His arms cradle her body, bruised and lifeless, carrying her back to her home through sun that's too bright. He never realized just how small she is, how fragile, but carrying all her weight with him now, he knows it's not enough. She's thin from the stress of recent weeks, from long patrols and not enough sleep (She never got enough). She's tiny and delicate, and he doesn't ever want to let go for fear she'll break, but it's too late for that. She's irreparably broken. She's gone.
Willow holds the door open for him, her eyes anywhere but on the body. They're filled with tears. Her arm is around Tara. He walks past them without a word, wanting to lend some comfort (It will take more than comfort) but not knowing how. Up the stairs he continues, followed closely by Willow and Tara, then a sobbing Dawn, then a strangely silent Anya leaning her weight on Xander; a string of others who fought to save the world but never once thought of the world's protector. Spike doesn't follow. He's trapped in a patch of shadow beside the tower. (Right near where she–)
He enters her bedroom, lightly nudging the not-quite-closed door open all the way. Everything in her room is too cheerful. Striped walls and stuffed animals (She was so very young), smiling photographs (So happy) tucked into the edges of the mirror.The room feels wrong in every way he can imagine, but they have no better place. He approaches her bed, strewn with weapons and clothes left behind in the frenzy of packing, and quietly asks Xander to clear it for him.
Xander obliges, gingerly gathering the items and placing them one-by-one on her night stand, then turns to him, whispering that it should be okay (Won't be okay) now. He's still reluctant to let go, unwilling to see her laid out like a doll on the bedspread. His arms tighten around her body protectively, but he must let go at some point. He knows that. He's just not ready (Never will be) yet .