a_pretty_fire | charloft Thursday Prompt

What if Drusilla had been chipped by the Initiative instead of Spike?

Buffy wasn’t quite sure why – or, indeed, how – Drusilla had become her responsibility. The Initiative had experimented on a lot of demons. Only one of them had ended up living in her basement.

It was probably something to do with Angel. Or, rather, Angelus. He’d made her, and poor Angel still suffered for it. He’d even admitted that she was the worst thing he’d ever created. Buffy couldn’t help but feel that helping Drusilla helped him get a little closer to redemption, even if he was too far away to appreciate it.

Or maybe it was because it was so easy to feel sorry for Drusilla. What with the dolls and the big dark eyes and the penchant for slinky insubstantial nightdresses. Maybe Buffy just tried to rationalise it by attributing it to her feelings for Angel. Because, lets face it, volunteering to look after a soulless, psychotic vampire wasn’t at the top of the ‘best decisions’ list.

Still, she’d made her bed. Now she just had to make sure Drusilla didn’t slit her throat while she was lying in it.

***

It was a quiet night in Sunnydale. One or two new vampires in the graveyard and a slimy demon near the campus. Nothing big. In fact, apart from the destruction of her jumper – demon slime being notoriously difficult to wash out – Buffy was feeling pretty good. If she headed home soon she could probably catch the end of Willow and Xander’s movie marathon. They’d have eaten all the popcorn, but there’d probably be some soda left …

What was that?

Someone was crying.

“Hello? Anyone there?”

“Twelve shillings in a pound. Twelve pence in a shilling. Ride the bus all the way the circus to see the clowns. It’s all wrong. It’s all wrong.”

She knew that voice.

Gripping her stake a little tighter, Buffy scanned the darkness at the fringes of the playground. Sure enough, there she was. Drusilla. Except she wasn’t being all … bite-y. She didn’t even look at Buffy. The vampire’s eyes, which were even darker than the shadows she tried to hide in, were staring at nothing. She was barefoot too, and her white dress – which had probably been beautiful, once, if a little too ‘Lolita’ for Buffy’s tastes – was torn, stained with blood and soil.

“Drusilla?”

“Tin soldiers,” the vampire moaned, “Tin soldiers put wires in my brain. No bite. No snap. It hurts.”

“What are you talking about?”

She hadn’t been expecting a sane answer. This was Drusilla, after all. Sanity wasn’t really on the agenda. She wasn’t expecting a laugh, though. Drusilla threw her head back, making a noise somewhere between a sob and a giggle.

“I’m broken. I’m broken.”

What could Buffy do? She couldn’t leave her here, anymore than she could raise her stake.

She was going to have to fix her, wasn’t she?

***

Drusilla followed her obediently back to the Summers residence. Buffy suspected that she liked following orders. She needed someone to look after her, and it looked as if – for now, at least – that person was going to be Buffy.

The vampire had explained – in nursery rhymes and nonsense phrases – exactly what the ‘tin soldiers’ had done to her, and Buffy was inclined to believe her. She didn’t think that someone with a mind like Drusilla’s would go in for elaborate schemes. (That was her Sire’s domain.) It didn’t mean she trusted her, though. In fact, she was probably one of the most frightening vampires Buffy had ever encountered. She didn’t look dangerous, which was what made her dangerous. It was easy to underestimate her.

“Right,” said Buffy briskly, sliding her key in the lock and stepping inside, “We’ll talk to Giles and …”

She turned around and found Drusilla standing on the porch in her ruined dress, looking utterly lost. The vampire really needed to brush her hair. Buffy mentally placed that on her to-do list. It was a pretty weird list. It even contained a crossed out suggestion about phoning Angel. Which she was not going to do. There was no need to drag him into this. Not until she worked out what this was.

“Oh. Right. Come in.”

“I don’t like glass,” Drusilla murmured, running a hand over the panel in the door as she crosses the threshold. “It doesn’t like to talk to me.”

“I’d really appreciate it if you turned down the crazy, too.”

“If who turned down the crazy?” asked Xander, “You haven’t even heard my Bugsy Malone impression yet …”

He caught sight of Drusilla and his eyes widened in horror, but, before he could cry out properly, the vampire had darted past Buffy and lunged for his throat. Then, just as suddenly, she fell back with a moan of pain, doubling over as she clutched her head.

