3/22/05

Death

A year before Buffy had arrived in Sunnydale, Willow Rosenberg had died. A car accident, hit and run. While the driver of the car had freaked out, dialing 911 on his cell phone, her limp body drained itself of blood, one of her ribs puncturing her lung. She had struggled to cough her last breath, finally still.

An hour later, she woke up in the morgue. The teenager had sat up, a white sheet pooling around her naked waist, wide green eyes staring at her surroundings. Cold, scared, paranoid, and confused, she ran past the lifeless bodies to the door, which was locked. Seeing an open window, she broke it farther outwards. Jumping out, she tumbled a floor down, finally running off into the night, clutching the white sheet to herself. Reaching her home and collapsing onto her bed, she rocked herself to sleep, terrified.

She never told anyone what had happened, and the police had never gone looking for her. Death and disappearances were common in Sunnydale, after all. Willow had put the incident behind her, rationalizing the experience as a dream. And, when Buffy had arrived, she was too caught up with the fight against vampires and things that go bump in the night that she didn't give any thought to herself.

However, now, she had every reason to. As the Grisalk demon traced one of its claws down her jaw and neck, blood trailed down from her splitting skin. It chortled evilly to itself. Willow whimpered, knowing that Buffy wasn't patrolling that night. The Slayer was spending the evening with Xander and Cordelia at the Bronze watching Oz play. They weren't expecting her till later. Because Willow had decided to surprise them by coming earlier, she was now in this particular predicament.

The demon snuffled at her neck, holding her hostage by one huge hand wrapped around her chest, constricting her breathing, crushing her. She wheezed, tears leaking out of her eyes, her arms pressed against her sides. She couldn't remember any spells, and the pain was making her mind cloudy. It hurt so much… For the second time in her life, Willow Rosenberg knew that she was going to die. What she could remember about the Grisalk demon was not good.

And, as the demon punched its fist into her chest and tore out her heart, it tossed Willow's lifeless body over its shoulder, gorging on the still pumping muscle. Showered in her blood and reenergized, it wandered off into the night, looking for another easy victim.

An hour and a half later, Willow's fingers twitched. Her chest suddenly inflated, and she gasped, sitting up. With trembling hands, she touched her chest where a bloody hole once gaped. Poking through her torn shirt, she felt only skin and a faint heartbeat. Trembling so violently she could barely move, Willow lurched onto her hands and knees, vomiting messily onto the blood covered ground.

She remembered dying. The pain. The blankness. A surge of acid pushed against her throat, and she expelled it. What… What was happening to her? Tears burned out of her eyes, and she shuddered. Raising tentatively onto her feet, she teetered home, holding onto anything she could to hold herself up.

She stank of blood, sweat, and vomit. Entering her house, she made her way to the shower, where she sank sobbing under the warm spray. She was too afraid to take off her clothing. Scrubbing everywhere on her body so harshly she tore her clothing and rubbed her skin raw, she finally collapsed still sobbing onto her bed.

The frantic knocking on her bedroom door woke her up some time later. "Willow! Willow!" Confused and achy with a fog-filled head, Willow groaned and burrowed herself deeper into her covers. The pounding continued. She wished it would go away and let her sleep in peace. "Willow? Willow!" Finally, after it sounded like an army brigade had used her door as target practice for thrown bowling balls, the interruption stopped.

Her relief was short lived when the door swung open and Buffy stepped into her room. Heading straight for the bed, the blonde threw herself down onto the redhead, gathering her into a hug.

There was another noise at the door, and Xander appeared, gasping for breath, his hands on his knees. Looking up through his bangs, he wheezed, "Geez, Buffy. Slayer, versus NORMAL. Thanks for leaving me behind."

"No problem." Buffy moved away, giving Willow a tremulous smile. "You okay?"

"What…?" Blinking herself awake, the redhead looked up as Xander moved towards the bed, taking a seat next the both of them, folding his long legs.

"You were out for a three days, Will'."

"I was?"

"Yeah." Xander reached out and ruffled her hair gently, in the way he used to.

Buffy frowned at her. "You didn't get our messages? The school called, too."

"School?"

"Well, Giles."

"Ah." Willow nodded, sitting back, yawning. She had been sleeping for three days? She didn't feel much rested. She looked over at the phone machine – it was blinking. Seeing that her two best friends were looking at her expectantly, she mustered a smile, "Sorry guys. I've just been sleeping. A cold, you know."

Buffy took a hand and felt her forehead, a concerned expression on her face. "You do feel a little warm…"

Willow coughed obligingly for her.