This fic started out with the idea of megan_peta and schehrezade_1 sharing a challenge fic, and then blossomed into what we are about to embark upon. The challenge was from Death-Marked Love.

Challenge 42

Shortly after Buffy's death, Dawn becomes increasingly worried about Spike's mental health. After the vampire attempts suicide she decides it's time for action and casts a spell that will make Spike forget that he loved Buffy. Unfortunatley things go awry and Spike wakes up with no memories of Buffy at all. Then the Slayer comes back....

So, the official summary....

Post The Gift, Spike becomes dependent on Scooby care to make it through the night. Buffy is gone, the bot is absent. When it seems the Hellmouth is deprived completely of a protector, Giles and the Scoobies take matters into their own hands, and unleash their worst nightmare.

Pairing: eventually Buffy/Spike
Rating: NC-17 for violence
Disclaimer: we don't own 'em, just play with 'em.

 

Chapter one

Five nights.

Five nights since they had lowered Buffy into a narrow, heartless and eternal resting place, shadowed by a weeping willow.

Five nights that the Scoobies decisively prevented her grave being showered with vampiric dust on the emerging morning sun.

Five nights since the approaching dawn had stolen their sleep, and left them abruptly and confusingly on the alert for suicidal vampires with shockingly white hair.

Five grieving nights where they all wanted to surrender to the pain that led him to stretch his form along the surface of her grave, alone and welcoming his end.

And finally, five anxious nights where the escalating pressure of the Hellmouth and their own emotional pain threatened to take them all over.

This night Giles and Willow had been chosen, leaving them to reflect in the irony of the allusion to the destiny of their perished Slayer. It held them in determined ‘saving’ mode for the vampire she had almost entrusted into their care with her own acceptance of him as a white hat.

So, loaded down with the important things--stakes, crosses and Scooby devotion--they were off. The trek wasn’t exactly worn, but the flattening grass across the cemetery grounds was fast getting there. Reaching the gates of said resting place, Willow allowed her pace to slow, drawing Giles into a sedate walk to their destination.

“You know he can’t go on like this? Sooner or later he’s going to get by us, or decide on another way of getting to Buffy. I really don’t think Dawnie could face losing him, too. They seem really close now that B…Buffy is d…gone.” Minute lapses in breath caused a stumbling conversation to falter from Willow’s lips, and the almost mention of where Buffy now was brought tears to her eyes. “His grief is so raw, Giles. What are we gonna do? We need him to help us with the patrolling. I mean, even Xander volunteers for suicide watch, so he must value Spike just a little, too.”

Giles watched the redhead, his own throat clogged with emotion. Truth be told, sometimes he wished he could just give up-- like Spike had done-- and allow the world to fall into havoc. But he felt duty bound to his dead Slayer. And duty was what he found himself cursing every night that he ‘chose’ to beat this path and drag an almost completely broken Master vampire back to safety.

And life.

Only so far they hadn’t. They hadn’t managed to do anything but prevent Spike from exploding into tiny dust particles at the arrival of a brutal and unloving morning sun. He slept due to a magically induced peace long enough to rouse again once it was dark, and partook in dulling methods on his trek to the patch of ground that shielded Buffy from the world.

“I really am not sure,” he finally answered. “It isn’t like we actually believed Spike really loved Buffy. He’s a vampire. Such affection for a human is just not written about.” Even he saw the narrow-minded stupidity of his words as they tumbled freely into the cooling night air. They had all witnessed Spike’s possessive nature from the moment he threatened his way into their lives. Maybe that was why they had objected so strongly to the crush. Spike’s ability to lean toward genuine emotion and the lengths he would go to in order to protect those that he cared for-- and even more-so, loved-- threatened every longstanding belief Giles had been taught and passed onto the Slayer sidekicks. They knew Spike’s feeling could be genuine, but had not seen the bigger picture. Not known the positive that such an obsession could amount to.

Giles stopped alongside Willow and they watched. Watched an inebriated vampire, crippled with grief sob his very dead heart out and toss another empty bottle of jack to the ground. It was a completely miserable sight, and it astounded Giles that no demon had yet discovered their secret death and attempted to take Spike out while he was so beyond ability and desire to protect himself.

Giles shook his head. In some ways they could all be grateful to Spike for allowing himself to break. It gave the gang something to focus on, something to channel their own hot grief into so that the lot of them remained effectual.

“You might as well do the chant, Willow. Let’s get him home.” Watching the vampire drown himself in liquored courage-- as his least destructive route to dull the pain-- Giles salivated in commiseration. In his mind he spied his own lonely bottles at his flat, and he suddenly just wanted this night over so he could partake in a little misery drowning.

Eum depono reliquum (Put him down to rest)

Suddenly Spike’s tear clogged voice ceased noise and his body slumped over the grave top as if in gentle repose. Willow stepped forward and gathered the formerly discarded bottle of booze, placing it in the knapsack holding a bunch of stakes.

“I think one more of these bottles and I’ll have a full set. I’m gonna take up bottle playing!”

Giles looked at Willow, momentarily startled.

“You’re going to what?” he asked her while scratching the back of his head.

“You know!” She mimed holding a bottle and striking its side with something, but he felt he could do nothing but shake his head in complete incomprehension.

“Jeez, Giles. Like musical instruments. You fill them with different levels of water and hit them with something and play a tune. Easy to see you got nothing but a snobby education.”

He shot her a look of affront.

“I was just trying to make a little with the funnies. Get my mind off the gruesome…okay, babbling not cool.” She stomped her way over to Spike and hunched down next to his prone body. On impulse she took his cold hand in both hers. “We really need to help him, Giles. He can’t keep doing this.”

“There really is nothing we can do, Willow. It just takes time.”

He thought distractedly that the flash he just caught in her eye was fear, but before he could determine exactly why that should be, she had turned away and tried to use her slight frame to heft Spike up off the ground. Giles rushed forward and took up the slack, an unconscious vampire dangling like an oversized puppet between them.

