It's becoming clear to Dawn that there's rhyme and reason to this exercise in psychological trauma. She doesn't quite grasp what it is, not yet, and not for lack of trying, but she understands more than she has much right to. Somehow, she realizes, she's in the unenviable position of playing Key once more, and once more she stands between life and death, Spike's grip on himself and this malign force that wants to turn him into its killing machine. Starting with Dawn and Buffy, and finishing with the world. It's about separating her from them, shaking her loyalty to them, her trust in them, her love for them.

If I give in, that's it for all of us.

The thought comes from nowhere, and Dawn almost gasps at the clarity of it, the sharpness, the accuracy. She doesn't have time to ponder the whys or the hows just now, because she is beginning to crack, and she's pretty sure he knows it. It's getting harder by the second to shut herself off to the emotional assault.

Because Tara is smirking at her.

And Mom is mocking.

And Buffy is taunting.

She'd been able to steel herself against Spike, against his face and his voice and his corrosive running monologue, because what else had she expected? But to see these others standing before her, speaking what feels like truth even though each would've denied it to the end, is different. Effective. And she is slipping.

You could've saved me, Dawnie. Why didn't you? I would've done anything for you. I bought you milkshakes and took you to movies and gave you normal because it's what both of us needed most. You watched me die. You didn't even hold my hand. Was that too much to expect? Couldn't you have done more? Couldn't you have been more?

"Tara—" Dawn swallows the bile that has risen in her throat and tries to still the tremors in her voice. "I didn't know what to do." She squeezes her eyes shut tight against the ghost and the guilt and reassures herself that this too is a trick, just a trick of the First, Tara doesn't think that way, she wouldn't ever blame Dawn for anything.

She takes a breath and opens her eyes with new determination that is just as quickly swept away when she lays eyes on her latest companion. The exhale sounds more like a sob.

You were never one of mine, Dawn. They shoved you in and you never really fit and I knew it, somewhere deep down, that you were a lie, and that we were different for it. You still blame Spike for trying to rape your sister, when your very existence is a product of rape. Our past, our memories, our family. Forced on us and in us with no hope of resisting. Buffy should have let Glory have you.

Dawn grits her teeth. "You're not my mom."

Horribly, the thing that looks like her mother smiles serenely at that, and reaches a long, cold finger out to gently stroke Dawn's cheek.

Of course I'm not, dear. I never was.

Eyes shut again, two tears slipping from their corners. "Go away. Please just go away … I don't understand this."

Well that's a shocker. Baby sis doesn't understand.

Dawn winces but forces herself to face the perfect likeness of Buffy that now paces the floor in front of her.

You never understand anything, Dawn. Up on the tower, you didn't understand what you were supposed to do until it was too late and I had to make your decision for you. Thanks for that, by the way. If I'd never died I wouldn't have had the chance to be dragged back onstage for an encore. And then I would have missed out on all the really fun stuff, like fucking Spike into oblivion, using his love against him until he turned back into the monster we all conveniently forgot that he always was.

"He's not a monster."

Oh yeah. He's got a soul now.

"That's not what makes him different from other vampires. That's not what sets him apart. There's good in him; there always has been. It's why I love him. It's why Buffy loves him. It's why he loves us."

There is an odd shifting sensation; Buffy is gone and Spike appears in her place. He moves close, closer. He gives Dawn an appraising look, head cocked to the left, eyes narrow, twinkling with dangerous good humor, tongue pressing against white, white teeth. A low rumble of fear awakens in her belly, and she unconsciously flattens herself tighter against the wall at her back.

"Stop," she says, but the word is barely a whisper. "They're coming for me, and they'll kill you if you touch me."

xXxXx

Spike's learned to trust his gut, and he doesn't like what it's telling him now. Something is wrong. Something, some unknown foundation is beginning to crack, and when it does this odd landscape will split down the middle and leave them separated, stranded … worse. His bit is in danger. The knowledge and its baseless source is the worst kind of torment.

When Buffy snatches at his arm to stop him he is so on edge that he almost strikes out at her. Then he hears it. Distant, but growing closer. Shouts. Desperate, frantic. Repeating Dawn's name, over and over.

"Willow," Buffy confirms unnecessarily. "Let's go."

Before he can stop her, she's gone, blonde hair flashing out behind her as she runs.

"Slayer!" he calls after her. "Wait, it could be—" Useless to warn her, though. So he takes off after.

They follow the sound of her voice, close now, closer, until Willow comes barreling around a blind corner and slams full-tilt into Buffy, whose Slayer-quick reflexes don't prevent the force from knocking her backward onto her ass, Willow landing on top of her. They hug, and Spike reaches down to pull Willow to her feet.

"Where is she?" he demands.

Willow's eyes fill with tears as she glances from Spike to Buffy, still sprawled gracelessly on the ground, reaction hinging wholly on Will's response.

She takes too long to speak, and Spike grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her perhaps a bit too hard, eliciting a little yelp from Willow and a slight sound of disapproval from Buffy. "Where?" he repeats.

"I don't know," she says. "I—I was running. I saw— It was Tara … I thought Dawn was behind me, and by the time— Oh God, I'm sorry, Buffy!" Tears spill down her cheeks and Spike fights the urge to shake her again, harder.

"You left her," he says through clenched teeth. "You ran off after some mirage of your dead lover and left her."

"Spike, stop."

Willow and Spike both look at Buffy, who is regaining her feet and slipping into what they both recognize as full-on Slayer mode. "Will, take us back the way you came. Show us where you last remember seeing her. If she's here, we'll find her."

xXxXx

He has no way of knowing the synchronicity, the fact that the moment the Spike-thing's hands move to violate Dawn is the moment he turns to attack Buffy.