Buffy sat on the couch in front of the television, not paying any particular attention to whatever happened to be on at the moment. Instead, her eyes flicked from one wall to the next, taking in the adornments – or lack thereof – that peppered the room. Sitting nearby in his chair, Xander was content to simply watch the moving images on the screen, unaware of the Slayer's rising discontent.

"This place needs a picture or two, something to liven it up," Buffy declared. "I'm thinking something in a nice velvet, possibly with Elvis." This served to attract Xander's full attention, and he threw her a look of complete disbelief. "I kid. Seriously though, kinda bare. It's depressing."

Xander appraised the area. "We had a pretty nice decorative theme goin' until Dawn decided it'd be fun to re-enact scenes from Poltergeist."

"We should have pictures. Photographs." The blonde nodded her head, as though the matter had been decided. "Give it that nice homey feel."

"We'll have to get Will to fire up ye olde color printer again, seeing as how every picture we ever took is buried deep in the bowels of hell and all," remarked Xander.

This new topic being broached seemed to stir something in the Slayer, and she chewed on it for a moment. "Do you ever think about going back there? Maybe try and recover some of our stuff?"

"Sure," Xander agreed, "when I'm lying awake at two in the morning and I haven't weirded myself out enough," he added bitingly. "Spelunking through the crumbled ruins of Sunnydale: Home of the Big Evil – not exactly my idea of a great vacation."

"I suppose not. But still. I miss my stuff." She frowned with irritation, muttering, "I knew I should've packed Mr. Gordo before traipsing merrily into the Hellmouth."

"Yeah, I wouldn't mind having my ..." He lapsed into silence, thinking. "Actually, all I had was a bunch'a crap. Good riddance to it," Xander concluded with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

Buffy had latched onto the idea, however, and clung to it like a dog with a bone. "I just think it'd be cool to go back."

"Have fun with that," the carpenter advised. "Me, I'm content to stop off at the nearest Pier One and spend the Council's money on new stuff that's probably just as tacky as the old." He jabbed a finger in the air. "But new!"

The sound of the front door opening interrupted the conversation, and the pair turned toward the living room entrance just as Dawn skipped into view, several bags swinging at her side. Giles followed close behind, also laden with bags but most definitely not skipping.

"And we see that Dawn also appreciates the value of newness," remarked the Slayer, gesturing at the purchases.

Dawn sighed with complete, fulfilling contentment, as though she had just bought a summer home in Nirvana. "Mmmm. Shopping."

"How you holdin' up, Watcher Man?" questioned Xander.

"It was a delightful experience," replied Giles, his expression indicating that it was anything but. "I can't imagine why every day isn't spent waiting in line to purchase a hot dog on a stick."

"Truly one of life's great mysteries," Buffy agreed sagely.

Dawn soon brought the conversation back to the truly important matters. "Oh! I got the cutest shirt at Hot Topic!" She dove into the bags, searching, as Giles looked to the others with an expression best described as 'befuddled'.

"Were you aware that they're now selling pieces of fabric approximately half the size of a handkerchief and claiming it to be a top?"

Xander smiled happily. "Yes."

Giles favored him with a look of mild disgust. "And our purchases were made from a young lady who, at first glance, appeared to be a Srebro demon, but then I realized she was far too metallic."

Buffy and Xander shook their heads, clearly not getting the reference, and Dawn explained while still rummaging around in the bags. "Srebro demons are made entirely of metal. She was big with the body piercing."

"Ahhh," they chorused.

Dawn reached up and patted Giles' arm comfortingly. "We'll spend our next Dawn/Giles day at some stuffy teahouse eating crumpets, okay?"

"'Crumpets'?" Giles repeated, obviously finding the suggestion offensive. "I do have layers, you know. Like you can find a decent crumpet in this country anyway," he grumbled mostly to himself before addressing the others. "Is Willow here? I was hoping to speak with her about the spell, fine-tune some details."

"Yup, upstairs in her room," directed Xander, jabbing his thumb toward the ceiling. With a nod, Giles headed for the stairs, halting as the carpenter continued, "Kennedy's up there too, but I think you should be safe. Just remember, if you see something you shouldn't, close your eyes up real tight." Xander demonstrated. "I find it helps burn the image into your brain much better."

Giles managed to restrain the sneer, but only barely. "Yes, thank you for that ... insightful advice."

Inclining his head, Xander graciously accepted the thanks, however it may have been intended, and Giles exited the room with an extremely disturbed expression.

