Chapter Text
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Chapter One - What Are We, But Memories?
1:07 pm (CEST) Saturday, November 1st, 1997
Somewhere In Italy.
Adam Pierson rose from the ground and groaned, confused and feeling strange. He glanced around the room and found that not only was everything in disarray, but that there were burn marks on nearly every surface. The last thing he remembered was that he had been sitting in his study reading, and suddenly he felt as if he was being struck by a quickening.
However, now as he rose to his feet he realized that this had been different to a quickening, in fact, it almost felt as if a part of his gathered quickenings—a very large part—had been torn away instead.
And yet, he almost wanted to smile, a strange reaction to something that should be distressing. But the truth was that, for him, it was rare to experience something completely unknown, which meant that after so long a life of the same thing day in and day out, new was a gift in itself.
Regardless, he needed to discover what had occurred, so he moved to sit in a meditative state—one learned thousands of years ago—and began to focus inward on the quickenings he had taken over the years.
It didn't take him long to realize what, or more so, who was missing. In the end it was not actually a quickening he himself had taken from its original owner, but instead one he obtained along with many others from the evil man who had actually taken it. Adam had killed that man to avenge her , the one who was missing now from the countless other quickenings rattling around inside his soul.
Again he smiled.
He was not sure of where she’d gone, or how she had managed it, but he imagined it meant she had somehow returned to life and he was not surprised. Because if anyone was capable of returning, even from an immortal’s final death, it would be her.
“It’s just like you to not follow the same rules the rest of us do.” He mumbled to himself.
He looked around once more and found a bottle of scotch that hadn't been shattered in the storm of her return and raised it in front of himself in a toast.
“May she that was there at the dawn of us all, live to see the horizon's end.”
********
Two Weeks Later
1:35pm (PST) Friday, November 14th, 1997
1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale, California
“Why don't you go in and see if anything looks familiar.” Joyce—no, her mother—said, motioning toward the room in front of them.
Buffy fought a sigh and nodded instead, moving into what she already knew was her own bedroom. See, it wasn't that she couldn't remember anything, as the doctors, her friends and her mother all assumed was the case due to her continual hesitations. Instead it was that she felt disconnected from this place and these people, and she had to pause and remind herself how she—as Buffy—would have interacted with them. After all, to her, it had been many long and nearly uncountable eons since she had been Buffy Summers, even though in truth it had really only been two week’s time since Halloween.
Gods, Halloween. How in the world had such a simple night of meaningless fun altered her existence so drastically? To think that all it had taken was choosing a red dress and a brown wig to suddenly upend everything she knew.
As her eyes trailed around the room to center herself, Buffy spotted Mr. Gordo and immediately moved to pick him up and seek comfort in his squish. Sure, she might now have the memories of a woman who had learned patience and calm by living through countless wars, natural disasters and all other manner of human suffering, but she wasn't above admitting she found solace in her precious stuffed friend.
“Looks like it's coming back to you.” Her mother noted in relief and Buffy gave her a small smile.
“It's all in there, it's just taking a little effort to clear up and organize.” Buffy allowed, figuring she could ease her way toward the whole truth. “Mind if I sit alone for a while and gather my thoughts?”
Her mother hesitated a moment but then nodded before leaving. After the woman was gone, Buffy let out a breath and plopped onto her bed in relief.
Ever since she had woken from her week long coma, she hadn't had a moment alone. There had always been someone there, if not the doctors and nurses, then it was Xander, Willow, Giles or her mom. Hell, even Cordelia had visited. Sure, it was nice that they had all been super supportive of her during her recovery, but the issue was that she was more overwhelmed by their presence than anything else. Mainly, she didn't like lying to those important to her, and they still definitely were an important part of her life, after all, she was still Buffy, regardless of the massive amount of memories that had taken a whole week to settle into her brain after Ethan Rayne’s spell had ended.
Not that she could tell the others that the real reason she was so much more affected by the memory influx than say, Xander—who obtained twenty six years of memories from a soldier who fought in Vietnam—was because she had to basically watch—or relive—the entire life presented in those memories.
Hence the coma.
