Author's note: This story is a remix of To Cancel Half a Line by brutti_ma_buoni, and was written for Round 1 of the Buffyverse Remix Ficathon. I tried to include links to the original story and the ficathon, but this site keeps removing them. The original story by brutti_ma_buoni can be found on Archive of Our Own, and the ficathon can be found on Dreamwidth under the username buffy-remix.
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It was an ugly day in hell, uglier than usual. The black disk where the sun used to be back before hell engulfed the earth was covered in clouds, and gritty mist dirtied the air, formed from the fumes rising from steaming puddles and mixing with the noxious combination of dust and ashes that couldn't be escaped, no matter where in hell you went. It clogged the throat and coated the lungs and got stuck in the corners of the eyes.
The figures moving through this dense fog were just outlines and shadows: shadows of the armed groups of ragged men and woman marching together for protection, shadows of hungry animals stalking the shadows of vampires and demons hiding in yet more shadows. They were barely visible until you were right on top of them, their weapons greeting your weapons, their eyes as wary as your own. And then maybe you fought, and maybe you kept them in your sights while you carefully edged past each other.
And over them all, the shadows cast by the hell lords were the darkest. They stretched across the ground and the sky, and everyone shied away from them.
Even Spike. He didn't want any trouble, especially not with the Slayer at his side, watching his every move. They might be allies, but he didn't trust her not to take advantage if he got into a bad situation, and he'd be willing to bet she didn't trust him either. If she did, she bloody well shouldn't.
But they wanted the same thing, to save the world from this bloody hell, and on days like today, it never hurt to have another fighter at your side.
The Slayer turned her head aside from the slave market in the parking garage of the Sunnydale Mall, her nose wrinkled in angry disgust. Loudly humming electric lights cut through the fog and illuminated the blocks, the branding irons, the huddled slaves: mostly humans, but the occasional vampire or demon. The ones that couldn't take care of themselves. Spike sauntered along behind her. The smell of blood and burnt flesh was a nice change from the sulfury tang that pervaded everywhere else.
The Slayer glanced back, glaring at him to hurry up. "Might want to buy me one," Spike said as he caught up. "It'd be doing them a favor. Just a vampire, and on the scale of evil, that's pretty low right now."
They might be allies, but that didn't mean he couldn't have some fun. Had to get his kicks somehow. The Slayer's reaction was a bit disappointing, though. She just grimaced; it was almost like she agreed with him. Well, he was trying to save the bloody world for the sake of blooming onions, so maybe she had a point.
Make that blooming onions and revenge, can't forget that.
They entered the mall through doors that shimmered with the heat of a clear-burning flame. Even as they slid back, the heat radiating from them was uncomfortable. The Slayer ran for it, but she could do that as a puny human. Spike had to pretend like he didn't care. He had a reputation to maintain. Hellfire wouldn't burn a vampire, all those years fearing to go up like tinder were over, but old habits were hard to break.
There was a sheen of sweat on the Slayer's face when Spike rejoined her, and a pack of five-headed dogs were circling. Buffy was waiting for an opening, her marketing basket held like a weapon. It had a steel plate in the bottom, and Spike wouldn't want to be hit by it.
The dogs weren't that smart, and she stunned three of them in one pass before Spike joined her. The remaining dogs yapped and snapped, all fifteen heads worth. Then Spike drew the sword at his side, and the dogs whined and fled from the sickly green glow.
I helped bring hell to Earth and all I got was this lousy sword, Spike thought. Not that he'd been very enthusiastic about the whole hell plan, but he'd been there when the hell demons arrived and the prizes were handed out. Angelus had a crown that summoned lightning and the title King of the Sulfur Mountain, and Dru got a scepter that made the earth quake and the title Queen of the Burning Plain. Spike, still in his wheelchair, still helpless and hurting, got a sword and the title Knight of Angelus.
How Angelus had laughed. Bloody fool, always crowing about his triumph, as if anyone really wanted to live in a world with the stench of sulfur and ashes in the nostrils and no fun to be had in all the world.
If only Spike had got out of that bloody wheelchair sooner, the world would never have gone to hell, and he wouldn't be here, walking past a shop selling sulfur-scented candles to minor hell demons. Walking in the company of the bloody Slayer.
Maybe it was Spike's sword, maybe it was the Slayer and her steel basket, but they didn't have much trouble getting through the crowds. When someone was slow getting out of their way, Spike dropped into game face and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. For tricky cases, he drew it half way out of the sheath so the green glow showed. That usually did the trick. This was a world of tooth and claw, threat and counter-threat, and Spike got along just fine.
After they passed the lava fountain in the center court, surrounded by basking salamanders, and the body parts shop, with a display of hands of glory in the window, Spike let the Slayer take the lead. She ducked down a side corridor that he couldn't even see, pulling him after her. She took the second right, the first left, and then the third right, and then knocked five times on the white doorway.