“I don’t think he has much time.”

Her thoughtful statements were often just too much for Giles. Willow had become the thinker of the group-- the planner. She had overtaken him as the one who looked out for the troupe of friends family-- his own head often too muddied to care much about who was slipping and who managed to stay on their feet.

It had only been five days after all and none of them had probably chosen a healthy way to deal with the grief. They either pretended it didn’t exist, or sunk so far into continuous bottles of grog to make the cold front imposed for onlookers much easier to sustain. Unless you were Spike, who hadn’t come up from his drunken haze since he landed in the bubble of alcohol the morning after Buffy was discovered broken and gone.

“I think that the minute he moves towards sober, we’re done for. He’ll find another way to go and we won’t be able to do anything about it.”

In a pique of jealousy, Giles crumbled.

“So, why not just let him? If the bloody pillock is so weak, then let him just go. We can’t be doing this for the rest of our lives.” His voice was bitter, but inwardly he kicked himself for his own weakness-- for refusing to be stronger about what their needs were. He couldn’t deny that they needed Spike. Hell, if he had to travel down the road of truth, he would have to admit that he would feel a little sad if the blond idiot managed to end his own existence. And further in the background of his mind he could hear her, hear the disappointment in her voice at the unworthy demise of one of her cherished enemies. Well, cherished might be pushing it, but he was sure that near the end, Buffy was lightening toward Spike. She was recognising something in the vampire that Rupert himself had almost hoped for when Spike had first come to them after the chip. An opportunity that Spike verbally rejected when Giles had given him the money for help during his stint as demon. But an opportunity his actions had more and more supported.

So the real answer then, was no. They couldn’t let the vampire dust himself. It would break more than Dawn. It would be the loss of their only supernatural protection against demon threats on the Hellmouth. And-- dare he think it-- it could well be the loss of something prophetic on a scale much larger than Angel. It could be the loss of purpose.

His spine stiffened and Spike was hauled higher on one side, Willow struggling to hang on to Spike’s other side.

“You are right, Willow. I just don’t know what we can do.”

She nodded her head, somber and accepting of the long moments of quiet.

“Scooby meeting?”

He nodded, and with struggling pants they continued to haul their load to Revello Drive.



 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was the stairs that proposed the largest hurdle. Through his t-shirt, his ribs protruded and Willow felt bile rise in her throat. For the first time in ages she cursed whatever reason he had for deciding to discard the wearing of his trademark coat. It would have hidden some of the sharpness of his bones from her, allowing her a little less nightmare with her sleep. She knew Spike hadn’t fed since Buffy’s swan dive through the doorway of dimensions, and now his frame was ugly in its gauntness. Despite his extreme weight-loss however, he was dead weight to drag up the stairs of the Summers home. And she wasn’t laughing. Oh no, skinny Spike was way too close to emaciated for her liking, and pun not intended, he was gonna dust from starvation alone if they didn’t do something soon.

Collective gasps-- repeated every night this routine continued-- had greeted them on arrival. Two steps up the stairs and Willow could feel the weakening of her knees.

“Xander? Could you take over? I don’t think I can get him up to Buffy’s room.”

Xander flinched but held his tongue, his feet taking him to Spike’s side without vitriolic comment.

“I see fangless isn’t getting any prettier,” he commented, the uncertain concern tripping off his tongue unawares, like a stalking shadow in the night. “And if he doesn’t bulk up soon, we’re gonna have to book him into one of those power clinics for anorexics.”

The almost mild jibing settled amongst them with ease, all having to face the uncomfortable reality of a ‘savage, evil monster’ killing himself slowly because of his inability to let go of a love that was never shared. Even Xander was sympathetic and, at times, almost frighteningly worried.

The two Scooby men finally bared their burden to Buffy’s bed and, in direct contrast to their previous attitude to the vampire, they lowered him gently before chaining his legs to the bed. They had made a mistake earlier with handcuffs, finding that Spike would resort to knawing at his own wrists to get away, but he wasn’t so proficient with his ankles.

Xander looked at the body on the bed and marvelled that for the first time since knowing Spike, the vampire looked like a corpse. Blue veins were stark against his white flesh, even the shade of his hair blending alarmingly with the sickly and pasty pallor of Spike’s face.

“After the thrashing Glory gave him, who would have ever thought it would be our own little Buffy who’d destroy Captain Peroxide like this?”

They shared a teary moment of commiseration unawares, memories of Buffy fighting the formidable foe flashing through both their minds before eyes once again fell to the man broken by a mortal death. Sense had skipped the border and was hooning down the highway of ludicrous. Xander shook his head at the vampire he didn’t want to understand and made his way out the door and back to the living room. Giles made to follow, then hesitated. His eyes rested on a stake-- one of Buffy’s stakes left behind on the dresser, and he crossed to it and lifted it in his hands. His steps slowly moved him to the side of the bed and his eyes locked onto the chest of the black t-shirt. No dwelling on the face, no seeing the tears as his own flowed down his cheeks, no acknowledging anything other than this was a vampire that lay atop Buffy’s bed, completely worthless to them.

He never raised his fist clutching the stake. In numb fingers he let it fall and thump to the floor before swiping sadly at his wet face and apologising to the vampire.

“Sorry, Spike. I guess I’m no stronger than you are. If I were, maybe I could help you find the end you are looking for. But I’m selfish. If I have to hurt, then I want you to as well. All that loved her has to stay here alongside me and hurt. It’s the only way I can get through.”

Lowering his eyes, Giles moved away from the bed, leaving the stake on the carpet, and belatedly followed Xander. Wrapped up in his own guilt and pain, he didn’t notice Dawn sneak from her room behind him and perch herself at the top of the stairs, preparing for another night of eavesdropping.

On his arrival the genial chatter of inconsequence ceased and the group of friends switched to Scooby meeting mode.