She figured there had simply been no other way for so many memories to unspool themselves without the sheer magnitude of knowledge involved simply overloading her brain and killing her in the process.
First and foremost in the overwhelming column, was the length of time her costume’s ‘character’ had existed, mind boggling even. In truth there was no way to know the exact number of years—the most recently named—Dawn De’Marco had lived, but she figured it was somewhere up around the twelve thousand range at least.
Hell, mankind was barely out of caves when ‘she’ had simply woken in the wilderness as if appearing from nowhere as a small child. It was by sheer determination and maybe a little luck that Aur—her chosen name/sound at the time—had managed to survive until what Buffy imagined was her early twenties before dying her first death.
Being mauled to death by a wild beast in the forest… not a great way to go. Nor was it fun waking up in a pile of bones where she later figured her body had been partially consumed and left with the rest of the old food scraps. Aur had of course been confused as to how she was not only alive and whole, but also staring at the half charred corpse of the beastie that had been chowing down on her.
It made Buffy grimace, remembering how terrifying it had been for Aur to realize that the corpse's belly was likely filled with her own flesh. It was honestly like waking to a nightmare, and as deaths and rebirths went, it was the one that had haunted Aur for a very long time. At least until she was burned alive about two thousand years later and got new nightmare fuel.
Buffy, having experienced her very own recent death and unexpected revival, understood the trauma of what such could bring.
This thought of course had Buffy smiling ruefully, because considering that particular event as ‘recent’ meant she was having success in her efforts to become primarily Buffy again, and she was relieved to not have been lost completely.
To achieve this restoration of self, she was having to internally process everything she had gained and slowly shift ‘Buffy’ from the rear of all those memories to the forefront so she could be herself again. It was a technique all immortals could—and needed to—learn to do. After all, when you began to gather more and more quickenings, it was easy to lose oneself under all the other memories, skills and knowledge you also ‘obtained’ in the process. Pulling yourself to the front became easier and easier in time and with practice you could stop being shoved to the back at all. Dawn had not been shoved to the back after taking a head in nearly eight thousand years, but Buffy herself had—technically—never physically learned to do this ‘shuffling’, so for her it was still a difficult process to rearrange neurons in her own brain by sheer force of will.
And yet, slowly but surely, she was becoming herself again. Of course, there was no denying she would still be different for the rest of her life due to the knowledge and skills she now possessed.
She grimaced when she realized that she was alone for the first time in a week and could finally get an answer to the question that had been rattling around in her head since she woke up. Sure there had been other subtle clues to suggest the answer, but one act would definitely prove it to be a fact or not.
Standing and crossing to her hope chest, she opened it and removed the false bottom to access her hidden weapons. She stared at the silver dagger inside for what seemed like an hour before finally pushing herself to pick it up, and—hoping to fight any possible further hesitation—immediately sliced the palm of her hand without any more thought.
Buffy couldn't help the sob of defeat that escaped her lips as the wound immediately crackled with electricity and healed over, nearly almost as soon as the blade had created it.
This meant that not only had she inherited the memories, skills and knowledge of an immortal, she was one now… and Buffy—knowing full well what Dawn had endured over her very long life—had no desire for any of it to be true.
And yet, she knew without a doubt it was, and that her life was going to be very different now.
Sure, being hunted by those who wanted to kill her simply because of what she was wasn’t a new thing for her. However, what would be difficult to come to grips with was the fact that she would have to kill other immortals who challenged her, and that she would now outlive everyone she cared for.
Okay, technically as a Slayer she would have actually experienced the exact opposite by dying long before everyone else. But was this any better?
It was almost like a sick joke, suddenly shifting from one far end of the mortality spectrum to the other. Hell, she had feared not making seventeen, and now she technically never would, because she would—physically—remain sixteen for the remainder of her existence.
Grimacing and shaking her head to fight the tears threatening to fall, Buffy glanced again at her hand. She was honestly surprised that the wound had healed so quickly, because it had happened so much faster than it ever had for Dawn. It was a good bet that her being a Slayer was enhancing the effect of her immortal healing. This of course meant that she would be even harder to kill than a woman who had already managed to survive twelve thousand years of attempts on her life.
