TITLE: To Fly (1/1)

AUTHOR: Chelle Storey

EMAIL: chelle@ga.prestige.net

DISCLAIMER: I only own my computer.

RATING: PG

SPOILERS: The Gift. Don't read this unless you've seen it.

SUMMARY: Dawn reflects.

NOTES: Any typos are due to still blurry vision. Joss is *evil*.

<<>> To Fly

This is love: to fly toward a secret sky,

to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment.

First to let go of life.

Finally, to take a step without feet.

-- Rumi

When Buffy was ten and I was five, she had a doll that I wanted so badly I

could taste it. I craved owning something that was Buffy's. I wanted to know

how it felt to be her. I looked up to her, even then. She'd let me hold her

doll, comb the pretty blonde curls that hung delicately around the painted

Victorian face, and I felt so special that I would grin for a week.

But then one day I went into her room without her permission - and I took

the doll out of the case and accidentally dropped it on the floor. The face

shattered and before I could put her back in the case, Buffy came in. I

expected her to yell at me, but instead, she picked me up and sat me on the

bed - and she checked my bare feet to see if I had been cut. She told me to

sit still while she cleaned up the porcelain and I was crying so hard I

could barely breathe, but she still didn't yell at me.

Instead, she told me that the doll had always freaked her out and she only

kept it because Daddy had given it to her when he'd come home from a

business trip he had taken to Rome. She gave me ice cream and we rode our

bikes to the park. She pushed me on the swing until I was so dizzy and

winded that I thought I wouldn't be able to walk home. I loved it when she

would push me. Even then, when she was only ten, she was so strong that I'd

be flying in a matter of seconds - wind in my hair and Buffy's giggles

behind me as I shrieked and screamed.

Those were simple times. A mommy. A daddy. A house with a garage and a

playhouse out back. A kiddy pool that was just big enough to wet us and

collect gnats, which Buffy would flick at me, and a dog named Petey who

guarded our yard with a vengeance. I remember hide and seek and Buffy would

always find me crouched beneath the weeping willow tree in the corner of our

backyard. I remember ice cream melting and running down our elbows on hot

days and Petey trying his best to clean us up. And I remember huddling

together in Buffy's bed on Christmas Eve, straining to hear Santa land in

the fireplace.

// I hope I get that new Barbie. //

// I hope I get a Smurf watch. //

I remember bedtime stories and Mom's perfume, fresh and summery, even in the

coldest months. I remember Buffy's Destructo Girl outfit and the way she'd

stand on the couch and tell us all that she would protect us. She tried to

fly once, right off the roof. The doctors said it was amazing that she

didn't break her neck ... and they were right. But Buffy didn't even cry ...

she just looked at me and said, "For a minute, I really was flying."

When Buffy was fifteen and I was ten, she got into a lot of trouble. I'd

hear Mom and Dad talking about her hanging out with the "wrong crowd", but I

never once lost faith in her. Not when she started sneaking out. Not when I

would hear her crying until well into the night in her bedroom. Not when I'd

see bruises on her legs and arms and she'd beg me not to mention it to our

parents. And not when I accidentally saw her slay a vampire.

I was only ten and she was my big sister. The concept of a vampire Slayer

was a foreign one. I had been drawing at my desk and I saw a man in our

yard. A man with a deformed face and sharp teeth. Buffy and I were home

alone and she was trying to study for a test. I raced into her room and told

her and she told me to stay inside. I watched from the bedroom window, heart

racing, mind numb, as she fought and staked the vampire.

I was in shock. I can remember it like it was yesterday. When she came back

inside, I had cold sweat running down my forehead and we went back to her

room. She showed me a book with drawings of vampires in it, just like the

one I had seen, and she explained as best she could what she was. It wasn't

hard for me to understand. I always knew she was special. She was my best

friend and when we pinky swore that I would never tell a soul, I kept my

word.

After that, I always had a ready excuse for Mom and Dad about where Buffy

was or why she had a bad grade or why she hadn't called to say she'd be

late. I was lying straight to their faces, but it was for Buffy. My sister.

The Vampire Slayer.

My hero.

After I saw the vampire in the yard, I started to have nightmares that there

was one in my closet and Buffy would go into the closet, shut the door, and

make a lot of racket. When she'd come out, she'd tell me that it was gone.

She let me sneak behind Mom and Dad's back and watch vampire movies with

her. I thought we were being naughty, but I know now that she was just

trying to help me understand because she commented on everything, drilling

the **real** mythology into my head.

When she burned down the school gym I wanted to come to her defense. The

police brought her home and told our parents what she had done - and for the

first time in her life, Buffy looked scared to death. She was pale and

shaking and when she tried to explain, she couldn't. How could she? Our

folks didn't know she was a Slayer. They would have probably taken her

straight to a mental hospital if she had confessed the truth.

The school didn't press charges, and Buffy tried to convince Mom and Dad

that she had been smoking, but there were witnesses - teachers - who said

that she had done it deliberately. A couple days after that, Mom and Dad sat

us down and told us that they were getting divorced. It almost killed me. I

had the biggest tantrum of my entire life and ran as fast as I could to the

park. It was Buffy who found me and she tried to make it better, but I

blamed her. Looking back, remembering the hurt in her face when I told her

it was her fault, I'd give anything to change it. Truth is, Mom and Dad

always had trouble, but Buffy was my scapegoat and I honestly convinced

myself that I hated her for a while.

I hated her heroics that no one knew about.

I hated the bruises and the aches and pains she had to hide.

