All the characters are Joss Whedon's, not mine.

Thanks again everyone for all the encouragement. Really makes my day!


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Chapter 9
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Someone was trying to hurt Dawn. She was struggling to get up to her but hands were grabbing her and pulling her back as she fought and kicked. The angel fell past her, a look of grief and regret on his face as he disappeared from sight. She tugged and snarled, trying to free herself but the hands held fast and a river of blood started flowing down the stairs, threatening to engulf her completely as she screamed her sister’s name…
 
“Wake up, Buffy. You’re dreaming again. Buffy!” Spike’s voice cut through the mental chaos and her eyes snapped open, wide with terror once more. When she saw her angel’s concerned face looking down at her she clung to him, her breathing still wild and her heart still pounding. “There, there, love,” Spike crooned. “Just a dream. ‘S alright. Just a dream.”
 
The sun was starting to peek over the horizon outside. Disentangling himself gently from the grasping arms of the Slayer he went over to the window and pulled down the shades. Don’t think dusting in her bed will help matters much, he reasoned. Buffy looked at him, perplexed, but made no sound, contenting herself with clutching at him again when he returned to the bed. He lay back and let her rest on his chest, stroking her hair and murmuring soothing nothings to her until she quieted. His demon was howling inside him to feed, his dinner having been forgotten in the shuffle. Down boy, he thought. Nothing for you here. To Buffy he said, “Why don’t we get up and find some breakfast, yeah?” Buffy looked at him uncomprehending, so he got up and took her hand, coaxing her to follow. She stopped as they passed the bathroom, and Spike understood. “I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen,” he said, pointing the way. “Understand?” Buffy nodded, so he left her to attend to her needs while he went down to the kitchen.
 
He rummaged in the fridge and was rewarded with a small leftover container of blood in the back, a relic from one of his nights of babysitting. He chugged it quickly, curling his lip at the foul taste, but he didn’t want to have to explain his eating habits to Buffy just yet. He supposed there was something dishonest about hiding his nature from her, but he found it hard to get very upset about it. Once she’s back with us they’ll be time enough for a discussion of the nature of vampires. Nothing good can come of vamping out on her in her current state. He heard her coming down the stairs and stuffed the empty container hurriedly into the trash can.
 
Buffy came down the stairs slowly, hugging her arms to herself. She had a hard time believing that this place was safe. So far it had been a place of spells and nightmares and voices shouting. But the angel had found her and the girl, Dawn, had been kind to her and the others were gone, so she tried her best to stay calm. She heard noises coming from the first floor and followed them to find her angel fussing around with a black and silver machine. A lovely fragrance came from it, and she closed her eyes and just sniffed, trying to find the word for that scent.
 
Spike turned and smiled when he saw her. “Coffee, love?” Buffy opened her eyes and sat down, accepting a cup of the fragrant liquid. She sipped it, startled herself by burning her lips, but then smiled back at the taste. “Remember that, do you?” Spike asked with amusement. “Not sure what you’ve got around here for breakfast,” he continued, rummaging through the cabinets. He opened the freezer and found a box of frozen waffles. Thank God, it has directions. Would never have survived as a human male having to cook for myself in the days before directions. He popped two of the waffles into the toaster and rummaged around until he came up with butter and syrup. Buffy watched him curiously as he bustled about, until at last he put the plate in front of her. “Bon appétit, Slayer,” he said. She sniffed experimentally and tasted one corner delicately before deciding it was good and digging in. Spike got himself a cup of coffee and sat down to watch her eat.
 
“Hey guys.” Buffy jumped, nearly spilling her coffee as Dawn came in.
 
“It’s just Dawn, love. You’re safe,” Spike said, putting a reassuring hand on her arm. “Morning, Nibblet.”
 
“Morning. Can you throw two of those waffles in for me? Please?” Dawn asked as she poured herself a glass of juice and sat down.
 
“Alright, but don’t be getting any ideas,” Spike growled good naturedly. “Not your bloody maid.”
 
