http://baphrosia.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
baphrosia.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sb_fag_ends2015-10-26 09:45 pm
baphrosia.livejournal.com) wrote in sb_fag_ends2015-10-26 09:45 pm
Entry tags:
Prompt: No Thanks Masked Manx (angst)
Prompt: No Thanks Masked Manx
Setting: "Lovers Walk" AU following Part Five
Rating: R
Words: 370
A/N1: Part 6 of 8 (so far)
A/N2: The individual parts of this story are not always Spuffy-centric, but the overall story is. So I hope that's okay...
A/N3: This is going darker than I expected. Read with caution.
Buffy’s first stop is the art gallery. She can’t quite find whatever it is she’s looking for there, only a ‘For Sale’ sign and a display of seriously creepy masks in the window, so it’s on to Revello Drive. Her old home stands cold and dark and lifeless. And also empty.
She’d known it would be, but it doesn’t make the sight any easier.
What Crowley hadn’t realized, when he’d saved her life, was that she’d ignored the visions in her head on purpose, knowing it would be a means to an end. The end. Half out of her mind with pain and pain-killers, Buffy had tried to explain to him just what he’d taken from her, but he’d either misunderstood, or chosen to.
Either way, it doesn’t matter. She’s still here.
And her mother isn’t.
If only, when she’d come home from her shift at the diner to find a newspaper clipping pinned to her door with the names of multiple Sunnydale High students, including Cordelia Chase, circled in red, and the details of their definitely-not-natural demises underlined with angry red slashes, she’d gone home instead of fleeing whoever it was that had found her.
If only she’d faced up to her mistakes.
If only –
But Buffy hadn’t. She had run, until she’d thought she was safe. When the guilt had caught up to her, she’d gone online looking for recent Sunnydale deaths, and found more names she knew.
Including Joyce Summers.
She’d thought she understood pain, after Angel had died at her hands. She’d thought that she had already killed the person she loved most in the world.
She’d had no idea how wrong she’d been.
So Buffy had run again. Headlong into the only escape she could imagine, only to have it taken from her.
“Damn Crowley,” she mutters, swiping angrily at her wet face. “Damn him!” But it isn’t really his fault, is it? Or any of the other people she’s tried to blame, instead of herself.
Buffy shakes off her self-pity. She doesn’t deserve it.
Crowley had probably believed she’d be welcomed back into the fold with joyous, tearful embraces, but Buffy knows better. He hasn’t seen the word ‘deserter’ scrawled across the front of her empty house in flaking red spray paint.
Setting: "Lovers Walk" AU following Part Five
Rating: R
Words: 370
A/N1: Part 6 of 8 (so far)
A/N2: The individual parts of this story are not always Spuffy-centric, but the overall story is. So I hope that's okay...
A/N3: This is going darker than I expected. Read with caution.
Buffy’s first stop is the art gallery. She can’t quite find whatever it is she’s looking for there, only a ‘For Sale’ sign and a display of seriously creepy masks in the window, so it’s on to Revello Drive. Her old home stands cold and dark and lifeless. And also empty.
She’d known it would be, but it doesn’t make the sight any easier.
What Crowley hadn’t realized, when he’d saved her life, was that she’d ignored the visions in her head on purpose, knowing it would be a means to an end. The end. Half out of her mind with pain and pain-killers, Buffy had tried to explain to him just what he’d taken from her, but he’d either misunderstood, or chosen to.
Either way, it doesn’t matter. She’s still here.
And her mother isn’t.
If only, when she’d come home from her shift at the diner to find a newspaper clipping pinned to her door with the names of multiple Sunnydale High students, including Cordelia Chase, circled in red, and the details of their definitely-not-natural demises underlined with angry red slashes, she’d gone home instead of fleeing whoever it was that had found her.
If only she’d faced up to her mistakes.
If only –
But Buffy hadn’t. She had run, until she’d thought she was safe. When the guilt had caught up to her, she’d gone online looking for recent Sunnydale deaths, and found more names she knew.
Including Joyce Summers.
She’d thought she understood pain, after Angel had died at her hands. She’d thought that she had already killed the person she loved most in the world.
She’d had no idea how wrong she’d been.
So Buffy had run again. Headlong into the only escape she could imagine, only to have it taken from her.
“Damn Crowley,” she mutters, swiping angrily at her wet face. “Damn him!” But it isn’t really his fault, is it? Or any of the other people she’s tried to blame, instead of herself.
Buffy shakes off her self-pity. She doesn’t deserve it.
Crowley had probably believed she’d be welcomed back into the fold with joyous, tearful embraces, but Buffy knows better. He hasn’t seen the word ‘deserter’ scrawled across the front of her empty house in flaking red spray paint.