(Note: Some dialog taken directly from the episode.)

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and its characters are the property of Joss Whedon.

Sorry, Cassandra, I misunderstood

Now the last day is dawning

Some of us wanted, but none of us could

Listen to words of warning

But on the darkest of nights

Nobody knew how to fight

And we were caught in our sleep

Sorry, Cassandra, I didn't believe

You really had the power

I only saw it as dreams you would weave

Until the final hour

-ABBA, "Cassandra"

Counseling at the school was...interesting. Sometimes Buffy felt like she genuinely helped the kids who were sent or came to her voluntarily. Sometimes all they really wanted was someone to listen to their fears. Other merely used her as an excuse to skip a class. One boy pretended to be uncertain of his sexual orientation in order to get her to go out with him, "just to be sure." Buffy just knew Spike would have a good chuckle over that one.

Cassie wasn't the last student she saw that day, but the girl wound up being the only one she remembered. Cassie was a senior, her blonde hair dyed with purple streaks, wearing Converse sneakers with her skirt and black T-shirt. She was sent to Buffy because she'd been missing classes and her grades had been slipping. When Buffy asked her why, all she said was, "It doesn't matter. I'm not gonna graduate, anyway."

"Why won't you graduate?" Buffy asked.

Cassie's eyes turned away. She chewed her lip. "Because next Friday I'm gonna die."

Buffy felt a chill. "Wh-What?"

"Can we talk about something else?"

"No! We have to talk about this," Buffy insisted, "Cassie, what makes you feel like this?"

The girl blinked. "Feel like what?"

"Like you wanna hurt yourself."

"Oh, I'm—I'm not gonna commit suicide, if that's what you're saying," Cassie laughed, "No way."

Buffy frowned, surprised at the girl's reaction. "Okay, then what are you saying?"

"Look," Cassie sighed, "I don't mean to be a pain. You seem really nice, and I know you're just trying to help. But I'm wasting your time."

"No, you're not. This is why I'm here," Buffy leaned forward, earnest, "Cassie, please tell me, why do you think you're gonna die?"

The teen gazed at her sadly. "I don't think it. I know it," she shrugged, "I just...know."

"What do you mean you know? A-Are you saying that someone's gonna hurt you? Has someone threatened you?"

"No. No, I-I just know that next Friday I'm gonna die. Some things I just know. I don't know how, I just do." Cassie licked her lips, her stare faraway. "Like I know there'll be coins," she said in a dreamy voice, "Lots of coins. Weird ones. I know you'll try to help."

"Cassie," Buffy interrupted, "I don't understand what you're saying."

The girl continued like she hadn't said anything, "But you can't, okay?" She got up from her chair, shouldered her schoolbag. "I gotta go. Trig. I don't want Mr. Corrigan sending me to Principal Wood again."

Buffy jumped to her feet. "Cassie, please—"

"Thanks for being so nice," she smiled, "I really do like that shirt. You should put a sweater on so it doesn't get stained. I gotta go."

"Cassie, wait. Please."

But she kept on walking.

Buffy immediately went to the principal's office to tell Robin Wood of the incident.

"What am I supposed to do?" she all but yelled when she was finished relating the story.

"Well, you did what you were supposed to do," Principal Wood stated calmly, "You reported the situation to me."

"And?"

Wood sighed, "Listen, Buffy, it's hard. Kids this age, they're hurting, they're pissed off, and they say things. Sometimes they say awful things. Students act out. Fear. Pain."

"But sometimes it's not just talk, right?"

The principal got up from behind his desk and went to the coffee machine sitting on top of a file cabinet. He poured two mugs of coffee, handed one to Buffy. "Every time there's a threat like this, we do the same dance," he explained, "Inform teachers. Search lockers. But we can't know what's gonna happen, and we can't search their brains. We just do what we can."

"It's not enough," Buffy insisted as Wood returned to his chair, "I need to fix this. I don't usually get a heads up before somebody dies."

The principal frowned in puzzlement. "What d'you mean, 'usually'?"

Buffy thought fast. "I-I mean, I'm sure it's not usual to get a chance to stop something like... I just... I just need to do something, okay?" She took a step closer. "I have to make this bett—Oh! Oh, shoot." Buffy had overlooked the fact that there was a desk between them. Her knee bumped against it and her coffee spilled all over the front of her shirt. As she dabbed ineffectually at the stain, she remembered Cassie's warning about putting on a sweater.

Buffy's last task of the day was to track down her sister and ask Dawn to get close to Cassie, try to figure out who might try to hurt the girl. That done, Buffy left the high school and headed for home.

