A/U: Hey guys, sorry if this is a little "meh", I haven't picked up a pen in a while so I'm a little rusty with my writing. Tell me if my characters are out of character, and lots of CONSTRUCTIVE criticism needed! :)

DISOWNER: My idea, everything else isn't mine… Mostly.

Letters from Hell.

Buffy was rushing like she never had before. Who knew how long that hell god would give her? She grabbed a pen and a pad of paper and ran as fast as she could out of her house and to the graveyard. Pressing the pen to the paper so hard that it tore in places, she wrote Spike a note.

She explained to him that he had to protect her body and keep her hidden for a little while, until her soul came back. A few more quick words, a "take care of everyone for me, be careful introducing Anya and Tara back" and a "see you soon", she ran into the crypt and sat herself on the floor clutching the paper tightly in her hands. Tears stung the backs of her eyelids as she waited to be brought back to hell, for the second time that day. Waiting for the torture to begin was probably worse than the torture itself, at least, she hoped. But it would be worth it right? A little – or a lot – time in hell, seemed a small price to getting her deceased friends back. She just hoped the hell god kept his promise.

Buffy's body went limp in place, and her head sunk to the hard stone floor beneath her. She held her breath, waiting for the torture.

At the site of her, the hell god snapped his long evil fingers, and sent the souls back to their home dimension, with their bodies attached and all. They appeared in the crypt, standing tall, staring, and then their first breaths that brought life (or in Spike's case, "un-life") into them and they awoke from their tragic eternal sleep, right in front of Buffy.

At the site of Buffy dead on the floor, breath left Spike's lungs in a whoosh, and he fell to the floor in front of her. Tara and Anya not far behind him.

"Buffy?" He whispered barely audible in his state of shock. "Buffy?" He pulled her into his arms.

"Is she…" Anya didn't finish her sentence; she just stared with her large eyes at her friend. The three of them wondering silently why they weren't in their deaths any more.

"Her hand," Tara said quickly, pointing down at Buffy. "She's holding something."

Anya bent down and gently unfolded the paper from Buffy's hand. It was crumbled a little on the sides from where she had clung to it. "It's a note, for Spike." She said reading it over. "You're supposed to take care of her until she's back. She's in hell right now." She looked up with a pursed smile on her face.

A hundred years of curses rolled off of Spike's lips, louder than any of the girls had heard in their entire existences. His screams were like the sound of a man in pain much stronger than any hell could bring. He sobbed to the ceiling and cradled her against his chest.

"She'll be ok though, she'll come back." Tara said in as comforting a voice as she could come up with.

"I've been there," Spike whispered into her shoulder. "I've been to hell. I spent a long time there until now. I'd rather of stayed there than know she's in it." He buried his face in her hair and rocked.

A commotion was starting outside the crypt.

"Wait, how long has she been here? What if they're looking for her?" Tara's hands covered her mouth. They all looked towards the door. "They can't know, they won't understand." She pleaded the others for a plan. But they all just stared at one another.

When the door to the crypt burst open, Spike lifted Buffy quickly into the air and raced his way to the trapdoor. "You two make a scene, they'll forget about her for a while, I'll hide her!" He jumped through the hole and disappeared into the dark.

Anya quickly slid the tile back in place and turned to face her friends. When they crowded in calling for Buffy, they stopped dead in their tracks at the sight in front of them, blood draining their faces, eyes wider than seemed possible.

After a confused minute of silence and staring, all joined in a long tearful group hug. Spike came up through the floor moments later, no signs of stress clear on his face.

"Cut the gushy mess, I'm gonna be sick." He snarled.

"Spike?" They said in sequence and turned to face him with eyes as wide as before.

Tara and Anya both thought quickly and herded the group out of Spike's crypt, leaving him to care for Buffy. Words like "catch up" and "how" were thrown around as they slammed the door shut.

Spike sighed and closed his eyes before slipping back down into the lower area. Distress visible in all details of his face, he climbed into his bed and wrapped his arms securely around his lifeless love. How long would he have to wait?

A/U: Ok, so uhm… Yeah. Hope you liked it? R&R please! I'll be posting the next chapter soon! :D