Crossing the River Styx Into Brooklyn, 2/3

[dragonyphoenix]

Title: Crossing the River Styx Into Brooklyn
XOver Fandoms: BtVS, Arsenic and Old Lace
Characters/Pairing: Drusilla, Abigail Brewster, Martha Brewster, Teddy
Rating: PG-13 overall
Concrit: Please, in comments
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, not yet, but they will be, once I take over the world. Bwah-ha-ha.
Warnings/Squicks: None in this section
Summary:
“But this isn't your lives. Don't you see? Angel killed you. This is Hades,” Drusilla cried.
“Hades? Oh no dear. I'm sure if this wasn't Brooklyn I'd know all about it,” Abigail said.

Part 1 is here.

She rang the doorbell and the music stopped until a cheerful voice rang out with, “I'll get it Teddy, dear.”

 

As the door opened, Drusilla peeked around it, impatient to see her sister after such a long time. There she was, Abby, tall and lean and dark but, as the door swung fully open, she saw that the woman was older, shorter, and chubbier than she remembered. “Abigail?” she asked uncertainly.

 

“Why yes, dear. I'm Abigail Brewster. Are you here for the toys?”

 

“Toys?” Drusilla asked.

 

“Yes, for the orphans. Although I think you'll need someone else to help you carry them. They're back over there, next to the clock. Why don't you come in and see for yourself?” Abigail replied. Entering the home, Drusilla looked over towards the music, to see a man, dark-haired and wearing a formal suit, playing the spinet.

 

As if he could feel her gaze on him, he stopped playing and turned, giving her a look. “It's very rude to stare you know,” he told her. Drusilla didn't know what to say and so she just kept staring. Why, he's not himself at all, she thought. She could feel the weight of her stare disturbing him until he stood with a dignified humph and walked past her to the stairs where he pulled out an imaginary saber and then yelled “charge” as he raced up to the second floor.

 

When he slammed the upstairs door behind him, the clock chimed as its minute hand dropped down to the 6. While Abigail traipsed over to fix the clock's hand, Drusilla turned to follow but her attention was caught by a bottle of death. It shone red against the pale walls and Drusilla couldn't think of why it would be there, where everyone was already dead.

 

Hearing her name called, Drusilla turned her attention back to her sister, who was showing her the toys. Drusilla saw the dolls. Her doll wasn't there but Abby's was, porcelain with golden hair, and another as well, with hair as dark as the wings of a crow. “This is Martha's,” she said picking up the dark haired doll while wondering where the name Martha had come from; she was almost certain that hadn't been her sister's name.

 

“Why yes, dear, it is,” Abigail replied, sounding confused that Drusilla recognized the doll. “I had the blond doll, because Martha's hair is light, and she had the brunette because mine is dark.”

 

“Who was at the door?” Martha asked as she stepped through a door carrying a tea tray.

 

“This young lady is here for the toys,” Abigail replied.

 

“Drusilla, I'm Drusilla.” She cradled the doll against her chest, wrapping both arms around it in a hug as if that would bring her sisters closer to her again.

 

“Well, isn't that nice,” Martha said, putting the tray down on the table and joining them. “But dear, your clothes, they're all damp,” she added with a look of concern.

 

“I came through the river,” Drusilla replied.

 

“Oh, well,” Martha replied practically as she brought a blanket out of the back room. “You just wrap yourself in this and we'll get you a cup of nice hot tea. How does that sound?”

 

“Lovely, thank you,” Drusilla replied formally, uncertain how she should behave. She'd never thought about what would happen once she'd found her family again, so she dutifully drank her tea while wondering why they didn't seem happier to see her. They were treating her like family, wrapping her in a warm blanket, but there'd been no hugs, no declarations that they'd missed her. They'd always been a close family, touching, walking arm in arm, sharing everything, until she'd seen Angelus and Darla in the street. She hadn't shared that with them, hoping it wouldn't come true and then, in a flash, she understood.

 

It was her fault. Angelus had killed them, had tortured and destroyed her whole family, because he'd wanted her but she could make amends now. Angelus had become Angel, weak from living off of rats and besides, with his soul hacking at his mind, he'd be too distracted to upset her plans. She could lead her sisters out of Hades and they would be a family again.