The moment she got home, Buffy called a Scoobie meeting and asked Willow to get out her laptop and work her computer mojo. They needed to find out whatever they could about Cassie Newton. Buffy already had everything from the school's files about the girl. Cassie started out as a model student who made excellent grades. Then, almost overnight, her grades went downhill, she started missing classes, and teachers said she seemed apathetic and depressed.

The question was, what changed?

"If she did have some sort of psychic vision, that'd explain it," Spike remarked. He was leaning against the wall watching the Scoobies do their research. He'd been feeling Buffy's anxiety all day and it had him on edge.

Buffy looked at him. "I told you about the shirt, right? So, what d'you think? Is Cassie some kind of precog?"

The vampire blinked in surprise. "You're askin' me?"

"Well, you lived with a psychic for over a hundred years," Buffy pointed out, "That kinda makes you our resident expert."

Spike snorted, "I hardly think Dru would make a good basis for a comparison, luv. Half the time I wasn't sure if her visions were really visions or just sodding hallucinations."

"Besides, Buff, all you did was spill a cup of coffee," Xander interjected, "I'm not saying you don't have Slayer grace, but it's not the first time."

Tara added her own two cents, "I m-mean, maybe—just maybe—you're trying so hard to help th-that you're seeing paranormal where there's just normal."

Buffy sighed, "Maybe, but maybe not."

"Have you Googled her, yet?" Willow asked.

"Willow! She's seventeen!" Xander exclaimed in alarm.

The redhead rolled her eyes. "It's a search engine." Her fingers flew across the keyboard. "Check this, she's got her own website."

Everyone leaned over her shoulders to peer at the screen.

"Wow, that's a lot of poems," Buffy declared.

Xander nodded sagely. "Poems. Always a sign of pretentious inner turmoil."

Spike glared at him, even though Harris knew nothing of William's sorry attempts at prose.

Willow clicked on one of the listed poems and started to read aloud, "'The sheets above me cool my skin/like dirt on a madwoman's grave./I rise into the moonlight white/and watch the mirror stare./The pale fish looks back at me./Pale fish will never swim./My skin is milk for no man to drink./My thighs unused, unclenched./This body is not ready yet./But dirt waits for no woman,/and coins will buy no time./I hear the chatter of the bugs./It's they alone will feast.'"

"Okay," Xander drawled, "Death really is on her brain."

Dawn had returned home from school about halfway through Willow's recitation and joined the huddled group. "We all deal with death," she said.

"This girl isn't just dealing," Xander retorted, "She's giving death a long, sloppy word-kiss. She has a yen for the big dirt nap."

Not everyone was convinced. Willow tried another search and came up with the name Philip Newton.

"That's her dad," Buffy said, "Open it."

"Guys," Dawn spoke up, excited by the theory bouncing around in her head, "I'm telling you, I got this case cracked wide open. I got the perp fingered. I told you about Mike Helgenburg, right? The one that keeps asking her to the dance. I'm thinking, who likes to be rejected? Nobody. I'm thinkin', some people can't handle rejection. I'm thinkin'—"

"Hey, I've got something," Willow interrupted, much to the teen's chagrin. She frowned at the long list of police reports that appeared, "'Drunk and disorderly. Disturbing the peace.' There's a lotta charges here."

"Sounds like dad's a drunk," Spike remarked.

"A violent drunk," Tara added.

Buffy decided it was worth investigating, so she and Xander left to have a chat with Philip while the others continued their research. At one point, when Willow walked away from the computer to take a break, Spike sat in her vacated chair and pulled up Cassie's website again. The list of poems she'd posted were numbered. Curious, Spike selected Poem #5.

I sit alone at my windowsill

Trees crackle, sunshine blares

And children laugh like death

Their sharp happiness is a knife to me

One jealous snake on a windowsill

They will be here, trees and sun,

And children with canes and pruney skin

When I am but a memory,

A laugh in the trees of time

I sit alone and try to love them

I sit alone, a snake

I sit alone and try to love them

I sit alone and laugh

Well, one thing was certain; this chit was a better poet than William ever was. Spike sighed and exited the site.

Buffy and Xander returned shortly after, looking slightly downtrodden. They'd talked to Philip Newton and found out the divorced man was only allowed to see his daughter one weekend a month. Last weekend was Cassie's most recent visit, which meant her father couldn't possibly be the culprit.

