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It had all happened very fast. Then again, things that were of the concussion usually did.
One minute, Spike had been talking…complaining about having yet another thing in a long line of things shoved in his brain (a chip, a trigger, a soul, and now a literal rock), and then the next thing she knew he had completely flipped his lid.
If asked, Dawn probably couldn’t give a good reason why she had even been down in the basement in the first place. They didn’t need her help with the research; Willow and Giles had insisted on doing it themselves. They certainly hadn’t asked for her help with the incantation, even if she was getting better at translating.
No, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t like she needed to be there…but Buffy didn’t say no when she asked, and maybe it was just that Dawn was curious to see what was going to happen. Or maybe because this was important. It was important and she was curious. That was it.
So Dawn watched quietly as Willow and Giles performed the incantation on the Prokaryote stone and only grimaced a little as the now sentient thing slithered into Spike’s eye . (And if she jumped and winched when Spike clutched his head and began screaming, Dawn tried to tell herself that it was because it was startling…not because she cared ).
Everything happened fast after that, Buffy rushed to Spike’s side…something she seemed to be doing a lot of lately. Spike got a funny look on his face, like he wasn’t actually there with them anymore. Like the look Buffy used to get right after she came back from heaven and sometimes she’d zone out and just stare and stare at the running faucet or a bug crawling across the sidewalk or a candle flame as it burned.
The mental comparison made Dawn’s stomach do a funny thing as something bitter and painful rose in the back of her throat. She quickly tamped it down because it was fine. It was fine . Buffy wasn’t like that anymore, she hadn’t been all summer. She’d been there with Dawn, mentally present and accounted for. She hadn’t been apathetic and distant, she’d cared , she’d taken care of her. She wasn’t like that anymore and Spike…
It…it didn’t matter what Spike was.
He hadn’t been quite right since he’d come back anyway. And Dawn shouldn’t care if something was wrong with him because he had hurt Buffy and if Buffy wasn’t going to be mad about it anymore then Dawn was going to be mad for her.
Yet still, there was a tug in Dawn’s chest as a torn-up look crossed Spike’s glazed-over features. It was just like the look he had worn in the days right after Buffy leapt from the tower and—
A loud snarl cut through the air and suddenly there was yelling and the sound of chains being snapped to their limit. Buffy was knocked back as Spike lashed out and flailed. Before Dawn could so much as move, the cot Spike had previously been sitting on sailed across the room haphazardly. Dawn leapt out of the way but the mass of metal and bedsheets still clipped her. She fell hard, pain exploding through her skull as her temple impacted something solid on the way down.
More yelling and snarling followed. There was one final hollow clatter then everything went quiet. Dawn groaned softly and forced her eyes open, finding the gray basement ceiling there to greet her.
It was absurd that the first thing she noticed was that the stupid copper pipe was leaking again.
Before she knew it, there were two sets of hands gripping her arms and pulling her to her feet. Willow and Xander began to usher her out of the room and up the stairs. They were talking, but Dawn couldn’t seem to focus on their words. Something about taking a look at her head.
She caught a glimpse of Spike as she went up the stairs, just before the doorframe cut him off from her view. He was still chained up, now crouched in the corner with his back pressed hard against the wall and his hands balled in fists. His eyes were wide and startled. He looked…small.
Twenty minutes later, Dawn was sitting alone in the kitchen with an ice pack to her forehead. Willow had helped her stop the bleeding from the gash before she’d gotten a phone call and had to leave. Now Dawn was doing her best to tame the rapidly forming goose egg while being forced to listened to the hushed gossipy whispers of the Potentials in the living room. Not to mention the harsh sound of Buffy and Giles arguing in the basement while Giles attempted to continue to grill Spike about the trigger.
Dawn gritted her teeth and exhaled through them as she leaned over and rested her head against the counter, wondering if they even had any Ibuprofen for the rapidly building headache that was pounding on the inside of her skull.
Probably not. They never seemed to have things like that for long these days. Money wasn’t as tight as it used to be, yet Dawn couldn’t help but begin to feel the same restrictive pressure she had felt last year when they were broke and barely had food and Buffy worked a shitty minimum wage job and Dawn had made a pickle sandwich which turned out to be a massively bad idea because it had made her nauseous for an hour afterward…
Buffy had a better job now but money was still scarce; they still had to budget and they never seemed to have paper towels or coffee filters. But maybe that wasn’t surprising given the steadily growing number of Potentials and guests and…Andrew. Then there was Willow, Xander, and Giles who were basically living there now too. And didn’t they have houses and apartments of their own? Why were they living in an already overflowing house and using the toilet paper and apparently the Ibuprofen too?
