Spike's Journal Post-Season 5

Summary: Spike writing, no idea how long I'll keep the story going. As of right now it's open-ended, I'll let you know if that changes.

A/N: Buffy died in 2001. Using that calendar, unlike the show, I'll be keeping an accurate account of the days she's been gone until the time she most likely was resurrected. Language, graphic violence, drugs and alcohol, possible sex – definite sex if this continues into season six. This is the only time I'll give you these warnings. From here on in the format will look like the following:

Thursday, May 3rd, Day 7

It's been a week since we (Buffy, Giles, the Whelp, Anya, Red, Glinda, and myself) left to save Dawn and defeat Glory to save the world from apocalypse and since then every day has seemed like a year in its passing. We each had a job to do that night. Each our own share of responsibility to ensure Dawn's safe return and the protection of the world.

Glinda for starters, loony as she was, led us to where the tower was. Red weakened that hellbitch fashion disaster Glory by sucking out all the brains she's eaten and returning them to their rightful owners, including Glinda. Anya, Giles, and the Whelp fought Glory's minions like the right gents they are. Fought them all, fought them well, and fought those bloody scabs until alls that was left were their bloody corpses useable only to the vultures that would peck their bodies dry.

I didn't see Buffy during much of the fight. Saw her counterpart the Buffybot beating the snot out of that loony bint for a good five minutes at the beginning but after that? From what the others tell me she gave it her all against the bitch. Beat the shit out of her she did. Good riddance.

I don't know what happened. I really don't. No matter how many times I see it and believe me I remember each and every little bit of what happened. I see it often. I see it every time I close my eyes to sleep. I see it in my dreams. I can hear Red's voice in my head telling me to "Go! Spike go now!" and each and every time I do. I run to those stairs as Red splits Glory's mob in two like Moses and the Red Sea. Up and up I go. The steps go flying by. I barely remember climbing them at all I run so fast. And when I do reach the top a part of me rejoices that she's still fine but another point burns in rage.

He's there too.

Those eyes.

Black orbs of death – demon through and through.

Sometimes I don't say a damn thing. I just keep going without a break in my gait until my hands are around his head and cracking his neck. It's a loud crack. After freeing the Bit I usher her down to the awaiting arms of her big sis while I go check on the "Doc." Fooled me once he did but he won't ever get the chance to do so again.

Picking up that knife I lean over him and realize that my gut was right and he still wasn't dead. So I go to work on him. I scrape the knife along the steel walkway, scrape it next to his ear, scrape it so finely that sparks fly. He's still playing possum but unfortunately a trick like that doesn't work twice on a vamp like me. After making sure that that blade is sharp I grab a fistful of what's left of his hair and scalp him like those red Indians do. This wakes him up but I got my knee pressing down on his chest and keeping him pinned like.

All he can do is whither and scream making the work all that much more fun for me.

After I finally take his scalp the constant screaming is getting annoying so I take hold of that long tongue of his and cut that off.

Next came the ears, two deft cuts, one then two

Now, he couldn't hear, couldn't talk, but he could still see and feel. It was a trick Angelus taught me once. He always loved the sound of his victims cries more than anything else but sometimes the need for silence and stealth surpassed that want. After all didn't need Buffy and the others coming up wondering where all the screaming was coming from. So to compensate you take away some of the victim's senses. The ears were optional but you always left the eyes in. They are the windows to the soul after all and if you couldn't hear the victim's screams then at least this way you could watch and see their terror.

See it in the victim's eyes.

The unbearable pain.

The sheer terror.

Their death.

I never really cared for it myself except for when it became personal; when things got personal I think I got off more on the torture than Angelus ever did and make no mistake this was personal.

Next came his fingers and toes one right after the other. A lot of them fell off the tower, so small they were, so I compensated by shoving them inside Doc's mouth. Most demon's would be dead by now but you see the way I have it figured is that Doc's greatest strength, that uncanny survivability of his, is also his greatest weakness. A good beheading will kill him and make no mistake before I leave his head will be removed but until then I want him to pay.

So I continue my fun.

Hacking, mutilating, breaking bones, cutting off his balls, ripping out his kidneys and other organs, hell I even shove my fingers up into his nostrils and tear his nose clean off. His dick I cut into teensy weensy pieces. I'm a little unsure as to how much damage his heart could take so I leave that bit alone. Next I rolled him over, took hold of that tail of his and pulled. It took me about five seconds of pulling but I ripped it clean off. Blood and guts flying everywhere I tell you it was poetry in motion. Oh yea. I did it all and left his eyes for last.

Before I gouged them out I showed him how he would die. Took that knife and whisked it past my own neck in a sign of decapitation. Oh yea he knew he was dead. And after he knew that I took out his eyes. Left and then right. I place them in what's left of his left hand. His balls in what was left of his right.

Angelus would have been proud.

Hell.

If Angel knew what this thing was and what it would do then he would be proud too if not disappointed that he wouldn't be the one that would kill this sick bastard.

So I take the knife and begin to slowly pull it back and forth across his neck in a gentle sawing motion. I'm not actually drawing blood. Just letting him feel that blade across his neck. It causes him to start trembling again. He had long ago stopped moving what with his body wracked in sheer agonizing pain but now, in realization that he would soon die, he couldn't control himself. Piss erupts from what is left of his genitalia and a foul odor from his ass makes itself known.

To me it only makes the work so much sweeter.

The horror he must be in. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't smell, he could only feel the cool wet blade as it edged away at the skin on his neck. He must be thinking when would the pain stop? When wouldn't he feel a thing at all? With my strength he knows I could cleave his head off at any second I wanted. But I toy with him. Enjoying his shaking. His tiny whimpers. I keep at it for hours and sometimes stop sawing for a few minutes to leave him wondering if I had just gotten up and left. But then I'd come around and ram the knife into his leg or chest or something.

Unfortunately dawn begins to approach and I know my time of fun and games will soon be at an end. So, on sudden impulse, I stab the knife down into his heart and smile when I see that that hadn't killed him after all. With a gut wrenching twist I rip his heart out and take a good long drink from it. From its taste I realize something. Something that made it only taste so much sweeter. I drop the heart back into his chest cavity and again take up my knife-play about his neck.

The night's shadows grow long and the sun slowly makes it appearance over the horizon. Luckily I still have some shade but time was growing short and so at last I stand and light a cigarette.

After a deep drag I flick it to the ground or more accurately onto his body and smile as it erupts into flame. Despite his severed tongue Doc still manages a gruesome scream of pain amongst the biting flames but the scream is short lived as I finally slam the knife home and sever his head clean off as the rest of his body burns to ash.

Never again would that bastard ever get his hands on one of my girls.

Never again.

That's when I open my eyes and find myself not on the top of Glory's tower or over Doc's burning remains.

Instead I'm in my chair back at the crypt with a glass of bourbon in my hand.

There were lots of different ways I saved the day that night.

Saved the day that night?

Bit redundant that.

But out of all the different shots I could've made I took the one that missed my mark and sunk the eight on a game whose stakes were far too high to lose.

I lost.

And now she's gone because of it.

The Bit got me this journal before the end. When she learned that my birthday had been back in April. She knows more about me now than Angelus ever did and I was with him for what? Twenty years? Girl is in my heart she is. Read all my poetry and even keeps one of my books, her favorite, at home under the bed to read at night.

Guess it helps her sleep a bit better but me?

I toss back that glass of bourbon and pour myself another.

I'll stick to the booze.

End Entry