The Demon Alcohol.
By Dave Turner.
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer that’s all down to Joss and those wacky people down at Mutant Enemy. ‘Demon Alcohol’ was written by Ozzy Osbourne. I write these stories for fun not profit.Crossover:
Non-song Song Fic, 'The Demon Alcohol'.Spelling, Punctuation, and Grammar:
Written in glorious English-English which is different to American-English.Timeline:
Set a couple of weeks after the events depicted in 'The Vampire Carrot from Another World'.Words:
None that I can think of.Summary:
Repost of an old 'Grim Up North' story; Buffy hits rock bottom and must face up to some personal demons.0=0=0=0Author's Note:
This fic should have been posted as a stand alone fic but for some reason I tacked it onto the end of another story. It taken me a couple of years to put it right. The story has had some minor rewriting done to it.0=0=0=0Buffy’s chalet, Slayer Central, Saltburn-by-the-Sea, about two weeks after Dawn and Faith’s return from the Shetlands.
Unlocking the door, Kennedy stepped into Buffy’s chalet; she pulled a face as the full horror of the witch’s brew of odours assaulted her delicate nose. Reluctantly she closed the door behind her shutting out the fresh, tangy, salt air of the old holiday camp. Although it was nearly midday the blinds were still closed and as she walked across the room to the window, her foot kicked against a discarded bottle almost making her stumble.
Pulling open the blinds she let daylight in on the disaster area that was Buffy’s home. The bright sunlight revealed Buffy’s living room in all its horrifying, technocolour glory. Discarded vodka bottles lay everywhere; leftover, half full, silver trays of curry littered the top of a coffee table along with other less recognisable substances. Kennedy shook her head in disgust and thanked whatever gods there might be that breakfast had been a long time ago and she’d not had lunch yet; the smell had been enough to guarantee she’d have lost both.
So far there was no sign of Buffy herself, which was bad; normally any sleeping slayer would have noticed that someone was wandering around her home by now. The fact that Buffy hadn’t, suggested that things were far worse than even Willow had suspected. Taking her life in her hands, Kennedy once again crossed the obstacle course that was Buffy’s living room and made it, without major mishap, to the door of her bedroom. Standing in the doorway, Kennedy gagged and dry heaved as the smell from Buffy’s bedroom almost overpowered her.
Trying not to breath too deeply, Kennedy searched around for the light switch, there was no way she was going in there without the lights on; she was wearing a new and expensive pair of shoes and she wasn't going to ruin them for anybody. The room smelt of stale body odour, alcohol, vomit and urine. Switching on the light, Kennedy’s eyes fell on Buffy’s still form where she lay fully dressed on the bed a half empty bottle of vodka in her hand.
“Oh Christ,” Kennedy muttered quietly; she’d noticed the damp patch around the crotch of Buffy’s jeans, “she peed herself.”
Fervently hoping that was all that Buffy had done, Kennedy wondered what she should do first. It was about then that she started to get angry, she’d seen this sort of thing before, she’d seen people let the ‘Demon Alcohol’ take over their lives and she wasn’t about to let Buffy ruin her life. Walking briskly out into living room and over to the kitchenette, she spent a minute or two searching through the cupboards. Finding a large glass jug that would serve her purpose; she filled it with cold water before marching back into Buffy’s room.
“HI-DE-HI!” Kennedy yelled as she threw the contents of the jug over the sleeping Buffy Summers; she smiled, that had really made her feel better.
Coughing and spluttering, Buffy sat bolt upright and looked around through slitted eyes. “What the fuck!?” she moaned as her head fell back on her soaking wet pillow.
“Get up!” Kennedy ordered as she gingerly made her way to the window and opened the blinds.
Groaning loudly Buffy put her arm across her eyes and rolled away from the window. “Go ‘way,” she moaned.
“Nope,” Kennedy had built up a full head of righteous indignation which armoured her against the perils of Buffy’s bedroom, “not until you’re up, showered and at least semi-superhuman again.”
“FUCK OFF!” Buffy screamed as she rolled upright and cradled her head in her hands.
“Get up,” Kennedy was not going to be put off however loudly Buffy yelled; she grabbed hold of Buffy’s arm and hauled her to her feet.
