Waking the Dead
Author's notes: The title of this was taken from a movie that I have yet to see. I want to, cause it has Billy Crudup and Jennifer Connelly in it, but I can never find it to rent. Anyway, I liked the sound of it, I couldn't think of anything else.
This is only my second fic, so I'm still not really sure what I'm doing. Just throwing that out there. Also, while this story isn't strictly B/S, that is my 'ship, so it's gonna be slanted that way. So you may want to skip this if you're very much against Buffy and Spike as a couple.
Insert standard disclaimer about me not owning anything.
Have a nice day. ^_^
* * *
I've never really met my sister. She was in a mental institution for years before I was even born. I sometimes wondered if the only reason I exist was to make the real world more like her fantasy. I wondered what Mom and Dad would have done if I'd been born a boy.
I wasn't though. I was born a healthy baby girl, named after my sister's delusion. Pretty Dawnie, the key to Buffy's health. Pure shining energy wrapped in a pink blanket. Hold the baby, she loves you, she wants to meet her sister, no support the head, Buffy – she's gone again. Not that I can remember any of it, but I'm sure it must have happened at some time.
Is it even possible to love someone who only speaks to people who exist somewhere the rest of us can't see? A slip of a girl, swallowed by madness and drowning in hospital gowns, as well as her own mind. Is it possible to love a girl whose blank eyes reflect the broken dreams of our parents, old and gone before their time? To love a girl who never knows you're there, and can never love you back? I do love her, though.
Sometimes, when I'm at her side, I'll hold her hands, and look into those impossibly wide eyes, and I know that I've somehow connected to her. They told me that before I was born, she almost broke through her cocoon. It nearly twenty years ago, the last time.
Buffy still looks like a little girl. No wrinkles mar her pretty face. Her body does not look lived in. I guess it hasn't really been. There is no gray in her hair, though it is no longer the blond it once was. Mom had insisted that we keep dyeing it, but I don't have the energy to do it myself. So Buffy's hair is the same color as mine; a dirty color somewhere in between blonde and brown, as if it couldn't decide what it wanted to be. It's an appropriate shade for us.
Buffy is forty-two now, and I'm nineteen. Mom's been gone almost a year. Dad died when I was only eight. He couldn't cope after Buffy's last brush with reality. The drinking started before I was born. In a way, I never really knew my father, either. He must have been different before. Mom was so strong. She never gave up hoping for Buffy, and she didn't love me any less for not being the miracle they'd hoped for. I grew up with stories of Buffy, but never felt that I was her replacement. My life was pretty much as typical as it could be, given the circumstances.
The day everything changed was a Monday. I'd just gotten out of my history class, and was visiting Buffy before work. Monday was her bath day, and her hair was damp and she smelled of watermelon. She sat on her bed, pink pajamas crumpled under her legs, an ancient stuffed pig by her side. Her lips were curved into a slight smile. I was filled with love at the sight of her.
"Hi, sweetie!" I sat down on her bed, careful not to jostle her too much. "I brought you something. It's not much, but I'm a poor college student now. I hope you like it." I took her present out of my bag. It was a small glass orb, pink and shiny. There was nothing very special about it. I'd seen it at one of those street sales, and bought it on a whim. She'd liked pretty things, before. Or so I'd been told.
Her hands were at her sides, buried beneath the covers. I picked them up and formed them into a cup shape that would hold the trinket. Then I placed it in her hands. The world shattered in that instant.
Buffy blinked. The orb fell from her hands onto the bed, and rolled onto the floor, bouncing, then rolling under her chest of drawers. I didn't notice anything wrong at first. She often dropped things. But then she looked at me, actually at me, and not through me. Her eyes were pools of confusion.
"Who are you?"
Her words were pebbles, dropping into the still pond of the room. She'd talked before; I'd heard her do it. But the words she spoke were never directed at people anyone else could see. This was different. She was looking at me and talking to me, and she grabbed my shirt and shook me so hard my teeth cracked against each other.
"Buffy?" I asked stupidly. That probably wasn't the most intelligent thing I could have said to the sister who'd been catatonic all of my life. But at times like that, my brain kinda shuts off and my mouth works on its own.
"Who ARE you? Where am I? Oh god, the car! The car and Dawn and the babies. There was the car, and the rain and a light, the babies were crying and where AM I?" She was up off the bed now, looking around her, as if she was trying to find the car she was talking about.
"Dawn? I was there with you? Buffy, I'm Dawn. I'm your sister, and you're in the hospital." I spoke at a slow space, and I enunciated the words too harshly. I was as unprepared as I could have been. A thousand thoughts and feelings ran through my head. Joy was easily the most prominent, but there was also confusion, fear, and strangely, anger. Why couldn't she have woken up two years ago? Ten years ago, or twenty? Why now, when I was the only person left who remembered she was there?
