FILLED - gasoline.lydsmartinJuly 18 2016, 00:10:06 UTC
Seventeen.
(On her sister's seventeenth the world almost burnt to hell).
Dawn turns seventeen silently, with blood on her hands and her mind a map of chaos. Everything is supposed to be better. But everything feels worse. Her skin is alight with flames, burning, burning, burning. And she can't call out for help, because she's never been able to, because everyone has it worse and the world is dying, dying, dying. God, Dawn, stop being so whiny for a second, can't you see all the bigger problems in the world?
Her boyfriend isn't a soulless vampire. The world isn't going to be burnt to a crisp by a demon. But she kissed her best friend and her eyes are watering because she ruined everything and her lungs are full of smoke and her tongue burns with the taste of whiskey her friends stole for her. It's supposed to be better here. In a place that's not Sunnydale. There's no Hellmouth underneath Rome but there's enough danger, enough demon activity to keep everyone occupied. Her sister keeps odd hours and Willow and Xander and Giles are split up across the globe. Her friends are all dead. Dawn picks up Italian.
It's half-past one when Dawn stumbles back into the empty apartment she shares with a sister who feels like more of a ghost to her now than when she was dead and Andrew, rapid-fire questions and thoughts. Dawn flicks onto the light and finds the place trashed, blood strewn around the apartment and the couch torn in half. Her sister sits at the base of the couch, an unlit cupcake sitting in front of her. Hair wild. Arm bloody. Dawn hides her own palm, smeared with blood from the vase she'd thrown at the wall at Gen's house. (After she kissed Gen, after Gen laughed).
Buffy asks where she was. At least she cares enough to ask.
Dawn shrugs her shoulders, avoids the question. Nobody cares deep-down. Buffy just wants to be an adequate parental figure. "What happened here?" Dawn asks, shoving her own pain aside to focus on the current disaster. It's what she's learned to do: bury, bury, bury. Her feelings. Her dead friends. Bury everything, Dawnie. Stronger than anyone will ever know.
"The end of the world." Buffy laughs. It's bitter. Rome was supposed to be a fresh start. But their mother's grave was washed away when Sunnydale collapsed into itself, leaving a hole inside of the Summer's girls that could never be filled.
"What's new?"
*
Dawn brings something razor-sharp to her skin. But the focus is back to Glory.
Dawn steals and steals and steals. But nobody notices.
Dawn is kidnapped. Everyone rolls their eyes.
*
"It's okay." Buffy lies, brushing ash off of her jeans. "I don't think we're facing an actual apocalypse."
Dawn smiles, tight-lipped, wonders when the distance between them started. Neither of them even fight anymore. It's just...distant. Between the both of them. A river empty a mile wide. Stilled conversation. Fake smiles. Practiced lies. Buffy doesn't notice the blood on her palm, or the red-rimmed eyes, or the smell of whiskey on her breathe. Her big sister's got bigger problems than a lost, lonely little sister.
Dawn hates her, resents her, can't forgive her. For many things. For everything. But she buries those thoughts and tries to tell herself it's not Buffy's fault. It's not her friend's faults. It's not anyone's fault. Why does everyone leave.
"I'm just gonna go to bed." Dawn says, zipping past her. Buffy's too tired to argue, has been too tired to parent for months now. It's more difficult when it's just the two of them and Andrew. There's no-one around to help her anymore, they're in a foreign place. Dawn tries to cut her some slack, is at least partly-thankful for the blissful ignorance, but mostly does what she does to garner the attention she carves.
She thinks about lighting the house on fire, watching something else she loves crumble into dust. Thinks about lighting herself on fire. The sweet smell of gasoline flooding her bones and soul. Instead, she pulls back the covers on her single bed pushed up across the wall and slides into it. Remembers the kiss. The broken glass. The drunken confessions. Tries to forget it all. There are bigger problems in the world, after all. Right?
