Disclaimer: The whole Buffyverse belongs to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I am just an adoring fan lost in the delirious belief I may be able to write something based around his creation.

Summary: Based around spoilers for the end of the season. Angst, character deaths, not pretty. Spike's POV.

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I really didn't think it would come to this. Never, not in a thousand fucking years did I think it would get this bad. Xander is blind. Willow is dying. Anya is history and Giles is nowhere to be seen. I have a sneaking suspicion that we'll never find him, that there won't be enough left of him to bury. The potentials…I almost laugh. As if any of them could ever stand against this. Even Kennedy, the strongest of them, didn't last more than an hour, I don't think. Faith went down yesterday.

Dawn is still alive, still fighting. Out of the corner of my eye I see her, trying to accomplish the impossible. She's fighting inside a ring of vampires, including a couple of Ubervamps, as Buffy calls them. She's trying, really she is, but she's no match for them, never. They'll tear that little girl apart.

I feel my feet sprinting over the ground between us, hear myself snarl as I hurl myself into the fray. I see my own fists let fly, I see Dawn's opponents scatter and die at my hand, one by one. But I can't feel it inside.

It's like I'm just watching what's going on, through my own eyes maybe, but not for real. I can't even acknowledge the pain as someone drives a sword through my shoulder. I just stare at it for a moment absently, before I pull it out and use it to cut off it's owner's head.

There's a momentary lull then, for a few minutes. Dawn and I lean on our weapons and stop, just for a moment, almost like it's the half-time of some match. It feels like that. I squint at the sky, listening to Dawn catch her breath. She looks up at me, and there are tears clouding her eyes, threatening to spill.

"Xander's with Willow," She chokes out. "He wants-" She pauses, trying to speak, trying to overcome her uncontrollable, bitter grief. She composes herself, as best she can, and continues. "He wants to be there with her. Until the end." She doesn't make any mention of a chance Willow might live. She's not deluding herself. She straightens, casting her eyes over the battlefield. I don't know where we are anymore. This used to be the centre of town, but now the only buildings left standing are being used as last resorts of shelter to groups of civilians who got trapped when it began. They're protected by Willow's magic, and we can only pray it will hold when she's gone.

This is our third day of battle. I haven't stopped fighting once. Night I'm on the front line, day I go hunting in the sewers. It's not safe down there, especially not for civilians. I go down alone, and kill non-stop. Every now and then I stick my head up to see if the sun's down yet.

I don't know how Dawn's survived through all this. This is perhaps the fourth of fifth time I've seen her, and the only chance I've had to speak to her. Not that I'm saying much. I expect she understands.

Ahead of us, we get a glimpse of something burning, but this is different to the pyres of dead bodies burning all around. It's gigantic for one thing, colossal flames licking the stars. And the fire is bright blue, tinged with black and glowing green. I know what this is. This is magic. This is Willow's last stand.

Dawn and I both begin running in the same instant, but she veers off to my left and I catch a glimpse of Xander feeling his way blindly along and shouting. Dawn goes to him and takes his hand. There's a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his eyes-or the place they used to be. Caleb took his second eye as soon as we arrived, didn't wait for the signal to go, just jumped him.

Caleb. That bloody fucking bastard. I fucking hate him, never have I felt this much bitterness, this much pure, undiluted rage towards any creature of this earth. And I can't even fucking touch him. I've broken both my arms and my leg twice trying to get him, trying to give back a little of what he's given me, given us.

Then I see him, just up ahead. I can hardly believe it but there's blood on him, and God help me, I can see it's his own. I can smell it, it's foul, and putrid, staining the air. Someone's hurt him, and I know just who.

She stands there now, as Willow's fire descends upon him.. She's not looking good, and I don't know whether she'll ever make it through. She starts forward now, as Willow's fire burns out, and a spark fades from the air, signalling her death. As the fallen preacher's burnt and blackened body stagger forward, Buffy raises her stake, the only weapon she has left, and her face is set in a mask of grim despair. Maybe she'll fall, but if she's going down, then fucking hell, she's taking him with her.

She doesn't go down. He does, but I barely see it. Because the instant she's finished him, I feel tears flood my eyes. Tears of rage, and hurt, and joy, and relief, and the impossible feeling of ending, that it's all over, it's finished, and nothing will ever be the same again.

My voice is hoarse, choked and guttural, I haven't used it in that long. My sword slips from my grasp, my body wracked with unstoppable sobs. Buffy cries too, I hear it, and as a long breeze blows, there comes a chilling sound. A long, echoing, never-ending howl of fury, wrath and despairing acceptance. The last instrument of the first is destroyed, and with it falls the evil. The sun begins to rise. The vampires, demons, Ubervamps and other, unrecognisable creatures of the night, flicker and die, just like that. It's not the fireworks we thought we'd get, and it's doesn't seem to be the end of everything, but for now, it is. It's over. And we'll deal with it all in a few seconds no doubt, but as I limp to the safety of the shadows and the pain finally kicks in, all I can do think; it's over, we made it out and it's over, thank God it's over.