Heedless of the danger to herself, Dawn rushed past her older sister to her friend, kneeling down beside him where he lay on the ground, broken and bleeding from Buffy’s brutal attack.
“Spike!” she cried out, her voice trembling and higher than usual in her fear. “Spike – are you all right?”
The answer was painfully obvious.
The vampire could barely move from his position where the Slayer had left him, collapsed on his side, in pain from her savage kicks to his stomach and chest, and severely weakened by her cruelly intended attentions to her mark on his throat. Still dizzy and disoriented from too many blows to his head, he struggled to rise up on one arm as he saw Dawn approaching through the haze of impending darkness that clouded his vision.
Behind the oblivious teenager, concerned only with his well-being, he saw the Slayer turn slowly to face them, a cruel smile on her face, her manner still terrifyingly calm. She did not move toward them – not yet.
She was clearly in no hurry.
Spike was too badly injured to pose any threat to her, to be able to do anything at all to defend Dawn. Joyce was too far away to reach them in time.
Dawn was helpless.
“Dawn…” Spike gasped for breath, struggling to speak, choking as his own blood rose up in his throat from internal injuries that he had not realized he had, and did not want to think about just now.
Bloody hell, but she had kicked him *hard*!
“I’m right here, Spike,” Dawn reassured him in a voice thick with emotion, tears streaming down her face, misunderstanding his concern. “You’re gonna be okay!”
Over her shoulder, Spike watched with dismay as Buffy started smoothly toward them, quickly closing the few yards that separated her from her sister and her mate.
“D-dawnie!” he struggled to get the word out, his arm shaking violently with the effort to hold himself up, trying to make his eyes focus on her face. “You have to – you need to…” Another fit of coughing overwhelmed him, and his arm gave out under him, as he gasped for the breath to speak, struggling against his own suffering to warn her.
“What?” she asked softly, concern in her wide, tearful blue eyes. “What is it, Spike?”
He looked up at her, past her, his eyes focused on the looming danger behind her. Buffy was standing directly behind her sister now, a cold smile of satisfaction on her face. Though he knew the chances of Dawn’s actually escaping her sister were very slim, he met her eyes and forced out a single word, a desperate, rasping whisper of warning.
“*Run*!”
Dawn’s eyes widened, and she drew back slightly, staring at her friend as she processed the meaning of his urgent order. Suddenly, she looked up, straight ahead, as she sensed the nearness of her sister behind her, and realized the reason for Spike’s warning.
He had not been the primary target of Buffy’s violent rage – not this time.
She froze completely for a moment, her heart pounding with fear, her mind racing with possible outcomes for this situation. Her eyes fell again to the battered, bruised form of her badly injured friend, just as his arm gave out under him and he collapsed to the ground again.
And then – her eyes narrowed, blazing with fury, and her jaw set in determination. She did not care that Buffy planned to hurt her, and had the strength to do so. Suddenly, all she felt was a powerful, protective surge of indignant anger at what had been done to her friend.
Buffy saw none of the changes in her sister’s face, or her attitude; Dawn’s back was to her as she stretched out her hand toward her head. She smiled; to all appearances, the girl was too lost in her worry for Spike to be aware of the moment of her death that was swiftly falling upon her. Her fingers spread to seize the child’s hair.
One quick tug and a twit – and the frail human prison that bound her would cease to exist.
She would be free – as the witch’s spell should have made her…as she would be already, if there had not already been other magics at work when the spell had been cast.
Suddenly, in one surprisingly quick motion, without rising from her knees, Dawn spun around to face her, catching her wrist before she could touch her. The look in the girl’s smoldering eyes, darkened to a shade of blue that was nearly midnight with the intensity of her anger, was one of grim determination as she glared up at her older, stronger sister with unflinching defiance.
The Slayer missed the look completely.
She had other things to worry about.
The instant that Dawn’s hand came into contact with Buffy’s arm, both girls felt a powerful jolt of energy course through them – and suddenly, Dawn could feel her *sister* -- buried deep inside herself, somewhere behind the black malevolence that had been acting through her, but struggling desperately to resurface – futilely.
