It wasn't much, as far as lairs went. No easy escape routes. No direct access to the sewers. Just the basement of a house long gone to seed. A grand old duchess in her time, he supposed, clinging to the faded glory of her prime. Not much use for vampires with any sense, but maybe the sort of place a teen might be easily lured to, if she were feeling her oats, but didn't particularly want to wallow in the muck.

Spike sauntered farther into the basement, projecting an air of bored indifference as he pretended not to notice the gaggle of young vamps glaring at him for invading their space. He stopped at what they'd probably assume was a safe distance, taking his sweet time to light up a fag as he studied them.

Fledges, the lot of them, both as vampires and humans. None of the four likely any older than Dawn. Their lair reflected it. Not quite a sty, but the bits and bobs of unsupervised teens scattered all about, including a few corpses left somewhere out of his line of sight. Any one of which could have been.... No. She was a smart girl, his nibblet. Just because her scent led here didn't mean she hadn't run right back out when she'd realized the danger.

"Looking for a girl," he said casually, throttling back the dread he'd felt since the moment he'd finally caught Dawn's day old scent. "About yea high."

He held his hand out at Dawn height. Huh. She'd got taller than Buffy at some point. Hadn't the foggiest notion when that had happened. He shook the thought away. Just something crowding in, trying to distract his mind from what he was becoming sickeningly certain had happened.

Two bloody days, she'd been gone, off for a Halloween lark behind everyone's back. The first hour had been full of irritation over the little chit acting out like the rebellious ball of hormones that she sometimes was. Second hour of searching with Buffy had included growled threats of permanent grounding, enforced by chains. After the third, they'd been well and truly worried. This was more than just a girl snuck out for a bit of Halloween mischief.

Vampires and demons tended to stay in for the night, but that wouldn't stop a human predator. Or some little wannabe punk of a fledge flouting tradition just because they could.

He'd finally found her scent only to lose it again somewhere around the local lookout point, where all the little kiddies and young adults went for a nice view and a snog. He'd been tracking her pretty well before everything had gone all sixes and sevens, his senses all blurring together in a disorienting rush. Sound was texture, shapes were scents, and everything had tasted bloody purple. Buffy had felt something, too, claiming the world had gone all "wonky" for a moment.

Most of it had snapped back right quick, but it had been a good twenty minutes before Spike could smell anything but ashes and, weirdly, strawberries. By then, it had been too late. Dawn's scent had ended near a set of tire tracks heading off for the highway. He'd been out searching all the dark hours since, but hadn't been able to find any other trace of her until now.

"Dark hair," he continued, pulling his thoughts from the past to the present, "blue eyes. A scream that could blow out your eardrums from a mile away." He'd tried to teach her. Scream and run. But even that banshee howl wouldn't have been able to save her if she'd been taken by surprise. He focused on the fledge who seemed to think he was the leader of the little group. "Seen her about, have you?"

"We don't answer to the likes of you," the boy sneered, features shifting easily from human to vampire. "We can smell your fear."

Spike clicked his tongue and shook his head in disapproval. "Typical. Either don't use your nose at all, or focus on the wrong scents. That's a lesson," he moved suddenly, tone still light and easy as he flicked his cigarette in the face of one fledge while staking another. Then he slammed their leader into the wall, "you aren't going to survive long enough to learn. One more chance. You either die fast or slow. Your choice. Now, where. Is. She?"

The other two boys were frozen in place. Good sense, fear, or both. The one up against the wall wasn't following their lead. Foolish, that. Spike reached out and broke two of his fingers, smiling at the resulting snarl.

"Not much for a vampire to heal, I'll admit, but we're just getting started, aren't we? Not really much of one for torture, but I'll make an exception for you."

Not his style. Not the sort of thing he resorted to if there were other options. But something had been scratching at him since he followed Dawn's scent into the old house. Scratch. Scratch. Something off that just wouldn't settle.

"Go for your eye, next. Pluck it right out. Woman I used to date would eat them like candy, sometimes." He smiled again as the other two boys bolted up the stairs. Didn't need them. This one would crack. He'd that feel to him. "Liked the way they popped in her mouth." The smile fell away. "After that, I'll take your nose, since you aren't using it right, anyway. Then the other eye, I think, before that no doubt pathetic twig you call a knob."

Fear finally filled the boy's eyes. He'd have been pissing himself if he'd been able. Then something in the shadows moved, and the fear turned to wild hope.