Trying to disengage from Kennedy’s grasp, Buffy turned and aimed a hay-maker at the younger slayer’s head. Ducking under the wildly thrown punch, Kennedy resisted the urge to strike back and maybe break a couple of Buffy’s ribs. Instead she used Buffy’s own momentum to spin her around and then pushed her towards the little bathroom and on into the shower. At the door to the bathroom, Buffy tried to resist once more. Kennedy easily parried and blocked the series of ill co-ordinated, ineffectual punches and kicks Buffy directed at her; exhausted, she slid to the floor and started to sob quietly.
“F’god’s sake Buffy,” Kennedy didn’t know whether to be angry or sad, “look at yourself, look at what you’ve become.” Reaching into the shower, Kennedy switched on the water, “Get yourself cleaned up…you stink.”
“What do you care?” Buffy climbed to her feet and started to remove her clothes, “You hate me, I’d thought you’d be glad to see me screw up, have a good laugh at bitch-Buffy’s expense.”
For a moment, Kennedy was in two minds whether to leave and let Buffy descend deeper into her drink induced hell; instead she signed and shook her head pityingly.
“Why am I here?” Kennedy leaned against the door frame, “You’ve driven away all your real friends,” she explained quietly, “there’s only me left now.”
Turning away, Kennedy walked back out into the lounge, found a black plastic rubbish bag and set about clearing up Buffy’s mess.0=0=0=0
“Look at yourself, Buffy,” Kennedy watched as a cleaner, fresher smelling Buffy Summers shuffled into the lounge and collapsed into an armchair. “A few weeks ago if I’d grabbed you like that and tried to make you do anything you didn’t want to, you’d have kicked my ass. But look at you now,” Kennedy shook her head pityingly, “now you couldn’t even stake a new fledged vamp…”
“I need a drink,” Buffy started to search about on the floor looking for a bottle; when her hands didn’t immediately find one she started to look around in panic, her voice trembled as she spoke, “what have you done with my stuff, bitch?”
Once again Kennedy found herself resisting the urge to do Buffy violence, “In the kitchen closet,” she pointed towards the kitchenette.
Standing up unsteadily, Buffy lurched over to the little kitchen area and started to search through the cupboards. Eventually she came to the one where Kennedy had stashed her booze. Grabbing hold of a half full bottle, Buffy undid the top letting it clatter onto the floor; watching Kennedy out of the corner of her eye she deliberately took a glass and poured herself a stiff measure of the clear liquid. Lifting the glass to her lips she swallowed the contents in one go.
“Lunch?” Kennedy asked, “Or is that breakfast?”
“What d’you care?” Buffy refilled the glass.
“Willow asked me to try and talk some sense into you,” Kennedy shrugged her shoulders, “I love Willow so I’ll do it for her, to be honest at the moment, I don’t care if you live or die.”
“Hah!” Buffy downed another half glass of vodka, she poured another drink and wandered over to her chair, “Show-showing your true colours…I never liked you-you little Miss-Snooty-Bitch!”
“Do you realise just how stupid you sound,” Kennedy had an expression of extreme indifference on her face. “You sit there blaming the world for everything that goes sour in your life, ‘Oh it’s so unfair’, grow up will you? Do you think you’re the only woman to find out her sister’s gay? That’s what it’s all about isn’t it? You haven’t been right since you came back from LA and found Dawn and Faith in bed together…”
“Yeah,” Buffy sniffed drinking half the contents of her glass, “that’s what it’s all about, okay, what do you know about it, lesbo whore! Coming ‘round taking my friends away from me and…”
“I didn’t have to take anything away from you Buffy,” Kennedy’d had about enough of this, she started to head for the door, “you managed that all by yourself. I wish I had a sister like Dawn and friends like Faith, Xander and Giles. And Willow? I don’t think you’ll ever know just how much she cares about you.”
Half way to the door, Kennedy stopped and turned back to look down at Buffy, one last try she told herself.
“Look,” searching for and finding a pen and a piece of paper, Kennedy jotted down a telephone number, “when you feel like growing up and maybe stopping drinking for a minute; phone this number.”
Placing the piece of paper on the coffee table in front of Buffy, Kennedy turned and marched out of the chalet and back out into the clean, fresh air. Breathing deeply for a moment she closed her eyes and concentrated on the sound of the wind and the distant sea.
