BtVS Triple Drabble: War Wounds
Title: War Wounds
Fandom: BtVS
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Buffy, Joyce.
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Setting: Season One.
Summary: Bruises are a natural consequence of being the Slayer.
Written For: Challenge 363: Amnesty at fan_flashworks, using Challenge 55: Bruise.
Disclaimer: I don’t own BtVS, or the characters.
A/N: Triple drabble.
“Where did you get that bruise?”
Buffy stopped with her foot on the bottom stair, caught before she could head up to her room and change. Why did her mom, who was usually so reassuringly oblivious, have to pick today of all days to notice something?
“Bruise?” She looked down at her bare left arm, her hand resting on the newel post. “Oh, that. It’s nothing.”
“Have you been fighting again? I thought you were done with that.” Her mom sounded so disappointed it all but broke Buffy’s heart. Of course she’d been fighting; the night before a vampire had picked her up and thrown her against a gravestone. There were a whole lot more bruises hidden beneath her clothes, but Buffy could hardly tell her mom that, and anyway, by morning they’d be gone.
“God, no! Remember the rain yesterday? Gym class was Dodgeball, and I dodged the wrong way. Those things smart when they hit; I think some of the boys have sadistic tendencies.” Buffy managed a smile and a shrug. “All part of the wonderful high school curriculum. Aren’t you glad you’re not still in school?”
“Heavens, yes. I hated Dodgeball; it’s not a game, it’s torture.”
“I know.” Buffy poked at the bruise. “Just a bruise though, nothing broken. I’ll live.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Dinner’s almost ready, so don’t be too long.”
“I won’t. Just want to dump my school stuff and have a quick shower.”
“Okay then.”
As her mom went back into the kitchen, Buffy ran quickly upstairs, dropped her book bag on her bed, and shed her clothes, staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror, at the cuts, scrapes, and bruises marring her skin. This was the reality of being the Chosen One. It was no wonder Slayers died young.
The End
Fandom: BtVS
Author: badly_knitted
Characters: Buffy, Joyce.
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Setting: Season One.
Summary: Bruises are a natural consequence of being the Slayer.
Written For: Challenge 363: Amnesty at fan_flashworks, using Challenge 55: Bruise.
Disclaimer: I don’t own BtVS, or the characters.
A/N: Triple drabble.
“Where did you get that bruise?”
Buffy stopped with her foot on the bottom stair, caught before she could head up to her room and change. Why did her mom, who was usually so reassuringly oblivious, have to pick today of all days to notice something?
“Bruise?” She looked down at her bare left arm, her hand resting on the newel post. “Oh, that. It’s nothing.”
“Have you been fighting again? I thought you were done with that.” Her mom sounded so disappointed it all but broke Buffy’s heart. Of course she’d been fighting; the night before a vampire had picked her up and thrown her against a gravestone. There were a whole lot more bruises hidden beneath her clothes, but Buffy could hardly tell her mom that, and anyway, by morning they’d be gone.
“God, no! Remember the rain yesterday? Gym class was Dodgeball, and I dodged the wrong way. Those things smart when they hit; I think some of the boys have sadistic tendencies.” Buffy managed a smile and a shrug. “All part of the wonderful high school curriculum. Aren’t you glad you’re not still in school?”
“Heavens, yes. I hated Dodgeball; it’s not a game, it’s torture.”
“I know.” Buffy poked at the bruise. “Just a bruise though, nothing broken. I’ll live.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Dinner’s almost ready, so don’t be too long.”
“I won’t. Just want to dump my school stuff and have a quick shower.”
“Okay then.”
As her mom went back into the kitchen, Buffy ran quickly upstairs, dropped her book bag on her bed, and shed her clothes, staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror, at the cuts, scrapes, and bruises marring her skin. This was the reality of being the Chosen One. It was no wonder Slayers died young.
The End