FIC - Journal
title: Journal
Fandom: BtVS
pairing: None. Characters: Spike, Dawn, Buffy
rating: R for language
prompt Automatic Writing for my paranormal25 prompt table.
a/n: spoilers for anyone who hasn’t seen The Gift. If you haven’t, don’t read this.
summary: Dawn has a conversation with her sister.
It’s been a while now, since Spike gave her the journal, and Dawn’s never bothered to write anything in it. Tonight, for some reason, she feels compelled, and begins scribbling on the first page:
“So I have this dumb journal that I got from Spike, because I guess I’m supposed to write how I’m feeling, because maybe that’s going to help me deal with the fact that my sister is dead. Like, you know, dead. Not how Spike is dead, but really dead, and gone, and never coming back. All right, then. This is how I’m feeling. It sucks ass. I was supposed to be the one, they brought me there, and then Buffy got all big sister-y and decided all on her own, because oh why would anyone ever take into account the opinion of a silly teenager like me, that she was going to be the one to take the dive. Screw what she was leaving behind, did she ever even think, even for one damn second, about what she was leaving behind?”
Dawn stopped then, not sure what to write next. She couldn’t say anything about how broken she was in the wake of losing her sister. Maybe she should write about how Xander was like a walking shadow now? That Spike had wept uncontrollably next to Buffy’s body for an embarrassing amount of time, and that he was damaged so badly that it seemed beyond repair even if he “lived” another thousand years? Oh wait, she could write something about how you could practically see the stormcloud hanging over Willow’s head, a frightening thing that almost spelled out “BAD THINGS HAPPENING SOON” in giant neon letters.
Then she was crying again, exhausting herself, falling asleep, and she thought she was dreaming that her sparkly purple pen was moving on its own over that page in her journal. What a strange dream.
Wait. No. She wasn’t asleep. The pen was moving. It was writing. Dawn sat up a little and grabbed at the book to assure herself that she was still awake. She looked down at the page.
I’m sorry. I miss you so much. Please forgive me.
Dawn stared. But only for a second, because for some reason, it didn’t even occur to her that there was any possibility that it wasn’t what she thought it was. She’d heard of automatic writing before, even though she hadn’t been meant to hear about it. Eavesdropping was a skill she’d honed to perfection, even better than shoplifting and applying mascara. And she knew that was what she was looking at as soon as she saw it.
So she caught the pen and began writing furiously. “Why did you do this? Do you have any idea…ANY IDEA…”, her hand was shaking with anger and frustration, “what you left behind? This whole pile of people who are broken, lost, completely desolate without you? Did you think for even a moment about how much easier it would have been for them to lose ME?”
Please, I’m sorry. Tell them. Tell them I’m sorry. That I’m all right. Nothing hurts. Nothing hurt when I fell. Nothing hurt when I landed. I swear, Dawnie, please believe me, I did what was right, I’m sure of it. It’s the truth, it was the right thing to do, I know it was.
Dawn had nothing but questions.
“So, can you see us? Can you feel what we feel? Do you know that your ‘right thing to do’ has destroyed the people who loved you best? Is there anything where you are to show you how Spike loves you? How you ripped him to shreds even more dead than you did when you were alive? Maybe you can see what kind of empty shell you’ve left of Xander? What kind of life you’ve left me without my sister? How about that, Buffy? Can you see any of that wherever the hell you are?”
The pen moved again, out of Dawn’s hand and on its own. If I had an answer to any of that, I’d give it to you. I’d give you anything. I gave my life for you, Dawn, I’d give you answers if I had them.
“Some life you left me. Don’t give me any shit. Fuck you, Buffy, and fuck your idea of what’s right and wrong. And if you say one goddamn word about ‘language’, I’ll set this stupid journal on fire. You suck, and I hate you for leaving me, and for leaving Willow and Spike and Xander, and for doing it willingly and knowing you’d leave behind a 200-car pile-up on the Sunnydale freeway. You are a selfish horrid bitch, and how you think all of these people would be better off without YOU than they’d be without ME? What the MOTHERfuck is wrong with you? You’re so stupid, I always thought you were smart, but you are so ridiculously stupid, or you were, or whatever.”
I only want you to forgive me, Dawnie, to hell with anyone else, just you, please…tell me you forgive me.
“Well I don’t. I don’t forgive you and I forgive you even less for saying to hell with anyone else. You don’t have to see them every day. You don’t have to feel Willow’s darkness, or Xander’s emptiness, or Spike’s irretrievable misery, or…or what you left me. The emptiness, the lack of any single thing that anchors me to another human being in this world. No mother, no father, no sister. You’re lucky I haven’t taken my own self out, because despite how horribly you hurt him, Spike has taken it upon himself to look after me, as annoying as it is at times. But I know it’s only because he loves you, and any affection he has for me is a remnant of that.”
You don’t mean it. You’re angry and I understand but you don’t. You don’t really mean it.
“Yes I do.”
Dawn broke the pen in half and threw the stupid journal against the wall. Anything else her selfish ego-driven sister had to say, she didn’t want to hear or see.
She yelled, as loud as she could, for Spike to come to her. And of course, he did.
