A/N: Everybody's getting along just fine. I'm glad you enjoy the cheerfulness, but remember…this story is posted under *angst*…
However, I do promise a happy ending.
She smiled as she heard the engine roar to life from the street. She'd known he was down there, probably smoking on her lawn. Leaving cigarette butts all over the grass, butts that she never could bring herself to sweep up. Not that she liked having litter cluttering the yard, of course. More like she'd just never gotten around to cleaning them up, with Glory and her mom and all.
Yeah right. If Sunnydale hadn't turned into a crater, those cigarette butts would still be there.
It created a kind of warmth inside when she realized that he was watching over her. A kind of peace.
Buffy's gaze drifted to the far wall, where pictures were tacked onto a bulletin board. A stray beam from a streetlight illuminated the pictures of her friends pasted everywhere, in all aspects of life.
And then they changed. The smiles faded with their faces, the flesh melted away.
Dead skulls stared back.
The Slayer jumped up, blinking rapidly, her heart pounding in her rib cage.
The images returned to normal.
It was that thing! That thing that her friends had created to bring her back. The demon with no body, no name.
The one that possessed people and spewed out horrible truths best left untold. The one that couldn't remain in this dimension unless the cause of its creation was destroyed—namely her.
While lost in her musings, she heard a muffled crash from next door. And Willow's muffled voice, speaking her name. For a few moments she couldn't move. She knew that the demon was pretending to be her, terrorizing Willow and Tara. But she couldn't force her body to comply with her mind's wishes to move…
Another shatter of glass. Screams.
That broke the spell. The Slayer dashed to the door.
***
She stared in horror at the open door, at the impossible sight. Dawnie had said she'd been fine…
"What did you do? Do you know what you did? You're like children. Your hands smell of death. Bitches! Filthy little bitches, rattling the bones. Did you cut the throat? Did you pat its head?"
She shuddered, despite Tara's warm body next to hers.
Willow couldn't stop the flood of hot tears spilling down her cheeks.
How could Buffy have known? How could her best friend have known what she'd done?
Why was she doing this? How could she say these things?
As she watched in a horrid fascination, Buffy grabbed a crystal ball off a nearby table and threw it at them. Willow and Tara shrieked as it smashed on the wall above their heads. They felt the hard glass shards rain down upon them.
"The blood dried on your hands, didn't it?" the Slayer screeched, her face livid, her eyes bulging.
Oh God! She's a monster!
"Oh my god, oh my god," the blonde witch beside her mumbled, over and over again. Like a horrible mantra…
"You were stained. You still are. I know what you did!"
The Slayer stared her in the face the entire time, a coldly calculating look twisting the smooth beauty of her visage. Willow's blood froze in her veins.
Those eyes. They were…wrong. Nothing like the Buffy she'd remembered.
But then again, you knew there was a chance she'd come back…wrong. Besides, what kind of spell that required Bambi blood is going to be all warm and fuzzy?
And then the miracle of miracles. While this ghastly version of a resurrection-gone-wrong shouted its blatant accusations, another Buffy rushed into the room.
Rushed through the first one.
Willow jumped out of bed and turned on the lights.
There was only one Buffy, standing flustered and a bit confused in the doorway. No eeriness in her demeanor. Just a blend of mild confusion and grim determination.
Tara looked down at the bed.
"The glass. There's no glass."
As if that was the important thing. That…that thing had looked at her. Spoken to her.
It had known what she'd done.
"Willow," her best friend's voice spoke softly from the doorway, so different from that of the ghastly apparition. It belonged to the girl she had met five years ago at the water fountain.
The redheaded witch sighed silently in relief. So she didn't come back wrong.
But…then what had just happened?
"Okay, what in the frilly heck is going on?"
The Buffy in the doorway took a tentative step in. "I-I th-think…" she faltered.
"Maybe we dreamed it," Tara suggested.
The Slayer shook her head. "No, no. Not a dream. I think I saw something too. Maybe the same thing you saw, or at least something related. I think maybe it's a side effect. Of the spell."
"Spell?" Tara asked in confusion. "Which spell?" She touched the crystal ball by the table. Solid as ever. "Well...what was it talking about? Did you understand it?" the blonde witch continued.
"Well, I understood the words, but...no." The redheaded witch hated to lie, especially to Tara. But she couldn't know. No one could.
A sudden small laugh from the doorway. Two Wiccans stared at an embarrassed Slayer.
"Uh, sorry…look!"
She pointed to the wall. There was a bulge, some kind of distortion. Moving, moving away, creeping under the wall, out and away. Sliding like an overgrown invisible slug.
"What was that?" Willow demanded.
"There's-there's something in the house," Tara added.
"That's what I was getting to, guys," Buffy continued. "I th-think…I mean, the spell. The one you guys used…'cause that's what happened, right? You used a spell? That's why I'm back?"
An awkward silence filled the room.
"Yeah…yeah. A spell. Us…we-we did a spell, to bring you back," Willow said hesitantly. "So…welcome back."
"Thanks," Buffy said suddenly, looking away. When she turned back, there was a genuine smile on her face. "Thanks, guys." Her smile dropped like a dead fly. "But spells like these…there are prices. Consequences."
