"But, after that, we didn't get to hang out as much." Dawn said. She had front loaded her stories with all the worst things she had ever heard from Spike. Really, the most deplorable, horrendous, unforgivable stuff that made a grown man shudder; after that, the stories became tamer. Dawn had been explaining to Spike what he was like after Dawn had met Spike, the things she'd gotten up to while Spike was helping her older sister with her Slayer stuff, the things that Spike had forgotten.

  "Why not?" They had the lights on then, the atmosphere of darkness banished, at least into the farthest corners of the room - he knew the shadows lingered, but the ghosts where quieted and Spike had been more than content to sit and listen to Dawn go over stories of the past while she tried his leather coat on.

  "I- might have clued in Buffy on something... And, she freaked out, and she got you uninvited from the house. And then she went to see you at your crypt." Dawn said, dodging something, but Spike did not press. He left it at that. He had guessed, Must be something the little Bit's embarrassed about.

  "Erm, my crypt?" Spike asked instead, still seated on the ground at the foot of the bed, one knee cocked with one arm rested on top of it, his knuckles propping his stupid jaw up, blue eyes frowning at the declaration.

  "Yeah, in a cemetery. It's still there, I could take you, if you want I mean." Dawn said, half turning toward Spike with his leather duster on, sleeves so long on her that her fingers weren't even visible, the length of it draping over the floor all crumpled.

  "Your big sis and her mates would skin me alive first." He dismissed the idea without giving it any thought at all, not humouring the possibility of the vampire going to a cemetery at night with the girl everyone had been so protective of. Spike thought, Buffy would stake him before letting that occur. He sighed. He was housebound for the time being, and Spike was hating every minute of that.

  "You were saying, Buffy went to see me..." Spike urged Dawn to go on with her memories of the past, it was pleasant and distracting - flattering really - when Dawn had such an optimistic view of Spike from before he'd sacrificed his memories.

  "You guys must have had a fight or something, 'cause she freaked- and then you couldn't come to the house any more." Dawn fidgeted.

  "She said "Crypt plus vampire equals bad." like it's that simple. But it's just you." Dawn said and Spike raised an eyebrow, the left one, the one with the scar he'd had described and he seemed to be unable to ignore.

  "Oh come on, even with all your memories gone, you always protect me. What do you think you were like when you could remember me?" Dawn said, trying to keep her tone that casual, careless, aloof kind, that youth seemed to lend to the young. But Spike saw the way it stung her. 'You forgot me.' she practically accused Spike. His Face must have betrayed him, Spike thought, because Dawn changed her tone when she went on.

  "I mean, I liked hanging with you is all." She said, somewhat more hesitantly.

  "You have cool hair, and wear cool leather coats and stuff." Dawn said, indicating the leather coat that was far too big for her.

  "And you never treated me like a freak." Dawn paused, smiling bashfully. She gave the leather duster one more look in the mirror before the girl shrugged it off and let it drop, leaving it messy on the chair in the room, before sitting herself beside Spike on the floor at the foot of the bed again.

  "Oi! None of that." Spike said, words rushing forth without conscious thought, something that was a bad habit of his, even when he didn't have memories - he had little sense - certainly not enough to keep from putting his foot in his mouth, or saying exactly what was hon his mind at any giver moment.

  "You are not a freak. Quite the contrary, you're the only one bloody brave enough to sit in this room with me for more than five minutes, without scowling at me or waiting for me to go mad." He scoffed. That time, perhaps, it might have actually been a good thing that Spike didn't even try to keep his voice quiet. He reached out without looking and gave her a one-armed hug, trying to console the girl who had been coming to his defence from the very first moment he had been roused.

  "Even with everything you knew I was, do you ken what that makes you, Nibblet? Makes you bloody brave, is what." Spike said, his voice low, almost a growl. But he wasn't feeling angry, he realised, and Dawn hadn't been afraid. He had felt indignant on her behalf, angry, protective of Dawn. Spike tightened his arm around her, careful but firm, as if he could shield her from every danger he himself had ever been.

  "Sitting there, telling me what I was, but deciding you want to defend me anyway: Because of what you think I am, instead of what you think I was. No one else I've met has done that Bit" He told her. Dawn's eyes widened, a little blush creeping up her cheeks.

  "Not even me." He added as an afterthought, glancing away. She snuggled a bit closer, even thought he was a cold, dead thing, chill clinging to him like ghosts would. He huffed a frustrated breath, air forced out his nose. Promised you wouldn't get mad at yourself.

  He reminded himself of that, as he shut his eyes a moment, trying to accept it all - good and bad - because if this kid could defend him then, really, Spike should figure out to defend himself.

  "I guess I am kind of awesome." Dawn murmured, voice small and incredulous, as if she couldn’t quite believe she could be considered brave or remarkable, Spike tilting his head so he could glance down at her. He scoffed, what a little beastie.

  "Uh, yeah. You are. Little rebel like you? Should be proud of yourself." Spike shifted slightly, letting her settle more comfortably against his shoulder.