Oh and speaking of, the familiar voices of Xander and Andrew had now joined the Potential's not-so-quiet whispers and now Principal Wood had entered the fray downstairs and Dawn just really really wished everybody would shut up and give her throbbing head a break.
Somewhere below the irritation and pain, Dawn faintly wondered what the hell the principal was even doing there in the first place? Sure, he was Buffy’s boss and a demon hunter, but what business did he have worrying about Spike’s trigger? Was he going to start living at their house too?
Dawn forced herself to take another steadying breath and tried to shake the annoyance that crept along her skin. It was just the environment, that was all. Just the feeling of too many bodies crammed into one space and the nagging sense of isolation and loneliness that grew with every new arrival.
Because every new person was another person that would be eating all the cereal or sleeping on the floor in Dawn’s already packed bedroom. Every new arrival was somebody Buffy would have to give just a bit more of her already insanely divided attention to. Every new person was another hushed whisper added to the chorus, acting like they had any right to judge them for having a vampire in the basement.
The vampire. In the basement. Oh, right.
Dawn felt something twist in her gut as her thoughts drifted to Spike. She had tried so hard not to think about him since he came back. Tried not to dwell too much on that particular subject because those thoughts were too much of a mess.
When it came to Spike, Dawn had resigned herself to oscillating between anger and indifference. She wanted to hold onto her anger. Because anger was safe and if she let that slip then it would give way to hurt. Dawn couldn’t afford to be swallowed by that hurt. Not now when Buffy was so worn thin and they were hosting a giant never-ending sleepover and everybody was so busy no one had even come to check on her to see if she was passed out from her head injury.
So indifference it was. Or anger. She had plenty of anger. Oh, she had been so angry at him over the summer. It was funny how life worked; how one summer he could be the only thing keeping her from following her sister right off the edge of that tower, and then the next she could hate him so much it physically hurt.
She had wanted to scream at him. To scream and scream and throw things and yell at him for betraying Buffy like that and then just leaving . For betraying Dawn. For hurting Buffy and leaving like all the others before. Like Angel and Giles, hell, even their own father.
She had been angry, she had been furious . Then as time passed, that bright hot anger slowly dimmed into a quiet rage. Still there, glowing like embers in cooling ash. All the while a nasty bubble of hurt and loneliness brewed beneath it.
Because he had been her friend, once upon a time. He had still treated her like a person when she found out she wasn’t a person at all. He had felt like her only friend when all the others had been busy plotting to resurrect Buffy behind their backs.
Then, suddenly, he was just gone, and he had left a tangled and ugly mess in his wake.
But then he was back. Buffy had found him in the school basement and hadn’t even told her. He was back and something wasn’t quite right about him. But that didn’t matter much, because one look and all that anger and hurt came rushing back.
Dawn had thought about what she would say to him if she ever saw him again. Had played it through in her mind. She told him if he ever hurt her sister again, she’d light him on fire in his sleep. Dawn had thought it would feel better than it did.
It had felt good for a moment, vindicating to see the hints of fear and surprise that chased each other across his face. Good. She meant it. Then it had given way to guilt and misery. He had tried to hide it under a neutral expression, but he had never been good at fully concealing his emotions and Dawn could see it all so clearly in his eyes. Guilt. Horror. Pain. Misery. Endless blue wells of misery.
He had nodded wordlessly and walked away stiffly. Dawn felt something shift uncomfortably in her chest as he did. That was the last thing she said to him. That was the last time he’d called her “nibblet” or any one of the many nicknames he’d come up with for her. That was the last real conversation they’d shared.
That reality hadn’t hit Dawn until later. It slammed into her like a punch to the gut a week after the Bringers took Spike and the Ubervamp showed up and Buffy couldn’t get to him because it beat her to a bloody pulp.
Dawn had closed the door to Buffy’s bedroom. Had tucked her in bed and told her to get some sleep and tried to ignore the silent tears that slid down her sister’s bruised and scraped cheek.