Spike braced himself, but a horrifyingly familiar shriek cut through his defenses, leaving him vulnerable to the... thing that lunged at him. He managed to get a stake in the boy's heart as the new fledge tackled him to the ground, slapping and clawing at his face as that scream went on and on.

No, he thought numbly. It couldn't be. It couldn't.

The earthy scent of vampire. Old and fresh blood. Faded tatters of scent from lilac shampoo and honey vanilla body wash. The sunlight and wildflowers that had been a shared trait with Buffy and Joyce. And that scent, like a hot cuppa on a cold morning, that was uniquely.... All this time, he'd been smelling it. Off, like it was an old scent mingled and diffused with others. But that hadn't been it. Hadn't-

He shoved the thing away from him, scrambling backward across the floor until he hit the wall and used it to get unsteadily to his feet. The fledge growled, glaring up at him through feral yellow eyes. Yellow eyes that stared from the depths of the vamped out version of a horribly familiar face.

Blood on that face. On her torn and filthy clothes.

No. God, no. His little bit. She-

The thing on the floor leapt up to its feet, Dawn flinging herself at him to continue the fight.

...

She stood in front of the door, just staring at it. If she didn't open it, then she didn't know if Dawn was back or not. It was like that cat in the box. Until she opened the door, her little sister was equally likely to be there or still missing. Equally likely.... Yeah, right, she was pretty sure which one it was. But that was how it was with the cat, too. If it was in there with deadly radiation, then it was....

She opened the door and stepped inside, her feet taking her into the living room without much input from her brain. Her head moved on its own, dragging her eyes to the couch, half expecting Dawn's lifeless body to be lying there. Empty. No one there, living or dead.

No relief about the lack of a body. No disappointment about a living Dawn not being waiting there. She just felt... numb. Not exactly unusual since she'd been brought back, but there was a different quality to it. Like the dread always pressing down on that cocoon of numbness had gotten heavier and darker. And if that cocoon popped....

There was a sound from the kitchen, followed by Giles, holding a mug. Steam rose from it, along with the smell of chocolate and coffee.

"Any word?" Buffy asked, the words popping out even though she knew he would have already said something if he'd heard anything.

As much as he'd wanted to be part of the search, he'd been put in charge of manning the phone, since the police were involved in their own search for Dawn and Janice. Giles managed talking to them better than she or the Scoobies did, and having him there meant he could be called from a pay phone if any of them found Dawn.

"Not yet," Giles said quietly, handing her the mug. "Coffee for energy, and cocoa for comfort. Rest for a bit while we wait for the others. I'll make you some grilled cheese."

She wanted to tell him there was no time for rest and sandwiches. Instead, she gave a jerky nod before sitting down on one of the living room chairs. She wanted to head back out there and keep looking, but that wasn't The Plan. Had to stick to The Plan if they wanted to find Dawn.

It had all been Xander's idea, after that first night of frantic searching. Buffy and Giles had gone to the police with Janice's mom the next morning. And while the cops started up their own thing, Xander had started his. Divide Sunnydale up into sections and send everyone out. Maximize the ground they could cover by making sure that some areas weren't being checked over and over while others were ignored. And as soon as you finished your section, you went back to the house, reporting on any possible clues before being assigned a new section. Spike was the only exception. Xander called him a "free agent," and his job was basically just roaming Sunnydale, trying to catch any trace of Dawn or Janice fresher than the make out point.

 She didn't even care how creepy the sniffing thing was. If it meant Spike found Dawn, she was buying his nose a fucking present. What did he like to smell? Other than me? Hell, if he did find Dawn, she'd just give him one of her bras, freshly worn. It didn't matter how gross that was, not if Dawn was home, and not....

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and took a deep breath, trying to calm her scattered thoughts. Then she gulped down some of the drink Giles had made for her. Too hot, but she welcomed the burn. The pain meant she was at least feeling something. Something other than that numbness and the horrible, lurking dread pressing in on her. Waiting for the chance to crush her into a paste before devouring her.

She closed her eyes again, just focusing on her breathing. In and out. In and out. She could breathe. She wasn't physically being weighed down. Nothing was stopping her from breathing. No dirt piled on her. She could breathe. In and out. In and-

The door opened - along with her eyes - as Willow bounced into the house like she'd eaten her own weight in sugar and caffeine. Her expression didn't match the energy of her body, though she tried to plaster a hopeful smile on her face.