 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Through his sleep he knew what they did. Every night they came to collect him, more prepared since that first night when he fought against them until he collapsed on the grass with blood pouring from his ears and nose and the pain made his head throb. He almost wished they hadn’t come up with a magically induced coma to restrain him; the agony of physical pain went a long way to dulling the ache in his chest. Miles further than the alcohol did, and a lot bloody less expensive. What he didn’t know or get, was why they were pulling the great Samaritan act. He was nothing to them, only tolerated perhaps for his strength and potential babysitting abilities.

But knowing didn’t change much. It wasn’t enough to have him alter his nightly routine. He’d thought about it; find somewhere else to wait for a dusty morning, but the monumental joke of it all was that he wanted to be near her and he didn’t know where else to go.

So, every night he stumbled upon her grave in a drunken stupor and talked. Unburdened his heart-- begged her forgiveness for allowing her to die. Screaming at God to play fair and take him instead of her; he was willing to trade. And let’s face it: he was a good trade. Take a filthy ex-murderer off the streets and make him pay in eternal damnation. Give a good girl a chance at life.

But most nights, his broken sobs weren’t enough to distract him from the knowledge that she was probably better off where she was. He had no doubts that she was in Heaven. Where else did a soldier of light retire? He had no clue, and he wasn’t stupid, so that was what he believed. And he knew that if that was where she was, she didn’t deserve to return to this life, to fight and hurt for another indeterminate number of years.

So, he clawed into the earth above, and cried oceans of tears into the grass. And thought that eventually, they would stop coming to get him. But tonight hadn’t been the night. Though he couldn’t rouse himself, he knew that he was back in her room, the scent of her overwhelming his heart. It was bittersweet; the number of times he had been in this room without her knowledge, sucking in the air that she surrounded herself with as she slept. And now he was sprawled out on her bed, the magical numbness of his mind slowly drifting toward the horror of sleep, and the lessening of his pain. He fought against it, not wanting that dimming of his disgrace.

But as he was preoccupied with fighting sleep and the onset of dreams, he slipped and entered that realm. She came to him some nights, offering something, he didn’t often know what. She confused him, more now she was dead and unable to touch him than when she was alive and allusive and contradictory as hell.

Tonight she appeared as if it was that final night. The tears welled as he prepared himself to weather the storm of her disappointment. But it wasn’t that. She stood on her stairwell, inviting him once again over her threshold. He stood at the bottom of those stairs, maybe a metre and a half below her and rested awestruck eyes on her beauty, on her trust.

“I know you’ll never love me,” he’d told her, like a complete wallowing wanker, but he’d known it down deep. Hadn’t she scoffed and fought against that very possibility like the thought was way too disgusting to contemplate? But she had made him feel like a man and he had to tell her that, tell her how important her effect on him to be different had been to him before he surrendered his life in her fight.

This time she repeated her original acceptance of the statement with quiet interest. Instead of turning though-- heading away from him in search of weapons-- she graced him with the light of her smile. His very being burned as her elemental goodness washed over him, granting a benediction no god could ever bestow. Descending a couple of steps, she paused before him and rested her palm against his cheek. His eyes drank her in, greedy and needy and heartbroken for the reality of her.

“Buffy?”

He was overcome with her and collapsed in her arms, soaking the front of her top with his savage grief as he grasped her with strong arms intent on never letting her go.

“Never say never, William,” she whispered against his cheek as she bestowed a small kiss to his lips. This one clung to his lips, much like the one after his Glory torture. But this time he knew it was her.

She stood and moved away from him, her hand hovering just apart from his chest before she shared a sad smile with him.

“Soon, Spike. Wait for me?”

He nodded dumbly.

“Of course, pet. I’ll wait for you forever, you know I will.”

But she was gone, and he searched frantically for any sign or scent of where she disappeared to. But again he was too late, and he had no clue yet again, cast adrift. But sweet, blessed darkness claimed him and he dreamed of nothing more.


 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dawn sat still and forgotten at the top of the staircase, ears primed for any information gathering that the Scoobies still felt she shouldn’t be involved in. She almost growled her frustration at the recounting of Spike’s recovery tonight-- the repetitive nature of his descent into nothingness.

She could understand their concern-- they didn’t want her to know how low he had sunk, how desperate they all felt for him. As their conversation turned round and round with no options or suggestions on how to save the errant vampire, she allowed her tears of helplessness and grief fall from her eyes.

Rubbing distractedly at the wetness of her face, she resigned herself to the knowledge that it was all up to her. She was the closest to him, the one that shared his pain almost equally. But also the one that craved his strength back because she felt she was on the edge of something hollow and disturbing herself. She needed someone who wouldn’t be quiet with her, who would share his space and not keep things from her over concern for her age or pain. She needed Spike back, and so far the Scoobies were failing at saving him.

It was up to her.

With determination adding strength to her heart-sore body, she took quietly to her feet and went to her room. What was needed was a plan.


 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Oh, Spike. Your gaunt, too tight skin does not make you look sexy. Can I help you?”

That perky, too familiar voice encouraged him in his sleep fuzzy confusion to open his eyes. His dream had receded too short a time ago and he thought for a blindingly happy moment that it was her, his love come back to taunt him with her callous rejections and disgust.

But that plastic, ‘too happy to see him’ smile tipped him off and he suddenly backed as far away from the bot as it was possible with his legs shackled to one end of the bed.

“No. Don’t need anything from you. Get the fuck out of here.” His voice was rising with hysteria, feeling penned and cornered by a pack of rabid dogs rather than an organic bot that only looked like the girl he would love forever. But with the devoted lustiness he had her programmed with she wanted to touch him, and the thought of having those non-real Buffy hands on his papering skin brought instant nausea to his throat.

“But Spike! I can make you feel all better. Willow said that I was here to help. I think she meant for me to kill vampires, but I’d rather be helping you. And it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you naked.” Her shining lips remained moist and sparkly, and her bouncy hair bounced as she bobbed her head enthusiastically in the wake of his mounting dread. He began to tremble violently, not only disliking where this was going but feeling terrified like he never had in all his existence as a vampire.

