Dawn stayed glued to Spike’s side as they walked upstairs. He guided her into the bathroom, put down his mug and the first aid kit, and swung her up to sit on the counter next to the sink.

“Right then, Pidge, let’s have a look at that cut.” Spike was still amazed that Dawn’s blood never smelled like food to him. Blood called. Loudly. No matter whose it was, human blood smelled delicious – even more so in the years since he’d stopped drinking it. But never hers.

At first, he’d thought it was something to do with his attempts at starving himself to death, but he was pretty sure now that that wasn’t all of it. He lived with her – well, during the week, anyway – and no matter how much her blood flowed or how easily accessible it was, nothing happened. No bumpies, no yellow eyes, nothing. He reacted just like he would with another vampire: check if it’s dangerous, and if not, move on. Somehow, his demon recognised her as … family.

This time was no different. He put his hand to her jaw and tilted her head up and away so he could look at the cut. It was just a scratch, really: if it had been his neck, or Buffy’s, it would already be healed. But it was perfectly aligned with her jugular vein. Fuck. Too close. He grabbed the antiseptic and gave it a quick swipe.

“First neck wound’ve seen in years actually small enough for a band-aid,” he grunted, putting one on, then gently running one hand over the top of Dawn’s head. “There. All fixed up.” Dawn leaned forward until her forehead was resting on his chest. He let his arms come down to rest around her narrow frame.

“What’s wrong with Buffy?” she asked in a small voice.

Spike sighed. “Did you see her hands?” Dawn shook her head no and wrapped her arms around his waist, face still hidden in his chest. “Right. She had to claw her way out of her grave, Bit. She woke up, alone, terrified, in pain, without air, and she had to fight her way out.”

Dawn nodded solemnly into his chest, trying not to cry. “Is that what it was like for you?” Swinging her knees to one side, she snuggled in closer. She felt safe like this. Everything was just so frightening right now.

“Pretty much.” He paused. “I coulda jus’ stopped breathin’, but I didn’ know that at the time. Still don’ like it very much when I can’t breathe.”

Dawn raise her head to look at him. “But were you … like her? Did you kill your family?” Her eyes were so wide, and so scared.

God, Bit, pick an easy question. “’S different with vamps. Your sis didn’t know who you were – who I was – anythin’! Couldn’t even ‘member how to speak.” He raised one eyebrow. “Not like she’s ever liked usin’ her words to solve her problems.” Dawn almost smiled. He looked away for second. “But I always remembered.” Can’t lie. She trusts me.  “Jus’ didn’t care.” He cupped Dawn’s face in his hand, meeting her gaze again. “It was you brought her out of it, Dawn. Don’t you forget that. Tha’ lot downstairs? Might’ve brought back her body, but her mind? All you. Only you.” Dawn burrowed back into his chest, clutching him tighter.

“They’re not going to … put her back, are they?” she whispered. “I mean, it’s not like when I tried to bring Mom back, is it?”

“NO. ‘N I reckon Buffy’s … herself … enough now they won’t want to. Don’t you worry about that, Pigeon.” She’s not all the way herself yet, but … she’s a fighter. She will be. Not lyin’.

Satisfied for the moment that her sister was safe, Dawn asked, “What happened to your face?” He hadn’t had blood since he’d first woken up yesterday. His smashed cheek still hung drunkenly, and the eye above it was swollen shut. And now he wasn’t quite so focussed on keeping the Summers women safe, he hurt. Everywhere.

“What d’you reckon?”

“Buffy, huh?”

He nodded. “She packs a right mean punch, your sis.”

“I guess I was lucky. Kinda. I mean, only a band-aid, right?” Dawn picked up the now-stone-cold mug of blood and held it out. “You need to get all fixed up, too. Bet you haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

He downed it, grimacing at the taste.

“That’s not gonna be enough to heal all that, is it?”

