It's still cold. There is rain beating on the roof in January, which I personally find odd. It's too cold for me to want to go outside, but not cold enough for the rain to freeze. I'm not used to such weather, as the weather never seems to change in California. Nor am I used to a situation such as this.

I remember when I was young and had witnessed such a scene. It was when Angel had come back to me. He had been out of his mind. Still, he was stronger than Dean. As much as Dean wouldn't want to admit that, it was a fact with him being a human. It is the reason why he is huddled in a corner, trembling fiercely, looking feral and afraid. I have never seen him such a way.

It has been days since I first found him in the woods. Getting him back to the house had been an ordeal, as it had been much like fighting a wild animal. I still am unsure if he recognizes me or not. He has said nothing so far and I have done all I can to communicate with him. There was period of time where he allowed me to clean him off, due to his filthy condition. Since then, he remains in the corner of the bedroom.

There has been an immense refusal to eat on his part over the course of the days. As much as I insist that he eats, he rejects everything I put in front of him, going as far as to hit me the first few times I attempt this. In hopes that he will simply come to his senses in regards to the subject, I leave warm food in front of him at nearly all times. At least he drinks the water I give him.

Having him back in such a manner is strange. Every day, I hope that the so called angel will appear again, in a way to somehow guide me, but he remains unseen. My husband is a stranger to me and to the world. He is less than a human being, curled up in the corner of my house in a makeshift bed, refusing any contact with me. With each passing day, I watch him decay more physically and psychologically without being able to do a thing about it. It's beyond heartbreaking.

Part of me wonders if it would have been better if he would have remained dead. I quickly shove those thoughts aside, not wanting to think of how I felt mere days prior when I only saw him in mind. Although the person I see before me is not the husband I remember, it is still him. Someday, hopefully soon, he will be close to what he used to be. But until then, I will not be alone and he will be with me.

"Buffy?"

His voice is hoarse and very quiet, but I hear him. I have been waiting days for him to speak and I practically bolt across the room. It is late and I feel I should be asleep. Nonetheless, I am doing nothing but watching him and pretending to watch something on Netflix. So when he speaks, I am more than ready to move.

Things have gotten slightly better as the days have passed. He has eaten small bits of food and has agreed to allow me to give him a bath almost each day. The first few days were impossible, as he fought me off numerous times. Not wanting to hurt or terrify him, I left him alone until he calmed down. Finally, on the third day, he was clean for the first time since he had come home. Regardless, he has remained in the corner of the room, wrapped in blankets, far from me.

I rush to his side. In an attempt to not frighten him, I stay a few inches back, but still close. He is staring at me, shaking just slightly. I can't tell if he recognizes me or not. He knows my name, but I don't know if he knows who I am. Very slowly, I reach over and touch the side of his face very carefully. When I touch him, I can feel his resolve soften and I feel calmer. He appears more human now and I recognize his eyes as those I looked at in the chapel.

Things are somewhat back to normal. We are both on edge with each other, not sure what to expect. He hasn't told me where he was and I'm not even sure he knows. I don't think he is even sure of what to say to me. We have kept in close quarters, but are very quiet.

I have been sleeping better, but only for hours at a time. Roughly two weeks after finding him in the woods, I awake in the darkness of the night. He is asleep beside me, snoring loudly. I crawl out from beneath his arm and begin to wander throughout the house aimlessly. I'm not hungry, but I find myself in the kitchen, searching through the refrigerator for nothing in particular.

"Stop asking yourself what the right thing to do is."

I spin around, dropping a glass on the floor. It shatters on the tile and I scowl. The angel I spoke with weeks earlier is standing behind me.

"Thanks," I say, sarcastically, "what do you want?"

I go to clean it up when I realize that the glass is fixed and sitting in one piece on the counter beside me. Knowing it is his doing, I try to ignore it. He gives me somewhat of a sly smile.

"Live your life. Let him live his."

"How am I supposed to do that? Neither of us knows where he was or why he is back."

"It doesn't matter. He was brought back because the two of you serve a purpose in this world. Without you, the human race will cease to exist. That is all you need to know."

I don't know what he means by that, but I do know that he isn't going to explain himself. His cryptic nature will never change. Even if I want to ask him any further questions, I wouldn't have a chance. He disappears before my eyes. Annoyed, I put the newly restored glass in the cupboard and go back to bed. When I cover myself with the blankets, I feel him pull me next to him for the first time in over a year.