The music at The Bronze pounded through the crowded room, bass vibrating through the floor as colored lights swept across the dance floor. It was one of those rare nights where everyone had managed to gather without a looming apocalypse hanging over their heads.

At a small round table near the edge of the crowd sat you, Spike, Buffy, Willow, Xander, and Anya. Drinks sweated on the tabletop while the group talked over the music, the atmosphere relaxed in a way that almost felt strange for a Scooby gathering.

Spike lounged back in his chair beside you, one arm draped lazily over the back of it, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder. His blue eyes tracked the room with casual boredom… though every now and then they flicked toward you with quiet interest.

Because you weren’t really paying attention to the conversation.

Your gaze kept drifting across the club.

Across the dance floor.

Across the crowd.

Straight to Dawn.

Your younger sister stood near the bar, talking with some guy who looked a little too old and a little too comfortable standing close to her. Dawn laughed at something he said, and Buffy glanced over briefly before returning to whatever story Willow was telling.

But you kept watching.

Spike noticed.

“Pet,” he muttered beside you, voice low and amused. “You’re staring holes through the poor niblet.”

“I’m checking on her,” you replied, eyes still locked across the room.

Spike followed your gaze, smirking faintly. “Looks fine to me.”

For a moment, it did.

Then the guy grabbed Dawn’s wrist.

Not playful.

Not casual.

Rough.

Your chair scraped loudly across the floor before anyone even realized you’d moved.

One second you were sitting.

The next you were halfway across the club.

“Oi—!” Spike started, surprised, but you were already there.

You grabbed the guy by the back of his jacket and yanked.

Hard.

He hit the ground with a startled shout, the music barely covering the sound of the impact. Before he could even process what happened, you dropped to a knee beside him and drove your fist straight into his nose.

The crack was sickeningly clear.

Blood immediately followed.

Gasps rippled through the nearby crowd.

You grabbed his collar, hauling him halfway up off the floor until his face was inches from yours, your grip iron tight.

Your voice was low.

Cold.

Dangerous.

“Touch my fucking sister again,” you growled, eyes blazing, “and I’ll break your goddamn neck.”

The guy stared at you in wide-eyed terror, clutching his bleeding nose, clearly deciding very quickly that arguing was a bad idea.

You shoved him back down onto the floor.

Hard.

Then you turned immediately to Dawn, your expression softening just enough as you grabbed her hand.

“C’mon,” you said firmly.

Dawn, still shocked, let you pull her away without protest as you led her back toward the table.

By the time you reached the group again, every single one of them was staring.

Xander’s mouth hung open.

Willow blinked rapidly.

Buffy looked… impressed.

Spike, however, slowly straightened in his chair, a crooked grin spreading across his face as he watched you return.

His eyes gleamed with unmistakable admiration.

“Well,” he drawled, clearly delighted, “remind me never to annoy you, love.”