“Don’t worry, I got it,” Dawn said. “How… how was she last night?” Buffy kept eating, looking at Spike and Dawn from time to time, but otherwise unaware that she was the topic of conversation.
 
“Had a nightmare early this morning,” Spike said. “Poor girl just can’t get a decent bit of kip.”
 
Dawn bit her lip as she looked with pity on her sister. “Do you think… will she get better?”
 
“Dunno, Bit. She does seem to be more aware every day, but she’s still pretty lost most of the time.”
 
Buffy looked hard at both of them, trying to follow what was being said. She finally gave up and held her cup out to Spike. “More?” she asked softly.
 
“Coming right up,” Spike said, pouring another cup of coffee. Buffy had just taken it back when the doorbell rang. With a shriek she jumped at the sound, then shrieked again as the hot coffee landed on her lap, scalding her. She scrambled away and ended up knocking over her chair with a clatter. The noise and the pain sent her into a panic and she cowered on the floor, against the wall, shielding herself with her arms. Shit, Spike thought. “Dawn, go find out who that is,” he said, and Dawn scampered off. Spike grabbed a dishtowel and knelt beside her. “Shh. It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you love.” He started drying the coffee off her shaking form, murmuring in his low, gentle voice the whole time. After a minute or two she calmed down enough to cling to Spike, clutching him so tightly that he was glad he didn’t need to breathe. He sat down and pulled her into his lap, cradling her close as she rode out the fear.
 
Dawn had opened the door to find Giles standing on the doorstep with a suitcase and an anxious expression. “Giles!” Dawn cried, flinging her arms around him. “Thanks so much for coming.”
 
“What is going on?” he asked. He had heard the noises and the screaming as he rang the doorbell, and it had filled him with dread. “What happened?”
 
“She freaked out when the doorbell rang,” Dawn explained. She stepped back so Giles could enter, leading him into the living room. “She… she’s really jumpy. Everything scares her.”
 
“Where are the others?” Giles asked. The house seemed unusually quiet, except for the gradually receding wails from the kitchen accompanied by a low voice that he couldn’t quite make out.
 
“Some other stuff happened after we talked,” Dawn began. “It’s kind of a long story, but we decided that the others needed to leave so that Buffy could calm down.”
 
“We?” Giles inquired.
 
“Me and Spike,” Dawn replied.
 
“Spike?” Giles said, clearly surprised. Unable to contain his curiosity any longer he strode off to the kitchen.
 
Alarmed, Dawn tried to warn him. “Giles, please, just don’t scare her…” She ran into his back as he stopped dead inside the kitchen door.
 
“My God,” he breathed as he took in the scene in front of him. An overturned chair, a broken coffee cup, and a puddle of coffee drew his eye along the floor to the wall. There sat Spike, back to the wall, with Buffy curled up on his lap. She was wrapped in her coffee stained bathrobe, her skin as pale as the vampire’s. Her arms were wrapped around Spike’s chest, desperately holding on with all her might as she shook and wept. Spike’s head rested on her blonde hair as his muscular arms cradled her protectively. Spike looked up at Giles when he heard him enter, and the sorrow and pity in those blue eyes was heartbreaking. “Buffy?” Giles said softly.
 
Buffy jerked, looked at him with wide eyes and whimpered. “Shh, Buffy,” Spike said. “That’s Giles. Your Watcher, remember?” It was clear from her continued shuddering that she didn’t. “He won’t hurt you, love. He came to help.”
 
“Help?” Buffy asked in a shaky voice, looking up at Spike imploringly. “N..not hurt?”
 
“No, he’d never hurt you love,” Spike replied. He wasn’t exactly sure if that was a lie or not. The Watcher had put her into some pretty precarious situations in the past. Nature of the job I guess.
 
Giles watched the exchange with dread. He had seen Buffy at her best and worst, had even seen her lapse into catatonia when Glory had taken Dawn. But this quivering, childlike creature bore no resemblance whatsoever to the Buffy in his memory, the one who had taken on a hellgod and triumphed, the one who had unhesitatingly thrown herself into oblivion to save the world. “How… how long has she been like this?” he asked.
 
