Same Coin, Different Side
Title :: Same Coin, Different Side
Rating :: FR13
Word Count :: 1050
Beta :: Demona
Disclaimer :: Supernatural and all related characters are copyright Eric Kripke, Kripke Enterprises & The CW Network. No infringement intended. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.
Note/Spoilers :: Spoilers for the Supernatural season five premier, “Sympathy for the Devil.” Some lines of dialogue from that episode are used in this story and they are the creative property of Eric Kripke.
Synopsis: Just weeks after her resurrection Buffy receives a visitor who understands her pain and needs her help. ~*~
Same Coin, Different Side
Moonlight pooled around her curled form, body tucked tight and the sheets tangled with her legs as Buffy rode the razor-thin edge between slumber and consciousness. A sudden breeze brought the curtains to life, snapping them against the blinds and she shifted, rolling onto her back and stretching her legs out and against the tight confines of the sheet. The sound of her mother’s voice, gently calling her name, opened her eyes, pupils spiraling down against the sudden influx of muted light and Buffy sat up, brows furrowed as she gazed upon the image of her mother hovering next to that open window.
“Mom?” A tremble entered her voice as she reiterated, “Mommy?”
“I’m not your mother, Buffy. I’m an angel,” the quiet, nearly apologetic, certainty in such a familiar voice gave Buffy pause and the echo of her mother stepped away from the window, closer to her bed and stated, “My name is Lucifer.”
An abrupt and broken sound, somewhere between a laugh and sob escaped her. Tears gathered in her lashes, her shoulders shaking as she gazed upon the image of her mother, the false sense of security she offered, before asking, “What do you want?”
Joyce—because she couldn’t call this thing anything else—finished the last few steps between them and eased herself down onto the edge of her bed. Buffy pulled her legs up, tucking them under her as she watched the way the moonlight softened the lines around her mother’s eyes and mouth. That mouth curved upward as Joyce offered her a soft, if tired, smile and asked, “Do you know how special you are, Buffy?”
A line appeared between her brows as she snapped, “One girl in all the world,” then frowned, “Well not one, one, but you get the point,” green eyes rolled, “I’m the Slayer—”
“No,” Joyce interrupted, “that’s not what I meant. You’re more then merely a Slayer. You’re a vessel. A very special, very powerful vessel.”
“A vessel?” Buffy searched Joyce’s face a moment before adding, “A vessel for what?”
The simple reply pulled Buffy away from Joyce, her mouth thinning as she shook her head. “You want me to be a vessel for you?” she added, voice deadpanned, “The devil? Evil incarnate.”
“I’m not evil, Buffy.” Her snorted scoff brought an amused smile to her mother’s face and Buffy swallowed the sudden and intense sense of loss at the sight of it. Joyce’s head inclined and she caught Buffy’s gaze, held it as the humor left the dark hazel of Joyce’s eyes and was replaced by a sadness so deep it seemed infinite. “Humanity misunderstands me,” she explained, “You believe me to be evil and call me the devil but,” she paused, brows drawing together as she leaned slightly into Buffy and asked, “Do you even know my crime?”
Buffy shook her head, completely entranced by the pain lacing her mother’s soft words. “I loved God too much. And for that he betrayed me, he punished me. Just as he’s punishes you.” Buffy stiffened, pulled away and the denial on her lips faded away as Joyce’s hand crept over her own, threading their fingers together as she continued, “After all how could God stand idly by while you were torn from heaven. To allow you that reward and then simply take it away as if you were nothing. Not even a person.”
Tears escaped her lashes, fell down the curved line of her cheeks as Joyce’s voice grew softer still, “Do you know why you were allowed to be taken?” Buffy’s head shook mutely from side to side and Joyce’s head inclined, “My brothers allowed it. They sacrificed you, your happiness, so that they could end this world and bring on their version of paradise. Now tell me, is that fair?”
“E-end the world?”
Anger seeped into her voice and the hand Joyce was holding began to tremble and her mother’s soft smile slipped away and her voice grew concerned, “Buffy, I can’t force you. I wouldn’t. But I want to stop them. I want to hold Zachariah accountable for his actions.”
“He’s the one that raised you.”
Joyce interrupted Buffy with a slow shake of her head. “No human has that kind of power. My brothers allowed you to fall. Just as I fell. I know your pain, Buffy. I share it. There is no one else on this Earth that knows what it’s like to be rejected by heaven. To have to live every
moment knowing what we’ve lost.”
Unconsciously Buffy turned over the hand being caged by her mother’s so that their palms met and fingers intertwined before she asked, voice breathy with pain, “How do you do it?”
“I grew angry. We have every right to be angry and I plan to hold Zachariah, God, all of them accountable for their actions.” Joyce’s hand tightened and Buffy glanced down at it and then back up to her mother’s pleading face. “But I need you to do that, Buffy. God did this to you, to us, and I can give you justice if you’ll only let me.”
She gazed into her mother’s eyes and asked, “How can I trust you?”
Another fleeting smile pulled at the corners of Joyce’s mouth and her brows rose slightly in acknowledgment before she offered, “Because contrary to popular belief. I don’t lie. I don’t need to.” Her chin lowered and her gaze narrowed, intensifying their eye contact as Joyce clarified, “What I need is you, Buffy. I need you to say yes.”
Her breath shuddered outward slowly before she whispered, “What about Dawn?”
“Dawn is older then either of us. She’ll be safe,” another knowing smile stretched her mother’s mouth, “but that’s not what you wanted to ask.”
Buffy’s eyes closed, damp lashes settling against her cheeks as she refused to look into her mother’s face as she asked, “Will it hurt?”
“I will take control of your mind and body. To be honest, it will blind you, burn you. I can’t help that, but I can promise that Zachariah will be the first of my brethren to pay for their crimes.”
The hand holding Joyce’s tightened before Buffy slowly opened her eyes, searched her mother’s face one last time and said, “Yes.” The end.
Author’s Note :: I blame FaithUnbreakable
’s manipulation “Unafraid
” for inspiring me to write this ficlet.