The boy was right.
God, he hated that, hated them, hated himself.
Seeing her alive again, yeah, it was the happiest moment of his entire existence. That overwhelming moment of realization when his senses picked up every nuance of her being. If his heart hadn't already stopped beating, if his breath hadn't already ceased to be… He wondered if Buffy had just ignored how much he had been shaking, or if he had just imagined the tremors; seeing her there, feeling her heartbeat through the distance between them, had made every piece of him start to unravel.
He hurled the bottle of Jack Daniels against the sarcophagus then, watched glass crack and shatter while the scent of whiskey spread around him.
It was the happiest moment of his entire existence, and he sobbed himself to sickness over it.