I didn't think that I'd lost consciousness. I remember the world going
black, and, at that moment, embracing the death that waited for me. I'm
not sure what hit me, or even why I blacked out, because when I came to, I
was in the hospital, and my only injury besides the scrapes and bruises
that were to be expected was a broken arm. It was a little too similar to
the one other car accident I'd ever been in. This time, however, there was
no Willow to blame in a childish pique.
They were all hovering around my bed when I opened my eyes. Xander looked drunk. Spike had a look in his eyes that, had I not known him better, I would have sworn was murderous. Giles was sitting in a chair right next to my bed. He looked tired. These were my heroes, my champions, and my only remaining family.
It fell to Giles to tell me what had happened. Poor Giles. He always had to tell us the things that were too hard for others to speak aloud. He had already taken his glasses off. I wondered if it was so he wouldn't have to see the look on my face when he told me. Before he even opened his mouth, I knew he would be telling of death.
"Dawn," he said slowly. "You were in an accident."
As if I didn't know that. As if I were simply lying in a hospital bed surrounded by roses and pity because it was a fun thing to do. I didn't say anything, because I feared I would yell at Giles, and he was an old man now, with a weak heart. Nothing that had happened was his fault. I nodded and closed my eyes, trying to block out the world for the few seconds it took to moisten my eyes. When I opened them again, I looked down at the blue bedspread, and the ugly hospital gown I was wearing.
"Buffy and the children…" he took a breath, and I wanted to tell him to just say it, that I knew from the way he carefully selected his words that what he was going to say was as bad as it could possibly be. "They didn't make it, Dawn."
As I listened to him, images flashed before my eyes. Buffy clutching at the wheel, and frantically trying to steer us to safety. The truck – it was red – coming towards us. Kristin, in her party dress, flying forward. A fairy drifting through the rain. I knew what was coming, knew what Giles was about to say.
In a way, it was a relief to have the words out there. Now that I knew my children and my sister were gone, I could begin to grieve for them, and try to move on. I'd been through this so many times before. There were so many deaths in my past. First Mom, then Buffy, Willow, Tara, Anya, my father, and Jack, my love. And now Giles was telling me my babies were gone, too. And Buffy, again.
I felt myself speed through several of the stages of grief then. Denial: They weren't really dead. They couldn't be. The Powers would not be that cruel to me, so soon after the death of my husband. I was still unconscious, dreaming this. Anger: It was Buffy's fault; she was driving. My fault, for suggesting we go out in the first place. It was the other driver's fault. It was Henry's fault, for crying.
I stopped myself there. I didn't want to think anymore. Instead, I started crying.
Spike spoke then, for the first time since I'd woken up. "That's it, luv. Cry, you'll feel better." I wondered how much he'd cried himself. Between us all, we'd surely cry enough to flood Sunnydale in our sorrow. He took my hand and squeezed it.
Xander walked over to me, and began stroking my hair. I turned to him and embraced him. He felt solid, and smelled of sweat and beer. I held on to him, and the world faded into the mingled sounds of our grief.
* * *
They were all hovering around my bed when I opened my eyes. Xander looked drunk. Spike had a look in his eyes that, had I not known him better, I would have sworn was murderous. Giles was sitting in a chair right next to my bed. He looked tired. These were my heroes, my champions, and my only remaining family.
It fell to Giles to tell me what had happened. Poor Giles. He always had to tell us the things that were too hard for others to speak aloud. He had already taken his glasses off. I wondered if it was so he wouldn't have to see the look on my face when he told me. Before he even opened his mouth, I knew he would be telling of death.
"Dawn," he said slowly. "You were in an accident."
As if I didn't know that. As if I were simply lying in a hospital bed surrounded by roses and pity because it was a fun thing to do. I didn't say anything, because I feared I would yell at Giles, and he was an old man now, with a weak heart. Nothing that had happened was his fault. I nodded and closed my eyes, trying to block out the world for the few seconds it took to moisten my eyes. When I opened them again, I looked down at the blue bedspread, and the ugly hospital gown I was wearing.
"Buffy and the children…" he took a breath, and I wanted to tell him to just say it, that I knew from the way he carefully selected his words that what he was going to say was as bad as it could possibly be. "They didn't make it, Dawn."
As I listened to him, images flashed before my eyes. Buffy clutching at the wheel, and frantically trying to steer us to safety. The truck – it was red – coming towards us. Kristin, in her party dress, flying forward. A fairy drifting through the rain. I knew what was coming, knew what Giles was about to say.
In a way, it was a relief to have the words out there. Now that I knew my children and my sister were gone, I could begin to grieve for them, and try to move on. I'd been through this so many times before. There were so many deaths in my past. First Mom, then Buffy, Willow, Tara, Anya, my father, and Jack, my love. And now Giles was telling me my babies were gone, too. And Buffy, again.
I felt myself speed through several of the stages of grief then. Denial: They weren't really dead. They couldn't be. The Powers would not be that cruel to me, so soon after the death of my husband. I was still unconscious, dreaming this. Anger: It was Buffy's fault; she was driving. My fault, for suggesting we go out in the first place. It was the other driver's fault. It was Henry's fault, for crying.
I stopped myself there. I didn't want to think anymore. Instead, I started crying.
Spike spoke then, for the first time since I'd woken up. "That's it, luv. Cry, you'll feel better." I wondered how much he'd cried himself. Between us all, we'd surely cry enough to flood Sunnydale in our sorrow. He took my hand and squeezed it.
Xander walked over to me, and began stroking my hair. I turned to him and embraced him. He felt solid, and smelled of sweat and beer. I held on to him, and the world faded into the mingled sounds of our grief.
* * *