"You're not Dawn." Buffy's words were so matter of fact that it frightened me. There were times when I actually did wonder if I was real. If maybe I'd created myself in some delusion, and I was the one sitting around in pink pajamas getting bathed by strangers.
"Buffy, I am. I have my driver's license if you want to inspect it?" Great Dawn, go with humor. Always the best way to deal with an unstable person.
Buffy surprised me then, and actually grabbed for my purse, turning it out and spilling its contents all over the floor. She snatched my wallet from among the pile of tampons and receipts and read aloud the information printed on my license. "Dawn Caroline Summers. Born June 16th, 2004. Okay, now I know something very wrong is happening. Dawn was born in 1986. She's just five years younger than I am, and you look like you're still in high school. What did you do to me? I'm telling you right now that if you don't undo it soon, you're going to have to deal with a very cranky Buffy, because I'm needed somewhere else right now."
"I… Buffy…" I had the strong premonition that if I didn't say the right thing, she was going to come closer to me, and shake me like she had before. And maybe she'd crack something besides my teeth. She was obviously still in her fantasy world, but she was reacting to the world around her. I didn't know what this meant, but I did know that I had to get a doctor, and now wasn't soon enough.
I tried to be discreet about backing towards the door, but she read me too well. She had me before I took two steps. She must have thought that I was purposely trying to injure her. Before I really know it, she had us both out the window, and rolling on the cool grass outside.
I wasn't exactly Little Miss Athletic. Being dragged along by my newly awakened sister was probably more aerobically challenging than anything I'd done in a long time. I didn't even try to wrench free. Buffy's grip was strong. I would have needed a crowbar to pry her tiny fingers from my wrist. The only choices I had were to run with her, or to fall to the sidewalk and skid.
After a block or so, Buffy stopped. I guess she'd realized that she didn't know where she was taking me. She switched tactics.
"Take me to your car," she said in a voice so commanding I didn't think of not complying. Her eyes were wild, but she seemed in control. She did not seem at all like a madwoman.
I stammered; she unnerved me. "I-It in the west parking lot." I pointed dumbly. She'd actually taken us farther from my car than we'd originally been. She didn't let go of my hand, but turned around and started pulling me in the opposite direction.
When we got to the parking lot, Buffy loosened her grip and pushed me ahead of her.
"Go to the car. Give me the keys. I'm driving, but you're coming with me. I need you to tell me how to get to the freeway. I'm taking you to Sunnydale."
Author's notes: The title of this was taken from a movie that I have yet to see. I want to, cause it has Billy Crudup and Jennifer Connelly in it, but I can never find it to rent. Anyway, I liked the sound of it, I couldn't think of anything else.
This is only my second fic, so I'm still not really sure what I'm doing. Just throwing that out there. Also, while this story isn't strictly B/S, that is my 'ship, so it's gonna be slanted that way. So you may want to skip this if you're very much against Buffy and Spike as a couple.
Insert standard disclaimer about me not owning anything.
Have a nice day. ^_^
* * *
I've never really met my sister. She was in a mental institution for years before I was even born. I sometimes wondered if the only reason I exist was to make the real world more like her fantasy. I wondered what Mom and Dad would have done if I'd been born a boy.
I wasn't though. I was born a healthy baby girl, named after my sister's delusion. Pretty Dawnie, the key to Buffy's health. Pure shining energy wrapped in a pink blanket. Hold the baby, she loves you, she wants to meet her sister, no support the head, Buffy – she's gone again. Not that I can remember any of it, but I'm sure it must have happened at some time.
Is it even possible to love someone who only speaks to people who exist somewhere the rest of us can't see? A slip of a girl, swallowed by madness and drowning in hospital gowns, as well as her own mind. Is it possible to love a girl whose blank eyes reflect the broken dreams of our parents, old and gone before their time? To love a girl who never knows you're there, and can never love you back? I do love her, though.
Sometimes, when I'm at her side, I'll hold her hands, and look into those impossibly wide eyes, and I know that I've somehow connected to her. They told me that before I was born, she almost broke through her cocoon. It nearly twenty years ago, the last time.
Buffy still looks like a little girl. No wrinkles mar her pretty face. Her body does not look lived in. I guess it hasn't really been. There is no gray in her hair, though it is no longer the blond it once was. Mom had insisted that we keep dyeing it, but I don't have the energy to do it myself. So Buffy's hair is the same color as mine; a dirty color somewhere in between blonde and brown, as if it couldn't decide what it wanted to be. It's an appropriate shade for us.
Buffy is forty-two now, and I'm nineteen. Mom's been gone almost a year. Dad died when I was only eight. He couldn't cope after Buffy's last brush with reality. The drinking started before I was born. In a way, I never really knew my father, either. He must have been different before. Mom was so strong. She never gave up hoping for Buffy, and she didn't love me any less for not being the miracle they'd hoped for. I grew up with stories of Buffy, but never felt that I was her replacement. My life was pretty much as typical as it could be, given the circumstances.