“She came to my crypt a few days ago,” Spike said. “This is actually an improvement from where she was when she first came back. Wasn’t talking then.” He gently set her to the side and stood up, helping her up in turn. She clung to his side, still wary of Giles. “Buffy, you should go get dressed, love,” he said, taking hold of her shoulders and turning her gently to look in her eyes. “Do you understand?”
 
Dawn stepped up. “Come with me, Buffy. I’ll help you find something.”
 
Buffy looked at Giles, then back at Spike who smiled and nodded. “You go with Dawn. She’ll help you. You’re safe, remember?”
 
“Safe,” Buffy said, sounding a little doubtful. But she consented to taking Dawn’s hand and following her upstairs.
 
Letting out a deep, unnecessary breath, Spike picked up the fallen chair and sat down. “Hello, Rupert. Welcome back. Help yourself to some coffee.”
 
Still stunned, Giles sat down at the table, shaking his head. “What the devil could have happened to her to… to break her like that?”
 
“It’s worse than you know, Rupert,” Spike said. “She was in heaven.”
 
Giles’ jaw dropped as he tried to wrap his brain around what he had just heard. “Come again?”
 
“She was in heaven. She keeps calling it the ‘warm place’. She was at rest, with her mum. And Willow’s spell pulled her out of it, so she could wake up in her own coffin.” Spike’s voice hardened with anger. “She thinks she’s in hell, for fuck’s sake. She doesn’t really know who she is, doesn’t remember anything or anyone. She thinks that Willow is trying to punish her for something and she doesn’t know what it is.”
 
“Oh my God,” Giles said, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “That’s… “ He had no words to describe the grief and guilt that filled him. He had been so secretly pleased to have her back, despite his misgivings about Willow’s magic. But now the cost of that return seemed far too high, and Buffy was paying the price.
 
“For some reason she decided I was an angel, sent to bring her back,” Spike continued. “Don’t know where she got that notion. But the Scoobies had Willow knock her out and bring her back here, and it just made things worse. She won’t let Willow within five feet of her. Then they brought Angel down from LA, thought that was who she wanted. She must’ve remembered Angelus, or God knows what, because she attacked him.”
 
Giles was shaking his head constantly as he listened to Spike’s tale. “Willow knocked her out you say?” he asked, numb with horror.
 
“Yeah. She’s been using magic left, right, and center since you left. No thought at all to the consequences. At one point she had Buffy knocked out and Buffy had a nightmare. Lord knows how long the poor girl was suffering through a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from.”
 
“Good lord,” Giles said. He began automatically polishing his glasses, completely unable to think of what to say.
 
“She’s slowly getting a little better,” Spike said. “At least when the others aren’t fucking with her. When I first found her she was totally nonverbal, terrified out of her wits. Took about twenty four hours to get a word out of her. Sometimes she almost seems on the edge of remembering something, but then she just… goes blank again. She trusts me. She’s starting to trust Dawn. But she’s still convinced the rest are trying to punish her or hurt her or something. Every time Willow casts a spell her way or someone starts yelling she goes back into her shell. You saw her just now – that was her reacting to the doorbell and an unfamiliar voice.”
 
“All that, from the doorbell?” Giles asked incredulously.
 
“Yeah,” Spike said softly. He stared at his coffee cup, addressing his next remarks to it in a quieter voice. “She’s lost, Rupert. She’s mad, and I don’t know how to reach her.”
 
The sadness and deep concern in the vampire’s voice startled Giles. “Do you have a plan?”
 
Spike took a deep breath and blew it out again. “We should probably check to see if this… madness is a side effect of whatever Willow did to bring her back. If it’s not that, it may just take time. It’s like she has that… that condition that soldiers get.”
 
“Post traumatic stress?” Giles supplied.
 