“’S alright for a start. Don’ really fancy goin’ back downstairs right now.” He remembered, suddenly, that no one had been home when he’d brought Buffy back last night. “What happened last night?” he asked. “When I left, you were asleep. Those gits downstairs were obviously out doin’ whatever they did to bring your sis back. Where were you?”

Tears started welling up in Dawn’s eyes. “They magicked me to sleep and they brought me with them.”

Spike was utterly, utterly speechless.

Dawn started sobbing. “I was there with them the whole time w-when they were bringing her b-back and I didn’t know!” She ended on a wail. “I was in my pyjamas and I was still asleep and then demon bikers broke the circle and then Willow passed out and I woke up and the first thing I saw was this fist coming for my face and oh Spike, I thought I was gonna die!” She gasped for breath. “But then Xander pushed me out of the way, and the Buffy-bot came and they got distracted and we ran.”

What the fuck. Do they not have a brain cell between them? No protection from Sunnydale’s nasties. Getting’ a child involved in resurrection spells?! Spike pulled Dawn into a tight hug.

Dawn continued, her crying tapering off a little as she remembered her anger. “Why didn’t they wake me up and let me choose? I would have done anything to get Buffy back. Anything! Why did they force me like that?” She paused, a sudden idea horrifying her. “What if it’s not the first time? They coulda done it before. I’d never know. Why would they – I trusted them.” Realising the depth of the betrayal, her anger faded, and Dawn just cried.

“’S unforgiveable. Doin’ that to you.” I’ll kill them. Fucking chip! Any hopes Spike had for one day forging … anything … with the Scoobies went up in smoke then and there. If they could do this to Dawn, decide consciously to violate her like that for fuckin’ convenience! He wanted nothing more to do with them. “My place isn’t safe for you on your tod – not at night, anyway. If it was, I’d take you outta here right now. Damn the consequences.” Spike ran a hand over his face. “Let’s at least fix you up with some kinda lock on your door.” He looked at her sideways. “Would suggest somethin’ noisy to wake you up if someone comes through, but we both know brass bands got no hope when you’re out for the count.” She smiled, weakly. He ruffled her hair. “I’ll talk to your sis ‘bout gettin’ rid of the witches. You’re not safe with them in the house.”

This is all happening so fast. Too fast. “But that’s … really big … them leaving. I mean, Buffy’s only just came back and it’s Willow and Tara. They make me pancakes and they moved in to take care of me. Kicking them out? Willow’s Buffy’s best friend. Will she … will Buffy even… I mean … me and Buffy … not always so close.”

“Stop.” Spike put one finger over her lips. “Nothin’s more important to me than your safety. Nothin’. And I know Buffy feels the same way. You think she won’ be furious ‘bout what they did? Sweet Bit, she died so you could live. You think kickin’ her friends outta the house to keep you safe is gonna be a hard sell after that?”

Dawn nodded. Part of her knew she should believe him. But it still felt … weird … even thinking about Buffy taking her side over her friends’. In their old life, before all the dying, Dawn was sure Buffy would have trusted that anything Willow did was for a good reason, no matter what it was. Willow just has to bake some guilt-cookies and everything’s fine again.She realised she really did feel uncomfortable about sleeping in the house with them there. Maybe Spike could make Buffy understand.

If she doesn’t try to kick him out instead.

Dawn knew something bad had happened between them last winter – and it must have been serious, because Buffy had revoked his invitation to the house. But no one had ever told her what was going on, and although things had seemed a bit better later on – even after the bot – she wasn’t sure whether they’d ever really fixed things. Forcing Buffy to choose between people was dangerous. What if she picked Willow?

“I’m not sure I want Buffy to know what they did,” she said. “Not yet. If I know I’m safe in my room, I think I’ll be okay. And … you’ll be here, right?”

“I’ll always be here, Platelet. But … not good, keepin’ secrets like that. They broke your trust, there’s gotta be consequences.”

“I know, but… not yet. Buffy only just got back. Can’t we wait until she’s….”

