lirazel | fic: help to make the season bright

Yay! The lady celebration has begun! And of course I'm celebrating my Summers girls, because they are the actual best.

I'll be mostly focusing on the last three seasons of the show (with possibly some cameos by the comics and maybe even some pre-series stuff) because A) that's when Dawn's actually around, and B) that's when most people most hate Buffy. Oh, and there's the added bonus of the later seasons being my favorite. So it all works out well.

Today's offering: a fic. A Christmas-fic, to be precise. Which I wrote kind of all in one sitting? And it hasn't been betaed, so you'll forgive me if it's a bit rough in spots.

Also, I literally didn't figure out that posting started today until...a few hours ago, so...this is not my best work. Just fyi.

Title: help to make the season bright
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters: Buffy, Dawn
Spoilers: Through S7, "Bring On the Night"
Rating: PG, if that
Warning: pure, undiluted sappiness
Summary: “Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents"

“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” Dawn announced in her most tragic voice as she plopped down beside her sister on the steps of the back porch.

Buffy winced, another wave of guilt crashing over her. It wasn’t enough that Dawn had to share her room with multiple strangers who also used all of her conditioner and got stains on her sweaters (both of those things had happened in the last 24 hours, actually) and that Buffy was so swamped with work and trying to keep the potential Slayers alive that she had almost no time for her sister anymore. No, now Dawn wouldn’t even get any Christmas. God, Buffy was the worst sister-slash-guardian ever.

Last Christmas had been…rough. Not only was it the first one they’d celebrated without Mom, but also because Buffy had been so tangled up in her own angst that she couldn’t shake it enough to really get her holiday cheer on. And things had been weird with Willow because of the whole breaking-Dawn’s-arm-while-drugged-out-on-magic thing, and Xander and Anya had been driving them all insane squabbling over wedding plans, and Giles had been…gone, and she’d been trying to avoid Spike because she was scared to death she’d jump him again and this time she wouldn’t be able to claim it was a heat-of-the-moment thing, and all in all, the whole atmosphere had just sucked.

But she’d still managed to get a tree and help Dawn trim it, and even though there hadn’t been money for anything fancy, there had been a few gifts under the tree.

Buffy had really hoped that this year she’d be able to make up for the less-than-magical holiday the year before, but it had become clear over the past few weeks that they’d be lucky if anybody even remembered it was Christmas. There was no way it would be a good one, and presents were definitely out of the question.

Buffy wrapped her sweater around her more tightly. It was kind of nippy out here—at least for a California girl—but it was also the only place where she could be alone. And, okay, maybe she was also beating herself up over the absence of the person who usually joined her back here on the steps, but she had a right to be worried over him. He was…the strongest fighter they had. She needed him. For Slaying back-up. Right.

She shoved the thoughts away and focused on her sister.

“I’m sorry, Dawnie. It’s just, with the amount of extra mouths we have to feed and—“

Dawn cut her off with a hand on her arm, looking horrified. “Buffy! I was kidding! It’s a quote, okay? You know, the first line of Little Women?”

Buffy slumped in relief. “Oh.” Then, unconvincingly: “I knew that.”

“No, you so didn’t!” Dawn laughed. “Honestly, Buffy, have you ever read a book in your life?”

“I have!”

Dawn shot her a skeptical look. “That wasn’t for school?”

“The life of the Slayer doesn’t leave a lot of time for reading for pleasure,” Buffy pointed out, and maybe it came out a bit snooty.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “And I know for a fact that you never actually read the Slayer handbook.”

“Can you blame me? I know that thing was full of Watcher-y propaganda. I was taking a…moral stand by refusing to read it! Yay feminism!” She waved her fist around in sisterly solidarity.

Dawn laughed again, and the sound warmed Buffy. She barely saw Dawn these days; they mostly communicated through post-it notes stuck to Buffy’s mirror because it was easier than trying to find a few moments to talk. But she missed her sister and times like these. The thought had occurred to her, more than once since she’d managed to crawl her way out of the depressive funk of last year, that when she got disconnected from Dawn, she was really disconnecting from life. She was pretty sure that the monks had made Dawn from all the best parts of her, with of course a little dose of bratty kid sister-ness thrown in for the sake of realism. Besides, even though Dawn did sometimes unintentionally make her feel guilty--everyone in Buffy’s life made her feel guilty—that kind of guilt seemed like a vacation from the other kind, because it was so very ordinary and…real life-y. Feeling guilty for not noticing that your best friend was so close to going a-black-hat-isn’t-good-enough-I’m-going-to-turn-my-hair-black crazy and trying to destroy the world? Feeling guilty for not juggling things as well as your Watcher thinks you should? Feeling guilty for not being able to save your kinda-ex-boyfriend-turned-attacker-who-got-a-soul-for-you from the First Evil? Feeling guilty for all the lives that you can’t save? Honestly, after carrying around all that guilt, just feeling bad for not making sure her sister got enough vitamins and minerals in her diet was pretty much a relief.

