Xander was dreaming.

But for once, Xander was not dreaming of rushed orders, fryer disasters, and the cheery children's mascots of the fast food franchise.

Xander was dreaming of Will and of doctors and of every possible result from Will walking through the elevator doors on his own two feet to Spike howling in anguish and razing the city in his grief.

Okay, so Xander's dreams weren't always realistic - they were dreams. And Spike was only in them because Xander was using his leather coat as a pillow.

But the weight of a body throwing itself into the chair next to him started Xander out of his dream. His eyes darted left, in the direction of the disruption and he was surprised to see a haggard and agitated Spike sprawled beside him.

Because he was awake.

And not dreaming.

Probably not dreaming.

Because dreams were really sneaky like that and - Spike looked way too bad for it to be a dream. Dream!Spike was always sexy. Often agitated, but never haggard. This Spike had a red nose and puffy eyes with dark blue circles under them that had nothing to do with his eyeliner - which had worn off about - uh...

"What time is it?" Xander muttered as he squirmed and stretched in the hard plastic chair. Somewhere along the way he'd lost all sense of day or night. The waiting room, ever bright, knew neither dawn nor dusk - cycled from loud to eerily quiet, busy to nearly deserted with no predictable pattern.

Spike didn't answer, but Xander's eyes found the wall clock. It was almost four o'clock - Xander checked a window - in the afternoon. They'd been here going on twenty-five hours.

And Spike was going on twenty-three hours without eyeliner - or cigarettes. It was serious.

Too serious for Spike to be here instead of up there. "What are you doing out here? Why aren't you with Will?"

"Wankers kicked me out. Told me he needed rest. Like I wouldn't let him rest," Spike grumbled.

"I thought they were supposed to discharge him by now." Xander scrubbed at his face, sat up and stretched and tried to convince his body that it liked sleeping in hard hospital chairs. His body told him to go get fucked with a series of loud pops down the length of his spine and Xander groaned. *Awake now.*

"Doc said they wanted to keep him another night." Spike did that nervous fidget along his body that Xander figured meant cigarettes.

"Is that bad?"

The fidget stopped and Spike dropped his hands into his lap, picked at the nail polish on the right with the thumb of the left. "Doc said it wasn't."

But Xander could tell Spike didn't really trust the doctor. Xander suspected Spike never trusted anyone but William. Worse, he suspected Spike would never trust anyone with William. Which was bound to make for an awkward living situation, but what could he do?

"We're going back to the apartment," Xander announced.

"I'm not."

"Spike, you haven't slept in a day and a half."

"Not leaving. Will needs me."

"You're right. Will needs you. Not the walking dead. Now come on. We'll eat and sleep and be back here first thing in the morning."

"But -"

"First thing in the morning." Xander reached out, held Spike's shoulders until he stopped swaying with nervous energy and exhaustion - or maybe until Xander stopped swaying with exhaustion. "Listen - I have an alarm clock. And it works. It gets me up in the morning, at least."

Spike hesitated - stared back down the corridor with stubborn reluctance stamped all over him, then nodded sharply. "Visiting hours start up again at seven."

"We'll be here," Xander promised. "There's a good doughnut shop on the corner outside - we'll pick up breakfast and bring some for Will so he won't have to eat hospital food."

"Said I'll go, didn't I? Tosser." Spike yanked his coat from the seat Xander had been slumped against, shook it out, and threw it on. "Let's go."

*Xander's log - star date whatever the hell: Spike is really crabby when he hasn't slept.*

"Okay."

"Okay."

With one last exchange of looks - weary and wary - Spike followed Xander out into the cold.

They stopped at Xander's work on the way to the apartment. There were few things in the world Xander enjoyed eating less than anything from the menu he served from - and smelled - all day long, but the previous day's grocery shopping had been interrupted, so the cupboards were bare. He left Spike standing under the vent and went in through the back. Faith took one look at his face and told him to take whatever he needed.

"Wanna talk about it?" she asked.

"Later," Xander promised as he filled the to-go bag. Faith nodded and wandered away. Xander retrieved Spike and they headed home.

Xander attempted conversation with Spike at approximately ten-minute intervals.

"So, how long've you and Will been living around here?"

And, yeah, it was a thinly veiled attempt to find out how long the brothers had been on the streets, so Xander wasn't surprised when Spike didn't dignify it with a response.

They reached the apartment. *Next try, less personal.*

"So how'd two Brits end up on this side of the pond?"

And okay, even Xander recognized how lame the wording sounded when he heard it come out of his mouth, so still no surprise when Spike added an eye roll before again refusing to answer.

They devoured the food. *Take three, neutral subject.*

"So you like music?"

Spike raised his eyebrows.

"I saw that you had a lot of CDs in your stuff," Xander explained.

"Yeah, I like music."

It wasn't a tone that encouraged further conversation, but Xander pressed on. "What kind of stuff do you like to listen to?"

Spike sighed. "Let's not."

"Not what?"

"Talk."

"Right."

Xander flipped on the TV, found a channel that came in without too much static, and managed to keep quiet for another ten minutes... until he glanced over at Spike.

And Spike looked so much like Will in that glance - with all the innocence and vulnerability that had drawn Xander in weeks ago - that Xander needed to reach out to him, physically and verbally.

Inch by inch, Xander's hand stretched out and came to rest on Spike's arm. Softly, tentatively. Just a brush really.

"He'll be fine," Xander said.

"And what if he isn't?" Spike asked, his voice low but a bit sharp, tossing Xander's words from the megamart aisle back in his face.

Xander resisted the urge to flinch, stayed steady, kept his voice firm and calm. "Then he'll have me and you here to take care of him until he
is."

And Xander stared at his hand where it lay on Spike's arm, a small miracle that Spike hadn't brushed it off.

Okay, maybe Spike hadn't even noticed it but - it was a place to start.

Xander gave Spike's arm a little squeeze and withdrew - tried to withdraw - but Spike grabbed his wrist snake-quick and twined his fingers around Xander's. His hand was cold. "Thanks, mate."

And that made it easier not to talk, because Spike didn't let go and they watched television together in silence, neither of them paying attention to what was happening on screen.

Then, some time later, credits were rolling and one of them - or maybe both of them, Xander didn't know - had moved over enough that Spike's head was tipped onto Xander's shoulder and their arms were twined from elbows to fingertips. Xander squeezed Spike's fingers, said it silently this time. Will's gonna be okay. He hoped he was right.