Formerly Known as Sunnydale
Disclaimer: All characters and events are owned by the genius of a man that is Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and whoever else has rights to them, i.e. not me. And as you may have guessed, I don't own Wile E Coyote, Road Runner, or the Road Runner cartoons.
Chapter 2 – Willow
"Yeah. The First is scrunched, so… what do you think we should do, Buffy?"
It was sunny out, ridiculously so. Always sunny in Sunnydale, that's what the proverbial "they" always said. But at the moment that once happy phrase cut like a knife, digging deeper into the already existing wound. It was like the sun was purposely shining extra bright, just to spite them. It made everything seem clearer; exposed every inch of the giant crater that used to be their home. The sun left nothing in shadow. It lit up the big pit of destruction in front of them like a movie set.
Except it wasn't a movie set. It was the end of the apocalypse and this was what was left of their home.
Everything was so bright, so painfully and unnecessarily bright. All the annihilation was ultra clear, as if someone was holding up a magnifying glass; the sun showing the world the destruction they had caused, pointing out their faults. All they could see for miles was wreckage; they were surrounded by it. They had won, but this was the price they had to pay.
There was a vapid sense that surrounded them. Aside from the crater they were completely surrounded by desert; an empty, bland, California desert. There was nothing around them anymore, just the desert, the crater, and the sky and sun above them. But for all they knew, this was all that was there. The far wall of the crater could be an illusion; the bottom of the crater could stretch out so far that their eyes mistook it as curving back up the far wall when in fact it just kept going. The massive hole in the ground could stretch out for miles; it could circle around and completely surround them. The whole world could be destroyed save this small patch of desert, and they wouldn't even know. Now, the world really could be like centuries old explorers perceived it to be, not circular but completely flat. They could walk out in any direction, and eventually come to the drop-off of the canyon; they could fall off and keep falling.
How deep down did it go? They had destroyed the demon's gateway to Hell, yes, but had they in the process made the layer separating Hell from Earth smaller? Had they destroyed the Hellmouth but made it easier for demons to escape their fiery prison.
She shouldn't be thinking about that. No, don't think about the possibility for demons to escape from Hell. Think happier thoughts. Just think about the massive hole that stretched on for eternity, the immense hole where their home used to stand…
Willow knew her composure was breaking. She tried to hold back, but the longer she looked at the scene before her, the more the tears welling-up behind her eyes threatened to fall. She looked up, blinking back the tears, but looking to the sky for answers was no better. The painful light of the sun seemed like it was trying to breach the dam, spark her tears into falling. It continued to shine brightly overhead, causing her to squint in the intense light and making the bland, empty sky before her even harder to look at. But the well of emptiness was alluring; she couldn't look away from it for too long, she had to look back. Pulling up her resolve she fought back the tears even harder and turned away from the sky to look out again at the scene that seemed more like something out of a movie than something real.
There was so much destruction, so much nothingness. The world had been drained of anything colourful and cheerful, and what remained were the colours of despair, guilt, and sadness. The colours left reflected nothing of their old life, just pain, loss, and desperation.
The sand on the side of the road was dreary beige in colour. The dirt of the crater walls was a mix of muddy browns, bleak greys, and diluted reds. It even seemed like the usually bright azure sky was dulled in colour because of the emptiness encircling them. In contrast to the dullness was the highway, a razor-sharp scar on the barren landscape. It painfully cut into the desert and stretched forever-on in one direction – a harsh, black colour amid the dullness – and came to a jagged halt in the other direction where it met the edge of the small canyon. All that remained before them filled only a small section of the spectrum, there was no more colour. All the once bright colours of the city had collapsed and bled into each other when the ground caved-in.
How was it that all of Sunnydale could fit inside that crater? Sure, the town wasn't immensely populated, it wasn't a major city, but how was it possible for so much to… turn into nothing so fast? How could there be nothing left? How was it possible for her home to suddenly become a hole in the ground? Something wasn't right; it was some kind of cruel practical joke. The city was still there. Someone had simply covered it up, that was all. It was like something out of those Road Runner cartoons she watched when she was younger, where Wile E. Coyote paints over a big canvas and covers up the canyon wall behind it, so the Road Runner would run into it. That had to be it. This was all some kind of illusion; someone had merely taken a brown crayon and scribbled over the colours that lay beneath until all that remained was a muddy mess. Sunnydale was still there; it had to be.
Right now Willow felt like she was in one of those cartoons. She was trapped with no way out; there was no path she could find that would bring her back to reality. No road that would lead her home again. And there was no home for her to go back to. The barrenness of the surroundings was creeping into her brain, threatening to make her a part of the big empty before her.
Her mind was trying it's hardest to fight back, trying to find a way back to reality. Her brain was trying to find something to grasp onto, a ledge where she could hook her mental fingers, a way for her to calculate the amount of damage she was looking at and rationalize it. She needed an explanation. She wasn't going to believe what she saw until she had logical reasoning for it. There was always an answer. She hadn't found it yet, but there was no need to panic. Her brain simply needed to mull over it a little while longer. Then she'd figure it out. This couldn't be all that was left, it couldn't be.
