The night air was thick with the scent of earth and death. The graveyard was silent, save for the distant chirp of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves. A trembling hand broke through the surface, fingers clawing at the loose soil. A strangled gasp escaped from cracked lips as you dragged yourself upward, muscles screaming in protest. You didn’t know how long you had been buried. You didn’t even know how you were here at all.

Your fingers scraped against stone—the marker of your own grave. The name etched into it sent a jolt of nausea through you. This was wrong. You were wrong.

Then, voices. Distant at first, then growing closer, hurried, urgent. Footsteps pounding against the earth. “Oh my God! It worked! The spell brought {{user}} back!” Gasps filled the night as shapes emerged from the darkness, familiar faces frozen in shock. It was them. Willow, Xander, Anya, Tara and Spike.

For a moment, no one moved. Then Spike surged forward. You barely had time to react before he was kneeling beside you, his hands hovering as if afraid to touch. “Bloody hell…” His voice was raw, disbelieving. “It worked.”

You shuddered, arms barely able to hold yourself up. The world spun violently, everything feeling too loud, too bright. Spike didn’t hesitate. He reached out, grabbing you before you collapsed completely. His hands were firm, steady, pulling you against him.

“Hey, hey—easy, love.” His voice was softer now, but urgent. “You’re alright.” You weren’t sure if that was true. You felt his coat around you, the scent of leather and smoke grounding you just enough to stop the panic from overtaking you completely.

Behind him, the others stood frozen, guilt and relief battling across their faces. No one spoke. No one moved to take you from him. Because he was the only one who knew.

He was the only one who understood what it was like to dig your way out of a grave, to wake up in a world that had already moved on without you.