( thank you, buffy. for killing him. he was no good, you know. and your gift is death, after all.
it makes her want to shrivel up. no one would console her for mourning him β no one would, should care. she can't think of a way to defend him that doesn't make her the enemy. she's not sure how to admit she hesitated. you know, he wasn't always like that. that wasn't my angel. he used to be soft, and brooding, and silent, and sad. he used to have so much love inside him, he'd give it to anyone who needed a little. he used to say he'd never hurt me, not ever.
the angel i loved. i killed him. again, again, again. your gift is death, buffy, so when are you going to accept it? )
[he'd known a lot (too much, pulled out of him effortlessly, the pink under angelus's hands having koby spill his guts without a second thought, because that's what he was told to do, because that's the part he had to play in this, an inciting spark that culminated in -- this) but koby hadn't known that part of the history, the connection between them. he's been skimming the network post, gathering as much as he can with his head aching and his eyes watery and blurring, but he just knows --]
You knew him. He was trying to hurt you and Faith, because you knew him. I'm so sorry, Buffy. I'm so, so sorry.
[because she knew him. because she had to do this. because it was koby's fault, not hers, because he'd been stupid and naive and trusting (again, again). he doesn't answer the question, tries to summon up enough energy to reach out, find her, a flare of pink several shades brighter than his own.]
( it's good of koby β unfair he has to give it, but that's who he is. empathetic. kind. kinder probably than buffy deserves given everything, but that's par for the course. she is, as it stands, sitting on the floor next to a bed that used to be spike's, her knees folded up to her chest, watching one of the basement cats bat around a dead mouse, continually trying to leave it at buffy's feet in offering. she tries to will spike to come back, even if just for a second, so she doesn't have to feel so alone.
ironically, she's down here so no one will find her. )
you don't have to be sorry. i know he hurt you. it's not your fault, koby. it's mine. he's my responsibility.
( did he hurt you? only in every way conceivable. somethings are still healing βΒ other things never will. )
he hurt giles. and amy. i'm not brave enough to face them yet. so, that's how i am.
[koby's up in one of the empty parlors, stretched out on his back on a understuffed couch, the springs of it digging into his spine. his head aches, his usual store of energy completely sapped, overdrawn on an account he'd paid empty without knowing where the bottom was. because he had to help, had to do something, because --]
He didn't. He just asked things and I told him and it didn't feel wrong, because I wanted to do anything he wanted. And it's not your fault and it shouldn't have had to be you.
[but the simultaneous fact: who else could it have been? there are vampires and there are slayers and there's no place in between (he thinks, then thinks of spike, thinks, dreads, fears that a girl who cared for one vampire might care for another).]
He killed Cassian. He sent me pictures. He thanked me, Buffy. You're the one who STOPPED him.
[the fault, the weight of it is clear. someone is dead because he opened his stupid, trusting, oblivious mouth, a black and white fact.]
( she wouldn't have trusted anyone else with it. maybe βΒ faith. but then, she's shoveled enough shit on faith's plate to last a lifetime. no, it had to be her. it was important that it was. and now β
her breath catches in her lungs, a little. she didn't know angel had been so busy beforehand βΒ had foolishly thought she was the object of his maliciousness. that, she can handle. has handled, in fact, maybe excellently, for the past few hours. someone else caught in the strings of angel's playtime? buffy is sick, down to her stomach. cassian's dead body is her fault. if she has acted faster, if she wasn't sentimental, if she managed to leave the past buried where it was β
(not the past. they had one perfect day, up until angel decided they couldn't, anymore. i love you so much buffy, i'll protect you from every ounce of happiness your body is capable of cooking up. i'll let you be miserable if it keeps you alive.
but being alive has never been buffy's priority. she keeps trying to give up, to lose βΒ no one lets her.) )
he made you. he had your pelt. i want you to stop thinking like this right now or i will come over and personally hand your ass back over to you. angel makes angel's choices because that's who he is. you're koby. you know who you are. you try, and you work hard, and you always do your best, and everyone knows and everyone loves you for it. you have one hundred jobs because you want to be useful, because you can't imagine not helping out, because you can't slow down, because someone might need you. you made a welcome brochure to help people, because you know what it's like to be scared and lost. you're always the first one up and the last one out βΒ you don't know how to stop moving, because if there's someone in front of you who needs someone, then you go running. and there's always someone. so you're always running.
you didn't do this. and it's not your fault. let me know if you want me to come over and slap you.
[and the thing is, she's right -- nobody else knows angelus, knows what he's capable of, knows how to cut the hurt off at the root so it doesn't keep spreading, infecting. it's a thankless, ugly job, and it's one that buffy hadn't asked for, but she'd stepped up, stepped in, put herself as collateral damage for the sake of everyone else. and it had worked, happily-ever-after writ in blood and ash and whatever history buffy doesn't even consider worth mentioning.
that, and what she says next, painting a picture so accurate that koby can't argue with it for the first time in his life -- it's eloquent and exact and he doesn't need to reach out or probe around in her emotions to know buffy gets it because that's her too. because there are people made to be protected and there are people made to protect, and if you're the latter it gets into your bones, into your head, and you split yourself open on the altar of usefulness and you thank the universe for the privilege of sacrificing yourself, because what else can you be? who are you if you aren't the slayer, the hero? who are you if you can't make it easier and feed yourself on all the fear and all the loneliness and all the pain you took from someone else?
it feels arrogant, comparing himself to her, all his efforts in finding amy and giles just damage control, an attempt to atone for giving angelus the matches and the kindling and the best way to hurt everyone. but buffy wouldn't be able to see all that if she hadn't first seen it in the mirror.
so:] And you're Buffy. You're Buffy and we need you, and I'm sorry for that, because it's not fair. It's not fair that it had to be you. But it was. And it could've been Ani next, or Max or Grace or anyone, and it wasn't, because you made it not be and
I don't think I'm the only person running, that's what I'm trying to say.
