Legal: All characters are (c) Joss Whedon, Fox, Mutant Enemy and probably a whole mess of other people. No infringement of copyright intended.
Archive: Go right ahead. Just let me know, please.
Spoilers: Up to and including the rumoured season six spoilers.
Summary: On October 2, Buffy lives again. I'm feeling cynical about this.
One morning, several months after Buffy died for the second time, Willow got up and went downstairs to have breakfast.
After changing Amy-rat's water and putting a little seed in her food bin, Willow sat at the table with a bowl of highly-sugared breakfast cereal and pondered what to do with her day.
"Since Buffy died," she mused thoughtfully, "I've cured world hunger, balanced the budget, and reprogrammed the Buffybot so that people will think it's a real person instead of a sex toy. The drama has gone out of life. I need a new project. Something that will challenge and confound me. But what?"
Amy-rat chittered loudly and ran around in circles in her cage.
"It's hard." Willow continued to talk to her rapidly diminishing bowl of Sugar-frosted Chocolate Flakes. "After all, with all my mighty Wicca powers, I can do just about anything."
Amy-rat banged on the bars of her cage with her teeny-tiny rat-fists. Almost as if she were trying to make a point.
"What's the matter, Amy?" Willow had finished her bowl, and now belatedly noticed the ex-human's agitation. "Do you need more food? I'm sorry if I sometimes forget. Buffy always used to have to remind me to feed you enough ..."
The witch tailed off, a thoughtful expression on her face.
Amy-rat bounced up and down excitedly.
"Of course!" Willow's expression grew animated, "Buffy! I can bring her back to life! I mean, it's not like I have anything better to do, or anyone else to save!"
As the witch rushed out of the room, Amy-rat sighed, and wandered if it would be possible to drown herself in the water-bowl. Since she wasn't gay, being dead might be the only way to make Willow remember her.
"I thought we decided that the whole bringing-people-back-from-the-dead thing was a bad idea?" Xander gesticulated wildly as he spoke. Not for the first time, Willow wondered if there was some Italian in her friend's blood. The Harris family's postman had been named Mario, if she recalled correctly.
"Normally, it is." She agreed, with a glance at Tara, who had been remarkably easy to persuade to abandon her 'No Resurrections' policy. It was amazing how simple it was to get your own way when you knew exactly where to tickle, "But there is a way to make it safe."
"We need ..." the red-haired but blonde-streaked witch paused for effect, "the Plot Device!"
"Oooooooooh." Everyone chorused, in a manner that was scarily reminiscent of the little three-eyed green dudes in 'Toy Story'.
"Well then, ducks, let's start lookin' for a Plot Device!" Spike proclaimed, with the eagerness of one who has heard predictions that he might get laid.
"Just one thing." Willow held up a hand, waiting until the others had quietened down like good little children. "Nobody can tell Giles about this."
"You're worried he might try to persuade us not to raise Buffy?" Xander asked.
Willow shook her head.
"You don't want to raise his hopes too soon?" Anya suggested
Willow shook her head.
"Well why the bloody 'ell can't we tell ol' Rupes, then?" Spike demanded. "Not that I care, 'cause I'm evil, I am."
Willow shook her head, then realised it wasn't the correct response, and frowned at Spike instead. Then Dawn spoke up.
"Why can't we tell Giles, Willow?"
"Because all that tweed of his smells funny." The witch wrinkled her nose, "And he promised I could have his new car when he left."
"That's all?" Xander raised his eyebrows.
"What do you mean 'all'? That's a great car." Anya exclaimed, having just remembered her role as sex-obsessed, money-crazed comedy sidekick.
Charged with a new sense of purpose, the Scooby Gang leapt into action, searching high, low and middle for the requisite Plot Device.
An hour later, Anya found it in the latest Smith & Robards Magical Catalogue, retailing for a mere 119.95.
After waiting 4-6 weeks for delivery, the gang assembled at Buffy's gravesite to bring her back from the dead.
Which they duly did. Sure, there was some confusion over a group of demon bikers, and the usual angst and misunderstandings that had mysteriously plagued their lives ever since the Slayer came to town, but the long and the short of it was:
"Buffy lives! Mwah ha ha ha ha!"
Everyone looked rather worriedly at the cackling Willow, who coughed and flushed slightly.
"Sorry, just doing a bit of foreboding for later in the year."
"Willow? You brought me back?" Buffy whined, "But I liked being dead! I wanna go back!"
"You can't go back, luv." Spike simpered in his nauseating Buffy-whipped fashion, "We need you here. Niblet needs you. I need you."
"I wanna go back! Me me me me me!" Death had made the Slayer no less self-involved, it seemed.
Suddenly, she caught sight of Dawn, and stopped in mid 'me'. Then she turned on Willow.
"You let my fifteen year old sister wear leather pants!?"
"Well, uh ..."
"And they're my leather pants at that! I bet she's stolen my whole wardrobe! Geez, I can't let you people out of my sight for a minute. You've probably gone and re-decorated Mom's bedroom, while you're at it!" the Slayer waved her arms in the air as she continued to yell, as usual completely oblivious to the concept of thanking someone for helping her. "Well, that settles it, then! I'm going to have to stay alive, if only to make sure that Dawn never steals my clothes again!"