Disclaimer: All the vampires are Joss Whedon’s
Thanks to the reviewers! I reward reviewers with updates as often as possible!
 
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Buffy trailed Spike as he headed for Willy’s bar. Spike was completely at a loss for what to do to help her, but he figured poking around the demon population could help, and the night was still relatively young. It was possible that some demon with a grudge had raised her somehow to get back at her or some other devilry was up. Besides, he was out of whiskey at home.
 
He didn’t say much to Buffy during the walk. She could see that he was fighting to keep in control. He smoked constantly, and the hand that wasn’t holding a cigarette was jammed deep into his pockets. He was somewhat wary of this whole situation. Is this real? he kept asking himself. Is it really her? Is this a trick? But another part of him was struggling not to lose it completely. That part of him wanted to fall at her feet and weep tears of joy just to hear her voice again. Keep it together, Spike. Just figure out what’s going on before you make a complete ass of yourself.
 
He pushed through the doors at Willy’s and surveyed the scene. A few random demons, a vampire or two, but overall it seemed a quiet night. Spike sat down as the proprietor came over. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here, given the company you keep,” Willy said quietly. “Don’t want no trouble tonight.”
 
“I’m not here for trouble,” said Spike. Buffy drifted over and perched on the seat next to Spike. “Just want some JD and some information.”
 
Willy poured the whiskey and replied, “Not sure I have any information you want.”
 
“I just want to know if anyone has said anything about the Slayer lately,” Spike said. He belted down the shot of JD and motioned for another. Buffy was a bit amazed at the amount of liquor the vampire had put away in the short time she had been back. Did he always drink like this? Or is this new? She was a bit humbled by the thought that her passing could have affected him so much.
 
“Those bikers were saying she wasn’t real or something,” Willy replied quietly. “But then they hightailed it out of here, so I guess they must have found out otherwise.”
 
“Nothing else? No talk of revenge or anything?”
 
Willy was about to reply when a vampire came stumbling up to the bar looking for a refill. The vamp looked three sheets to the wind already, in Spike’s opinion. He had no respect for a creature of the night who couldn’t hold his liquor. The vampire looked around while Willy got him his drink, and then stumbled off his barstool. “SLAYER!” he cried, pointing at Buffy with a shaking finger. “Get me the fuck out of here!” With that he scrambled to his feet and bolted.
 
The other demons at the bar looked up, but none of them seemed to see Buffy at all. Willy looked around, perplexed. “What the hell was his problem?”
 
“Fucking fledges are lightweights I guess,” Spike replied. He finished his drink, tossed down some cash, and said, “Let me know if you hear anything, ok?”
 
Willy nodded and went on to the next customer. Spike left the bar, holding the door for Buffy, when he realized that he must look rather foolish holding the door for someone no one else could see. “What was that all about?” Buffy asked when they were outside again.
 
“Dunno. But I think I solved one mystery,” Spike surmised. “I think I can see you because, well, I’m dead same as you.”
 
“I guess that makes sense,” Buffy agreed. “The live demons in there couldn’t see me either.” Spike headed slowly back toward his crypt with Buffy beside him. After a while she said, “So doesn’t look like there was some big demon plot to bring me back here. So what was it? And what do we do?”
 
“Well,” said Spike, taking a draw on yet another cigarette. “It’ll be morning in a couple hours. Not too much I can do tonight. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try doing some research at the Magic Box. And I’ll try to have another go at convincing your mates that I’m not actually insane. Does that sound alright, Slayer?” Spike looked to his right, then stopped and spun around. She was gone. “Buffy?” he called. “Buffy!”
 
“Spike? I’m right here!” Buffy called from a foot away. But she was apparently invisible again. Dammit! This would be a whole lot easier if I could just stay visible for ten minutes at a time!
 
Spike spun in place a couple of times. What the FUCK is happening to me? “Slayer? Can you hear me?” He heard no reply. “The fuck? Has everyone decided it’s the day to drive Spike round the bend?” He roared in frustration, looked around in vain one more time, then turned and stalked home.
 
Buffy watched him go as the loneliness wrapped around her like a fog. God, please get me out of here, she prayed. I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry. Please let me go back. Please. She sank down to the ground where she was and wept.
 
*******************************
 
When she could cry no longer, Buffy sat up and tried to figure out what to do next. She decided that what she wanted more than anything was familiar surroundings. So she picked herself up and headed home. The sky was beginning to lighten with the approaching sunrise. She wondered what the temperature was – she really couldn’t tell if it was warm or not. It must be fall, she figured, but it was strange not to feel the air. The lack of sensation was painful at times, after the remembered warmth of where she had been.
 
