Title: A Sunnydale Christmas Carol
Part 4: The Ghost of Christmas Future
Author: Miss Witch
Email: MissWitch@witchesbrew.zzn.com
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A Buffy version of the Charles Dickens classic.
Disclaimer: Trust me, I own nothing. I don’t own BtVS, I don’t own "A Christmas Carol." I don’t even pretend to own them. Although if I did own them, Giles and Buffy would be much happier people.
Spoilers: Everything up to and including season 6 is fair game in this story
Distribution: If you’ve had my permission before, knock yourself out. If you don’t have my permission, you’ve just to ask.
Feedback: Does the word "Duh!" mean anything to you?

Chapter 4 – The Ghost of Christmas Future

Screaming, Buffy dropped to her knees as the third spirit stood over her. It was dressed in rags and bits of fabric. It’s dark hair was matted and on it’s face, the dark skin was painted with a primitive design.

The spirit reached down, and grabbing Buffy’s robe by the neck, roughly pulled Buffy to her feet. Buffy found herself face to face with the First Slayer.

"You’re the spirit of Christmas Yet to Come?" Buffy asked in disbelief as she pulled herself together from her surprise. "So, you’re going to show me what will happen, but hasn’t happened yet?" It was more of a statement than a question. The First Slayer growled and nodded, pointing onward with a battle-scarred hand. The mere sight of the spirit filled Buffy with dread, as if nothing good was to come of their time spent together.

"You’re sure?" Buffy questioned. The First Slayer gave a snarl that had Buffy throwing up her hands defensively. "Ok, ok, I was just checking."

Buffy stared in the direction that the Slayer pointed. She could see nothing but fog and shadows. Suddenly, Buffy turned back to the First Slayer.

"You know you scare the hell out of me, right?" she asked. "I mean, I know that whatever you’re going to show me is for my own good, but…" Buffy voice trailed off as the Slayer merely stared at her as if she had no time for Buffy’s whining.

"Right." Buffy muttered, "Time grows short. Lead on MacDuff."

The First Slayer moved passed Buffy in the same direction she’d come, her rags trailing behind her. Reluctantly, Buffy followed in her shadow. They’d only gone a few steps when Buffy found herself in the middle of an unfamiliar city. Buffy followed the spirit into a building where people bustled to and fro. The Slayer stopped next to a group of people.

"She’s finally dead, you know?" an English accented woman asked another. The second woman who had an extremely bad hair cut looked shocked.

"No, I didn’t realize. When did it happen?" she asked.

"Sometime last night." the first woman told her, shuffling some papers.

"Really? I didn’t think she’d ever die." the second woman said nastily. "She was just too mean and bitter." The two women laughed heartily at this.

Confused, Buffy looked at the First Slayer for an explanation of what was going on. Instead, the spirit pointed to another group of people.

"She finally bit it." said a young man in a business suit to an older gentleman. The two laughed as if at some joke.

"Do we know who won the betting pool?" the older gentleman asked curiously. This horrified Buffy.

"How dare they bet on some poor girl’s death." Buffy said in outrage. She didn’t understand why she was being shown any of this. She didn’t know anyone on the verge of death. Nor did she think the deaths of any of her friends would be of any interest to anyone but the Gang. The First Slayer turned and began to move on, leaving the gossiping people behind. Buffy followed with one last look over her shoulder.

She soon found herself in a dark bar, mostly abandoned, with the exception of the bartender. Buffy looked around the filthy place and was about to ask the First Slayer why they were there, when two rather unsavory characters, one man, one woman, pushed thorough the door.

Buffy’s spider sense tingled as they drew closer, and she knew without question that both were vampires.

"Well, well, well." said the bartender, a greasy looking man who was losing his hair. "What brings the two of you here?" he asked. The couple checked the bar for anyone who might be eavesdropping.

"We got some stuff we thought you might be interesting in buying." said the male vampire, placing a small handkerchief tied in a bundle on the bar. The bartender untied the handkerchief and spread out it’s contents. A collection of jewelry gleamed dully in the poor light.