"No word yet?"

Buffy just shook her head. Willow sank down onto a cushion on the floor like a deflated balloon, the fake smile fading.

"It... it's going to be okay," the redhead said. "We'll find her. Dawnie's smart. And she's a tough cookie. Wherever she is, she's going to be okay."

Buffy wasn't sure how to respond to that. Should she be optimistic, and say that Willow was probably right? Or realistic and point out that the chances of finding someone alive after forty-eight hours was less likely, even in places that weren't built around a Hellmouth? She was saved from having to go either route by the door opening again and Anya shuffling in.

She looked as exhausted as Buffy felt, and she was strangely grateful for it. No bounciness. No attempt at a perky smile. Just plopping herself down on the couch with vague grumbles as she rubbed her aching calves. No apparent expectations of optimism. It was a relief.

Willow was giving the ex-vengeance demon an annoyed look, but the door opened for a third time before she could say anything. Then Tara came in, and the redhead bounced up off the cushion, before bouncing over to her girlfriend like Tigger.

Luckily, Giles came back from the kitchen before Buffy gave in to the sudden urge to get up and smack the bounce out of her friend. He had a plate piled high with grilled cheese sandwiches that had been cut into triangles. At least four of them, and all of them apparently for her.

"You've been expending far too many calories without taking enough in," he said, giving her that disapprovingly worried dad look as he handed her the plate.

She mumbled a "thanks" as she took the plate, fighting back the tears that were threatening to escape. There was no reason to cry over some damn sandwiches. It didn't matter that her actual dad hadn't bothered to call in months. That he'd been unreachable for the past two days. Nothing mattered except finding Dawn.

She forced her thoughts to be still, focusing on mindlessly shoving down the sandwiches. She couldn't cast bouncy magic on herself. Had to fuel up with food so she could keep searching. She was down to just one triangle when Xander finally came in, limping to the couch without looking at anyone.

"Forgot to change my damn socks," he muttered, sitting down next to Anya and taking off his shoe and one of the unchanged socks. She could see the pretty nasty blister forming from where she was sitting. He sighed and glanced at her before looking away. "Buffy, I...."

She froze, a bite of grilled cheese tasting like ashes in her mouth as she stared at him. No. No, he could not be about to suggest that they call off the search. He'd been the one to organize it. If he called it off-

He rubbed tiredly at his face, then looked at her again, misery and defeat in his eyes. "When I called off to work yesterday and today, I had to promise to work the Saturday shift. If I don't show up at the site tomorrow, ready to work my ass off, I'm going to lose my job."

It's just a job, Xander! Dawn is more important than a fucking job! We all have to keep looking. She didn't say the words. She didn't need to. He knew it all already. But he also knew that it wouldn't just be a job he lost. If he got a bad reputation at the current site, he could have trouble finding any other construction work. And he had rent and bills to pay, and had to be able to afford food and the other necessities of life.

"Fine," she ground out after forcing down that bite of grilled cheese. "That's fine. Just figure out the search areas for the rest of us for tonight and tomorrow, then go home and rest so you can work tomorrow. We'll keep-"

"Buffy," Giles interrupted, his voice horribly gentle and sympathetic. "I think we've searched all we can. All we could do at this point is go door-to-door, and that's a task better left to the po-"

Another interruption. The phone this time. He left her side in an instant, rushing to the kitchen to answer it. Murmured words that she couldn't quite make out. No way to tell if it was the police or Spike calling, or some nocturnal telemarketer.

Did vampires work as telemarketers? It was evil and soulless. Seemed like something that would appeal.

"Locater spell!" Willow suddenly blurted out, breaking into Buffy's odd thoughts. She'd gone back to her cushion at some point, Tara snuggled up next to her. "All we have to do to find Dawn is cast a locater spell. I can't believe I didn't think of that earlier." She frowned. "Why didn't I think of it before?"

"M-maybe because she's the key?" Tara suggested.

"That would make sense," Anya chimed in. "The monks who created Dawn didn't want Glory able to find her. If they had the power to turn the key into a human, then they would have been able to make it unlikely that anyone would think to look for her with a locater spell."

There was a sound from the kitchen, and Willow jumped up excitedly as Giles came back into the room, looking worried and disturbed. Worried and disturbed was not good.

"The police?" Buffy asked, forcing the words through a throat and mouth that were suddenly too dry. "Wh-what did they say? Is Dawn...?"