Willow shivered. Surely the Slayer didn't intentionally glance at her.
"Prices…prices, like-like maybe side effects. Maybe something…bad…was created when you did the good stuff. 'Cause the universe works towards a balance, good and evil, all that. Which should not be upset," Buffy added, a slight frown marring her features. "Upsetting the balance would be very bad, and will cause lots of not-nice things to happen, like freaky black-robed eye-less guys with knives and possible impending apocalypses…and such. And I'm shutting up now."
Willow stared. Maybe Buffy did come back slightly frizzled and frayed on the edges.
But she did have a point. Balance, that's what magick was all about. All types of magick.
She just never figured Buffy would know something like that. Either way, more research on the spell they had used was needed before a workable hypothesis could be reached. One way or another, the others needed to be warned.
Willow grabbed the phone and began dialing.
"I hope Xander's up."
***
She trudged back into her room, the happiness she had put on for Willow and Tara dropping slightly in intensity. Dropping, dissipating, the way it did the last time she'd been in this…well, in this time.
There was no reason for her to be feeling this way. And she hadn't been, not until she'd realized the connection.
Willow's spell. It really did upset the balance. All it did was raise and tempt evil. The nameless demon tonight was only a part of the big picture. More horribly wrong things would result from that little spell, leading up to the (hopefully) last but not least major crisis: the rise of the First.
Some of the consequences could be prevented, of that the Slayer was certain. But the last one…
Buffy sighed. There was no way she'd be able to fall asleep now. Nope, the chance of that happening was even less than it had been before she'd seen the photos change.
There was no way she could fall asleep alone in an empty room that—in her mind—had ceased to exist months ago.
Bad, bad Buffy! The first night back and you're already thinking about a tumble in the sack.
She cringed. Okay, maybe that wasn't exactly it. After all, it wasn't a tumble she was after. Just…holding each other, through the night. Like before. Those two nights had been the closest she'd ever been with anybody. She'd felt utterly safe, utterly protected. Like nothing was wrong with the world, despite the impending apocalypse.
What I wouldn't give to be there now. In his arms.
She felt a jolt of excitement, of possibility. Why couldn't she be? Why shouldn't she be? If she hurried, she could be there in less than ten minutes…
And it was just a night early after all, her inevitable visit to his crypt.
***
Shivering slightly in the cold, she knocked.
She'd decided to knock when she recalled how this first visit had gone the last time around. She'd walked in and almost got impaled by a dagger. So not looking for a repeat performance.
But when there was no response from within, the Slayer became agitated.
The last time…the last time, it wasn't even tonight. Maybe he isn't even in. Maybe he's off playing kitten poker, for all I know.
Stupid excuses. She could feel him. So why wasn't he getting the door? Could he even tell it was her waiting and not some card shark or something?
She pushed the door open a little too hard, wincing when the bang resonated through the silent graveyard. Just a bit reminiscent of those darker times, when she'd come here so often, slamming the door open, trying to satisfy the dark hunger within her…
Buffy shook it off and peered instead into the gloom. And it was dark inside, much darker without the candlelit illumination she had come to expect.
"Hello?" she asked hesitantly. There was no response. "Um, it's me, Buffy. So don't throw a knife at me or anything, okay?"
A distant crash echoed from somewhere deep inside the mausoleum.
She frowned and stepped into the dank interior. Another crash, and this time, a disturbing high giggle. From the lower levels.
"Spike? That you?"
She felt her way to the opening, knowing the path as well as the back of her hand. Blinking down into an even darker chamber, she tried to discern any movement.
"Spike? Are you okay?" she called a bit louder.
Another strange giggle. This one was somewhat closer. "Just fine, love. Want a drink?"
The Slayer involuntarily shuddered and took a step back. So that's what he had been doing the first night she was back, when everybody was getting possessed.
She felt a twinge of guilt for leaving the house. When Willow called Xander…that was when Anya had gotten possessed, right? She should've warned them.
The sound of something heavy stumbling closer to the dark opening drew her attention back. That, and the stench of whiskey.
She wrinkled her nose in time for the blonde head to stick up and squint at her. The platinum glowed in the dark.
"Shouldn't you be tucked away in your beddie-bye?"
Okay, drunk and still randomly observant. She could handle that.
"Couldn't sleep."
Another highly disturbing giggle, interrupted by a hiccup.
"'Course not. Willow's getting pretty strong, ain't she? Bringing you back. It's hard to get a good night's death around here." Another laugh.
The Slayer looked away. Somehow, this wasn't exactly what she'd envisioned.
He climbed out all the way and took a swig out of a half-empty bottle, then gestured around the dark crypt.
"You can sit down. Got furniture."
Buffy decided it was better to decline the offer; although her eyes were adjusting, she couldn't really see much in the inky darkness.
He continued, oblivious.
"You should see the downstairs, too, it's quite posh." He shook his head suddenly. "That's not important, though. No…I need to talk to you. Needed to get pissed to do it, but…"
She nodded, silent.
Go on.
"Uh…I do remember what I said. The promise. To protect her—"
She swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in her throat. "Spike, maybe you should just get some rest."
