Spike marked the passage of the hours with the changing angle of the shadows against the blinds. He had moved from the chair exactly once: to close the blinds against the advancing day. Having no human bodily needs to trouble him, he remained in the chair within arm's reach of Buffy, alternately dozing and waking as her restlessness or the twinges of pain from his burned hand disturbed him.
Late in the afternoon - as he judged the sun's position - he heard the sounds of the others returning. Dawn's light tread was the first up the stairs, followed closely by Willow and Tara. They trooped into the room together, bearing bags and books from the Magic Box that they deposited about the foot of the bed, adding to the clutter.
"How's Buffy?" Dawn asked, taking up a position on the bed next to her sister and curling her feet under her, cat-like. She absently smoothed the comforter where it lay across Buffy's hips.
"No changes," he replied. Turning to address Willow and Tara, he added, "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"The supplies for the spell itself were basic enough," Tara said, "since there are no real physical manifestations required, only a mental link. Some incense, candles, oil of protection . . . the usual stuff."
"Ah . . . maybe I'll go and start something for dinner," Willow interrupted. "No - it's okay, really," she added, when Tara would have gone with her. "I can get to work on searching the net for some more information while I cook. You tell Spike about the spell and what else we found."
"I'll be down to help in a bit, then," Tara replied, and Willow waved acknowledgement as she left the room. "The spell is a simple 'net of Thessaly'," she said, turning back to Spike, "It's a linking of your psychic selves, or astral bodies, if you prefer. It will allow us to-" she stopped at Spike's look.
"I'm sure it will turn the trick," he said, "but it's really not my line."
"No, of course not," she murmured, embarrassed.
"What I would really like to know," he continued, "is who or what is doing this to her. Tell me who I should kill to make it stop."
Tara paused, taken somewhat aback by the vehemence in his tone. Even Dawn looked surprised at this bloodthirsty comment, though she had heard enough of his stories to know he meant every word.
"Tell him about the Nightmare Master, Tara," Dawn prompted.
"Well," Tara began, gathering her thoughts again. "We found references in a number of obscure texts on an ethereal demonic figure that feeds on nightmares, variously called Majinamizi, Alpträumenmeister, Daraa'ona Khwaab - among others. The variety of names indicates it's found in almost every culture in the world, and is blamed for bad dreams and nightmares in general. With the whole world to feed on, most people would never experience more than a few nightmares a year."
"Kids are more susceptible," Dawn added. "I remember when I was little, I used to wake up screaming but I could never explain to my mom what I was so upset about."
Spike blinked thoughtfully, considering the intricacy and power of the monks' spell that had created Dawn, even down to such details. "So, with a whole world to feed on, why Buffy? And why now?" he asked.
"It's possible his presence can be invoked as a curse," Tara explained. "In all the references we managed to find, it's said that the words of the curse themselves have been lost. But if someone managed to rediscover them . . ." she didn't need to elaborate.
"Then he - it - feeds on the nightmare-induced energy of just one person . . . until they die," Spike concluded. "So I have to find it and kill it before it kills Buffy."
"Oh no," Tara countered. "You can't kill it."
"Watch me," he retorted.
"No - I only meant it's actually something necessary. Without the release of negative psychic energy in nightmares, it would build up inside everyone until it couldn't be contained any more-"
"And everyone goes nuts," finished Dawn.
"Bloody marvellous," intoned Spike gravely, leaning back in the chair. "Those are my choices, then? Either Buffy dies or the world goes mad?"
"We think - we hope - that it's possible to sever the link with Buffy, but leave the Nightmare Master unharmed. That's what you'll have to do," Tara said.
"And you can't tell me how, or even what to look for, right?"
"That's what Willow is going to try and find out over the next two days, before you have to go in," she said. "We will find something to help," she assured him again. "It's the waiting that makes this so difficult."
Spike acknowledged the heartfelt sentiment with a weary nod as Tara turned to go.
"I'll be helping Willow with supper if you need me," she said. "Dawn? You coming?"
"I'm going to stay with Buffy for a while," Dawn replied. "Call me when it's ready, please?" Tara smiled and agreed.
As soon as she had closed the door behind her, Dawn leaned forward and asked Spike, "So, what happened to your hand?" At his surprised look, she added, "It was obvious you were trying not to draw attention to it - I do it all the time - now spill!"
" 's nothing, Bit. A little disagreement is all," he disclosed.
"With what? A flamethrower?" Dawn's breath hissed between her teeth as he opened his curled fingers to reveal the blackened and weeping flesh. "Ewww!"
"Cross," he admitted grudgingly, tipping his head to the corner of the room where he had kicked the pieces earlier.
"Who was in here-" Dawn's eyes widened and she breathed, "Xander. Xander did this? No wonder he's not hanging around here any more today. And I used to have such a crush on him, too."
"Let it go, Niblet," Spike said. "It's over now. We settled it."
Dawn's expression was unsatisfied, but she said no more. Instead, she got up off the bed and went back to the bathroom to retrieve the roll of gauze and a tube of antiseptic cream. "I know you said you can't get infected, Spike, but can I at least wrap your hand? It looks like it must really hurt."
"It does that," he agreed, holding out his hand to her ministrations. Dawn spread some of the cream gently on the worst of the burns and then wound the gauze with surprising skill around his wrist, palm and fingers, securing it finally with tiny gold safety pins.
"Hmm. A regular Florence Nightingale. I'll bet you were one of those kids who was always bringing home injured animals and asking your mom if you could keep them," he said when she had finished.
