As soon as Spike shut the door, Buffy started looking for weapons. Not safe here. A manicure set provided her with a blade, and a wood-handled brush a makeshift stake. Clutching the items and with her back pressed against the wall, Buffy quickly stripped and tentatively stepped into the bath. Holding her weapons in one hand, she tried to rub the blood and dirt off her skin with the other. She never broke eye contact with the door – didn’t even attempt to clean her face or hair. It would leave her too vulnerable.
 
In the hallway, Spike wiped at his eyes angrily. Now is not the time to fall apart, you wanker. He tried to calm his breathing while he listened to her getting out of the bath and rustling with clothes. When he heard her stop moving, he got up and went back into the bathroom.
 
Buffy was crouched in the corner furthest from the door, a weapon in each hand, poised to defend herself.
 
“Not gonna hurt you, Love,” he whispered, holding his hands up and stepping towards her slowly. “Tha’ knee must be in agony, all tucked up like that.”
 
Spike slowly sank to his knees and sat back on his heels. She watched him warily, but made no movement. He tentatively reached out to her, and, without exerting any pressure, gently placed his fingers around her ankle. Buffy flinched, but remained still. Resting his other hand on her good knee, he tugged lightly on her ankle until she let him guide her into a sitting position, her bad leg stretched out in front of her.
 
“Better?”
 
The relief from changing position surprised her. Some of the tension started to creep out of her body.
 
Spike rocked back into a crouch, then eased backwards until he was alongside the tub. Not breaking eye contact, he felt around for a cloth, wet it in the bathwater, and slowly moved back to kneel in front of Buffy.
 
“Let me?” Going painfully slowly, he moved the cloth towards her face and started pressing it to her skin in feather light touches, wiping away the dirt and the tears. When she was clean, he reverently cupped her face in his hand and brushed her cheek softly with his thumb. “So beautiful,” he whispered.
 
------------------------------------------
 
After seeing the bulk of the hellion gang in varying stages of evisceration, the Scoobies agreed it was safe to just go back to Revello Drive. What with having to avoid the last few fleeing hellions, and Willow unconscious and needing to be carried, it was nearing dawn by the time they got there.
 
Dawn had shrieked herself hoarse at the indignity of being out in her pyjamas, then refused to speak to any of them ever again when they refused to tell her why.
 
They were a little surprised to see most of the lights on at the house, but too exhausted to dwell. Dawn stomped straight up to her bedroom as soon as the door was opened. Anya and Tara stumbled upstairs to put Willow to bed. Tara crawled straight in after her, too tired even to undress. Anya and Xander turned out the lights and left, promising to come back first thing in the morning.
 
No one noticed the light shining out from under Buffy’s door, or that the bathroom was muddy and wet.
 
 
------------------------------------------
 
Willow drifted back into consciousness late the next morning. She had a good few seconds of drowsy happiness before she remembered her failure. She’d sacrificed so much to rescue her best friend and she’d failed. She started crying, waking Tara, who just held her until she was ready to stop.
 
“Is everyone okay?” Willow asked. “I mean, scary bikers from hell and all that.”
 
“Xander hurt his shoulder. And I think the Buffy-bot might be … dead. She saved us, but we haven’t seen her since. She’s still programmed to come to you if she’s injured, right?”
 
“Yeah.” Then Willow said in a small voice, “I’m sorry I couldn’t bring her back.” She started to cry again.
 
“Oh, Baby. You did your best. It’s not your fault those demons crashed through your power circle.”
 
“I was so sure it would work!”
 
“I know.”
 
“Maybe we can try again?”
 
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Willow. I mean, those demons coming just then? M-maybe we really were in over our heads. Invoking forces that we have no right to...”
 
“But-“
 
“Dawnie woke up when you passed out,” Tara said. “We had to explain the sleepwalking thing. She’s pretty upset.”
 
“Does she know about bringing Buffy back?”
 
“Not yet. We said we’d explain today.”
 
“I don’t know if I can face her.”
 
“Xander and Anya are gonna come here as soon as they wake up. We can do it together.”
 
“I guess.” Willow groaned. “We should really get up now, shouldn’t we?”
 
Tara nodded. “Yeah, probably. They could get here any minute.”
 
Willow gingerly got out of bed. Owie. “I’m gonna go shower. I’m all achy.”
 
Tara smiled at her. “Okay, Sweetie.” She grimaced. “I’ll see if Dawnie’s ready to talk to us yet.”
 
Willow looked guilty again. As she turned to leave the room, someone else briefly watched her out of Tara’s eyes.
 