Fandom: BtVS
pairing: None. Characters: Spike, Dawn, Buffy
rating: R for language
prompt Automatic Writing for my paranormal25 prompt table.
a/n: spoilers for anyone who hasn’t seen The Gift. If you haven’t, don’t read this.
summary: Dawn has a conversation with her sister.
It’s been a while now, since Spike gave her the journal, and Dawn’s never bothered to write anything in it. Tonight, for some reason, she feels compelled, and begins scribbling on the first page:
“So I have this dumb journal that I got from Spike, because I guess I’m supposed to write how I’m feeling, because maybe that’s going to help me deal with the fact that my sister is dead. Like, you know, dead. Not how Spike is dead, but really dead, and gone, and never coming back. All right, then. This is how I’m feeling. It sucks ass. I was supposed to be the one, they brought me there, and then Buffy got all big sister-y and decided all on her own, because oh why would anyone ever take into account the opinion of a silly teenager like me, that she was going to be the one to take the dive. Screw what she was leaving behind, did she ever even think, even for one damn second, about what she was leaving behind?”
Dawn stopped then, not sure what to write next. She couldn’t say anything about how broken she was in the wake of losing her sister. Maybe she should write about how Xander was like a walking shadow now? That Spike had wept uncontrollably next to Buffy’s body for an embarrassing amount of time, and that he was damaged so badly that it seemed beyond repair even if he “lived” another thousand years? Oh wait, she could write something about how you could practically see the stormcloud hanging over Willow’s head, a frightening thing that almost spelled out “BAD THINGS HAPPENING SOON” in giant neon letters.
Then she was crying again, exhausting herself, falling asleep, and she thought she was dreaming that her sparkly purple pen was moving on its own over that page in her journal. What a strange dream.
Wait. No. She wasn’t asleep. The pen was moving. It was writing. Dawn sat up a little and grabbed at the book to assure herself that she was still awake. She looked down at the page.
I’m sorry. I miss you so much. Please forgive me.
Dawn stared. But only for a second, because for some reason, it didn’t even occur to her that there was any possibility that it wasn’t what she thought it was. She’d heard of automatic writing before, even though she hadn’t been meant to hear about it. Eavesdropping was a skill she’d honed to perfection, even better than shoplifting and applying mascara. And she knew that was what she was looking at as soon as she saw it.
So she caught the pen and began writing furiously. “Why did you do this? Do you have any idea…ANY IDEA…”, her hand was shaking with anger and frustration, “what you left behind? This whole pile of people who are broken, lost, completely desolate without you? Did you think for even a moment about how much easier it would have been for them to lose ME?”
Please, I’m sorry. Tell them. Tell them I’m sorry. That I’m all right. Nothing hurts. Nothing hurt when I fell. Nothing hurt when I landed. I swear, Dawnie, please believe me, I did what was right, I’m sure of it. It’s the truth, it was the right thing to do, I know it was.
Dawn had nothing but questions.
“So, can you see us? Can you feel what we feel? Do you know that your ‘right thing to do’ has destroyed the people who loved you best? Is there anything where you are to show you how Spike loves you? How you ripped him to shreds even more dead than you did when you were alive? Maybe you can see what kind of empty shell you’ve left of Xander? What kind of life you’ve left me without my sister? How about that, Buffy? Can you see any of that wherever the hell you are?”
The pen moved again, out of Dawn’s hand and on its own. If I had an answer to any of that, I’d give it to you. I’d give you anything. I gave my life for you, Dawn, I’d give you answers if I had them.
“Some life you left me. Don’t give me any shit. Fuck you, Buffy, and fuck your idea of what’s right and wrong. And if you say one goddamn word about ‘language’, I’ll set this stupid journal on fire. You suck, and I hate you for leaving me, and for leaving Willow and Spike and Xander, and for doing it willingly and knowing you’d leave behind a 200-car pile-up on the Sunnydale freeway. You are a selfish horrid bitch, and how you think all of these people would be better off without YOU than they’d be without ME? What the MOTHERfuck is wrong with you? You’re so stupid, I always thought you were smart, but you are so ridiculously stupid, or you were, or whatever.”
I only want you to forgive me, Dawnie, to hell with anyone else, just you, please…tell me you forgive me.
“Well I don’t. I don’t forgive you and I forgive you even less for saying to hell with anyone else. You don’t have to see them every day. You don’t have to feel Willow’s darkness, or Xander’s emptiness, or Spike’s irretrievable misery, or…or what you left me. The emptiness, the lack of any single thing that anchors me to another human being in this world. No mother, no father, no sister. You’re lucky I haven’t taken my own self out, because despite how horribly you hurt him, Spike has taken it upon himself to look after me, as annoying as it is at times. But I know it’s only because he loves you, and any affection he has for me is a remnant of that.”
You don’t mean it. You’re angry and I understand but you don’t. You don’t really mean it.
“Yes I do.”
Dawn broke the pen in half and threw the stupid journal against the wall. Anything else her selfish ego-driven sister had to say, she didn’t want to hear or see.
She yelled, as loud as she could, for Spike to come to her. And of course, he did.