“Yeah, that,” Spike replied. “That sort of thing doesn’t disappear overnight, and I’m not sure the others get that.”
 
Giles cocked his head and stared at Spike. “You’re worried about them.” It was a statement, not a question.
 
“Red wants to ‘fix’ her. Nibblet says that Red was talking about doing a memory spell, make her forget about hell. Don’t know if she’s changed her tune now that we know she was in heaven, but she seems to think magic can cure anything.” Spike took a sip of coffee, shaking his head.
 
“I can’t believe Willow would do something like that,” Giles protested.
 
“She’s a loose cannon, Rupert,” Spike said, fixing him with a steely gaze. “You let her get in our minds this summer, and solve all sorts of problems with magic, but you didn’t force her to consider the consequences. Now she’s on a power trip, and she thinks magically tinkering with Buffy’s mind is just the natural thing to do. Snap her fingers and poof, Buffy will be back to the way she was.”
 
Giles sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, Spike was right – Willow had been allowed to run free with no discipline, and it was probably his fault. It had been so much easier in the wake of his overwhelming grief for Buffy to just step aside and let her make things simpler with magic. “I shall have to have a talk with her. I’ll need to go over this spell she did in detail to see if there is anything that could have caused this reaction.”
 
“For what it’s worth, Angel’s got one of his folks looking into it as well, not that the great poof would share any of that info with yours truly,” Spike grumbled.
 
“He went back to LA then?” Giles asked.
 
“No. He’s still hanging around, all offended because the Slayer’s clinging to me and not him.”
 
“And why exactly is that?” Giles asked pointedly.
 
“Fuck if I know,” Spike said with irritation. “Like I told the others, I found her. Cleaned her up. Bandaged her hands where they were all ripped to shreds from clawing her way out of her grave.” Giles winced at the thought. “She apparently assumed that because I was caring for her that I was some sort of angel. No idea how her mind is working. But for good or ill, she needs me, and I won’t leave her until I dust or she comes to and throws me out on my arse. Understand?” His voice hadn’t gotten much louder, but the determination was unmistakable. Giles had no doubt that this creature would fight him and anyone else to the death before he would abandon Buffy.
 
“I can see from the way she was acting earlier that taking you away from her would not be in her best interest,” Giles said finally. “Let’s agree that we’re both trying to help her, alright?” He held out his hand, and after a moment, Spike shook it firmly. “That’s settled then.”
 
At that moment Dawn came back into the kitchen, leading Buffy, now dressed in jeans and a simple white t-shirt. Buffy hesitated when she saw Giles, and gave him a wide berth to come over to stand next to Spike, clutching nervously at his arm. “She didn’t really say anything upstairs,” Dawn said. “I tried to explain who Giles was, but she didn’t seem to get it.”
 
“Don’t worry about it, Bit,” Spike reassured her. He turned to Buffy and took her hand. “Buffy, this is Rupert Giles. Taught you a lot of stuff in the past. He’s going to see if he can help.”
 
“Take… take me back?” Buffy asked hopefully.
 
“Back?” Giles asked, confused.
 
“T..t..to h..heaven,” Buffy said. “Please.”
 
Giles’ eyes threatened tears as that pleading note in her voice dug at his heart. “We’ll try to… make it better for you, Buffy,” he answered lamely. Does she understand that she has to die to go back there? Is she asking for death? Dear God, Buffy, where did you go?
 
Buffy still wasn’t sure about this newcomer, but something in his face pricked at her memory. He sent me out to fight… monsters? Demons? He always sent me out. She suddenly had a clear memory of a house, and… her mother. Her mother had been in danger, and somehow this man had been involved. She frowned and stayed at Spike’s side, trying with all her might to remember, but getting nowhere.
 
Dawn spoke up. “I told Tara I’d call her when you got here. Should I do that?”
 
“Yes, I believe it is time for a discussion with Willow and the others,” Giles said.
 
“Don’t know if it’s such a good idea having them over here,” Spike said. “She’s not Willow’s biggest fan at present.”
 
