This is my first fic in quite awhile. It's short and is Buffy's POV in season 6 after Wrecked.
Disclaimer: OBJ
Feedback: Common, I haven't written anything in ages, I want to know what you think!
AN: This isn't totally B/A, it has mentions of Angel and Spike but is mostly about Buffy dealing with life after heaven.

She’s dancing alone. She’s in the middle of the Bronze. Everyone is dancing with her and around her and she’s all by herself. All alone, a baby girl, barely three months old and having to look after herself and her baby sister – not energy anymore, just a sister. No mommy to take care of her and make soup when she is cold.

Cold like now. Cold like when he comes from behind and slinks his arm around her waist. Dancing close to her, chilled body, smooth and comforting. Like death. Only worse because Death is good and is soft and he is evil and bad. If she sinned she would deserve him but she was good and kind and wanted to die and they brought her back to a place that was hot and burning and pulled tight on her skin.

He’s cold and bright to look at, but has baby soft skin and shiny yellow hair. He looks like where she was. Soft and bright and comforting. He isn’t that though. He’s evil.

She tries to pull away. They are here. They who took her away from that place and will take her away from him if she doesn’t leave him first. He clings to her like a cobweb. Cobwebs are made to kill things but look beautiful in the rain. His eyes are sad. Like hers, filled with the stuff rain is made of. And the rain doesn’t fall because her clouds are too strong. She is too strong. She was strong enough for all of them and they couldn’t live without her. Couldn’t be left alone. She is all alone.

She stays in crowded places, doesn’t like being alone by herself anymore. The crowd makes a sound, a dim echo reverberating around her head. It dulls the screaming and stops her thinking for one second about where she was. The place that was soft and gentle, that reminded her of who her mommy was and what warm milk felt like against her lips. The place where dreams were made and you could sleep forever.

She glanced up at the stage. A man she used to know had played a guitar on that stage. People she’d known had to danced on this dance floor. Friends she’d used to have had laughed with her at a table next to the stairs. Now all she had was four people who made her pretend to smile, a little sister she had to look after and a demon she was fucking .

The people that she knew the best, that knew her the best had left. People that cherished her and loved her enough to let her be, but left her for her own good when she needed them the most. Her mommy, soft and beautiful. Her watcher, strong and proud, who loved her like her dad was supposed to but didn’t. And her angel, her precious love who left because he loved her. Left her for a life of happiness and white fences and babies but all she got was cobwebs and raindrops and pretend smiles to make everyone that wasn’t her happy.

And however much she wanted them back, these people who meant the world to her, she couldn’t have them, couldn’t even want them because that would mean admitting she was lonely. Admitting she was all alone in the crowded rooms and that would break six people. Six people who loved her but didn’t care about her.

She narrates her story, doesn’t tell it from her perspective. If she pretends it’s somebody else’s life, if she pretends she isn’t really there, maybe she’ll disappear. The pain would stop and she could go back to the place with the warm milk and her mommy lay sleeping.

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