They had been driving around for some time looking for Buffy, and Baby was getting low on gas. Thanks to having lost the world's least fair game of "Not It", Dean had been stuck with Spike as his tag along, so he was also pretty low on patience at this point. And, over an hour later, no one had sent out word she had been found. Slamming his phone shut, having checked it four times and frustrated at the radio silence, he threw it on the dashboard of the Impala.

"What the hell was she thinking?"

"Trust me, mate— when it comes to Buffy, this is a game you will lose," Spike answered.

"We'll find her eventually. She won't get far before—"

Spike stopped him short, "I'm talkin' about tryin' to navigate that ludicrous brain of hers. It's all funhouse mirrors in that attic- even she gets lost up there, and that was before the Angel of Thursday rearranged her reality."

Reaching into his trench, Spike fumbled to retrieve his cigarettes thanks to the gloves that covered his hands, protecting his skin from the wrath of the sun. Finally managing despite the lack of purchase, he shook the pack of Morley's until a cigarette fell into his palm.

"You light that up in my car, I light you up," Dean turned with severity in his eyes, "And, for the record, you look freakin' ridiculous."

Huffing, Spike readjusted the ski mask protecting his face, "You can project on me all you want, but I ain't the one you're mad at, and you know it," Spike shoved the cigarettes into a more accessible pocket for later, "You think this is bad, you shoulda been around after she got ripped outta Heaven."

Dean tried to process Spike's words, "Ripped out?"

"Yeah, as in forcibly removed from paradise," Spike scoffed, "Cheers on that one, Willow. Buffy came back, but she was barely runnin' on fumes… came back… numb, and convinced she was somethin' unnatural. Suppose that's why she came runnin' to me to put her pieces back together, so she could return to the livin', and keep up the ruse she wasn't shattered."

"I just don't get it," Dean replied with genuine perplexity, "Why a vampire? Why the one thing she was designed to eliminate?"

Without malice or sarcasm, Spike turned, staring out the window at the passing objects and moving people, and said, "Don't you dare think that for one moment I ever believed I deserved her—things I've done, Karma just doesn't work like that. But, Buffy needs a boy just this side of dark because she needs someone as broken as her," they rolled to a stop at the edge of an intersection, halted by the red light, and Spike turned back to Dean, "She'll never admit it, Winchester, but she knows every savior needs one person to save them from themselves. Her problem right now is admittin' that person is you, because if it is you, then her entire life is a lie."

"Just because Cas showed us some messed up Holodeck version of our lives, does not make us soul mates."

"Who are you tryin' to convince?" Spike spoke from the weight of experience,

"Clearly she has a type," Dean motioned sardonically towards Spike, "and, I ain't it."

"You're same as me, whether you like it or not. Angel and I, we carried that girl because we knew how to fight your way out of the darkness and back into the light. You bear that cross too, except you've got both a beat and a breath in your chest."

The light turned green and the Impala sped off the line a little too fast.

"Thanks for the pep talk Dr. Phil, but I'm not buying this true love, destiny bull shit. I'm not meant to be tethered to anyone. You know what happens to women who love Winchester men? They die. And right now, that's why I'm here—to keep Lilith from killing Buffy and stop the fucking Apocalypse," Dean abruptly flicked on his left turn signal and cut off a car merging into the turn lane of the next light, "I'm tired of waiting around—we're going back to the apartment."

Sliding into an empty spot in the parking lot, Sam and Bobby returned from their unsuccessful search and rescue mission at the exact moment that Buffy passed in front of their windshield.

"Hey!" Sam shouted out the passenger side window.

Throwing up an open palm like a stop sign, Buffy just swung around on the column that anchored the stairs and made her way up without even so much as a second of eye contact.

"Ya'know", Bobby snorted as he shifted into Park, "They deserve each other."

"Yeah," Sam pursed his lips in agitation, "Didn't really need a vision to figure that one out."

"I could beat Castiel senseless for this whole goddam mess," Bobby leaned back in the seat, "What the hell good did any of that what if nonsense do for either of them?"

"At least we know about the Order now—that's going to be incredibly helpful to us in the future. Not to mention the possibility of closing the Gates of Hell forever…"

"You're missing the point, son," Bobby lifted his hand to stop Sam, "They just had their whole existence rocked, and now they just gotta suck it and stop the damn Apocalypse. Except, they gotta do it with the knowledge that everyone they ever loved—your parents, her watcher, a handful of friends— a whole bunch of people would be here right now if…"

"…If Buffy and Dean were dead," Sam finished.

"Exactly," Bobby nodded sadly, "And, your brother was reckless and suicidal at the best of times. So, what crazy ass ideas is this mess gonna spin through that head of his?"

Despite knowing exactly what ideas it would spin, Sam avoided answering the question.

"I should make sure Dean knows she's safe, if for nothing else to release him from Spike duty."

"Yeah, but it's funnier if you don't," Bobby laughed, then added, "Make sure you refer to her as his girlfriend—he oughtta love that."

Snickering as he pressed the numbers into his phone, Willow suddenly dropped into the open window, causing them to both jump. The phone fell out of Sam's hand, slipping between the seat and the door.

"Christ Almighty, Willow!" Bobby shouted, clutching at his chest, "You tryin' to gimme a—"

A flick of her wrist sent Bobby's face slamming into the steering wheel, "Not now, Old Man."

Ripping the door open so far the metal hinges bent, Willow yanked Sam out onto the pavement, staring at her in disbelief. She was mouthing something, but he could not make out the words.

"What the hell?" Sam asked, reaching for his gun in the waistband of his jeans.

"…Out of my passions, a web be spun. From this moment forth my will be done."

Ruby could feel a surge course through Willow's body. It was intoxicating.

"Get up, Sam."

Without protest, Sam rose to his feet. Stepping up to meet his eyes, she grasped him by his jacket and crushed her lips against his.

"You're mine, Sam— no one is going to take you away from me again. Not your brother, not the Slayer—nobody. You and me have got a date at a convent in Maryland," with a wave of her hand, the amulet appeared in her palm, "and, you need a little practice time with this."