Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.
Feedback: I love any and all feedback. The more the merrier!
Notes: This story covers all of the third season of Buffy and parts of the
second season of Angel. Fair warning, in case you haven't seen them.
Chapter 1
I remember back when I was younger. Most people look back at those days with fondness: happy memories of laughing children and playground games. I remember spending an hour in front of the mirror trying to cover up the black eye my father gave me when I came home five minutes too late. I remember crying alone in the dark on the hard wooden floor of my room, hoping for someone to have the grace to just kill me. But most of all I remember the loneliness, that hard, bitter feeling that no one would ever truly love me. No one would ever bother to take the time to reach the scared little girl that lied within, the girl that just wanted freedom, death, anything but this life she seemed forever chained to.
And I remember running away. That day when I just decided I couldn't take this pain any longer. Really, when I look back on it, it wasn't any different than any other day I'd experienced. I came home and my father stood in front of me, hands clenched into tight fists. He told me how worthless I was, how he wished I'd never came into his life, how I was nothing but a disgrace and a burden to him and my mother. I ran to my room, but instead of crying, I just stood there in the middle of my room staring defiantly at the wall. A voice from inside me told me that I couldn't take this anymore. I wasn't what they thought I was. I was something more than they could ever imagine me to be, and I couldn't become that person unless I left. So I packed my bags, and snuck out the window, not even bothering to leave a note. Not like they'd read it anyway.
Of course, that feeling of control left almost as soon as I stepped out of my house and into the world beyond. I thought the loneliness and heartache that I had felt before would just slip away and I would be free, like a imprisoned animal stepping outside the confines of its cage for the first time. But really, I just learned that the world is far harsher than anything I'd imagined before. There were no rays of sunshine and colorful rainbows. It was darkness, cold, empty, and unfeeling. I never felt so alone.
And so, I began to seek affection, looking for someone who cared. And that's when I met Billy. He seemed so nice and sweet, and I really thought he cared for me. That is, until I caught him in bed with someone else. It was pretty much the same story with Steve, Robert, Justin.every guy I tried to have a relationship with. I couldn't take the pain. I'd had my fair share in my 16 years, and if I had to endure anymore, I was sure it would break me.
And so I gave up. I accepted that I would never be loved, and that maybe my father's words were right, after all. Maybe I was worthless. But I still wouldn't let them break me. I had a few shreds of dignity left that I was desperately clinging to. That's when I realized that in order to avoid the heartache, I had to stop caring. I needed to forget everyone else in the world, and live for me. No one else was going to take care of me, so I had to take care of myself.
It was about this time that I found out about my calling. I was just hanging out at a local club, when a woman who looked to be about forty approached me and said she needed to talk to me. Of course, I dismissed her, promptly telling her to, "fuck off." But then she brought up the dreams. I'd been having them for a few months, and I never thought that were of any importance. But she knew details about my dreams; the people in them, the battles I fought, and the creatures I faced. I just stared at her, disbelieving, unable to form a single coherent thought in my head. How could she have known? And that question is what led me to her home.
She told me I was the Slayer and that it was my destiny, my birthright, to hunt and kill demons and vampires. Problem was, I didn't want a destiny. I'd dealt with so much in my life, and was so screwed up because of it. I didn't need this huge responsibility placed on my shoulders. Let someone else carry the burden of saving the world. All this time I had been looking for freedom, and this was just another barrier in my way.
But then I discovered the power. Staking my first vampire was more than just an adrenaline rush; it was an awakening. I had never felt more alive than I did at that very moment. For the first time in my life, I felt powerful. I could feel it coursing through my veins and covering up all the heartache. I was a new person.
After that point, I became obsessed with violence. Not because I enjoyed killing, but I wanted to feel that same euphoria I got when I killed that vampire; that feeling of utter and complete control. For that moment, right as my stake slammed into their chest, I felt like the most powerful person on the face of the earth. But as they faded into dust, so did that sensation. And as that feeling faded, the pain came flooding back. So, I turned to other sources to find that power.