Meanwhile, Buffy studied her sister, who had returned to sorting out her various purchases into some sort of order that made sense only in her mind. "A day?" questioned Buffy. "You and Giles have a day?"

"Uh-huh," replied Dawn, not looking up.

"A whole day?"

"Uh-huh."

Buffy seemed unable to get past this. "For ... what, exactly?"

"Oh, you know," Dawn shrugged nonchalantly. "To talk about stuff. School stuff, life stuff ... demon stuff, if I can catch him in the right mood. He's so clearly going through this paternal figure thing," she concluded with an eye roll, though the sting of it was absorbed by a smile that betrayed what she truly thought of the arrangement.

"I want a day," the Slayer pouted, dangerously pushing the envelope toward whining. "A Me Day. A day devoted to all things Me."

"You already have that," pointed out Xander. "It's called your birthday. And given its track record, do you really want another?"

Dawn had finished reorganizing her new items, and stood up with two stuffed bags, one in each hand. "Anyway, as fascinating as this trip down Egocentric Lane is, I'm heading over to Brenda's," she announced, turning for the door.

Before she could take more than a step, Buffy was there, grabbing the teenager by the elbow. "Whooaa, hold on. In this house we ask before we leave, we don't just decide to go out at night." Reflecting on her words, Buffy frowned. "When your name is Dawn," she amended.

"I did ask," Dawn shot back, exasperated.

"Older than you doesn't automatically equal senile," her sister replied, her voice calm despite the anger flashing in her eyes. "We didn't discuss this."

"I asked Xander three days ago!" protested Dawn, gesturing toward the carpenter.

Arriving next to the two glaring females, Xander nodded his head. "That she did," he confirmed, "an' I gave it the ol' thumbs up." Smiling, Xander apparently felt that would be the end of the confrontation. Unfortunately, he was sadly mistaken.

"I would really appreciate it if you'd talk to me first," Buffy informed him.

Xander was so taken aback, it was a few seconds before his smile disappeared. "Wait, what?" he asked, as though he had misheard.

"She's my sister, Xander, she's my responsibility," the blonde explained very carefully. "If she's going out somewhere, I should know about it before she's halfway out the door."

Crossing her arms and shaking her head incredulously, Dawn glared at the ceiling. "I don't believe this," she huffed.

Aggravation crossed Xander's usually jovial features, and when he spoke it was with very deliberate calm and patience. "I understand where you're comin' from, Buff. I know she's your sister, but we all take responsibility for her."

"What am I, a golden retriever?" the teenager exclaimed.

Tearing her eyes from Xander, Buffy turned to Dawn. "You already got permission, so okay." Immediately Dawn spun on her heel, but Buffy's hand shot out and held her sister in place. "But I want you back here by nine, and make sure they give you a ride home. I don't want you walking that late at night."

"And to think, I used to be jealous of the other kids for having more parents than me," Dawn wondered angrily, stomping out of the room, her bags swinging at her sides, leaving Xander and Buffy to face each other.

"I know you're just trying to help, but when it comes to Dawn, I should be the one she clears things through, not you guys," stated Buffy firmly.

Xander's jaw set for just a moment. "Yeah, maybe you should," he replied with a nod of his head. "But that was a bit hard when you were, oh, completely unreachable for a couple'a months. Dawn going over to a friend's house for dinner didn't seem quite such a priority to you then."

Opening her mouth to snap something back, Buffy poised on the brink of a truly spectacular verbal battle. But then the carpenter's words began to sink in, and she slowly closed her mouth, her anger dissipating as she did so. "God, I'm messing everything up," she moaned sadly as she dragged herself to the couch and limply flung her body onto it.

His own temper reigned, Xander sat next to the Slayer, smiling at her. "It's not a mess," he assured Buffy. She threw him a look. "Okay, it's a little mess."

"I keep thinking maybe it was a mistake to come back," she confessed. "Willow's uncomfortable around me, Dawn hates me ..."

"Dawn's a teenager. If she's not hatin' at least one of us at any given moment, we're doin' somethin' wrong."

Despite herself, Buffy chuckled.

"Do you really think you should've stayed away?" Xander questioned, intently watching Buffy.

The Slayer considered the question very carefully, sighing after a minute had passed. "Honestly? I don't know."

"You know what I think?" Xander asked, to which Buffy shifted on the couch and watched him hopefully for some kind of answer. "I think we're tryin' too hard. Everyone's so antsy about makin' everything the way it was, we're not lettin' things be how they should be. It's okay that things're hard an' don't make a whole lotta sense right now. Long as we stick it out, they will," he reasoned, speaking with complete and utter certainty.