Until now.
Alarm showed on Buffy’s face, which Dawn recognized to be the emotion of the intruder in her body, as the intense battle for control over Buffy’s body, her mind, began again. It was not the first time that Buffy had struggled, fought back against whatever it was that was controlling her – but this time, something was different.
This time – she was not fighting alone.
The entity did not want to give up so easily, and Buffy’s arm pulled back, trying to escape her sister’s grip. But Dawn held on for all she was worth, determined sapphire eyes focused on the Slayer’s face, as she knew instinctively that if she let go, the battle would be lost. Somehow, as it had done before, her touch was helping to bring Buffy back into control.
An instant after she began to feel that the Slayer’s greater strength was going to be too much for her – that she was going to lose her grip – Buffy suddenly stopped trying to pull away.
Her eyes closed, her jaw locked in her determined struggle not to give in to the evil that was consuming her. Slowly, as if with a great effort, she lowered her own hand to Dawn’s arm, just above the hand that held her wrist, and deliberately, firmly, gripped her sister’s arm – locking them together in a firm connection that she knew was likely her only hope of beating back the thing that wanted to destroy her and all that was dear to her.
Second by second, from that moment on, Dawn could feel herself getting stronger, and somehow knew that she was drawing on Buffy’s strength, and Buffy on hers, but neither was getting weaker, but rather, their strength was increasing.
The sensation of absolute *connection* was beyond explanation.
Dawn felt joined to her sister in a way she had never imagined, close enough that she could hear her thoughts, desperate silent pleas not to let her go – could feel the determination and fear and desperation that consumed her as she fought for something that should have been hers already – mastery of her own body.
The struggle intensified; whatever the thing was that was using Buffy to do its bidding did not want to give in so easily. Dawn was aware of it as her sister’s hand clutched her arm tighter, but felt no pain from the Slayer’s desperately strong grip. She rather found it encouraging, evidence of what she knew had to happen if they were going to win this.
Buffy was fighting back.
Dawn followed the lead of her sister’s actions, focusing all of her energy, all of her strength on pushing back the violent force that was struggling against her. She did not really know how she was doing it, but she felt as if she was physically pouring her own strength, her effort, into her sister. This was not just Buffy’s fight alone.
This thing that was attacking her sister, was thus attacking her as well.
Suddenly, Buffy’s eyes opened, focusing on Dawn’s with a shock of clarity – as if suddenly realizing a new, incredible truth – and Dawn felt it too…the rush of insight into the situation that she knew was probably key to their situation. Both girls held on tighter, focusing all they had on the battle – combining their efforts as one.
For a brief instant, they felt as if they *were* one – their thoughts, emotions, flowing freely between them.
And in that instant, as suddenly as it had begun – the battle ceased.
Dawn felt the release of the tension of the fight, like a cord stretched to its limit, and finally broken, as she suddenly realized that they were no longer fighting – the struggle had ended – because nothing was fighting them anymore. Her head was spinning as she tried to comprehend what had just happened.
She was drawn back to the present moment when she felt Buffy’s hand slacken on her arm, releasing her, and she watched as her sister slumped to the ground on her knees, sobbing brokenly with relief, sorrow, confusion – countless inexpressible emotions that poured from her with her tears like rain.
Dawn glanced up for a moment at the scene surrounding them.
At some point during the battle, Giles and the others had arrived, and were standing near her mother, watching silently, intently. Dawn had no idea how the whole thing must have appeared to them, but something they had seen had them transfixed, staring at the kneeling sisters with a mixture of awe and horror in their eyes.
When she looked up at them, the spell seemed to be broken, as Joyce moved across the lawn toward her daughters, kneeling on the grass beside them. Dawn moved back slightly to allow her mother access to her, as Joyce wrapped her arms around her younger daughter briefly, pulling back to look her in the eyes with anxious concern.
“You’re all right,” she confirmed softly, a question in her eyes.