“One day at a time,” she told herself before walking off to find Willow.0=0=0=0
Listening to the sound of the door slamming shut behind Kennedy, Buffy sat in her chair and frowned as she took another mouthful of vodka.
“What does she know?” Buffy asked herself, “Stuck up bitch’s had it easy all her life…not like me.”
Finding her glass empty, Buffy got up again and brought the remains of the bottle over to the table, she put it down on the piece of paper Kennedy had given her. For a long moment she just stared at the bottle.
“She never had her mother die,” Buffy rested her glass on the arm of her chair.
A memory surfaced in Buffy’s drink clouded mind, hadn’t Willow said something about Kennedy’s mother dying when she was little?
“Yeah, but she didn’t have to look after her little sister instead of going to school.”
Buffy reached for the bottle, taking hold of it she held it in her lap, wasn’t there something about being sent away to boarding school by her step-mother? Buffy shook her head trying to rid it of all these inconvenient thoughts…no-way had Kennedy’s life been as hard as hers, how could it have been she’d not been the slayer.
“All the slaying and friends dying and boyfriends running off and marrying people and…and…”
Willow had told her about how Kennedy’s then girlfriend and watcher had been killed by the Bringers right in front of her, desperately Buffy tried to cling to her feelings of self pity.
“Why shouldn’t I have a little drink every now an’ then, huh?” Buffy looked at the bottle in her hand, she started to pour the last half inch into her glass.
“I'm sick and tired of your excuses,” the demon appeared out of nowhere and leered into Buffy’s face; she screamed in fright and surprise.
Trying to get away from the monster (who apart from the forked tail looked almost exactly like Ozzy Osbourne, even down to the tinted glasses), Buffy pushed her chair over backwards. Arms, legs and bottle flying in all directions she found herself lying on the floor with the demon standing over her.
“Can't deal with living anymore?” he sneered, “I'll give you a reason to continue, while you lie writhing on the floor!”
Screaming in agony, Buffy curled up into a ball as a pain like a red hot dagger being twisted in her stomach doubled her up.
“I'll wash away your lies, and have you hypnotized,” the demon continued as it enjoyed Buffy’s anguish. “There'll be no compromise today,” it warned her, “I'll share your life of shame, I think you know my name, I'll introduce myself to you…”
Thunder boomed and lightning flashed as the demon gloried in its triumph over the slayer.
“I'm the demon alcohol,” the demon laughed in Buffy’s face its fetid breath almost making her throw up, “The Demon Alcohol,” again the fiend laughed before adding, “I'll get you!”
Scrambling across the floor and away from the demon, Buffy used the wall to help her stand up. Pushing herself away from the wall she launched a series of vicious kicks and punches in an attempt to slay the demon. The demon dodged every attack with contemptuous ease. It laughed mockingly at her feeble attempts at subduing him.
“If you could deal with your reflection,” it told her, “I'm sure you'd see into my eyes.”
Suddenly being confronted by a hideous, contorted caricature of her own face, Buffy screamed and tried to throw herself away from the demon again. Once more she found herself on the floor looking up at the demon as drunken, dishevelled, hag-like versions of herself staggered around the room.
“There'll be no need for resurrection,” the demon told her as it thrust a large glass of vodka under her nose, “let's drink to people not to lies!”
Trying to push away the offered drink, Buffy found herself surrounded by rank upon rank of full vodka bottles.
“Although one's too much,” the demon thrust the glass under Buffy’s nose once more, “you know ten's not enough!” Magically the single glass turned into a tray carrying ten glasses full to the brim, “There'll be no compromise today, I'll watch you lose control,” the demon watched with lust filled eyes as Buffy reached for one of the glasses. “Consume your very soul, I'll introduce myself again; I'm the demon alcohol, let's party!”
Suddenly Buffy found herself in a darkened room, strobbing lights flashed and loud music boomed out as someone or something played a heavy rock guitar riff. Sweaty bodies jostled hers and spilt their drinks over her skin and clothes. She found herself licking up the alcohol from her skin as she tried to force her way to the bar. The press of bodies was too much even for her slayer strength, she couldn’t get near the bar. Dropping to her knees she started to lick the alcohol from the floor. It was only then that she realised what she was doing and felt disgusted with herself. How could she have let herself descend to such a state of dependency? Perhaps Kennedy was right, maybe it was time for her to grow up and take responsibility for her actions. Buffy pulled herself to her feet.