She stepped forward and started to unbutton her top, letting it fall from her shoulders as she kicked off her shoes.

“Let me ravish you, Spike. That will fix everything, and you’ll forget all about the other Buffy.”

The top was slipping down her slim arms, the revelation of her skin causing muted choking noises to squash past the huge lump of emotion in his throat. His eyes burned, his hands twitched, and the second before he pounced he started screaming and thrashing like a wild animal.

“Shut up, shut up,” he spat in between pulling on clumps of hair, of kicking violently at her face, clawing at her midriff.

“Fuck off… get out of my face, you bitch!”

The voluble frenzy and screeching brought a rush of feet up the stairs in witness of Spike’s loss of control. They were too late to reassert order, too late to save the bot from being thrashed and smashed and discarded as useless in a torn pile of synthetic skin and electronics. Only once she stopped gasping and moving did the vampire collapse to his knees, the sobs and vampiric growls uncontrollable.

One glance from Giles and Willow muttered the increasingly familiar words to fully calm the vampire and he was once again placed carefully on the wrinkled covers of the bed. As an added precaution, Willow retrieved the handcuffs and restrained him fully.

They all stood around him as he writhed-- his game face prominent even in his sleep-- none finding the ability to push past the shock of destruction that littered Buffy’s once tidy room. Guilt lay on the edge of all their thoughts, and it wasn’t until Giles cleared his throat of emotion that any of them felt they could force their feet to move.

The group moved almost silently toward the living room, alarm keeping them quiet at first, before Tara took courage and began to stutter what they had all been thinking.

“I-I g-g-guess we w-weren’t careful enough to keep the Buffy Bot away from S-Spike.”

Four sets of eyes met hers and shone with remorse.

“As sad as this occurrence has been,” Giles paused, polishing frantically at his glass lenses while he thought and tried desperately to beat down his rising apprehension, “the Buffy Bot was our only line of defense. Spike really is in no fit state to help with patrolling, so it has become beyond urgent that we find some solutions to these problems. I propose that we reconvene at the Magic Box in the morning and try to ferret out some solutions.”

A round of exhausted nods was his answer and finally the various Scoobies who weren’t already home filtered through the front door and made their way to their own homes. That part of the night to be alone-- left to remember and dwell on those that were missing-- had finally arrived. Sadness was a condition that they had all fell under, and with the self-absorption of each, there was no one left to bring back the levity needed to get through a comfortable night. A comfy bed and pillow held little actual comfort, and for some, the offer was refused before the chance of utterance.

Willow followed Tara upstairs, switching off lights in the downstairs as she went, and the tears she had kept at bay throughout the stress of the night were finally allowed to be released. Even her silent plans and hopes, causing spells and chants to circle and swirl around in her mind, were not enough to cordon off the swell of melancholy the absence of Buffy caused.

As she moved around the room, dressing and brushing her teeth for bed, Willow closed herself off to the other activity in the room. This was the time of night where she allowed herself to close down, allowed herself to blend with the pain that crushed the whole house, the Hellmouth. It was her time of night to grieve, to let go and be inspired by the depths shown by Spike.

Her head was braced against the pillow, her neck tense against the appearance of Tara by her side. Tears shone in her girlfriend’s eyes as Willow closed herself off emotionally for the day and succumbed to the reality of their Slayerless world. A world that no longer even had the security of the Bot or a Vampire do-gooder in control of his senses. Short moments of doom seemed to settle around the room, and Willow sucked in sharp breaths of air.

And then she closed her eyes and imagined spells that would make everything be good again.


 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As usual, Dawn had been forgotten. Only the curl of fear causing nausea in her stomach tempered her irritation. They hadn’t noticed, but her door had been open, she’d done the eavesdrop thing and she’d heard. She knew what he had done. The inhuman wails as he destroyed the bot had caused her to leap head first under her pillow for some possibility of blocking the sound. She thought he was dead, had found some other way to make the pain stop forever.

But no. It had been that stupid Bot.

Dawn had heard the graceful pile of junk ascend the stairs, and she felt just as guilty as Giles and the others. It hadn’t occurred to her either to make sure it stayed away from Spike.

What a mess! And now she was cleaning it up. They had all walked out, their stupidity in allowing the bot too close was compounded by the pieces of the dismantled heap of computer chips and rubbery flesh that they left to litter the room.

She’d located one of those extra strong black garbage bags under the kitchen sink, making sure to be quiet and not alarm Willow and Tara now sleeping in her mother’s old room, and made her way back to clean up every piece of the bot she could find. Nothing would be right if Spike woke to find bits of the bot everywhere he tried to tread.

Those moments he woke up-- before he remembered the night before and his new mission in unlife-- well, they belonged to Dawn, and she was hardly going to let those moments be stolen from her over crappy pieces of robot that wasn’t even real.

After finishing in the room, she quickly kissed Spike on the forehead and headed out to dispose of the garbage bag in the trash. With a short, worried look over her shoulder, she took her first step to the footpath that would lead her away from the house and probably into danger. But the sky was beginning to lighten, and she had a stake tucked into her waistband. No girl in Sunnydale should be without her trusty stake. Or even her trusty sisterly Slayer, if she could help it.

The footpath blurred, but Dawn struck on, determined to make her destination in one piece and retrieve the one thing that would fix everything. Well, maybe not everything.

Actually, not much.

Just one thing.

Just Spike.

He was the one thing she could help right now. All the other stuff, the safety of the Hellmouth, she’d leave the solving of that problem to the Scoobies. And hey! If she managed to do this thing right with Spike, she might actually have inadvertently solved the Scooby designated problem, too. He’d be able to help out again.

Buffy would be so proud.

The thought brought her to choked halt. A hand over her mouth stopped her loud sob from reaching extra-sensitive ears and she closed her eyes, squeezed out the remaining tears, and wiped her eyes clear. Her feet struck a steady beat on the path as she pushed herself on.

