A/N: Some background 'Fanged Four' info taken from the comic books, like the name of the Slayer Spike killed during the rebellion. You'll wring more enjoyment from this chapter if you noticed something in "Lies My Parents Told Me".

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ANGELUS (The Dark Soul) 1727-1900
Bloodline: Aurelian

Born Liam O'Connor in Galway, Ireland 1727. Turned by DARLA (1585-1977) in 1753. Killed 1900 in Bejing, China by the Slayer Xin Rong. Together with Darla and his childe DRUSILLA (1860-1977), formed one-third of THE SCOURGE OF EUROPE. Reports suggest that Angelus' first act upon rising was the slaughter of his family and entire village, beginning an unlife marked by...

Buffy's hands shook, and she turned to the page for Drusilla, already expecting what she would find.

DRUSILLA (1860-1977)
Bloodline: Aurelian

Born Mary White in London, England 1860. Turned by ANGELUS (1727-1900) in 1880. Killed 1977 in New York City, The United States by the Slayer Nikki Wood...

Buffy shut the book with a loud thump that made Spike and Giles startle in unison.

There had, of course, been no entry for either "Spike" or "William the Bloody".

"Did you find what you were looking for, Buffy?" Giles asked, shutting the cash register.

"Uh-huh..."

"I must say, that's fascinating... I know the human mind is more Will's specialty than mine, but I suppose your temporary death at the hands of the Master had more of an effect on you than we had previously surmised... our research into the Scourge as his possible reanimators was so very brief."

"Nikki Wood. The Slayer that killed Darla and Drusilla. How'd... how'd she die?"

"Ah, that was a tragic story. She was one of the only Slayers to have a child, you know. They were both killed in a car accident a few days after her Slaying of Darla and Drusilla. She was the original owner of that coat you wear occasionally."

"The coat... the coat I wear?"

"That horrible I-wish-I-was-Neo-from-the-Matrix leather duster thing," Spike shuddered. "You oughta just give it to Andrew already, he begs you for it every time you wear it."

"It's a heirloom from her Slayer ancestor," Giles said sternly, glaring at Spike.

"It's bloody hideous and don't get me started on wearin' leather," Spike replied.

"When I want to listen to one of your diatribes about the leather industry, Will, I'll..." Giles paused. "I'll never want to listen to one of your diatribes about the leather industry."

"It's disgustin', it's cruel, it's unnecessary, it's..."

Spike held up fingers as he ticked off reasons, and Buffy's mind suddenly flashed: Out. For. A. Walk... Bitch.

"You know, son, you're really quite the hypocrite. How you can fret over the plight of the mink and turn into this bloodthirsty killing machine when confronted with a demon..."

"Demons are evil," Spike shrugged. "Besides, they can defend themselves. What chance has a mink got, eh?"

"You say demons are evil, and yet you don't have a problem around..."

"That's different!" Spike spat, leaping to his feet.

Buffy's eyebrows soared in Spike's direction. "You turn into a bloodthirsty killing machine around demons?"

"I swear, the boy has multiple personality disorder," Giles groaned.

"It's 'Dissociative Identity Disorder', Dad, they haven't called it MPD for years..."

"Remind me again why I sent you to college?"

Spike grinned. "So I could annoy you more eruditely?"

"Truly that must have been my plan," Giles sighed long-sufferingly, polishing his glasses.

Spike glanced at his watch. "Slayer, you feel up to your class tonight?"

She startled. "C-class?"

"Your lit class starts in about twenty minutes. If we leave now, you'd make it."

"I'm still in school?"

"Technically," Spike smirked. "Although the way you skip class..."

"Class! Yeah! Class sounds... normal. Let's... go to class."

"All right. Gotta run by the house and get your books... see you later, Dad."

Buffy froze suddenly. "Um, Sp... I mean, Will?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh... what's my major?"

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"Doctor William Withey Gull -- alias Jack the Ripper -- was responsible for the deaths of nearly fifty women before his death of natural causes in 1895. After his death, documents were found in his possession..."