“I’m better than this,” she told the unhearing, uncaring denizens of hell’s disco, “I can beat this…or die trying.”
“I'm sick and tired of resolutions,” once again the demon was right in her face breathing alcohol fumes over her, “you've quit me time and time again.”
“I’ll die rather than serve you!” Buffy pushed the demon away
“Don't speak of suicide solutions,” the demon held out its hand to her enticingly, “you took my hand, I'm here to stay. This time it's you or me” the demon hit Buffy sending her staggering across the suddenly empty disco, “I'll never set you free.”
Buffy found herself standing at a bar which was groaning under the weight of drinks that stood in serried ranks on its surface.
“So satisfy your lust,” invited the demon, “too much can't be enough, I'll introduce myself today…”
With a scream Buffy woke up to find herself sitting in her chair. Standing up and looking around she didn’t notice the bottle that had been resting in her lap until it fell onto the floor.
“Fuck!” she watched as the last few drops spilt onto the carpet, “But on the good side there’s no demonic Ozzy and no hell disco.”
Walking a little unsteadily over to the kitchenette, Buffy opened the cupboard and took down a full bottle of vodka. Crying out in pain she doubled over as stomach cramps lanced through her body once more. Regaining control of herself she took the bottle to her chair; sitting down, she placed the bottle on the coffee table next to Kennedy’s note and stared at the unopened bottle; she sat and stared at it for a very long time.
Eventually, Buffy got up wearily from her chair; picked up the bottle and walked over to the sink where she twisted off the cap and poured the contents down the drain. Walking around the chalet she collected up half full bottles and sent them to follow the contents of the previous bottle. Looking around the chalet she searched out the last bottle, her fingers hesitated as she lifted it to pour the contents down the drain. Maybe she should keep this one, hide it away, just in case.
“No!” Buffy told herself as she upended the bottle and watched the clear liquid swirl away. 0=0=0=0
It was evening by the time Buffy had cleaned up her home; she’d thrown away her soiled bed linen and clothes. She’d mopped and scrubbed and vacuumed until you could almost believe that a normal person lived there. Gone was the stale odours of sweat and…well, she wouldn’t admit the rest of it even to herself not just yet, maybe later.
Once again she sat in her chair, a cup of tea in one hand, cellphone in the other. Kennedy and her friends had been right all along, but she’d been too self involved to realise it. Slowly she put down her tea and picked up the note, Buffy smiled as she read the number so clearly written, even with a cheap ballpoint on the back of an old lottery ticket.
“Bitch,” Buffy muttered, but she had to admit it, Kennedy had beautiful penmanship; a moment later, she started dialling.0=0=0=0Later that evening.
Walking into the little church hall on the outskirts of Middlesbrough, Buffy looked around to see a dozen or so people sitting on wooden chairs. The seats had been arranged in a circle facing inwards and a man was just finishing speaking as she walked into the room. People clapped as the man sat down and a middle-aged woman stood up, she looked around at Buffy and smiled welcomingly.
“Hello luv,” the woman studied Buffy for a moment, she seemed to be a perfectly ordinary looking ‘mom’, “can we help you?”
“Umm,” Buffy hesitated and smiled nervously; to be honest she’d rather face a room full of vamps, “I-I don’t know…I’m…” swallowing hard she started again, “Hi, I’m Buffy, I’m an alcoholic…”
“Hi, Buffy!” everyone chorused as they turned around and looked up at her; just then someone touched her on the shoulder, she turned to see who it was.
“Hi,” Kennedy raised an eyebrow at her, “you want to sit next to me?” The End.0=0=0=0
Author’s note; Although Ozzy Osbourne appears in this fic as a demon I want to make it perfectly clear that I DO NOT
believe that Mr Osbourne is in anyway shape or form a demon or has any connection to the occult. You will not go to hell because you listen to heavy rock music. The use of Mr Osbourne’s name was purely as a form of short hand that prevented me from having to describe the demon.