 

The distance they were maintaining was disturbing though. Perhaps they'd be unwilling to leave. Abby had always been stubborn and Martha, no Emma, would likely follow her lead. I shouldn't have waited eighty years to come looking for you but Angelus would have killed you again if I'd come sooner, Drusilla thought. “Have you been here long?” she asked, trying to sound out how Abby felt about the place.

 

“Oh yes,” Abigail answered. “We were born here. Mother and Father,” she gestured towards some portraits on the wall along the stairs, “bought this home just after they married.”

 

Drusilla gazed at the portraits, puzzled. The man, almost balding with a bushy mustache, and the woman, with long rounded curls around each side of her head, didn't look anything like her parents. “But those aren't Mother and Father,” she cried out.

 

“Oh no, dear. Those are our parents, not yours,” Abigail replied, pouring out some more tea.

 

Drusilla's hand clenched tightly around the doll until it shattered. The sisters immediately started fussing over her, Martha rushing off for bandages while Abigail took Drusilla's hand.

 

“No,” Drusilla said, drawing her hand back.

 

“Oh, now don't fuss so dear. We just want to make sure you haven't hurt yourself and Martha is very clever with poultices. You'll be as good as new in no time.” Taking Drusilla's hand again, she gently brushed away the dust from the shattered porcelain. After she'd finished, she peered at the hand closely and then held it still, saying, “Why, you're not cut at all. Imagine that.”

 

“Really?” Martha asked, stepping back into the room with a box. “Well, aren't you lucky,” she added as she laid the box down on the table and took Drusilla's hand in hers to confirm her sister's conclusion. “Why you're hands are like ice. You must be chilled to the bone.”

 

“Your hands are warm,” Drusilla replied. “Why? Shouldn't they be as cold as mine?” The two sisters looked at each other, not knowing what Drusilla meant.

 

Drusilla threw off the blanket and started pacing the room. “Whatever is the matter dear?” Abigail asked. Dru looked between Abigail and Martha, carefully not looking up at the pictures of their parents, which were wrong, but Abby was wrong too and Martha, Dru had never had a sister named Martha.

 

Desperate to save her sisters, she ignored her misgivings. “You have to leave this place.”

 

“Leave?” Abigail asked. “Whatever for?”

 

Drusilla talked fast, trying to spin her words into reality. “I've come to save you, to take you away from Hades. You can have new lives. I'll give you anything you want. It'll be just like it was. Please, come back to the living lands with me. Now. Before it's too late.”

 

“Leave our home? Oh, I'm sure there's no cause for that,” Martha replied.

 

“Indeed not. Why, we've lived here all our lives,” Abigail added.

 

“But this isn't your lives. Don't you see? Angel killed you. This is Hades,” Drusilla cried.

 

“Hades? Oh no dear. I'm sure if this wasn't Brooklyn I'd know all about it,” Abigail said.

 

“And we've never met any angels,” Martha said. “I'm certain I'd remember something like that, what with the huge wings and all.”

 

“No no no no no,” Drusilla wailed. “You're supposed to come with me, so I can fix it. Put little bandages on your souls and make us all a family again. Angel killed you but this time I'm strong, as powerful as he is, and I can protect you. I can make it all better.”

 

“So,” Abigail said slowly, working out Drusilla's meaning, “Your sisters are deceased and you feel guilty.”

 

Drusilla nodded. “Don't you see, sisters? I should have told you as soon as I'd seen the angel of death. I should have been able to save you.”

 

“Oh you poor thing,” Martha said as she put her arm around Drusilla's waist and led her back to the couch. “You can't make amends with the dead.”

 

“Ah,” Drusilla cried out in denial.

 

Sitting on her other side, Abigail added, “Indeed not.” She put her hand down on Drusilla's shoulder. “You can only go forward and try to do better in the future.”

 

“No,” Drusilla shouted. “It won't do. I need your forgiveness, sisters. If you won't give it to me,” she trailed off as her gaze lit on the bottle of death. It would never kill her in the living lands but, here in Hades, it could end her forever. She leaped off the couch and had downed half the bottle before the sisters could even begin to react.