Basically, I slept around. I'd go to clubs, chat up a guy, take him back to my motel room for a few hours of fun, and then kick him out. Like I said before, I had given up on being loved. I could settle for some raw sexual attention. And more importantly, it brought back that feeling of power. I was making the decisions; I was the one in control. I loved that feeling more than life itself.
But then the power left my grasp. I was left to watch helpless as my watcher died at the hands of demon. All I could do was stare as he brutally tore her flesh from her bones. I watched as he ripped her limbs from her body and then threw what was left of her against the wall like a broken doll. I saw him laughing all the while, taking pleasure in her death. When I saw him look at me, I ran.
I ran, and I ran, and I ran. After a while, I couldn't hear them behind me any longer, but I still kept running. I just knew that if I kept running long enough, it would all go away. I'd wake up; I'd realize that this was all just some horrible nightmare. If it is, then I guess I'm still dreaming.
I ended up at the train station where I took the first line out of Boston. I had to get away from that place, away from them. If I stayed, they'd find me sooner or later, and then I'd end up like my watcher. No matter how much I had wished for death before, I was terrified of it now. I had sworn to myself earlier that no one would ever break me, and I'd meant that figuratively as well as literally.
So, as the train lulled on its course and I left the city further and further behind, I closed my eyes and went to sleep, hoping to escape reality for a little while. But the whole gruesome scene just played over in my mind. It was so real, I could practically smell the blood. And once again, I ran away, like the coward I am. Only this time, they caught me.
I woke up with a start, jolting out of my chair, beads of sweat dripping off my forehead, gasping desperately for air. "It was a dream, it was just a dream." I just kept repeating it over and over until it finally started to sink in. I never really fully believed it, though. I just knew that they were out there, lurking it the shadows, looking for me. And more than that, I knew deep down in my gut that they would find me.
It was that thought that kept me moving. When the train finally stopped in Chicago, I only stayed a few days before taking another to Minneapolis. After that it was New Orleans, then Houston, then Phoenix, and then Las Vegas. At the end of all my travels was Sunnydale.
Chapter 1
I remember back when I was younger. Most people look back at those days with fondness: happy memories of laughing children and playground games. I remember spending an hour in front of the mirror trying to cover up the black eye my father gave me when I came home five minutes too late. I remember crying alone in the dark on the hard wooden floor of my room, hoping for someone to have the grace to just kill me. But most of all I remember the loneliness, that hard, bitter feeling that no one would ever truly love me. No one would ever bother to take the time to reach the scared little girl that lied within, the girl that just wanted freedom, death, anything but this life she seemed forever chained to.
And I remember running away. That day when I just decided I couldn't take this pain any longer. Really, when I look back on it, it wasn't any different than any other day I'd experienced. I came home and my father stood in front of me, hands clenched into tight fists. He told me how worthless I was, how he wished I'd never came into his life, how I was nothing but a disgrace and a burden to him and my mother. I ran to my room, but instead of crying, I just stood there in the middle of my room staring defiantly at the wall. A voice from inside me told me that I couldn't take this anymore. I wasn't what they thought I was. I was something more than they could ever imagine me to be, and I couldn't become that person unless I left. So I packed my bags, and snuck out the window, not even bothering to leave a note. Not like they'd read it anyway.
Of course, that feeling of control left almost as soon as I stepped out of my house and into the world beyond. I thought the loneliness and heartache that I had felt before would just slip away and I would be free, like a imprisoned animal stepping outside the confines of its cage for the first time. But really, I just learned that the world is far harsher than anything I'd imagined before. There were no rays of sunshine and colorful rainbows. It was darkness, cold, empty, and unfeeling. I never felt so alone.
And so, I began to seek affection, looking for someone who cared. And that's when I met Billy. He seemed so nice and sweet, and I really thought he cared for me. That is, until I caught him in bed with someone else. It was pretty much the same story with Steve, Robert, Justin.every guy I tried to have a relationship with. I couldn't take the pain. I'd had my fair share in my 16 years, and if I had to endure anymore, I was sure it would break me.