It wasn’t until Dawn was in the dark, empty hallway that her own tears came. They took her by surprise, hitting her hard and wrenching quiet sobs from her chest as she slid down against the wall. Spike was gone again. The First and the Turok-Han had him and they could kill him at any time. They could have already killed him. He could be dust and he would’ve died thinking Dawn hated his guts. Thinking she wanted him dead.
And that was the worst part, wasn’t it? Because she didn’t hate him. Not truly. Maybe she should, but she didn’t. She missed him. She missed his friendship and his nicknames and his stupid radioactive hair and annoying British words she didn’t understand. She missed sitting in the kitchen with him while she did her homework and she missed playing cards and watching his awful soap operas he was far too invested in. She missed him, and she might never get the chance to tell him that.
Except she did.
Buffy saved him eventually and brought him back home. Only he looked…awful. Like he had right after Glory. Every single one of his ribs were broken multiple times over and there was hardly an ounce of blood left in his body. It had all been bled out through the sigils carved into his chest. They had bled him dry for a ritual…like Glory and Doc had tried to do to Dawn...
He had barely been able to speak when Buffy brought him through the door. All Dawn could bring herself to do was silently leave blood by his bed while he slept so he could have it when he woke up. He looked small then too. Small and broken. It felt wrong.
She still hadn’t been able to work up the courage to talk to him yet. To jump that hurdle. Not then and not now. She wanted to, she wanted to even if she sometimes still tried to convince herself it would be better if she didn’t care about him at all.
When had everything gotten so hard and complicated? It had always used to be so easy to talk to Spike. As easy as it had been to talk to her mother. He had always been there before, even when nobody else wanted him to be. He’d been there, ready to talk and drag everything out into the open even if it was messy and ugly.
And now…now he didn’t talk. Not like he used to. Now he kept to himself and stayed in the basement and tried to stay out of everyone’s way. Kind of like Dawn did most days. And that just made it all so much harder because—
There was a loud crash somewhere downstairs and Dawn suddenly jerked upright, instantly regretting it as a new wave of pain surged through her head. She ignored it and rose from her chair when another clatter sounded off.
Hesitantly, she made her way towards the basement door and reached for the handle. Her fingertips had just barely brushed the knob when it suddenly slammed open, sending Dawn reeling back and landing flat on her butt. Spike was a blur of motion as he bolted through the door and rushed right past her. He was in full vamp-face, snarling and feral.
“Spike!” Dawn yelled after him as he made a break for the living room, but it fell on deaf ears.
The house exploded into chaos. Exploded with the sound of startled screams, yells, blows, and the crash of more things being broken in the scuffle.
Dawn shoved herself to her feet and frantically began to search for something, anything to use as a weapon. She tried to think about what Buffy had taught her during training, about fighting and who had the power. She tried to think, but it all melted away under the searing heat of adrenaline and the pounding headache she still had.
Suddenly and without much conscious thought at all, Dawn found herself gripping a frying pan and charging into the living room after the vampire. She rounded the corner to find utter chaos. The room was a mess, the Potentials had scattered like cockroaches, and Andrew and Anya were mere ungraceful heaps on the floor. Spike was crouched above an unconscious Xander, fangs now bared as he gripped his shirt collar.
His back was turned to her so Dawn didn’t stop, didn’t pause, she kept moving and launched herself towards him with the frying pan raised. She put all her weight behind her swing and her feet left the ground for a fraction of a second as an unconscious battle cry pushed its way out of Dawn’s lungs.
Spike’s head whipped around at the last possible moment…just as the hunk of cast iron came down. A hollow metallic clang echoed through the room and Spike’s head bounced off the pan as he dropped like a sack of potatoes. The weight of the pan pulled Dawn’s whole body forward and she nearly lost her balance as well.
Spike was out cold now, his vampire visage slowly melting away.
The whole room suddenly fell quiet in the aftermath and a few moments passed before Dawn felt some of her previous panic fizzle out. The adrenaline had taken the edge off the pain but her body still crumbled slightly and she had to put her free hand on her knee to catch herself. She simply stood there for several seconds, breathing hard and looking down at the unconscious form before her.
There was a rapidly forming bruise slowly spreading across his temple and he looked…almost peaceful. Like he used to sometimes when he’d fall asleep on the couch while they watched late-night TV because Dawn couldn’t go back to bed after a nightmare about Buffy.
She let out a low, heavy sigh and tilted her head as she looked at him.
