The Velveteen Rabbity Slayer

by Isabelle

Rating: STRONG R --sex scenes, people.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, lalalalala

Summary: So they all die, do those that stay alive die too?

A/N: Heller, I love you, you know that =)

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It can feel so dark inside of yourself when the world is gone from you and all that if left is ashes. Ashes are life's first growth, for it comes from nothing, it comes from the unknown, it comes for a new beginning. Like one of those cheap scary movies that have the music thumping, your heart beating, your palms sweaty. Like one of those.

It's one of those feelings. Alone, so very alone. Like no one in this world understands you, like all the talk is too bright and all the murmurs are shouts and all of the whispers are torments of death.

It felt kinda like that.

Alone, so very alone. She loved this feeling as much as she hated it and both were very strong. She just wanted to shield herself from the world, wanted to die in that very spot, to be taken away, so far far away. Until all that was self was carnage in it's purest send of the word.

Carnage, the very definition of her soul.

She was tired, so very tired. So tired she couldn't stand, couldn't breath--just waiting the seconds until she could no longer move, until she would no longer be part of this dirt we called earth.

Let her rest in peace, she begged.

Let her rest in peace.

The night was quiet, as was the world when he came in --stumbling through boxes and debris, through wood planes that were too dangerous, his though boots making soft echoing sounds in the earth until she felt his presence in front of her.

She wished she were smaller, she wished she could curl up and simply died, shaking and murmuring insanities, like the dying athlete of Athens.

At the end, we just want to be alone, because no one will ever feel the fever inside of one self when one if dying,. no one will ever understand it. No one will ever compare to it.

"I know what it's like."

Soft echoes in the night, skylark that is dying, sound that is barely identifiable, sound that is not recognized on echoing ear and pale faces that desire passing--in peace.

She feels him closer now, she can't see, nor does she want to--for his to be the last face she ever sees makes her few last minutes a living hell before eternity.

"Go..." she whispers, a beg, a plea, asking him on her knees-now-belly that he's not welcome. That no one is welcome.

That nothing is worth this. That the world holds no meaning.

In seconds she feels like shouting at the top of her lungs that it's all not fair that it's all not worth it that she should be rewarded in some way, that this is fucking shit and it's was not worth it. She should've ran the first chance she had all those years ago.

And what now feels foreign and once felt right envelops her in his arms, pressing her bloody head against his burnt chest and beginning this soft rocking motion that has been told from generation to generation.

"Shh.."

Was she crying, was she weeping that he would find the need to comfort her. Was she melting? Maybe she was melting, maybe she was fading into the abyss. Well, on her way to the abyss she might as well content her should in her soul's wishes. Even if she was in catatonia.

Even if she was...broken.

Even then.

"Let's get you out of here." he whispered.

That is when she shrieked to the top of her lungs, fighting with all of her rabbit strength, fighting like there was a war to fight and indeed there was. Their everlasting war. The war that never ended.

"Stop it, Buffy! It's over! There's nothing for us here now!" He shouts. Shouts that echo from mountain and swim through rivers. His voice is a velveteen rabbit, luring her, asking her to live with a single syllable.

"No!!!!!" she scratches his face, hurts him more, fights him off--she WILL; die here, even if she has to kill him to do it.

But his hands are now more strong and his will is more determined than her dying one. "I'm not leaving you, you're coming with me!"

"No!!!!" she's sobbing like a lost puppy dog that has lost their threat, she hates him for it, she hates him. She hates herself and all of the world for bringing her such burden, for trusting this grand responsibility on her should her, small delicate shoulders that are barely a size 2.

Amidst her 'no' and complains he manages to wrap her in his leather torn coat and carry her out of there, into a place she no longer remembered because she passed out.

And that is when her life started.

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She never wanted adventure, she wanted the norm. But the norm did not want her and she was doomed to accept her Alias-type life for al of eternity. It was a curse.

She woke up a few days later, all washed and cleaned, wrapped in gauze and lying on a motel room bed.