And so I gave up. I accepted that I would never be loved, and that maybe my father's words were right, after all. Maybe I was worthless. But I still wouldn't let them break me. I had a few shreds of dignity left that I was desperately clinging to. That's when I realized that in order to avoid the heartache, I had to stop caring. I needed to forget everyone else in the world, and live for me. No one else was going to take care of me, so I had to take care of myself.
It was about this time that I found out about my calling. I was just hanging out at a local club, when a woman who looked to be about forty approached me and said she needed to talk to me. Of course, I dismissed her, promptly telling her to, "fuck off." But then she brought up the dreams. I'd been having them for a few months, and I never thought that were of any importance. But she knew details about my dreams; the people in them, the battles I fought, and the creatures I faced. I just stared at her, disbelieving, unable to form a single coherent thought in my head. How could she have known? And that question is what led me to her home.
She told me I was the Slayer and that it was my destiny, my birthright, to hunt and kill demons and vampires. Problem was, I didn't want a destiny. I'd dealt with so much in my life, and was so screwed up because of it. I didn't need this huge responsibility placed on my shoulders. Let someone else carry the burden of saving the world. All this time I had been looking for freedom, and this was just another barrier in my way.
But then I discovered the power. Staking my first vampire was more than just an adrenaline rush; it was an awakening. I had never felt more alive than I did at that very moment. For the first time in my life, I felt powerful. I could feel it coursing through my veins and covering up all the heartache. I was a new person.
After that point, I became obsessed with violence. Not because I enjoyed killing, but I wanted to feel that same euphoria I got when I killed that vampire; that feeling of utter and complete control. For that moment, right as my stake slammed into their chest, I felt like the most powerful person on the face of the earth. But as they faded into dust, so did that sensation. And as that feeling faded, the pain came flooding back. So, I turned to other sources to find that power.
Basically, I slept around. I'd go to clubs, chat up a guy, take him back to my motel room for a few hours of fun, and then kick him out. Like I said before, I had given up on being loved. I could settle for some raw sexual attention. And more importantly, it brought back that feeling of power. I was making the decisions; I was the one in control. I loved that feeling more than life itself.
But then the power left my grasp. I was left to watch helpless as my watcher died at the hands of demon. All I could do was stare as he brutally tore her flesh from her bones. I watched as he ripped her limbs from her body and then threw what was left of her against the wall like a broken doll. I saw him laughing all the while, taking pleasure in her death. When I saw him look at me, I ran.
I ran, and I ran, and I ran. After a while, I couldn't hear them behind me any longer, but I still kept running. I just knew that if I kept running long enough, it would all go away. I'd wake up; I'd realize that this was all just some horrible nightmare. If it is, then I guess I'm still dreaming.
I ended up at the train station where I took the first line out of Boston. I had to get away from that place, away from them. If I stayed, they'd find me sooner or later, and then I'd end up like my watcher. No matter how much I had wished for death before, I was terrified of it now. I had sworn to myself earlier that no one would ever break me, and I'd meant that figuratively as well as literally.
So, as the train lulled on its course and I left the city further and further behind, I closed my eyes and went to sleep, hoping to escape reality for a little while. But the whole gruesome scene just played over in my mind. It was so real, I could practically smell the blood. And once again, I ran away, like the coward I am. Only this time, they caught me.
I woke up with a start, jolting out of my chair, beads of sweat dripping off my forehead, gasping desperately for air. "It was a dream, it was just a dream." I just kept repeating it over and over until it finally started to sink in. I never really fully believed it, though. I just knew that they were out there, lurking it the shadows, looking for me. And more than that, I knew deep down in my gut that they would find me.
It was that thought that kept me moving. When the train finally stopped in Chicago, I only stayed a few days before taking another to Minneapolis. After that it was New Orleans, then Houston, then Phoenix, and then Las Vegas. At the end of all my travels was Sunnydale.