“What are we gonna do with you?” She mumbled to herself.
“We’re going to take care of him once and for all is what we’re going to do. Out of the way, Dawn!”
The voice broke Dawn from her reverie and she looked back to find a disheveled Robin and Giles barreling into the room. There was a stake in Robin’s hand and a wild glint in his eyes. Before Dawn could truly register what she was doing, her whole body whipped around and she was holding the frying pan out threateningly; creating a buffer between Robin and his stake and her and Spike.
“You stay away from him!” The words came out sharper and more screechy than she meant them to…and yet she meant every syllable.
An odd and angry look flickered across Robin’s face but Dawn held firm, setting her jaw. For the briefest of moments, it occurred to her how strange this might look; her standing above a slightly loony vampire she just rendered unconscious and angrily brandishing a frying pan like some sort of cookware wielding defender.
(Actually, she kind of liked that title. And if the dawning realization that she had just clocked a hundred-plus-year-old master vampire made her stand a little bit taller, that was okay too.)
Yeah, it probably looked weird, but Dawn didn’t care. He was not coming near Spike with that stake and she would absolutely hit her principal over the head too if she had to.
Their stand-off lasted a few more seconds and then Robin tried to speak up again.
“Dawn, get away from him. He’s dangerous . He needs to be stopped!”
“Not by you he doesn’t! Or anybody else here for that matter. Buffy!”
Dawn yelled for her sister as she finally emerged from the basement. She looked like she’d been in a scuffle, but was otherwise fine.
Buffy took in the scene before her with a mix of disorientation and shock. Then her eyes landed on Robin and they shifted to laser focus as a spark of anger flared behind them.
“Hey! Are you insane?” She scolded, ripping the stake from his hand. “We need him!”
Her gaze fell to Spike on the floor and then to Dawn who had yet to move from her defensive stance even though her arm was getting tired from holding up the pan. Buffy took a step towards them only for Giles to catch her arm.
“Buffy, I’m asking you to please try and see this reasonably. Robin isn’t wrong, Spike is a danger to us all, you have to consider—“
“Oh, I am so not having this conversation with you right now,” Buffy cut him off and ripped her arm from his grasp, a dangerous undercut to her tone.
It was only when Buffy made her way over to them and crouched down in front of Spike that Dawn finally moved, setting the pan down on the floor as she joined her sister. Buffy reached out, lightly brushing her hand over the welt on his head.
“What happened?” Dawn finally asked.
Buffy shook her head. “He had seemed fine. As fine as he could be, anyway. I was about to unchain him but Giles kept pushing him about the song the First was using. And then Giles started singing it—“
Buffy cut herself off with a low growling sigh and pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Did he hurt anybody else?” She asked, sounding exhausted.
Dawn shook her head.
“He didn’t have time. I think he just hit some people…the only murdering he did was to the knick-knacks.” Dawn grimaced, eying a broken lamp in the corner.
A few feet away, Xander began to stir, letting out a quiet groan.
“Xander, are you alright?” Buffy called to him.
“Did anybody get the plate number on that truck?” He mumbled blearily as a few of the Potentials moved to help him.
Buffy merely shook her head.
“Come on, help me get him back to the basement,” she instructed, rising to her feet and bracing her arms beneath Spike’s shoulders.
Dawn nodded and moved to pick up his feet.
Together, they hauled him downstairs and set the cot back upright before settling him onto it. Buffy opted to stay with him just in case he woke up on the wrong side of the game-face. Or if anybody else got any funny ideas about staking a vamp while he was down.
Dawn left her to it, closing the door lightly and deciding she wasn’t going to be leaving the kitchen until either Spike woke up or Robin left the house. Either way, he wasn’t getting through that door.
After thoroughly rummaging through the cabinets, Dawn mercifully found a half-empty bottle of painkillers and settled back onto her stool with a fresh ice pack and her new favorite frying pan placed on the counter beside her.
It was late afternoon by the time the ice pack turned completely to lukewarm mush. It was too late for lunch but still too early for dinner; Dawn’s stomach grumbled all the same. She was mentally debating how to solve that problem when the basement door finally opened and Spike emerged.
Despite having more or less ‘slept’ for quite a while, he looked worn out, a splotch of bluish-yellowish-purple blazing across the side of his head. His eyes landed on Dawn and drifted to her own forehead, a guilty grimace finding its way to his face. Then his gaze fell further to the frying pan and he actually winched, no doubt reliving the memory.