There. Just up ahead she could see the gate to her destination. Almost falling through in relief, Dawn followed the path through the little courtyard to the place that was Giles’s ‘flat’. With a key she had lifted from Buffy’s old key-ring, she pushed it through the lock as slowly and silently as possible. Pushing the door open, loud snorts and humphs greeted her with the knowledge that her stealth was more than unnecessary.

As she moved cautiously around the sofa to his bookshelves, the toe of her shoe dislodged a bottle of something. Bending, Dawn picked it up before the little remaining contents leaked out over the pristine carpet. The label gave her no real clue what it was, but the smell of alcohol put any confusion to rest. Another tendril of cold misery crept in to strangle her heart.

Almost taken over with a sudden need to leave, Dawn looked rapidly through the names of magic books, picked one and hightailed it back to the door. With one more look back at the man Buffy had considered their real father and his surrender to alcoholic bliss, she opened it and almost ran back home, hanging doggedly to her new possession.

This book would be what fixed everything.

If it all went according to plan. We are extremely eager for feedback, so please flood our comment box!!!

 

Chapter Two

A Massive thank you to Bloodshedbaby, Holly and Megan for sifting through my mistakes and making the chappie all shiney and purty for me!!

Italics - thoughts

Chapter 2

It was mid morning and the Scoobies were gathered together in the Magic Box to discuss the shredded Bot situation.

Giles flipped the sign over signalling that the shop was closed; blatantly ignoring the glare that Anya gave him. "It's only for an hour or so," he muttered defensively as he rejoined the others at the research table.

"We have to address the problem of Spike destroying the Bot. Until now we have managed to cover Buffy's d...Buffy not being here with that infernal machine. But now that it's a pile of scrap metal, the demons are going to know that the Hellmouth lacks a Slayer’s protection." Giles sighed wearily. "We need to find a solution- and rather urgently - otherwise it will be chaos out there." He gestured with his glasses to the shop front, then laid them down in front of him in a distracted manner.

"Spike really needs to learn some control," Anya huffed. "I mean, really. What are we going to do now? We need a Slayer! Xander is not built for being pounded every night...well except...Mmphh!" Anya glared over the top of Xander's hand that was now pressed firmly against her mouth and rolled her eyes at him, before finally nodding in acquiescence and sat back quietly.

"Yes, we do need a slayer, Anya." Giles chose to ignore the rest of her comments. "However, we are at an impasse here."

"What about Faith?" Tara hesitantly offered. Her contact with the dark Slayer had been limited to the one occasion that she had swapped bodies with Buffy. She had heard from Willow that Faith had voluntarily turned herself into the LAPD and was serving her sentence, which sounded hopeful. The gentle Wiccan followed the White way and felt that all who tried to redeem themselves were allowed a second chance. "Could the council possibly..."

"No way!" Xander exclaimed as his hand shot to his throat. Shuddering in fear, he could feel her long fingers digging into his windpipe as she straddled him. If it hadn't been for Angel's timely intervention with a baseball bat then, he could have easily been another victim of Faith's.

Willow frowned, trying to suppress the feelings of inadequacy that were evoked at the sound of Faith's name. She knew it was a hangover of her timid teenage years in high school. She had always felt threatened by the dark haired slayer because of her closeness with Buffy and their shared slayer heritage. Something she could never fully understand or be able to share with her best friend. In the deepest, darkest recesses of her soul, Willow had rejoiced at Faith's fall from grace. But now it was time to be mature about things, they needed help and fast.

She looked over at Giles. "Could the Council spring her?"

"I imagine they could, but what assurances would we have that Faith would help and not turn to evil?" Giles slipped his glasses back on and gazed worriedly at Willow. He had always felt he had failed Faith and the idea of her coming back to Sunnydale was not something he relished, but the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few.

"Another Slayer? Hmm…Oh! I know! I know!" Anya held her hand up and bounced in her seat excitedly, her enthusiasm immediately pushing any further thoughts of Faith out of the other's minds.

She turned to Xander and whapped him across the back of the head "and stop thinking about sex with other women, Alexander Harris! Especially ones that try to kill you after sleeping with you …” Anya had managed to get the full story of Xander’s de-virginizing at the hands—well, body-- of Faith from Buffy and Willow one night in the Bronze. She had been curious about Xander’s sexual experiences before her, and it read like a Hammer House of Horrors guest list. Willow had made a flip remark about Xander and Faith and of course Anya had been hooked. She had grilled Buffy until she spilled, and Willow had sat there pouting, realising that her attempt to throw a spanner in the works had failed.

"Hey! No hitting of the Xan-man! and Ahn, soooo not thinking of sexage with the homicidal Slayer, trust me!"

"Good. Now shush, I have a brilliant idea!" Anya's eyes glittered with delight.

"Oh, out with it, Anya, please!" Giles grumbled.

"We need a Slayer, right? Well, think outside the box, guys!" Anya exclaimed excitedly.

"What box, hon?" Xander frowned in confusion. Tara smiled fondly at Xander, her face lighting up with a genuine warmth that calmed whoever witnessed it.

Anya rose and began to pace. "Willow, you recall when we first met, right? You tried to help me get my necklace back?" Anya looked over expectantly at Willow.

"What has this got to do with anything, Anya?" Giles asked irritably.

"Honest to goodness, you people have no memories! Willow, do you remember your vampiric version?" Anya folded her arms and tapped one foot impatiently waiting for Willow to catch on to her idea.

The redhead's forehead was creased as she remembered all the events of those days and then she sat up with a start. She gripped Tara's arm hard in her excitement. "Do you still have the spell?" she yelped.

"What are you talking about?" Giles asked as he ran his fingers through his thinning hair.

"It could work, couldn't it?" Anya asked excitedly.

Willow nodded.

"I still have the spell. It's in the safe, in the office.”

"We'd need something personal of hers," Willow thought out loud.