  "If it hadn't been for you and big sis, I'd have been put out in the sun to blister for certain... Stubbornness like yours… it’s worth holding onto." Spike said, Dawn’s small grin widened into a proper smile, her eyes sparkling as she leaned against him, letting herself feel the comfort he offered. Then he scoffed again, because Dawn giggled and seemed to be laughing at him. Spike tried to look convincingly annoyed at her, but Dawn had seemed clearly to be capable of seeing through all of Spike's fronts.

  "I like that," she said, her voice trailing off into another yawn. Dawn snuggled closer, her voice now a drowsy whisper.

  "Thanks… Spike," She murmured, Dawn yawned softly, rubbing at her eyes, heavy-lidded from the long day and the flood of stories she’d told, before her words dissolved into soft, even breathing. Her head rested on his shoulder, small and warm against him, and Spike frowned - before he felt his own expression softening as he felt the weight of her trust.

  Spike stayed still, he could see she believed in him, completely, unconditionally, and it let him feel a new kind of calm. He rested his head back, careful not to disturb Dawn. He would protect her. Even if the spectre of his past lingered in the periphery of the room, right there and then? He could protect something real. Something good.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The front door opened and closed with the soft, deliberate click, quiet enough not to wake the house, loud enough to announce to Spike she was back and everything was still standing. He looked at Dawn, still asleep, and the monster didn't have the heart to move her. Still, Spike felt the shift in the air before he heard her boots on the stairs. Dawn’s heartbeat, steady against his side where she’d leaned into him, probably looked bad no matter who would walk through that door, for they'd all blamed him of being a heartless monster. He had done nothing wrong, yet he'd felt the persecution of his very being ere since he'd regained consciousness.

  He listened, as Buffy checked on another bedroom, looking for Dawn. He hung his head, thinking to himself, Can't let her worry.

  "She's in here." Spike said to the empty room around him, before he finally lifted his hand and gave Dawn a little nudge, loath to disturb her - unwilling to worry Buffy either. Buffy appeared in the doorway. No knock. Just… there. Spike didn’t move. Kept his arm loose around Dawn’s shoulders, as if he could protect her from the world just by letting her sleep. Buffy looked furious.

  "I couldn't sleep." Dawn spoke first, curled up against him on the floor, flashlight forgotten beside them, the both of them sitting there like conspirators around a dead campfire.

  "I see that. Buffy’s voice was even. Too even. For a cold moment, Spike wondered if he'd have to defend his promise to Dawn not to leave if he could help it, at that piercing glare from Buffy. Spike eased his arm away. Slow. Careful. Gave Dawn space to decide whether to stay or bolt. Dawn stayed. Buffy stepped inside.

  "How long have you been up here?" Buffy asked Dawn, but Spike had answered.

  "I asked Dawn to tell me what she knew about me." He said, Buffy’s gaze moved to Spike then. Held. He met it. Didn’t flinch. Didn't verbally apologise...

  "Not her fault." He added, soft, trying to protect her even then, and Spike saw that that did something to Buffy's expression. Not that he could begin to guess at what Buffy was thinking, her expression right then unreadable, her arms crossed. Dawn looked between Spike and Buffy, then she herself spoke.

  "I couldn't sleep Buffy. I was telling Spike stories. The real ones. The ones he used to tell me." Dawn said, and Buffy's jaw tightened, just a fraction.

  "Stories?" Buffy asked dumbly, watching Dawn, as if unsure what to make of it then.

  "About what he did... Before..." Dawn trailed off, Spike heard her voice small, he glanced up at where Buffy stood with her arms crossed. Buffy exhaled through her nose. Slow. Controlled. She pushed off the door. Crossed the room in three steps. Crouched down in front of them so she was eye-level with Dawn.

  "You okay?" She asked her sister. Soft. Private. Spike felt he was intruding, he looked away. Buffy was asking her sister if she was unharmed, Spike letting his thoughts flow, as if in reply to himself, She still doesn't trust you...

  "I'm fine." Dawn said back to her big sister. Buffy searched Dawn’s face for a long moment. Then nodded once.

  "Okay." Buffy said at last, Spike caught her posture relaxing even out the peripheral of his vision where he sat, staring at the far wall, glaring at it like the walls themselves owed Spike some sort of explanation.

  "Go to bed, Dawnie. For real this time." Buffy said and it was not unkind. Dawn opened her mouth to argue, but Buffy shook her head.

  "Not tonight. Please." Buffy said to her sister, bitter and tired. Yet, even despite that, Dawn looked to Spike. He looked at the girl, who looked at him like he had hung the moon in the sky, though he hadn't felt like he'd done anything to deserve that.

  "Go on." He gave her the smallest nod. Dawn stood. Hesitated. Then leaned down and hugged him; quick, fierce, the way she had the night before.

  "Night." She quietly whispered. Spike hugged her back, careful.

  "Night, Bit." He told her and nodded to her, letting her go off for her to rest proper. Buffy waited impatiently as Dawn picked her flashlight up, slipped past Buffy and made for the door, not because Buffy had wanted her to, but because Spike had said it was alright. Spike could feel the frustration coming off of Buffy, smelt it, like heat, but Dawn paused in the doorway. Looked back. Spike paid her mind.