Giles shook his head, but more like he was clearing his thoughts than saying no to anything. "More information is needed," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "I have to go."

"Giles," Willow said, ignoring his words and tone as she bounced in front of him. "I know how to find Dawn. There's a spell-"

"No," he snapped. "No spells."

"But..."

"We'll discuss it when I come back. All of you stay here for now. And no magic until I've returned."

And then he strode out the door without a backward glance.

...

Tara slowly got to her feet, reaching out for Willow's hand while her girlfriend was staring at the door in disbelief. Before she could take Willow's hand in hers, the other woman took several steps towards the door, hands on her hips as she glared.

"That insufferable, pig-headed...!" she snapped out.

Then she took a deep breath and whirled to face Buffy. Her hand rose, and power filled the air, lifting one of the slayer's hairs and plucking it from her head. Buffy let out a startled sound and stared, wide-eyed, but didn't say anything about the needless use of magic. No one else said anything, either. Just watched as the hair floated over to Willow's outstretched hand.

Tara felt like she was going to be sick. Using magic for the impromptu engagement party. The magic to give herself energy for the search. And that spell at The Bronze. Even just using it in one place, shunting people from their dimension and back again, was awful enough, but she had felt that energy move out past the building. Was horribly certain that it had been responsible for everything going "all pear shaped" right before Spike had lost Dawn's trail. And now this.

It was nothing compared to that other spell, but it was one more piled on. Needless spell after needless spell, mixed in with downright dangerous magic. It had to stop. And it looked like she was the only one willing to stop it.

"Giles said to wait." It was the wrong thing to say, and she knew it even as the words came out of her mouth. Stupid. It would have been smarter to point out that there had been something... off, about what Giles had said. About the way he'd said it. More information needed, but no actual indication of who needed that information.

Willow stiffened. "Giles isn't here, and we're all adults. We don't need his permission to find Dawn."

"Are we even sure this will work?" Xander asked, looking uneasily between the two of them. "If locater spells won't work on Dawn...."

"This one will," Willow said confidently. "One looking specifically for the key probably wouldn't, but Dawnie was made from Buffy. She can't be hidden from a spell like this."

The hair settled into her hand, and she started chanting. Tara hugged herself and backed away, certain that something bad was going to happen.

Then the spell was finished, and the hair rose back up into the air... before suddenly burning away into ash.

"What-what does that mean?" Buffy asked harshly, her face blanched of all color. "It couldn't find her?"

"N-no. I...." Willow sounded completely shaken, and Tara knew why, even before she said it.

No. Oh, god no.

"It means Dawn...," Willow continued, voice cracking. "Dawnie is dead."

Candles, incense, a wooden bowl, and a few packets of dried herbs all taken from The Magic Box. A pair of thick leather gloves. Ten one-gallon jugs of human blood bought with everything he'd had from Willie's, preserved and kept warm with magic and guaranteed to have come from willing college students looking for a bit of dosh. A cloth bag full of... all the other things he'd need. Just had to begin the prep work and wait for Giles to arrive before....

Spike shuddered and closed his eyes, drawing in several slow, deep breaths. He didn't have to do this. Could just grab up a stake and dust the... creature chained up and unconscious on the other side of the crypt. Go to Buffy and tell her the truth of it, or claim he'd never found any trace of Dawn at all. Either way, he'd be leaving her with no body she could see. No proof to give full closure. There were only two ways around that. Force Buffy to see what her sister had become and deal with it. Or....

No bloody or about it. He wasn't going to do any of that to her. The "or" was the only choice, and he'd committed to it the moment he'd called Giles from the payphone, telling the man to keep quiet to the others and get his arse to the crypt if he wanted any hope of getting Dawn back.

The Watcher had enough magical knowhow to assist. And, more importantly, was a spine of steel and a right nasty streak of practicality under that soft, ex-librarian exterior. He'd see the need in what Spike planned to do, and would keep him from faltering once the worst of it began. His gaze drifted to the cloth bag, his mind skittering away from thinking too much on what was inside. If he was meant to use it all on himself, it wouldn't be a problem, but....

He shuddered and grabbed one of the jugs, opening it and gulping down the contents. Warm, fresh-tasting human blood. Whole, not separated into different components like at the hospital and with none of the preservatives. Enough to drink his fill after so long with only enough pig blood to stave off the worst edge of hunger. He tossed aside the empty jug and started in on another. Energy sizzled through him, reminding him that he hadn't even taken the time for the sodding pig since they'd started the search for Dawn and Janice.

