I wrote 'The Spell' and the response was overwhelming (thank you so much everyone!), which is always great for a writers' ego. But the problem with finishing a really great story, it is leaves you in a bit of a rut. If I write something now, and the response isn't as good… well its very discouraging let me tell you! As much as you hated that it was over, I hated finishing it.

So, to get myself past the painful 'after the greatest work of your life' story, this piece of dribble has come to be. I expect nothing from it other than for it to NOT be as popular as 'The Spell'. I think it can live up to that right?

So, without further ado, another one of my single chapter (hopefully not to become an epic, but I will if you ask because I love you) story.

1 JungleCat



It had been hard. Spike would be the first to admit that, to himself and anyone else if they'd had the decency to ask him about it. In fact, in the long years he'd existed, he couldn't remember anything else that had ever been harder. Nothing in the world had ever hurt more than gathering her body up in his arms and carrying her out of there.

The watcher had wanted to do it, argued at him when he'd reached for her. In the end it was the Witch that had intervened, she'd seen that look before. She'd seen it in the mirror the day Oz left her, and the day she'd taken Tara home from the hospital, her brain little more than useless gray sludge. Spike was lost somewhere inside himself, and she had doubted very much if the chip would have been able to stop him from killing anyone who got between him and Buffy's body.

A line of mourners fell in behind the Vampire as he led the death march through the Sunny Dale night towards the Watchers. Tears streamed openly down his face, and even all his macho conditioning wasn't enough to give him the strength to fight them off, or even wipe them away.

Beside him, one hand gripping firmly onto the edge of his leather duster, the Nibblet. Dawn, more tiny and frail than ever before held onto that coat for dear life. She was sure, somewhere in her mind, that without its smooth texture under her fingers she'd fall off the world. Fall to the ground and follow Buffy into death. Something. There was no thought for her, just the vague notion that she had to keep that bunch of leather in her fist and put one foot infront of the other.

Behind them, the Watcher, he wasn't crying anymore, but his eyes were empty. He always knew this day would come; most watchers outlived their Slayers. But we had wanted to be different, he'd wanted her to bury him, he'd imagined in his darker moments what she might say to the few gathered when he was finally buried here in Sunny Dale.

The witches were next, clinging to each other for comfort and the strength to keep walking. To see this sad march to it's end. Willow was crying, her eyes large and red, the slight mascara that she'd put on so many hours ago ran down her cheeks and only served to make her look more wretched and broken. Her best friend was dead. Gone. She'd never see her again; she'd always be without her. It hardly seemed real.

At the end of the procession, Xander carried his semi conscious girlfriend in his arms. He envied her she wasn't awake. She didn't have to make the walk, didn't have to use this silence to think about all the things that Buffy had done before that she wouldn't do anymore. Anya didn't have to watch the Vampires back as he carried the love of his existence; she didn't have to accept finally that there was nothing in the world that could hurt Spike now. He was truly dead inside.

There were no words at the watchers… the lifeless body was lay on the couch and Spike sat wearily in a chair opposite, seemingly intent to keep an all night vigil on the vague hope that lived in him, that she would simply wake up. Still no words as Dawn clambered into his lap to rest her chin on his shoulder and grip him tightly, an anchor, something to hold her still while everything she'd ever known spun so completely out of control.

Without thinking Spikes' arms were around her and he was rocking back and forward. His tears had dried on his face but there was no thought behind his ice-blue eyes. He held Dawn simply because she was there and on no level did he realize it was for her comfort as much as his. It would be many hours before Spike would remember his promise…

Giles moved back into his living room, his absence un-noticed. He carried blankets and pillows, which were dumped in a large pile in the middle of the room. One by one the Scoobies picked out a blanket and a place to curl up. No one would be alone tonight; the thought alone was to frightening to comprehend. They'd be alone forever now, without Buffy they'd always be alone. So tonight they'd all huddle together, and pretend that they alone were enough to keep them from going mad with the loss.

6:00 am, the sun had begun to stain the horizon, and still Spike hadn't slept. He'd barely even blinked. His eyes had kept their all night watch of the Slayers face. She looked peaceful, or so he thought to himself.

Dawn was still in his lap, she hadn't moved all night except to whimper and cry. Somewhere between then and now, Spike found that he was numb. He couldn't think properly and he couldn't seem to grasp the fact that she wasn't waking up.

If he just made a loud enough noise?

Maybe if he said something rude, she always responded to that…

What if he told her that her ass was fat, that'd get her moving.

Somewhere inside him, he knew that it wouldn't work, that's probably what kept him from doing it. As long as he didn't try, as long as it wasn't proved that it didn't work, he could TELL himself that it would. He wouldn't have been able to take the disappointment and pain when it didn't. So he didn't move and he didn't speak.

"Spike…?" came the small voice from his lap.

Spike looked down at two round eyes looking up at him pleadingly and he was struck by his last words to the Slayer, he promised.

"You'll look after Dawn?"

"Till the end of the world, even if that happens to be tonight."

"Yes pet?" why was his voice so raspy?

"I," Dawn stopped; she didn't know how to say anything anymore. She wanted him to tell her he wouldn't leave; she wanted him to tell her everything would be fine. She wanted him to say SOMETHING! "Spike," she started to cry again and the conversation ended.

Spike didn't have words either, there wasn't a verbal language in the universe that could express what he felt, what he knew she felt, so he wasn't surprised she couldn't say it. He rocked her back and forward and held her to his chest, give and take. Isn't that what they say love is? With everything that wasn't words, they told each other how broken they were. How desolate they felt and how utterly frightened it made them.

The others began to wake and each had a few precious moments where everything was fine. How many times had they all awoken at Giles' after pulling an all nighter? Hundreds, and the fact that this morning was different took a moment to sink in.

It could be watched, like a ripple through water, the realization moving through the room. The tears came again, not a dry eye to be seen as with vengeful and powerful clarity, the pain hit for a second time as if it were the first.

Buffy was dead.

"Till the end of the world…"

It was the end of the world. The end of everything they knew. They all had their anchors, the thing they gripped with all their power to keep from disappearing into a darkness of their own.

Giles looked at the Scoobies, his children. He'd long since given up on trying to think of them otherwise. They'd be his forever, he had to stay, had to be strong for them.

Willow held Tara in a grip that almost crushed her; nothing else in the world would have been strong enough to keep her from obliterating herself from grief. So she clung, filled herself with Tara's scent and heartbeat and forced herself to think of nothing else.

The second witch threw herself into being brave. She could do it for Willow, she would stay together. All her thought was bent on not thinking, on not being sucked into despair. She had to stay strong, the others were so broken and she had to be strong for them.

Xander and Anya remained on the floor wrapped around one another with their eyes closed. They locked themselves in their own little world of blankets and pillows and two warm bodies. It wasn't real yet. They'd face it soon, but not now. Now they would curl up against one another and concentrate on not dying. Not fading away to nothing.

On the chair in the corner, Dawn raised her eyes and Spike looked down into her eyes. They were both completely alone now. They had lost the only thing that was left; their whole world was gone. Sitting together in that chair, each saw the only one they thought could make it all right again.



Told you it was going to be dribble! I'm just trying to get back into the swing of things again so I went completely away from the other storyline and didn't something nice and depressing!