  "You’re still you, you know. Even the bad parts. They’re still you. But so are the good ones." Dawn said. Then she was gone. Footsteps fading down the hall. Buffy stayed crouched where she was. Watched him and he felt her eyes on him, so he met her. Lifting his face, Spike's sharp eyes gazed at Buffy's own. He waited for the anger. The dominant posture. The order to never let Dawn near him unsupervised again.

  "Did it help?" It didn’t come. Instead Buffy asked, very quietly, 'Did it help'. Spike blinked.

  "What?" He asked wondering what Buffy was actually asking, not sure if it was mocking or not, his brain not quite catching the unspoken words in the woman that had lead her to ask him that.

  "Knowing." Buffy said. She gestured vaguely the space between them.

  "Hearing about yourself. Did it... Change anything?" Buffy asked once more, and Spike thought he understood then. She was asking if he remembered any of what he was, if he was dangerous.

  "Hate to disappoint..." Spike looked down at his hands. Turned them over again, same as he had earlier.

  "It hurt." He hadn't remembered anything. Still no blood. Still no answers.

  "Like pressing on a bruise, without knowing where it came from. You won't need to stake me yet, love." He assured slowly, trying to make light of it, speaking in Jest. Not rabid, not out of control, he didn't want to hurt anyone, and worse, he felt mortified that he had been a monster - and that everyone knew all the horrible things he'd done.

  "At least now I understand why everyone's been acting so funny around me." He tried, lowered his hands with conscious, intentional effort, meeting the blond woman's eyes once again. Buffy nodded. Once. Sharp. He frowned.

  "You're not yelling." He observed with a quirked brow, truthfully, trying to urge her to banter. But Buffy didn't grin.

  "I’m tired of yelling." Buffy said and Spike watched as she sat back on her heels.

  "I’m tired of being afraid of what Dawn will do every time I leave the house. I'm tired of wondering what's going to happen when you start to remember. I’m tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop." Buffy said and her frustration, that weight, it made the man shift uncomfortably.

  "Reckon I'm to blame for a lot of that." He said. Spike felt guilty. He felt Buffy's eyes on him again, as she scrutinised him with her fierce gaze.

  "You didn’t push her away," Buffy began, Spike hearing her tone ringing, the blonde woman faced with some realisation.

  "Dawn, when she started talking, when she told you - everything... You didn’t tell her to stop." Buffy said, and he frowned. He hadn't understood what Buffy meant by that.

  "Well, no - why would I?" Spike tilted his head and watched at her. Buffy’s mouth curved, and Spike was sure he saw just the barest hint of a smile. He felt his own lips almost smile, like she'd been pulling at his lips, with the work of her own.

  "That’s… new." Buffy said to Spike, seeing something that he supposed hadn't yet.

  "Is it?" He bluffed, hoping Buffy would explain to him, because he hated feeling utterly without grasp. But Buffy didn't elaborate, much to Spike's disappointment.

  "Yeah." Buffy simply said. She stood, then, and offered him a hand. He looked at it. Then at her. After a beat, he took it. Buffy pulled him up, and with her help, he stood: steady and strong. She opened her lips, as if to say something. Again, her lips, they drew him in. Spike's body lent in, as if he had to catch her words, before she'd snatch them away again or they'd fallen unheard. They stood close.

  "You know what? I don't need to serve your blood for you." Whatever Buffy had been about to say, the young woman had chosen to phrase herself that way instead. Sharp, abrupt, Spike blinked like the words had been a slap. Spike didn't know what he was expecting Buffy to say, but he hadn't expected that; and for a long moment he'd done wrong for a moment. Buffy turned for the door then, releasing his hand and moving to leave. Spike, he turned and faced the bed, his hand raised to the back of his neck, wondering what he'd done wrong! His hand, still warm from Buffy's own, had matched her tone when she spoke on:

  "You can get it yourself." Buffy said, Spike turned back, finding her standing at the door of the room. Buffy was holding the door open, smiling, for him, looking at Spike expectantly. Spike blinked at her, confusion flickering across his features, then slowly comprehension dawned. He let out a low, humorless chuckle, stretching the back of his neck, before he let the weight fall from it, arm at his side once again. And Buffy, Buffy was quiet, steady, wasn’t ordering him to stay put or threatening him. She was… letting him in. Inviting him. Spike thought, she saw that he realised it, because she smiled and headed downstairs first.

  Spike blinked at her, caught off guard. Spike stepped forward. The door had been open, and Buffy… she wasn’t glaring, wasn’t yelling, wasn’t telling him how ready she was to dust him if he acted out of sorts, she just went into the kitchen, clattering with the cupboards quietly, to not wake Dawn. He huffed, something between a laugh and a sigh of relief, because it seemed the women he'd felt a drive to protect had chosen to offer mirth, in that delightful chaos of remaining perfectly hard to predict.