Buffy frowned skeptically. "That seems way too cut and dried."

Smirking as though recalling a similar conversation recently, Xander shrugged. "Well we're so used to doin' everything the hard way, why not give the easy a try for a change? Who knows? Maybe we'll like it."

"Y'know, that's kinda true," admitted the blonde. "Sometimes we're ... really, really dumb."

"Makes ya wonder how we lasted this long, doesn't it?" grinned Xander.

Willow lay on the bed in the center of the room she shared with Kennedy, typing on her laptop. Her back resting against the headboard, Kennedy sat by Willow's feet, content to simply watch as her girlfriend worked, stroking the redhead's calf occasionally and enjoying the company.

"Big mojo in the works, huh?" the Slayer questioned.

"Really big," nodded Willow, her voice a little strained. "Super big. Bought at Costco big."

Kennedy indicated to Willow's expression. "So why the worry lines? I thought the super-sized spells were the ones you were good at now."

"I-It is. They are." Willow sighed deeply, trying to find the words to explain her concern. "But this is different. The- The power used is big, but the spell itself i-is delicate. Sort of like ... like trying to thread a needle with a- a rope. Plus, you know, casting myself out into the ether and all. It's intense."

"Well I'll be there, anchors away," assured Kennedy. "Kite string and all. I'll keep you safe."

Stiffening, Willow's face became more concerned, not less, and she rolled on to her side, looking back at the Slayer who regarded her questioningly. Willow licked her lips, uncertain of how to begin. "Kenn, I ... The spell ..."

"It's major, I get that. But don't worry. I won't let anything happen to you, Willow."

Kennedy spoke with such sincerity that it didn't make things any easier, but the redhead took a deep, resolving breath. "Kennedy ... Giles is gonna be my anchor."

The Slayer's hand stopped in mid-stroke and she pulled back, frowning. "What? Giles?"

Sitting up fully, Willow faced Kennedy with a pained expression. "Yeah. I-I thought you'd ... I didn't know you were- were thinkin' you were gonna do it, else I would've explained before now."

"Explained what, exactly?" she questioned, becoming defensive.

"This spell is huge, Kenn. If I get lost out there, I might not be able to, y'know, come back. Ever. I've gotta have someone I'm in tune with to keep me grounded."

As the words sunk in, Kennedy's face became stony and unreadable. "And that someone's not me," she stated matter-of-factly.

"Sweetie, we couldn't even find each other when we were doing simple meditations," Willow expressed as kindly as she possibly could. "I ... This is just too big and important." She smiled encouragingly, her voice adopting an upbeat tone. "But we'll keep workin' on it, we will. I'm sure we can get there eventually. I- I want us to. I really do." She paused and regarded Kennedy with the barest hint of sadness. "You don't know how much."

"Great. Really looking forward to my next lesson in Remedial Magic 101," the Slayer retorted bitterly. Willow flinched at the words, and Kennedy was immediately regretful. "Sorry. This is just ... so damn hard. This magic stuff, it's such a big part of you, and I want it to be something for us ..." She exhaled heavily and ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "But it never is."

Willow reached for Kennedy's hand, but the brunette pulled away, denying the contact. "I-It takes time," the witch insisted. "We can't just e-expect that you an' me can click like that off the bat."

Studying Willow, Kennedy pressed, "But it happens, right? The clicking. I mean, when it's supposed to, it does just happen."

"It can happen, yeah, but just because we haven't doesn't mean—"

Nodding bruskly, Kennedy swung her legs off the bed. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure it doesn't mean anything at all."

Willow watched her girlfriend beseechingly, but Kennedy refused to meet her gaze. "I need to blow off some steam," she stated calmly and almost without emotion. Reaching out to Willow, Kennedy kissed the top of her head, pausing there for just a moment and sighing heavily. "I love you."

Opening the door, she stepped through without a glance back.

Stepping gingerly, Buffy walked along the roadside, taking note of her surroundings, seeing them with relative ease in the cloudless night. The location was slightly different but still familiar, perhaps several miles further along the same stretch of highway.

The Slayer stopped and turned to gaze behind her, sensing the now-familiar presence of the zombies before hearing them. All three stood side-by-side, and were more whole and fully formed than they had been during her previous encounters. Tensing for their usual grabby approach, Buffy waited expectantly for outstretched hands, and was surprised to find that the trio seemed content to simply stare at her with watery, unblinking eyes.

"This is becoming a habit," she chided, filling the uncomfortable silence.

