category: BtVS, ficathon entry
timeframe: Post "Chosen"
characters: Dawn
warnings: Character death, silliness
rating: Teen
summary: Written for the "death by" ficathon: Dawn has her own calling.

With apologies to the American Dairy Farmers, the Green Bay Packers and their fans, and to all the other lactose friendly companies I am openly mocking.

He stood there in front of her, the light reflecting off his black rimmed glasses, all but obscuring his laughing eyes. He ran his hands lightly over his black suit as though to smooth out non-existent ripples. Two slices of cheese lay plastered to his head, just above where his hairline had once been.

She recognized the brand: Kraft American singles, the highly processed kind, died a bright, unnatural yellow, and Dawn shuddered to think that she had once thought that brand to be the very epitome of cheesy goodness. Her time in Europe had given her more sophistication than that. There were so many better cheeses.

She was just coherent enough to decide it would be best not to say so to this man who wore his cheese so proudly. Or to the mob of Packers fans who crowded in behind him.

Cheeseheads. Was there anything more terrifying in the world? Dawn was hard pressed to think of anything. Glory, yes, Glory had been frightening, but she had known, deep down, that Buffy wouldn't fail to save her from the hell goddess.

After all, Dawn thought, she was too important to die by hell goddess. She was not just the slayer's younger sister, she was the key to the universe. Now she had a third, more important title:

She was Dawn, the Dairy Slayer.

And she was facing her arch-nemesis. The Cheeseman.

In every generation, a chosen one is born. She alone will stand against the yogurts, the cheeses, and the forces of lactose. She is the Slayer.

Dawn had all but laughed in Giles' face when he'd said that to her. Buffy actually had laughed, as had Xander, Willow, Kennedy, Faith, Robin, and all the new slayers.

Only Andrew and Dawn hadn't burst into giggles. Dawn hadn't, because the words touched something deep down inside her, the part of her that had always known that she was to be something important.

Andrew hadn't because he was lying on the floor, his face coated in a thick, solidified mask of melted Muenster. He was the reason they had gathered there. He was the first victim of the Cheeseman.

"We should have known this was coming," Giles told them, when all their mirth had died down. "We even dreamed of the Cheeseman's existence, all those years ago. Perhaps the first slayer was attempting to warn us that we would have the Dairy Slayer inserted into our midst.

Willow blinked at Giles. "You're serious."

"Quite."

"Wait, ‘the cheese will not help you'?" Xander shook his head. "That was a prophecy/'

Everyone stared at him.

"Sorry, I'm having trouble dealing with this." Xander shook his head again. "I like cheese."

"While dairy products serve their purpose in this world, there are those who would use them for evil." Giles looked pointedly at Andrew. "And it is the job of the Dairy Slayer to keep that from happening. Dawn, we're going to have to send you to Wisconsin. Your Dairy Watcher will meet you there. Reports of cheese-related deaths have increased worldwide. There is no time for further training. You have to defeat the Cheeseman before it's too late."

Dawn swallowed.

"You think you can stop me?" The Cheeseman leered at Dawn, making her shudder. "You think that you can stop my army of Cheeseheads? You are mistaken."

Dawn struggled against her asiago bonds. She'd been ambushed before she'd even gotten out of customs by the Cheeseheads. Buffy would not be coming to save her, the Vampire Slayer had her own enemies to deal with. It was up to her.

The cheese wrapping her wrists stretched slightly, but didn't break.

"You're not going to get away with this, Cheeseman. Even if you kill me, another Dairy Slayer will be called. Your days of artificial coloring are numbered."

"I think not, my dear Slayer. Dairy-Aire!" The Cheeseman turned to his sidekick, a thirteen year old boy in yellow and green tights and a cheese-fez. "Bring me the cheez-wiz."

Dairy-Aire nodded, rushed off, and returned seconds later with a large, super-soaker-esque contraption, bearing the slogan "got milk?" in bright yellow letters across it's white-and-black plastic cheese-tank. He handed the gun to the Cheeseman.

"Behold," the Cheeseman shouldered the weapon. Dawn squeezed her eyes shut. "The power of cheese."

He pulled the trigger, coating Dawn with orange, artificial cheese substance. It flooded her nostrils. She tried to scream, tugging again at the ropes of asiago, but the cheese filled her mouth, making her salivate. She swallowed as much of the goop as she could, but it was getting hard to breathe. The Cheeseman laughed. Dawn collapsed under a pile of soft, cheesy evil.

"Come, my cheese-minions. We will leave Wisconsin tonight. Ben and Jerry have prepared Vermont for our arrival."

The last thing Dawn heard before succumbing to her diary-demise was the sound of fifty Green Bay residents laughing maniacally.

She had failed. Bad cheese would take over the world.