A/N: Thanks to my beta Tainteddr34ms. And thanks for all the reviews/feedback. Enjoy. :)

Pulling my eyes from the road, I glance over at Buffy's inert form. She hasn't moved in at least twenty minutes and I'm starting to wonder if she's actually asleep or just pretending to be to avoid talking. I could understand either option really. If I could, I'd be doing the same thing. The eighteen wheeler in front of me starts to break and I let off the gas.

I'm still all shaky from dealing with Buffy's freak out at the beach. She cried the whole walk back to the car, letting the tears dry where they rolled down her cheeks. She has a couple tiny smudges of black and brown streaking down her cheeks. I stare at my knuckles, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

She's so far past the dimension of okay. I think if I hadn't been with her she might have just walked out into the surf until she drowned. How am I supposed to get her motivated about living again? It's not like she can just-whamo presto-be fixed, none of us can. Dawn is dead. Not only is she dead, everyone's just lumped her into this massive statistical group of teenagers, like she had some choice in the matter.

The worst part is that there's not even any proof left for Buffy to … to I don't know, mourn, get over it, sort through everything. Just hold Dawn's stuff. Read her writings. Know that she didn't kill herself. She never would have. Well, except that one time on Buffy's birthday when she first found out she was the key. But that was different, she was understandably freaked, and okay, so maybe she did go a little over the top, what with the whole nearly bleeding to death. But still, she was a teenager, being dramatic is like breathing to them.

All of the memories the monks have imprinted in us are the only things left of Dawn, and even those are starting to fade, at least for me. I wonder if Buffy's memories of her are fading too? Probably not. I mean, Dawn was her sister, even if she wasn't technically her sister. Buffy still thought they were the whole time they grew up. Or maybe that's just what we remember? Maybe Dawn's room really was the way it is now.

How do I deal with every aspect of her being gone? Worse, how can I help Buffy get over Dawn not being here when I can't even help myself?

The truck breaks again and I slow down to twenty. Damn construction zone! I drum my fingers on the wheel and brake some more. Really, there's only so much slowing down we can do before we're just gonna stop all forward momentum. And we're definitely about to hit that point.

As we slide to a stop, Buffy turns over in her seat to face me. See, that totally makes me think she's awake and just faking. I wonder if she'll be angry if I poke her awake? I glance over at her face. She looks exhausted, like she hasn't slept pretty much ever. She needs sleep more than I need company.

I drop my head onto the steering wheel. What am I going to do? I let my forehead bounce a couple of times. It'd be so much easier to just go away with Tara. I could've just sucked it up and spent most of the money my parents left for the summer and gone with her. At least there I could grieve without worrying about setting someone off in a suicidal rampage.

No. Don't think that. Buffy needs me here. She needs her best friend, even if we haven't really been the best of friends lately. It's not like we're intentionally growing apart, just everything with Glory and Dawn being the key, then Tara getting brain sucked; there just really hasn't been very much quality bonding time available lately.

My eyes start to water but I don't let the tears form the rest of the way. I can't. Lifting my head back up, I watch the traffic again. I could just teleport us home, but then what about the car? I don't know if I can teleport a car, it's kind of inanimate and heavy. Not to mention at least five times bigger than me. But maybe.

Then again, if teleporting Glory alone could give me that big of a nose bleed, then the car probably isn't the best idea. Maybe I could just leave the car on the side of the road and come back. In like a week. Or three. Whenever traffic clears. I flip on the blinker and try to edge over to the right. Service road here we come.

I start working my way across the dotted line only to be cut off by some jerk in a new, wanna be army truck. "Douche," I mutter under my breath as we instantly stop. And Buffy gets thrown forward. So much for not waking her. She turns to look at me and I cringe on the inside. Buffy does not, I repeat, does NOT like to be woken up. So I expect her to be super grumpy when she stares at me but instead she doesn't even look like she sees me sitting beside her. "Sorry," I mumble out.