"Muuusst resst ..." the older male groaned. His words were more understandable, though his voice sounded like a low gurgle.

With hands on hips, Buffy nodded her understanding. "Yeah, I'd be beat too if my every moment was spent power-walking in pursuit of beautiful young girls."

"Heeelp uss ..." the undead female begged.

Letting her arms drop, Buffy expression was apologetic. "Listen, I know about the accident," she began.

It was the boy's turn. "Caaan't stooop..."

"I know you were all killed and you're being dragged back to life. Believe me when I say I know it hurts," the Slayer empathized. "But I need your help. I need to find—"

As though responding to some unseen cue, Buffy turned suddenly to find herself facing another portion of the road. In the distance, perhaps a hundred feet or so ahead, it curved sharply; the only protection vehicles would have from this dangerous bend was a metal guardrail. The fact that part of it had been obliterated showed how little protection that actually was. Just beyond the road were trees, and visible even from where Buffy was standing were the contorted remains of a car that had smashed into the tree with such speed that its front end had literally become embedded in the trunk. Smoke trailed into the sky from the crushed hood, and the ticking of the engine echoed in the still night.

Not twenty feet from the wreckage, huddled into a tight ball, was another boy, this one every bit human. Buffy took a half-step toward him as she whispered, "Ryan?"

Given the distance, there was no possible way he could have heard her, but the boy turned toward the Slayer all the same. It wasn't until the zombies had shuffled past, moving with more strength than they had previously been incapable of, that Buffy realized the boy was paying no attention to her whatsoever. Nor, for that matter, were the undead.

Despite the situation, there was a touch of indignation in her voice. "So what, I'm chopped brains now?"

As expected, she was completely ignored. She watched the zombies lumbered closer, as the boy stood and stretched out his arms to welcome them.

Buffy awoke just before contact was made, her eyes wide and alert. The sky outside her window indicated it was now early evening, and Buffy glanced briefly at the clock by her bedside. She had lain down in the clothes had been wearing earlier, so as she leapt off the bed, all she needed were her shoes. Her expression was set and determined – she now had a direction and clearly felt all the better for it. "What do you know," she mused to herself as she headed out of her bedroom, "my old kindergarten teacher was right – naps do help."

It was an unusual scene to say the least, even by Slayer Central standards. On the front lawn, a decent distance from any highly breakable windows, Hazel balanced precariously on a thin but sturdy length of wood, suspended above the ground on two cinder blocks. The sun had completely set some time ago but the moon was full and bright overhead, providing sufficient illumination. Illumination Hazel was using to her full advantage by staring at Faith as though she were utterly insane.

Several feet away, the Senior Slayer stood next to a large bucket full of heavy, hand-sized beanbags. She held one, tossing it up and catching it solidly as she explained the rules to Hazel. "It's simple: I throw these at you. Don't get hit, don't fall off."

"Are you sure you're not just using me for target practice?" Hazel questioned, nervously following the beanbag's steady rise and fall.

"Dodgin' a hit's just as important as landin' one," lectured Faith. "Maybe more. An' keepin' your balance after can make all the difference in dodgin' the next."

Hazel's eyes were transfixed, her whole head bobbing up and down like she was hypnotized. "Yeah, but—"

"Go."

That was the Junior Slayer's only warning as Faith cocked back her arm and hurled the beanbag at Hazel with all her strength. Yelping, Hazel barely managed to jump to one side, waving her arms a little as she fought for balance. Her eyes widened and she ducked, narrowly avoiding another bag that zipped over her head, then leapt straight into the air as a third barreled toward her kneecap. Both feet landed squarely on the board and Hazel maintained her balance, looking extremely pleased with herself.

She beamed at Faith. "Hey, did you see th—" All enthusiasm was felled by another beanbag, this one catching Hazel directly in the stomach. With a whoosh, all the air rushed out of her lungs, and the girl toppled off of the board, landing on the ground in a groaning heap. She lay on the cool grass for a long moment, sprawled flat on her back as she fought to regain her breath. Her eyes flicked to the side as Faith approached, looming overhead as she peered down at the younger girl.

"Some part of 'don't get hit, don't fall off' confuse you?"

Hazel's only answer was to groan again and rub her tender stomach.

Faith remained unsympathetic. "Get up," she ordered. "We'll do it again."

Very reluctantly, the Junior rolled onto her side and pushed herself up, semi-glaring at Faith all the while. "Are you trying to kill me?" she wondered aloud.

"I'm tryin' to make it so nothin' else does," replied Faith with steel in her voice.