Dawn nodded, unable to speak at the moment. There was a suspicious lump in her throat, and now that it was over, she felt her entire body begin to tremble under the comfort of her mother’s touch. Joyce pulled her close again for just a moment, before pushing her back by the shoulders and looking her in the eye with an encouraging but serious smile that made Dawn want to be brave.
Joyce’s other daughter needed her more at the moment.
Joyce looked over Dawn’s shoulder at Spike, a frown of concern forming on her face, and Dawn turned to follow her alarmed gaze. Dawn gasped at the sight of him. He was bleeding from his mouth, his face badly bruised, and he appeared very, very pale. The dark, shining patch of grass beside his head told them why – the vampire had lost a lot of blood.
Dawn’s eyes turned back to search her mother’s, seeking guidance, comfort for her fears and uncertainties. She had never seen her sister so broken – and her best friend, though she knew he could not actually bleed to death, was severely hurt and in need of care.
And she had no idea how to help either of them.
Joyce looked between the barely conscious vampire and her broken, sobbing daughter – and then back at Dawn.
“Help Spike,” she said quietly but firmly. “Have the others help you get him inside. It’s not safe out here.” She returned her gaze to her other daughter as she added, “I’ll get Buffy.”
Dawn saw the indecision in her mother’s eyes, knew that she felt as torn as she did. She loved both Spike and her daughter very much. And in this situation, it was difficult not to be angry with Buffy – not to see Spike as the one more deserving, more in need of comfort and care.
But that did not change the fact that Buffy was her *daughter*.
Joyce’s mother instincts were telling her what Dawn had learned through her brief but intense connection with her sister moments earlier. Joyce had not felt first hand the intensity of the struggle, the pain and terror, guilt and shame, that Dawn had felt radiating from her sister, flowing into her in those moments. Even so, as her mother, Joyce could not help but see it.
This was slowly but surely tearing Buffy apart.
So she made the difficult decision, for the moment, to focus her attentions on her daughter, reminding herself that as much as it might appear otherwise – Buffy was not the villain of the situation, but rather another victim of it. She gently wrapped her arms around her distraught daughter, holding her close to her, cradling he head against her breast, as Buffy sobbed out the terror, guilt and pain of the past few minutes.
Dawn knelt at Spike’s side, reaching for the blonde vampire’s hand, taking it between both of hers and trying to get his attention.
His head rolled slowly back to face her, and he struggled to open his eyes.
“Niblet?” The word came out as a barely audible whisper.
Dawn breathed a sigh of relief. He was conscious, at least – but barely.
“Spike – you’re gonna be okay – we’re gonna get you taken care of,” she reassured him, waving frantically with her free hand for the others, who still stood a good, safe distance away, to cross the lawn and help her.
Anya was, not surprisingly, the first to reach them, crouching down beside them with a worried look on her face, though she appeared lost as to what to do to help. She was only recently human, after all, and most of her past experience had been more along the lines of *causing* injuries like Spike’s, and worse – not so much with the healing of them.
If she had had her powers back at that moment, however – she would have gladly broken her own rules.
Giles and Willow were right behind Anya, hurrying to help at Dawn’s insistence. Neither of them had much of an idea of what was going on, but knew that explanations could wait until everyone was safe inside. This was not exactly the safest part of Sunnydale, and though the Slayer was with them, she was clearly in no condition to defend herself or anyone else.
Xander stopped hesitantly beside Buffy and Joyce, just as the older woman was helping the tearful Slayer to her feet. “Is – is she all right?” he asked anxiously, his eyes wide and fearful.
Joyce had little appreciation for his concern at the moment. Xander’s obsession with her daughter was obvious to her, and considering his relationship with Anya – not to mention Buffy’s utter lack of interest in him in that way – Joyce was at best irritated, at worst alarmed, by Xander’s continuing infatuation.
And considering that at the moment, said infatuation was contributing to Spike’s state of being unconscious and helpless outside in Sunnydale at night, in a part of town frequented by various demons – most of whom would have *loved* the opportunity to take out the master vampire while he was weakened and unable to defend himself…
Well – Joyce’s patience ran out.