“Arrange a meeting at the Magic Box later,” Giles suggested. “I’ll need some of the resources there anyway. And do we know where Angel’s staying?”
 
“I think the others probably know,” Dawn said.
 
“I’d like to call him and find out if his associate found out any additional information on this spell.” Giles explained.
 
Spike bristled at the thought of having to deal with his grandsire, but held his tongue. The goal is to help the Slayer. Remember that. Even if you want to put Angel’s head through a wall. Help the Slayer. He got up and started clearing away dishes as Dawn made the call.
 
Giles watched Buffy as she drifted nervously around the kitchen, keeping her distance from Giles, looking curiously at various objects as if she was trying to put a name to them. She was so painfully thin, and seemed leached of all color. Her expressions flitted from blank to perplexed to frightened to blank again like a slide show. Every time a dish clattered she seemed to flinch slightly, as if the sharp sound was painful. Whenever she was startled Spike would look at her and smile, perhaps murmur some soothing words, and she would relax again. Giles had to admit, however much it pained him, that the vampire was helping her. Why would she cling to him, and not her sister or her friends? What did he tell her? Aloud he said, “Does she know what you are?”
 
Spike turned off the water and shook his head. “Subject hasn’t exactly come up. Don’t like keeping things from her, but can’t see how vamping out on her is going to help the situation much.”
 
Giles knew he was right, but the whole idea of a Slayer being looked after by a vampire still rankled. “Have you given any thought to the idea that perhaps her calling might be the key to reaching her?”
 
Spike leaned his back against the counter and folded his arms, staring thoughtfully at the floor. “It might at that. But as long as she sees me as her protector, I’ll not frighten her further out of her wits by letting her see me as a monster.” He glanced over at Buffy, who was clearly trying to follow the conversation, and also clearly failing to do so. “Maybe later on I could spar with her a bit. Might jog some memory.”
 
Dawn came back into the kitchen. “I called Tara and I called Xander. They’ll be at the Magic Box at one o’clock.”
 
“Did you get Angel’s number?” Giles asked.
 
“Yeah, I wrote it down,” Dawn said, handing Giles a piece of paper.
 
“I believe I’ll give him a ring,” Giles said. “May I use your phone?”
 
“Of course,” Dawn said.
 
“Come with me, love,” Spike said to Buffy. “See what we can see in the other room, yeah?” He led Buffy into the living room as Giles picked up the phone and dialed.
 
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The phone woke Angel out of a deep sleep that had finally come after hours of tossing and turning. He groaned as he reached for the receiver. Doesn’t anybody remember that I’m a vampire and we’re nocturnal? “Hello?” he said in a gravelly voice.
 
“Angel, this is Rupert Giles,” the Watcher said stiffly. “Sorry to wake you, but I would like to see if your man learned anything about the resurrection spell.” Despite Angel’s assistance since Jenny Calendar’s death, a part of him would never, ever forgive Angel for taking her from him, and her murdered corpse blazed fresh in his memory every time he heard her killer’s voice.
 
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to Wes yet,” Angel said, sitting up and rubbing his face. After leaving Buffy’s house the night before he had been sore, both physically and emotionally. He had wandered the town, wallowing in old memories and occasionally staking fledglings that crossed his path. He had further pondered the situation over a few beers, trying to determine exactly why he was so bothered by the whole thing. Part of it was pure emotional roller coaster. He had lost her, grieved her, somehow gotten over her, then regained her, only to find that she wasn’t really back after all. When he was Angelus, when he was fighting and tormenting her, she had been dismayed, betrayed, afraid for her friends, but never really terrified of him. To have her look at him and cower in fear was unthinkable. Then to have her run into Spike’s arms, of all people. Why would any of them trust Spike? Why did he stay around after Buffy had left? If he was honest, he was cut deeply by Dawn calling him out for not helping out over the summer. I was so lost without her. I couldn’t even function. Couldn’t talk to anyone for weeks. What good could I have been to them? And if Spike was really so devoted to her, why was he able to function when I couldn’t? No way could he love her like I do. These thoughts and questions had kept him at the bar until closing time, and had haunted his sleep for most of the night.
 