(On her sister's seventeenth the world almost burnt to hell).
Dawn turns seventeen silently, with blood on her hands and her mind a map of chaos. Everything is supposed to be better. But everything feels worse. Her skin is alight with flames, burning, burning, burning. And she can't call out for help, because she's never been able to, because everyone has it worse and the world is dying, dying, dying. God, Dawn, stop being so whiny for a second, can't you see all the bigger problems in the world?
Her boyfriend isn't a soulless vampire. The world isn't going to be burnt to a crisp by a demon. But she kissed her best friend and her eyes are watering because she ruined everything and her lungs are full of smoke and her tongue burns with the taste of whiskey her friends stole for her. It's supposed to be better here. In a place that's not Sunnydale. There's no Hellmouth underneath Rome but there's enough danger, enough demon activity to keep everyone occupied. Her sister keeps odd hours and Willow and Xander and Giles are split up across the globe. Her friends are all dead. Dawn picks up Italian.
It's half-past one when Dawn stumbles back into the empty apartment she shares with a sister who feels like more of a ghost to her now than when she was dead and Andrew, rapid-fire questions and thoughts. Dawn flicks onto the light and finds the place trashed, blood strewn around the apartment and the couch torn in half. Her sister sits at the base of the couch, an unlit cupcake sitting in front of her. Hair wild. Arm bloody. Dawn hides her own palm, smeared with blood from the vase she'd thrown at the wall at Gen's house. (After she kissed Gen, after Gen laughed).
Buffy asks where she was. At least she cares enough to ask.
Dawn shrugs her shoulders, avoids the question. Nobody cares deep-down. Buffy just wants to be an adequate parental figure. "What happened here?" Dawn asks, shoving her own pain aside to focus on the current disaster. It's what she's learned to do: bury, bury, bury. Her feelings. Her dead friends. Bury everything, Dawnie. Stronger than anyone will ever know.
"The end of the world." Buffy laughs. It's bitter. Rome was supposed to be a fresh start. But their mother's grave was washed away when Sunnydale collapsed into itself, leaving a hole inside of the Summer's girls that could never be filled.
"What's new?"
*
Dawn brings something razor-sharp to her skin. But the focus is back to Glory.
Dawn steals and steals and steals. But nobody notices.
Dawn is kidnapped. Everyone rolls their eyes.
*
"It's okay." Buffy lies, brushing ash off of her jeans. "I don't think we're facing an actual apocalypse."
Dawn smiles, tight-lipped, wonders when the distance between them started. Neither of them even fight anymore. It's just...distant. Between the both of them. A river empty a mile wide. Stilled conversation. Fake smiles. Practiced lies. Buffy doesn't notice the blood on her palm, or the red-rimmed eyes, or the smell of whiskey on her breathe. Her big sister's got bigger problems than a lost, lonely little sister.
Dawn hates her, resents her, can't forgive her. For many things. For everything. But she buries those thoughts and tries to tell herself it's not Buffy's fault. It's not her friend's faults. It's not anyone's fault. Why does everyone leave.
"I'm just gonna go to bed." Dawn says, zipping past her. Buffy's too tired to argue, has been too tired to parent for months now. It's more difficult when it's just the two of them and Andrew. There's no-one around to help her anymore, they're in a foreign place. Dawn tries to cut her some slack, is at least partly-thankful for the blissful ignorance, but mostly does what she does to garner the attention she carves.
She thinks about lighting the house on fire, watching something else she loves crumble into dust. Thinks about lighting herself on fire. The sweet smell of gasoline flooding her bones and soul. Instead, she pulls back the covers on her single bed pushed up across the wall and slides into it. Remembers the kiss. The broken glass. The drunken confessions. Tries to forget it all. There are bigger problems in the world, after all. Right?
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Excellent fic! Thanks for the fill. :)
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congratulations on your everything.
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long may you reign
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long may you reign
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Gabrielle
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