Buffy wasn't listening. She hadn't read the book they were discussing -- hadn't even heard of the book, like, ever. She'd thought she knew a little bit about Jack the Ripper from that Johnny Depp movie... like that he'd killed a heckuva lot less people, for one... but none of it was matching up with what her classmates or the teacher were saying...

So, she'd gone for the patented Buffy Summers chew-on-pencil-and-look-thoughtful routine. Actually, fall-asleep-in-the-middle-of-class was more her patented routine, second only to the stare-at-hot-TA routine, but the TA for this class was, like, the Anti-Riley, all short and skinny and no-muscley.

Riley.

Riley, who was still her boyfriend.

Argh-a-larg-larg.

The longer this dream lasted, the more uberfreaked Buffy was getting.

Lesson the Second: Ask the right questions.

A tiny thrill shot through Buffy's stomach as she remembered that night, fighting Spike... well, it wasn't much of a fight, he'd been pulling punches not to set off the chip, but... oh, the dark whiskey of his voice, the way he'd looked at her, the step he'd taken towards her and the second it had taken for her to remember that he was evil and not letting vampires kiss her was an important thing she ought to be doing... the way he'd said "one good day" as if it was the most erotic proposition in the world and not, y'know, killing her...

Ask the right questions.

Buffy suspected she hadn't been doing that... but it was so hard to ask without revealing why she was asking. Sure, it was a dream, just a dream she'd be waking up from any minute now... but she didn't want to ruin it.

This world... this amazing world, where not only was her mother still alive, but Giles was really, truly her father... well, stepdad, whatever. A world where nobody left... not Mom, not Giles, not Oz, not Riley... hey, not even Angel, not really.

That sucked, of course. Who'd had any idea that Spike had inadvertently saved Angel's life all those years ago? And it kind of made sense; Angel'd already had his soul then, hadn't even been able to kill to please Darla, he'd have been in no condition to take on a Slayer, especially one that didn't speak English and he could never explain about the soul to...

But it wasn't like Angel was really gone, anyway, 'cause this was just a dream... a wonderful dream, like a vacation from the utter crap that was her life.

A world where her Mom was still alive. A world where full copper re-pipe was something for her Mom and Giles to handle, a world where she was still in school, a world where Dawn actually smiled and laughed and didn't walk around with that haunted look on her face on the time...

Spike being her stepbrother... that was weird. She guessed her brain had dreamed it up from that stupid spell Willow'd cast. And he was so different, even beyond being human... he was sarcastic, but like... Oz kind of sarcastic, Xander kind of sarcastic, that you're-in-on-the-joke-too kind of sarcastic, instead of his normal, lashing-outy, I'll-reject-you-before-you-can-reject-me kind of...

Whoa-whoa-whoa. Was she having Spike epiphanies now? Must be from hanging around his weirdo Master's-degree-having Bizarro Self.

And what a Bizarro Self he was... like a car wreck she couldn't look away from. He looked the same, mostly; the tan was beyond weird, and when he laughed, little crinklies had appeared around his eyes, which weren't quite so startlingly blue without that oh-so-pale skin to contrast with. He even laughed different -- when did he get dimples, hello?

And his hair -- she'd suspected it was naturally curly after their horrible Winnebago road trip, when he'd been unable to gel it into submission, but now... wow, it was just this curly nest of curly craziness. The peroxide had been pushed to the tips, the dark brown she supposed was his natural color following, and it looked...

Oh, fine. It looked soft and rumply and sexy and wonderful on him, and she'd really wanted to run her fingers through it, grab a handful, pull him down towards her...

Not to mention that -- now that he had body heat -- Spike was like this good-smell incense burner, just wafting hot smell-of-Spike all over the place with no consideration for what it did to her neurons at all. Not to mention that instead of being cut with tobacco reek, the essence-of-Spike was mixing with some kind of faint but yummygood cologne and just a little bit of boysweat.