------------------------------------------
 
“I'm not saying we announce it this second...” Anya said, exasperated.
 
“Anya...”
 
“I think it will please them to know we're engaged. And I think Willow, in particular, could use a morale booster right now.”
 
Xander shut his eyes. “Can we talk about this later?” Why can’t she understand that now’s not the time?
 
“It's just that... Well, all the excuses for not telling anyone we're engaged are gone now. There's nothing hanging over us anymore. This is it. No more surprises.”
 
------------------------------------------
 
Tara came back to herself, shivering. “Ooh, I think someone just walked over my gr—” Tara stopped herself. No talking of graves right now. Bad metaphor.
 
“Everything okay, Baby?” Willow asked, concerned.
 
“Yeah, just a sudden monster attack of the wiggins. I felt like I was  … outside my body?” Tara shivered again. “Probably just lack of sleep.” I hope.
 
They could hear knocking downstairs, and then the front door opening.
 
“Anyone awake yet?” Xander called out.
 
Willow padded down the stairs. “All awake here. No more unconscious-girl.” She smiled weakly.
 
Xander pulled her into a hug. “We were so worried about you.”
 
Tara knocked gently on Dawn’s door. “Dawnie?”
 
“Go away!” There was a thump as she threw something at the door.
 
“Willow’s awake again, and we’ll be making breakfast in a minute. Then we’re all gonna talk. Will you at least come out for that?”
 
“M’kay.” She paused. “But I’m still not speaking to you!”
 
“Okay,” Tara said, sighing. That could have gone worse. As she turned away from Dawn’s door to go join the others, she noticed mud and … a dress? … on the bathroom floor.
 
“Um, guys? Could you come up here for a minute?” Tara called.
 
They trooped upstairs. Willow stood next to Tara in the bathroom doorway, her face screwed up in confusion. “Maybe the bot came back last night and needed to get cleaned up?”
 
Xander thought there was something about the dress … but he couldn’t quite place it.
 
“It’s highly doubtful she survived those bikers,” Anya said.
 
“Maybe. I’ll check Buffy’s room.” They all watched as Willow opened Buffy’s door.
 
Spike was asleep in a chair alongside the bed, one arm stretched out and resting on … Buffy.
 
“Buffy!” Willow breathed. The others crowded around the doorway, stunned.
 
“Is that - Buffy?” Tara whispered.
 
Willow crept up to the bed and reached out to her.
 
Buffy eyes flew open. No. She grabbed Willow’s arm and threw her careening into Spike, waking him up and knocking over the chair, sending them both to the floor in a tangle of limbs. She pulled herself up into a crouch against the headboard, clutching her brush and cuticle knife.
 
“What’s wrong with her?” Anya asked.
 
Untangling herself from Spike, Willow said, “Nothing! She’s just in shock.”
 
Spike, growling, moved to crouch by the head of the bed, laying his palms flat. “’S’okay, Love. You’re safe. All safe.” Buffy relaxed slightly, lowering herself out of the crouch, but still holding tightly to her weapons.
 
“Her fingers … what happened to her hands?” Tara asked.
 
“Aw no….” Xander whimpered.
 
“What?” Willow asked.
 
“No!! How could we...” He made a sound of disgust. “So stupid.”
 
“Xander?!” Willow’s voice was high and breathy with panic.
 
“The spell. Our little resurrection spell worked like a magic charm. We brought her back to life, all right. Right where we left her … in her coffin.”
 
 “Oh God,” Willow sobbed.
 
Spike’s eyes went yellow; he was hanging onto his human face by a thread. Playing with forces they don’t understand. I could kill them all.
 
The angry-Master-vampire vibe in the room made them all suddenly conscious of Spike, and his closeness to Buffy.
 
“What are you doing here?” Xander’s voice dripped venom. “Get away from her!”
 
“I found her and brought her home las' night,” Spike said, keeping his eyes on Buffy and his voice even and calm. “And seein’ as I’m the only one strong enough to keep her from throwin’ you lot around the room like little dollies, I reckon I’ll stay right where I am.” Calm. Gotta stay calm.
 
Suddenly afraid of what feral-Buffy might do to him, Xander was thinking maybe Spike should stay where he was after all. Everyone except Willow took a tentative step back.
 
“Buffy? Buffy, it's Xander. We're ... sorry. We didn't know….”
 
“You're not reaching her,” Tara said. “She's too traumatised.”
 
“Buffy?” Xander tried again. “It's going to be all right. We ... we brought you back. You're home now.”
 