She doesn't reply. Then again, this could go in the good column. Not getting your head bitten off for something like keeping us both alive is always a positive. We sit cockeyed in traffic for ten minutes in silence. Just keeps stretching and stretching, like a not so nice version of Gumby. My fingers twitch on the steering wheel. Sit still. I clamp them down on the wheel and look away. Only to look back to see them tapping again. Dammit, just quit fidgeting.

"Do you know what the first thing I ever heard her say was?" If anyone else were sitting in the car, I'd have a hard time deciding if she was asking me or them, but since it's just the two of us, it's gotta be me.

I glance at her quickly before looking back at the road, "What?"

"Love you." Her tone is thick with grief. So thick it sounds like she's choking. She looks over at me and I see the tears shining in her eyes. "It was so stupid, I just used to tell her that all the time, over and over again. Love you and I promise I'll always protect you. I mean, that's what you're supposed to do when you have a little sister. You promise to protect her forever and ever, until the world ends and past." I hear her swallow. "But you can't protect someone forever. Eventually they have to grow up and face the world on their own. Their world, not yours. But that doesn't make you want to protect them any less. I think it makes it worse."

I look over at her again, focusing on her reflection this time. I can see her cheeks shining with salty moisture. She licks her lips and makes a big snuffly noise, trying to clear her breathing way. I reach over and grab her hand with mine, leaving one holding us in place. "You did protect her Buff." It sounds lame coming out of my mouth. More false comforts, but she did protect Dawn. Above all else, Buffy tried to save her. "I know it sounds … I don't know. Like it's not enough. But you did try, Buffy. That has to count for something."

Silence fills the car again. Is this how it's going to be from now on? Long stretches of silence filling every aspect of our friendship? I look at the road again, sighing when I realize we haven't even moved a foot. I start messing with the radio, trying to find the AM station that gives traffic updates regularly. Static noise charges the air and I turn the volume down some.

"Why wasn't I faster?" The question comes out of nowhere.

I do my best not to turn around and slap her. "Buffy, I watched you fight your way up that tower inch by inch. You couldn't have been any faster unless Glory hadn't been there stopping you every step of the way." I stare out my window now, gathering my thoughts before I finish. "You fought harder than anything I've ever seen before Buff. And what if you had been faster? What? You could have gone up there and stood with her before she died? You and I both know that once the ritual started, there was nothing any of us could have done."

I can feel her eyes boring into me. But I don't care. I'm telling her the truth and she knows it. "Dawn knew it too. That's why she did what she did. She had to, don't you get it?"

She nods mutely. But I don't think she does get it. Self sacrifice is something I've always had problems wrapping my head around, so maybe, really, I'm the one who can't see it. But I know it. Logically, I know it even if I don't feel it in my bones.

I nearly say something about her simply placating me but I bite it back. She gets it.

Finally, the red break lights in front of us disappear and we lurch forward. Little hallelujah angels start singing in my head before I remember we're in the middle of a serious conversation. Focus.

I inch forward and onto the service road. Score: Rosenberg one, traffic zero.

"I get it more than you could ever know." Her voice is soft, like she's whispering something she doesn't want to admit.

I'm quiet as I reply, "I'm sure you do."

Up ahead, the Welcome to Sunnydale sign starts to become visible, but only because of the new light they've installed over it. So visitors coming to town at night would be able to tell where they are. Supposedly. I roll my eyes. Just another way to cater our lives to blood sucking fiends.

~BtVS~

The door swings shut behind me. I know she's right, really. I did try. I tried so hard, but that moment was still there, that stupid moment where I knew Glory was going to win. For just one second, I quit believing that I could protect Dawn. And now because of it, she's dead. Not because the moment itself happened, but because I'm so stuck on it. All that time I spent locked inside my head when Glory first took Dawn was precious time that could have been spent saving her. Taking her away from that hell bitch before the ceremony even started.

I fall onto my bed and roll over to face the wall. I wonder what Will's doing? I can hear her down stairs moving around some. Not a lot, but the occasional thunk echoes up through the floor to me. Most likely anyone else wouldn't be able to hear it. But lucky me.