"I was," she confirmed. "I could have filled the house and started my own pet shop. Mom drew the line at snakes and other reptiles, though." She laughed at this happy recollection. "I even thought about becoming a vet for a while."
Spike smiled, glad to have been the source of such an innocent pleasure and distraction. "Tell me more about what it was like for you growing up, Dawn," he encouraged.
She blinked. "You know, I think that may be the first time you've actually called me by my name."
They spent an hour talking about how it felt to be the Slayer's younger sister - and even just to be Buffy's sister before that. Spike himself even unbent enough to share a few details from his own childhood and life before Dru had turned him. Both of them were disappointed when Willow called up for Dawn to come to dinner.
"I'll be back right after. Maybe I'll even bring my homework up and do it here," she said, as she slipped out the door.
Spike only nodded, and returned to his vigil.
Later that night, after dinner, after homework, Spike sat alone again, listening to the nighttime noises of the house. Tara had stayed the night with Willow again at last, and he had listened for no little time to the sounds of their love, feeling very hollow. It seemed a crisis was good for bringing some people together, at least. Dawn was a near silent sleeper, as far as he could hear, except for intermittent mumbled words. When these ceased, he wasn't really surprised to find her standing at Buffy's bedroom door in her pyjamas, clutching a stuffed animal tightly to her chest.
"I couldn't sleep any more," she said. "Do you think it would be okay . . . if I climbed in with Buffy for a while?"
"Might even help her," he replied warmly.
"You don't have to go, or anything," Dawn reassured him. "I only want to stay a while." But within minutes, curled against Buffy under the covers, she was deeply asleep.
The nadir of night found Spike wandering the floor, muttering darkly to himself. "She's the Slayer. It's not like it would hurt her - and it wouldn't be that much." He grimaced, feeling an endless, bottomless desire begin to stir again. "I won't," he challenged himself, "not like that. Not at all," he corrected emphatically.
"Or Dawn. Wouldn't hurt us but a moment, then so sweet." He suddenly ground his fist into the palm of his wounded left hand, letting the resulting pain drive the hunger from him for another little while.
He took to pacing restlessly, since Dawn's presence was enough to keep Buffy calm. The night seemed to last a hundred years as he wrestled for control, demon and man battling for power in one body. Spike clutched the windowsill and felt his face surge between man and monster, and he groaned. Opening the blinds and the windows, he climbed out onto the roof, hoping the cool night air would chill the raging desire inside. He clutched his knees to his chest and dropped his chin, waiting for day.
Sunrise found him back in his chair, hollow eyed but clear headed again. Daylight beyond the re-closed blinds helped to keep the demon at bay. He wouldn't be worried again until nightfall. He hoped.
"What time is it?" Dawn murmured, stirring at last, and reached out blindly for the clock. When her searching hand encountered her sister's still form, she sat up suddenly. "Wow! I must have been really tired after all," she said to herself. She started suddenly, seeing Spike at the side of the bed. "Forgot you were there," she blushed, drawing the covers back up over herself.
"I'll take that as a complement, I suppose," he replied. "If you want to dash for the door, I promise I'll not look."
"I don't think I can get away with another day of missing school, even if Willow did call it in," Dawn said, swinging her feet over the side of the bed. "And I so don't need to be hauled off by social services, so I better be ready when Xander gets here this time." At the door, she turned and looked back. "You know I'd stay here with you otherwise, right?"
"I know," he agreed.
It wasn't even ten more minutes before Xander was yelling up the stairs for Dawn to hurry up. When she didn't reply, Spike could hear him taking the stairs two at a time, promising to come haul the procrastinating teen off to school bodily, if necessary. The booted feet paused outside Buffy's bedroom.
Xander peered in around the door; uncertain of the reception he'd receive. "How's Buffy doing this morning?" he asked, with cautious politeness. When Spike didn't bother to react to his presence, Xander looked him over carefully. "Man, you look like crap. You should really grab a shower and something to eat," he said thoughtlessly.
Spike raised haunted eyes to him. "You know what I eat," he said dully. "Where exactly do you suggest I get it?"
"Right. Forget I said anything," he said, and disappeared behind the closing door again, calling for Dawn.
The second day passed much the same as the first, though this time he held long imaginary conversations with the plush bear Dawn had left on the bed. He wondered if he might already be feeling the effects of the Nightmare Master's absence.
Spike dozed fitfully through the day, but awoke with a start when he heard Dawn at the bedroom door. At least, he thought it was the sound that had wakened him; until the scent of blood brought him fully alert, and roused the demon within. He heaved himself to his feet and reached the door before she could open it.
"Spike?" she asked, finding the door blocked against her. "I - we - I'm so sorry," she finally managed to stammer. "We never even thought to bring you something to eat until I was talking to Xander on the way to school this morning, and then it was too late to do anything until now."
"Just hand it to me," he said, growling around his fangs. "Don't come in."
"Okay," she said, puzzled, doing as he had asked and passing the warmed mug of blood through the opening. "Are you okay? You sound funny. Can I help-"
"No! I . . . don't want you to see me like this," he admitted, shamed that he'd lost control so easily after everything he'd overcome through the night. "Just go away." Hurt, she did as he requested.
Before she had even gone a few steps, Spike had drained the mug, greedily licking every trace of blood from the rim, then swiping his hand about the inside and sucking the last of it from his fingers. He fell to his knees and doubled over, his chest heaving with dry, wracking sobs. Relief sang through every nerve in his body, but in his mind he knew he'd just failed another test.