The day everything changed was a Monday. I'd just gotten out of my history class, and was visiting Buffy before work. Monday was her bath day, and her hair was damp and she smelled of watermelon. She sat on her bed, pink pajamas crumpled under her legs, an ancient stuffed pig by her side. Her lips were curved into a slight smile. I was filled with love at the sight of her.
"Hi, sweetie!" I sat down on her bed, careful not to jostle her too much. "I brought you something. It's not much, but I'm a poor college student now. I hope you like it." I took her present out of my bag. It was a small glass orb, pink and shiny. There was nothing very special about it. I'd seen it at one of those street sales, and bought it on a whim. She'd liked pretty things, before. Or so I'd been told.
Her hands were at her sides, buried beneath the covers. I picked them up and formed them into a cup shape that would hold the trinket. Then I placed it in her hands. The world shattered in that instant.
Buffy blinked. The orb fell from her hands onto the bed, and rolled onto the floor, bouncing, then rolling under her chest of drawers. I didn't notice anything wrong at first. She often dropped things. But then she looked at me, actually at me, and not through me. Her eyes were pools of confusion.
"Who are you?"
Her words were pebbles, dropping into the still pond of the room. She'd talked before; I'd heard her do it. But the words she spoke were never directed at people anyone else could see. This was different. She was looking at me and talking to me, and she grabbed my shirt and shook me so hard my teeth cracked against each other.
"Buffy?" I asked stupidly. That probably wasn't the most intelligent thing I could have said to the sister who'd been catatonic all of my life. But at times like that, my brain kinda shuts off and my mouth works on its own.
"Who ARE you? Where am I? Oh god, the car! The car and Dawn and the babies. There was the car, and the rain and a light, the babies were crying and where AM I?" She was up off the bed now, looking around her, as if she was trying to find the car she was talking about.
"Dawn? I was there with you? Buffy, I'm Dawn. I'm your sister, and you're in the hospital." I spoke at a slow space, and I enunciated the words too harshly. I was as unprepared as I could have been. A thousand thoughts and feelings ran through my head. Joy was easily the most prominent, but there was also confusion, fear, and strangely, anger. Why couldn't she have woken up two years ago? Ten years ago, or twenty? Why now, when I was the only person left who remembered she was there?
"You're not Dawn." Buffy's words were so matter of fact that it frightened me. There were times when I actually did wonder if I was real. If maybe I'd created myself in some delusion, and I was the one sitting around in pink pajamas getting bathed by strangers.
"Buffy, I am. I have my driver's license if you want to inspect it?" Great Dawn, go with humor. Always the best way to deal with an unstable person.
Buffy surprised me then, and actually grabbed for my purse, turning it out and spilling its contents all over the floor. She snatched my wallet from among the pile of tampons and receipts and read aloud the information printed on my license. "Dawn Caroline Summers. Born June 16th, 2004. Okay, now I know something very wrong is happening. Dawn was born in 1986. She's just five years younger than I am, and you look like you're still in high school. What did you do to me? I'm telling you right now that if you don't undo it soon, you're going to have to deal with a very cranky Buffy, because I'm needed somewhere else right now."
"I… Buffy…" I had the strong premonition that if I didn't say the right thing, she was going to come closer to me, and shake me like she had before. And maybe she'd crack something besides my teeth. She was obviously still in her fantasy world, but she was reacting to the world around her. I didn't know what this meant, but I did know that I had to get a doctor, and now wasn't soon enough.
I tried to be discreet about backing towards the door, but she read me too well. She had me before I took two steps. She must have thought that I was purposely trying to injure her. Before I really know it, she had us both out the window, and rolling on the cool grass outside.
I wasn't exactly Little Miss Athletic. Being dragged along by my newly awakened sister was probably more aerobically challenging than anything I'd done in a long time. I didn't even try to wrench free. Buffy's grip was strong. I would have needed a crowbar to pry her tiny fingers from my wrist. The only choices I had were to run with her, or to fall to the sidewalk and skid.
After a block or so, Buffy stopped. I guess she'd realized that she didn't know where she was taking me. She switched tactics.
"Take me to your car," she said in a voice so commanding I didn't think of not complying. Her eyes were wild, but she seemed in control. She did not seem at all like a madwoman.
I stammered; she unnerved me. "I-It in the west parking lot." I pointed dumbly. She'd actually taken us farther from my car than we'd originally been. She didn't let go of my hand, but turned around and started pulling me in the opposite direction.
When we got to the parking lot, Buffy loosened her grip and pushed me ahead of her.
"Go to the car. Give me the keys. I'm driving, but you're coming with me. I need you to tell me how to get to the freeway. I'm taking you to Sunnydale."