But a voice at the back of Willow's mind spoke up. What if it was? Was this all that was left? Was this really all that was left of Sunnydale? A crater? It looked so empty, so… void of life.
Life. There was none of that before them. Not now, not ever again. The ground had swallowed everything up, starting from the high school and spiralling out until it had devoured the entire city. It was a spiral of destruction creating a well of pure emptiness. And it meant that everyone who hadn't left during the exodus of Sunnydale was buried under all the rubble.
This was an emergency. This was not a situation where magic, the Slayer, her Watcher, or The Powers That Be could help; this was more extreme. This was a real life, real world emergency. The ground had caved in, homes were demolished and there was the possibility of trapped, injured, and killed people. From when a police officer had first spoken to her kindergarten class Willow had known what to do in an emergency. Not an emergency such as this, because how often did the ground implode and swallow the whole city, but she still knew what they needed to do. Willow's inner-child spoke up now as her mind tumbled through its panic, reminding her of what had been drilled into her head from a young age. Someone should call the police. It didn't happen often, but every so often the Scoobies knew when government officials, usually hospital workers, were needed. And now was such a case; they needed to call the police.
She didn't think any of them had a cell phone, but maybe they could find one. Or maybe a payphone. That was it; they could find a payphone. They were on the side of a highway, there had to be a payphone somewhere nearby.
It was necessary they find a phone. People needed to be informed. Important people. Rescue-like people. The police, the fire department, the hospital staff and the paramedics; they needed people who were trained to know what to do in a situation like this.
How could someone be trained for a situation like this? A whole city: gone. How do you respond to that? What do you do? How are people expected to react? What do you do when your home becomes a large ditch in the landscape?
Willow really hoped that no one had been killed when the ground went belly-up. She clung to the idea that everyone had already left. It had to be; everyone must have left before the Scoobies went into the final battle. Who besides them would be crazy enough to stay? She knew the people of Sunnydale were either clueless or in denial, but no one could deny what was happening there these last few months. Everyone knew something bad was happening, and Willow hoped no one besides them had stayed behind.
She didn't want to picture someone being crushed by a collapsing house or trapped in a car as the surrounding buildings caved in. Dead… or worse, someone could be lying under the wreckage, waiting for death. Someone could be trapped there, bleeding, waiting, and praying for the pain to be over. Praying for the suffering to end, praying for rescue or death.
And she didn't want to think about all the wildlife that had been killed. Animals had stronger senses of intuition then humans did. Surely they were all alive, well, and not here. She refused to let her brain think about the number of animals that may not have migrated when they felt the battle with The First beginning a few months ago. She didn't want to imagine the bodies of rubble-crushed birds, raccoons, squirrels, dogs, cats… No, she wouldn't think about that; no picturing dead puppies.
Willow tried to hold back the shiver that threatened to creep up her spine. They really should call the police. They needed to send rescue teams, search dogs, helicopters, anything they could to help…
Willow herself wanted to help, desperately so. She needed to search, to do something useful instead of just standing here looking at the devastation all around her. She couldn't believe the thought as it came to her, but it was true. The idea of standing idly by stabbed at something within her. A primal part of her was frantic with need to go down into the crater of her home and search for anything that had survived; anything of theirs that had survived. They hadn't taken much into the final battle, only the necessary weapons and first aid equipment. Some of them hadn't even believed they'd make it out alive. Almost everything they owned had stayed at the house at 1630 Revello Drive. And now it was all gone.
They hadn't known they wouldn't be able to go back. She hadn't known she wouldn't be able to go back. She needed to go back. There was no question about it; she needed to go back. Nothing of her old life remained. There was nothing physical she could hold onto, nothing to keep her grounded. No books, no clothes, no pictures… they truly had nothing now. She needed to go down and try to find something to latch onto, to prove that what she was seeing before her wasn't true.
But she still had her memories though, right? She'd spent all her life in Sunnydale; surely she had memories, plenty of things she could hold onto. She didn't need physical substance to know who she was, did she? Memories could be enough. Memories of a happier life, of friends, family, joy, love, laughter… memories of Tara.
Tara. Her soul mate. That struck a chord in her heart. Looking out over the wreck of her home, Willow knew that what she wanted most of all was that headstone. She needed to find a way down into the crater, find that one cemetery among dozens, that one stone among hundreds, and find her headstone. It was the only part of Tara that had remained after her death.
That was what hurt the most for the redhead; it made her heart shatter into an infinite number of tiny pieces. Tara had been ripped away from her once before, cruelly murdered before her eyes, but pieces of her had remained after her death. Willow still had pictures of when the two of them were together, still had some of the other Wicca's clothes, she had the jewellery and trinkets Tara had bought, and had some of the magical items she had used while she was casting. But mostly, Willow had the headstone. That polished bit of rock engraved with a few simple words had marked where Tara's body lay beneath the ground.