Later that night, Spike fought back an angry groan as Buffy shifted beside him in bed. She'd been tossing and turning all night, her restlessness and the constant fretting echoing through the link keeping him awake as well. "Luv, you can't help anybody if you're sleep deprived," he mumbled into his pillow.

Buffy sat up and propped herself up against the headboard. "Tomorrow's Friday."

"Technically, it's Friday now," Spike grumbled.

"Cassie said that's the day she's gonna die," she continued, "And I still don't have a clue what's gonna happen or how to help her. It's just—It's so frustrating!" She smacked her fist into the mattress. "I feel so useless."

Resigning himself to sleeplessness, Spike rolled onto his back and held his arm out in invitation. "Come here."

Buffy hesitated, then scooted down and rested her head against his shoulder. Spike wrapped his arm around her, holding her close. "If this girl can be saved, you'll save her," he stated in total confidence.

"She seems so sure," Buffy murmured, her anxiety plain.

Spike gently stroked her hair with his other hand. "Not every vision comes true, luv. Even Dru got things wrong once in a while. Just proves that nothing's set in stone."

Buffy slowly relaxed as her vampire soothed her with words and touch and feeling. Eventually, she was able to doze, and when she woke the next morning, she went to the school with a renewed sense of purpose.

Just as Principal Wood had promised, the students' lockers were searched. When they opened up locker #281, several weird-looking coins spilled out.

"Seems like someone's got quite a coin collection, huh?" Wood remarked.

Buffy examined one. It looked old, hand-beaten with strange occultish symbols engraved on it. Cassie had mentioned coins in her vision. Buffy found out who's locker it was and had the boy sent to her office.

"You wanted to see me?" The kid fidgeted nervously in the chair.

Buffy leaned against her desk, looming over him. Her expression was stony. "You have locker number two-eighty-one?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Buffy held up one of the coins, noted the flash of alarm in the boy's eyes. "I want you to tell me what this is and what this has to do with a girl named Cassie Newton."

The kid's eyes darted around the room. "I don't know. I-It's late. I'm gonna miss my bus."

"I know it's late," Buffy said in her most intimidating, don't-give-me-any-shit voice, "That's why I don't have time to mess around. So you need to talk to me, now."

"Believe me, i-if I knew anything I'd tell you. I just...don't." Everything from his expression to his tense body language screamed that he was lying. He did know something, and Buffy was determined to find out what.

"Do you know why I came back to Sunnydale High?" she asked conversationally.

The kid blinked at this sudden change in tack. "To creep me out?"

"To help. I'm a counselor here because I wanna help. I know what it's like to walk these halls and feel lost, alone. I just wanna make things better. Connect." Buffy rose to her full height and stood over the intimidated teen. "And I'm gonna connect with your face if you don't stop wasting my time and help me do my job."

"I... Please—"

"A girl could die."

The boy's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I guess I know who you're talking about," he admitted, "She's some weirdo suicidal poet girl. These guys I know wanna mess with her. They've got this plan..."

Shortly after Buffy's little chat with the boy, a frantic Dawn came running and told her that Cassie had disappeared as they were leaving the school. It looked like the girl had been snatched. Buffy reassured her sister that everything would be alright. She knew what was going down later that night and they would be ready.

They. Funny how it never occurred to her to go it alone, even though she'd been facing dangers far worse than this by herself for years. She was the Chosen One, after all. But now, her first instinct was to have Spike at her side. It wasn't because she lacked confidence in herself; it was the knowledge that someone she trusted always had her back, should things unexpectedly spiral out of control.

They sneaked into the school through the sewer access, trying their best to ignore the ominous vibe from the Hellmouth. The kid had told Buffy that the deed would take place in the library after dark. Sure enough, some boys were already there and had set the place up for their little ceremony. Tables had been pushed back, leaving a large open space. Torches were set up around the perimeter, waiting to be lit. Those weird coins were arranged in a circle at the center of the cleared floor, and inside that circle was an old meat cleaver, its blade spotted with age.

The gathering boys were all dressed in long red robes. This made Buffy's and Spike's task easier, as they were able to snag a couple of those guys, knock them out, and put on their robes. The couple joined the rest of the boys, who arrayed themselves around the circle of coins. Each was given a lit candle, and they all dropped to their knees, heads bowed.

The guys in charge was some meathead named Peter. Buffy recognized him as the boy who'd come to her office as a lame excuse to get out of class.

"All present?" he asked in an authoritative voice, "Then we begin."

The solemnity of the moment was ruined when one of the kids began to snicker.

"Mandell, shut up," Peter snapped.