“Suuure. You go right on telling yourself that.” Dawn smirked. Then she shrugged. “It’s not like you’re missing out on a lot. For a book about how to be a preternaturally awesome girl warrior with superpowers, it’s pretty dull.”

“You’ve read…? Oh, why am I surprised? Of course you have.” A thought occurred to her. “Hey! Maybe when the monks made you, they took all of my book-smart-ness and gave it to you and that’s why I don’t have it anymore.”

Dawn arched a brow. “You had it to begin with?”

“Hey—I had really good SAT scores, I’ll have you know,” she pouted.

“Oh, I know. Mom kept the results on the refrigerator for months and found a way to work them in to every conversation.”

She brightened at the memory of her mother being proud of her. God, she missed her so much, but sometimes she was glad she wasn't around to see the mess Buffy had made of her life. And the house Mom had taken such good care of. Being able to taken a mental break from the list of things she needed to replace and just remembering a time when her mom had been completely proud of her...it was nice. “Yeah, and she bought me that gorgeous pair of boots…that got covered with demon goo two weeks later. But still. They were way expensive. And much with the gorgeous.”

And there she was, back to the whole presents thing again. She knew that Dawn really did understand why Christmas would be a non-event this year, but still. She wished she could give her at least something memorable.

Clearly, she wasn’t doing a good job of hiding her mopey-ness because Dawn elbowed her in the side. “Buffy, seriously, I was kidding. I don’t expect anything at all this year, and I’m fine with that. Contrary to popular belief, you are not Wonder Woman.” She paused and tilted her head to the side. “Though you could probably get away with the outfit. Oooh! And think of the fun we could have with an Invisible Plane!”

“You have been spending way too much time with Andrew.”

“He’s the only one who even tries to cook,” Dawn pointed out, which: true enough. Buffy tried not to think about Andrew too much—though he didn’t make that easy for her—because really, his presence in the house was just weird. But at least he tried to make a contribution, which was more than she could say about just about anyone else.

But her sister sobered beside her. “I was just remembering that book because I was thinking about the year I got pneumonia right before Christmas and Mom read it to me. I think she wanted to show me that other people were a lot worse off than I was and they still managed to be happy, but I really loved the book. I cried when Beth died.” She looked down at her hands in her lap. “She reminds me of Tara.”

Buffy didn’t let herself think about that last comment. Instead, she focused on the memory her sister had shared. That had been the last Christmas in L.A. and Dawn was…eight? nine? Well, actually she hadn’t existed at all at that point, but Buffy didn’t even think in those terms anymore. She’d come to accept that all of the Dawn memories the monks had created were real in all the ways that really counted.

“That was a good Christmas,” she said. “Other than you being sick, I mean.”

Dawn nodded. “It was.”

Mom and Dad had declared a temporary truce in the spirit of the season, and they weren’t even awkward with each other. Both of them had thrown themselves into making the holiday special for the girls—probably because they felt so guilty about the screaming arguments they’d quit trying to be discreet about.

But it had all worked out. Buffy had gone with Dad to pick out a real tree, and the piney smell had filled the living room. Dawn hadn’t been allowed to help make the cookies because no one wanted to catch her illness, but Mom had set her on one of the tall bar chairs and put it in the corner, and Dawn had “supervised” the process: telling Buffy which shapes to make and which colors of icing to use. There’d been Mom’s hot chocolate and an amazing Christmas dinner with the best ham Buffy had ever had. Strange, though: she couldn’t remember what presents she’d actually gotten, just the sight of them piled under the tree and the glee of racing Dawn down the stairs in the morning.

Thinking back, she realized that it had probably been the last time she’d been uncomplicatedly happy. She became the Slayer not long after.

“I think Christmas is mostly a holiday for kids anyway,” Dawn mused, breaking the silence. “I mean, unless you’re religious. Otherwise, I think you probably just sort of outgrow thinking that it’s the very best time of the year. And when you have kids of your own, it probably becomes really stressful and stuff, and it’s all about making your kids happy. So maybe it’s better this way. I’m getting older—this year probably would have been a letdown anyway.”

Well, that was a cheery thought, and one Buffy didn’t believe at all. Sure, Christmas changed when you got older, but that didn’t mean it lost its magic. Er…not magic. She wasn’t a big fan of magic. That didn’t mean it lost its…wonder. That was a better word.

But Dawn sounded like she almost believed what she was saying, and it just made Buffy feel tired and sad. Which was how she felt most of the time these days, but these emotions were tinged with a kind of wistful longing for the days when things had been…simpler.

Dawn leaned her head against Buffy’s shoulder, and Buffy rested her cheek against her sister’s hair. She'd seen a Christmas miracle before--snow in southern California?--but she didn't think she'd get another one, not in this lifetime. Anything she wished for for Christmas she'd have to make happen herself.

---

The lights were off when she got home.

Dawn noticed it when she stumbled up the front walk—there weren’t any lights shining in the windows. It wasn’t full dark yet—the tiptop of the sun was still streaking the sky--but still, the shadows were thick enough that someone should have turned a couple of lights on by now.