Janice.... Bloody hell, he'd forgot all about Janice. Snippets of memory flashed through his mind. Popcorn, pizza, and soda over the summer when she'd come to watch movies with Dawn. The two girls gleefully offering up suggestions when he'd put something together for dinner while the witches had a date night.

Had he just left her there in that basement, a true corpse, or a fledgling about to rise? No, he reassured himself. No scent of her anywhere near that house. Just Dawn. She'd likely been eaten along the way and tossed out like an empty juice box. A flash of regret that he hadn't been able to save Dawn's friend, but at least he hadn't left her behind.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out before setting aside the second empty jug. Best not to think right now, just do what he could to prepare before Giles got there. Get his strength up before the main event. He grimly picked up a full jug and began to drink.

...

"I know what happened to Dawn. If you want her back, keep your gob shut to the others and get your arse over to my crypt as fast as possible."

Those words, the entirety of the phone call he'd received from Spike, echoed through Giles's mind as he opened the door to the crypt. It was darker than normal, only a smattering of the usual candles lit, leaving one corner deep in shadow. There were sounds from that corner. The soft clink of chains and a low growl that rose the hairs on the back of his neck.

"Spike?" he called out hesitantly, slowly walking towards that darkened corner.

There had been something... off about Spike's voice over the phone. Harsh, but with an odd mingling of hope and despair. That, more than the words he'd said, had been what had convinced Giles to follow the other Englishman's instructions.

His eyes began to adjust to the gloom as he eased towards the corner of the crypt. He could just make out a chained figure. A crouched figure. Slender, as far as he could tell, with long, dark hair. And malevolent yellow eyes that gleamed in the darkness.

The unease grew as pieces of a puzzle he didn't want to see began to come together. No. No, it couldn't be. Spike's phone call. Would he have sounded like that if...?

The chains rattled as the figure surged to its feet, lunging towards him with a hungry snarl. Giles stood there, frozen by the shock of horrified recognition. The only thing that kept his throat from being ripped out was the sudden arm across his chest that pulled him just out of her reach and up against a solid body.

He leaned into that body, let his own sag against the gently restraining arm. Staring at the creature before him, he hadn't the strength to hold himself upright on his own. Dawn snarled and snapped, saliva gleaming on her fangs and nothing but frustrated hunger glowing from those crazed, alien eyes.

"Found her like that in a nest of fledglings," Spike said quietly, carefully pulling him farther away from... the vampire before releasing his hold.

Giles staggered a little, but then regained his balance. Physically at least. Mentally, he was still reeling. Dawn was.... Dawn had become a vampire. I failed her, he thought numbly. Another girl meant to be in his care had died. Worse than died. He'd come here in the hope that Dawn could be saved, only to find.... His fists clenched, and before he even had time to fully think things through, he spun and slammed his fist into Spike's face.

The vampire just quietly took it, a terrible understanding in his eyes. Then he wiped the blood away from his split lip with a slightly trembling hand.

"She's feral," he said, voice still quiet. "Nothin' of Dawn left in her anymore."

"There never is, with a vampire," Giles heard himself say. It felt distant. Like someone else was speaking through him.

Spike just snorted and gave him a look. "We both know that's bollocks the council came up with to make slaying easier on the girls. No need to parrot the party line with just us here." He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair before turning away to pace. "Nothing to be done about her being a vampire now, but there is something we can do about her being feral. About her being... not Dawn. To a certain extent, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Giles asked, slowly feeling like he was coming back to himself as he watched the vampire pace.

"There's a... a ritual. Not commonly known, but Dru made sure I learned it after..." he trailed off, looking confused for a moment before shaking his head. "Don't remember why she taught me, but there's, uh, this ritual to sort of redo a siring. She wanted to make sure I knew how to go about it."

Giles frowned, trying to work his way through what Spike was telling him. "What would be the point in redoing a siring? And how can that make Dawn more... herself?" He carefully kept from looking at the growling girl, keeping his focus on Spike and his increasingly agitated pacing.

"There are different... tiers I suppose is the best way to describe it, of being a vampire. Bottom of the barrel is feral." He glanced at Dawn, shuddering and turning away from her before continuing his explanation. "A mindless beast of a demon in a body with none of the humanity at home. Next up is a brute. No more humanity really than the feral ones, but the demon is more than just a mindless eating machine. Not too bright, but able to understand orders and follow a stronger vamp about.