Spike knew that trying to predict Buffy’s reaction to anything right now was a gamble. Explainin’ her best friends almost got her sister killed…. He decided to go with Dawn’s instincts for the time being. “I’ll give it a few days. But I’m gonna tell her ‘bout what they did eventually. Not takin’ chances with your safety.” He grabbed her chin. “You’re never to be alone with them, 'less you’re locked up tight in your room. Got it?”

Dawn nodded, some of the tightness around her heart loosening.

“Right then. I need to get showered and tape up m’ribs. I think there’s some wood in the basement we can use to bar your door – should be on the floor next to the washing machine. If you grab that, and my tools, we’ll sort you out when’m done.”

Dawn looked down at his t-shirt, already dirty from fighting, now worse from her crying. “You need a new shirt.”

“Tha’ too.” Spike pulled back so that Dawn could get off the counter. He stroked her head, then pulled lightly on her hair. “Go on, then.”

Dawn walked out of the bathroom, not feeling better, exactly, but … more hopeful.

------------------------------------------

Anya was sulking. Xander was freaked by how angry he’d been, shouting at her. That’s not me. That’s my dad. They sat at opposite ends of the breakfast bar, lost in their own thoughts.

Willow was pushing food around her plate, thinking about baking. Cookies make everything better.

Tara was washing up the breakfast dishes. She felt sick. Buffy was so … broken. Anya’s right, such dark magic will have consequences. And what we've done to Dawn! She’d felt uneasy about it last night, but her fear and excitement about the resurrection spell had overridden everything else. Now that she could see Dawn’s reaction…. How can she ever trust us again? Should she ever trust us again? We took all her choices away just because we didn’t think to find a babysitter. We should know better – be better – than that.

When Dawn came through the kitchen to go down to Spike’s room – when had the basement become Spike’s room? – Tara and Willow gave guilty starts. When she came back up, carrying a toolbox they didn’t recognise, wood, and a t-shirt, Tara picked up the plate of buttered toast she’d set aside for Buffy.

“This is for B-B-B-Buffy. D-d-d-o you want anything?” Tara stuttered.

Dawn jiggled her load around to take the plate, avoiding Tara’s eyes. “Not hungry,” she muttered. “Spike needs more blood, though.”

“I can do that,” Willow said, jumping up and going over to the fridge.

“Use the popcorn setting,” Dawn said. Realising she didn’t have the capacity to carry a mug of liquid on top of everything else, she added, “I’ll be back in a minute,” and went upstairs.

“Who woulda thunk it? Popcorn and blood,” Willow said awkwardly.

“Yeah,” said Tara.

When Dawn came down again, she was walking stiffly and her eyes were that same glowy green from the resurrection spell.

“Bitches. Little bitches playing with powers you don’t understand!” a gravelly rasp poured out of her mouth. Tara and Willow jumped, backing slowly away.

“Dawnie?” Willow faltered.

“Not home, little witch.” She tilted her head and grinned. “Gone far, far away.” The … thing … wearing Dawn’s body started swaying like a snake, walking towards them. “Bitch-witch, witch-bitch,” it singsonged. They could hear chittering around them, like at the tower during the spell. “Tasty little bitches. I’m hungry!” Then, like a switch being flipped, the green lights went out from her eyes, and Dawn slumped to the floor.

“Oh my god,” Tara whispered. “What was that?”

“Probably a hitchhiker,” Anya said, glaring at Xander.

“A hitchhiker?” Xander asked, moving to gather Dawn up. “C’mon, Dawnster. Wakey-wakey.”

Dawn made a sleepy noise, and opened her eyes. Realising she was on the floor in Xander's arms, she shrieked. “What did you do to me!” Eyes wide in terror, she scrambled away from him, and, sitting against the wall, yelled “Spike!”

Spike came running down the stairs, wearing nothing but his jeans and still damp from the shower. Dawn threw herself at him as he entered the kitchen.

“We didn’t do anything to you,” Anya said. “Some demon piggybacked with Buffy into our dimension and is probably trying to kill us all now.”

“Anya!” Xander said.

“You mean some demon from Hell rode back with Buffy?” Willow squeaked. “Like ... we're responsible for this?”