"Honey, what are you two talking about?" Tara asked gently.

"What? Oh...Well, my vampire self," Willow explained as she mentally ran over what she could remember of the spell.

It had been her first contact with one of the darker aspects of magic - not as dark as the other ritual she was researching. Willow's eyes filled with guilt at the thought of what she had begun to research. It was bordering on the darkest magicks she had ever used. Which was why she had never said anything to anyone, particularly Giles or Tara. Not until it was all ready to go, and since she had no idea how long it would take, Anya's idea would be an excellent stopgap until she was ready.

"What about your vampire self?" Xander interrupted her thoughts, drawing Willow back to the conversation.

"We can bring that Buffy through, Xander. She can be the one to protect the Hellmouth!" Anya explained.

"There's another Buffy?" Xander's faced filled with the conflicting emotions of hope and sorrow.

"Of course! There are probably several in different dimensions, silly!" Anya rolled her eyes impatiently at her secret fiancée.

"Mr Giles, what do you think?" Tara looked over at the silent Watcher.

"I think that it is an appalling idea. What about the people in that dimension? They need a Slayer.” Before he could continue Anya interrupted him with a wave of her hand.

“Pish to that, Rupert. Just before you smashed my necklace - which, by the way, I am still mad about-- the Master snapped her neck. We can just pull her out a few seconds before she dies.” Anya nodded decisively. As far as she was concerned, they needed Buffy and this was as good an idea as any they were likely to come up with. She silently thanked the gods that despite her amulet being destroyed Hallie still considered her a friend and dropped in for a chatter every now and then. It had been her fellow Vengeance demon who had filled her in on all the events that lead up to the sorry reason for her becoming mortal. As Hallie had begun telling the tale, slowly the lost memories had returned and Anya remembered everything. It was invaluable information, which would probably save their lives now.

“She died?” Tara interjected sadly. “Like ours?”

“Hallie mentioned it in passing. Yes, the other Buffy died,” Anya answered softly, realising that her mentioning the passing of the other Buffy had reminded the other Scoobies of their loss. She knew that hearing about another Buffy dying was not good, but she was a practical girl. They needed a Slayer – and if it meant yanking one out of another dimension, then so be it. In a way, they’d be saving her as well.

“Hey, if this is such a powerful spell, why don’t we just bring our Buffster back?” Xander looked over at Willow and Giles hopefully.

There was a moment of silence while they all considered the possibility.

Eventually Willow sighed and broke the silence. “It’s a good idea, Xander. But from what I remember the spell is worded in a way where only something from another dimension can be brought over…”

Giles nodded in agreement. “Yes, I imagine it to be so. I will need to review the spell, Anya.”

“Sure, I’ll get it now.” Anya disappeared into the office and almost immediately reappeared, a crumpled sheet of paper clutched in her hand. Handing it over to Giles, she glanced over at the closed door.

“Can we open the shop up now?” she smiled brightly.

“Thank you,” he muttered as he read through the incantation. Willow and Tara came over and read it over his shoulder.

“In a moment, Anya. We need to discuss the Spike situation.” Giles rubbed his forehead tiredly and handed the sheet of paper over to the two wiccans for them to study.

Memories of standing over the grieving Master vampire with a stake in his hands still chilled him. “Something needs to be done to break him from this destructive cycle he’s in.”

“I know, Giles. Buffy wouldn’t like it if we lost Spike.” Anya glanced over at the door to the shop and checked there were no hordes waiting to give her their money. “If he does succeed in dusting himself, I would miss him. We need to do something – anything.”

Willow took Tara's hand and began to speak.

"Yes, we do need to do something about Spike. It's getting worse - we can't keep guard over him 24-7. I...I...think he will eventually succeed in dusting himself...and well, we can’t let that happen. I don’t think Dawnie would survive another loss.” She took a deep breath and stared evenly at Xander. “I don’t think any of us could cope with losing another one of us.” She waited for Xander rant number one on the evils of Spike and how he wasn’t a member of the gang.

But she was surprised – pleasantly surprised- when. Xander nodded and gave her a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, Wills, he is one of us – okay, the evil black sheep of the family, but he is ours and Dawnie would never forgive us if we let the Big not-so Bad Vamp go poof!”

“Thanks, Xan – that’s really good of you.” Willow’s eyes filled with tears. They had all grown up in the last six miserable days since Buffy had leapt from the tower. Even the most narrow minded of them had accepted that Spike loved Buffy and Dawn. “I never thought you would accept him or that he could…” she choked and began to cry.

Tara ran her hand over Willow’s hair soothing her. “That he could love Buffy and Dawnie,” she finished for her distraught lover as she frowned at the wording of Anya’s spell.

“Man, I always said vamps couldn’t feel love, but after seeing Spike these last few days I…I…just don’t know anymore…” Xander looked down at his hands, feeling off for sympathising with a vampire – but Spike’s real grief had jolted him out of his knee jerk reaction that all demons equalled evil and unfeeling creatures. He recalled his words from the previous night and shook his head. Spike was dying because of Buffy, but instead of going out in battle with her, he was wasting away from a broken heart. A much harsher and more destructive way to die. Which, they had to somehow stop

“Aurelian Vampires are notorious for their ability to love,” Anya supplied. She shrank back at the looks directed at her. “What? Everyone knows this! Well - everyone in the demon community – it’s almost like they retain some essence of their humanity. Darla was obsessed with Angelus – she even left The Master’s court and followed Angelus after a century of following her Sire! Their relationship lasted for over a century and a half – well, until he sunk his fangs into the wrong gypsy girl, that is. And even then the level of her hatred showed the world her love for her Childe.”

She paused for a moment tapping her finger to her lip, “though I have to say, Angelus was an odd duck – he was more in love with torture and the suffering of his victims.” Her face brightened, “but look at Spike and Dru – he adored her and well, she adored her daddy…”

“And broke Spike’s heart and as a result, my head,” Xander interrupted.