He waved the bottle at her. "Don't. I've finally worked up the balls to say this, so let me finish, Slay—Buffy. I should've kept that promise. If I had done that...even if I didn't make it...you wouldn't have had to jump."
Buffy shook her head, salty tracks sliding down her cheeks. The last time it hadn't touched her. This time, his words went straight for the jugular, straight for her heart.
"I mean it, I've gotta do this."
Just like that, for her. Always for her. He would die for her, always and forever.
"…But I want you to know I did save you. Not when it counted, of course, but...after that. Every night after that. I'd see it all again...do something different. Faster or more clever, you know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways..."
Without thinking, she said the last words with him.
"Every night I save you."
She watched the astonished glimmer in his eyes for a moment, her own adjusting to the dark. Then she gave a small smile and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. The astonishment turned to disbelief.
"Get some sleep, Spike. I'll see you tomorrow."
***
The bright sun shone on the green grass, warming the occupants of the lawn chairs spread out under its benevolent rays.
"This is very bad. Very, very, very bad. Bad."
Anya rubbed his back and patted his head, then shot knowing looks at Willow and Tara.
"He's all traumatized," she said in a stage whisper.
Willow wasn't sure whether it would be appropriate to laugh or not. Finally, she decided to save Xander some of his dignity. After all, this was one of her oldest and bestest friends. "Buffy mentioned something about it last night. Like…like how it might've appeared when…because of what I…what we did." She paused. "Well, whatever it is, it's not the-the traditional haunting, because i-it's not limited to one specific place, and there's not, you know, a dead person."
"Not anymore," Tara added shyly.
"I bet it's a hitchhiker," Anya announced.
"A hitchhiker?"
"Um, standard way to travel through dimensions. Uh, some demon-thing sees someone moving between worlds and grabs on for the ride."
"You mean like, some hell-beastie rode in with Buffy?" the redheaded witch asked.
Like we—no, not we, I--am really are responsible for this? The others didn't know about all the things that could've gone wrong. They didn't know.
I never told them.
"Maybe Buffy was right," Tara said quietly, so quietly that only Willow heard.
It only served to send another wave of dark guilt into her gut, smothering her.
"I think we shouldn't've brought Buffy back. I knew it was going to end badly. I should've said something," Anya said loudly.
Her fiancé pointedly ignored her, instead focusing on Willow's last words.
"Okay, fine, but...what are we gonna do? I mean, I'm feeling the need for some vigorous doing, you know?"
"It's okay. We-we just kill the beastie and then all is good. We're rolling in puppies!" Willow declared forcefully.
A pause.
"...Right?" she added hesitantly.
"Can we do that? Kill it?" Xander wondered.
"Or we could wait for it to go away."
Everyone turned in surprise, squinting at the sun. There, silhouetted in glowing golden light, was the Slayer. Holding a mug of coffee, no less.
"Buffy! You're not supposed to be up," Willow said immediately, concern for her friend overriding everything else.
"How-how are you feeling? Are you okay?" the blonde witch added.
"Peachy," Buffy replied, smiling widely at the assembled group. Ah yes, good to see them together like this. So…happy.
"So what are we killing?"
"A demon you brought back from Hell with you," the ex-demon replied bluntly, oblivious to the daggers Willow shot her way.
Buffy looked away.
Yeah, I got here from hell. But this wasn't a demon I brought along. It was one you gave birth to, all of you. And this is just the first one in a long line of malicious offspring that you are responsible for. Which, in sum, made my life a total hell. Ironic, really…
The Slayer bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood. Only when the coppery tang filled her mouth did she start, realizing a response was expected.
"Oh."
"It's not like how she's making it sound. A little haunting-type stuff. Boo-scary, everything's normal," Willow said immediately.
"You shouldn't worry about it," Tara added.
Buffy gave both Wiccans a warm smile. "Um, I remember something, last...night, uh...the photographs. O-of us." The smile faded.
"Buff?"
"They…changed."
Another lengthy pause.
"How did they change?" Tara asked softly.
"They were...dead. I-I-I mean…we were dead. Like, um...dead bodies? But-but then they were okay. So I just, you know, figured it was me. That I was going crazy—"
"Well, maybe you are. Going crazy. From Hell," Anya interrupted tactfully.
Willow sent Anya another fuming glare.
"—Until I heard the crash from Will and Tara's room. And of course, when I walked in and saw demon-me talking to them and then disappearing into thin air. And that bulge in the wall."
"No. You're fine," Anya muttered under her breath, going back to massaging Xander's back.
"So how'd you make the connection?" Xander asked, curious.
The Slayer shook her head, unsure of what lie to say. She settled for inspecting her shoes for scuff marks.
Xander hastily spoke again, noting her discomfort. "This thing, this haunting thing, we'll fix it, and then we'll still have you back, which is...it's so important."
"Yes," Willow agreed.
"It's wonderful," Tara added.
Buffy raised her head, looking them all in the eye, one by one.
"Thanks."
The five of them stayed there on the sunny lawn, basking in the gentle rays of the bright, burning orb overhead. Silent, lost in his or her own musings.
TBC