He'd suggested a walk after they'd finished lunch, still asking her questions about The Real World and making mmm-hmm little noises like everything she said was terribly, terribly interesting... even though it had been really, really hard to make with the words when she was still utterly shocked by the sight of him in the sunshine, still freaked by the non-tightness of his t-shirt, the blue of his jeans, and the whole freakish sneaker-wearing of him.

He'd stopped at a fruit stand, buying two peaches and tossing her one... and she'd been unable to tear her eyes from him as he'd eaten his, watching his teeth sink into the sweet flesh, juice dribbling down his chin, juice he'd totally wasted by casually brushing it away with one lean, tanned wrist, and she'd been unable to think of anything but that kiss at the Bronze, how it had felt as she'd clung to him, how much more amazing it might have felt to have heard his heart racing against her own, to feel his breath on her face, to have been burned by the heat of him, to taste peach juice on his lips as he devoured her, the sunlight warming them both as her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him closer...

Urgh! Bad Buffy! Bad thoughts! Bad, bad, bad!

But seriously, how fair was it that in her Dream Vacation, Spike would be all human and soul-having and therefore totally, no-shame kinds of kissable... and related? I mean, how perfect would this dream have been if she could have knocked him down in the grass, covered him with kisses, felt that amazing body arch against her, more of those soft little noises he'd made in the Bronze coming from his throat, that lovely corded throat with that Adam's apple that really required her lips on it, and she could pull that too-baggy t-shirt off his head, so silly to hide a body like that, and...

Urgh!

But really, a stepbrother wasn't like a brother, a brother was related by blood, and yeah, it was a little Jerry Springery but not terribly horrible, I mean, it wasn't like he was totally off-limits...

He needs to just realize that I am totally off-limits... it's like the fact that he's a vampire and I'm the Slayer just isn't enough for him, y'know? Need boundaries. Gotta respect the boundaries.

Buffy blinked, suddenly, as fragments of her own alcohol-blurred words at the Bronze came back to her.

I don't want Giles to go. Why aren't I enough to keep him here? I need him! Y'know, I wish stupid old Spike really was his son, he wouldn't leave if his son were here, and why would he leave me? I'm like his daughter, I wish I were his daughter, then maybe he'd stay, only that would be weird, but... why does everyone always leave me? I want Mom back, I miss... you know who I miss? I miss Oz. I know, I know, Willow loves Tara, but sometimes... I just wish things had worked out differently, y'know? I miss Oz, and Will and Tara aren't getting along, and this whole magic problem of Will's... I don't think that would have happened if she were still with Oz. I just... I wish Will could still be with Oz and Tara could be with someone nice too, I don't want to get rid of Tara, I love Tara, I'd want someone really really awesome for her...

Oh, God. How long had she babbled at that nice lady...

... with the pretty necklace?

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no...

It's not enough that he's a vampire, oh no, he's gotta... he just gets so much glee out of hurting things, y'know? It's sick. And gross. I wish he'd realize that living creatures aren't food, y'know? He only respects life if he cares about the person, and he needs to respect all life. Only... only maybe then, he wouldn't want to fight, and I kind of... well, I kind of like him all gleeful killer when we patrol. So maybe he could only be gleeful violence boy when we patrol, that would be okay, for demons and stuff and maybe really crappy humans...

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no...

Living creatures aren't food, y'know? Oh God, the vegan thing.

Only be gleeful violence boy when we patrol. What Giles had said about Spike this afternoon...

The bell rang and Buffy grabbed up her stuff, shoving it into her backpack, barrelling for the door and down the hallway, out into the night...

Where Spike leaned against his bizarre automobile, pale again in the moonlight, his cheekbones vast hollows in the shadows on his face, twirling his car keys in his nimble fingers.

"Spike," she gasped when she reached him, "I figured it out."

He grinned. "See what happens when you go to class?"

"No-no, that's not what I mean, I mean this... this reality. It's not real. Or it is, but... it's not right."

Spike's hand flew to her forehead, his other hand grasping her around the wrist, and Buffy suddenly found it very hard to breathe.

"You don't feel warm," he said, frowning.

