Intro: A Carlisle Cullen/Buffy Summers pairing. Based on the challenge ‘So Beautiful, So Cold’ by Chrysanne, the idea being ‘If the Volturi had been early in Eclipse, and had destroyed the other Cullens, leaving Carlisle alone to pay for his indiscretions?’
Say this happened before Btvs season 7 and Carlisle has spent his days wondering aimlessly until he comes across a Slayer not long for this world. The First having taken advantage of Buffy’s expulsion from the Casa de Summers, and used it as an opportunity to remove a thorn from his side.
What if Carlisle could not resist turning her, especially when her scent smelt as though she belonged with him forever…
Warning: Slight portrayal of the Scoobies in a negative light.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire slayer is not mine and belongs to Joss Whedon. Similarly Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer.
‘Here’s my wish,
A man with lips as red as blood,
With skin as white as snow’*
Was she doing the right thing?
Accepting death as she was?
She did not know, nor did she really care, simply knowing that despite the weight it would create on her soul, she would not care if it ensured those traitors did not obtain what they wished. She wasn’t under their control anymore, would no longer be there to clean up their messes.
Her own person, at last. She’d always seemingly belonged to someone. Her vapid clique in the Hemery days, the Watchers Council, her friends, her duty…No more.
In a way her mind was already gone, lost to a mixture of grief and anguish, as behind the mask of utter and perfect poise upon her face, and her calm voice, she inwardly railed against her fate. Screaming and screeching her heartbreak and betrayal without ever realising it aloud.
But that was life, you may be dying inside but you never let it show on your face. Always smile, so everyone thinks you’re fine. When truly, you’ve never felt so alone. So very distant to everyone around you, who can never possibly understand no matter how hard they try.
And in the end, that was what she was.
As Spike had once said, as the first rasta-mama Slayer had said; Slayers fought alone, and most importantly, died alone.
She’d forgotten that in recent years, her arrogance encouraging her to focus inwardly. Her overconfidence that she was the slayer, that her friends would always be there for her.
Friends….what a joke….
They had spent so much time telling her to be a general that she’d lost herself. Too focused on what they had wanted, she’d taken it out on the potentials. She’d been unfair to the minis, she knew that now. Except Kennedy, that ice-cold bitch could have her brain gnawed by ice weasels.
Were there even such a thing as ice weasels?
A giggle crossed her lips, blood splattering the pink petal lips.
She was getting hit by blood loss now, her mental faculties fading and twisting. She knew the symptoms well enough, knew her slayer healing would not be enough to save her this time around, her injuries too serious to heal. The First’s lackeys having left her to a slow and painful death as opposed to her other relatively quick ones. Though drowning had left a lot to be desired.
The First having appeared to sneer at her, pointing out that the town was empty and there was no one to hear her cries for help.
Though in a town infamous for its short-sighted obliviousness, it wouldn’t have meant much if anyone had been there in the first place.
Here it was dark. The only light was the light of the stars that lit the dark alley the power company having upped and left long ago, and she lay shivering violently on the cold, hard floor. No longer coherent enough to express distaste at the rubbish that littered the ground around her. She straddled the gap between awake and unconscious, fading in between the two and losing all sense of time.
It was too hot.
She was lying on something, a blanket maybe. A light was flickering somewhere near her, a gleaming light that made the skin of her eyelids glow in sparks of white. Which was odd, because she knew there were no street lights, the electricity company having long since given up on this hell-infested little town. And it wasn’t like any of the Scoobies or Potentials would never look for her, not after they’d kicked her out of her own home into the unforgiving and brutal night of Sunnydale. They‘d know of her death soon enough, when the next mini was Called as a slayer. Would they regret their decision? She wondered, thoughtfully. Or would they rejoice in the presence of yet another slayer to be moulded to their needs as cannon fodder? Would and of them miss her…
Buffy bit her lip, a single tear trickling down her cheek. She’d never see her sister again…And just when she was learning to live once more.
She groaned softly, trying to place a face to her sister’s name, and ultimately failing. Her thoughts too disjoined and confused, pain making her mind hazy and bewildered. The image she mentally grasped for, like a lifeline, was not there. As her sister was no longer there. No longer wanted her.
Wanted her to leave….
The curtain of blood soaked hair that hair fallen across her vision was suddenly, yet tenderly brushed aside.
Her emerald eyes blinked confusion and betrayed her lack of understanding as to what was going on. Fluttering closed, as her infamous strength finally deserted her.
Had her friends come for her?
Had Spike, loyal Spike, returned for her corpse?