She walked through her front door and into the sleeping house. Buffy went into Dawn’s room and watched her sleep. She had brought Mr. Gordo to bed with her, and was curled up with him like a small child. Buffy zoned out for quite a while, to be shaken back to awareness by Dawn’s alarm clock. Dawn rolled over, smacked it, then lay there staring. Buffy winced at the circles under Dawn’s eyes and the unhappiness in her face. Poor Dawnie. She lost mom, lost me. She looks so alone. “Dawn? Can you hear me?” Buffy said aloud. But Dawn just continued staring at the alarm clock for long minutes until she finally sighed and got up to go shower.
 
Dawn sleepwalked through her morning ablutions, dressed indifferently, then wandered downstairs. Tara was in the kitchen, making breakfast. “Morning,” she said pleasantly. “I was going to make French toast for something different. Would you like some?”
 
Dawn shrugged, “Sure.” Buffy knew that tone. Adolescent sulking, coming full speed. She had done it herself enough as a teen. Buffy had never seen Dawn look so depressed. Dawn had always been the spoiled, protected little sister. Tara was clearly doing her best to act like a mother figure to the girl. But Dawn wasn’t necessarily having it. Dawn muttered “Thanks” when Tara put the plate in front of her and ate without much relish.
 
“Anything interesting going on at school?” Tara inquired, trying to make conversation.
 
“No,” Dawn answered shortly, and then clammed up again. She finished her breakfast, cleared her plate, and grabbed her backpack. “I’ll walk today.”
 
“You’re not going to wait for Xander to drive you?” Tara asked. Usually Dawn was pretty lazy about walking anywhere.
 
“No, I just want to walk today,” she answered. Then without another word Dawn turned and left. Tara shrugged and turned to wash the dishes.
 
Buffy followed her sister down the street. She was only mildly surprised when Dawn turned the opposite direction of school and headed off elsewhere. Girl, you had ‘skipping school’ written all over your face from the moment you got up, Buffy thought. Dawn wandered and eventually ended up in the cemetery where Buffy and their mom’s graves were. Dawn made her way over to their mother’s grave and sat down, leaning against a tree. She sat there for a while, idly running her hand over their mother’s name, carved in the stone. Then she started crying. “Mommy, I’m all alone!” she sobbed aloud as she put her head on her knees. Buffy’s heart ached for her. She tried again to touch her sister, to comfort her in some way, but her hand slid through.
 
After a while, Dawn’s tears slowed and she sniffled and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. She pulled her lunch out of her bag and idly nibbled on a sandwich while she sat there. She only ate about half of it before losing interest and shoving everything back in her backpack. Then she got up and made her way over to Buffy’s grave.
 
“You had to leave me too,” Dawn whispered. “You should have just let me jump.” Dawn pulled a few dandelions that were growing on Buffy’s grave, then sat down and hugged her knees. Buffy sat down too and watched as her sister spent at least an hour just sitting, crying, and occasionally talking to Buffy, unaware that she had an audience. Finally she got up, touched Buffy’s headstone once more, then wandered off.
 
Dawn took a long, looping walk home, avoiding the more populated areas until it was time for school to let out. Then she turned her feet toward Revello Drive. She entered the house quietly, calling out, “Willow? Tara? Are you home?” Hearing no answer, Dawn went over to the answering machine. She pressed the playback button and heard the voice of the grouchy school secretary saying that Dawn had missed school today and that this was the fourth unexcused absence this term and…
 
Dawn hit the delete button to silence the annoying woman’s voice. What Willow and Tara don’t know won’t hurt them. She got some chips from the counter and went to turn on the television.
 
Buffy itched to be able to smack some sense into her sister. “Hello? Dawn?” Buffy said aloud. “This is your sister talking! I am so going to kick your ass for skipping school. You’re going to get caught and be in for a world of hurt, you moron!” Dawn continued munching chips and staring at the screen, oblivious. Gah, this is irritating. Where the hell are my friends? Why isn’t someone paying attention to this kid?
 
Willow and Tara finally returned from class around five o’clock, bearing Chinese take-out. “Where the hell have you two been?” Buffy asked. She had to admit she found it somewhat liberating to be able to say whatever she wanted. Just because I can’t be heard doesn’t mean that some things don’t need to be said.
 
