~*~
Part 1
~*~
 
Spike rolled off the sarcophagus, avoiding the last stabbing blades of sunlight aimed at his all too flammable body.  “Bloody hell, Bit!”
 
“Sorry.  I didn’t know you’d be topside, Dead Pirate Roberts!” 
 
Dawn looked chipper for a change, chipper and…odd.  “Where’d you get the headgear and why?”
 
“Like it?” She modeled the large escapee from some Derby hat museum that was perched jauntily on her head.  “I’m officially representing La Catrina for the occasion.”
 
Spike raised an eyebrow and suppressed a grin.  Okay, he’d play along with this bit of silliness.  His Niblet had had far too little reason for giggles and silly hats for far too long.  “Where’d you hear ‘bout La Calavera Catrina?  You’re a mite pale to be Aztec and I don’t think your family traces to México.”
 
Dawn gave him a bright grin, setting down the shopping bag she carried before plopping herself in his best, okay…only, chair.  “Ding, ding, ding, and the vampire wins the prize.  My new friend, Araceli, is from Cabo San Lucas and she told me all about this neat tradition honoring the dead.  Catrina,” she stated her newly learned factoids proudly, “sorta represents death.  Like the queen of the dead, I guess.  It goes back to, like, forever, just like you!”
 
Spike snorted a laugh.  “Older than me, pet.  Skeleton girl prob’ly goes back to the Aztecs with some tweakin’ from Spain along the way.”  He smiled at the girl he had become so close to over the seemingly endless 147 days of summer. “She’d be right proud to wear a hat like the one you’re sportin’.”
 
Dawn touched the hat and bit her lower lip before confiding, “I kinda swiped one of Mom’s old sun hats and added the flowers and feathers to make it look a little like the pictures.”
 
Spike walked around the girl as if he were a fashion critic there to deliver his opinion.  “Did a pretty good job, Bit, and I’ve seen the real thing.”
 
Dawn’s eyes grew two sizes as her mouth dropped. “You mean there’s a real Catrina?”
 
Spike laughed, “No,” he drew out the ‘o’.  Meant the mural. ‘Sueño de una tarde dominical en la Alameda Central‘s’at the Rivera museum in Mexico City.  Course, I last saw it at the Versailles Restaurant at the Hotel Prado right soon after he finished paintin’ it.  The Senora next to Catrina’s actually Rivera’s wife, Frida Kahlo, another brilliant artist and one time flirt of Dru.”
 
“Shee-yeah!” Dawn scoffed.  “Next thing you’ll be telling me you’re in the picture too.”
 
“He did ask, but didn’t want to stand still for a portrait.  Bloody borin’, that!”
 
“Yeah, Araceli said it’s really all political about the history of Mexico; rich people and poor people and police beating up on the poor people while the rich people mostly don’t pay attention.  Catrina’s all dressed up like how some poor people liked to dress up and kinda pretend to be rich and not be themselves, like with this hat.”
 
“Your mate’s right smart, Bit.  Course, Catrina was around long before Diego put her in his mural.  There’ve been statues and whatnot of her for a long time.  Kinda goes back to the Aztec goddess Mictecacihuatl. Was a way of thumbin’ your nose at death.  Everyone’s equal in the end; she’s supposed to remind people of that."
 
“So how’d you get so smart and art historian-y all at once,” Dawn teased as she hid how impressed she really was.
 
“Live forever and you’ve gotta find more things to do than just killin’.  Chatted up Rivera while he was workin’ on the piece.  He explained the legends and symbolism.  Fascinatin’ bloke.”  Spike leaned against the pillar and lit a cigarette.  Good times.”  He shook his head as if to clear it of old memories. “Reason his mural was so political was ‘cause the man himself was.  Was a Communist back in the 20s and 30s.  Leon Trotsky even lived with him and Frida for a while.  Pissed off a lot of people in his day.  My kind of guy.”
 
Dawn rolled her eyes at the rebellious vampire. “Like you ever even voted!”
 
“Hey, missy!” he sounded a little affronted at the implication.  “Have you know I nearly went for a seat in the Commons back before I was turned.  Family expected it.  Was glad I avoided that duty, dead bore all that yammerin’ about issues and gettin’ nothin’ done.  Rather do somethin’ lot more interestin’.”
 
“You never met Trotsky,” she taunted.
 
“Ate plenty of wankers who fancied themselves as saviors of puppies and underpaid workers.”  He sighed and shook his head.  “Enough about politics and art.  What’s in the bag?”
 
Dawn smiled. “You’ll just have to come with me and find out.”
 
Spike glanced through the dirty window and noted the sun would soon be far enough down to take a turn with his girl, provided the Slayer didn’t find out.  He was still in Buffy’s good graces after helping rescue Dawn from a near fatal dating choice and didn’t want to chance pissing the Slayer off once again.  Dealing with the newly resurrected Slayer was like juggling nitro.  Never knew when it was going to blow and Spike kind of liked all his bits in one piece.  They were on their way to buildin' a right decent friendship at the moment too.
 