“Xander!” Willow exclaimed, darting out of the living room, “Are you ..? Drusilla! Buffy, Drusilla’s in the house!”

“I know. I invited her.”

“You invited her? Ok, who are you, and what have you done with Buffy Summers? This is Drusilla. Big bad vampire? Big teeth?”

“She didn’t bite you.”

“No, but …” He broke off. “No, she didn’t. Why didn’t she bite me?”

“I don’t believe in science,” Drusilla whimpered, dropping to her knees on the doormat, “I’m not just molecules. I’m blood and flesh …”

“Dead flesh,” Buffy pointed out, tersely. “Sorry, Drusilla. It looks like science believes in you.”

***

Her friends thought she was mad. She didn’t blame them. She thought she was mad. She could explain what Drusilla had told her, but she couldn’t explain why that had inspired her to invite the vampire into her home instead of just staking her. She didn’t have an explanation.

“Look,” said Buffy, as calmly as possible “I know we can’t trust her, but she’s got nowhere else to go. We can’t just …”

“Call me ‘Captain Obvious’ for making this suggestion,” interrupted Xander, “But why don’t we just, you know, stake her? Isn’t that what we do?”

Buffy glanced back through the doorway. Drusilla was sitting in an armchair, her bare legs dangling over the cushions but not quite reaching the floor. She was cradling a makeshift doll in her arms, crooning softly to the scraps of material she’d wrapped around the cushion.

“I can’t.”

***

Drusilla spent most of the first week doubled up with pain. She didn’t actually attack Buffy – or anyone else, for that matter – but the chip seemed to activate when she thought about violence against a human as well. For someone as bloodthirsty as Drusilla, this was a serious problem.

A few days ago, she’d been worrying about getting back into the swing of dating. Now Buffy found herself playing nursemaid to a psychotic vampire and her mother’s fascination with the creature living in the basement didn’t help matters.

“She’s a vampire, Mom,” said Buffy impatiently, as she prepared to take Drusilla her daily mug of blood, “She doesn’t want cookies, and she definitely doesn’t want to watch soap operas with you!”

“She just seems so …”

“Lost? Dangerous? Totally crazy?”

“Well, yes. But …”

“Look, Mom. I know she seems innocent, what with the nursery rhymes and the tea parties, but Drusilla is deadly. We can’t trust her. Even with that chip in her head.”

“You spend a lot of time with her.”

“I’m her nursemaid. I have to!”

Buffy had to justify it to herself as much as to anyone else, so she hurried down into the cellar before the conversation could continue. She didn’t need the third degree. In fact, it was more like the fifth degree by now. Or even the sixth. If they factored Giles’s lectures into the equation then they were into the hundreds.

“Don’t like pig’s blood,” said Drusilla petulantly, as Buffy approached her bed, “It tastes of mud. They have no stories to tell.”

“You’re going to have to get used to it.”

“Listen,” Drusilla murmured, running her nails along the rim of the mug, “Dawn is coming.”

The chip inhibited her actions, but it unfortunately couldn’t stop her from speaking.

“It’s midday,” Buffy pointed out.

The vampire just laughed.

***

Whether the others liked it or not, it was useful having a Seer around. Sure, Drusilla was a bit cryptic at times, but Buffy was getting better at deciphering her words. She picked up the bit about the Carnyss demon before anything nasty happened and lizard demons are a synch when you know they’re coming.

It wasn’t always perfect, though.

“It’s growing.”

Buffy had lost the battle to keep Drusilla out of the living room. The vampire spent most of her time in the basement, but she joined them on the couch every now and then. Sometimes Miss Edith came to. Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t been able to impress Drusilla’s evilness on Joyce or Dawnie. The wide eyes and doll’s picnics didn’t exactly scream ‘danger’. Sure, some of her clothes were a bit ‘Queen of the Night’, but, on the whole, she looked almost angelic.

“What’s growing, honey?” Joyce asked, handing over the bowl of popcorn. Drusilla accepted the bowl, peering into it as if she could real the secrets of the stars in the kernels. Knowing her, she probably could. (She hadn’t really grasped the concept of movie night. Or normal family behaviour, for that matter. And her breakfast temper tantrums were becoming almost legendary. Joyce seemed to take it all in her stride. Apparently an insane vampire was nothing compared to raising two teenage daughters.)

“In your head. The vines are stretching, but all the grapes are going sour. They’re hissing like snakes.”