"After that, you have killers. A lot of variables in that tier. Dumb demon with a lot of humanity that just doesn't give a damn. Smart demon with more than just base needs with no humanity to speak of. Everything in between. And then you have top tier." He snorted a laugh at that. "Top tier, but the least respected by most others. The suckers. There's some variance in the demon along with the killers, but the humanity is always intact. They'll kill, and feel nothing about it unless they know the person, but it isn't their first instinct." He stopped his pacing, a faraway look in his eyes like he was seeing some distant memory. "They have to be taught to kill. Have to be taught not to leave their prey bumbling about, weak but alive."

"And what does that have to do with Dawn and this ritual?" Giles prodded gently. There was something going on here. Something weighing on Spike beyond just the horror of what had happened to the girl Giles knew he loved like a sister. Or a daughter. It wasn't something he was easy acknowledging, but he'd seen them together over the summer.

Spike took another deep breath, rubbing at his face. "The ritual does a few things. First, it pulls the demon out, which doesn't bring the human back. It does sort of... reset the level of humanity, though. At that point, the new sire, or old, if it's someone trying again, feeds it some of their blood. You either end up with just a human corpse, or a vampire fledge at the same tier as the sire. It's not an easy ritual. It's... gruesome, honestly, and takes a lot mentally and physically out of the re-siring vamp. In the end, Dawn will either be dead, or... far more Dawn than she is, now."

"You mean she'd be a killer, rather than feral." Giles considered that, of having Dawn back, mostly herself, but still with the desire to slaughter humans. Would that be any better for Buffy to deal with than a fully dead sister?

"No," Spike said, breaking into his thoughts. His lips twitched up into a self-mocking smile. "She'd either die or come back at the tier I am. A sucker."

...

Exhaustion dragged at her like a weight trying to send her back into the ground, but there was no rest. Could be no rest while Dawn was.... "Dawnie is dead." Willow's words swam around and around in Buffy's head, sharks looking for any weakness and ripping her to shreds. Dawnie is dead. Dawnie is dead.

She didn't want to believe it. Wanted to believe that Willow was wrong. That the spell hadn't worked right. But Tara's reaction had killed that hope before it could even fully form. She didn't know Willow's girlfriend all that well, but she would have suggested trying again if she'd thought it had been done wrong. She wouldn't have started to cry. Wouldn't have stuttered out pointless words of comfort that Buffy had only vaguely been aware of.

Buffy had left the house after that, mumbling something about having to patrol. It hadn't been a lie. She'd had to patrol. Needed to patrol. She staggered through the cemetery, tripping over the uneven dirt of a fresh grave and falling to her hands and knees. Her eyes drifted closed.

God, she was so tired. She just wanted to curl up and sleep. Sleep and never wake up. Sleep.... She opened her eyes and lurched up to her feet. Dawnie was dead. She couldn't sleep while Dawnie was dead. She had to find the body and take out whatever had killed her. And put down whatever demons or vampires she found along the way.

Buffy clenched her fist around her stake, hard enough to hurt. The pain focused her. Helped her to think through the fog of exhaustion. She was the slayer. Tonight, she'd make sure every demon in Sunnydale knew just what that meant.

Or die trying, whispered a little voice in the back of her head.

Giles carefully ground up the handful of herbs, moistened with just enough holy water to create a thick paste, trying not to think. Spike was down in the lower level, preparing by scrubbing himself down with a packet of different herbs in the makeshift shower he'd cobbled together at some point in the past. He'd be doing the bulk of the ritual, with Giles helping with some of the preparation, keeping Spike focused, and then getting him tucked into bed afterwards to rest.

He'd been adamant about that. That the ritual would leave him physically and mentally fragile for the next twenty-four hours, and that he wasn't to be disturbed except in dire need. They'd know immediately if Dawn would rise again, but the magic would keep her unconscious long enough for her new sire to recover.

There was a sound from the direction of the trap door, followed by Spike, damp and dressed in nothing but a pair of jeans. He already looked exhausted, no doubt running on the same lack of sleep as Buffy. As all of them, really, but the two of them had been pushing themselves even harder for the past few days. They've more strength than the rest of us, but less sense when it comes to leaving themselves any reserves. He'd the odd urge to make up another batch of grilled cheese sandwiches, but shook it away as the other man approached him. Human food wouldn't do him any good. Besides, if the empty jugs next to the full ones of blood were any indication, he'd at least taken the time to get some kind of sustenance into himself.

