Buffy's almost sure at this point that the girl's skin is glowing, and so is the symbol around her neck. "Okay, I think it's true confessions time. You said earlier that you weren't dead. Then what the hell are you? Because I don't think you're exactly alive, and I've got an extreme prejudice against the undead."

"You still don't know who I am?"

"No idea."

"Huh," the girl says. "I don't usually get that. People just...know. I wonder if it's because of who you are." At Buffy's puzzled look, she elaborates. "You know? Slayer? Chosen One? I could give you the whole routine, but I'm sure you've heard it before."

Her hand feels empty. She wishes she had a stake. "So you can read my mind, and you know I'm the Slayer."

"And I know what you had for breakfast, and that your left foot is a quarter of an inch longer than your right one. I know how much your mother paid for that dress, and that you're going to get to wear it to the dance. I'm kinda jealous, actually. Do you know how long it's been since the last time I went to a high school dance?"

"I think I can safely say that I have no idea."

"Anyway, I'm Death." The girl sticks out a hand, and Buffy doesn't know what else to do but reach out and shake it with her empty hand.

"You're Death? Okay, I can understand why there's no Charlton Heston, but aren't you supposed to be a big guy with a hood and a…big stick with a blade on top?"

"A scythe," Death supplies helpfully.

"Right. A scythe. And I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be a lot quieter. More scary."

There's a flash of teeth as Death smiles. She seems to do that a lot. "My brothers and sisters tell me that all the time."

"You have brothers and sisters?"

"Oh, yeah. A few of each. You've met one of my brothers several times. You just don't remember."

"Of course. I just don't remember." She repeats it in the faint hope that it'll make sense the second time.

Death smiles like she knows everything. "Those prophetic dreams you get? Those are special order. He builds them himself. Gives it the personal touch."

"Right," Buffy says. Sure. Why not? She's sitting in a supernatural living room with Death. "So...if I'm dead, what am I doing here? Shouldn't someone be judging me? Oh, god, I'm not going to hell, am I? I've slayed a lot of vampires. That's got to count for something."

"Relax," Death says. "Have a cookie."

Buffy looks to her left, and there on the end table is a plate of chocolate chip cookies, freshly-baked. She breaks one open, and the scent of melted chocolate and sugar wafts up. "I'm definitely going to miss cookies. Does Heaven have cookies?"

Death laughs, and the glow surrounding her flickers. "Will you listen? You're not going to heaven or hell."

"Limbo? Do they actually play limbo there? Is that where it gets the name?"

Death holds up a long-fingered hand. "Calm down. You're going back. You're only mostly dead."

"Princess Bride? I love that movie."

"Me too. It's very useful."

Buffy considers what Death has told her, but it's like trying to think through a layer of cotton fuzz. "So I'm only mostly dead. How do I get back?"

"You'll be revived. Your friend Xander does it, actually. You're going to have a lot to thank him for."

"I will?"

"Oh, yeah." Death dims, and Buffy leans closer, almost involuntarily. "He'll come through for you in a big way, and it'll only be the first time. And you'll find out all those things you're worried about. You'll meet Willow's first boyfriend, and her first girlfriend. Giles will forgive himself, but he'll never forget, even a little."

"And Angel?"

"That's a long story," says Death. "But don't worry. It'll all work out eventually."

"How do you know all this?" The years that make up her future seem harder to comprehend than this embodiment of death, sharing a couch with her like they're at a slumber party.

Death opens her hand, and there's a cookie in it, even though she hasn't been anywhere near the plate. "It's my job. As long as you're dead, you're part of my realm. I like to take care of people."

"But you're telling me about things that haven't even happened yet." Buffy leans back and shifts over to a dry section of the couch. "What's the point? I've seen movies. If you know the future, you can change it. Mess it up. Next thing you know, you're Linda Hamilton in Terminator, looking all scary and shooting people."

Death chews and swallows. There's a cookie crumb balanced on her lower lip. "It's okay. You won't remember any of this -- not this time, and not next time. Maybe you'll tell a story about a white light and a tunnel, but no one really remembers. Not until it counts."

"Then why tell me anything?"

"Sometimes the transition back is hard for people. Coming back from the dead is kind of a big deal. This is just...look at it like a jump start. Knowing that you have all of these amazing things to live for will help you back into your body."

Buffy thinks of the stories she's heard. Near-death experiences. Homeless guys sleeping outside in freezing temperatures. Episodes of ER. "What happens to the people who don't have anything to live for?"

For a moment, Death doesn't bother to hide the ages of sorrow and knowledge in her eyes. "I can always find something."

"But..." Buffy starts, but she's distracted by a feeling of pressure in her chest.

"Wow," says Death. "It's time already."

"What? Time for what?" The pressure's coalescing into a rhythm. One. Two. Three. Her lungs inflate as if she's taken a breath.

"Time for you to go back. It always goes so quickly." Death takes her hand, and the firm pressure of Death's cool skin is suddenly the only thing that feels real. "But it was really nice to talk to you. I'll see you again in a few years."

Buffy wants to say something, make some sort of coherent objection, but she can barely take in everything she's being told. Death's glow intensifies. Buffy looks down, and she's fading out. She can see the pink fabric of the couch through her legs. She manages a faint "Thanks."

"And hey," says Death, blazing as bright as the full moon. "I'll take good care of your mother. Don't worry about her."

Buffy hears the words, but by the time they make any sense, she's already forgotten them.

--End--

Oh, Jebus, Dana! Beautifully done, and that ending absolutely got me.

Dana! DAYUM!

You realise, without having ever read the Sandman stuff, I didn't need it? This was Buffy, end of first season, confronting death, and it seriously kicked tail.

I had no, repeat, no problems whatsoever with the pacing. I thought you pretty well nailed Buffy's voice, too.

Also, I love the cookie.

Damn damn damn, that's a fun piece, with some lovely sharp edges to it.

"And hey," says Death, blazing as bright as the full moon. "I'll take good care of your mother. Don't worry about her."

Ohohohohohohoh....

Goosebumps.

Oh.

Death is my favorite character in that 'verse (natch), and I think you pretty well nailed her.

Wow, Dana! Wow!

Dana, great job.

You not only nailed Buffy, you nailed Death of the Endless, damn you.

Freaking excellent.

And this...

"You still don't know who I am?"

"No idea."

"Huh," the girl says. "I don't usually get that. People just...know. I wonder if it's because of who you are."

Nice echo of the opening sequence of "The Gift".

Nice Death!

Thanks, guys. (Feedback? Best thing ever.)

You realise, without having ever read the Sandman stuff, I didn't need it?

Yeah, I figured. It's not real dependent on the Sandman universe, Death being one of those Little Black Dress characters that goes with everything. Morpheus is actually my boy, but I'm pleased that I seem to have gotten Death right. Plus, I bet Morpheus is harder to write.

Cool. Now if I can just find time today to get it posted to the lists...