Hell, the only reason Dawn had even finally died in the end was because an immortal had broken every rule in the book and took her head while she was unable to even fight back. And even then, he had needed to use dark magic to succeed in taking her life. She only knew this because he had monologued beforehand… as all typical villains did.
Still, it was interesting to know without a doubt that he had succeeded in his efforts—proven by how Dawn had no more memories after that moment—and it was oddly comforting to Buffy to know she had an ‘out’ if she were to get to the point she wanted one. Especially seeing that the normal act of beheading an immortal was ineffectual on Dawn.
She knew this because Dawn had actually lost her head to other immortals—in fairer fights—ten times before the day she had actually finally died, and each time, she had still somehow revived moments later, once again whole. For some unknown reason, her entire body would simply flash back together, the process unleashing cascading bolts of energy that were powerful enough to damage half a city block in the process.
No other immortal had this ability, nor was their quickening tinted green, so that gave Buffy the grim realization that she had inherited the whole ‘special immortal’ package from Dawn herself.
Go figure, even in comparison to other immortals, Buffy wasn't normal . Hell, due to the strange circumstances of how she had become immortal, Buffy was also the only one of their kind to have an actual biological parent.
Putting the knife back into her hope chest and returning it's false bottom almost on impulse, Buffy stopped short of closing the lid. Instead she stared at the keepsakes within the box and wondered how long before everything in there would rust, fade or turn to dust, forever lost to time.
The only keepsake of any given period of their life an immortal could truly keep forever, were their memories. Thankfully they were perfectly recorded memories, and never able to be forgotten, instead just mixed within the din and noise of trillions of other moments in their head.
Everything seemed to be there, from quiet days lazing in the sun, to hard bloody battles fought. Each small moment to the very big, like every book read and written, every pet patted, and every adopted child raised.
And of course there was the set of memories that were the most cherished and also the hardest to endure of all.
Every lover met, held and mourned.
Yes, Buffy could clearly recall Aur’s primitively fumbling first kiss as much as she could remember Dawn's last time making sweet passionate love with a practiced fervor unknown to most.
Thousands of lovers, twenty six husbands, eight “wives”, four masters, two “mates”, and one alpha, all mixed with countless moments of heartbreak and loss. Every memory, every touch, each face and name, all there if she went searching.
It was a lot to take in, suddenly being the most sexually experienced person to ever exist, especially seeing that Buffy was still technically a virgin herself.
She flinched and thanked her lucky stars that being a cheerleader had removed that particular ‘hurdle’ already (at least physically). Dawn had known a couple young female immortals who had been stuck having their ‘virginity’ being restored after every lovemaking session simply because they became immortal before it had been lost to them. Pesky immortal healing could not understand the annoyance that it wrought on those poor perpetually young women by healing that ‘wound’.
Buffy’s thoughts shifted to the immortals she had known and wondered if any were still around. Dawn De’Marco had died in seventeen seventy four, wearing a red dress that Buffy herself was familiar with as its replica had been what she had worn on Halloween.
Around the time of her death, Dawn had been keeping in touch with four other immortals regularly, and about six others on occasion. Two of those closer immortal acquaintances had been husbands at various times and one other had been a “wife”, or the unwedded equivalent of one due to religion and law making the ‘real thing’ taboo. In fact, Buffy’s immortal benefactor had still been ‘married’ to Genevieve Étoile when Dawn had been captured and killed, a thought which made Buffy’s heart constrict.
She wondered how Gen had taken her—no, Dawn's—death, and if her—grr, Dawn’s—wife was still alive. Hell, the question actually became how Buffy would even find her if she was? She doubted any immortals that Dawn had known had remained stationary for very long, and their normal means to locate one another had likely changed due to the advent of telephones and computers.
She paused and frowned as she once again considered the other troubling question that had been plaguing her since she had awoke from the coma.
What if Dawn De’Marco was never actually real? What if Halloween had pulled the character from the ether or perhaps even another reality? After all, from what she had been told there had been a few people dressed as fictional characters from television shows or movies which had become real for the night, and they likely now retained their memories regardless, just as she and Xander had kept theirs. So what if the same was true with Dawn? What if she was born from fiction?
