Chapter Text
I turned another page in the book, my fingers brushing against the yellowing paper as my eyes moved mechanically between the lines.
Ancient prophecy. Impending apocalypse. Possible gruesome death.
You know, the usual.
Normally, the familiar scent of dust and old books filling the library would have been enough to keep me focused. Giles and I had spent countless hours sitting amongst these shelves, researching the latest thing that wanted to destroy Sunnydale—and, by extension, the world.
But today, the words blurred together.
I read the same sentence three times before finally giving up.
“Buffy.”
I didn't look up.
“Buffy.”
Still nothing.
“Buffy!”
I jumped slightly, my head snapping upwards.
Giles stood across from me, his glasses held between his fingers as he stared in my direction. The expression on his face was somewhere between concern and frustration.
“You've got to focus,” he said. “This is unlike anything we've ever seen before.”
Right. Because that had never been said in the history of ever.
I straightened in my chair, suddenly aware of just how long I'd been staring at the same page.
“Sorry, Giles,” I said. “I guess I've been a little unfocused recently.”
A little unfocused.
That was one way of putting it.
I had died two weeks ago.
Only for a couple of minutes, apparently, which was supposed to make the whole experience significantly less horrifying.
I'd been trying to figure out the appropriate response to that information ever since. Should I have been relieved? Traumatized? Should there have been a welcome-back party?
Congratulations on your brief journey into the afterlife! Hope you enjoyed your stay!
Giles's expression softened almost immediately.
“I'm sorry,” he said, placing his glasses back onto his face. “I didn't mean to lose my temper. It's simply that this is a rather pressing matter and, well...” He hesitated. “We cannot afford to make that mistake twice.”
The room fell silent.
There it was.
The thing nobody wanted to talk about.
I gave him a faint smile, trying to lighten the mood, but even Giles could tell I was forcing it.
Ever since the accident—when I, you know, died—everything had been different.
Willow and Xander didn't know how to talk to me anymore. They still smiled and laughed at my jokes, but there was always something lingering behind their expressions. Like they were afraid that if they said the wrong thing, I'd somehow break.
Giles had been stressed, although, to be fair, that wasn't exactly unusual. Between the Watchers' Council breathing down his neck and whatever fresh nightmare was currently threatening Sunnydale, the man probably hadn't relaxed since approximately 1974.
Angel left town to try and find himself, which was a whole lot of nonsense, if you asked me.
Not that anyone had.
Even Cordelia had been nice to me.
Or, at least, her version of nice.
Which was possibly the most terrifying development of all.
“Come on, Buff.”
I looked towards Xander.
He stood a few feet away, his hands shoved awkwardly into the pockets of his jeans. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but whatever it was seemed to get lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth.
“We need you,” he finished.
The words settled heavily in the silence.
I knew he meant well.
They all did.
That's the thing, though.
Everyone needed me.
The Slayer.
The girl who fought monsters and saved the world, preferably before she had to be home for dinner.
They needed me to be strong. To be brave. To pick myself up and pretend that dying hadn't changed anything.
But Buffy?
Buffy was apparently a little more complicated.
Because needing someone and wanting them weren't the same thing.
And as I looked around the room at the people who were supposed to know me better than anyone, I realised something that made my chest feel strangely hollow.
Everyone needed me.
But no one wanted me.
I let out a heavy sigh as I picked back up the thick dust coated book. Life, or at least everyone else's, had to continue whether I wanted it to or not.
The school bell rang.
Back to reality.
Giles jumped, startled by the sound as if he doesn't hear it every day. “Oh!-erm yes of course, right everybody off to class. Meet back here at the end of the day.” he said frantically.
Now I got to be Buffy.
For six hours, I got to be classic old Buffy.
Or at least what was left of her.