Through the dense fog, the haze of pain that surrounded him, Spike could hear Warren’s angry voice, snarling in rage and hatred. He wanted to slip back into the darkness, to escape the inevitable pain that always followed that sound, but the pain he was already experiencing was so intense that he knew it would follow him there. The chip had stopped firing, finally, at some point after it had stolen his consciousness, but the searing, white-hot agony still wracked his body, as he lay helpless on the cold, hard floor of Warren’s bedroom.

Except – wait. Not cold, and not hard. His head was resting on something soft and warm and yielding – a pillow? Surely not. Warren had never allowed him such a comfort. Where was he? What…?

Suddenly, he heard *her* voice. *Buffy*! She was speaking calmly, softly, but he could hear the fear in her voice, and that she was trying to hide it. Had he failed her then? Had Warren captured her? He struggled to open his eyes, desperate to see her, to help her.

When he finally, painfully managed it, his eyes immediately fell on her, standing a few yards from him, holding out her hands in an appeasing gesture. His heart dropped in fear when he saw the person she was trying to appease.

Warren. And he had a gun.

Weakly he tried to rise, but it was still impossible for him; the recent shocks had drained all his remaining strength. The pitiful attempt was overwhelming, and all faded into darkness again.

Dawn didn’t notice the slight movement of his head in her lap. Her attention was riveted on the tense stand-off between her sister and Warren. Then Buffy caught her eye, and Dawn knew without a word what she meant to do. She nodded slightly behind Warren’s back, and prepared herself to act on Buffy’s cue.

“Ok,” Buffy said softly. “Whatever you say, Warren. Here it is.” She lowered the hand which held the control device, as if to toss it underhanded to Warren, and he held out his hand to catch it.

At the last second, however, she changed direction and aimed for Dawn. Warren moved sideways and backwards in an attempt to catch it, losing his balance and stumbling as Dawn caught the controller in her hand.

Buffy took the opportunity she had created to hurl herself at Warren, slamming him to the floor, catching his wrist in her hand as she did. She raised it and slammed it painfully down on the floor, and he released his grip on the gun with a moan of pain.

“That,” Buffy said, rising with the gun in her hand, “was stupid.” She drew back the weapon and smashed it across Warren’s face, hard, but not with her full strength; she had a feeling she might need the boy conscious a little while longer.

“Buffy.” Xander’s voice behind her was warning, concerned.

She paused, breathing hard, glaring down at the terrified boy beneath her. Slowly she rose, and turned her attention toward Spike. She handed the gun to Xander, saying in a quiet, emotionless tone, “If he moves, shoot him.”

Xander took a deep breath, then dutifully pointed the weapon at Warren and tried to look as if he would actually use it.

Slowly, Buffy approached her sister, and Spike, who was just beginning to come around. He was stirring slightly, his head in Dawn’s lap rolling to the side.

“Spike?” the younger girl whispered, hopefully through her tears, her small hand gently stroking back his dirty, disheveled blonde hair.

Buffy knelt in front of him, putting one gentle hand on his shoulder and the other on his cheek, and said in a voice stronger than Dawn’s, but still trembling, “Spike. Come on, Baby, wake up.” The endearment slipped past her lips without her even noticing it. But Dawn and Xander both noticed and looked at her, Dawn with a small smile, Xander with resentment.

Slowly, Spike opened his eyes, bluer and more beautiful than she’d remembered, though full of confusion and fear. He felt smothered, trapped, and he flinched back from their hands, drawing in a shaky breath as he weakly tried to pull away, in a panic.

“Hey,” Buffy spoke softly, her eyes welling with tears as she moved her hand from his face to his other shoulder, trying to steady him. “Hey, it’s just us. You’re ok. You’re ok, Spike. We’re here.”

Gradually, his eyes came to focus on her, and she saw the stunned disbelief, the wonder, the tremendous relief he almost dared not feel, when he realized that she was really there – followed in the next instant by a stricken look of heartbreaking pain, as he turned his head away in shame, his eyes tightly shut again.

Buffy slowly withdrew her hands, her eyes widened in dismay at his reaction, though she could understand it, after all that had happened between them. She stood slowly, watching as her little sister gently coaxed him back, whispering his name, stroking her fingers through his hair until he looked up at her.

His eyes flooded with tears at the sight of Dawn, and he whispered in a voice thick with tears and hoarse from disuse, “Bit…my little Bit…”

Dawn lowered her head, pulling him closer to her as her tears ran down her face, falling to mingle with his. “Spike,” she whispered. “It’s okay, we’re gonna take you home now. You’re gonna be all right.”

