Spike was sitting on the couch in the Summers’ living room, counting the ways he wanted to kill reindeer.

Dawn had left a sickeningly saccharine movie playing while she bustled around the room. Spike was convinced that the little stop motion figures populating the screen had to be demons of some sort or another. Nothing could be that cute without having truly evil motivations at heart. Dawn hummed along with the songs while she rearranged decorations. She was so excited about the evening that Spike managed to bite his tongue to keep from putting a damper on her Christmas cheer.

The rest of the Scoobies were at the airport, picking up Giles and Willow. Dawn had managed to convince Tara to go and had given up her seat in the car to the shy witch. The vampire had silently wished her luck. There was nothing like the holiday spirit to help patch up a relationship. With any luck, the whole gang would be together for the holidays.

Meret was sleeping off her latest meal upstairs, curled on Buffy’s pillow. Spike wondered if the slayer knew about the little serpent’s new napping habits. Probably not, seeing as how he would not fit in an ashtray.

“Spike, do you think the tree looks crooked?” Dawn asked for the third time in as many minutes.

“No,” he replied, not really paying attention. In fact, the tree did look crooked, but that was caused more by the asymmetrical branches than anything the vampire could do with the stand. Besides, decked with glittering garlands and shiny ornaments, no one would really notice except for an overly anal teenager and the vampire she tormented in her aims of Yuletide perfection.

Dawn shrugged and started humming again. She had been arranging presents beneath the tree for a solid five minutes before Spike noticed what she had done.

“Nibblet, I thought you were going to keep that one hidden,” he asked, trying to keep his voice bland.

“And let you wuss out? I don’t think so.” She glared at him with one hand on her hip, a pose she had certainly picked up from the slayer. Among the other presents sat a tiny red package.

Truth be told, Spike had been having second thoughts about the little velvet box. “Jus’ tryin’ to keep it a surprise ‘s all,” he said defensively, knowing that he had been caught.

“Yuh huh. I just think you’re a big chicken!” Dawn replied with an arch look.

Spike’s eyes flared. “Take that back!”

“I just call ‘em like I see ‘em, Big Bad,” she slurred the nickname, letting him know what she thought of that as well.

“Now you’re askin’ for it!”

“I’d be more worried if you weren’t such a ‘fraidy cat.”

Spike sprang to his feet and rounded the table in one fluid motion. Dawn’s eyes widened in mock terror and danced out of his reach, scooping up the box in her retreat. “Oh no! I’m in trouble now!”

The vampire’s eyes glinted. “Give me the box.”

Dawn’s grin widened. “Make me.”

Spike shrugged. “Fair enough. Where was it I helped you hide that shirt you ‘borrowed’ from Big Sis and spilled ketchup all over. Oh yeah, in the backyard. Back in a tick.” He turned and started for the kitchen.

“You wouldn’t!” Dawn squealed.

“What? I’m evil.” He turned again and started to walk away with a little secret smile on his lips.

Instead of the expected apologies and backpedaling, Spike received something else from the youngest Summers: a flying coaster between the shoulder blades.

“Hey!” He turned in time to catch the next cork disc in the nose. “Bloody hell Nibblet!”

“You’re… you’re such a big meanie!” Dawn railed.

“Vampire,” he said, as if that explained it all.

Dawn aimed another missile at him and Spike watched, fully intending to bat it out of the air. It was then that he noticed the faint prickling down the back of his neck, far too late to do anything about it. Bonds as strong as tempered steel wound around his arms and legs, rooting him in place. More swept around his body and over his head, preventing any movement. He fought against the magic, struggled with all his strength and will, but the spell was too strong.

Dawn’s coaster bounced off of his forehead. She looked at him oddly when her attack did not even earn a blink. “Spike?”

He tried to answer her, to tell her to run, to run himself and drag her along, but his body simply would not obey. He watched, helpless, as realization dawned on the girl.

The front door swung open and Spike could hear heavy footsteps, more than could belong to a single person. He didn’t need to see what was behind him; he had Dawn’s reaction to tell him everything he needed to know. Her eyes opened wide in terror and she shrank back against the wall.

“I do so hate to break up such a touching moment, but I believe that this charade has gone on long enough.” The voice was smooth, the same one that had haunted Spike since his humiliating defeat in the sewers. “Bring the girl. I believe she will be an excellent tool in getting our guest to behave.”

Three demons brushed past Spike, who was struggling fiercely against the magic, even if his efforts made no visible progress. Dawn shook off her terror and tried to run, but the faceless demons were too fast. In the struggle, the coffee table lay broken and splintered, but the fight was soon over. Two of the demons held her while she screamed and kicked. The third simply stood waiting, club at the ready.

Not again. Not Nibblet. Won’t watch her hurt again.

He raged against the magical restraints, but there was nothing he could do.

The warlock walked over to stand in front of Spike. The vampire could feel his gaze even as the shadows of the cowl hid the man’s features. Apparently satisfied, the hooded head nodded abruptly. “Never send a demon to do a man’s job.” The man turned and signaled the remaining demon. “I knew you’d make a good babysitter for my pet project, chipped and tamed as you are.” He patted Spike’s cheek with mocking condescension. “Oh yes, I know all about you William. Now let’s just see how long it takes to find your little feathered friend.”

Spike brought all of his strength to bear, trying to force his body into action, but he was helpless in the grasp of the warlock’s spell. The faceless demon advanced slowly and raised its club high. The vampire, stubborn to the last, kept up his hopeless struggle. He reached out with his mind and found Meret’s touch.

He watched as the demon’s weapon arced towards his head. He watched Dawn struggle against their captors, screaming loudly for her sister.