"Aw, Fiver, I didn't know you cared," Hazel smirked, hands on her hips.

There was no response, Faith choosing instead to pick up the thrown beanbags scattered on the ground before moving back to the bucket. As she passed Hazel, the younger girl rested a hand on her arm, and Faith paused.

"Hey, I'm just playing around," Hazel said gently. "Givin' you a hard time. It's my only form of retribution," she grinned. "Don't take me seriously."

"It's a dangerous world," Faith warned, her tone warming slightly but still every bit as serious. "Lotta things out there'd love t'have you as a between-meal snack."

With a half-teasing smile, Hazel vaulted back onto the board. "Yeah, but you'll always keep me safe, right?"

It was a rare moment. Faith seemed at a loss regarding how to react. "Can't rely on people, Pipsqueak," she finally stated. "Best bet's to learn how to keep yourself safe."

With that, the Slayer threw another beanbag. Rather than dodge this time, Hazel caught it easily.

"How 'bout we work to keep each other safe?"

Hazel tossed the bag back, Faith also catching it. The Senior Slayer smirked but didn't otherwise reply, instead grabbing a handful of bags and hurling them all at her target, rapid fire. Hazel yelped again, twisting her body this way and that to avoid the projectiles. All swooshed past harmlessly, save one that, again, caught her in the stomach and knocked her backwards off the board. Hazel landed flat on her back, in a position quite similar to the one she had been in just minutes before.

"Deja ow," she groaned.

Faith appeared in Hazel's line of sight, blocking out the moon. "You're kinda like those things at the carnival," she observed wryly. "Hey, if I knock you over one more time, think I'll get a prize?"

Less than amused, Hazel accepted Faith's hand-up as she got to her feet. "And I look up to you," she mumbled. "That's gotta say something disturbing about me."

Faith blinked in surprise, but before she could comment, Kennedy stomped by on her way into the building.

"Whooaa," Faith commented as she watched Kennedy breeze past. "Bad vibe central. What's the deal?"

Kennedy stopped and turned, huffily crossing her arms. "Nothing. I don't wanna talk about it."

"Ahh," the other Slayer responded knowingly. "Red."

"Remember that little talk we had just moments ago?" growled Kennedy. "Something about me not wanting to talk about it?"

Faith held up her hands defensively as she sauntered forward. "Suits me, I've about hit my insightful pep talk limit for today anyway. I think it's time to recharge." With a grin, she slung her arm around Kennedy's neck and dragged the younger woman toward her. Kennedy resisted, but it was merely a token effort. As they passed Hazel, Faith repeated the motion with her other arm, still leading the group forward and away from Slayer Central. Hazel was delighted, a bouncy spring in her step; Kennedy was tolerant, but only barely.

"An' best way I can think for that?" Faith asked rhetorically. "A night of dancin' and gettin' as many guys as possible to buy us as many drinks as possible." She cast a sideways glance to Kennedy. "Or girls, whatever floats your boat."

"Vortex?" questioned Hazel eagerly.

"Yup," the Slayer confirmed with a nod. "Where you better not touch a lick of booze or we play this game again with rocks."

Her delight tempered somewhat, Hazel's face fell. "Awww."

Faith was unmoved. "Consider it all part'a keepin' you safe," she offered.

"Safety's overrated," Hazel pouted.

Buffy walked along the desolate stretch of inclining road. It was near pitch black with no street lamps for miles; had the moon not been shining overhead, even Buffy's enhanced eyesight and night vision might have had trouble. There were no cars in sight, but still the Slayer kept close to the shoulder, her dream from the night before still fresh in her mind. Every now and then she would scan both sides of the road as she walked, but never spotted anything of sufficient interest to tear her from following some trail apparent only to herself.

Eventually, at the crest of a dangerous hairpin curve, Buffy spied a break in the otherwise well-maintained guardrail that lined the road. A section had been completely obliterated, only a jagged and tangled mess remaining. Just beyond the break was a line of very dense trees, one of which had obviously been wounded recently, the victim of a serious and violent impact.

Beyond the guardrail but some distance from the trees stood a young boy, no more than 15 or 16 with short dark hair. His face was drawn and pale and covered with cuts and bruises just beginning to heal. Surface injuries aside, he seemed otherwise unharmed, save for the haunted expression in his eye as he simply stared at the trees, totally lost and utterly alone.

Buffy approached, cautiously but with purpose, stopping when she was a few feet away from the boy, who seemed oblivious to her presence.

"We need to talk," she stated firmly.