“So plannin’ on a whole thing of it?” Spike kept trying to peek into the bag Dawn closely guarded as if it held treasure.
 
“I’m no expert.  I only really know what Araceli told me, but it sounded cool.”  Dawn looked up at him with doe-like innocent eyes that once would have marked her as Spike’s next meal.  “Besides, I hardly see you anymore.  What better time to vampnap my favorite dead guy than on the Day of the Dead?”
 
They walked the familiar path to the grave in companionable silence.  It had been months since they had gone to pay respects to Joyce.  The previous summer had seen the odd pair make the pilgrimage first to the Summers matriarch's resting place, then a stop at Buffy's all too fresh grave after.  Spike had tried to convince Dawn that neither lady was in any cemetery, but "most likely sittin' on some fluffy cloud laughin' at the rest of us poor sods muckin' about down here." 
 
Dawn had merely given him the evil eye and replied, "So I should just talk to clouds?"
 
Seeing how much comfort the girl got from her visits, Spike gave up the argument and provided escort.
 
They arrived at Joyce Summers’ grave and Dawn knelt down to clean imaginary dirt off the headstone. "First you make everything nice and pretty," she instructed Spike and pointed to the single dandelion sprouting too near the sacred site. 
 
Spike obliged and pulled the offending weed. "And your next order, Princess?"  He grinned at the girl as she juggled the large bag while trying to keep her hat firmly on her head instead of skittering away with the wind across the graves.
 
"Now we set up an altar," Dawn instructed.  She began to take out an eclectic collection of photographs, knick-knacks and an old cameo brooch Spike remembered Joyce wearing more than once. 
 
"What ya got there, Bit?"
 
"Well, you're supposed to bring pictures and things that remind you of the person you are visiting."  Dawn set up the items then began to sprinkle marigold petals all around them.  "This time of the year is the time when the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest."  She gave a shiver, clearly not considering she was already in the company of the dead, at least technically.  "The altar is supposed to show them you welcome them coming to visit."
 
Spike tilted his head in curiosity.  "Don't reckon I've ever noticed many family reunions.  Then again, evil creatures like me don't often get many invites."
 
Dawn gave him a sharp look.  "Maybe vampires and demons don't have many people left to want to visit them?  You live a long time after all."
 
Spike was surprised at how much that thought actually hurt, but he refused to let it show.  He knew his little Niblet hadn't meant to rub in the fact that Spike wasn't liked by many and was mourned by none.  He wasn't ready to think about all the people he now cared about whose graves he'd one day stand over and mourn.
 
Dawn began taking out a small collection of candles, setting them on the makeshift altar and on the headstone.  "So how'd you get to be the expert on talkin' to the dead?" Spike grinned as he took in the hodge-podge of things now gathered.
 
"I've been talking to you for years," Dawn smiled up at him.  "Sometimes you're the only one who listens."
 
***
 
Buffy wandered distractedly through the cemetery looking for any beastie that hadn't gotten the memo that all the cool demons stayed in around this time of year.  It was only when she recognized the sound of her little sister's voice that she really looked around and realized just where she was.  'Mommy!'
 
She blinked back the tears that instantly threatened to overflow. That had been the start of it all.  Losing her mother had begun the great downward spiral that eventually led her into death, then darkness and despair. 
 
'I didn't even get to really grieve for you,  Mom,' she bit her lip to hold back a sob.  'I had to protect Dawn and then finally I was going to get to rest, maybe be with you again.'
 
That was part of the hell she was experiencing.  She couldn't get a clear focus on her time in heaven.  Only pieces had come back with her and not one piece held so much as a glimmer of Joyce.  She remembered being happy and complete and even loved but nothing like the paradise everyone was told waited for good little girls and boys.
 
'Wasn't I good enough, Mommy?  I don't remember seeing you and then Heaven spit me out.  Didn't I do enough good?"
 
If Joyce were listening in on her daughter’s thoughts, she gave no answer.
 
Buffy tried to shake herself out of her well of sadness and sighed.  Naturally Dawn would be doing the stupid.  Twilight in a cemetery was not of the good.  At least this night was likely to be slightly safe.  She was going to give Dawn the kind of scare only one very pissed off older sister could pull off.
 
***
 
"So what else did this friend of yours say to do for this little reunion you've got planned?" Spike's voice was gentle but still managed to startle Buffy.
 
The Slayer ducked back behind the small grove of trees just close enough to hear what was going on and still not be seen.  She only hoped that the famous but ooky vampire sense of smell worked like a dog in other ways besides being helpful in tracking.  She was downwind and hoped Spike wouldn't notice they had company.
 
'What the hell is he thinking bringing my sister out here at night?' she fumed.  'I told him to stay away from Dawn.'  Spike was going to get his wish once she got Dawnie back home in one piece.  Buffy was going to pay his crypt a visit all right, just not for the kind of touch Spike would be wanting.  'More like a broken nose,’ she vowed.
 
