Disclaimer; All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.

Authors Note; Dawn is only two years younger than Buffy in this world, which makes her thirteen/fourteen in the beginning. There are a few other changes to canon, but I won't be telling them just yet, as that would spoil the future chapters. Back in Sunnydale, things are mostly progressing as canon, with a few lines here and there about what Buffy is going through while we follow her sister. This story will span several years of Dawn's journey to adulthood and dealing with her loss and grief.

Prologue

Her mother's arm felt tight and constricting around her back and shoulders but she didn't dare say anything, knowing that the older woman was barely holding on by a thread and only their physical connection was keeping her sane at the moment. Deep down, Buffy knew she felt the same way.

It had been the worst night of their life...and it wasn't going to get any better, any time soon.

"Mrs. Summers?" the voice spoke from somewhere above them and to the left.

Both of them raised their heads to see the uniformed officer grabbing a chair and dragging it over to sit in front of them, a pad in hand and an empathetic glint in his eyes. They knew what he wanted and they knew they had to give it to him, but both wished it could wait. Wait until it fully sunk in what had happened tonight.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I need your statement," he did sound sorry, which was something at least.

Joyce sighed and squeezed the hand around her daughter's shoulder. "Fine, but if we're doing this, then we're only doing it once, understood?" she said, eyes wet and fingers shaking at the mere thought of going over the night's events.

Officer Molina bit back a sigh and nodded slowly. "Deal."

She nodded back and then turned to her daughter. "Why don't you go get us something to drink, sweetheart? I think I saw a vending machine a few halls down." Before Buffy could protest, she spoke again. "I don't want you around for this, so just humor me, okay?"

She waited until Buffy was out of earshot before turning back to the cop and starting her statement. "We had spent the day at the beach and came home just before dinner. I was in the kitchen preparing the meal and my husband was in his home office. I think he was on the phone with a client or a colleague; I just remember hearing his voice from behind the closed door." She brushed at her tears, knowing this wasn't even close to being the worst of it.

"And your daughters?" he asked, keeping his voice soft but knowing he had to ask.

She whimpered a bit and then took in a deep breath before answering, her eyes lowered to the floor below them. "Buffy was in her room getting a shower and changing out of her beach clothes. Dawn..." she hiccuped and the pain grasped her around her heart. "She had thrown a fit when I told her she had to stay home, instead of going to a sleepover with her friends. She had stormed off to her room and slammed the door behind her." This time she didn't even bother to wipe away the many tears that fell unbidden down her pale, tired face.

He swallowed thickly and hated having to continue asking questions. "When did you realize that a fire had begun to spread?"

She shivered and shifted in her seat. "It was about seven o'clock, Buffy was helping me set the table. I was about to head down the hall and tell Dawn that dinner was ready, when I saw something orange out of the corner of my eye."

Officer Molina flipped through his pad until he found a statement from another of his colleagues. "According to the fire department, it was candles by the windowsill that started this whole thing?"

Joyce sniffled and brought a handkerchief out from her purse. "Yes. It was a habit. Buffy always enjoyed the smell of vanilla after a long trip to the beach, so we'd always light them as soon as we got home. They would burn until we headed to bed at night. I don't know what happened this time, but...somehow they caught onto the curtains."

"How fast did the fire spread, Mrs. Summers?" He leaned forward, as she had begun to whisper without realizing it.

"Very fast," she whimpered, sobbing for a few moments. "By the time Buffy and I fully realized what was happening it was too late to get the others out. I had to save my eldest...I couldn't lose her, too." But a part deep inside herself felt self-hatred, for being unable to save her husband...and her thirteen-year-old daughter.

She kept replaying the scene over and over in her head, wondering what she could have possibly done differently that would have saved those she loved. Her husband of almost sixteen years and the beautiful child who had died thinking that her mother was angry with her. May not have known how much she loved her.

This was a loss she didn't know if she would ever move past.

Her heart wasn't the only thing inside of her that was broken...her very spirit was, as well.

Never to be mended.