Buffy had pondered this for many hours and had realized that the only way she could really be sure was to locate something or someone from Dawn’s past and see if it truly existed here in this world.
As she had lain in the hospital recovering, Buffy had determined that all of the events she had learned about in history class seemed to line up with those within Dawn’s memories, at least as accurately as incorrectly recorded or censored history could. After all, Dawn had learned over her many millennia that most historians wrote what they pleased, usually to suit their own narrative, so much of what had really happened was lost. Still, the major events were hard to hide, so she at least had something to compare to.
Dawn herself had encountered demons and vampires over the years, and she had also been accepted into a pack of werewolves even though she was not one. Hell, she was fairly certain the woman had even met a Slayer once, though the title itself had never been uttered at the time.
Problem was, any reality could technically have all these things, which meant that while it was a good sign, the existence of the supernatural itself couldn't really be used as an exact verification for if this was Dawn's original reality or not.
Buffy sighed and considered her options. She could always try and summon Feyrin, Dawn's on and off again fairy lover, but Buffy wasn't sure she could handle that particular interaction yet. After all, Feyrin was not only extremely amorous, but also somewhat possessive and protective of her lovers, so if she/they learned that Buffy had—in a way—replaced Dawn by ‘absorbing’ her memories and quickening, then things could get violent.
No, if Buffy was to find out the truth of Dawn's existence, then she would need to stick to human means, which meant, research.
Ugh.
The fact that she groaned when faced with needing to do research was actually gratifying, after all, while Dawn had always loved research, Buffy definitely found it tedious. This was another sign Buffy was more herself than Dawn. Regardless, she knew she had to take action, so she stood and moved to open her bedroom door a crack so she could peek out into the hall.
Upon hearing the shower running, she silently reclosed the door and moved to sit on her bed where she picked up her cordless phone.
She dialed zero and waited.
“Operator. How may I direct your call? ”
“Hi, yes, could you tell me if there is a listing for a company named Morningstar’s Fine Weaponry in Newport, New Jersey?” Buffy asked, leaning to keep an ear out for her mother. She knew it was likely that a business that had been founded nearly two hundred and fifty years before may have shuttered in that time, but there was a chance and she had to start somewhere.
“One moment please.” The operator replied. Buffy chewed her lip as she glanced at her bedside alarm clock. It would be just before five pm on the east coast, so if it existed, someone should still be there to receive her call. She ended up only waiting about thirty seconds for the woman on the line to come back. “Yes ma’am, I have the listing here.” The woman gave her the number and then asked, “Would you like me to put you through? Long distance rates would apply.”
“Yes, please.” Buffy replied with a wince. Hopefully Dawn did exist here in this reality, because if she did, then she had a few caches of precious gems and goods hidden around the world that Buffy could use to not only pay her mother back, but also allow them to be set for life.
She heard the line connect and a man greeted. “Morningstar’s Antique Weaponry, how may I help you?”
Buffy noted the slight change in the name of the business and wondered if it was merely a sign of the passage of time, or if it meant this wasn't the same reality Dawn had known. In the end, there was only one way to find out, she had to go fishing.
“Hi, good evening, my name is Isabella Hoechin, from the New York Times and I am hoping to speak with someone in your company who is familiar with its history, specifically its founders.” Buffy requested, doing her best to sound professional. She had always been a terrible actress and an even worse liar, but thousands of years of ‘faking it' to hide that she was immortal—and to create new identities as she went—had given Dawn quite the skill at it, which thankfully seemed to have transferred to Buffy.
“Of course, Miss Hoechin, let me put you through to Mister Hunter. Hold please.”
Buffy blinked. Was a Hunter still running the business after all these years? If so, she honestly couldn't believe her luck, not to mention that it was a very good sign, after all, Matthew Hunter had founded the company alongside Dawn and Gen back in seventeen fifty six. Of course both women's names had officially been left off the paperwork because two women being the owners of a company was unheard of back then. Now all Buffy could do was hope that the current Hunter knew his family history well enough to give her an indication of whether Dawn had existed here or not.