A deep throbbing ache rose in his chest at the words. How could an innocent like Dawn ever understand the truth, that he would never, ever be all right again?

Buffy turned to Xander. “We need to get him out of here. We need to take him to my house. He – he’s not gonna be able to walk out of here. Can you carry him?” She would have done it herself, but she didn’t like the idea of not having her hands free to deal with Warren if necessary.

Xander nodded wordlessly, handing the gun back to Buffy and slowly approaching Dawn and Spike. As he carefully reached toward the trembling, still-suffering vampire, Spike drew back in fear from the boy he used to mock. Despite the fact that he despised Spike, it made Xander feel a little sick to see him cringing in fear from *him*. The terror in Spike’s eyes made him wonder just exactly what had gone on in this house to put it there.

“It’s ok, Buddy,” Xander carefully kept his voice soft, even. “I’m not gonna hurt you, ok? Just hold still for a minute, I’m gonna get you out to the car, ok?”

The feeling of nausea intensified when at the words “hold still”, Spike immediately froze, instantly obeying the command he had heard so frequently, though not from Xander’s lips.

Buffy did not miss the little scene, either, and her eyes narrowed as her fury threatened to overwhelm her. *Keep it together, Buffy,* she warned herself. She grabbed Warren’s arms roughly, yanking them behind his back and dragging him toward the door.

“Easy,” Xander said softly, as he lifted Spike carefully into his arms, alarmed in spite of his determination not to care by how very easy it was to lift him. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he repeated.

“Oh my God, Buffy,” he whispered, looking up at her with wide eyes. “He can’t weigh even a hundred pounds!”

Buffy stopped in the doorway to slam Warren’s head into the doorjamb, demanding, “So you’ve been starving him, too, Warren?”

“No!” the boy objected, his voice high and frightened, and a bit slurred from the blows he had taken to the head. “No, I’ve – I’ve been giving him blood every day!”

Spike’s eyes flew to his in a look of silent accusation, as he let out a soft, bitter laugh.

“Tell them!” Warren insisted, directing his words to Spike, and there was an odd note in his voice that Buffy couldn’t quite place, as he added, “Tell them I didn’t starve you.”

Spike’s gaze quickly dropped to the floor, and Xander could feel his trembling increase against him.

Buffy saw the little exchange, and suddenly knew exactly what Warren was doing. In that moment, the Slayer had had enough.

“Ok, listen to me!” she snarled, slamming Warren back into the wall and holding him there by the throat, almost cutting off his air completely. The dark eyes lost their menace as they stared wide and fearful at the furious Slayer. “Don’t you *dare* try to threaten him! You are never going to touch him again! If you so much as look his way again – I’ll kill you, Warren. Do you understand? I will kill you.”

Warren nodded desperately, gasping for breath.

Buffy nodded too, momentarily satisfied, and started toward the stairs, dragging Warren along. Dawn got up and followed her. Both of them missed the troubled look Xander cast on his friend as he came behind them, carrying Spike.

Buffy took out a set of iron manacles she had brought with her from her house and used them to chain Warren, hands behind his back, to the piping that ran along one wall. She had determined that it would be better if they were not around when the police arrived, so they would leave Warren securely bound in his house, then call the police and give them the address once they reached the safety of her house.

As Xander neared the door, he and Dawn were surprised by Spike’s reaction. He flinched and pulled back, whimpering, “No! No, I – I can’t…”

Dawn drew nearer to him, taking his hand gently. “What? You can’t what, Spike?”

“I can’t leave,” he replied in a broken whisper.

Dawn was confused.

Buffy was not. Grabbing Warren by the hair and yanking his head back, she snarled, “What is he talking about?”

“Nothing!” he gasped in pain. “He can leave anytime he wants to!” A cruel smile crossed his lips in spite of his situation as he added, softer, “He always could.”

A shocked, strangled little cry rose in Spike’s throat, his eyes widening in disbelief, as he realized the cruel deception that had held him here for so long. The revelation of the truth was Warren’s final blow, and it hit its mark.

With rising horror and disgust, though she didn’t know exactly what had happened, Buffy knew that somehow Warren had convinced Spike that he couldn’t leave the house, when in reality, he could have all along. She fought with her rising rage, knowing that if she started in on Warren now, she might not stop. Perhaps if she had known all that had gone on in this place, she would not have cared. But she didn’t know, and at the moment, murder was not a line she was prepared to cross.

Dawn looked as if she felt otherwise, as she stalked away from Xander and Spike toward Warren, where he knelt, bound with his back to the wall. Her eyes blazed fury as she delivered a vicious kick to his face, drawing blood with the pointed toe of her small black boot.