“Oh, no. The doctors said I’m getting better. There’s really no need to worry.”

She was back in hospital a few days later.

***

Drusilla crept out of the basement while Buffy was waiting for the ambulance. The body was just lying there, with Buffy hovering in the doorway like a bird in a cage. She was too frightened to move towards the body – not her mother, not her mother … – and too scared to move away. The vampire had no such qualms.

She knelt down next to Joyce, reaching out to close her eyes.

“I don’t have any coins for the boatman,” she said, “But he’ll understand.”

“No, you can’t,” Buffy whimpered, “We can’t move the body.”

Straightening up, the vampire moved towards her and held out a hand. Without thinking, Buffy took it.

“She doesn’t mind. She understands.”

“She … told you that?”

Drusilla shook her head.

“The moon did. She’s hiding now, but she’ll shine again. So will you.”

***

“We need to do some more research on Glory …” Buffy began, dropping a pile of books on to the table in the Magic Box, but Xander shook his head.

“No, I get that part. But why is Morticia here with us?”

He gestured violently towards the other side of the shop, where ‘Morticia’ was wandering among the bookcases, humming to herself.

“I couldn’t leave her on her own. Dru wanted to help.”

“And serenading the stacks is helping how?”

Buffy often wondered if Xander’s hatred of Drusilla was based entirely on what she was, or if there were other deciding factors. After all, his loathing had intensified around the time Buffy had started calling her ‘Dru’. Maybe he was jealous …

It sounded ridiculous. He was jealous of the vampire Buffy kept in her cellar? He was jealous of someone who was part ward and part prisoner? He was jealous of …

He was jealous of the woman who was now emptying the bookcases on to the floor.

“The pages are all wrong,” Drusilla gasped, seizing the nearest volume to tear out a handful of sheets, “I can’t read them! I can’t abide them!”

As Giles let out a cry of alarm, Buffy started forward and snatched the book out of her hand, seizing Drusilla by the wrists. She struggled momentarily, but her chip didn’t activate so there was no malice there. Whimpering, Drusilla buried her face in Buffy’s shoulder.

“I guess reading isn’t her favourite hobby,” said Willow, “Maybe she could take over the coffee run?”

***

“This isn’t your fight, Dru. You don’t have to come with us.”

“And miss out on the party? Miss Edith was promised cakes.”

“Drusilla, we’re about to battle a god and her evil demon minions. There will be no cakes.”

The vampire smiled, stepping closer to Buffy. She was cradling a doll with one arm and wearing a white dress terrible similar to the one she’d been wearing on her first day in the Summers household. That seemed like such a long time ago now, didn’t it?

“Shush. Don’t be frightened.”

“I’m not …”

“Yes, you are. But it’s all right. You have a gift, Slayer. You’re going to rewrite the stars.”

“Thanks for the cryptic. You’re not helping.”

Drusilla leaned forward to brush her lips against Buffy’s, still smiling.

“I will.”

***

A hand burst out of the soil. Drusilla, perched on a gravestone a few feet away, watched curiously as Buffy clawed her way up through the turf.

“I was waiting for you to rise again,” said the vampire conversationally, “The pixies told me you would.”

Buffy stared at her. The vampire always managed to surprise her, but this was something else. Or maybe she was just disorientated. Waking up in a coffin did that to a girl.

“How ..?”

“Your friends. They ran through broken glass and sang to the moon goddess, but she didn’t like their offerings.”

Buffy didn’t know how to respond and was too dizzy to waste her energy on a snappy retort. Her knuckles were sticky with blood. She’d forgotten what it was like to bleed. She’d definitely forgotten what it was like to feel this sort of pain. It had been so beautiful. Now it was just dark …

“You’re broken,” said Drusilla, snapping Buffy sharply out of her reverie.

“Broken ..?” she began, but her sentence was cut short when Drusilla suddenly sprang towards her. It took the Slayer a moment to realise that the chip was no longer working, and she was still trying to catch her breath after clawing her way out of the ground. By the time she tried to act, it was far too late. For someone so slight, Dru had a grip like a vice.

She sank her teeth into Buffy’s neck, choking a scream before it had formed.

“Don’t worry,” she murmured a moment later, running a fingernail across her chest and pressing Buffy’s lips to the cut, “Princess will fix you.”

Prompt: What if ..?
Word Count: 2416