Disclaimer: Buffy, etc, all belong elsewhere.

Notes: This is... well, I suppose it's based on Fluffy Pink Dinosaurs. No prior knowledge is required. I'm not even sure it works together. Might, though.

Spoilers: Season 5.

Rating: PG13. Some unpleasantness.

Fluffy Pink Dinosaurs: Redux

by Ana Lyssie Cotton

It should have been me.

Dawn never should have been the one, the Key. I'm the Slayer, I'm the one with the deathwish--or death-gift, if the first Slayer was accurate. Funny, huh? I'm supposed to have all of the answers, all of the powers, and I'm the only one left now.

The world swam with blood that night. It was a never-ending battle, a chance to meet chaos at its finest. I remember watching Giles dive under an axe, then get his head taken off by a sword. Xander killed the swordsman. I'm not sure it was a man. Swords-demon?

Anya... Anya ran, before it all happened. I remember finding her towards morning, carrying all that was left of Xander while I staggered under the burden of an unconscious Spike.

It was a gruesome sight. Icky to the extreme. But I was already covered in much worse than blood, and I found I couldn't care.

My sister died screaming in pain.

And I lived.

But Glory didn't win.

Oh, no, that unfashionable bitch died in the first wave, skewered on something's claws. She wasn't Glory then, of course. It was Ben I had to stand and watch die. Ben whose eyes pleaded with me to save him. So I did.

His face looked so shocked when I tore it off.

At least he wasn't hurting anymore.

That's when Giles missed the axe, of course. He glanced at me, and was lost. There was such... sadness in his eyes. I think he wanted me to go back to being the innocent fluff-head I was five years ago.

He'd've given anything to have this change.

Pity he never got the chance.

I can't even think about Willow. It hurts so much when I do. Because there's blood and fire and such pain.

I can still hear her screaming.

Spike missed that, too busy trying to save some little girl. I heard him call her Dawn. I think he went insane when she died.

I can't really blame him. And there's not much I could have done when morning came.

Even with the sun turning into molten red, the imminent supernova corruscating slowly outwards--8 minutes to live, 8 minutes to pray, 8 minutes to scream as he turned to ash.

I wish we were at the north pole.

Wished. Could have wished.

Anya giggled when they pushed her into the chasm, her voice echoing up into the sky as she fell forever. I wish she had lived.

I wish...

I've never seen a planet burn before. Never had to scream my throat raw--not even during the crucimentium. I've done that this night, I've beaten my fists bloody this morning.

How unfair is a life spent saving the people you love?

Rhetorical question.

"If you had it all to do over, knowing what you do now, would you still do it?" I heard that, once. Someone was listening to a musical when they drove by us. I think I laughed. I don't know.

There's ash coating my lungs now. Seeping into my pores. I need a bath, a nice long soaking one with bubbles and the scent of roses while Britney sings about needing to get it again, and I can read. Secret passion of mine, reading. Lurid romances, a great escape. And the sex isn't half-bad.

Faith was right, of course.

Sex. Sex. Sex. What I wouldn't give for some. I'd even settle for Parker. Wonder how he'd look without his face?

Sex would be normal. Sex would be life.

I wouldn't be dead.

There's so little left now. I can't see clouds, or dust anymore. There's only black. I wonder what would have happened if Glory had lived. Would she have stopped this? Would she have saved the universe from irreversible fragmentation? I think that's what Giles called it, anyway.

He died, you know. Right before Xander did, his hands and feet hacked off while something I can't even describe ate his eyes out of their sockets. And Anya kept his dick for a trophy.

It's all about sex, isn't it?

When you wish upon a star, makes no difference--where's the little fucking grasshopper, anyway?

Or is he a fairy godmother in blue chiffon with purple spandex and a leather bustier? Cross-dressing in style. Never touch the boobs, they... resist wrong.

I'm the only one left. I'm rambling. I'm tired, so tired. And there's sunlight now. I think I could bathe in it, if I had a body left. If it hadn't burnt itself to a crisp while the sky boiled away.

Why is it always fire? Did all the Slayers get burned at the stake?

Heh. That means Joan of Arc was a Slayer. Yo, dude!

Bill and Ted. Now there's a concept to ponder.

I wish there was a phone booth...

Darkness, still. No stars, no lights.

Only ash.

Will I be like this forever? Will I always know who I am, what I should have been?

Dawn is dead.

I failed.

No comets, no moon. Good thing there aren't any constellations. I couldn't name them--well, maybe the north star.

Can I be seen through a telescope?

Not that they exist anymore.

I wonder if I'm dead.

Not that it matters. Glory lost.

I lost.

And there's nothing--