The darkness could mean any number of things. Maybe Andrew had overloaded a plug and blown the fuse again. Possibly they were having a movie night, though how they could have possibly gotten the Potentials to agree on one movie in the thirty minutes Dawn had been gone was beyond her. Or the Harbingers had shown up again and killed everyone.

Being Sunnydale—and her life—she knew which one was most likely. Of course. Christmas Eve would no doubt be a perfect time for a massacre.

She hurried up the front steps, stumbling and wincing. She had five or six plastic shopping bags on each arm, and the weight of them was making the handles cut into her arms. She dumped them on the porch, ignoring the red stripes on her arms, and pulled the knife out of her ankle holster. Buffy would probably flip her lid if she knew that Dawn was carrying it, but Dawn wasn’t stupid enough to walk around Sunnydale without some kind of weapon.

Warily, she eased the front door open and stepped inside. She didn’t hear any screams or anything, and she didn’t smell blood, either—and she knew that coppery scent far too well after spending the day with Tara’s blood soaking into the carpet by her feet.

But she did hear something—music, she thought, just low enough that she couldn’t figure out what was playing. Brow furrowed and knife still in hand, she moved toward the living room.

And stopped in the doorway. She could identify the music now—Bing Crosby singing about how much he wanted snow for Christmas, floating from the beat-up stereo on the table. And there was light now, it was just muted and warm: candlelight.

Dawn’s jaw snapped shut just as Buffy straightened from where she’d been lighting one last candle, and Dawn managed to shove her knife into the back of her belt before her sister saw it.

“Dawn!” Buffy was—smiling. Like, a real smile. Sure, she still looked tired and her clothing was as muted as it had been all year, but she looked as close to happy as Dawn had seen her in…months. At least.

“Buffy,” she said suspiciously. “What’s going on?”

“Merry Christmas, Dawn! Oh!” As though remembering something, Buffy spun around and picked up one of those little six inch Christmas trees. She cradled it in her hands and smiled at Dawn expectantly.

“Merry Christmas,” she automatically replied. But she wasn’t going to be distracted. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Oh, Willow’s parents are gone to visit family for Hanukkah, so I sent everybody over to their house tonight.”

Wait. So….

Buffy’s smile was beginning to slip. “I know I can’t give you a real Christmas, but I thought at least I could give you a little break.” She shrugged awkwardly.

“You mean I get my whole room to myself tonight?” Dawn exploded suddenly. The idea made her giddy.

Buffy’s beam was back. “Yup! Christmas, just you and me and both of us get our own beds all to ourselves!”

Dawn squealed for a moment before a sobering thought hit her: “Please tell me you didn’t cook.”

Buffy pointed to the table where a pizza box was sitting. Dawn hurried over to it and flipped the top open, breathing in deeply of the steam that rose from it. “Anchovies! And pineapple!”

Buffy looked pained. “I can pick them off my pieces.”

Dawn used the excuse of smelling the pizza some more to slip her knife back in its holster. No need to ruin Buffy’s mood and earn another lecture. She turned back to her sister. “This is awesome, Buffy.”

Buffy held up a video in the familiar blue and white Blockbuster case. “And I thought we could watch this together.”

Dawn took it from her hands and stared down at the title. Little Women—1994. She stared at it for a long time. Now Sinatra was crooning “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” and Dawn couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“It was just a thought,” Buffy said awkwardly after the silence stretched for too long. “I mean, I know it’s not the same as the book, but I borrowed Willow’s copy and it was long and totally not do-able in one night, at least not for me. So I thought this was the next best thing? And I got this one because it's the newest one--it's probably not the most accurate, but I am so not in the mood for black and white tonight. I’ve seen it before, and you probably have, too, but it’s been a long time, and—“

Dawn looked up and Buffy cut herself off abruptly. “Buffy. It’s perfect. This whole thing is…perfect.”

The worry leached out of her sister’s eyes. “Really? Because I wanted it to be special for you and—“

Firmly: “It is.”

“Oh. Well, good.” Buffy looked proud of herself. A little too proud of herself, to Dawn’s mind. After all, she wouldn’t be a proper little sister if she let Buffy get too big for her britches.

“You know what would make it really special for me?” she asked innocently, biting her lip to keep her grin at bay.

“What?” Buffy looked torn between eagerness to oblige and horror that she’d missed something.

“If you don’t pick the toppings off your pieces of pizza.”

“Daaawwwn,” Buffy groaned, and it was such a normal, familiar thing, that Dawn had to blink back tears even as she dissolved into laughter.

Okay, so it was an unorthodox was to spend the holiday, Dawn thought as she and her sister snuggled down on the couch and the opening credits of the movie popped up. But since when had the Summers girls done anything the traditional way? Besides, anchovy and pineapple pizza was way, way better than any meal Buffy could have possibly cooked, and presents were overrated anyway. At least this way she'd have leftovers she'd actually eat and wouldn't have to stand in any lines at the store to return things she didn't really want.

Her belly was full, the March girls were having a snowball fight with Laurie, and her--empty!--room awaited her.

It was merry little Christmas after all.

fic: help to make the season bright

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