Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant
Enemy, the WB, Fox. They are not mine.
Summary: Just a short little 'what would happen if the big evil won'
fic.
by: Andrea
When Buffy died, I didn't cry. It seemed pointless, I mean, we all knew
she wasn't going to live forever. I think the others had forgotten. They
all stood around her body sobbing, and saying that without her we were
nothing. They were wrong, we were something, we were all that Sunnydale
had left. I don't know where the next Slayer went, but it wasn't here.
Nothing good came to Sunnydale after she died.
I think Oz died next, but it might have been Angel. I get confused
sometimes about how it went. I remember Willow holding Oz's body and
begging Giles to make it better. We buried him next to Buffy. I think.
There aren't any headstones, which makes it hard to remember. I know
that Giles didn't want to put Angel's ashes with the others, but Xander
insisted. He was different after Willow died, colder, but also more
forgiving.
So maybe Willow died before Angel, she must have. I don't remember her
death at all, no one cried for her. We didn't have any tears left by
that time. We didn't have much of anything. Sunnydale was a ghost town,
given up to the evil that emanated from under it. Sometimes I wonder why
we didn't leave, why I didn't leave. I don't anymore. Not that I can do
anything to fight it, but at least I can witness it, I can say that some
people, some very special people gave their lives to try and stop it.
Xander and I held Giles' hand while he died. The Watcher faded into
death still telling us what to do, namely to get out of Sunnydale. We
didn't. We couldn't, we had to bury Giles with the others. I planted
flowers in a circle around the graves, reciting a protection spell that
hadn't saved Willow.
After he was buried, we collected all the weapons we could, knowing that
we couldn't win, and went to the High School. I was hoping for death, I
think Xander was too. We made love before we went, for the first and
last time. Xander got his wish that night, but I didn't.
I hadn't cried in over two years when he died, but I cried for him. My
body was covered in his blood, and I never did wash it off. It's gone
now; when I look at my hands I only see dirt. I don't know why I'm still
alive. I'm no phoenix rising from the ashes; I can't change anything.
Sunnydale is lost to the evil. I try to think of what Buffy would do,
how she would fight, but I'm not her. I don't have any special skills,
no magic, no strength, not even the determination that Xander had.
So I sit in the circle of flowers, my body only three feet above
Xander's, wishing I had the strength to dig down, and lay with him. I
hear his voice sometimes, calling to me, telling me that he loves me. I
know it's not real, at least most of the time. But every day I believe
it's him for a little longer, yesterday I even replied, and we talked
for three hours before I realized I was alone.
The demons wait outside my little circle, taunting me, trying to make me
step outside. I can't though, I can't leave Xander, and there is no one
to bury me next to him. So I smile at them, and I lay above him, waiting
for the day that one of them breaks the circle, waiting for the day when
I die on the ground that covers him.
Waiting.