Lucky me for getting chosen. For having a little sister who was destined to be killed. Lucky me for losing my mom, for losing any chance I had with my sister long before she even existed. It's mostly unfair because, before, when we lived in LA, Dawn was the only one who didn't think I was certifiable. But somehow, somewhere along the line, that thing between us all sisters have faded. Somehow it became less about us. More about survival. And any chance of knowing my sister got yanked out from under me. How did all the other Slayer's do it? How could they function like this? I feel like I'm trying to hold an entire world up on my shoulders and I don't have anyone who I can turn to just for an unconditional hug.

If they could do it, I'm sure I could. But there's a distinct difference between me and them. They never knew their families, never knew what they could be missing out on, what they could lose. And it made them all die.

So then what's going to happen to me? Am I going to die now, too? I have nothing left to hold me to this world, I'm not in love, I don't have any children of my own, and my Watcher alone sure as hell isn't the same as a Mom and sister I love. I turn over onto my stomach as I feel my eyes fill with tears. Why can't I have at least one of them back?

I feel the blanket get wet on my face, making it warm. But I don't move away. I just stay there, breathing in the warm wet blanket and wishing for my family back.

"Buffy?" I shoot up. Somehow, Will managed to get in my room without me hearing. My hand comes up and wipes away the smudges on my face from the crying. She yanks her eyes from my face and looks down at the ground. "Sorry I didn't mean to uhm, interrupt. I was just gonna let you know that I made some food." She looks at me again. "If you're hungry."

I feel my stomach start to growl at the mention of food but resist the urge to slap it. Shut up stomach. I don't want food. But I nod anyway.

Following her down the stairs, I stop at the dining room entrance. She made spaghetti with meat sauce. As the smells hit me, my stomach practically lurches forward. When was the last time I ate? I try to remember but the closest I can come is the pancakes the morning after the funeral. Everything else is a hazy mass of non-stop, autopilot Buffy.

Not bothering to wait for her to tell me to sit down, I pull out my chair and plop down into it, filling my plate with noodles and sauce. Within five minutes, my plate is clear. I glance over at Will and realize she still hasn't eaten. She's just sitting there, frozen, watching me devour everything on my plate. She smiles when our eyes meet. "Guess you got your appetite back." She sounds cheerful about it.

I shoot upright. Uh-oh. And then I'm running at full slayer speed. I just barely make it to the bathroom before everything I just shoved down my throat comes right back up. Great. Noodles are so disgusting to puke, all slimy and long and I start gagging again.

I feel Will come up behind me, pulling my hair back from my face so it doesn't co-mingle with the spaghetti puke. After a while, I lean my head on the cool porcelain surface of the toilet seat. My voice feels gravely when it comes out. "Well, that sucked." Her hand keeps moving on my back, making slow, tiny, soothing circles. That start to shake. I turn as best I can without lifting my head really to see her.

She's crying. I squeeze my eyes shut. I don't want her to cry. Her crying makes me cry. I wipe off the back of my mouth with my hand, drawing it across like a three year old would for snot, and turn around to hug her. I don't know if this is what she needs, or if this is what she wants me to do. But I need it. I need to hold her and have her hold me and I don't mean in any kind of sexual way either. Physical human contact. I squeeze a little tighter and I feel her return the squeeze. She's still shaking, but calming down some.

My voice is still rough, but my throat is already feeling better. I end up sounding like a boy hitting puberty as I manage to squeak out, "I'm sorry I puked."

She pulls back to look at me and starts laughing the second she sees my face. That's not what upset her?

My face must show my confusion because after a minute she manages to get the giggles under control and catch her breath. "Buff, it's fine that you puked." Another laugh escapes before her expression saddens. "I'm just worried about you. Sorry for the slip."

I grab her hand. "You can worry about me Will. Hell, it's a good thing. You might be the only one left to do it even." I drop my eyes to the floor and say softly, "I need it."

