Nights like this are the worst. Quiet nights, nights where he can hear himself think, loud and clear. Nights where the sandman requires hefty bribes in the form of beer or whisky (or both) before Xander can drift into an uneasy state of something kind of like sleep, but without the restful part.
“I believe this is what they call a Mexican standoff.” Xander glared at Spike. Spike glared right back.