Disclaimer: Buffy's owned by the ever charming Joss Whedon, and I'm getting nothing except (hopefully) reviews for doing this.

A/N: The idea for this fic was pitched to me by a fellow fanfiction . net writer called BellaVision, it was originally called Trapped – and possibly she intended it completely different from how I've written it. But I'm giving it a go, and that's the important thing. Wish me luck, and send me reviews, because they are honestly so helpful. Oh, and vote for me at the Sunnydale Memorial Awards – a link to the site is on my personal fanfiction archive, which you can find a link to on my profile page. If I win anything I'll write a double feature of Things I'm Not Allowed To Do At Hogwarts, and you all know how much you'd love that. Also currently updating Stuck On You, Between The Lines, I Wish I May and Sineya. R&R folks.

Better Off Dead

Chapter One

Buffy threw the scythe aside and pulled Angel into a kiss. He wrapped his arms around her and responded enthusiastically, neither of them noticing the man hidden behind a pillar, watching them, a shadow crossing his face.

'That bitch,' the First whispered to Spike. He ignored her – it. It wasn't Buffy. 'How dare she?' the First continued. 'After everything you've done for her…'

Spike closed his eyes. 'You're wrong,' he said, clenching his fists.

'I'm never wrong,' the First smirked. 'And I know what'll happen…she'll go back to him.'

'She won't,' Spike opened his eyes and looked at the ground.

'I can stop it, you know,' the First said, placing her hand on Spike's cheek. He flinched, although he felt nothing. 'I can make it so none of this ever happens…'

Spike felt his gaze inextricably pulled up to meet the First's. He caught her eye and winced. It still looked like Buffy. He could never refuse her…

'Come on, Spike. Don't you want me all to yourself?' the First gazed at him, the smirk fading from her face.

'God, yes,' Spike sighed, staring at her.

'I can do that,' the First smiled. Spike's eyes widened.

'What? Do what?' he asked desperately, but the room was already spinning.

Suddenly, everything went black.


Buffy was enveloped in Angel's kiss; she was reliving her teenage years; they were the only people in the world. The sea crashed to shore and orchestras swelled and her insides were tap dancing and her legs were turning to jelly.

And then –

Nothing. Everything was gone. All black. Thoughts swarmed around her mind, self realisations that she'd never remember when she came to; declarations of love she'd regret if she did remember, and flaw-filled escape plans. They might not have been so flawed if she knew what she was supposed to be escaping from. She tried moving. When she found herself unable to, she was reminded uncomfortably of her own coffin. The dark. The dank. No escape.

Suddenly, the darkness lifted. She became aware that she was standing up. She couldn't yet open her eyes, but took several huge gulps of fresh air.

God, she thought. What is that taste? Suddenly she heard a voice.

'Do you love my insides?' it said in a singsong voice. 'The parts you can't see?'

Wait, she thought. I know that voice.

'Eyeballs to entrails, my sweet,' came the reply. I definitely know that voice, Buffy thought. Where am I?

'That's why I've got to study this slayer. Once I know her I can kill her. And once I kill her you can have your run of Sunnyhell. Get strong again.'

'Don't worry,' came the singsong voice. A horrible realisation hit Buffy. 'Everything's switching…' said the voice, as Buffy realised it was her speaking.

'Really? Did my pet have a vision?' said the male voice, which Buffy now recognised as Spike's. Where was she?

Buffy's vision cleared, and the scene swam before her. Spike was standing before her, looking concerned. Buffy was suddenly aware that she was no longer speaking someone else's words. Nothing was coming out.

'Um,' she said, trying to recognise the sound of her own voice. 'I need to think, Spike,' she said, just for something to say, in order to hear her voice once more. It dawned on her.

'I'm Drusilla?' she asked, nonplussed.

'Yes, you're my dark princess,' Spike said, leading her over to a chair and sitting her down on it. He crouched down next to her, looking up at her. 'Come on now, talk to daddy. What did you see?'

Buffy looked down at herself. She was clad in an ivory gown which brushed her ankles. She looked at the hair tumbling down onto her shoulders. It was black. She looked at her nails. They were long, pointed; lack with white tips.

She was Drusilla. How had this happened?

'I don't know,' she said, sounding more upset than she'd intended. Suddenly she became aware of a great pain, not in any particular part of the body – but coming from her core, bubbling up at the centre of her being.

Buffy brushed the dark hair out of her eyes. The pain, which was growing more intense, the more aware she became, must mean that she was Drusilla before she was cured.

'Which means you're still very much evil,' she whispered, looking at the anxious face of the vampire next to her. Buffy felt a great rush of affection towards Spike. How many times had she looked at her – the real her – that way? Countless times.

'Well, yeah, love. Kind of the point,' Spike said, taking one of her hands. 'Are you hungry?'

Buffy bit her lip. Yes, she was.

'No, I'm not,' she said. Oh, so that's what that taste is, she thought.

'Does this mean I should kill you?' Buffy frowned at Spike, who reeled back, surprised.

'What's that pet?' he asked, eyes wide.

'Spike – I'm not -' she faltered.

'Not what, love?'

She exhaled deeply, not noticing that the oxygen was stagnant in her lungs. 'I'm not Drusilla, Spike.'

Spike dropped her hand and stood up. 'What?'

'Now, don't fight me here, 'cause I'm not sure how much strength I got here – but it's Buffy.'

'Buffy?' Spike spat. 'No, you're Dru, I can see that you're Dru!'

'No, it's really Buffy,' she said, standing up, marvelling at how dreamy and manic her voice sounded even when she attempted to be businesslike. 'I'll prove it.'

Spike began to look scared. 'Dru, sit down – you're sick, I'll make Dalton find a cure…'

'I know the cure, Spike. I'm Buffy. From the future. I know how to fix Dru.'

'You had a vision, pet?'

'No, Spike, It's Buffy! I lived it, don't you see? I watched you find the cure five years ago!'

Spike brushed his cold hand against her cold cheek. 'Why?' he asked. 'Why have you taken her away from me?'

'Gee, that makes me feel good,' Buffy huffed, sitting down again.

'What business is it of mine to make you feel good?' Spike seethed.

'You kind of love me where I'm from, you know.'

Spike rolled his eyes. 'Tell me the cure for Dru, Slayer, and don't tell any more porkies.'

Buffy sighed. She knew how to do the ritual without killing Angel, after all…and the pain was excruciating…

'The Cross of Du Lac. Plus the book. And you need Angel. But, seeing as I'm Buffy and all, you do it without killing him.'

Spike shot her a scathing look.

'Miss Edith needs her tea…' came a voice from the shadows. Spike spun around in surprise, and Buffy leaped to her feet in confusion.

'What's this?' Drusilla asked, wide eyed. 'Another me?'

A/N: It's just short, I know, but the updates will get longer. It'll probably be around a six chapter fic, 'cause I've got a lot going on right now. But I hope you enjoyed, and leave a review.