Anya moved carefully towards Buffy. “Hey, Buffy, here's some good news that might perk you right up. Xander and I have an announcement—”
 
Xander jerked her back. “Anya!”
 
“What? I'm trying to help.”
 
Buffy’s eyes were flicking between them warily. She started growling.
 
“M-maybe we should give her some space. I think we’re freaking her out,” Tara suggested.
 
Willow was still on the floor, unable to process what was happening. How did it all go so wrong?
 
Tara pulled Willow to her feet. “Let’s get breakfast. Everything will be better with food.” She looked at Spike. “Has she - ?”
 
“No,” he answered.
 
“D’you think toast - ?”
 
He nodded carefully. The longer they were near him, the more his jaw ticked with suppressed rage. Stupid fuckin’ wankers. Never think about the soddin' consequences.
 
He could feel bloodlust rising. Buffy’s heartbeat was like a siren song to his starved and injured body. Not good. Need blood. Now.
 
------------------------------------------
 
The thuds coming from Buffy’s room had drawn Dawn out to investigate, and although she couldn’t hear everything from the doorway to her bedroom, she’d heard enough. She shut her door as the Scoobies came out of Buffy’s room and trooped downstairs, sliding down to sit against it. What did they do? Is this why they put me to sleep?
 
A few minutes later, she heard Buffy’s door open and close, then Spike’s footsteps along the hallway and going down the stairs.
 
Dawn needed to see for herself.
 
She opened her door as quietly as she could, and crept down the hall to slip into Buffy’s room.
 
“Buffy?” Dawn said, coming into the room. “How - is it you? I mean, really?”
 
Buffy was in no state to deal with surprises.
 
Spike heard Dawn moving upstairs while he was waiting for his blood to heat up. Afraid of what Buffy might do, he ran for her room. He reached the doorway in time to see Buffy holding Dawn from behind, the cuticle knife pressed against her jugular.
 
Spike knew that if Buffy tried to cut Dawn's throat now, even with his speed, he’d never be able to get there in time. Holding his hands out, he started moving very slowly towards them. “Easy, Love. Dawn’s no threat to you,” he whispered.
 
“Buffy?” Dawn wavered. “I'm your sister. Dawn. You don't want to hurt me. I don't know how you're back but you are and please, just….” She broke off in a sob of fear and anguish. “Talk to me!” She shrieked.  “Say something! I don't understand.” Tears streaming down her face, she whimpered, “You’re scaring me.”
 
Buffy cocked her head to one side. “Is this hell?” she asked in a small voice.
 
“What?” Dawn asked.
 
“Is this hell?”
 
“No. Buffy, no. You're here. With me. Whatever happened to you…. Whatever you've been through.... It's - it's over now. You're—”
 
“Buffy, please,” Spike whispered. “You’ve got to remember.” He still wasn't close enough. He'd never been so terrified.
 
“Listen to me," Dawn pleaded. "You told me I had to be strong. And I've tried.” Dawn’s voice broke. “It's been so hard without you, but I try to be brave. I'm sorry. I promise I'll do better. I will. If you're with me. Stay with me. Please. I need you with me.” Dawn was shaking with sobs, and her movements caused the knife to dig into her, just a little bit, releasing a trickle of blood.
 
As the scent of Dawn’s blood flooded the room, two things happened: Spike threw himself at Buffy, desperate to stop her from hurting Dawn more; but also, cracks formed deep down inside Buffy, where she’d hidden herself from the fear and the pain, and some of her memories came back. “Dawn?” she whispered. Recognition flooded into her eyes, and she dropped the knife. Spike let her go, sagging against the wall with relief. Too close.
 
“Oh god, Dawnie!” Buffy croaked out, and turned Dawn around in her arms.
 
Dawn, still crying, gasped in the too-strong embrace. “Can’t breathe, Buffy!”
 
Overcome with horror at what she’d almost done – twice – Buffy flung herself away from her sister. “I – I was going to….”
 
“But you didn’t. The important thing is, you didn’t,” Spike said, shakily pulling Dawn towards him, needing the physical reassurance that she was still alive.
 
“Buffy?” Dawn moved out of Spike’s half-hug towards her sister, still needing the comfort of being close to her. Spike watched them warily, still not sure Dawn would be safe.
 
Buffy stared at her sister, stricken. Dawn wrapped her arms around her, holding on tight. Buffy clenched and unclenched her fists as her trembling arms came up to rest lightly around Dawn’s back.
 