"Are these hers?" he asked, holding a gold ring up to the light. There was no need for him to explain who "her" was, because the vampire nodded.

"Yup. Took the stuff off her myself." he said proudly. "I figured that she didn’t need them anymore." The bartender pawed through the jewelry before announcing that he’d give the vampire 50 dollars for the lot. The vampire started to argue, but the bartender held up his hands.

"Fifty dollars or nothing." said the bartender. "Take it or leave it." After a few minutes of bluster, the vampire acquiesced.

"Now mine." the female vampire screeched. She hauled a backpack onto the counter and unzipped it. Out spilled a myriad of personal possessions. In a mixture of awe and disbelief, the bartender picked up a shoe.

"You took her clothing?" he asked. The vampire nodded.

"Well, she certainly didn’t need them to keep warm." she said. "And besides, if she’d wanted to keep them, she should’ve had someone out with her." The vampire cackled with laughter.

The bartender and other vampire joined in the laughter. Buffy turned away in disgust and looked at the First Slayer.

"Who is this poor woman they’re talking about?" she asked, more than a little disturbed. Buffy realized that this poor woman’s fate could be her own. The Slayer said nothing. Instead, she moved away, beckoning Buffy to follow.

As she turned to follow, Buffy was horrified to find herself standing in a morgue, surrounded by still forms on tables. The Slayer pointed at a body covered carelessly by a sheet, lying on a table in front of them. If she had dared, Buffy could’ve easily pulled the sheet down. But try as she might, she simply couldn’t.

"This place is creepy, spirit." Buffy said, looking around at the cold metal drawers. "Is there no one who’s saddened by this girl’s death?" she asked. Buffy crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to warm herself. While she couldn’t feel the actual coldness of the room, there was a chill penetrating her bones. Buffy felt like it was freezing her very soul.

The First Slayer guided Buffy away from the barren room, and they were soon standing in the middle of a cemetery. The wind whistled coldly, sending dead leaves skittering across concrete.

Although she couldn’t feel the bitter wind, Buffy pulled her robe around her tightly. The First Slayer grunted and gestured at a form moving towards them. It was a tall man, shoulders hunched against the cold, carrying flowers. As he drew closer, Buffy recognized the stooped form.

"Giles?" she said, rushing forward. "What’s Giles doing here?" she asked the Slayer. The Slayer remained expressionless, merely pointing at Giles again. Buffy watched as Giles knelt in front of a small headstone, studying him. He looked older and there was more gray in his hair than she remembered.

"Why does he always look so sad and tired?" she asked more of herself then the First Slayer. The grave marker in front of him was untended and he brushed away the leaves that had collected on it. Tears rolled down Giles’ face as he laid the flowers at its base. Kissing his fingers, Giles rested them on the headstone. Then, without a word, he stood and walked away.

The First Slayer pointed ominously toward the grave Giles had just left. Buffy whirled towards her.

"Before I go look at that grave, tell me this," Buffy said, a note of desperation in her voice. "is what you’ve shown me what Will be or simply what Could be?" The First Slayer growled and pointed emphatically at the headstone.

Dragging her feet, Buffy reluctantly moved toward the neglected grave. She stared at the name on the stone. It was her own: Buffy Anne Summers

"That was me on the table?" Buffy asked, whirling toward the spirit. The Slayer said nothing. "No," Buffy cried. "I’m different now." she swore. "I’m not the same person I was earlier today."

Emotion filled the First Slayers face, and Buffy fell to her knees in front of her.

"Tell me that I can change what I’ve seen." Buffy implored, tugging on the spirits rags. "I will hold Christmas close to my heart." she swore. Buffy grabbed the First Slayers hand. The Slayer tried to pull away. "I will celebrate it’s spirit every day."

Buffy held fast to the First Slayers hand, refusing to release it, despite the Slayer’s struggles.

"I will keep the lessons I’ve learned alive." Buffy promised, "Please, tell me that I can change what I’ve seen."

The First Slayer became still and suddenly began collapsing in on herself, until Buffy was holding nothing but a rag in her hands.

:: On To Part Five ::