Also you can come slap me if you want to. Maybe it'll fix me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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yeah. he's dead.
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it makes her want to shrivel up. no one would console her for mourning him β no one would, should care. she can't think of a way to defend him that doesn't make her the enemy. she's not sure how to admit she hesitated. you know, he wasn't always like that. that wasn't my angel. he used to be soft, and brooding, and silent, and sad. he used to have so much love inside him, he'd give it to anyone who needed a little. he used to say he'd never hurt me, not ever.
the angel i loved. i killed him. again, again, again. your gift is death, buffy, so when are you going to accept it? )
you're welcome
you okay?
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You knew him. He was trying to hurt you and Faith, because you knew him.
I'm so sorry, Buffy. I'm so, so sorry.
[because she knew him. because she had to do this. because it was koby's fault, not hers, because he'd been stupid and naive and trusting (again, again). he doesn't answer the question, tries to summon up enough energy to reach out, find her, a flare of pink several shades brighter than his own.]
Did he hurt you? Are you okay?
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ironically, she's down here so no one will find her. )
you don't have to be sorry. i know he hurt you.
it's not your fault, koby. it's mine. he's my responsibility.
( did he hurt you? only in every way conceivable. somethings are still healing βΒ other things never will. )
he hurt giles. and amy.
i'm not brave enough to face them yet. so, that's how i am.
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He didn't. He just asked things and I told him and it didn't feel wrong, because I wanted to do anything he wanted.
And it's not your fault and it shouldn't have had to be you.
[but the simultaneous fact: who else could it have been? there are vampires and there are slayers and there's no place in between (he thinks, then thinks of spike, thinks, dreads, fears that a girl who cared for one vampire might care for another).]
He killed Cassian.
He sent me pictures. He thanked me, Buffy.
You're the one who STOPPED him.
[the fault, the weight of it is clear. someone is dead because he opened his stupid, trusting, oblivious mouth, a black and white fact.]
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( she wouldn't have trusted anyone else with it. maybe βΒ faith. but then, she's shoveled enough shit on faith's plate to last a lifetime. no, it had to be her. it was important that it was. and now β
her breath catches in her lungs, a little. she didn't know angel had been so busy beforehand βΒ had foolishly thought she was the object of his maliciousness. that, she can handle. has handled, in fact, maybe excellently, for the past few hours. someone else caught in the strings of angel's playtime? buffy is sick, down to her stomach. cassian's dead body is her fault. if she has acted faster, if she wasn't sentimental, if she managed to leave the past buried where it was β
(not the past. they had one perfect day, up until angel decided they couldn't, anymore. i love you so much buffy, i'll protect you from every ounce of happiness your body is capable of cooking up. i'll let you be miserable if it keeps you alive.
but being alive has never been buffy's priority. she keeps trying to give up, to lose βΒ no one lets her.) )
he made you. he had your pelt. i want you to stop thinking like this right now or i will come over and personally hand your ass back over to you.
angel makes angel's choices because that's who he is. you're koby. you know who you are. you try, and you work hard, and you always do your best, and everyone knows and everyone loves you for it. you have one hundred jobs because you want to be useful, because you can't imagine not helping out, because you can't slow down, because someone might need you. you made a welcome brochure to help people, because you know what it's like to be scared and lost. you're always the first one up and the last one out βΒ you don't know how to stop moving, because if there's someone in front of you who needs someone, then you go running. and there's always someone. so you're always running.
you didn't do this. and it's not your fault. let me know if you want me to come over and slap you.
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that, and what she says next, painting a picture so accurate that koby can't argue with it for the first time in his life -- it's eloquent and exact and he doesn't need to reach out or probe around in her emotions to know buffy gets it because that's her too. because there are people made to be protected and there are people made to protect, and if you're the latter it gets into your bones, into your head, and you split yourself open on the altar of usefulness and you thank the universe for the privilege of sacrificing yourself, because what else can you be? who are you if you aren't the slayer, the hero? who are you if you can't make it easier and feed yourself on all the fear and all the loneliness and all the pain you took from someone else?
it feels arrogant, comparing himself to her, all his efforts in finding amy and giles just damage control, an attempt to atone for giving angelus the matches and the kindling and the best way to hurt everyone. but buffy wouldn't be able to see all that if she hadn't first seen it in the mirror.
so:] And you're Buffy. You're Buffy and we need you, and I'm sorry for that, because it's not fair. It's not fair that it had to be you.
But it was. And it could've been Ani next, or Max or Grace or anyone, and it wasn't, because you made it not be and
I don't think I'm the only person running, that's what I'm trying to say.
Also you can come slap me if you want to. Maybe it'll fix me.