Dawn almost bit back a smile. He always had an expressive face.
Neither of them spoke and soon an air of awkwardness settled over the room. Wordlessly, Spike shuffled over to the freezer and retrieved an ice pack of his own. He pressed it to his head and began to make his way back to the basement like he always did these days. The basement was his sanctuary. His hiding place.
Dawn got a sudden sinking feeling.
Another opportunity gone. Another missed conversation and another day the fractures in their relationship grew wider.
Suddenly, Dawn felt an urgency rise within her. Because what if she hadn’t been there? Would there have been anyone else who would have stopped them from staking him? Would they all even survive what was coming? How many more chances was she going to get before all their chances ran out?
Driven by that urgency, Dawn found her voice.
“You don’t have to leave, you know.”
Spike froze in his tracks, one hand still gripping the doorknob.
He looked back at her, an uncertain look in his eyes. He swallowed and then nodded without comment, shuffling his way over and taking a seat what he must’ve deemed a safe distance away from her.
Seconds ticked away and he still didn’t say anything, the ice pack still pressed against his head. In a desperate attempt to lift the awkwardness, Dawn spoke again.
“Uh, yesterday was butcher run day, so there’s fresh blood in the fridge if you want something to help with your head…” she trailed off.
Spike managed a single, quiet word, his voice tight and strained. “Ta.”
The suffocating silence soon began to claw its way back into the room and this time Dawn let it, her shoulders suddenly sagging beneath an invisible weight. There was only so much she could do to keep up this conversation on her own.
A painful reality suddenly occurred to Dawn; just because she wanted to talk didn’t mean he wanted to. Or was ready to. Or even cared anymore. And maybe she wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. After all, it had been months and she had barely spoken to him. Barely acknowledged him. Hadn’t shown any discernible sign that she cared or even corrected that she did not, in fact, want to light him on fire anymore.
She wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want anything to do with her. Dawn was, begrudgingly, mature enough to admit that if somebody treated her that way, it would be a while before she could move past it.
The teenager’s gaze dropped and she turned her attention to the melty ice pack on the table. She made no move to speak again; the ball was in his court and it was up to him whether he wanted to throw it back. If he didn’t, Dawn decided she’d give an excuse about making lunch and let him leave. She’d give him an out. And he’d take it and it would hurt, but at least she’d finally know where they stood.
Dawn was so lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed how Spike had finally begun to gather his courage and look…well, not quite at her, but near her.
“I’m sorry, Bit—Dawn,” he said suddenly, his voice hoarse.
Dawn jumped a little at the sound of her name, her attention snapping back to him.
“For the—“ Spike quickly tried to continue, gesturing to her head. “For…”
He struggled to find the right words, like he was sifting through his whole vocabulary but all was found wanting.
“For everything,” he eventually got out, a heaviness settling onto him as his whole being seemed to deflate. “Not expectin’ anything. Not forgiveness. Don’t deserve that. But for what it’s worth, I am sorry. So sorry.”
The misery was back in his eyes again. Dawn suspected there was some in her own as well. She regarded him for a long beat, mulling over every bit of hurt and distance that had stretched between them over the past several months.
“I know,” Dawn eventually answered, her voice low and tired and…accepting.
“Buffy told me—“ he began, and that got her attention, “Buffy told me what you did. Stopped the principal from dustin’ me.”
Dawn just shrugged, and then, unable to stop herself from wanting to slip into the familiar back and forth, added; “Somebody’s gotta look out for your dainty defenseless self. I mean you’re basically a damsel in distress these days.”
Spike actually snorted at that.
“My knight in shining cast iron,” he drawled sarcastically.
Dawn laughed softly at that and he did too for a moment. Then he caught himself, his expression turning grim again.
“But…thank you. I didn’t deserve it, you defending me like that. Shoulda let ‘em stake me.” He added the last part quietly.
“I think I’ll decide if you’re worth me defending or not.”
Dawn surprised herself a little with her own boldness. It must have surprised him too because he gave her one of his amused yet fascinated looks, tilting his head to the side.
“Bossy thing, aren’t we?”
A grin pushed its way onto Dawn’s features and she didn’t fight it.
“Uh-huh, and don’t forget it,” she replied brightly.
Spike chuckled and this time he didn’t fight it either.
