Disclaimer: I don’t own Buffy or the Crow.
A/N: This is post Season 7-Buffy is still pretty raw about her resurrection and is slaying in New York. This is right at the end of Crow, Eric didn’t die again, he ended up next to his grave still alive. (Oh, ignore the year discrepancies-thanks)
There was no neatly trimmed green grass, no flowers or wreathes, no life.
So graveyards weren’t the poster children for life, but this graveyard was truly dead. Though there were fresh graves, she wouldn’t be there if there weren’t, the ground was brown, furrows of mud, chipped and stained headstones, and browned leaves cluttered the supposedly peaceful place.
It was silent, no lights glowed from the church, no birds or animals moved. The church itself was crumbling, the stone tower hunching under gravity.
It niggled at her senses, the absolute disregard for the dead. Maybe she was a bit biased, but it saddened her. Death was not the end, this place was not where she would want to wake…again.
Pushing her senses back into the graveyard Buffy Summers spun at the softest whimper coming from a small overhang near the back of the church.
Body tensed, she walked cautiously and anything but slowly. A few feet from a pair of headstones she stopped. The scent of moist soil, congealed blood, and salt filled the heavy air,
A crouched figure clung to a red stained, stone declaration of death. The dirt was in lumps not unlike her own grave after she had burrowed upwards.
“No,” the word slipped from her lips before she could stop it.
A white streaked face turned to glare at her, black lip and eyeliner exaggerating his features, “Go!” His voice was harsh his body shivering.
“No,” this time she forced the word out.
He turned from her, tracing the indentations on the stone, his, she recognized, “Leave me. Leave me among the dead things.”
Buffy sighed softly and moved towards him, dropping down on the other side of his grave, “Then I guess I should stay right here.”
His head snapped up to look at her, “What do you mean?”
From the moment Buffy laid eyes on him, she knew he was far from any vampire or demon, he was like her, the smell of happiness and anger and fear and despair clung to him like a second skin.
Her voice was soft like velvet, “The grave wouldn’t take me back either.”
The slayer reached out a shaking hand to graze his cheek, it came back covered in white and black smudges.
The man had flinched when she first touched his skin, but it was warm, warm like…he couldn’t remember being warm before. It was warm enough to drive the cold away for a moment, then her touch was gone.
Stretching out his own shaking hand he grabbed her hand and drew it back to his face, crushing her flesh to his. He inhaled shakily, like he had just gotten the best fix in the world.
Buffy’s fingers were tangled in wet, black, limp curls, and his breath was clammy against her wrist. He clung to her like she was the last person in the world.
Though he looked broken at the moment, he managed to drag her across the distance and curl around her, the slayer never protesting at the treatment. She had always been alone, now she had someone to hold her and someone to hold.
Tears slipped from her eyes and landed on their conjoined hands, “…okay…everything will be okay.”
Her voice wavered as he pulled their bodies together, no more words passed between them. There were unintelligible murmured words, gasps, moans, and bodies being clutched together in an attempt to, at last, drive the cold and pain away.
Anywho, this is was inspired by one of my fanarts. Centered on Eric and Buffy clearly. Hope you enjoyed, please review.