The Fallen Slayer | TVD {1}

Therapy Session

The same dream every night.

For two months since the birth of her daughter and the flow of death that had overtaken the last of her living relatives, Buffy Summers had been having the same dream every night. Always the same cave where her first death had occurred, always chained to the earth like The First Slayer had been all those years ago and her younger self. The two of them standing off, a waterfall of blood separating them.

One dressed in white and one dressed in black.

Ying and Yang.

It was almost ironic. Back in Sunnydale Toth's plan had been to separate her into two pieces. The human Buffy Summers and the pure embodiment of The Slayer.

Yet, all it had really taken was a hell of a lot of trauma for Buffy to split herself in two.

Since the dance though, the dream had shifted. It had become her reality, the claws of her mind latching onto her like a vice, not willing to let her go. It didn't matter that she could feel her physical body being placed down on the tiny cot in the Salvatore Cellar, it didn't matter that she could feel the cold of the metal chains hanging from her wrists as Damon latched her to the wall.

Her mind was too immersed in the living nightmare going on in her head.

The metal cage in the dark room wasn't actually that bad. She had been in a lot of cages over the years so a metal cage in the middle of pitch-black darkness didn't phase her.

It was the figure sitting on the bench opposite her own that bothered her.

Her younger self in that white dress that Buffy was quickly coming to loath.

When she was outside of her own head, the two of them were in a constant state of war for dominance over the body. Actually, more accurately, Demon-Buffy wanted full control while her human side just wanted the balance they had once before the resurrection. Yet, the fractures that had formed in her soul following everything that had happened just made the demon side all the more appealing.

Rubbing her desiccated hands against her skirt-clad knees, Young Buffy tilted her head curiously at her older self who simply remained motionless on the bench opposite her.

Three days of silence.

It was probably the longest period of time they had ever been silent. There were no angry threats, just silence as Buffy leaned against the bars, rolling her eyes occasionally when she caught wind of Damon or Stefan trying to speak to her. Though, if one of them tried to get into her head again, she was going to snap and kill them.

It left her with a massive migraine every time they tried. Leaving the walls around her shaking as the screams of The First Slayer yelling the words GET OUT kicked them out each time they tried.

Though, given she has smelt blood the last time Damon tried, Buffy had stifled a small smirk as he started bitching about having a nosebleed.

"So, we gonna talk about it?"

Buffy just smirked over at the younger version of herself, eyeing the way the desiccation was slowly spreading up her neck, her fingers practically nothing but bones now "Nah, I'm good. I am happy to sit in silence and watch you deteriorate. You go, poof, hello vacay."

"What do you think happens to you once go poof?"

"Less headaches?"

"More you become an overpowered version of what Angelus liked to think he was. You will be worse than any Original. You are supposed to be the balance for Klaus, you go to that side, you tip the scales, and kapow." Young-Buffy made a quick explosion gesture with her grey dying hands, her cheeks puffing out like a small child as she added the sound effects of a bomb going off "You will be The Soul-less Demon."