Title: Lethe's Dream
Written for:
somefairytale in the Apocalypse Ficathon run by
buffyx.
Requested: Buffy/Angel
Post some apocalyptic type event.
Angst, the ocean.
Notes:Biig hugs and thanks to
ailsa_clare for the beta and title help!
I'm extreeemely nervous about this as it's pretty weird and different from anything I've ever written before. I reeally hope you like it (or at least don't hate it) Emily :)
In Greek mythology, the Lethe is one of the rivers that flow through the realm of Hades. Called the River of Oblivion, the shades of the dead had to drink from this river to forget about their past lives on earth. Their memories are not destroyed, but sent to another place. The pool of all these forgotten joys and sorrows forms a collective consciousness, called Lethe’s Dream.
Buffy watched the world drift away.
She’d lost. She’d failed.
But at least it was over.
The waters continued to swirl around her as she moved closer and closer to the end of the world.
“Buffy, behind you!” he’d yelled, his last words to her, his last words, as he exploded in a shower of dust, and Buffy, soaked and sobbing, sweat and blood drenched, continued to hack away hopelessly, knowing that it was lost, knowing that she had failed.
Fragments of flaming rock fell from the sky; landing in the water with a mighty crash aboard, let the water take her.
The night before. Imprinted on her mind forever. “I can’t do this,” she whispered. “It’s hopeless.” All her courage lost.
“You can do this.” Defiantly. Holding her. “I’m here. I’ll be with you, the whole time...”
Trembling, they lay together as storms battered the bleeding sky, as the roads started to crumble away. He felt her warmth and life, and he pressed them into himself, never wanting to lose them, never wanting to let her go. He could see the gushing falls sweeping her away from him, could see her slipping into the deep. He knew she had lost, he knew she had failed. But he’d stay with her, the whole time .
The ocean was freezing, bottomless, vast beyond belief. Buffy closed her eyes and thought of him.
The roof was ripped away by the storms. Rain spattered them, and Buffy looked up to see the sky aflame with red and gold sparks that ripped through it, cutting the earth’s flesh, tearing people away from each other like scabs. Angel held onto her, pressed her face into his chest, as the house crumbled around them. Grateful for him muffling her sobs, hiding her weakness to stop it from existing. She pulled away from him; he let her out from his grip. She crawled over the dust and stone covered bed, pulled the weapons out from under it. The last stand. She knew you have to make one, even if it’s hopeless. She’d rather die with a sword in her hand than trembling in a man’s arms.
Buffy survives longer than most people could underwater. She can survive a surprisingly long time in its depths . I’ve built up a resistance to drowning, her flickering mind laughs. Bubbles in her brain. I’m 17 again. The morning after is just as rain-soaked, but there’s no one left to help me now. The ability to move fingers, long forgotten.
She turns away from him, breathes deeply, preparing. Above them, the sun fails to rise. It has crumbled into fragments of burning rock, which plummet to Earth like unholy birds swooping down on unsuspecting rice fields in Calcutta and television studios in Hollywood and cracking mountains in Tibet. The night continues to reign, the absent moon rendering the sky utterly lightless. She’s grateful that Angel’s allowed to stay with her, just a little while longer.
Gasping. Endless shimmering, high above. So cold. His hands on her are so cold. She doesn’t remember what it’s like to sleep with someone warm. It’s been so long. So many years with no one but her and Angel, so many years of fighting. All for nothing. They had lost anyway.
Willow, she remembers. I’d almost forgotten her name.
They rise from the bed together. Buffy has a sword, an axe, and a crossbow slung around her shoulders. Angel is armed with a sword and fighting knives. They look at each other. The ground ripples in tiny earthquakes. They stay silent. Buffy moves to him, and closes her eyes as she kisses him, deep and slow. When she breaks the kiss, she squeezes his hand, shaking, and looks into his eyes. They stare back at her, full of anguish and desperation. She smiles weakly, and whispers, “I have to.” He nods, knows she’s right.
She can’t stop blinking. Fighting to keep her eyes open, even though there’s nothing left to see. Hop on a one-way bus to Deadbeat City, you sure as hell don’t need to be pretty. Bad poetry flashes in her mind, things to think. The situation is oddly familiar. Whenever Angel dies, it repeats itself. She buys a one-way ticket, tells the attendant to keep the change.
He doesn’t show up, of course he doesn’t. He’s too busy ending the world to show up and fight these two fallen heroes. He can see them, though, as they march towards an army of his servants, courageous to the last. He laughs, and tells them to leave the girl alive. She’s just so pretty.
“A welcoming party. How sweet,” Buffy says, softly, as they approach the mass of demons gathered in the spacious, dark courtyard. It was the centre of the town, full of bustling people, less than a day ago. Now it’s corpse-strewn, cracking apart , full of monsters. They smile at the scent of Buffy’s warm flesh.
Buffy glances at Angel, the fear and worry in her heart settling. It’s okay, now. Failing is okay. There’s honour in this escape route. She touches his hand lightly, whispers “Thank you.” He touches her cheek, and they stare at each other, memorizing the moment. Their connection breaks , remaining there forever. They run at the demons, yelling a battle cry as they dive into the fray.
Almost over. You’re almost there. Just relax. She can’t move her arms anymore, can’t move anything. No more bubbles. No more breathing. No more gasping. Limp, flat, still, cold.
Buffy screams in pain as a demon tears into her arm. She swings the axe and slices off his head. She hacks away at the creatures. Limbs fly, blood spurts, guts spatter the ground. They keep coming. She is glorious, triumphant, so powerful, and so beautiful. Angel watches her in awe in between kills. She’s so fragile and yet so strong.
“Buffy, behind you!” he yells. She swings her sword around and stabs the demon through the heart. She hears the knife shoot through Angel’s chest and gasps. He looks at her, wide-eyed, his mouth open. She thinks a word escapes his mouth as he disappears into dust, but she can’t make out what it is. The demons scatter, laughing.
She’s soon standing alone in the deserted courtyard, shaking. She can see, in the distance, the land falling apart in chunks, letting the water flood the world. They’d always known this was how it would be.
She’s always known she’d be alone at the end.