Buffy felt like she'd been hit by a truck and shot up with drugs at the same time.

In all fairness, it wasn't too far off the truth. The big bad she'd fought happened to be the metaphorical truck, the channelling of unstable magic the metaphorical high.

Every bone, muscle and nerve ending hurt. Sharp flares of pain assaulted her skull. She recalled the fight between her and Adam a few moments before. The supernatural strength she relied on to fight the forces of evil did little more than hit like a wet towel against his tough frame.

That all changed when her friends completed the spell halfway across the Initiative compound, injecting a surge of mystical power in her muscles. It came in handy when kicking the living crap out of a man-made cyborg/demon/thing that could probably stand in front of a freight train and come out the encounter intact. Adam viewed the matter of life and death as a game, and decided to let Buffy run around because she amused him so much, killing his minions here and there.

His underestimation turned out to be rather fatal when she yanked out his uranium battery heart. The last of the magic trickled out, leaving her body relatively pain-free. She levered herself upright, scraping hands against moss and stone. Hang on. Moss? Stone? Wha-?

Something wasn't right.

She was pretty sure one minute ago her face was stuck to a linoleum floor.

Now she sat in a cemetery, no longer sharing a room with Adam's corpse. In fact, she no longer shared the same battleground as her friends. Some definite un-sharing was going on. Panic seized her when she thought of Riley and the gang, probably still stuck fighting demons.

Buffy scrambled to her feet. They needed to be found - the faster, the better. She made about three steps before tripping over a knotted piece of grass. Her limbs flailed out and ended up grabbing the nearest headstone as a last ditch attempt to remain vertical. The granite crumbled under her grip. She staggered away from the desecrated grave, groggy and unfocused.

Something hissed. You done yet being stupid?

Buffy peered around, seeking the source of the noise.

Don't worry about me. Worry about them, the voice insisted.

A small tug at her consciousness allowed her to spot a group of demons amongst the shadowed headstones. Buffy sobered up fast, running a tongue nervously over her teeth as she counted.

Six of them. Not exactly good odds in open space. A predatory growl rumbled in the back of her throat as they neared. Slayer instincts stirred in prospect of a fight. She was built for destroying creatures like them. Lots of them in the same place however generally resulted in her running in the opposite direction; but if they didn't feel threatened, then they wouldn't go for the kill. They'd want to toy with her instead - draw out the torture.

She grinned inwardly when they fanned out around her. Sometimes it paid to be small, blonde, and female. No one ever took small dumb blondes seriously.

"Hiya, guys!" Buffy fluttered her eyelashes in a vapid way. "Should be careful walking through cemeteries. You never know who you're gonna meet."

Two of the group started laughing.

"Ain't that right, princess," a vampire smirked. Bumps and ridges stretched out his face, twisting it into a hellish countenance. His black hair stuck out in an absurd looking quiff. The other two vampires morphed as well, ghoulish smiles in place.

"Is there something wrong with your faces?" Buffy pretended to look concerned. "I mean you boys all suddenly got all lumpy. Should I call a medic?"

"I'm a vamp. A creature of the night," Absurd Quiff replied. "You're a snack." He licked his lips. The others tightened the circle.

"A vamp? But they don't exist, right?" Buffy edged a hand downwards to rest on her hip.

"Hello? Pointy teeth?" He pointed to the row of sharp teeth lodged in his mouth. "Can you not see these little beauties?"

Buffy shrugged. "You could do anything with plastic surgery these days."

A thin, wiry demon waved his sword. "Seriously. The amount of suppression these Sunnydale chicks do. Let's just chop her up already,"

A bug-eyed vampire evaporated into dust before he knew what hit him. Buffy twirled a stake and smiled, tilting her head to the side as she observed the utter shock of her would-be murderers. A blue-haired demon howled in rage and lunged at her. She high-kicked him into the air as the others closed the distance. The airborne demon wailed, before crunching head first into a gravestone. His head lolled at a disjointed angle, blank eyes facing the heavens. Buffy dodged and weaved with lightning speed out of the thong of remaining demons.

"The fuck?" The wiry demon held his sword out, arm trembling. "What the hell are you?"

"You don't know? Must be some serious repression you're doing there," Buffy deadpanned. He growled in response, thrusting out with the thin blade. She grabbed it, pulled him forward and delivered a spinning kick that sent him sprawling onto the grass in one fluid motion. She stamped on his hand, shattering the cartilage before launching herself into the next demon.

They knew what she was, now.

Lust for the battle overtook her mind. Her limbs blurred into a windmill of blocks, parries, and strikes.

Her stake scratched Absurd Quiff, scouring a deep red line on his chest. She aimed again for his heart, but saw something swing towards her from the left. She ducked just in time to avoid a club to her skull, giving Absurd Quiff the opportunity to avoid the dusting. She stabbed him through the groin instead. He screeched in agony and dropped to his knees. She turned to grab the wrist of the demon wielding the club.

