Title: In This Garden, Verdant and Bright
Author: snowpuppies
Fandom: AtS
Character/Pairing: Dana/Bethany Chaulk
Genre: Angst/Romance/HC
Rating: PG13
Highlight for Warnings: **mentions of child abuse, non-graphic**
Disclaimer & Distribution: Recognizable things aren't mine but the fic is. Please don't archive or distribute without asking.
Summary: After the events of Damage (Ats 5.11), Dana ends up in an unexpected place.
Word Count: 1,373

A/N: for fan_flashworks #27 - Ghosts and Gore


Beta'd by the wonderful velvetwhip




In This Garden, Verdant and Bright


The world is a blur of shadows and flickers of light. Panic rises in your chest as you blink; you don't know where you are, how you got here—brown makes you sleepy—but you have to get out, get out now.

Concrete, hard and gritty beneath your fingers. No, no, no. Not there again.

Scrabbling. Back.

You bump into a wall, unyielding, strong.

Not weak. Not anymore.

The walls are painted. Drywall. Plaster.

Not there.

Where?

You scan the room. It's a bedroom: four-poster in the corner, dresser, chest, rug on the floor with little fleur de lis patterns in gold. It reminds you a little of your house, before the dark, before the man, before mommy and daddy were gone.

You had a white teddy bear you called Snowflake. And a mural of a rainbow over the headboard.

You stand—you don't cower any more. Strong. Slayer—and begin to explore.

"Hi."

Your attention snaps to the doorway: a girl is there.

A girl.

A girl.

Her hair is red. Red makes you feel good low down in your tummy. Makes you beg and plead for touches—touches, no, no, no touches, but you need…you need…

"Welcome to the lavish but inescapable bowels of Wolfram & Hart."

"Where?"

"Not sure, exactly." The girl comes closer. "I'm Bethany."

"Bethany." You try the name out on your tongue; it feels warm in your mouth, not blue or yellow or brown or even red. It feels green, vibrant and alive and good.

"Yeah. And you are…?"

"Dana. I'm Dana." You feel the words dripping from your mouth—it's been so long since you've lain claim to even something as simple as your own name that it feels foreign against your palate.

"Nice to meet you. Wish it were under different circumstances."

"What do you…?" You don't know what to ask. You're still confused, mind muddled—from the brown—senses alert.

"Best explanation I have is that we're in a holding dimension, of sorts. It's where Wolfram & Hart stash things they think will become useful in the future. You must be something special if you're here."

"Slayer."

"Huh. First one of those. I'm psychic. Telekinesis, to be exact." She tilts her head, looking at you for understanding. You have none to give. "I move things with my mind."

"Oh." Oh.

"So welcome to hell."



***



"…hold still. It doesn’t hurt as much if you hold still."

You wake, gasping, flesh crawling as you remember his calloused hands on your skin. You retch, leaning over the edge of the bed, coughing and choking, and you can't breathe, can't move, can't move…

Can't. Move.

No.

Not weak. Not anymore.

"Shhhh," a soothing voice interrupts your panic; a curl of red hair falls into your vision.

Red hair. Bethany. Yes.

You blink. You're in the room, the room that's not your room, but it's a room, not a basement, no scratchyconcreterustychainsflickeringbulbs…

Safe. At least for now.

You suck in a deep breath, flicking the hair from your eyes. Bethany's face is pale, her eyes welling with concern.

"Nightmare?"

"Yeah."

"Had one or two of those in my time."

You nod; you can see it in her face, some underlying tension around her mouth, a scream resting in her throat, the flame of fury reflected from your own eyes.

Bethany's skin carries the same terror as your own.

"Strong now." It takes a moment before you realize that you've spoken aloud.

"Yeah. They might be able to trap us, but they can't hurt us, not anymore."

"No."



***



It's like a hotel, of sorts; forcefully cheerful yellow walls that stretch into an endless hallway, punctuated every twelve feet with a white door. You walk and walk and walk. The doors all the same. No windows. No twists or turns, no end. Just hallway after hallway after hallway. You begin to run, nightmares nipping at your heels, terrorangerfury creeping up your spine as you run and run and run.

You don't tire. Not anymore.

The hallway has no end.

You falter, hopeless.

No.

You scream—monsters fear you now—and attack the wall, breaking through sheetrock, splintering studs, and ripping insulation into pieces. You tear through the room and out…

…into another hallway.

It's just the same.

You try again. And again. Your body turns hot and cold in turns, emotions flooding your body with adrenaline, shaking limbs rend and tear and rip apart your lush prison.

And then you're in the hallway again.

You're trapped.

Again.



***



Bethany shows you the library. The screening room. The kitchen and the gameroom and the spa. It's a study in decadence.

It's still a prison.

Still, after the days pass and no threat appears, you find yourself beginning to calm. Just a bit.

You're trapped.

But if you can't get out, the monsters can't get in.



***



She sleeps like an angel.

You watch through night's shadows as her chest rises and falls with each breath. She—shesheshe—is everything. Yes. No more mommy, no more daddy, but Bethany's here. You slide onto the bed, settling over the covers, close enough to feel the heat from her body, but not close enough to touch.

Bethany is strong. If—when—the monsters come, Bethany will fight.

You will, too.

You watch until you fall asleep.



***



Her hands are soft. Soft, not callused. Not hard and harsh, scraping away at your flesh, not scratching and tearing and ripping you apart.

Soft. Smooth and careful and loving as she touches your face, your neck.

Her lips are like strawberries; you laugh into her mouth.

Hands—good hands, yes—are touching, seeking; her flesh feels pale and beautiful; you can touch gently, too.

"Dana?"

You gasp as you pull away, breathless in the most amazing way, floating in a sea of green, like Bethany's name, her eyes…

"Is this okay?" You blink as you feel fingers trace the skin beneath your clothes, sliding up and around and the hands are good, and Bethany is good, and you're strong, so strong now, and nothing and no one can hurt you anymore.

"Yes." You grin.

She answers with a smile.

You kiss.

And kiss.


And kiss.



***



"He called me Rabbit."

The darkness is a blanket, keeping you safe and warm in your den—the two of you, you and Bethany, your Bethany, keep her safe—your naked bodies twined, curve matching dip, your breath on her neck, her red tresses tickling your nose.

"I was five when it started. I didn't understand what was happening, why it was happening, but I didn't like it."

You nuzzle closer; your mouth has no words, but the rest of you knows what to do.

"I ran away for good when I was sixteen."

You nod, knowing she will feel it against her body. Your fingers tighten around the bend of her waist.

The silence presses on your chest like a vice and you gulp for breath. The words stick in your throat. She's never asked, she'll never ask. You know this, like you know the greenness of her smile.

It pushes you to speak.

"I was ten."

Her arms tighten around you; you press closer, tugging and pulling until you cover her like a blanket, face buried into the arc of her shoulder.

"He killed my parents. He…he took me." You shudder, and you think you might fall apart—fall apart—but she holds you together, won't let you fall.

You're startled when you notice the skin beneath your face growing damp. You raise up, and in the pale shadows you see the tears on her face that match your own.

"You're safe, now," Bethany whispers, as she cups your cheek, tucking dark strands of hair behind your ear.

"Yes. Safe," you answer, because you are safe.

You are safe and strong. You're a Slayer now and you're weak no more. Bethany is strong and safe, and the monsters can't get in, and together you are stronger than any demon—any man—and if the Senior Partners ever come knocking on your door, you'll show them what a Slayer can really do.

You hold her close, and breathe in the night, and you know that she's yours.

Yes.









FIN.










***

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