She gives me one last squeeze before untangling herself from me and standing up. I watch her get a hand towel and wet it, then pass it off to me so I can wipe my face clean. When I pull it back, I realize it's pretty much ruined. Most of the puke must have ended up on my face instead of the toilet. Great. I hand the cloth back to her and watch her make a face at it. "I'm gonna go drop this in the washer. You should uhm…" She gestures to my clothes. Looking down I see that I really, really must have missed the toilet.

I make a face at my puke covered self. Then look at her. To see that she's also got a good amount stuck to her clothes. "You should…uhm…too." I gesture to her clothes. She looks down and her eyes widen comically in surprise.

She nods resolutely. "Okay so, you take your clothes off and hop in the shower and I'll throw mine in the washer with yours and uh…wait my turn." Her cheeks flush red. I know she's thinking about how dirty what she just told me to do is, what with the taking my clothes off. But we used to take gym class together. And shared a dorm. It's not like nakedness is something new between us. So I don't comment.

I get it, things are different now. She likes women. Or specifically, a woman. Tara. But Tara isn't me. I don't get why brand new walls of modesty should suddenly be built. Then again, I guess it's really up to her. "Alright." I stand up. "Here, you should take a towel or something at least." I start rummaging around in the cabinet for a towel but can't find one. Turning back to face her I keep going, "So you're not like…walking around the house naked or uh…something. Or maybe you should change into PJ's?" And then I realize that she probably wants pajamas after she's clean.

She nods, "Just throw your clothes on the ground outside the door or in the sink and I'll poke my hand in and grab them, okay?"

"Sure." I pull my shirt up. She does a complete one eighty in under a second. Guess she really is weirded out by it. I shrug, turning to face the shower curtain, and hear her walk out of the bathroom. Poor Will. I turn on the water and adjust the temperature, making it barely tolerable. Just below boiling. But puke is nasty. And covered in germs. Boiling is the only safe solution.

I reach down and put the stopper in, then sit on the tub floor. I can hear Will down in the basement starting the washer. Water rises slowly around me, filling the air with heavy moisture. I drop my head down into the water. I wonder how long I can hold my breath for? When we were kids, Dawn and I used to have 'holding your breath under water the longest' contests. But I haven't tried since I became the Slayer.

It was kind of a put away childish things time. No more games. Everything became life or death. Mostly just death, really.

I wonder if I could retire? Quit now while I'm 'ahead'. Even though I'm not really ahead. Only in the sense that I've still got mine. I start counting. One vampire, two vampires, three vampires, four vampires. I keep going. And make it up to three hundred and fifty vampires before everything goes black.

~BtVS~

I can feel my cheeks flush as she starts taking off her pukey clothes. Do not think about it. Opening the door, I let myself out. I walk down the stairs and strip down to underoos, grabbing my pajama pants from the 'dirty' pile and pulling them on. Walking back up stairs, I find a shirt and pull it on, too. Now to handle Buffy.

After a second of standing on the other side of the bathroom door, I hear the shower curtain getting pulled back and let out a breath. At least she's not standing there just naked and covered in puke. I wrinkle my nose at the idea. It's just a little too reminiscent of two girls one erm… ew. I poke my arm into the bathroom, reaching for the sink and hoping she left her clothes there.

My hand comes into contact with nothing but cold marble and I try to reach further into the tiny bathroom. This is so ridiculous. I'm flush against the door up to my shoulder, trying to reach around while never letting the rest of my body go through the small space. Maybe the ground? I drop down to a crouch and feel around, finally finding her wet clothes. I try not to think about the fact that I just shoved my hand in spaghetti vomit and pull the clothes out, not breathing out of my nose at all. I jolt upright and run down the stairs towards the washer.

Blood I can handle, food I can handle. Heck, I don't even mind cleaning up pee, or I don't think I would. But puke? It's so chunky and unprocessed and- I feel bile rise up in the back of my throat and swallow it down. No more thinking about it. None. None, none, none. I drop her dirty's in with mine, pouring a generous amount of soap on the pile.