"Hey! Watch the hair!" She brutally kicked him.

The disembodied voice chose that moment to intercede with: You know, if I had teeth, they'd be on edge from your tasteless puns.

Buffy flinched, faltered and lost her stride. A sword pierced into her shoulder from behind. She gasped and clenched her jaw as it slid back out. With a berserk scream she flailed into her opponents, her vision hazing red.

Occasionally, flashes of lucidity came to her. A demon's limb, torn from its socket. A vampire's shout becoming dust in the wind. A sword in her hands, slashing out at anything that moved with reckless wrath. Mostly it felt like something else was piloting her, causing her limbs to act and react.

When she came to, she realised the fight was over, on account of everything being dead, or deader.

The Slayer in her itched for more. Blood dripped off the sword she wielded. She let the weapon clatter to the ground. Grey matter dribbled onto her boots. The stale air of the graveyard caressed her face. Branches rustled in the darkness.

"Wow. That was easier than expected." Her hand curled around to feel the shoulder wound. She groped around the exposed flesh. It didn't feel deep, but it stung. Her fingers came away sticky with blood.

Not a bad fight, the sibilant voice commented. Sloppy with the shoulder though, very sloppy. Should have seen that coming.

"You distracted me," Buffy said tentatively, not sure what she responded to. She gnawed on her lip. Where's the voice coming from?

From your head, duh.

"What?" Buffy touched her head as though she was likely to find something stuck on it. There were no weird growths or gooey things. She kept checking.

That's not gonna work, sorry. I'm in your head. Literally.In your head with the brain.

"Oh my god. What are you doing in there?" Buffy started pacing frantically. "Who or what are you?"

Hey, hey, calm down! There's no need to panic. I'm a part of you. A good part.

On the verge of completely and utterly freaking out, Buffy hesitated. "What?"

It's a little complicated.

Buffy moved away from the corpses scattered on the ground. The vampires left nothing more than dust, but demons didn't disappear when they died. It made for some awkwardness at times, and for a little body dragging. Right now she didn't feel like lugging corpses.

"Complicated," Buffy drawled, calculating whether it was appropriate to freak out or not. She didn't feel any sense of ominous threat or impending doom to her being. The voice contained no malice, no hidden edge or agenda to its tone. If anything, it sounded like a petulant teenager. And if it was in her head, she probably couldn't attack it.

On second thought, that provided a pretty good reason to panic.

I've been with you, ever since you were called to your power.

The statement surprised Buffy. "You have?"

Yes.

"Then how come I've never heard you talk?"

Like I said, it's complicated. It paused briefly. Is there any chance you could... think your replies rather than talk them? When you speak out loud, it kinda echoes.

Buffy blinked, thrown by the random suggestion. Alarm for her own Personal Space began to encroach all the other emotions flying helter-skelter. If it can hear the thoughts in my head, what else can it see in there?

She wished fervently Giles or Willow were around. Someone needed to explain what was going on, and tell her she wasn't crazy for hearing voices in her head.

If it makes you feel any better, I don't know what the hell is going on either, the voice assured her.

Buffy hesitated underneath the black cemetery gates. Really? You're telling me you're just as confused as I am?

Yeah. Sort of. I know what I am. I know I can talk to you. I'm just not sure what triggered the whole talking thing.

That doesn't really help.

Like I said. Complicated.

Buffy ignored the tone. So let me get this straight, because if I don't get it straight my brain will explode. What exactly are you?

Technically? I suppose I'm the voice of your Slayer.

Technically? You sound just like me, though.

I'm in your subconscious. That's what I've got to work with. You and the... words. And the wording. Of the words.

"Oh." Buffy didn't know what to say to that.

You've got a nice brain, if that makes you feel any better.

Right. Okay. Slightly disturbing. Buffy glanced around, trying to identify where she was. Was this the cemetery with the Initiative hidden entrance? The dark made it difficult to see. She needed to find her friends and catch up to the battle. If it still waged.

A sudden onslaught of nausea swamped her.

Uh oh, the voice muttered.

What?

Look. An insistent tug at her head made Buffy roll her eyes in the desired direction. At first she couldn't find anything out of place with the scene.

Graveyards. Dead people underneath the graves. The usual things you expected in a place for burying the not-living.

The tug came again, more gentle. She looked down at a headstone in the third row next to the footpath.

A fresh wave of nausea piled up. She felt like a ridiculous cartoon animal about to be flattened by a giant rolling ball. In a zombie-like trance she walked to the gravestone. Her main motor functions broke down, abandoning her for morbid fascination.

Buffy crouched down, her finger lightly touching the words carved out on the worn surface. The grave looked to be at least a couple of years old. She read the words on them, several times over.

BUFFY ANNE SUMMERS. 1981-1997,

Beloved Daughter and Friend.

Sadly Missed.

"The hell," Buffy said.