“Wes?” Giles asked. “Do you mean Wesley Wyndham-Price?”
 
“Yes. You can call him yourself if you’d like,” Angel offered.
 
“I believe I will,” Giles said.
 
“How… how is she? Have you seen her?” Angel asked.
 
“I’m at her house now. She reacted rather… strongly to my arrival. She’s calm enough as long as Spike’s in the room, and she seems to be reacting well to Dawn overall. But she still seems unaware of reality.” Giles explained.
 
“What’s the plan then?”
 
“I’m getting together with the others at the Magic Box at one o’clock,” said Giles. “I plan to discuss the spell and its consequences with them in detail.”
 
“If I can get there, I will,” Angel said.
 
Giles frowned, not entirely sure if Angel’s presence would help the situation or not. But in the end he said, “Yes, if you’re able, I’m sure you’ll be able to contribute something. Can you give me Wesley’s number?”
 
Angel rattled it off then said, “Keep an eye on Spike, Giles. I don’t trust him.”
 
“Duly noted,” Giles answered. Although it is rather a case of the pot calling the kettle black in your case. “We’ll discuss more later.” He hung up, grateful to end the conversation. He picked up the phone again and dialed Angel Investigations.
 
“Hello, Angel Investigations,” came an unfamiliar voice with a southern drawl.
 
“Yes, hello. I’m looking for Wesley Wyndham-Price. Is he in?”
 
“Can I ask who’s calling?”
 
“Rupert Giles.”
 
After a few moments Wesley was on the line. “Rupert. Good to hear from you. Are you still in England?”
 
“No, I’m in Sunnydale,” he answered. “I believe we’re both working on the same problem.”
 
“Ah yes, the resurrection spell,” Wesley said. He sat down at his desk and leaned back in his chair. “I really don’t have much to go on, other than the fact that Buffy is reportedly alive again.”
 
“I can attest to the fact that she’s alive, but she is severely… damaged by the experience,” Giles explained.
 
“Yes, I see,” Wesley sighed. “Willow had alluded to as much when she called.”
 
“I’m going to be meeting with the others this afternoon to try to determine what happened and what is to be done. But I was wondering if you had found any information on your end.”
 
“Well, the good news is that there are a limited number of resurrection spells in existence. I spent the better part of yesterday looking through all of my sources and found only a half dozen, give or take. The bad news is that they can all have serious repercussions, either to the spell caster or the intended target.”
 
“What sort of consequences?” Giles asked with trepidation.
 
“One or two of the spells can kill the spell caster outright if interrupted, or can leave him or her completely drained of magical ability,” Wesley began, reading from notes on his desk.
 
“That doesn’t appear to have happened,” Giles observed. “Apparently Willow is still casting spells. Rather wantonly, I’m afraid.”
 
“That is unfortunate,” Wesley said. “To continue, the other spells I found tend to affect the person being raised. One claims to bring the person back without their soul if done incorrectly, and another can resurrect the person carrying the soul of any nearby restless spirit who has a stronger will to return.”
 
“Good Lord,” Giles said. “Anything else?”
 
“Those are the most dire consequences,” said Wesley. “Although there can be lesser effects such as amnesia, severe personality changes, and ‘melancholia and hysteria’, according to one old source.”
 
“I wonder if you could fax your notes to the Magic Box,” Giles said. “I think that I will need this information when I talk to Willow.”
 
“I’d be glad to,” Wesley replied. Giles gave him the number, exchanged a few more polite words with his fellow countryman, and rang off. He was deeply troubled. Based on the information he had just heard, almost any of these things could be going on. Could she really have lost her soul? Is that why she’s so drawn to Spike? The possibility shook him to the core. How does one remedy that? With a sigh, he made his way to the living room.
 