“Hey, bottle in the face gal here!” Willow interjected.

“Indeed,” Giles added. “However, this still doesn’t address the issue of Spike slowly destroying himself – we need to find a solution fast. Willow can’t keep knocking him out with a spell…”

“Is there any way we could appeal to Angel?” Willow asked hopefully. “I mean, he’s Spike’s grandsire and might know what we could do?”

Xander shook his head. “Naa, Wills. Angel hates him even more than I used to.”

The remaining Scoobies sighed in unison as they pondered what to do with the grieving Master Vampire currently chained to the bed of his lost love and the one Slayer he had never managed to best.

*********

Later that day…

Willow slipped quietly into Buffy’s room. The redheaded witch had left the others at the Magic Box and had come back to retrieve something personal of Buffy’s for her to use in the spell to call the other incarnation of her lost friend over to their dimension. They had managed to re-word the incantation to allow for them to pull the other Buffy through before she died at the hands of the Master.

Willow had volunteered to head over to Revello Drive and then meet the others at Spike’s abandoned lair in the burnt out factory. They had chosen to do the summoning spell there. It was out of the way and in the last place that the other Buffy had been before she had died, and they all felt a familiar environment was necessary.

She paused at the side of the bed and watched Spike as he slept. His drawn face was pulled into a mask of misery; the dark shadows under his lashes were a stark contrast to his pallor. Willow could see a faint network of blue veins under his skin, something she had noticed last night when they had dragged him up the stairs, ‘he’s really starving himself…’

His cheekbones were razor sharp under the parchment thin skin, throwing his sunken cheeks into sharp relief. She spared a quick glance to his wrists, which still bore the marks of his fangs where he had tried to free himself. They weren’t healing- another sign that he was starved.

“Oh, Spike. What are you doing to yourself? You know Buffy would hate you for doing this.” Willow sank down onto the mattress and rested her hand on Spike’s head, stroking his dishevelled curls and marvelled at the love that the peroxide vampire had for her fallen friend.

The anguish that was pouring off him was almost palpable to the Wiccan. Willow reached down and gently wiped the tears that ran constantly down the recumbent vampire’s face. Soothing him with her gentle touch, Spike turned his face into her hand and sighed. For a brief moment the tears stopped, until Willow pulled away and they restarted as Spike whimpered at the loss of her touch.

“Don’t worry, Spike. We’ll fix it. I’ll get her back, I swear…just don’t tell, okay?”

Willow bit her lips anxiously, this was the closest she had come to sharing her idea of resurrecting Buffy, and she wasn't even sure how conscious the vampire was to hear her almost admission. Not even Tara knew what she was planning. The grieving Wiccan figured Anya’s idea would be a sufficient distraction for the other’s until she had the ritual ready to go – then she would tell them all. Well, not Giles, but she knew that she could get the others to help her.

Spike’s mind recoiled from Willow’s promise – he knew she was only trying to cheer him up by offering such an insincere promise, his Slayer was worm food – gone, never to been seen again. He mentally railed at her for offering false platitudes, but part of him shuddered at what she may be considering. ‘Leave her be, let her rest in peace. Red, luv, whatever you’re thinking, don’t… please, for the love of all that’s holy, please let her just be making nice for the sad git chained to the bed.’

“Just better be safe – can’t have you saying anything to the others.” Willow crumbled some Lethe’s Bramble over Spike’s supine form and whispered a chant of forgetfulness.

Nodding to herself, she turned and grabbed Buffy’s hairbrush and carefully extracted some fine long blonde hairs, tucking them into a baggie that she had extracted from her purse.

“Sleep, Spike.” Willow brushed her lips over Spike’s cool forehead and left the room quietly.

Spike’s hands clenched around the handcuffs, which bound him to the metal headboard and then relaxed as Willow’s magical suggestion of sleep washed over him, letting him descend into the blissful oblivion of slumber once more.

*******

Dawn peeked out of her bedroom door and watched as Willow ran down the stairs and out the front door. She had been frantically reading through the spell book she had stolen from Giles and had finally found a spell to save Spike. She just needed to talk to Spike once more before she cast the spell, as she knew once it was done, she and Spike would never be able to grieve together again.

Determination filled her and she looked down at the book that she grasped in her sweating hands. Even though it meant losing their talks and the comfort she got from them – she knew it was the only way to save Spike. She had lost her mom and Buffy and there was no way she was gonna lose Spike, too. The youngest surviving Summers knew deep in her heart that Spike would eventually kill himself, and then she would really be alone.

Putting the precious tome down on her dresser, Dawn crossed the hall and into Buffy’s room. She liked to come in here – it was all she had left of her sister. Kicking off her shoes, Dawn lay on the bed and wrapped her thin arms around Spike and dozed off.

Spike shifted as the scent of Buffy got stronger in his nostrils, fighting against the magic that kept pulling him into sleep He forced his eyes open and a sad smile softened the harsh lines of his face when he saw his Nibblet curled next to him with her face tucked against his shoulder.

“Lil’bit, wot you doing?” he whispered. His voice was hoarse from drink and his screaming at the bot as he shredded her organic form.

Dawn yawned and stretched. She sat up and loosened the chains and cuffs that held her protector immobile. “Sorry, just was a bit tired after last night…are you okay?”

Spike stood slowly, still feeling the effects of the spell trying to pull him under. He shook it off, determined to not let this time with Dawn go to waste. He stretched and cracked his neck, feeling the heavy cloud surrounding his brain beginning to lift. He eyed his only friend and raised his scarred brow. “Okay?” he snorted and stormed out of the room. He could still hear dream Buffy’s words echoing through his head, stuck on repeat. He was nowhere near okay.

Dawn chased after him.

“Spike, wait! I’m sorry, it’s just I was worried you were gonna, you know…” she skidded to a halt at the kitchen door and watched as Spike lit a cigarette and puffed on it furiously. Behind him the microwave hummed as it heated a mug of blood.