There's a market in everything in hell, and the doorway opened to reveal the white market. The good and pure and whole was on sale here, what little scraps were left. The Slayer breathed easier, and he didn't blame her. She had to actually breath the damn sulfur stink, after all. Even Spike liked it better here, it smelled like greasy food and flowers and cookies and fruit, and the air was cooler. He got a few looks as he shaded his eyes from the bright light - not sunlight, but closer than anything else in hell - but mostly he was ignored.
White was relative. There were plenty of vampires in here, he could smell them. Demons too, but it was demons who'd made this in the first place, or a demon and a witch, the stories varied. All of them the sort who'd lived on earth back when it was earth-like, not the sort who appeared when earth fell into hell. If the hell demons ever found this place, there would be no fruit or flowers any more, that much everyone knew.
"I'd expect a bit more bustle, a place like this," Spike said. The first impression was impressive, but after that he started to notice the empty carts and the sparse displays. "Bloody hell, even the gin joint where I met up with your Watcher had more of an atmosphere."
"There's a lot more back in the corners," Buffy said. "But...I think the demon that was selling herbs is gone." She sighed. "Oh well, come on, we'll just have to make the best of it."
She wasn't the quite the same fighting Slayer Spike had gotten to know over the point of a stake earlier in the year. She slumped when no one was looking. But she hadn't given up either, and determination substituted for enthusiasm.
They visited every stall and every cart, and pretty soon Spike saw why the corners were more popular: less distance to the bolt holes. Just in case. After buying a crystal ball at the last stall, they had most of the ingredients on the list Willow had given them.
They were looking for the components of a spell to kill demons. Willow, earnest ickle witch wannabe, claimed she could pull it off, and everyone had fallen into line with the idea. Spike had his doubts, but he'd joined the motley crew to do something about hell, and this was something, and he was bloody well doing it.
At least it got the buggers moving.
"We only have one thing left," Buffy said, frowning at the list, and then at the surrounding stalls as if she might have overlooked one. "Dragon scales."
"They're not here, pet," Spike said. "Guess we'd better check out the body parts shop outside."
Buffy frowned. "And pay with what?" The currency of the black market outside wasn't pretty, and she knew it as well as he did.
"Leave that to me," Spike said, totting up the value of a ceremonial sword that glowed green and deciding that it had damn well better be enough to trade for anything.
She gave him a skeptical look, a flare of the nostrils indicating disdain. "I know you don't have a crystal vial full of tears knocking around. So what is it? The haunted eyes that have looked on pure terror, rolling around in your pocket, or the scream cut short by death?" Even in hell, there was still death, it was just bloody hard to come by. And that wasn't even the worst of hellish currency. She said it flippantly, and he couldn't tell how much she cared.
"If I had any of that, I'd have bought some real blood," he said frankly. "No, barter. Or you could offer a scream on the spot. And make it good."
"I don't think so," she said. Her eyes were haunted enough, but he knew better than to suggest that. End up missing an eye of his own, probably, if he said it. She was still the bloody Slayer, not a tame little girl, no matter how quiet she might be. There was a wildness, a brokenness in her that reminded him of Dru.
He shrugged, she sighed, and they turned together and ventured back out, away from the smell of fruit and life, into the haze of hell.
"Dragon scale, that's not allowed," the weedy demon behind the counter at the body parts shop whined. Its skin was lumpy and glowed like lava in some places; in others it was cracked and burnt black, and its belly was engorged and its back hunched. It moved stiffly, like a broken robot, and stayed still when it didn't have to move.
"Don't give me that," Spike said. "There's dragons all over the place, scales have got to be easy to come by." Buffy was keeping low, letting him argue with the demon, just like he'd let her bargain with the humans in the white market. But he'd stood over her like a bodyguard, keeping an eye on things; she just hung back so far she disappeared.
"No," the demon said flatly. "The dragons keep them. When they shed them, they burn them." It shuddered. Surprising, when it looked like a lava demon of some sort.
Spike leaned across and grabbed the demon by the scrawny neck.
"Spike!" the Slayer scolded from her corner. Keeping an eye on things after all. He gave her a fanged grin, and tossed the shopkeeper at her in case she wanted to get in on the fun. She ducked, the shopkeeper crashed into a shelf of hearts, and a very unwelcome voice spoke from behind Spike.
"Who's this beating up my shopkeeper?"
And another voice said, "All hail King Angelus."
"King Angelus," Spike drawled, turning around. Angelus was flanked by a dozen demon guards and had a snake with multiple heads - or maybe just a knot of snakes - wrapped around his neck. The snakes were Dru's, if Spike had to guess.
Spike crouched, prepared to fight. That was where they'd left things the last time he saw Angelus, who'd timed the fight for just before Spike had recovered enough to have a chance of taking him on. Spike'd managed to surprise Angelus, but the result had been obvious from the start. Spike was gone before he could develop into an actual threat, Dru stayed.