"Sorry, dude," the boy twitched in puppy-ish excitement, "It's just so cool. I mean, we're gonna be rich!"

Unseen beneath the cowl of his stolen robe, Spike rolled his eyes. Bloody idiots thought this was all a game.

Peter scowled, "Yeah, well, keep your shorts on, alright? We have to do the ritual if we wanna score. O'Keefe, did you take care of the fire exits?"

"Yeah," another teen grinned, "Anybody tries to bust in here's gonna get a nasty surprise. I set up this booby trap my cousin Ben always used to do—"

"Then nobody is getting in," Peter interrupted. He used his candle to light all the torches (Spike hope they'd turned off the fire sprinklers while they were at it), then grabbed something from a dark corner of the room and dragged it into the circle. It was Cassie, blindfolded and gagged with duct tape, hands tied behind her back. "And nobody is getting out," Peter stated.

The boys' eyes widened at the sight of the trussed-up girl. One of them rasped a startled, "Dude."

Maybe they didn't realize the ceremony involved a sacrifice, or maybe they thought it would only be something like a small animal. But now Spike saw the first glimmers of uncertainty in the kids' stares. It was starting to sink in that they were getting into something serious.

"This is our sacrifice," Peter declared, in case the others weren't catching on. He removed the blindfold, then leaned close to the sobbing girl and whispered harshly in her ear, "It's nothing personal. It's just that you have this death-chick suicidal vibe going. I figure if you disappear, everybody will just assume you threw yourself in a river somewhere." He smirked, then straightened and said to the surrounding teens, "Extinguish."

One by one, they licked their fingers and snuffed out their candles. Spike and Buffy followed suit.

Peter reached for the meat cleaver and began to chant, "Almighty Avilas, please accept our sacrifice. Please appear before us, O mighty soldier of the dark. Please appear before us and grant us with infinite riches, and we will pay you with our sacrifice. We kneel before you with the gift of flesh."

As he raised the blade towards Cassie's vulnerable throat, one of the kneeling figures abruptly stood and threw off the robe. "Okay," Buffy stated, no-nonsense, "that is going on your permanent record."

The teens leapt back in shock. Peter stood, pointing the cleaver at her. "Wait, this is the counselor! What's she doing here?"

The robed figures backed away from her, nothing more than frightened boys pretending to be something more.

"Back off," Peter growled, "Get back. Get back, you stupid bitch."

Anger flickered across Buffy's face and she kicked out, her foot connecting with the boy's face. He staggered back, his hand covering his bloodied nose. He gaped at her in astonishment for a moment before his expression darkened. "Oh, you're gonna die!"

Another kick sent him sprawling on the floor. The cleaver slipped from his grasp and clattered on the floor.

"Do you know how lame this is?" Buffy chided, shaking her head in scorn, "Bored teenage boys trying to raise up a demon? Sorry he didn't show. I bet it's because you forgot the boombox playing some heavy metal thing like...Blue Clam Cult? I think that's the key to the raising of lame demons."

Peter's gaze focused past her shoulder. A smug grin tugged at his lips. "That lame demon?" he pointed.

Buffy turned and found herself face to face with one of the ugliest demons she'd ever seen. Its thick hide looked like gnarled wood, and its head was shaped like a cow's skull, of all things. The wannabe summoners took one look at that thing and ran off in a panic. They'd apparently forgotten all about their infinite riches in favor of getting the hell away.

Unfortunately, the demon was every bit as strong as it looked. When Buffy punched it, it was like hitting the side of a mountain. The creature knocked her down and raised one foot to crush her head. That was when Spike decided to step in. He threw off his robe, grabbed one of the torches, and brandished it at the demon. The demon jerked away from the flames, giving Buffy the chance to jump to her feet.

"My hero."

Spike grinned. "Want me to do the honors?"

Buffy shook her head, took the torch from him. "Untie her. I'll take care of this."

Spike turned his attention to Cassie just in time to see Peter coming at the girl with the cleaver. Doesn't this git know when he's beaten? Spike wondered in exasperation. He leapt forward and tackled the boy to the floor. He punched the kid in the face and flinched when the chip went off.

"Who are you?" Peter cried.

Spike answered with a menacing growl, "I'm a bad man." He punched the teen one more time, pain be damned, then snatched up the cleaver from the boy's slackened grip. Spike went over to Cassie and used the blade to saw through the ropes that tied her wrist, then ripped the duct tape away from her mouth. "You okay, pet?"

The girl looked at him, her cheeks tear-stained, a faint smile on her face. "She will come for you."