Meret run! Find Buffy! Tell her…

But he never got to finish the sentence. It was driven from his mind, along with every other conscious thought, when the demon’s club hit home.

*****

Spike’s dreams were troubled. He could see flashes of scenes, pieces of pictures. They teased the edges of his mind, disjointed images that kept him from sinking completely into the comforting darkness.

In one moment, he saw Buffy’s bedroom, dark and empty. The next: the slayer herself, pacing like a caged lion in the practice room of the Magic Box. He saw Willow, sitting with her legs crossed and her head thrown back as Tara stood behind her, hands on her lover’s shoulders. Another, a simple flash of a stake. The images started to come faster and faster. Giles reading from a scroll. Two pairs of glowing white eyes. A jewelry box half hidden under a splinter of wood. Red feathers. Xander opening a chest full of weapons. Candles and herbs and Buffy, always Buffy.

And throughout the images, words. Sensed more than spoken, the words burned their way into Spike’s mind.

We come.

*****

Spike woke to pain and the feel of cold stone against his back. The sheer wrongness of the situation catapulted the vampire into wakefulness. He struggled fiercely, thrashing like a wild animal, demonic features quickly coming to the fore in his rage, until icy threads of reason overtook his actions. He was chained to a cavern wall with heavy iron links, tingling with magical force. A quick evaluation revealed that only his wrists were bound, stretched wide and pinned near the limit of his reach, leaving his feet to dangle loosely about a foot above the floor.

His temples throbbed and Spike could feel the stickiness of his own blood covering one side of his face, matting his hair, and running down his neck, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. Memory returned.

Nibblet!

He never stopped twisting his wrists, trying to slip free from new angles, but Spike also started frantically searching his surroundings. The cavern he was in was quite large and empty, save for a raised block of stone in the center of the room. Other tunnels led away from the main room, but they all disappeared into darkness. A small stream passed through the cavern, tracking across the floor before disappearing down one of the far tunnels. The cave smelled of stone and wet earth, but nothing distinctive enough to tell the vampire where exactly he was.

And in a shadowed alcove nearby, Dawn, chained with solid metal links.

He could smell the girl’s tears, but not blood and her heartbeat was steady and strong. She was not hurt then, just asleep. Seeing her bound sent icy tendrils of rage through the vampire.

He was relieved to note that Meret’s touch was still there, nestled in the back of his mind. He could feel her fear, her worry, but even these were pale in comparison to the rage that poured through the connection. He tried to reach out to the little serpent, but it was like walking into a pane of glass. The images he could see through the link were fuzzy and indistinct. He could feel her through the bond, but try as he might, he could not reach her.

The chains holding Dawn and the invasion of his mind set the vampire growling and thrashing again. Spike twisted against his restraints, making no progress but nearly ripping one arm out of socket as he played out his anger. He could feel the backs of his wrists being rubbed raw against the rough shackles, but he did not stop. He could feel his head wound reopen and fresh blood trickle down his face, but he did not care. Nothing mattered except escape and the slow, painful death of whomever had dared to cage him.

He managed to work himself into a frenzy, snarling and kicking pieces of rock loose from the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dawn start to stir.

Words of power echoed through the cavern. Spike felt his consciousness falling away as the warlock came into his field of view.

“We can’t have you damaging yourself needlessly before the ritual, now can we?” the man’s voice was tinged with humor. “That’s my job.”

Spike’s vision dimmed as he fell under the control of the spell, but the last thing he saw was his captor wearing a wide smile as if he had just been dealt a hand of aces.

Maclin! That’s you’re name, you son of a…

He slept.

*****

The strange dreams continued. Upon his next waking, Spike hung quietly, in control of himself once again. Dawn was awake as well. It took a few tries to draw her out of whatever safe haven she had put her mind. Finally a hissed “Bit!” snapped her out of her preoccupation.

“Spike?” She crawled a little ways out of the nook in the wall and looked at him. He smirked weakly at her. “Thank God! You’re all covered in blood. I thought you’d never wake up.”

Spike straightened as best he could in his restraints. “’M fine,” he responded, trying to sound better than he felt. “You?”

She lifted her hands and showed him the rusty shackles. “You’d think I’d be used to this by now,” she tried to joke, but her weak giggle caught in her throat and turned into a quiet sob.

“’Ey, none of that. It’s me they want, and you’re their insurance. Neither one of us is any good to them dead.” He thought for a second. “Deader,” he amended. His eyes darkened and he grew serious. “Bit?”

“Yeah?” she sniffed.

“If you get the chance, I want you to run.”

She looked at him pleadingly. “I don’t want to leave you here.”

Her loyalty warmed him even as he hardened his features. “Don’t be a silly bint. They can’t kill me. They won’t even have a body for their mojo if I’m dust.”

‘Less the spell uses vamp dust.

He wasn’t about to share that thought though; not with Dawn looking almost convinced. “Follow the water,” he gestured towards the stream with his head. “It’ll pro’bly get you out.”

She opened her mouth to response, but the harsh growl that rumbled from Spike’s chest silenced her.

Maclin had entered the cavern. He was garbed in the familiar black robes, but his cowl was thrown back, obviously no longer caring if he was recognized. Spike was livid as he watched the warlock and his demonic entourage start setting up items on the raised stone dais.

Maclin, who had played kitten poker in the back room of Willy’s bar months before. Maclin, who had not been as drunk, or as hapless, as he had seemed. Maclin, who had humiliated Spike twice and had put Dawn’s life in danger.

Maclin, who was protected by powerful magic and the government’s accursed chip.

Behind his baleful glare, Spike silently cursed the warlock, the Initiative, and any deity who happened to be listening for good measure. He found himself looking at Dawn and soon turned his violent recriminations upon himself.

He had failed her once again.