Disclaimer: Not mine~ n.n

Buffy

Give Me Something to Sing About

She had to save Seychelles. No choice in the matter. Jeanne didn't have a lot of choices in her life. She just wanted to be normal, but instead got slapped with the title of Slayer. The Slayer, who works 'alone' but never gets to make an decisions. Why couldn't they have just left her dead? Let her be free from this place?

Her eyes locked on the newest demon; England. He had taken her sister hostage because of some damn spell the girl had accidentally triggered. Once more, Jeanne was saving the girl. Once more…

And she came under the demon's thrall. Standing in the middle of the brightly-lit room, her eyes on England, she sang, "Life's a show and we all play our parts…" Her eyes flickered to England's henchmen on either side of her, "… and when the music starts, we open up our hearts…" Jeanne slid off her coat. If she was going to take out the demon and save her sister – again, she though dryly – it would only get in her way.

Jeanne d'Arc was a woman, and though chaste, had her womanly wiles, "It's all right if some things come out wrong." She pushed a shoulder back, a small – fake – smile on her lips. England's attention was off Seychelles and all on her, leaning back in his plush chair with that ridiculous pirate getup.

"We'll sing a happy song…" Her eyes locked on Seychelles. 'Run, sis. Get out of there…' "… and you can sing along."

England gave the signal, and the masked men ran in. Jeanne's face turned to rage as she took the first one out, "Where's there's life there's hope; everyday's a gift-" Her words were more spat out than sung now, and she glared at the men. They couldn't beat her, "Wishes can come true; whistle while you work… so hard all day-" She threw a broken pool stick at the last of those monsters. It speared it, and then she was alone with Seychelles and England.

Staring down at the corpse of one of his minions, Jeanne sang, "-to be like other girls. To fit into in this glittering world." She raised her hands, looking ahead at England. That was all she had wanted once. It was years ago, back when she was innocent. No vampires, no pain; just a teenage cheerleader, "Don't give me songs…" She hated when people told her she would be alright. They didn't know. Not once of them knew a thing about what she had gone through.

"She needs backup. Hungary, Bela."

Jeanne saw her 'friends' arrive. The ones who brought her back. Rome, Hungary, Belarus… Monaco and Spain, too. France was nowhere to be seen, though, which was so typical of the 'reformed' vampire.

Her gaze shifted back, "Don't give me songs…" Hungary and Belarus moved behind her, and the three moved in the thrall of the demon, "Give me something to sing about…" Please. Something, anything, to get rid of this damn apathy, "I need something to sing about…"

They didn't understand, or they wouldn't have brought her back. They never did understand what it was like to be the Slayer, "Life's a song you don't get to rehearse…" How she wished she could go back. Not fall in love with Greece, not do many of the things she did, "… and every single verse can make it that much worse." Especially when your 'friends' and 'family' just don't get it. It was selfish, more selfish than anything, but they still went ahead and brought Jeanne back. They had no right. No right.

Hungary and Belarus moved back, and it was just her again. She moved towards the stage, her rage building up inside her. She didn't want to tell them; in her jaded heart, Jeanne still cared, "Still, my friends don't know why I ignore-" She spun around, a smile more akin to a grimace on her tan features, "-the million things or more I should be dancing for." Seeing friends and family again, being torn from 'hell', coming back to life, living. Jeanne wasn't thankful for any of it. She just wanted it to end.

"All the joy, life sends; family and friends," More energy, more dancing. She felt a bit warm now, but wasn't sure if it was from dancing or her pent-up rage, "All the twists and bends - knowing that it ends… Well, that depends…" She put her hands up, giving up on everything. Why couldn't they just…? "On if they let you go… or if they know enough to know." She looked back at the three she knew best. Rome, who had watched over her. Monaco, her best friend and the one she hated most for being the one to bring her back. Spain, as equal a friend as Monaco. The three she knew from the beginning…

"That when you've bowed… you leave the crowd," She had died. Died. And they couldn't let her go. Couldn't let her get some rest. 'Rest in peace', like France had said.