Dawn's giggle rang out clear and sweet, surprising Buffy given their location.  "It's funny today, but I was majorly steamed the other night."
 
Spike quirked an eyebrow but let her continue.
 
"I went to Araceli's after school last week to make the sugar skulls and Buffy got royally mad 'cause she thought it was Tuesday instead of Wednesday and that just had to mean that I'd been kidnapped or some demon was on a rampage and grabbed me. It was pretty embarrassing at the time but funny now." She began to set out the colorful, decorated skulls around the altar. "Like I get in trouble every Tuesday!  Yeah...right!"
 
Spike laughed softly, but kept his opinion about Dawn's track record to himself.  This evening was supposed to raise the girl’s spirits, even if no other spirits were likely to show up.  "Dru used to swear her pixies got real vocal round this time of year.  Had lots of visions, said she had visitors, not all happy Caspars either, since we made more than a few of the ghosties ourselves."
 
"Ew, gross, Spike.  Remind the kid about all the people you killed, why don't you?" Dawn's harsh words were tempered by her teasing grin. 
Sometimes Spike thought the child didn't actually realize he had truly been a vicious killer until government doctors handicapped him and then her sister had collared his heart and leashed him firmly.
"So your wacky ex celebrated Dia de Los Muertos too?"
 
"Lots of cultures hold with the idea of the dead visitin' round this time, Platelet.  Druids called it Samhain, celebrated October 31st.  Pagans and Wiccans still celebrate that, though no one knows all the things the ancient ones did in their rituals.  Dru's family came from a long line of Celts.  Said that's where she got the sight. You lot call it Halloween and changed the meaning completely.  Was once religious, whether it was pagan or Christian."
 
Dawn fumbled with the bag as she took out the small hand-baked bread for the altar.  "I wish I could have asked Buffy to join us.  I know she misses Mom a lot too."  She rolled her eyes and plopped down on the ground next to the grave. "Buffy's too busy doing who knows what to have time for me, let alone some cool ceremony with Mom."
 
"Hey now, Bit, not bein' fair there," Spike chided her.  "Big sis has way too much on her plate right now for you to be puttin' on the pout.  Gotta be there for her."
 
"Why? She's not there for me?"  Dawn turned the pout on the vampire instead.  "You're not even there for me anymore.
 
"You're not neglected," Spike reminded her.  "Got a house full of witches, a private chauffeur in droopy boy and a big sis doin' all she can to make sure you have a decent roof, three squares and a basement not filled with water."
 
"She's not happy, Spike.  Everyone seems to think she should be dancing around like some drugged up hippie at Woodstock, but she's sad all the time.  She thinks I don't know, but I can hear her cry at night."  Dawn's voice broke, "Is it because she doesn't want to be back here with me?"
 
"Not that simple.  Comin' back like that, diggin’ her way out of...."  He shut up at Dawn's alarmed look.  No point in reminding the kid about that particular horror.  "Came back in the middle of a battlefield right out of Road Warrior too."
 
"But she's been home for a month already!"
 
Spike almost laughed at how impatient the young were for everything.  Just try waitin' a century for somethin' you want badly!
 
"Came back to a mess of unpaid bills too.  Most chits Buffy's age don't have to worry 'bout that sort o' thing.  Should be classes and what color to paint her nails and what party to go to on the weekend.  'Stead she has to worry about new pipes and mortgage payments and how to keep the lights and water on."  He leveled a sharp glance at the frowning girl.  "Not to mention savin' little sisters who insist on lying so they can slip off an meet a boy that turns out to be as pulse negative as yours truly."
 
"Buffy’s tired all the time and gone all night."  Dawn looked worried, because deep down she really was.
 
"Doin what she feels she needs to.  Don’t worry, Buffy'll be okay in time.  Besides there’s all that extra evil out there: freezing guards, stealin’ diamonds, demons robbin' banks and the like. Only back a month and havin' to deal with all that would make a body tired.  'Sides there's such a thing as soul tired.  Times when it's all just too much.  Reckon that's part of her problem too."
 
"So what can I do?  Dawn's eyes were wide.  "I mean besides not sneaking off to date vampires and getting into trouble?"
 
"Love her.  All you need to do is love her like she loves you, Bit.  Don't forget your sis loves you enough she died to protect you.  Threatened to kill any of us got in the way of her protectin' you, meant it too," He gave her a pointed look.  "Didn't think twice about takin' that jump.  Your turn now to do what she needs.  Love her, give her the room she needs and remind her 'bout all the good parts of livin'. 
 
Dawn looked thoughtful, "She said the hardest thing in this world... is to live in it. You could help her too. You're good at that--helping, I mean.  Well, you're pretty good at living too, especially for a dead guy."
 
It was too dark for Buffy to see the wistful look on Spike's face at the thought of him being useful.