“I knew it would go badly.” Anya pouted. “Resurrection spells are never a good idea.”

“Well why didn’t you say something?!” Willow shouted. “You could've at least mentioned the ‘hijackers’ so we could stop 'em!”

“They're hitchhikers, not hijackers, and I thought you knew! It's basic stuff! You're supposed to be the all-powerful witch.” She folded her arms.

“What’s happenin’ then?” Spike asked, forcing himself to stay calm.

“Dawn just got … taken over … by something,” Xander said.

“A hitchhiker,” Anya explained.

“Consequences,” Spike breathed. “Always gotta be consequences.”

“Exactly!” Anya said, throwing her hands in the air.

Dawn was trying to curl herself tighter into Spike, terrified.

“I – I don’t think it’s the first time,” Tara said quietly. “I felt something, this morning. I thought it was just … but now … I think maybe it took me over too.” Willow was staring at her girlfriend in horror. All my fault.

“Some kind of traveller demon, then,” Spike said. “No corporeal form of its own.”

“Don’t tell me: Gozer the Traveller has come,” Xander said.

Anya smacked him. “Xander! Now is not the time. Even I know that.”

“Sorry, Dawnie,” Xander said.

There was a long silence.

“Well, go research then!” Spike said, finally. “‘S what you lot do, innit?”

“We might need your translation skills,” Anya said. “I’ll let you know.”

Willow, Tara and Xander stared at them.

“Tr-translation skills?” Xander squawked. “Spike has translation skills? That you know about?”

Anya sighed. “I never had to learn languages when I was a vengeance demon! I just understood everything magically. Since Giles left, I … I get a little stuck sometimes. I knew Spike spoke Fyarl. Turns out he speaks a lot of demon languages, plus some human ones. He’s made a big impact on my profits.”

“Never did get to grips with Sumerian, though. So we’re stuffed if it’s Gozer.” Spike winked at Xander.

Xander opened and closed his mouth a few times. Did we just share a moment?

Willow and Tara were watching the by-play open-mouthed. Anya and Spike have a … a business relationship?

“We should start with the research. Much needed stoppage of the body-snatching,” Willow said. The others nodded, still feeling a bit stunned – except Anya, who was feeling rather smug.

As they gathered up their things and walked towards the door, Spike looked down at Dawn, still cowering against him.

“Know you’re not alright, but…”

“Can you make me that door bar now?” she whispered.

“Course. Then maybe you could do with a nap? Been quite a day.”

Dawn nodded. “There’s blood for you in the microwave.”

Spike waddled over to the microwave, unable to move his legs properly with the Dawn-limpet attached. “You know this is ridiculous, righ’?” he said.

“I just … I’m a little freaked out right now.”

“I know, pet. I know.” He kissed the top of her head and ruffled her hair. He took the mug out, and downed the blood.

“There’s a plate of toast for Buffy.” Dawn pointed.

“Right.” He grabbed the plate, sighing. “I really can’t go up the stairs like this.”

“Sorry,” Dawn mumbled into his chest. She shuffled around until her legs were completely to one side of his, but still clinging.

Twenty minutes later, there was a thick, wooden bar laid across the inside of Dawn’s door, and Dawn was passed out, exhausted, on her bed.

The shower and blood had made Spike feel more functional – especially now he could see out of both eyes again – and the jittery feeling that Dawn was in danger had lessened with the door bar. He could probably still bust through it – and Buffy – but it would take a while, and normal humans would have no chance.

It was time to go talk to Buffy.

He decided not to wake Dawn to put up the bar after him. The others weren’t home; she was safe enough for the time being.

He’d heard Buffy’s heart rate loud and clear downstairs, and it’d been more hummingbird than human. Whatever she was, she wasn’t okay. She was hiding something, and he wanted – needed – to know what it was.

He walked down the hallway to her room, carrying the plate of toast. He raised his hand to knock, then stopped. Best know now if she’s still gonna try t’kill whatever comes through the door.