Okay, this is a little (alright, a lot, I think) hard to follow, but if you can follow the crazy twists of my – or Spike's – mind, then you should enjoy it. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it anyway. You probably need to have watched pretty much since Spike appeared on the scene to get all of the references, especially since I'm none too specific about them. Oh well. Good luck. It takes place in the middle of Help (heh, I just realized: Beatles! Ok, off topic…), and everything important in the universe belongs to Joss and ME. Okay, done here. One more thing: All pronouns are very important, and if I change from he to she suddenly, it's not a typo, there's a reason. Go with it. Now read.
Spike shuddered awake, gasping, eyes wide in the dark. Her face still floated in his mind, eyes wide in fear, neck white, white, in the dark alley. He'd hurt her again, she was hurt, he hurt, they hurt him, they…
He closed his eyes hard, hands now clenched in fists. "Go away," he whispered harshly. "Go away, go away, go away!" he finally screamed hoarsely.
The room was silent. And empty. Spike cradled his head in his hands, mumbling to himself brokenly. They wouldn't leave him alone. He just wanted some silence. He wanted to be left alone, and he wanted them to shut up and be quiet.
He didn't want to be alone anymore. He needed someone, needed anyone but these people who wouldn't leave him alone! He pushed himself off the floor, heading for the door. But no. The last time he had been out, he'd hurt the man in the alley where Dru changed him. He hadn't meant to. But the man hadn't been there one minute, he'd been a demon, and he was allowed to hurt those. And then she'd changed, but it was different. One time, it was beautiful; he was powerful when death came. The other time, it hurt, in his head and in himself, and it was horror, not ecstasy.
He sat back. He couldn't risk that horror again. It replayed often enough in his mind. The voices and faces rose around him again, and he clamped his hands over his ears. "I'm not listening, you know," he called out. "Not listening," he repeated to himself.
He sat perfectly still, eyes shut, concentrating on not allowing any of the voices through. Voices, hallucinations, dreams ran through his tortured mind, shifting wildly, as everything seemed to for him these days. Was this what it was to be mortal? He couldn't remember. What was the difference between mortal and souled? He knew. It was harder to end the pain when you were immortal
The only constant for him anymore was a lack of peace, and the guilt.
