A/N:This is going to be a dark fic, none of the usual comedy that you might be used to from one of my fics. Thanks to victoria morgan for beta-ing this.



SCARS

In my heart there’s cruel war that must be waged
In darkness vile with moans and bleeding bodies maimed;
A gnawing hunger drives me, wild to be assuaged,
And bitter lust chuckles within me unashamed

- From “Peace” by Siegfried Sassoon

Sunnydale 1999

Xander’s back slammed into the cave wall so hard that an aftershock travelled up his spine. He groaned but barely had time to register the pain as the demon swung his own axe at him. He lifted his hands to block it, grabbing the handle of the axe and pushing against it, trying to keep the blade away from his chest and arm.

The demon in front of him was really strong and Xander Harris was just a high school kid. Sure, he’d been battling demons for three years now but it never got much easier. The demon opened its mouth and blew out flames in his direction. He ducked out of the way, feeling the heat on his cheek. Xander kicked out and managed to land a lucky kick to the creature’s nuts, assuming it had any. He gained control of the axe and as the demon stumbled backwards Xander swung it around in an arc and sliced through it. It fell to the floor and didn’t get up. Xander wiped his hand across his sweaty forehead and sighed.

He looked around the dark cave, lit only by the sunlight streaming in from the entrance. Buffy was battling the fiercest Incinerato Demon. It was seven feet tall and almost as wide. Xander had to pause and watch for a moment at Buffy’s fluidity as she whipped around and hit it with a kick to the face.

"Man, she is something," Xander said to himself, admiringly.

A cry sounded behind him. "Xander!"

He spun around and ran to assist Willow. The witch was throwing small boulders at a demon using her relatively newly developed telekinesis but she was tiring fast. He hefted the axe and ran up behind the demon, trusting Buffy and Giles could hold their own, wherever Giles was; and Xander was betting he was guarding the exit of the cave to make sure nothing demon got out.

Xander struck the thing in the back with axe; it screeched and whirled around, hitting him with its forearm in the face. He tumbled to the floor and skidded across the sandy ground, hitting his head against the rock of the cave. "That’s gonna hurt tomorrow…" He reached up slowly, rubbed his head, winced "Scratch that it’s gonna hurt right now" He sat partially up and heard a loud sort of whooshing sound that his brain couldn’t process in its addled state. However, it did understand the sound that followed right after that.

The most blood-curdling, terrible scream Xander Harris had ever heard reverberated through the cave. It was followed by several more, just as heart-stopping as the first. They all belonged to one voice. Xander blinked, his head seeming to turn in slow motion as if he didn’t want his fears to be confirmed.

There was a figure in the cave, right in the middle now.

And it was on fire.

And it was Buffy.

Xander heard Giles shout out and Willow scream but he kept silent as he watched his friend’s back aflame. He blinked again, took in a breath, swallowed. Her arms were flailing about as she continued to scream. He knew, in the deep recesses of his brain that he should be doing something, but sitting there in the sand, in a cave, he couldn’t move. He was numb.

Giles tackled Buffy to the floor, forcefully rolling her back and forwards to put out the flames, with no heed to his own safety in the matter. Willow ran over to help. The screaming still didn’t stop.

Xander stayed where he was, watching, transfixed.

Another scream…

---

Sunnydale 2000 (present day)

Buffy bit down on her bottom lip to keep the scream from escaping. Torture. As the Slayer she was prepared for pain, of course. She herself had been tortured many times. Nothing as bad as this. It felt worse this time then it had the last time. It seemed like they came up with new and inventive ways to hurt her. Worse part was that she let herself be subjected to the treatment. She walked willingly into it, undressed for them and offered herself to them as a slab of willing meat.

"Just a little longer, Buffy" One of them promised her.

She gritted her teeth. They always said that. Of course, a little longer always felt like eternity. Here, lying on her front, tears prickling the corners of her eyes. Degrading was one word for it. Painful was another. Useless, was Buffy’s favourite word to describe these little torture sessions.

It never helped. It never would. She knew that.

Yet she kept coming back for more.

A slither of flesh was ripped from her body and Buffy yelled out, grounding her teeth against her lips hard. She closed her eyes and tried to keep her body from trembling. It burned, the pain, all over. Running up and down the length of her torso.