Buffy was seated on the couch, between Spike and Dawn, an open photo album on her lap. “This was when you got second place at the regional figure skating championship,” Dawn was explaining, pointing to a picture of a much younger Buffy, hair up in a bun, holding a trophy and grinning ear to ear. The photo album had been Dawn’s idea. Buffy looked intently at the pictures, running her fingers over them longingly. She understood at some level that this girl and herself and her mother were all connected. The three of them, and in some pictures a man that Dawn said was her father, all smiling and enjoying themselves, celebrating milestones and ordinary days. Why don’t I really remember? Buffy thought sadly. Is this me? Is this really home? How could home be so painful? Were the bad ones with the spells always here? The holes in her memory troubled and frightened her, but the pictures were comforting all the same. I was happy here, wherever here is. At one point, I was happy. That means maybe I’ll be happy again. Maybe. It was so hard to trust that she’d be safe here, although Spike’s presence at her side helped. She kept glancing at him, touching his arm, as if reassuring herself that he was still there.
 
“What did he have to say?” Spike asked as Giles entered the room.
 
“There are a number of spells, with a number of possible effects. Everything from causing amnesia to bringing her back without her soul,” Giles replied.
 
“You don’t really think she lost her soul, do you?” Dawn said worriedly.
 
“I don’t know what to think until I get more particulars on Willow’s spell,” Giles replied.
 
“I’d like to be there for that meeting,” Spike said. He turned and stroked Buffy’s hair. “Not sure how she’s going to feel about me leaving though.”
 
“I can go and report back,” Dawn said.
 
Giles looked curiously at Spike and Dawn. “You really distrust them that much?”
 
“Giles, you didn’t see what it was like,” Dawn said. “She was nearly catatonic. That nightmare of hers is going to give me nightmares remembering it.”
 
“Trapped,” Buffy said softly. The others looked at her as she struggled to continue. “Afraid… demons fighting. C..couldn’t d..d..die.”
 
“You were dreaming that you couldn’t die?” Spike asked by way of clarification. Buffy nodded, grateful for his understanding. Giles looked distressed at the thought, but Spike pressed on. “Buffy, can you remember anything? Before heaven?”
 
Buffy’s forehead wrinkled in concentration. “Dawn n..not safe. Blood a..and f..fighting. Pain.” She looked up at Spike as another memory surfaced, clear as a bell for a moment. “You p..promised. End of the w..w..world.”
 
Spike swallowed. “That’s right, pet. Promised you I would protect Dawn to the end of the world. You were fighting Glory, remember? Hell god, horrendous fashion sense. She wanted to hurt Dawn, but you saved her and stopped Glory. You’re the Slayer. You’re a force for good.”
 
“Slayer?” Buffy asked. The word seemed to echo in her mind, but she couldn’t remember what it meant. Something I did, or something?
 
“You were chosen,” Giles tried to explain. “To fight demons and vampires, to do battle against the forces of darkness.”
 
Spike got up and went over to the weapons chest. He opened it and carefully avoiding the stash of crosses fished out a stake. He put it in Buffy’s hands almost reverently. “This was one of your weapons. It’s a stake. You used it to slay vampires and other things.”
 
Buffy turned it over and over in her hands, recognizing it as the same sort of weapon that had been in Spike’s crypt. “You kill demons? You have st..stakes too?”
 
“Yes, love. I try to help you however I can. Killed vampires and demons all summer while you were in heaven,” he explained.
 
“We all did,” Giles added. “Me, and Spike, Willow and Tara, and Xander and Anya. We all fight evil.”
 
“No,” Buffy said shaking her head. “W..willow hurt. Punished me. Not good.”
 
“Shh, it’s okay,” Spike said. To Giles he said, “I think bringing her along to the Magic Box is going to be out of the question, agreed?”
 
“Most definitely,” Giles conceded. The slightest mention of Willow seemed to put Buffy completely into defensive mode. Buffy’s gaze wandered back to the photo album, and Giles fell silent, watching her and hoping that they would be able to work through this somehow. 

TBC