Something in the air seemed to shift a bit, the previous tense undertones giving way to something more familiar and calm. It wasn’t the same as before, likely never would be. But maybe, just maybe, it was some kind of start.
Feeling slightly more at ease, Spike finally allowed himself to look at her directly, quietly examining the gash the cot incident had left behind.
“You know you need to cover that, right?”
Dawn furrowed her brow only to wince a little at the action. It wasn’t that bad, was it? She hadn’t had a chance to look in the mirror yet.
“Why? Buffy almost never covers hers.” Dawn shrugged nonchalantly.
He gave her a deadpan look. An ‘ are you completely stupid Buffy has Slayer healing and besides when are we taking tips on proper wound care from Buffy, Buffy who ran around for a whole week hiding a stake wound to the stomach from their mother’ sort of look.
Okay, so maybe he had a point. Just a little.
Dawn ducked her head, partly from the embarrassment she unexpectedly felt and partly to hide a smile at his sudden look of exasperation. Spike just heaved a sigh and got up, walking out of the room without comment.
She felt a bit of hurt and disappointment rear its head, but it quickly faded when Spike re-emerged, this time with a first aid kit in hand.
He set the kit on the table, flipped the lid open, and started rummaging through the bandages. Dawn stayed still as he began to clean the gash, only complaining a little when the alcohol hit the raw and angry skin. After that, he put an adhesive-lined patch of gauze over the wound, fingertips carefully pressing down the edges.
Dawn was shocked at how the action seemed to thaw something in her chest…something she hadn’t even realized was freezing.
Logically, Dawn knew the others cared. She knew Buffy cared. But she also knew that Buffy couldn’t be Sister Buffy right now. She had to be Slayer Buffy or General Buffy or whatever else the Potentials or the stupid apocalypse demanded her to be.
Dawn tried not to hold that against her, to not make the same mistakes they had always made in the past. But…that was difficult. It was difficult with Buffy having to be cold and no nonsense. Add that to the warning Dawn had received from their mother (was it really their mother?) about when the time came, Buffy wouldn’t choose her.
So, yes, Dawn was trying, she really was. But that didn’t change how she had felt these past few months. She told herself that they cared, they all did, but it was easy not to feel it these days.
And yet, as Spike leaned over and fussed with the bandage he was trying to get secured without getting stuck to her hairline…Dawn felt a quiet warmth spread through her chest.
It felt good to feel cared for.
Then, in a flash, it hit Dawn that this scene they were playing through was not a new one. Not really.
Suddenly, she was no longer sitting in the kitchen in the afternoon in an overflowing house. Suddenly, she was 14 and she was sitting in the kitchen in the middle of the night in a house that was far too quiet and empty. Spike was kneeling in front of her, insisting they take care of her injuries first even though he was far more battered and bloodied.
Dawn remembered the events of that night on the tower vividly, and the aftermath was no exception. She remembered Spike taking her home, not only because the others had to finish off the rest of Glory’s minions and move the… bodies , but because Spike had outright refused to leave her side. She remembered them both limping into the house and his duster swirling in the dark as he came back in with the first aid kit.
She remembered how he had patched her up and how she had done her best to do the same for him. She had done it for Buffy plenty of times, then the realization that she never would be able to again had sent Dawn over the edge.
She had broken down into loud ugly sobs that sounded more like wails and bordered on something almost inhuman. Spike had broken down too. So they both had cried together in the dark kitchen, holding onto each other and letting themselves be every bit the tattered mess they were.
Dawn had been glad that it was him there, because she realized that he understood what she was feeling better than the others ever could. The others loved Buffy, she was their friend, and they loved her so much. But Buffy had been Dawn’s world.
She was all that she had left after their mom had died and Dawn found out her whole life was an illusion. She had doubted the validity of everything for a while after that, of every memory, every past connection, and even herself. Except…she’d never doubted Buffy. Not truly.
For a while, her connection to Buffy was the only thing that did feel real. Because her sister had been right about the monks: they made her from Buffy, the same blood that coursed through her veins also coursed through Dawn’s.
Buffy had been her world.
And as they both bled their sorrows that night in the aftermath, Dawn realized Buffy had been Spike’s world too. He had loved her, loved her enough he had been ready to die to help her protect what she loved. He had admitted to Dawn that Buffy had been the only person left in the world he was sure he did still love.
