based on the screenplay of Joss Whedon's Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Sacrifice  

He knew that he wouldn't be wanted, so he stayed away. It was the least he could do. And no one had even come to check that he was okay. He had went to the funeral, mostly because it was held in the evening. Therefore he had less of a chance of burning to cinders. He hated to see the Scoobies grieve; they were horrible at hiding their feelings. He'd seen them sob and cry, and he hated it. He didn't know why it bothered him so; he didn't have a soul? Why should it matter? But it did matter. He had felt what they felt, all because of this stupid chip.

       He couldn't stand it. He could feel it messing with his brain, changing him. He never would've grieved like this years ago. He never would've wept like he had. You're an emotional git, you know that? But he couldn't help himself. He had loved her. The way she moved mesmerized him. He enjoyed watching her fight demons and monsters. He liked seeing her happy, because she had a certain glow about her. Even though he knew she would never feel the same.

       He'd tried to fight for her, he really had. He wanted to protect her, and Dawn, but he had been weak. He let a stupid demon hurt him, and he let them get to Dawn. It's your bleeding fault, you know. Spike gulped, and wiped his face. What are you doing, loosing your head over the Slayer? He asked himself.

       But he hadn't just fallen for her, he had fallen for the Scoobies. For her family. Her mother had been so kind and gentle. Her sister was like a tiny version of her, with the same sassy mouth that Buffy had. Willow was the qwerky wicca who was probably the smartest of the gang. The vamp had no idea why Buffy got along so well with Xander; he seemed annoying. But he cared for Buffy, and Spike respected him for that. Giles was the father-figure of the group, and Anya ran the Magic Shop. Willow's friend Tara didn't seem to do much, but she proved to be a help to Willow from time to time.

       Spike didn't know why he had decided to stick around Sunnydale, except for Buffy and her demon-hunting group. He felt so bad for her and Little Bit when Joyce died, and he knew things had been rough. But he never would've imagined this. He broke his promise. The Slayer was dead because of him.

       Spike walked over to where he had sat his flask of whiskey. He took a swig, and a tear slid down his face. She had trusted him. And he let her down. He grimaced and threw the flask at the wall. He watched as it landed on the floor with a loud clatter. He was shaking violently, and he had to do something to get out the feeling that was inside him.

       He walked over to where millions of drawings were scattered across the floor, some near the television, others, near his bed. He cried and sobbed as he ripped them to tiny shreds. He watched his beautiful Buffy being torn apart. He walked to his mannequin-Buffy and kicked it, sending it flying against the wall. He drank more until his senses were a little jarred. And it was then that he heard a knock at the door.

       "Spike, can I come in? Spike?" He recognized the voice as being Dawn's and he paused. She was the last person he wanted to see. She reminded him so much of Buffy that he knew he wasn't going to be able to take it. And yet, he walked to the door, and opened it.

       "What do you-" he stopped, and looked at her, dead in the eyes. He could tell that she too had been grieving, and he hated that more than anything.

       "Little Bit, come on in." He noticed that she hesitated a little. "The place is a mess, but I guess it's okay." Then she finally decided to come in. "What do you need?" He asked.

       She blushed, as though she was embarrassed by speaking to him this way. "I- uh..." she glanced to one side as she tried to reply. 

       As much as he cared for her, he wasn't up for the chit-chat. "Well love, you gonna talk or what?"

       Dawn looked up at him with her large, sad eyes. She bowed her head and he realized she was crying. At first he was afraid that he'd upset her, until she continued to speak. "I- I can't stand being over there anymore. They're so quiet, and sad, and...I don't know how to tell them what I feel. I want to tell them that I'm okay, but..."

       She looked at him again and he almost couldn't take it. She reminded him so much of Buffy, and she sounded so hurt. He was sure that the Scoobies had tried their best, but sometimes they were hard to talk to.

       She reached up to touch his face and he almost flinched. The scars from the group's fight with Glory were fading away, and healing themselves as they should. "Your head...it's healing." He let her feel his cold, dead skin. It didn't bother him. She needed to know what he was. He knew he couldn't be there for the Scoobies all the time, and yet he blamed himself for Buffy's death. All he was and had ever been was a blood-sucking demon.

       "Can I stay here?" Dawn asked. He hesitated, and wondered if she had told Willow and Tara where she had gone. But by now, it was too late to take her home. He nodded.

       They stayed up and watched the television for a while, before Dawn finally fell asleep. He stood up as quietly as possible, laying his jacket across her before he retreated to the bed. Great to know that somebody cares.