“Buffy.... You ... you're really here.” Dawn let out a sob. “You're alive and you're home.” Dawn’s tear-stained face was suffused with relief and tentative joy. “You're home.”
 
Buffy’s face was completely frozen. Her eyes met Spike’s. “You protected her.” He nodded. “Even from me.”
 
------------------------------------------
 
Downstairs, Tara was making breakfast, while Willow and Xander sat silently, trying to process what had just happened. Anya was fluttering around the room, unable to keep still with all the tension.
 
They barely noticed Spike come in, put some blood in the microwave, then leave again.
 
“I think we screwed it up and she's broken,” Anya said, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence.
 
“No!” Willow almost shouted. “She can’t be broken!”
 
Then Spike returned with a tear-ravaged Dawn. When he got out the first aid kit, every eye in the room went to the cut on Dawn’s neck.
 
“D-d-did B-B-Buffy - ?” Tara stuttered.
 
It was all so far away from what they’d expected. Buffy hurting Dawn was just … inconceivable.
 
“You’re going to have to put her back,” Anya said.
 
“No,” Spike said firmly.
 
“No!” Dawn shrieked.
 
Suddenly, Buffy was in the kitchen with them.
 
“I’m okay,” she said softly, looking at the floor.
 
All the Scoobies started talking at once. “What do you remember?” (Xander); “Are you in pain?” (Willow); and “What do you know about what happened?” (Tara).
 
Buffy cringed.
 
“Back off!” shouted Dawn, standing protectively between her sister and the others.
 
“I'm going to be fine,” Buffy said. “I remember – I was— You brought me back.” She looked up, but avoided making eye contact. “How long was I gone?”
 
“Hundred forty-eight days yesterday.” Spike responded quickly.  “Um, ‘cept yesterday doesn’t count, does it?” He tried to catch her eye, but Buffy wouldn’t look at him. “How long was it for you … where you were?”
 
“Longer. It was ... I can't – I couldn't leave.”
 
“It's okay. You really don't have to do this, Buff,” Xander said softly. “Hey, do you want something? Anything? Toast? Doughnuts? I’ll get you doughnuts.”
 
“She doesn't want doughnuts,” Willow said scornfully.
 
“Back. The fuck. Off,” Spike ground out. The Scoobies flinched.
 
“Let Buffy tell us what she needs,” Dawn said.
 
Buffy backed up against the wall, still not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I think ... I want to sleep.”
 
Suddenly, she was staring straight at Spike, pleading.
 
“That's a good idea,” Tara said. “You should sleep.”
 
“Yeah,” Willow agreed. “But, Buffy, be happy. We got you out. We really did it.” She smiled, tentatively.
 
They’d saved her. They, the Scoobies, had saved the Chosen One, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Why wouldn’t she look at them?
 
“Tired,” Buffy whispered. She looked up at Spike again. “Will you...?”
 
He nodded. “I’ll watch over you.”
 
Dawn reached out to touch her sister, but Buffy pulled away and moved towards the stairs. Dawn’s face fell.
 
Spike pulled her against him with both arms. “Give her time, Sweet Bit. Gave herself quite a scare there.” Dawn buried her face in his chest, crying again.
 
Spike grabbed his blood and the first aid kit and, still holding Dawn tightly against his side, followed Buffy upstairs.
 
Xander started to splutter, then stopped.
 
“She just tried to slit Dawn’s throat,” Anya said. Everyone flinched. “I, for one, feel much safer with Spike watching her.”
 
“Anya!” said Xander.
 
“What? She did.”
 
“She's just disoriented from being tormented in some kind of hell dimension,” Willow said. "Probably tortured and…. It's like, we don't even know how much time passed there for her, possibly years. That's not something you get over…” Willow trailed off, then, “What if she never gets over it?”
 
“And you think of this now?” Anya asked, incredulous. So ignorant.
 
“What are you thinking, Willow?” Tara asked. “That she's ... that she's not right? Or maybe, like, dangerous?”
 
“No!” Willow shouted, stomping her foot. “She’s not all feral-Buffy anymore – she’s definitely normal … now.”
 
“Willow, she died to protect Dawn, and practically the first thing she did when we brought her back was try to kill her!” Anya said. “I don’t think she’s especially normal at all.”
 
“Shut up, Anya!” Xander shouted.
 
In the awkward silence that followed, no one noticed that Xander’s brown eyes had turned green, or that someone else was staring out of them. He attributed his disorientation and discomfort to thinking about what his best friend had just done to her sister.
 
Anya’s face crumpled. There’s always consequences with magic. Always! I don’t understand why I’m not supposed to talk about it.