"About done there?" Spike asked, inclining his head towards the wooden bowl full of herbs and holy water.

"I believe so. And the, uh, candles and incense have been placed around... the feral vampire as you instructed."

He glanced towards the now lit corner. The thing that had once been Dawn had been stripped nude and bound tightly to a kitchen chair Spike had procured for somewhere or other. Murderous rage had joined the hunger in its eyes. Giles shuddered and looked away from it, handing the bowl over to Spike once he'd pulled on a pair of heavy leather gloves.

He nodded his thanks, taking the bowl and a mysterious cloth bag with him towards the bound girl. And then the ritual was begun.

It was, as Spike had warned, quite gruesome. Symbols were drawn all over her body with the holy water and herb paste. Crosses of various sizes were pulled from the bag and pressed into her flesh. And all the while, Spike droned on in a language Giles didn't know, often drowned out by the other vampire's shrieks of pain, but never faltering, even as the hands holding the instruments of torture shook.

Hours seemed to crawl past, though it was likely no more than one. It was a difficult ritual to watch. No doubt even harder to perform. But Giles told himself that the thing in the chair was not Dawn. It was something that had stolen her form, and what was being done to it would bring something like the Dawn they'd known back to them. And when Spike froze, shaking like a leaf and unable to press the largest cross into her flesh, Giles steadied him, holding his arm and helping him to lay it against her chest.

With one final scream of agony, the creature went limp in the chair, the eyes glazing over as they shifted from yellow to blue. Then the restraints were quickly torn away, the body carefully cradled against Spike's chest as he cut into his own wrist and held it to her mouth. One breath. Two. Nothing.

And then the body in Spike's arms convulsed, sucking greedily at his wrist before once more going still.

Spike shuddered and glanced towards him. "It worked," he whispered hoarsely. "She's-"

His knees buckled, and he fell to the floor before Giles could catch him, his energy utterly spent.

...

Willow sat alone in the living room, contemplating her next move. Xander and Anya had gone home after Buffy had left, and a tiny nudge of magic was all it had taken to send Tara staggering off to bed. None of them were taking the news of Dawn's death well. Neither was she, honestly, but she was trying to push past the grief to think of what she was going to do about it.

There was the spell she'd used to resurrect Buffy. The urn had been broken, but now that she'd done the spell before, she might be able to come up with some sort of substitute or workaround. The biggest obstacle was not knowing how she'd died. Had it been the kind of unnatural death that the spell could actually reverse, or something completely normal? Dawn is the key, she reminded herself. Some kind of energy given a human form and life. Could any type of death be considered "normal" for a being like that?

Willow sighed and rubbed at her face. Everything would have been so much simpler if Dawn had just been at the Bronze when she and Tara had checked there. The spell she'd come up with had worked perfectly. It had shunted everyone but the two of them and any fifteen-year-old girls into another dimension just long enough for Willow to get a look at everyone left. A handful of young girls, but none of them had been Dawn.

And Tara.... She'd been so angry about the spell, arguing with her before she'd even cast it. At least that could be fixed easily enough. She'd used Lethe's Bramble off and on throughout the summer to keep everyone focused and still had some sprigs of it in the bedroom. She'd just use it to make Tara think they'd just checked the Bronze like normal people before leaving. No more problem. If only everything else was as easy to fix....

The door opened suddenly, and she jumped to her feet, startled out of her thoughts. The energizing spell had helped with the search, but did make her kind of jumpy. Like way too much sugar and caffeine.

"Buffy-" she started to call out, then stopped as Giles came into view. He looked as tired as the rest of them, a haggard expression on his face.

"Where is Buffy?" he asked, glancing around the room.

"Giles, I...." She hesitated, not sure what to say. He'd be upset with her for using magic when he'd told her not to before he came back, but she couldn't just not tell him about Dawn. "I...I did a locater spell. I know you said not to, but it's just a simple spell. No trouble at all, and, and it's not like it's something that can really go wrong. It... um, it said that...." She took a deep breath and looked down for a moment before meeting his cold gaze. "She's dead. Dawn is dead."

Giles froze for a moment, so still she wasn't even sure he was breathing. "Where is Buffy?" he repeated, voice soft and ominous.