Except…Dawn realized that wasn’t true. Because in the midst of some of the worst of her breakdown, she had all but yelled through ragged sobs that she should’ve jumped instead.
It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me.
Spike hadn’t agreed, even if Dawn wouldn’t have blamed him if he did. He just cradled her in his arms as he stroked her hair through his own tears and shushed her, repeating over and over again that it wasn’t her fault.
No, he had blamed himself. Because he wasn’t fast or clever enough. Because he hadn’t made it to her in time.
That night, in part, had been why Spike had stuck so close to her that summer and why Dawn had fought so fiercely for the other Scoobies to let him. Because in that moment, Dawn knew he loved her as well.
That was why his betrayal had stung so bad; because she had loved him too.
And suddenly, Dawn realized, as the present came back into focus and she watched Spike wordlessly pack up the first aid kit; she still loved him. She suspected she always would. Just as they both would always love Buffy, even if loving Buffy was no easy task.
Dawn allowed herself a tiny smile as she watched Spike put away the small red and white box, her fingers lightly tracing the bandage on her head.
She knew now whatever bond they had was still there. It was buried beneath a few layers of ugliness, but it was still there, and Dawn was willing to make the effort to salvage it.
Spike came back in after a moment and Dawn hopped off her stool, a spring in her step she hadn’t felt in a while.
“Come on, help me with lunch?” Dawn grabbed the frying pan off the counter.
Spike eyed the pan distastefully for a moment. Then he looked back to her, the uncertainty returning.
“No,” he shook his head, “No, I shouldn’t. Buffy’s leaving with the Watcher, I should go back to the—“
“Spike,” she cut him off firmly, though not unkindly, “you’ve been living here chipless for weeks and you didn’t get triggered until Giles started poking around in your head. I think your poor little scrambled brain can handle a quesadilla.”
That fascinated look was back again, like he couldn’t quite believe she was arguing in his favor. There was also a tiny smile, no doubt about her comment on the state of his brain.
“And besides,” Dawn continued, hoping to coax the conversation into the remnants of the easiness they had once known, “if you go crazy I’ll just conk you over the head with this thing again.” She gave the pan a twirl in her hands. “Problem solved.”
His expression morphed into a more full, wry smile. “Oh, brilliant. Scramble my brains even more why don’t you? That gonna be your solution to everything now?”
“Maybe,” Dawn shrugged brightly, her long hair swaying at her shoulders.
A look crossed his face after that, a look that was equal parts fond, sad, and faraway. Then he smiled.
“Ya know, your mum hit me with an axe once. It was at Buffy’s—“
“—parent-teacher night. I know,” Dawn finished with a little smile of her own. “Buffy was recounting that story for weeks. She was so proud.”
“I was too, in my own way,” Spike admitted, ducking his head and looking at his shoes. “I always admired her for standin’ up to me like that. She had fire, that one.”
“Guess we know where you get it, eh?” He nodded towards the pan, almost fondly.
Dawn wasn’t really sure if she was beaming or not, but for a moment she felt like she could’ve. The ice in her chest was steadily melting away. She felt warm again for the first time since this whole thing started.
Dawn turned towards the stove after that and began happily going about preparing the food.
“You should have lunch with me,” she eventually said. “I’m gonna try and invent a chicken soup quesadilla and I need someone to test it on before I try and feed it to the Potentials.”
Spike made a face. “Nibblet, that’s horrible. What am I, a bloody Guinea pig now?”
“Pretty much,” she grinned, pulling a can of soup out of the pantry. “It’s either you or Andrew.”
Spike just shook his head, joining her at the counter.
“One of these days, you’re gonna kill somebody with your culinary creations, luv.”
“That’s why I’m testing it on you, because you’re already dead. Cant kill you. See, I’m a genius.” She tapped her uninjured temple, still smiling at him.
Spike rolled his eyes, a warmth of his own blossoming in his unbeating heart. He had never thought he’d get the opportunity to be close to the Bit again, to be offered a chance to still be her friend. But he had, and he was determined not to bollocks it up again.
He’d happily eat a thousand chicken soup quesadillas if it meant he could do right by her this time.
The contents of the frying pan sizzled and Spike caught a whiff of the… unique aroma. It made his stomach lurch.
Okay, maybe a hundred.
She added another can of soup and he openly grimaced.
Oh, bloody hell, ninety-nine…