Tonight the sunset means so much, the one thing that you know you'll never touch
Like the feeling, the real thing - I reach out for the sweet dream
But somehow the darkness wakes me up and I've felt this emptiness before
But all the times that I've been broken, I still run right back for more
Sometimes I think I'm better off to turn out the lights and close up shop
And give up the longing, believing in belonging; just hold down my head and take the loss
Buffy moved silently through the cemetery. She’d been here often enough that she knew it like the back of her hand and that in itself was enough to give her pause. She moved around a crypt to the eastern side of the cemetery and focused on a house nearby. Well, house had been a pretty loose term. It looked more like a barely standing pile of wood but it was near this house that two teenagers had gone missing and Buffy had to find out if it was supernatural or not.
Buffy sighed as she kicked a rock toward the porch. She’d had a rough week. Two Slayers were killed on what should have been a routine patrol and Buffy had had to address the masses. And then Ryan, her boyfriend of just over nine months, broke up with her. It was one of those, ‘It’s not you, it’s me…’ speeches, except without the ‘It’s me…’ part. He was a Hunter, brought into the life because his sister had been turned. An older Hunter had killed her but had taken Ryan under his wing. He’d taught him everything he knew before he was killed by a spirit they were taking down and Ryan had still been hurting when they’d met.
Buffy had fallen for him pretty fast. He was strong and obviously knew about demons but he was sweet and caring and most importantly, he loved her. Well, at least she thought he had. But he had said goodbye and packed his stuff before closing the door on both her and their relationship. Apparently they were never going to work out, that they just didn’t belong together. She didn’t love him enough and he was no good for her. Buffy could have hit him. It was like a mash up of Angel and Riley’ goodbyes and for once, she wasn’t going to try and stop someone from leaving.
Dawn hadn’t said anything but as soon as she told her, Buffy knew her sister had seen it coming. She had no idea why she was always blind-sided by these goodbyes but she was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t just better for her to stay away from men altogether, avoid the heartache rather than trying to build something that couldn’t be built.
Buffy walked up the rickety porch steps and opened the door with a loud, mournful creak. She was met with a face full of dust and she coughed lightly and as she looked down at her clothes, she saw a light coating of dust covering them, a larger amount on her brand new boots. She gave a small pout.
There was a rustling behind her and Buffy raised her shiny scythe and turned around to see two men emerge from the side of the crypt, the younger pulling a snagged branch off of the sleeve of his shirt. She was about to lower her scythe when the older raised his gun at her and yelled.
She dropped like a stone and there was a loud crack as the weapon was fired. Buffy looked back at the doorway to see the dissipating remains of a spirit. Both men came running toward her and Buffy got lithely to her feet. They stopped at the porch, both looking for the reappearance of the spirit before turning their attention to her. The younger one took one look at the scythe in her hand before looking back at her with surprise.
“Hunter?” the older asked.
“Slayer,” the younger whispered.
“That’s me! Well, one of the many now.”
The older one held out his hand as his eyes shot briefly back to the open doorway.
“Dean Winchester. That’s my brother, Sammy.”
Sam shot a look at Dean before taking her hand. “Actually, it’s just Sam.”
A small breeze blew through the group and a slight chill crept over them. Dean looked back at her with a smirk and a wink.
“Ready to go get this sucker?”
Buffy grinned, a small blush creeping up her neck as Sam rolled his eyes. All three turned to the door to see the silky silhouette of a long dead woman and as Buffy snuck a glance at Dean, she realised something. That was the problem with getting burnt: your instinct was to move as far away from the flame as possible but if you didn’t move back again, you’d be forever in the cold. She’d done the cold thing, done the burnt thing; maybe there was a middle ground to be found?
Her resolve had lasted less than ten minutes but maybe the problem wasn’t the building itself, but rather, the builder working on it with her. Maybe this time it would be different.
You'd think that I'd learn my lesson by now, you'd think that I'd somehow figure out
That if you strike the match, you're bound to feel the flame
You'd think that I'd learn the cost of love, paid that price long enough
But still I drive myself right through the pain
Yeah, well it turns out, I haven't learned a thing