "Mom, I can still get dressed on my own." She turned, found the doorway and walked down the hall to her room. Closing the door behind her, she turned to her dresser, feeling along the edges for the labels she had placed there. She thought a moment about her mood, and then she pulled open the third drawer from the bottom, running her hands over the shirts, before choosing one. Then she pulled open the bottom drawer and pulling out a pair of jeans.

After she got dressed in the yellow peasant top and jeans, she pulled her large purse from behind her door, grabbing her oversized backpack from her bed. Then she opened the door and followed the chair railing back into the kitchen. On the way, she hit the button on her watch, which declared the time.

"Mom, I'm ready. The plane leaves in two hours," she called.

"I know, do you need help taking your stuff out to the car?"

"I've got it, Mom."

"Do you have enough to keep you busy on the plane?" her mom asked.

"Yes, Mom. We went to the store last Wednesday, remember? After I met with Dr. Rinaldi."

"I know, I know. I just worry about you is all. You know that."

"Yeah, Mom. I do. But you don't have to worry about me anymore, not after this trip to New York."

Her mother wrapped her arms around her, and though she hadn't known she was there, she let her Mom hug her, knowing she needed to, not totally ready to let her baby go just yet.

She passed through security and boarded the plane without any problems, and it wasn't long before they were in the air. She had the first seat, a window seat, and she knew that there was a person sitting in the aisle seat, with one seat between them, but she didn't speak to him as she settled her things and pulled out one of her books.

Her books had become her solace after the accident that had stolen her cousin away from her, among other things. After she had relearned to read, that is. Her life had changed so much that night. It hadn't even been her aunt's fault, and she didn't blame her for the incident. She still just didn't understand why something like this could happen, even ten years later.

She had spent long hours in the hospital after the accident, and years in rehab, relearning to do all the things she once knew. She had lost touch with friends, going to a special school to help her deal with the accident and the changes it had wrought. When she went back to mainstream schooling her freshman year of high school, no one had recognized her, no one had remembered her. It didn't help that she was two years behind. All her old friends were now juniors, and wouldn't socialize with a normal freshman, never mind her.

She shook her head slightly, dispelling the past and the images it brought, instead deciding to focus on the book in her lap. She opened the cover, smoothing it back, making a hard crease in the spine, before she set her fingers to the page. This was an older book, and she could feel the age in the way the paper felt; it was thicker, smoother than new pages. Soon she was lost in the world the words created, her fingers skimming skillfully across the page as she read about a murder mystery. Her mother hated her to read such depressing books, but she adored them, especially when they had a bit of supernatural in them.

"What are you-is that-?" the voice came from beside her, and she stopped the flow of her fingers on the page, turning her face to the voice, even though she couldn't see the man.

"It's Braille," she told him.

"So then you're…"

"I'm blind," she finished the sentence for him.