Spike frowned in confusion. A loud roar then drew his attention to the fight. Buffy had thrust the torch into the demon's torso and the creature lit up like the dried wood it resembled. Within seconds it was engulfed in flames, then collapsed in a smoldering heap. Buffy tossed aside the spent torch and hurried to check on Cassie. "Is she alright?"

"She's fine," Spike assured her.

Peter startled them all when he suddenly crawled past them towards the smoking remains of the demon he'd summoned. "You can't be dead! Where are my infinite riches?"

"Give it up, you nit," Spike sneered, "The beastie's charcoal—"

The demon suddenly reared up and sank its blackened teeth into the boy's shoulder. Peter fell back with a scream, one hand clamped over the wound. The demon's corpse exploded, showering the area with charred lumps and soot.

"Whoa!" Cassie gaped.

Spike quirked a scarred eyebrow at her. "Didn't see that comin', did ya?"

Buffy's amusement rippled through their link. She helped Cassie to her feet and they and the vampire headed for the exit.

"It bit me!" Peter cried petulantly, "Help! Help me, please, I'm bleeding!"

Buffy carelessly replied, "Sorry. My office hours are ten to four."

They left the library and made their way to the nearest exit. "It's all okay, now," Buffy promised, "I hope you're not too disappointed." She smiled.

As Cassie pushed the door open, O'Keefe's booby trap was sprung. A string attached to the door pulled the trigger on a mounted crossbow, sending a bolt towards the girl's head. With lightning reflexes, Buffy snatched the arrow out of the air a hair's breadth from its target. "See?" she snapped the bolt in half, "You can make a difference."

Cassie smiled, reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from Buffy's face. "And you will."

Spike heard it, that strange little stutter in the girl's heartbeat, just before it fell silent. Cassie's eyes widened and she let out a slight gasp. Her last breath. Buffy caught her as she slumped to the floor. "Cassie? Cassie!"

The girl's eyes stared sightlessly back at her.

Spike knelt beside them and pressed his fingers to the girl's carotid, knowing already that he wouldn't find a pulse. "She's gone."

"What?" Buffy gasped, "N-No, she can't... I helped her. I helped her!" She started shaking the girl's shoulders. "Cassie, get up! Get up! Please, get up..." She didn't realize she was crying until Spike pulled her to his chest. She wrapped her arms around him and sobbed while he gently rocked her back and forth.

Willow, Tara, Xander, Dawn, all were sitting around the living room wearing the same solemn expression. Tears rolled down Dawn's cheeks. Aside from Buffy, she'd taken Cassie's death the hardest.

Buffy was squeezed in with Spike in the easy chair, her head resting on his shoulder. He ran his fingers through her blonde hair, stroked her back in gentle circles. Her eyes stared straight ahead at nothing.

"How was her mom?" Tara asked, finally breaking the oppressive silence.

"Okay," Buffy answered in a dull monotone, "As okay as... She told me their family had a history of heart irregularities. She never told Cassie."

"Cassie didn't know?" Willow asked, surprised, "Then it was fate?"

Xander shook his head sadly, "Then she was going to die no matter what, wasn't she? It didn't matter what you did."

Buffy swallowed against the tightening of her throat. "She just knew. She was special. I failed her."

Spike opened his mouth to protest, but Dawn beat him to it. "No. You didn't," the girl's voice quavered, "'cause you tried. You listened and you tried. She died because of her heart, not because of you. She was my friend 'cause of you." Dawn sniffled, "I guess sometimes you can't help."

Buffy felt a sense of hopelessness weigh her down. "So what then? What do you do when you know that? When you know that maybe you can't help?"

No one had any answers.

Later that night, in the room Buffy and Spike shared, they made love, and there was a desperation in the act. Buffy clung to her lover afterward and wept bitterly. It wasn't fair. Cassie had so much life in her, so much she could have done with it. And now it was just...gone. Snuffed out by tiny flaw that had doomed her from birth. But that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that Cassie had known, and been helpless to prevent it. If it hadn't been for her ability to see the future, she could have lived her short life in blissful ignorance. She could have made plans for a future she never would've realized was never going to happen. She could have said yes when her friend asked her to the winter formal, kept going to school, kept making friends. She could have been happy.

"Keep trying," Spike murmured.

Buffy leaned back to meet his gaze, her brow creased in a questioning frown.

Spike smiled and gently brushed her hair back, cradled her face in his hands. "When you know that maybe you can't help," he told her, "You keep trying anyway."

Buffy stared at him for a long beat, then nodded. The next day, she returned to work at the high school.