Oh, but God, you do...

"You're breathin' funny, though, kiddo," Spike continued. "Maybe you're not as fixed up as we thought. C'mon, I'll run you home, get you back into bed."

She'd been so focused on the word 'bed' that the word 'kiddo' took a few seconds more to penetrate. Here she was, inches from his lips, essentially in his arms, her chest heaving, and all he seemed concerned about was whether or not she was running a temperature.

And then... he ruffled her hair.

Playful, sexless, big-brothery. She'd seen him do it to Dawn a hundred times.

"C'mon, Buff, get in the car. We've got to hurry, okay?"

He fastened her seatbelt for her, Buffy sucking in air through clenched teeth as his hand grazed across her stomach, the skin-warmed scent of him so much closer, his heartbeat in his throat mere inches from her lips and begging, begging, begging to be kissed...

"Spike... you don't understand. This world... this isn't the way things should be. I think I made a wish to a vengeance demon last night!"

"Buff, you couldn't walk last night. You were totally out of it. I tried to get you to eat some soup and you told me I was a 'soulless, evil thing'. You were completely sack o' hammers... you couldn't have made a wish to a vengeance demon if I'd trussed one up and brought her to you."

"No, see... I forgot, but... there was a vengeance demon, I'm almost sure of it now. She had a necklace..."

"I don't know what happened to you in Bizarro World, Buff, but Anya's not a demon anymore here. We'll get you back in bed, you'll feel better soon."

"No, I don't want to go back to bed! I have to find the demon, make her undo it..."

"Buffy... you're havin' Bizarro bleed-over. Anya was a vengeance demon, you had vengeance demons. Joyce had that tumor removed, you made it into something worse..."

"Spike... this isn't how things are supposed to be! You're a vampire!"

He swerved suddenly, his jaw clenched. "I was a vampire in your other world?"

"Well... yes... Spike, what's..."

"I knew it," he hissed. "I bloody well knew you blamed me!"

"Blamed you?"

"Oh, you'd never say it out loud, but I knew it. No bloody wonder you made my girlfriend gay in Bizarro World. And with Willow. That's a nice little poetic irony you've got goin' on there, Buffy, kudos."

"You're... you're dating Tara?"

"Let me guess. You dusted me. Bet that was a barrel o' laughs. Vengeance is sweet, eh? And I guess if I was a vampire, I wasn't in the family, right? No reason to feel guilty for hatin' me ever since..." Spike's voice broke.

"Spike, I..."

"Will you bloody well stop calling me that? What was that, my vampire name? Well guess what, Precious, you're not in your perfect fake world anymore. You're in this one. Deal with it."

"That's what I'm telling you... um, William... this isn't the real world..."

"I'm gonna be late," Spike growled, his knuckles squeezed white on the steering wheel. "So your little delusions and you are just gonna have to come to the Bronze with me. And Buffy -- not one word of this bullshit while we're there... he's bloody well been through enough. In fact -- don't talk now."

And with that, Spike punched the power button on the CD player, turning the volume knob until the screams of Maynard James Keenan made conversation impossible.

Spike refused to look at her, his fingers drumming on the doorframe, wrenching the Scout through the gears, whipping it into a parking space outside the Bronze with a scream of tires, yanking the key out of the ignition and charging into the club without looking back.

What the hell?

Buffy slowly unhooked her seatbelt, trying to make her mouth close. Why had he gotten so pissed off? I mean sure, vampireness, not so much of the flattering, but his reaction had been way out there. And what did he mean, she blamed him? For what?

"Buffy!"

Buffy's head whipped up, a smile spreading across her face as Willow and Xander walked out to the car.

"Hey, you're feeling better!" Willow cried.

"Look at you, Little Miss Out-of-Bed," Xander grinned, offering his hand to help her out of the car.

"It's good to see you guys," Buffy smiled, taking his hand and stepping onto the pavement.

God, his hand was cold.

Buffy's eyes widened, shooting up to Xander's face.

Xander's pale, white face.