I open the dryer, checking inside to make sure that it isn't full so I can move our clothes over as soon as they finish. And find a load of towels. Not just some, but it looks like all? When did she do this? Or did she even? Did Dawn? I'm not sure. I start folding the towels though, regardless. I bet she needs one. Carrying the stack, I walk up the stairs and knock on the bathroom door. "Buff!" I holler through the wood. And start waiting. I knock again and try being just a little louder, "Buffy!" My foot starts tapping. Oh screw it. I say to her, "I'm coming in, hopefully you're decent."

Opening the door, I step in a puddle. What the hell? I look down at my sock. It's completely soaked through. I open the door a little further. The whole bathroom is flooded. Yanking the shower curtain back, I manage to jump out of the way just as the stupid metal bar falls down. Buffy lays in the tub. No, not laying, floating. Unconscious. Face down. Grabbing the curtain rod, I shove it out of the way.

I step into the tub, instantly turning off the water and flipping her over simultaneously. Bending at the knees, I try to get a hold on her slippery body, but she's dead weight. Slayer dead weight. I heave. And slip. Landing on my tail bone against the edge of the tub. God dammit! I wrap my arms around her and pull, keeping both hands under her arm pits for leverage. I finally manage to get her out of the tub and onto the wet ground. Not any dryer, but at least here I can start CPR. And I do, right after checking for a pulse. One two three four. Am I supposed to go to fifteen or thirty? I can't remember. Tilting her head back, I pinch her nose and breathe into her mouth. Then start pumping again.

I need help. An ambulance. She needs to go to the hospital. Think Rosenberg, think. How can I get a doctor but keep doing CPR? What if I stop right before she comes back? Where's the phone at? I try to remember. There's one down stairs in the kitchen, and one across the hall in Buffy's room. Wait, what about telepathy? Who could I get a hold of? Is anyone at all close by? I try screaming, "Someone help!" Listening, I realize this is stupid. No one's going to hear me. I keep counting. Is Xand home? If he is, he might be close enough. XANDER! I project the thought out, hitting him upside the head in the middle of whatever he's doing after work. Hopefully, anyway.

I wait for him to say something back. He doesn't. Xander please, please get this. I push hard at my thoughts, willing them to go to him. Xander call 911! A second later I get a reply. He doesn't even ask why. All I get is a short, simple response. On it. Thank Goddess.

My movements never stop. Please breathe Buffy. I puff air into her mouth. One two three. Air. Count. Air. Count. I go for another air and jump back as watery puke comes flying up to cover my entire face. Great. I get all the puke off and what does she do? Puke on me all over again. I reach up and wipe both eyes clear of the slimy stuff. At least she's alive.

I think.

It's like her body just spasmed out the water. I check for a pulse. Maybe. I can't tell if it's mine or hers. Concentrate. I press my fingers to her wrist again. It's there. Not really consistent or strong, but I think I can feel it. Downstairs I can hear the front door open quickly. Someone yells up the stairs "Paramedics!"

I lean back and reply, "Up here!" Standing, I walk over to the door frame, keeping my gaze on Buffy.

They rush up the stairs and I turn to take them both in. Two guys. One with a box, the other a bag. "In here," I say. My voice doesn't project any of the panic I feel, instead I sound almost dead flat.

Pushing past me, they set to work. I watch until they put the plastic pump in her mouth but then I look away. Please be okay. How long was she out for? Was it too long? I try to remember, how long did it take me to get back up there? Ten minutes? If she was uh. Dead. That entire time? That's too long. There'll be brain damage. I should let someone know. But who? Giles? I start to move out the bathroom door, towards Buffy's room and the telephone.

"Hello?" A British voice comes up from below. Giles. He's here?

"Giles?" I ask back. And he comes rushing up the stairs.

"Willow, where's Buffy?" He starts to hurry past me towards the door.

My eyebrows scrunch as I try to figure out exactly how he knows to be here. "Did Xand call you?" Stupid question, he must've.

