Spike looked up from his drink just in time to see someone step beside him. Brows rising, he lifted his head and his blue eyes instantly fell upon a freakishly weird looking version of Willow. He shoved his drink aside, stood up from the stool that he had been sitting on, and reached into the depths of his dark jacket for the only weapon that he had on hand: a stake. It was a silly thing to do, especially considering the fact that he knew a witch as powerful and now insane as Willow would be able to both avoid and recover from a simple stab or two without even breaking a sweat. But Spike was a fighter, and he wasn't going to just sit about and be dusted - again - without putting in a bit of work to protect his own life. Or lack of one.
"I think you'd better piss off before I have to hurt you, Re -- Black?" Well, that was boring. He'd have to come up with a new nickname for her now. "I'm not like Buffy. I won't hold back when it comes to the beating. So if you know what's good for you, you'll sod off." He noticed that she wasn't moving. Spike was quick to step back. "I meant now, too. Not after I've gone and hurt you badly and all." He hadn't faced this version of Willow until now. Spike was almost wishing that he was off fighting for his soul again rather than being in his current position. Almost. He was here to help Buffy and Dawn out. Facing evil Willow? Probably came with the territory.