“Don’t Nibs – leave me be, alright?” Spike puffed on his cigarette and stared blindly out the backdoor, watching the sunset.

Dawn wrapped her arms around her waist and sniffed her tears away. Determined that their last talk before the spell wouldn’t be an argument. “You want some Weetabix – Giles left some for you…” She shuffled over to a cabinet and pulled out the yellow box and handed it to her vampiric big brother.

Spike stared at the box in surprise – he was amazed at how quickly he had gone from being a reviled outsider to being one of the Scoobies. Giles’s gesture of providing Weetabix without moaning was just a small example of the change in his status – that and how they dragged his sorry arse back every night to safety.

“Ta, luv.” He reached into the microwave and pulled out the mug, crumbled a Weetabix into it and settled himself back to drink, ignoring Dawn’s eww face. He stared into the mug, the crimson blood liberally coated in crumpled breakfast cereal, which had given him a momentary sliver of pleasure. Now his stomach rebelled – he couldn’t do it – not even for Dawn. He slammed the mug down on the counter and thrust it away with a jerky movement. The blood spilled over the edges and dripped onto the counter. Marring the clean white tiles.

“Gross, Spike!” Dawn sank down onto one of the stools next to Spike and rested her head against his shoulder, drawing comfort from the ease at which they interacted.

“Not as gross as some of the crap you cook up and force feed me!” Spike retorted, a faint smile pulling at his cracked and chewed lips. Spike leant his head on the crown of hers and fumbled under the counter for a bottle he had stashed there the other day. His questing fingers found the narrow neck of the bottle and he pulled it out with a flourish, ignoring the grumbles that emanated from Dawn. He took a long pull on his preferred form of emotional analgesic.

“Hey, Buffy likes…liked my peanut butter banana pancakes.” Dawn winced at the closed off expression on Spike’s face at the mention of her sister. “Sorry, Spike. I didn’t mean too…I miss her too.” Dawn watched sadly as Spike drained almost the entire bottle of Whiskey.

Spike turned and wrapped an arm around Dawn and rested his chin on the crown of her head. “Me too, Nib…me too…” His body began to shake as he cried, and Dawn turned her face into his chest and cried with him. The two of them united in their grief for one last time.

Dawn eventually pulled away – it was time. “Spike, could you make me some dinner?” she asked hopefully. Knowing that she could slip upstairs while the vampire cooked and cast the spell.

“Turned into a soddin’ nanny, haven’t I?” Spike tried to smile as he wearily stood and headed over to the fridge. But he failed- instead, tears glided over his sharp cheekbones

“Thanks, Spike. I’m just going to go wash my face, be right back.” With that Dawn ran from the kitchen, leaving Spike to pull out the makings of a cheese omelette.

********

“Okay, Buffy. I know that you don’t like me messing with magic, but Spike really needs my help, so don’t be mad, okay?” Dawn looked up at the ceiling as she opened the small spell book at the page she had marked earlier.

She took a deep breath and began to chant. Dawn was relying on her residual keyness to help her with the casting – she was a mystical construct so Dawn was hoping that she would be able to make the spell work.

Let the object of heartbreak be forgotten

Aphrodite Goddess of love I call on you to remove the heartbreak of the one called William the Bloody.

Allow him to forget his love for my sister Buffy and no other.

Let his grief be healed and his yearning for his lost love the fallen Slayer be gone

So mote it be…

Dawn took a deep breath and hid the book under her bed. She was shaking at the powerful surge of magicks that had passed through her. The teen had not been expecting the power that had erupted from her as she chanted – but she figured that it must have worked.

*******
Spike straightened and glanced around suspiciously. Something had just happened, he could feel it in his bones – but he wasn’t sure what it was.

“Oi, shortbread. Get down here, your nosh is ready,” he yelled.

Spike deftly served the fluffy omelette onto a plate and put it on the breakfast bar next to the glass of orange juice he had poured earlier.

“Jeez, I’m right here, Spike.” Dawn appeared in the kitchen and eyed the vampire closely. She could see the difference already. The fine lines that had been etched around his eyes and mouth had eased and Spike’s blue eyes were clear of the grief that had been a constant presence since Buffy had jumped from the tower.

“Right, grubs up.” Spike glanced out of the window and watched the sun set.

“Thanks, Spike.” Dawn tucked in hungrily as she watched Spike out of the corner of her eye. Spike rubbed his stomach absently; watching his girl eating her nosh was making him hungry. He hadn’t felt this starved since the early days of his chip, when he had first turned to the Scoobies for help. His demon began to surge and rail against the hunger.

His eyes flashed gold and his fangs itched to extend. With a growl, Spike threw open the fridge and yanked out a gallon carton of blood and drained it in seconds. Reaching for another he finished it off just as swiftly, gorging himself on the chilled blood.

Dawn watched Spike’s antics as she ate, secretly relieved that finally Spike was eating – she figured that he would need a hell of lot more blood to make up for all he had missed out on over the last few days. She made a mental note to visit the butcher’s and stock up for him.

Spike sat down and reached for the mug he had left on the counter, his pink tongue lapped around the edges cleaning up the sides and then with a satisfied groan he drained the lukewarm contents and chewed the soggy Wheatabix, unaware that he was making yummy vampy growls. Much to Dawn’s amusement, they settled into a comfortable silence, Dawn eating and Spike rubbing his for once full stomach.

Spike watched Dawn eat for a few minutes. “Look luv, you alright to stay here until the lover wiccans get back? – I need to head out and stake a few of me old mates.” Now that his hunger was sated, Spike wanted to go and release some energy fighting.

“Uh, sure – Willow and Tara should be back in a few minutes.” Dawn smiled tentatively as she heard Spike humming under his breath. ‘It worked, he’s feeling better…'

Dawn sighed as she watched Spike stalk out into the night. Feeling even more alone than ever now that Spike wasn’t mourning Buffy with her anymore, but at least she was comforted by the knowledge that he wouldn’t dust himself.