Title: Bad Day
Disclaimer: I’m just borrowing them.
Spoilers: Everything that’s aired so far is fair game
Summary: For the TTH 100, prompt 022: Space
There was no space to move, no space to breathe. The chains they had wrapped her in were tight and strong and fastened securely to the heavy lead box they put her in. Her legs and arms were bound together behind her, and would have been severely uncomfortable if she didn’t have other pains blocking it out.
The chains bit into her abused flesh, sending sharp pains wherever the constricted around a deep bruise or laceration. Buffy would have been gasping and heaving if her chest hadn’t been so constricted that it took all her effort just to not pass out from lack of oxygen.
A part of her was glad for the pain. It distracted her from the fact that she was trapped in a box half the size of the coffin she woke up in after Willow brought her back. The pain kept her mind sane and kept her thoughts from dwelling on the fact that, wherever she was being carried to, they were probably planning on burying her alive once they got there.
She should have known better than to save them from the reavers. The people on this moon were nice, peaceful and caring, so long as you stayed out of their religion and went along with their customs. Because they had taken her in, she had ignored the fact that back on Earth-That-Was they would have probably been considered a cult.
Despite being suspicious of her and her mysterious arrival, they had given her a place to stay, food to eat, clothes to wear, and did their best to help her become self sufficient. And despite them constantly trying to convert her, she generally got along with them well enough and tried to respect their beliefs.
Of course that had all changed once they saw her kill an entire raiding party of reavers.
She hadn’t been able to save everybody; she hadn’t even been able to distract enough of them to make them all pause in their atrocities. There were so many of them and they were so spread out, it took hours to end it. But she hadn’t stopped fighting until every last one was dead, and their ship a burning wreck.
Only then did Buffy allow herself to pass out, her last conscious thoughts avoiding how many human beings she had just killed, and focusing instead on how long it would take for her to bleed to death.
That is if all those darts she had taken didn’t kill her with poison first.
When she woke up, she was tied up in the county jail, though someone had at least been kind enough to wrap a few of the more major wounds. Before her delirium took over she overheard the townspeople shouting outside her cell. She only barely got a few phrases, “… sent from God”, “Demon!” “…saved us all!”, “…can’t be human”, “…of witchcraft!”, but she understood.
Waking up in the box, Buffy realized it really had been too much to hope for that they would decide she was an angel instead of the other thing.
A jolt, and the box they were carrying her in stopped. Fresh waves of pain washed over her and she fought back the rising panic and horror that threatened to overwhelm her.
She heard raised voices, too muffled to make out, but sounding like an argument.
Buffy allowed herself one moment of wild hope that maybe they had changed their minds about the whole Let’s-go-bury-the-demon thing, before she felt them swinging the box as if to throw her loose, and she tried to remember if there were any canyons or pits near the town.
They let her go; the box flew threw the air for only a second, and then landed hard on what sounded like metal. Buffy bit back a cry at the pain, and then blackness swallowed her.
Author’s Note: This is my first fic; constructive criticism welcome.
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