A/N This fic kinda wrote itself.
Warnings: severe angst. when i say severe, i mean severe! vampire self harm. extreme cutting. character death. blood. and again, ANGST.
this is NOT a happy fic. you have been warned.
Cutting.
It's pointless for a vampire. Thanks to the super healing abilities that come with the vamp territory. It defeats the purpose if the cut you make heals within a couple of hours. Besides, most vampires get off on a certain amount of pain.
Spike needed more. He'd had enough of picking fights in demon bars. He usually won. And he'd never sustained serious injury. And anyway, he wanted the pain to be self-inflicted. He wanted to know that he was doing it. To remember why.
Well, you couldn't fault Spike for creativity. After searching tirelessly for weeks, he found what he was looking for. A beautifully crafted dagger. Silver. The handle inlaid with precious stones, dulled with age. The blade... Spike didn't know what exactly it was made of. All he had heard was that it was supposed to be excruciatingly painful for vampires. He suspected magic was involved. Truth be told, he didn't really care about the whats, hows or whys.
He weighed the dagger carefully with his right hand hand. Traced the blue veins on the opposing arm with the tip of the dagger. Barely a brush across the skin. It burned. And hissed. Spike smiled a humourless smile. He'd found what he was looking for. What he needed.
This time there was nothing gentle about it. He stabbed the dagger deep into his wrist. The pain was so intense that he started to shake violently from the moment the blade pierced his skin. He forced himself to carry on; dragged the blade up his arm. He inspected his handiwork, marveling at the smoke drifting up from the gaping cut.
Stolen blood oozed slowly, dripping onto the stone floor. There were no immediate signs of healing.
Perfect.
Xander had always told him how human he was for a vampire. Memories of Xander laughing, teasing him flashed across Spike's line of vision. They blurred into memories of the two of them making love. Always making love, never sex. That's the way it was with Xander. Then they were replaced by memories of Xander's broken body lying limp on the grass, blood obscuring tanned skin, eyes glazed over. Too late. Spike had been too late. To save Xander. Too late even to turn him. Scratch that. He wouldn't have turned Xander. Not for anything. He had been too late to say goodbye. Suddenly, his eyes were wet.
See how human I am now, pet.
Whether that was a reference to not healing, or to the tears, Spike wasn't exactly sure.
He transferred the dagger from one shaking hand to the other. Stab and drag. Spike repeated the process on his other arm. Then his left leg. Then the right. Across the chest. One way. And then the other. Lines criss-crossed all the way down his torso. Then his back. Spike was a vampire. He could bend. A fact that Xander had both enjoyed and taken advantage of many a time.
Blood bubbled out of Spike's mouth as he choked out a laugh at the thought. The sound was foreign to his ears.
He dropped the dagger. The pain was nearly all consuming. But he hadn't cried out once.
His dance with the dagger had taken him nearly all night. He could see the first beams of sunlight beginning to pierce the windows of the crypt. It was no longer his crypt. He'd stopped calling it his from the second a babbling Xander had pressed a key to his apartment into Spike's hand. Xander couldn't sit down properly for weeks afterwards. Not that he'd minded in the slightest. After all, he had been the one who had begged Spike for 'harder' and 'faster' and 'moremoremore'.
Spike moved one shaking leg. Took a step. The pain across his body flared, sending him to his knees. He forced himself up. He wasn't going to fucking crawl.
Pas a pas. Step by step. Spike remembered Xander saying that about them. Small steps. Lust. Turned to love. Cruelly snatched away. It wasn't even an apocalypse. No Hell God. Just some fucking demon spawn they'd run into on patrol.
Rage fuelled Spike's movements as he continued on his slow, bloody path towards the crypt door. But there had been so many of them. He'd been fighting for his own life as well as Xander's. By the time he'd smelt the blood of his boy, it had been too late.
The remaining demons were decimated in his fury. Only then did he stop and look. The image of Xander's corpse would be burned into Spike's memory forever.
It was all his fault.
I should've been… Faster. Stronger. Anything! I should have been able to save him. I failed him.
Spike paused at the door of the crypt. The final barrier between him and the sun. He pulled. Then pushed. And finally he was outside, although still in the shade. Barely. His toes began to hiss as they came into contact with the sunlight. He looked down at them. Looked out at the sunny cemetery. Looked up at the sun.
Effulgent.
He chuckled internally at the word from a past life. A life he'd never had a chance to tell Xander about. And now never would have the chance to.
Spike didn't need to breathe. So he didn't take a final breath before he stepped forwards.
He spread his arms.
As he burned in the sunlight, he reflected on the pain. His body smoked and scorched.
The physical pain matched the pain in his heart. Finally.
Xander.
I'm so sorry.
Spike exploded into a cloud of dust.
Reviews would be much appreciated. My first venture down Angst Lane so please tell me how I did!