I hated the lie we were living.

And I hated the fact that she was a Slayer and so strong, and I wasn't.

When Buffy was twenty and I was fifteen, I found out that I was a "Key". I

was finally **something** ... but nothing at the same time. I wasn't a

Slayer. I wasn't stronger and wiser and better ... I was just energy. Bad

energy. I found out that Buffy really wasn't my sister and that all the

memories I had - everything I thought I knew- were lies. I had only existed

in this world for six months. But, Buffy didn't let me lose control. She

kept me safe, kept me from hurting myself, and she showed me that our blood

was thicker than any bond that had been molded from energy.

When our Mother died just a few weeks after Buffy turned twenty, I thought

that we would die right along with her. Buffy pulled away from me, ignored

me, tried to carry the burden of our uncertain future on shoulders that were

too frail - and I thought that she would never come around. She's my sister

though, and my sister never fails to come around, even when it hurts her too

much to breathe. And I gave her what she needed. I consoled **her** for a

change.

I was being hunted by a Hell-Goddess because she wanted to use the "Key" to

open a portal to her dimension and go home. My blood opened the portal and

only my death, the stopping of the blood flow, would halt the Apocalypse.

Buffy did everything in her power to prevent that from happening, but Glory

took me anyway. And my blood was shed.

For as long as I live, I'll never forget that glowing vortex that opened up

in the sky or the creatures that dived out of it. I'll never forget my blood

between my bare toes or Buffy's hands on my shoulders or the look in her

eyes when she made up her mind. See, the Monks that made me - they made me

out of Buffy. Her blood. My blood. It's all the same.

I started to jump into the portal. I was going to be brave. I was going to

be the hero and rescue my sister, but she wouldn't let me. I can't even

remember everything she said to me and I try so hard. I know it was profound

and perfect, because that's how Buffy was.

When she ran away from me and jumped off the end of that platform, I watched

her fly and all I could say was, "You're flying, Buffy! You're really

flying!" I yelled it and I raced to the edge to get a better look.

Destructo-Girl was flying.

I expected her to land on her feet.

I expected her to live because that’s what Buffy did. She lived. I was so

used to her living, even when the world was on the bring of ending, that I

never really allowed myself to believe that the day would come when she’d

die. Especially not like this. Not because of me. Not for me. Not because

she loved me so much that dying was the greatest gift she could give me. I

expected her to beat the odds, to be the only Slayer to see thirty – forty –

fifty. I expected us to grow old together, raise our kids together and I

expected her to still be hanging on when I drew my last breath. I wanted her

to be the last thing I saw.

Not the other way around.

When Buffy was twenty and I was fifteen, I watched them zip her into a body

bag. I watched them tuck her hands inside, the way she tucked me into bed

the night that Mom died and all I could do was shake my head in disbelief. I

watched them lift her and put her on a stretcher. And I stood in the

sunlight until I couldn't see the flashing lights anymore as the ambulance

disappeared around the corner. The sun was red - an angry fireball in the

morning sky - burning with rage because the Slayer had taken the final fall

from grace.

I stood in the doorway of her bedroom for thirty minutes before I got the

nerve to go inside that day. On her end table was the picture I had given

her of us. I decorated the frame with seashells that we collected together,

carefully selecting the prettiest ones, the most unique ones, the ones that

would make it beautiful. But her smiling face is beautiful enough and I

could see thumbprints on the glass where she had been holding it. I could

almost see her sitting on her bed, staring down at what was left of her

family – trying to find a way to hold onto it. To hold onto me.

I knew that everything in her room was suddenly mine. Her beautiful clothes,

her stuffed animals, the jewelry box with a ballerina inside that I used to

covet and contemplate stealing. The shoes that lined her closet floor. The

trunk with a secret bottom. The photo albums where she kept all her

memories.

I used to crave owning something that was Buffy's.

I wanted to know how it felt to be her.

And now I know. I’ve got the weight of the world – her legacy. I have to

make sure she didn’t die in vain. That no one ever forgets. That no one ever

gives up. That people still believe in the cause – even though our champion

never came back from war.

We buried her early in the day and that afternoon, Giles and I went for a

walk. We stopped at the park and I asked him to push me on the swing. He

looked shocked at first, but he nodded. I closed my eyes as I pumped my legs

and I could have sworn I could hear her behind me, giggling. I could have

sworn it was her strong hands pushing me … and her singsong voice telling me

to hold on tight. I could taste the vanilla ice cream that we used to get at

the shop down the road from our house and I could feel Petey's warm tongue

lapping at the drips on my arms.

I could see her hiding her face in her hands as she counted to ten and I

crouched beneath the willow tree. I could see her pretending to look

everywhere, even though I knew she could see me. I can still hear her ten

year old dreams, see her wearing Mouse ears and hopping up and down in line

at Disneyland. And I can feel her hand in mine as I braved the first day of

school.

For just a while, I’m a little girl again. I don’t know anything about

Slayers or Vampires or Keys. I’m normal.

And that's what Buffy wanted.

That's why she died for me.

The normal thing to do is cry. My tears fall so fast that not even the wind

can dry them. I keep my eyes closed and I swing back and forth, faster and

faster, free and safe.

// Push me, Buffy! //

// Hold on tight. You're gonna reach the clouds, Dawnie! //

// Don't let me fall! //

// I'll catch you, little sis. //

She caught me.

And it's my turn to fly.

To use the wings she gave me.

For her.

Finis.

<><><>

Chelle

*sob*

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