Blinking was an effort that she managed since she felt numb all over.

"The pills I gave you might have you numb for some time."

She jumped at the sound of his voice. Her was sitting next to her, looking the same way she remembered him, dirty and bloodied.

She didn't speak but turned away and looked at the opened curtains and the daylight that felt through.

He wasn't on fire and never was going to be on fire--ever again. He was human now, like everything else in Sunnydale, like everything else in the world.

The great slayer had taken all of the demons away.

He stayed because of his soul. Now he was a real boy. A normal boy, who should be in the hospital with those wounds.

"Should I close the blinds?" she felt him stand from the double bed. He walked to the window and sighed and he looked out, she watched him carefully. "Just feels nice, you know--just looking at the light like I belong."

"You do belong," were the last words she said before she feel asleep once more.

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When she woke up the next time he was having a resting session with the gauze he was trying to wrap around his naked torso. She figured he had a good 4 broken ribs by the show of the bruises painting his creamy skin.

"Didn't mean to wake you," he said apologetically when he found her staring at him. He flushed deep pink and set the gauze down.

She shrugged and looked away.

"How long have I been gone?" she asked.

"10 hours." he paused and looked down at his hands. "3 days before that."

She didn't move or say anything, but he could tell what she was thinking. Three and 10 hours before they would've been alive.

The pressure in her head came sudden and swift and she had to close her eyes to shy away from it.

"I think you have a concussion, would've taken you to the hospital but it was destroyed...raised you on a bunch of pillow....best I could do."

His words were a background track they play at movies, all she could see were eyes, her eyes--remembering the memories, remembering the past.

"Hungry?" he asked hopefully, bringing over what undoubtedly was a cold burger and soggy fries with watered down Sprite.

She looked into his steady eyes.

"You should've left me to die there, Spike." She turned her head the other way and slept once more.

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She woke up various times, always refusing food, always hating him.

But he took it. Like most of the time he took it like he always did.

But on the 4th day after she had first woken up it was not the rays of the sun that stirred her, it was his shoving a milkshake down her throat.

She gagged and spit it out on his face. She tried it again until all the struggling almost choked her. It came out of her nose and some went down her throat.

She hated him for it and forced herself to puke on the sheets.

Then curled herself on them.

He grabbed her legs and pulled her off the bed, making her fall on the floor with a 'thud'.

"Spike!" she shouted, trying to stand up. But he quickly grabbed her upper arms and stood her up on shaky feet.

"Clean it!" he told her, evenly, pointing at the messy sheets.

"Fuck you!" she shouted and threw them at him.

"Done already!" he shouted back and shoved her into the bathroom, sheets behind her.

He then locked the door and her and dirty sheets inside.

She pounded on the door various times but the non-food factor made her week.

She was so weak, so very weak.

She sat herself on the toilet and wept.

After what seemed like hours he opened the door and stood there with new sheets.

"Get cleaned up, I'll change the sheets." She sniffled and nodded, leaving the door opened as she stepped into the show nude.

There was nothing he hadn't seen, and there was nothing worth hiding.

She let the hot water make her into living scorching skin, it was so hot that he stormed into the bathroom and pulled her out, wrapped her in a fluffy white towel. He towel tried her gently, then carried her to her bed where he paced a plate of warm food before her. Steamed veggies that would've had her mouth watering weeks ago.

Now they only brought disgust.

She came to the conclusion that if she could not get away with fighting, she would get away with pleading.

"Spike..." she said gently and as rationally as she could, she looked up to his eyes, pleadingly. "Go now. You're free. Please...find a girl that you can love and she can love you back. Find someone who is fresh and new and hadn't seen all of the horrors I have. Just please.."

He stood up abruptly. "I already have." he placed a bottled water next to her. "Now eat, before I lose her."

"You should've left me to die." she whispered.

"You were dead when I found you." he told her back then walked into to shower himself.

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go to part 2