“Good evening, Miss Hoechin, I'm William Hunter.” A man answered after a short wait. “I understand you have some questions about our founder, Matthew Hunter?”
“Actually, I was hoping to speak with you in regards to someone else from your company's history. Does the name Dawn De’Marco mean anything to you?” She asked and was greeted with silence.
“Mister Hunter, are you still there?” Buffy sought after a full ten seconds passed.
“I am.” Was the man's strained reply. “I'm curious, Miss Hoechin, how do you know that name?”
Buffy took his words and his reaction as confirmation that he not only knew who Dawn was, but perhaps also understood the truth of what she had been. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or grimace at getting confirmation of Dawn's existence in this reality. After all, Dawn had had nearly as many enemies as she had allies.
“Miss Hoechin?” The man repeated after a long moment, reminding Buffy that he had asked her a question.
“Sorry.” Buffy offered and then considered whether or not this man might be able to give her information on what had happened to Gen after Dawn had died. However, due to his reaction, she figured the only way to earn his trust would be to reveal her own knowledge of Dawn. “I know her name the same way I know the names Aurora Talbert, Alba Barone and Roxana Bayat. As well as the fact that they were all the same woman.”
There was another long silence.
“If you are planning on releasing a story about this, I must warn you that there is an organization that has deemed such knowledge unfit for public consumption and will likely try to stop you, by any means necessary.” William finally stated.
Buffy was confused by his response for a moment but then winced. Right. She had introduced herself as someone from the New York Times, so he thought she was some reporter chasing a story. Apparently Dawn's ability to put on a false front was affected by Buffy’s inexperience after all.
“You don't have to worry about that Mr. Hunter. I was merely seeking confirmation of Dawn’s existence for my own personal understanding and have no desire to share her story with the world, or that of anyone like her.” Buffy assured him, but then she felt rankled at the threat he had given. Not because he had made it, but more so that the organization he had mentioned was likely the same one Dawn had always despised. “Although, I must say that if I did have such a goal in mind, I doubt the Watchers could stop me. Tuphlós anóitoi .” [[‘Blind Fools’ in Ancient Greek]]
It was then that Buffy discovered she was on speaker phone because she heard a woman gasp in the background and whisper out ‘ciel du matin ?’ [[‘Morning Sky’ in French]]
Buffy’s eyes widened. Was it possible? Even after all these years, that she had stuck around to keep an eye on everything they had built together? Buffy took a moment to keep herself from breaking before she finally asked, “Genevieve, is that you, mon éternel crépuscule ?” [[‘My Eternal Twilight’ in French]]
The sound of the phone being wrested from its cradle was heard, and then a familiar stern female voice came through. “Who is this! Because you sure as hell can't be Dawn, seeing that she's long dead!”
“I—” Buffy began, but then she found herself overwhelmed by the sudden shift in the situation. After all, she had her confirmation that Dawn had indeed been real, but now she also had to deal with the fact that she not only knew Gen was alive, but was actually talking to her. How could Buffy approach her ‘sort of’ wife? How could she explain? Ultimately, she wasn't actually Dawn, but for three hours two weeks ago she had been. Not to mention that the woman's memories were sitting so close to the surface—much nearer at hand than memories obtained through a usual quickening—that Buffy imagined if she didn't have her own consciousness wresting control, that she might very well be Dawn. Hell, there had been moments over the course of the week where she could swear she could feel Dawn stirring inside her. That was why she was currently feeling as if her heart was about to beat out of her chest at the sound of Gen’s voice. She truly had no idea what to do with the love and longing she felt for a woman she had technically never met, but also knew intimately inside and out. “I’m sorry… I can't… I shouldn't have—”
Unable to cope with the emotions threatening to burst forth, Buffy slammed the phone down on its cradle and then fell to the floor where she began to sob deeply.
That was how her mother found her ten minutes later and Buffy didn't stop her from doing her best to comfort her. Problem was, the poor woman definitely had no idea why her daughter was suddenly so distraught, nor was it likely Buffy would be telling her any time soon.
*********