Or had the First decided that it was not yet done torturing her?
If so, she could laugh at her petty vengeance. Nothing could save her now. She knew her body well enough to know that. Her lips quirked weakly upward in the corners, liking the idea of denying the evil-imaginary-friend it’s desire.
Petty, true, but in her situation she felt it could probably be excused. Death tended to alter ones priorities, as she well knew from multiple experiences.
The hair had been pulled back from her face, her lips tasted like blood and death, and there was something cool close by, which sent her spidey senses a-whirling.
Not the Scoobies then, but not Spike. And not the First or any of the incorporeal being’s minions.
Every part of her body ached. Nausea made her throat swell, chest aching as it did so. Listening to the dripdripdrip of her blood hitting the floor oh-so-slo-wly. Waiting, unmoving, for the newcomer to make a move. Too weak to even turn her head to look at her unexpected companion, by this point.
Then it came again, that cold. A cold arm wrapping around her, so very gently. Lifting her into a frozen embrace that made her feel so very safe. The chill of the stranger offsetting her temperature in such a wonderful way.
A hand tenderly stroked her brow, and she summoned the last of her strength. Willing her eyes to open. One. Last. Time.
After all, Giles always did say she was too stubborn for her own good.
She stared up at her mystery companion, eyes widening at the ethereal beauty that stared down at her with such pain in his eyes. Pain caused by the world, that had scarred his soul so deeply that it was visible in those amazing topaz eyes. And yet, there was pain on her behalf, so much empathy it was a wonder that her angel did not shatter from it.
He looked as if he could, as though he were carved from china with his pale, luminous skin, impossible to hide even beneath the recent layer of dirt, neglect and grief which seemed to cover it.
His hair, a ragged birds nest of blond. Affected by the same forgetful neglect as the man’s complexion, how she wished she was strong enough to reach up a hand to smooth away its rumples.
To find her voice, reassure her angel that she did not mind that she was about to die. That heaven was a wonderful place, without pain, hunger or loss. That no-one would miss her. That she did not blame him.
As it was, all she could do was summon a quivering smile, hoping that it was enough to comfort him. He was a stranger, and yet, she had never felt safer than in his arms since the discovery that the monster under the bed was real. That her Daddy had been mortal, fallible. That her mother could fall to drink for comfort. Her friends could desert her at a moments notice.
She really hadn’t learnt her lesson on that one…
“It’s alright…I’m not afraid…” She found the words slipping past her blood stained lips, coughing up more of the sticky-wet substance.
Noting the dilation of his pupils and silently pondering what creature could be as beautiful as he. Even without her Slayer senses she would recognise him as supernatural, he was far too lovely to be anything but magical.
“You shouldn’t die…” His voice was so lovely, she could fall asleep to it so easily.
“I found you, you can’t….I’m a doctor….you can’t…” His words were tinged with hysteria. His eyes holding a glint of madness and desperation. “Please don’t…”
“Glad….m’not alone….always alone….” She murmured attempting to sooth his apparent distress, everything starting to darken. Which seemed odd, as it had been night for a while, and everything that could darken already had.
And then she understood, it was not the world that was darkening, but her vision…She was slipping into that inky black that had cradled her before in its loving embrace. She smiled up at him once more and allowed herself to fall.
Happy in the knowledge she had not been alone at the end.
Buffy Anne Summers slipped into the blackness with a contented smile. So far gone that she never felt the teeth pierce her neck, nor registered the burning venom as it swept through her system, changing and altering her body as it went.
She wasn‘t even aware of the creature she had referred to as her ‘angel‘ as he tenderly pressed a kiss to the bite mark, licking away the excess blood and venom; before lifting her into his strong arms that she’d found so comforting and carrying her away into the night.
The next day the Scoobies would be horrified to find that Amanda had been Chosen, signifying the death of the reigning Slayer. Faith’s good health assured them that it was in fact the woman who’d dedicated her life to them who’d passed on from the realms of the living. Something they would never forgive themselves for.
Something the PtB would never forgive them for, after all, a Champion piece of their eternal chess game was now eternally lost to them.
Elsewhere, past the Sunnydale limits, a car blasted across the highway, a man whose skin was disturbingly luminous in the light, almost like diamond, sat at the wheel. His expression of fixed determination almost statue like.
And the petite blonde lying across the backseat, wrapped in blankets?
Well, that is another tale….
‘Here’s my wish;
A man to hold me tight and warm
To hold no-one but me
Until the stars dim
Until the sea dries up
That’s my wish’*
*Quotes from The Blood Knight, Greg Keyes.