Buffy gently but firmly took her arms and pulled her back, not allowing her to do nearly as much damage as she wanted to. “Dawn,” she said softly, soothingly. “Dawnie, we need to think about Spike. We need to get him home.”

That got Dawn’s attention, and though she kept her hate-filled eyes fastened on Warren, she stopped trying to get at him.

Xander hesitated in the doorway, unsure if he should go through it or not.

Leaning in close to Warren’s face, meeting his eyes with menace in her own, Buffy said softly, “If he gets hurt when we take him through that door – I’m gonna forget all about the police and take care of this myself. So you’d better be telling the truth. Is it safe for him to go through that door?”

“Yes! I swear it!” Warren insisted, very, very afraid of the murderous rage he saw in the Slayer’s eyes.

Buffy stood up and turned toward Xander, nodding grimly. With a deep breath, Xander walked through the doorway and into the night, and they all breathed a sigh of relief when nothing happened.

Spike had tensed as Xander had approached the door, a very large part of him still expecting terrible punishment for trying to leave. As he slowly realized that they were outside, they had left the house, and there was no pain – well, no *more* pain – he choked back a sob of intense relief, and a deep agony of spirit that he would never be able to express in words.

Dawn hurried ahead to the car to open the door for Xander, while Buffy stayed behind to make sure Warren could not get away and everything was secure. As she opened the door, Dawn suddenly said, “Wait!” and climbed into the vehicle ahead of him, helping him to gently lay Spike’s ravaged, trembling body across the seat, his head once again resting in her lap, her small warm arms wrapped gently around him, holding him close to her.

Her eyes filled with fresh tears as one shaking, tentative hand reached up to clutch weakly at the arm wrapped loosely about his shoulders. A single, soft sob that he had been trying desperately to hold back, nevertheless escape his lips, and she squeezed him gently tighter, running her hand through his hair, along his brow, again, as she tried to comfort the depths of pain and fear she had heard in that one sound.

“It’s okay, now, Spike. You’re safe now. We’re going home.”


Inside the house, Buffy checked the chains on Warren’s wrists, finding that they were painfully tight, tight enough to cut off his circulation. She smiled in satisfaction as she stood to face him.

“Now let’s get one thing straight,” she said softly, standing over him with her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re going to prison. You’re going for a long, long time, if justice is served. If it’s not – or you convince them you’re a good enough little boy to come out and play again – whenever it is that you get out…” She crouched down in front of him, regarding the gun in her hand for a moment before pressing it to his temple, eliciting a frightened gasp.

Speaking slowly and distinctly, she went on in a voice of quiet, deadly menace, “If you ever come near Spike – or me – or anyone I care about, again – believe that I mean it with everything in me when I say that I *will* kill you, Warren. Suicide by Slayer – that’s what it would be. I’m telling you now that the next time I see you – I will kill you. Is that clear?”

Speechless with terror, Warren nodded, closing his eyes, on the verge of tears as she pressed the weapon just slightly harder against his head for just a moment before removing it and standing up.

“I don’t know why it’s such a big deal,” Warren muttered, resentful in spite of his fear. “It’s not like he’s a *person*!”

Buffy’s mouth worked with repressed fury for a moment, before she smiled, “You know, I’m *really* glad I don’t need you conscious anymore!” And she brought the pistol down hard across the side of his head, knocking him out cold.

She turned to leave, to find Xander standing in the doorway, watching her with an inscrutable expression.

She did not explain herself, did not even look the slightest bit defensive, as she reached him and they fell into step together, toward the SUV.

“Buffy,” he began cautiously.

“Xander, if you try to remind me that *Spike* is a monster, and Warren is human, I will be driving home, because I will most likely knock *you* out,” Buffy said calmly, and though the words were a joke, her tone was not.

Xander did not say another word as they reached the vehicle. Buffy suddenly stopped in her tracks, frowning slightly.

“What is it?” he asked her, pausing beside the open driver’s side door.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, turning purposefully back toward the house.

“Buffy…” Xander tried to stop her, alarmed.

She simply held up a hand to silence him as she walked back toward the door, then disappeared inside.

Anxious and unsettled, hoping that Buffy was not about to do something that would stay with her for the rest of her life, he got into the vehicle and waited in the driver’s seat, glancing nervously up at the door occasionally.

A few moments later, Buffy reappeared, walking quickly toward the car with her mouth set in a firm line, her eyes hard, but shining with tears.

Over her arm was folded carefully a worn, black leather coat.