“Did you do your homework?” asked Willow.
 
“Just finished,” Dawn replied. Liar, thought Buffy. The three of them spent the rest of the evening doing nothing much. Dawn vegetated in front of the TV, Tara did homework, and Willow studied some spell books. Around nine, Tara said, “Should we see what the others plan to do about patrol?”
 
Willow called the Magic Box, spoke briefly to Anya, and then hung up. “Spike will take care of it for tonight. We can have a night off.”
 
“That’s a relief,” said Tara. “This psych homework is a pain.” Willow joined Tara in bending over the psychology book while Dawn turned off the TV, mumbled “Good night” and went upstairs.
 
Buffy watched all this indignantly with her hands on her hips. “So, what, you decide that it’s ok to just patrol when you feel like it?” she said aloud. “Hello? The demons don’t just slay themselves around here! And Dawn could use some attention!” Then a thought struck her. “And who pays for all this? Shouldn’t at least one of you have a job or something?” Buffy found herself very irritated with the state of affairs. Throwing up her hands in frustration, she walked out of the house. Best go find Spike and see what he’s been up to. Maybe he can see me again, and I can tell him that Dawn needs someone.
 
******************
 
Spike had stomped home after Buffy disappeared in the foulest mood imaginable. As he neared his crypt, he saw the ground move as one last fledgling rose from his grave. Spike vamped out and tackled the hapless vampire to the ground. Spike started beating him to a bloody pulp with no mercy and no warning. As he pounded the other vampire, all his grief and anger and frustration poured from his lips. “The fuck is wrong with the fucking universe!” he roared. He started punctuating every word with a punch. “She’s here… she’s gone… start to… remember… her voice…” Spike was in a blind rage, screaming incoherently, “I love her… can’t have her… can’t see her… can’t be free of her…” By this time the face of the other vampire was shattered and completely unrecognizable. With one last roar he ripped the other’s head clean off and watched him dissolve into dust.
 
Panting with emotion, Spike sat there for a moment, fists clenched, demon screaming inside him. Then dropped his head into his hands and wept. God help me, I still love you, slayer. Tried to move on. Tried to dull the pain. Seeing you again, oh God… He could find no words. To see her again, even for a moment had been like a glimpse of heaven. But to have to lose her again and again seemed more than he could bear.
 
Finally he sat up and shook himself. Gotta pull it together, William. She’s probably watching you here blubbering like a big ponce and laughing her ass off. If it even is her. He still wondered if somehow it was in his mind, or was some kind of trick. That would be easier – he could block it out, find the person doing this and beat them senseless, whatever. But deep in his heart, he felt that it was really her. His slayer. To have her be in pain, fallen from heaven, stuck in this limbo was heartbreaking.
 
At last Spike stood up and squared his shoulders. Fuck it. I’m just going to assume it’s her, and figure out how to send her back. Don’t care what the others say. Don’t care if it is in my mind. I’m not going to risk leaving the girl I love in pain. Having made the decision, Spike felt somewhat calmer, more in control. His senses reminded him of the rapidly approaching dawn, so he quickly covered the remaining ground to his crypt.
 
He grabbed some blood out of his fridge and drank it down in two gulps. He hunted up a cigarette and leaned against a sarcophagus, taking long drags and pondering his next move. Ok, we know she was in heaven, and is now a ghost or spirit or whatever the hell she is, he thought. So I need some sort of magic or something to manage spirits. He took another long drag and then made his decision. Time for some research.
 
He descended to the lower level of the crypt and rummaged around for a small notebook and a pen. Shoving these in his duster pocket, he took off through the tunnels that riddled Sunnydale. After a number of twists and turns, he emerged into the basement of the Magic Box. Usually when he needed to nick things, the others never even knew he was there. But today, he needed to hit the library, which meant going upstairs and making nice with the Scoobies.
 
He opened the basement door to find no one immediately visible. Then Anya came in from the back room. “Oh!” she said, startled. “What can I do for you? And can I remind you that you owe me for all those herbs you’ve been ‘borrowing’?” She fixed him with a stern look.
 
“Before the week is out, I promise,” Spike lied. “Do you mind if I have a look at some of the book collection?”
 
Anya was suspicious. “How do I know you’re not plotting something evil?” she asked, frowning.
 
“Please, I just want to do a little research. You have my word as an Englishman that I am not plotting any nefarious schemes.”
 