He nodded and managed to get to the door just in time to be pushed back out into the hallway as the paramedics carry out a board with Buffy laying unmoving on it. "Excuse me." One says as he manages to get to the stairs.

"Where are you taking her?" He asks.

One of the guys turns his head and says over his shoulder, "Sunnydale ER, you can follow us there."

Giles grabs my elbow and starts to lead me down the stairs when I realize I'm still wearing pajamas. With no shoes. My eyes widen and I pull my elbow out of his grasp. "Wait, I need shoes." I turn back and sprint towards Buffy's room, flinging her closet door open and searching desperately for flip flops. C'mon Buff, we live in SoCal for crying out loud. I start digging, throwing out pair after pair of boot and high heels. Finally my hands land on a pair of house slippers. When did Buffy get these? I pull them out and shrug. Better than nothing.

Never bothering to stop and put the slippers on, I head back out into the hall and run down the stairs. Giles waits with his car running. I shut the front door and dart to the passenger's side, throwing myself in the seat and barely managing to get the car door shut before he peels out. I shove the shoes on.

"What happened?" His voice sounds tense. I look at him and can see the worry and fear etched all over his features.

I manage to stammer out, "I-I don't know. One minute she was taking a bath and the next." I swallow. "I tried calling through the door to see if she needed a towel but she never responded so I just let myself in and the bathroom was all flooded and I tried to get her out of the tub but she wasn't breathing so I did CPR and got Xander to call 911 but I don't know what happened." Did she drown herself? On purpose? Did she commit suicide while I was downstairs folding the stupid towels?

My eyes fill with moisture and I reach up, swiping the tears away before they can fall. I knew she wasn't alright. I should've stayed instead of running away like some scaredy church mouse. My voice sounds choked. "I was supposed to be taking care of her." Tears start falling regardless of how fast I wipe them away. It's my fault she nearly died.

Giles doesn't say anything. I don't even get a stiff pat on the back. Finally I look up at him, and look instantly away when I see the anger in his eyes. Anger directed towards me. I think.

I stare out the window, watching the hospital come into view. We jerk to a stop and I realize I never even put on my seat belt. I scrunch my eyes and feel the pressure boil up inside my head like a roaring overflowing volcano. I open them and let myself out of the car. Giles is ten feet ahead of me, practically jogging into the hospital. I start taking bigger steps and catch up just as he's entering the sliding doors.

Walking inside the hospital, I'm instantly hit by the smell of cheap disinfectant and sickness. Giles asks the receptionist, "Buffy Summers?"

She starts clicking on her computer and a second later announces, "She's just been brought into the ER, if you could please fill out these papers." She hands him a full clip board. "And bring them back, you can have a seat in the waiting room." She gestures over to the set of chairs against the wall. Not much of a room. I don't wait for him to tell me to go sit and just walk over, plopping down in one of the seats.

I want to relax, let myself go for a second, maybe a trance? No, I don't want to meditate on the fact that if she dies it'll be because I was too busy folding towels. I drop my head into my hands and stay as still as I can so I don't mess Giles up. He's sitting next to me, filling out the seemingly endless list of questions. Does Buffy have health insurance? Is it a Slayer package or something? Because if she was only on Joyce's, well, it's kind of not here anymore.

Ugh shut up brain. This isn't what I need to be thinking about right now. The important thing is that she's alive. Well, hopefully still, that is. I lean back, letting my head go to rest on the wall behind us. My thumbs start twirling. If she dies, it's on me. Tears well again and I realize the only thing I'm doing is the masochistic thing. Telling myself over and over again that it's my fault. But it kind of is. I wished to be with Tara didn't I? Wished to be able to grieve in peace?

And now, maybe I'll be getting it. Not exactly what I wanted but that's how wish's work.

I take a deep breath, hoping to calm myself. I need to stop with the cynical. Buffy's alive. They wouldn't let her die.

Beside me, Giles starts pinching the bridge of his nose. "What's wrong?" The question pops out of me before I have a chance to stop it.

"What?" He looks at me, "Oh nothing," He turns back to the page.