Jeanne walked up the short steps to England and Seychelles. Her eyes locked with his, and something in her threatened to burst. She didn't want them to know, but his power was working on her. Making her sing out all her emotions… and the truth about what they had done to her, "There was no pain… no fear, no doubt…" She wanted to cry. Scream. Tear everything apart. Why did they bring her back?

"… till they pulled me out…" Jeanne whipped around, her sad eyes on all her 'friends', "… of Heaven." They betrayed themselves. Jeanne could see the shock, the hurt, on all their faces. Monaco's eyes went from confused to mortified. She had been the one to bring Jeanne back, after all. Jeanne's eyes asked why, though no answer would satisfy her, "So that's my refrain. I live in Hell 'cuz I've been expelled…" Jeanne was about the cry. She blinked back the tears, tried to dull the tightness of her chest, but nothing helped it, "… from Heaven. I… think I was in Heaven." No pain, no feeling, just pure bliss. No more slaying, no fighting, no heartbreak. Jeanne wanted that back.

Jeanne sang, near screaming at her 'friends', "So, give me something to sing about!" She looked around, lost, before whipping back around to England. He just smiled. Knowingly. Tauntingly, "Please!" His smirk didn't vanish, and it built her rage and heartache further, "Give me something!"

Anything. Anything to stop the pain. Jeanne was so lost. She wanted that light back. Wanted that place back. Jeanne would give anything for it; the soothing, healing embrace. Anything.

The fire built in her, and Jeanne back-flipped off the stage. She danced, because it was all she could do. Give herself to the demon's thrall, and let him finish her. Maybe she would go back to that light. Maybe she was too tainted now, and would go to Hell. Either way, she was done fighting. Done living in this Hell. She couldn't live anymore, not after experiencing everything she had in her short life.

Heat built. Dancing faster. Fire everywhere. Dancing faster. Faster. Faster. Jeanne smelt smoke, but didn't care. She only danced under the shocked eyes of her friends, her sister, and the demon. Nothing else mattered but the dance and the heat.

Faster.

Faster.

Then she stopped. Shocked, Jeanne's head snapped up to meet the azure eyes of France. He looked down at her, sadder than she had ever seen him. He pinned her arms to her sides, stopping the dance as he stared down at her. The fire abated, and she just stared up at him like a helpless little girl.

"Life's not a song," France sang in that entrancing voice of his, "Life isn't bliss. Life is just this." Had it been any other situation, Jeanne knew he would have laughed, "It's living." She winced. That word. She hated it more than anything now. 'Living'; what she had been forced to do by her 'friends'.

He cracked that smirk she would never admit to loving, and brushed the hair out of her face, "You'll get along… the pain that you feel - You only can heal by living." Another wince. That word again, "You have to go one living." Jeanne didn't want to. She wanted to die more than anything, so how could she even begin to live?

"So one of us is living," Damn that vampire for making her feel this way. Jeanne didn't want this world. She had rejected it like it had her by making her a Slayer. Heaven was where she should be.

To the surprise of everyone, Seychelles stood. She walked forward a few steps. Hesitant, unsure. All eyes turned to the youngest of them, and Jeanne saw her sister's eyes train on her. She spoke, not sang, "The hardest thing in this world is to live in it."

She was right, of course. It was hard. Harder than anyone who didn't see what was beyond knew. Knowing what could be in store… she wanted that so much, but it was taken. There was nothing Jeanne could do about that.

But live.

She shrugged out of France's arms and turned to her sister and that horrid England. Even if she didn't want to, even if every fiber of her soul called for death, Jeanne would live.

She would heal.

Author's Note: This is a pet-project of mine. Short one-shot like things with songs from musicals as actual dialogue, not written in filk form or anything like that. n.n

Buffy – Jeanne d'Arc

Song Demon – England

Dawn – Seychelles

Giles – Rome

Willow – Monaco

Xander – Spain

Spike – France

Anya – Belarus

Hungary - Tara