Willow swallowed hard, taking an involuntary step back at the look in his eyes. "She, uh, after the spell, she went out to patrol."

"You foolish child," he hissed with terrifyingly controlled anger, "do you have any idea of what you've done?" He turned away from her, towards the door. "Stay here and do nothing else. You've caused more than enough harm with your rampant idiocy."

Then he was gone, leaving her there alone with the echo of his harsh words.

...

Piles of dust. The corpses of demons that didn't conveniently combust being consumed by smaller scavenger demons. It wasn't enough of a trail for Giles to follow on his own, but they were obvious marks of Buffy's recent path, proving that Spike's nose seemed to be working even if the rest of him was having difficulties.

His grip on Spike tightened, keeping the vampire upright as he stumbled again. Even with Giles steadying him, he swayed like a drunk.

"Where?" he slurred, blinking owlishly. "Wha's going on?"

"We have to find Buffy," Giles told him, firmly but gently. It was far from the first time. "You need to follow her scent."

Spike stiffened suddenly, eyes going wide and panicked. "The tower. She's gonna-"

It wasn't the first time for that, either. Giles clamped down on the desire to shake him back to sense. It wouldn't work, and the inability to keep his thoughts in the here and now was hardly his fault. He'd warned Giles of the toll the ritual would take on his mental faculties, both before he'd started it and after he'd been woken and made to understand the current situation.

"No, Spike," he said, tightening his hold again before the other man could attempt to run and fall flat on his face. "There's no tower. We just need to find Buffy and get her home so she can get some rest." It was quite a bit more urgent than that, but panicking him again wasn't going to accomplish anything. "Find her scent."

Spike's eyes drifted closed, and for a moment Giles thought he was falling asleep on his feet, but then he breathed in deeply, mouth slightly open as if he were tasting the air he drew in through his nose. Then he attempted to turn and go back the way they'd come.

"That's where she's been," Giles snapped before he could stop himself. He took a deep breath and throttled his impatience and worry. He forced himself to continue in a softer tone of voice. "We need to follow where she's going."

"Going... Th' tower. Hafta stop her. If she jumps... Red'll rip her out of heaven."

Rip her out of.... Giles froze in shock, his grip going lax. Spike jerked free, managing two steps forward before falling to the ground. He left him there for the moment, trying to process what he'd just heard. Spike had been drifting through the past - even once thinking he was trying to get to Drusilla ahead of a crazed mob - but he hadn't been spouting nonsense. If what he'd just said had been the truth....

They'd been working under the assumption that Buffy had been in some sort of hell dimension and that her depression stemmed from the memories of her time there. That she was now somewhere better and safe where she could heal. He'd begun to feel like his presence was somehow keeping her from dealing with and healing from that trauma. But what if....

He felt ill. It fit. It all fit. His slayer had died and had gone on to her reward, only for Willow, without apparently even bloody checking, to tear her from it. This was Buffy's hell. The here and now. Her torture was ongoing, living in the mortal world after resting within the divine.

My poor girl....

Spike shifted on the ground, gathering his knees under him without lifting his upper body. His arm twitched out to his side, then lifted and dropped back down, pointing forward, finger outstretched.

"Tha' way," he mumbled into the grass. "She's tha' way. Hafta..."

Buffy had been in heaven. And if you don't stop thinking about it and get moving, she may end up there again, he thought grimly. Which might arguably be better for her, but he wasn't ready to passively let it happen.

He reached down to haul Spike to his feet, his arm around the shorter man's back to steady him as they continued to follow Buffy's trail.

...

Her muscles burned with fatigue, but she fought through it. Punch. Kick. Duck. Weave. Right hook. Left cross. Stake to the heart. Her body knew what to do, even when her mind was numb and mostly shut down. Someone rushing in from the left. Sounds of movement from behind her.

As she pivoted to the left, her aching legs betrayed her, sending her stumbling. She managed to recover, to get herself steadied, but it was too late. Even as she buried her stake into the heart of one vampire, the other grabbed her, his fangs sinking into her throat.

Her knees went weak. The stake fell from limp fingers. She should fight. She knew that. She should.... The longing for what she'd lost broke through all the barriers she'd tried to surround it with. Just a moment longer, and it would all be over. One more moment, and she could rest again....

Her vision started to go black, and the last thing she was aware of was a hoarse voice screaming her name.