She hadn't even pretended to be sorry. It was all about power with Dru these days. Not even torture and pain like it used to be. Just power. Angelus was a bad influence on her.
But the big lummox seemed to be in what passed for a good mood with him, his thin lopsided smile out in force. He didn't want to fight, he wanted to play. And he must not have noticed the Slayer, so Spike hoped she'd have the sense to stay out of sight. The last thing they needed was Angelus discovering she was alive. She wasn't some vampire he'd let run off with his tail between his legs.
"If it isn't William, I could have sworn we'd seen the end of you. And you still have that sword I gave you. There may be hope for you yet."
"A weapon's a weapon," Spike said, slurring the words so Angelus would think he was drunk. Drunk was an excuse for just about anything, including being found in a shop selling body parts that didn't include blood.
And then he added, "Where's Dru?" Because he couldn't not.
"She's coaxing the salamanders to come out and play in the slave market," Angelus said.
"She would," Spike admitted, and he couldn't help the admiring tone that crept in, despite everything. "Always a force for chaos, our Dru."
"She has the right," Angelus said.
"Oh, I'm not denying that," Spike said.
"We both have the right to do whatever we want, because Sunnydale is ours now. King and Queen..."
"And a great bloody ponce you look in that crown," Spike said.
The crown started to crackle, and after a few seconds in which Spike stared in fascination, a bolt of lightning snapped from one of the pointy bits into Spike just as he started to duck. His muscles turned to water and he slid to the floor.
"Remember that," Angelus said smugly. He hadn't been able to do that, the last Spike knew. He'd stuck to beating vampires up the old fashioned way.
Feeling and the ability to move returned after a few seconds, but Spike had learned the hard way when not to press the issue with Angelus. Not when he had a Slayer hiding somewhere in the same shop, for example, and a fight would probably destroy her cover. So he waited, not as helpless as he looked, while Angelus commandeered a dozen demon livers, though what he wanted with it Spike couldn't imagine until Angelus handed them to some of his guards. The ones that didn't get any liver looked jealous. Oh yeah, that was how to handle minions.
"Dru would like to see you around," Angelus said before he left. "You should come by sometime..."
Angelus' smile promised fun to be had - for Angelus, at least. Come back, accept your punishment, let me have the shaping of you again. Well, Spike knew what he wanted, and it wasn't that.
"It'll be a cold day in hell," he said, and laughed. Didn't get any of those around here.
Angelus laughed too, a sneering sort of laugh that made Spike remember why he hated him and why he used to practically idolize him too. "Look at you down there," he said. "Drunk and purposeless. That's your problem, Spike. You lack vision."
Shaking his head in mock sorrow, Angelus left, his guards trailing along behind him.
"God, I hate that bloody bastard," Spike said, standing up and shaking out his arms and legs. No permanent lightning damage.
Buffy didn't reply.
"No worries, Slayer, he's gone," Spike said. He heard a hissing sound from the corner where she ought to be, and when he rounded the shelves, he discovered her pouring the last of an entire bottle of water over the lava demon shopkeeper.
"What are you doing?" The sheer bloody waste of it, all that water. Clean water, good water - that was valuable in hell, and even he, who didn't need it, followed the clear flow with a thirst that was hard to acknowledge.
"It's holy water," she said, looking up from the steaming mess she was making. It smelled horrible.
"You were carrying holy water?" Spike said, appalled. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?" Not to mention the waste of using it on some petty demon in a shop selling body parts.
"Good thing I was," she said, hoisting the demon into her arms.
"What is wrong with you?" Spike asked in exasperation.
"I'm saving her," Buffy said. "I couldn't leave her like that."
"Like what? Buffy, it's a bloody-"
And suddenly when Spike looked at the demon he could see, as the lumps of frozen lava crumbled away, under the mud and grime and flakes of shiny black glass, a pregnant woman with a dead lava demon crouching on her hunched back, strained and terrified and exhausted.
"God," he said.
"No objections?" Buffy nodded, purposeful. With that light in her eyes, she almost looked like the Slayer he remembered, the one he'd wanted to kill so badly. "Then let's go."
"Wait a second."
She didn't pause. "What now, Spike?" she asked over her shoulder.
"Dru and Angelus used to ride around on a dragon," Spike said.
She stopped. "And you?"
"They never let me ride."
"You're just a second-class citizen wherever you go," Buffy said, rubbing it in.
"I'm gonna get Dru back," Spike said.
"Sometimes the ones that you love aren't who you think they are," Buffy said softly.
"Yeah," he said softly. "But..." He blew out his breath. "We're wasting time. Want to see if that dragon's around here or not?"
He didn't say anything when she shifted the pregnant woman to an over-the-shoulders hold and led the way out. Rank stupidity and no mistake, bringing a bloody pregnant woman to a battle with a dragon, but he knew a fight he couldn't win when he saw it.
He just wished there weren't so many of them lately.