For Willow, it was the only real link to Tara. It marked her final resting place, guarded over it. It protected Tara and kept her body safe. It assured Willow that her love was in a better place. It was constantly there when the redhead visited the gravesite; was there to lean against when the tears came, for they always came. When she sat in front of that headstone, Willow pictured she was sitting in front of Tara. As her fingers traced over the engraved words, she pictured running her fingers through the brunette's silky hair. When she spoke softly to it, she pictured herself talking to Tara, telling the other girl what was happening in the world, the latest demon they had defeated, how much she missed her…
Now, even that had been taken away from her. Willow didn't know if it was possible for her heart to break any further.
That headstone had been the only real part of Tara left. How could Willow go on without it? Without Tara? The love in her heart had been ripped to pieces and what remained was like shards of broken glass. And now even those pieces were gone, swept away with the breeze created when the earth caved in. Swept away without her control.
Willow wasn't strong. She never had been. She was intelligent, trustworthy, a powerful witch maybe, but she had never been strong. That had been proven when Tara died, when Willow lost the minimal control she had over her magic. When Willow held her lover's lifeless body in her arms, blood soaking through her shirt and tears streaming down her cheeks, nothing else had mattered. The one thing she had cared about most in the world had been brutally taken from her, and the control over her power had gone with it.
Yet slowly, ever so slowly, Willow had tried to put the broken pieces of her life back together. She tried to build around the gaping hole in her chest. It wasn't the same as it had been before, it could never be the same as before, but she'd gotten part of it back. She was gradually learning how to live again. She was becoming accustomed to the pain. The tug at her heart every time she walked into her empty bedroom was familiar now. Every morning when she walked into the kitchen and didn't find Tara making pancakes was accompanied by a small frown. She was used to the tingle of threatening tears whenever she woke up in the morning and Tara wasn't lying next to her. She'd lost her soul mate, and was slowly learning to live with the pain.
But Willow didn't think she'd be able to do that all over again. She wasn't sure she had the strength to endure the pain of losing Tara once more.
After spending months in England, learning to control her power, Willow had finally decided to come back to Sunnydale and face what had happened. She had finally begun to accept the painful truth that Tara truly was gone forever. And after being in town for a few days she had gone to the cemetery to see the headstone, as if to finalize everything. That had been one of the worst moments of her life. It would forever be one of the hardest things she had to go through.
Having to whisper to her dead love and explain that even though Tara hadn't wanted Willow to abuse her magic, had tried to prevent it, it was in essence Tara that had caused it to happen. It had hurt so much to admit that she had lost control of her magic because of Tara's death, had been sucked in and almost let it destroy her and everyone around her. That moment of admitting her weakness and failure to Tara had killed Willow inside.
During her stay at the Coven the fact that Tara was really gone hit Willow over and over again, like wave upon wave of the pounding water of a sea-storm. It had been agonizing, flashing back to that horrible moment each time she closed her eyes, being forced to remember that she hadn't been able to save the brunette. All her nightmares were the same. At first the two of them were in a state of bliss: Tara standing by the window watching Buffy and Xander make-up after their fight, Willow laughing and talking to the brunette, simply basking in the fact that they had forgiven each other and were together again. A sudden, loud, unexplained explosion of sound. Then the blood begins to seep through Tara's shirt, the spray of it hitting Willow. Tara's confused look at the blood-spatter covering Willow and whispered words of "your shirt." Then the horrible, painful moment as Willow was forced to stand and watch as her girlfriend fell to the ground. In her dreams, she was never able to move across the room fast enough, never able to save her love. She was forced to watch, over and over, as the life drained from Tara's beautiful blue eyes. With an agonizing cry Willow would wake from the nightmares. Every time she would look frantically around the dark and unfamiliar room, tangled in the bed sheets and drenched in a cold sweat. She'd open her eyes wide, then tightly squeeze them shut, desperately trying to block the memories. Then numbly, she'd wrap her arms around her knees, tears would slowly slide down her cheeks, and she'd hope that maybe in the morning the pain would be a little bit easier to endure.
But despite the terrible nightmares, during her stay in England there had never been any physical proof. There had been pain, so much pain, but no real proof that her girlfriend was gone. All the evidence had stayed in Sunnydale when Willow left. But stepping up to that stone after being away for so long, Willow had been terrified. The pain she'd felt when she held her bleeding lover during her dying moments had come back ten-fold.
Standing here right now though, looking out over the nothingness, Willow would give anything for that pain again. She'd suffer a million times through the pain if it meant she could have that headstone with her again, if she could feel it and imagine being with Tara once more. She had finally accepted that Tara couldn't come back to her, but she couldn't accept that the only surviving part of the brunette couldn't come back either.
Willow knew it was irrational, that the others wouldn't understand if she voiced it, but that was what she needed most right now. Not a hug, not a smile, not a cheer that said, "Hey, look, we won." Looking at the giant crater of destruction before her, the void where her home should be, Willow knew she would miss Tara's headstone the most.
That piece of rock always brought on a wave of tears. That piece of rock continuously reminded her of her lowest moments. That cold, hard, sharp piece of rock never failed to remind her of what she had lost, of the love she hadn't been able to save. But she missed it. She missed the only link she had left to Tara. Willow hadn't realized it all those times when she was sitting alone in the cemetery with it, but that headstone represented more than she had ever known.
That was always the case though, wasn't it? You never realize how much it means to you until it's gone.