“She’s fine, Xander,” she snapped. “Or she will be. Now, would you please go help Spike?”
Xander’s expression quickly shifted from concern to derision and disbelief. “Why would I want to help *him*? It’s bad enough we have to let the bloodsucker live – why should I care if…”
Joyce’s mouth was open to speak – but before she could cut Xander off, Giles already had.
Xander was probably lucky, all things considered.
“Because whatever happens to him has a profound effect on Buffy, as we’ve covered before, you daft berk!” Giles snapped impatiently. “Now if you don’t mind would you get over here and help me get him in the house!”
Xander looked suitably chagrined as he made his way to where Giles was already trying to lift the vampire’s shoulders – nowhere near carefully enough, in Dawn’s opinion.
Joyce glared after the stubborn boy, righteous anger blazing in her eyes, as Buffy leaned against her to steady her footing. When she felt her daughter suddenly tense against her, she looked at her with concern, to see Buffy staring with wide, stricken eyes at the most badly hurt victim of her most recent attack.
“Oh, God,” she moaned softly, lowering her head and covering her eyes with her hand as a fresh sob rose in her throat. “Oh, God, *I* did that!”
Xander and Giles quickly lifted the vampire between them, and he let out a little cry of pain as they jarred his battered ribcage with the effort, almost dropping him twice before they managed to get a hold of him and start toward the door. Clearly, they were more concerned with speed than with the comfort of their charge.
After all – it wasn’t as if he was an actual *person*.
“You freakin’ morons!” Dawn snapped, frustrated and angry at their carelessness. “How’d you like it if someone smashed *your* ribs all up and then just dragged you around like a sack of dirt?”
Giles shot her a severe look, followed by a glance at her mother, obviously expecting Joyce to say something to her daughter about her lack of respect.
Joyce was smiling.
Dawn hurried beside the two men to hold onto Spike’s hand as they made their way through the door into the mansion, laying him down as quickly as possible on a battered old sofa near the door.
The vampire’s body convulsed with pain at the sudden, jarring impact, and he bit back a cry of agony, aware of Dawn’s nearness, and not wanting to appear weak in front of her – as if the bone-crushing grip he had on her hand was not enough to reveal his weakness.
Or the basic inability to move of his own volition, for that matter.
He gasped for breath, trying to recover as the pain slowly passed, and Dawn relaxed a little as his grip on her hand slowly eased. He turned his head, opening his eyes to look at her, forcing a painful little smile.
“Oh, Spike,” she said, her voice dangerously close to tears. “I thought she’d – I thought you were…”
“Dust?” he finished for her, raising his eyebrows pointedly before glancing down at his badly damaged, but still intact body. “Obviously not, Bit.”
Dawn was too relieved and afraid and emotional at the moment to even notice the barb she would have shot back at him under other circumstances.
Weakly, Spike raised his hand to tuck a lock of disheveled dark brown hair behind her ear, and she looked up to meet his eyes through tears. He smiled as he whispered, “You’re okay…that’s what’s important…thought she was gonna…but…but you stopped her…”
There was a wonder in his hazy blue eyes as he stared at her. “Didn’t know you had it in you,” he added, his voice still weak and shaky, as he struggled to go on, to try and appear okay for her benefit. “Still don’t know *what* exactly you got in you,” he amended with an attempt at a smile.
Dawn noticed with a frown of concern that he was weakening – he needed blood, and right away.
“Still,” he went on, his voice barely over a whisper, his eyes slowly drifting shut. “was quite a light show you put on there, Bit…”
His head fell limply to the side, and his hand in hers dropped beside him.
“Spike! *Spike*!” she gasped, her eyes widening with alarm as she realized that he was unconscious again, and she looked around anxiously for her mother, knowing that Joyce would have a better idea than she did of what to do. How much blood had he lost? Had they brought any with them? How were they going to…?
Suddenly, she turned around to look at him, a frown of confusion coming over her face, as his last words before slipping back into unconsciousness registered with her, and though she knew that he could not hear her and would not respond, a single word of simple eloquence left her lips.
“*Huh*?”
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