"You’re doing so well, Buffy"

This voice was softer, a familiar comfort. Or, it used to be. A slender hand stroked the hair away from her forehead tenderly. Buffy turned her head the other way, moving herself out of her mothers reach.

The Slayer focused on her breathing, regulating the pain, not letting it own her. It never worked, of course. The pain always had possession of her.

Another, final, slash of pain and the feeling of her skin being peeled away from her body and Buffy’s shoulders began to shake. A single tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away, quickly.

"Okay, Buffy," The doctor said "We’re all done here"

She pulled in a few long deep breaths and then nodded that she understood. A nurse moved to help her up but she shook her head. Buffy pushed herself up on her hands shakily, leaning all her weight on them. She got up to all fours on the gurney and pulled up her gown, covering her naked chest away from the prying eyes of the medical assistants.

The Slayer slung her legs over the edge of the gurney and held the gown in place, not able to reach back to fix it herself. The pain in her back was too fresh and if she attempted it then it was likely more of her flesh would rip and seep blood. The doctor, the nurses and the other people that worked there soon filed out of the room as they had become accustomed to doing. Then Joyce would help Buffy dress.

In some ways the Slayer hated this part the most. It was humiliating to have your mother dress you at her age. However, the quicker they got it over and done with the quicker Buffy could get back to pretending none of it happened. Joyce knelt on the floor and pulled Buffy’s socks on, smoothing them along her feet like she was a little girl. Buffy ground her teeth. Her mother stood and then helped her off the gurney to stand, the Slayer leaning her weight against the older woman.

Joyce then proceeded to dress the rest of her being slow and careful. They had to wrap bandages around Buffy’s torso, just until her back re-healed again. Only to be ripped apart again next month Buffy thought disdainfully. She had been having this treatment ever since that Incinerato Demon had burned her back beyond repair. Even her enhancing Slayer healing abilities hadn’t helped the scarring much.

Her back still looked like a mutilated, ugly, perverse thing.

Buffy shuddered just thinking about it. This racked pain through her body but she did her best to ignore it.

As her mother finished helping her slip her shirt on over the bandages, Joyce frowned, looking Buffy in the eyes "Oh, Buffy, you’ve cut your lip..."

The Slayer reached her fingers up to prod against the soft swell of her bottom lip. She took her fingers away and saw them stained with red. Must have bit down too hard against them. Not that it mattered. The blood looked vivid against her pale skin. After a moment she rubbed her fingers against her jeans.

Once the shirt was on Buffy proceeded to do the buttons up slowly. It still hurt to do even this but she couldn’t just let her mother take care of her like she was an invalid. She had too much pride for that.

The two of them left the hospital slowly. It was still difficult to walk this soon after but Buffy was determined to. The nurses knew by now not to even bother offering her a wheelchair; she always refused it.

Upon stepping outside Buffy squinted against the bright summer sunshine. There had been a time when summer was her favourite season. Now she despised it and everything it stood for. Heat. Warmth. Happiness. Melting ice creams and kids having hosepipe fights. She didn’t get out much any more. Not in daytime at least. Her skin was pale and washed out, compared to the bronzed Californian girl she had been.

As she shuffled towards her mother’s car Buffy felt the sun’s rays on her back and hurried herself. The warmth on her back just brought her pain. It triggered the memory of what it had felt like when her skin had been too warm. On fire.

She shuddered and slid into the passenger seat before her mother closed the door. The windows were black-tinted. Joyce had to have them installed after Buffy made it perfectly clear she would not travel in the car if it was flooded with such lovely Californian sunlight.

"I think it went better this time, don’t you, Buffy?" Joyce asked, starting up the car and pulling out of the lot.

Buffy stared out of the window "No"

"Oh, Buffy, I know it’s hard to keep your spirits up," She said, reaching across to place her hand on her daughter’s shoulder "But you have to keep hoping, Buffy"

She hated that. The way people kept saying her name over and over. Talking to her like she was a child and an ungrateful one at that. Naturally, she didn’t respond. Didn’t understand how her mother could still somehow be under the illusion that her back would be magically healed and that all would go back to how it was. It had been a year. No sign of improvement, not even after all the painful and humiliating treatment. Buffy wasn’t naive enough to think it would make the slightest difference, so why was her mother? The sooner Joyce realised her little girl wasn’t going to heal, the better.