Title: Shattered Dreams
Summary: What if Dawn died instead of Buffy in The Gift? Takes place during the end of There's No Place like Plrtz Glrb.
Spoilers: Buffy s5, Angel s2
Disclaimer: pssha!
Author's Note: I wanted to write a re-write for The Gift for ages, but I could never come up with anything that had potential. This idea struck me 2 years ago, and since I'm updating all my B/A fics, thought I might as well post this :)
"There's no place like home," Angel announced, walking through the double doors of the Hyperion Hotel, followed by Cordelia Chase, Wesley Wyndam Pryce, Charles Gunn and Winifred Burkle, who they had just rescued from Pylea, the demon dimension they had recently escaped from. Angel scanned the hotel lobby as the others filed in behind him. Everything seemed to be the same. Walking into his office, Wesley's office, he quickly reminded himself with a wry grin, he noticed the answering machine was blinking. Pressing play, he settled into the leather chair behind the desk.
"You have one new message," the machine informed him. "Received today, at 1:03am." He glanced at the wall clock. That was over two hours ago. He suddenly sat up in the chair as Buffy's voice sounded in the still room.
"Angel? It's... it's me. I just wanted to call you to let you know, well... the thing with Glory, you remember how I told you about her," she added in a nervous tone, and he recalled how she had broken down at her mother's funeral, confessing everything from the startling news about Dawn and Glory, to Riley leaving and her realising that she didn't love him but merely needed comfort. He stopped his train of thought, and rewound the tape, hoping he had heard differently. He pushed play, and Buffy's voice echoed through the quiet room again.
"Well, she... she has Dawn, and she's going to open a portal with her blood... my blood. Blood starts it, and until the blood stops flowing, it'll never stop... but I'm okay with this, really. I've accepted my fate. It's time. Just know that I love you. And..." she paused before plunging on, "I'm always your girl."
The message ended, and Angel stared at the device in horror. Instantly, his mind began dishing out orders to his body, and he found himself grabbing his leather duster and walking out the front door, ignoring Cordelia's questions.
Angel made it to Sunnydale over an hour later. He parked the Plymouth in an alley near the site, and ran the rest of the way just in time to witness Buffy toss someone of an unstable-looking tower. He began scaling it and reached the top when he heard Dawn utter,
"Buffy, no!"
"Dawnie, I have to," Buffy began as Angel clambered onto the makeshift walkway.
"No, you don't," he cut in.
"Angel?" Buffy whispered. She shook her head rapidly. "Yes... I do," she argued. "It's the only way."
"No. I won't just sit back and watch you die," he told her, gripping her arms tightly. He hesitated. "If I don't take too much blood, you-" Her eyes widened as realised what he was implying. She removed herself from his grasp.
"No. This is my problem, not yours." She sighed. "Don't you see? The hardest thing in this world is to live in it."
"Live. For me," he pleaded.
"I can't. I..." she trailed off, her eyes growing large as she took in the sight of Dawn standing at the end of the walkway, her back to the ever-growing portal.
"I love you," Dawn murmured, and collapsed into the flashing vortex. Immediately Buffy and Angel were thrown back as the portal expanded and then vanished without a trace.
"Dawn!" Buffy sobbed hysterically. Angel stared at the place where she had stood only moments earlier, before his gaze slid upward to the sky painted soft colours by the approaching dawn. Ironic, he thought sadly, and then realised what was happening. Dawn was almost upon them, and he had less than a minute to find shelter before he would be a walking flame.
Scooping the grief-stricken Slayer into his arms, he ignored her attempts to make him release her from his hold and quickly began descending the unsteady tower. He jumped at hit at a run. He felt his coat beginning to sizzle as impatiently removed his keys from his pocket, wondering why he even bothered locking the convertible. Slamming the door behind him, he felt blisters already forming on his neck. Sighing, he looked at the still girl in his arms. She appeared to be sleeping.
"Buffy?" he whispered, shaking her lightly. When she did not wake, he called her name again, this time much louder. She didn't budge.
It may be continued if inspiration strikes (or it may serve as a oneshot). Dya know what inspires me? I'll give ya a hint, begins with r and ends with w, hehe.