“Hmm. Well, ok. But I’m right here and I’ve got my eye on you,” Anya said finally. Then a customer came in and distracted Anya’s attention toward potential capitalist gain.
 
Relieved at having overcome that hurdle, Spike started to browse the shelves. There were plenty of books and spells about how to banish evil spirits, but he wasn’t sure that applied. Buffy was not evil. Of course it could be something evil that looked like Buffy. But Spike had already rejected that path. He figured if it was an evil thing that looked like Buffy it would be trying harder to do something to him, rather than asking him for help. So, no banishing evil spirits.
 
There were a bunch of books with theories about ghosts and how they came to be. But as he read he learned that ghosts usually started showing up soon after death, in response to some great injustice or some unfinished business. Buffy hadn’t died a natural death due to human injustice of any kind. And she said that she had felt ‘finished’ and at peace, therefore unfinished business hadn’t brought her back. Besides, it seemed like the ghosts in that state wanted to come back – Buffy clearly didn’t.
 
Spike started looking for spells about raising the dead. But most of them seemed unpromising and likely to leave the newly raised person a shell of their former selves. Buffy was definitely still Buffy, even without a corporeal body.
 
The door rang, breaking his concentration. “Anya! It’s me!” called Xander. Then he stopped and noticed Spike. “What are you doing here at this hour, deadboy? Aren’t all good little creatures of the night supposed to be asleep now?”
 
Wanker, thought Spike. Aloud he said, “Just wanted to look something up.”
 
Xander came over and grabbed the book out of Spike’s hand. “Ghosts? Still seeing things? Maybe you should cut it down to three bottles of booze a day.”
 
“Fuck off,” Spike growled, snatching the book back. He turned back to the shelves, pointedly ignoring Xander.
 
“What’s his problem?” Xander muttered as he went over to greet Anya.
 
Anya shrugged, “I don’t know. He came in here about an hour or two ago and started researching something.” Xander gave Spike one more dirty look, and then turned to converse quietly with Anya.
 
Spike ignored them and continued his work. In a way, he was getting a certain amount of satisfaction from his quest. Back in his university days he had relished trying to find some obscure reference or passage. Of course if he was honest with himself he had to admit that he usually turned that obscure passage into terrible poetry. But the act of rummaging through books with a goal in mind had been a comfort then, and he felt a little of that now. Having decided that, whether he was completely mad or not, he was going to help Buffy, he felt a sense of purpose that had been lacking for a while.
 
Where are we then? he asked himself. Not an evil spirit, so no going all Exorcist on the girl. Not a restless spirit out for revenge or justice. None of these books seem to mention any successful attempts at raising the dead… He looked up at the books of black magic kept carefully sequestered on the upper shelves. There might be an answer in there, but he would have to look at those when the others weren’t around or they would be accusing him of plotting against them. Like I would waste my time.
 
He had a thought. He ran his fingers along the spines until he came to a title about dimensions. Sitting down, he read about dozens of different hell dimensions. But there was surprisingly little about heavenly realms. Spike guessed that that made sense. It was a Watcher’s library, essentially. Threats tended to come from the side of evil, not the side of good. He was going to have to look elsewhere for that information.
 
Spike cracked his neck and looked at the clock. It was nearly noon. He had been up all night, and was starting to feel it. Probably time to head home, pick this up later. He put the book back and started toward the basement door.
 
“Hey, Spike!” called Xander.
 
“Yeah?”
 
“Can you patrol tonight? Anya and I have an anniversary to celebrate…”
 
“Our first wild sex,” Anya put in helpfully.
 
“Too much info, sweetheart,” Xander reproached her. “So, are you going to be around?”
 
Typical. I’m the plotting evil genius until they want to go out. Then I’m everyone’s best friend. But he was too tired to argue. “Sure,” he said. “Tell the witches they can stay home if they want too. I’ll do fine on my own.”
 
“Great. Let us know if you find anything suspicious,” Xander said dismissively, turning back to Anya.
 
The occasional ‘thank you’ would be nice, you know. Spike rolled his eyes and descended to the tunnels. He was tired and cross, and felt not much closer to solving Buffy’s problem. When he got back to his crypt he looked around hopefully, but he saw nothing except his own untidy belongings. I really should clean up this dump sometime. He looked around, remembered that he was out of whiskey, then reached in his pocket and realized he was out of cigarettes too. Cursing, he gave up, tossed his duster on a chair, kicked off his boots, and threw himself into bed as is. Within minutes he was asleep.
 
TBC