There were no words left. Everyone had their set task to do. Each of them knew there was no coming back from this, Spike more than most. Nearly a year ago he had come face to face with his own imminent death, had chose it even. Here, now, he chose it again.
When Angel had explained it to them all he had been able to almost smell the reeking scepticism flowing off the others, but to him, it had felt almost right. This had been confirmed when he had been the first to raise his hand, almost without knowing what he was doing. He had seen a flash of kinship in his grandsire's eyes and for the first time in more years than he cared to remember, he was not overwhelmed with hatred at the sight of the dark-haired man.
His fight, his target, had been no piece of cake, but even protecting a child he had fought easily and beat them all. Killed them all. As he stood over their rotting corpses he felt a brief flush of pride. Despite his soul, he had not in any way gone soft. Pride vanished when he stepped out into the rain and realised this was the last time he would probably ever feel the rain and he almost wished he had done something more on his last day then get shit-faced.
On second thought, who gave a fuck? He had already lived way past his time and getting shit-faced was natural to him.
He was surprised to find himself relieved that Angel had made it through his battle with Hamilton. Despite what his dark grandsire had told the rest of the gang, Spike had known all along that Angel was gunning for Hamilton. While not the most observant person most times, Spike knew from experience that Angel wouldn't let an enemy as powerful as the conduit to the Senior Partners free from the massacre.
The plan had been to strike at the Senior Partners and what better way to do that then to kill the man closest to them.
Gunn survived too, though barely. The smell of his blood was thick in his nostrils. Spike knew the man didn't have long to live. The wound he had sustained would be mortal without medical assistance and the vampire had no delusions about any of them making it from this alley alive. Illyria landed next to the trio and a small smile lit the vampires face despite the circumstances. He knew the bird was too good to be taken down this early in the game. Or maybe this late, Spike amended, feeling the slightest vibration of malice and murder in the air.
Her words wiped the smile from his face. Wesley was dead. He saw thinly veiled grief on all their faces. A grief that wasn't allowed to last long.
Shattering cries had them all ready for battle as monster after demon after thing burst into the alley from all sides.
They all fought. Even Gunn who could barely stand.
Spike caught fleeting images of them all as he fought, all fear gone in place of an unmistakable peace. This was finally it. He had long expired his time and he would finally be able to die. He couldn't even remember his real death anymore. Being human seemed a dream, as if he had always been vampire.
Illyria was done; he saw her, ice-blue hair fanned about her bloodless face, twisted into a snarl of surprise as he lay, unmoving on the ground.
Spike wondered idly if he was the only one left.
He didn't feel any of his wounds; he only felt the fight, felt triumph as demon after demon died under him. He never even felt the claws that tore his throat open and turned him to dust.