Lacerate

Out of the corner of his eye, as a flurry of red-tipped nails clawed at his face and white fangs gnashed wildly toward his throat, Spike sighted a fleeting blur of blonde and the gleam of a sword. Spike became vaguely aware that Drusilla was gaining the upper hand on him, pushing his body closer and closer to the floor as she flailed above him wildly in blind rage.

His attention was diverted by the tell-tale arrogance and sadism dripping from Angelus's voice.

"No weapons, no friends, no hope. Take all that away, and what's left?"

Spike couldn't hear the Slayer's response over Drusilla's shrill screams and growls, but he did take note of her resolute gaze. He had personally ended the lives of two previous slayers, including a tough-as-nails broad from the Bronx who fought indignantly to her last breath. As Spike stared at her steel glare, which reflected the betrayal and unadulterated anonymity, he thanked whatever god watching out after him that he only sought to kill the slayer and not bed her.

At the present moment, Spike's train of thoughts was shattered by Drusilla's long nails burrowing into the pale flesh of his neck. Spike howled in pain, simultaneously clutching at his neck to stem the blood flow and protect his trachea against her furious blows. His dark goddess, wild in her obsession with Angelus, had pressed him fully between the wall and a rotted, wooden piano and began opportunistically tearing at any exposed flesh.

Spike opened his mouth to attempt to beg Drusilla to cease her attack, but he knew from the crazed look in her eyes, it would just fall upon deaf ears. A second, more immediate concern seized his mind. For the first time in decades, he was in a dire situation. His sire was naturally stronger than he was, even in her mentally fragile state. Sure, she had beaten him into the ground before, but Spike had never once thought his dark love would be cruel enough to tear him to piece by piece. His sight became blurry at the edges, and his throat so impossibly dry. Despite no physiological need to breathe, Spike was panting and wheezing. If it were anyone else, he would've fought back, even on the brink of death; but Dru.. He resigned himself to his fate as Dru sliced her nails and fangs through his neck and torso, slowly slumping his head to the side, cold flesh against the cold concrete of the disused mansion.

In all his years of non-life, Spike had always assumed that Drusilla's face would be the last image he'd view before dissolving out of existence. However, he lay still – transfixed by the fight happening in the background. Bemused, Spike reasoned that the more evenly-matched battle was probably in the foreground, having the fate of the world at stake and all – whereas his small skirmish would only result in his dust scattering across the floor.

It was interesting. In his century-plus of attempting to rake up a slayer body count, he had never truly watched a slayer fight before. Sure, he had leaned back in the shadows as he watched a handful fight fledglings or weaker demons; and sure, he had ended the lives of two of them, but in the heat of the battle never examined their movements and expressions. For the first time, Spike was witnessing a slayer fight for her own life and, even more profoundly, the fate of the entire world.

It was too heavy for him. He wanted to shut his eyes tightly and will himself to fade away under the cold intensity of the woman he loved, but a light shown through the thin skin of his eyelids, like an annoying ray from poorly hung drapes. Spike cracked open one blue eye, and prepared to say one last witticism before fading off once again. An eerie light emanated from the ugly statue in the corner of the room, the one the Slayer and Angelus were dancing their way toward. He watched the Slayer's graceful movements as she shielded herself from his Grandsire's brutal blows. The light was growing bigger and bigger, and Angelus – although his frustration and rage were clearly written upon his face – seemed to grow giddy as soon as he glanced its way.

Angelus repeated an abbreviated version of a line he yelled earlier, but this time, it came out as a menacing whisper. "You're going to Hell, Buffy."

The Slayer stared at him, her former boyfriend towering above her. Angelus raised his sword, cornering her with her back against the now-blinding light.

Spike's thoughts unraveled. Shit. The end of the world. Fuck. Angelus and Dru. My Dru. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Buffy. Fuck. I'm laying here on the floor, and this – THIS! - is my siren song. Shit, shit, fuck.

CRACK.

With a gleeful cry, Drusilla yanked Spike's leg out of its hip joint, causing some of the femur to shatter with it. Spike let out an agonizing cry, and the Slayer briefly took her eyes off Angelus to glance at him. Stupid, stupid girl! In the moment, there were a lot of things he failed to grasp. Why was Drusilla still tearing at him when it was clear she was victorious in their small, personal battle? Why had she continued her assault even when the Slayer briefly gained the upper hand against her sire? Why had the Slayer even looked his way? He was no friend, a temporary ally at best. He was the type she was born to kill.

It happened in a flash. Sensing the opportunity, Angelus growled and lunged at his former lover, who was just steps away from the oppressively white light. Spike watched her swing her sword, making contact with Angelus's rapier, and – suddenly – she had the upper hand again. The centuries-old vampire stumbled toward the portal. This finally caught Drusilla's attention, and she flew over to her sire, catching him in her bony arms. Both vampires lost their balance and tumbled inches away from the statue. Swiftly, Angelus swung her toward the light in a desperate effort to stop his momentum; and suddenly, Drusilla, the love of Spike's unlife, was gone – gone - gone into the light, leaving a palely glowing statue in its wake.

Spike couldn't will himself to scream or cry, seemingly completely drained of blood, sound, and existence. He could only watch as Angelus roared in anger, and smashed one giant fist into the statue.

"YOU STUPID, STUPID BITCH!" He bellowed, advancing upon the Slayer. His demeanor suddenly shifted, although the intent did not. "You spoiled all of my fun." He mocked, with a perverse playfulness.

And, with that, Angelus once again lunged at the Slayer. "I guess we're just going to have to start from the be-"

".. 'Uffy?" The elder vampires' face fell from its macabre visage and back into its human form. "B-buffy?" The tiny blonde stood stiffly, blocking Angelus between her and the slightly illuminated statute. "What's happening?"

The Slayer softened her voice, so low that Spike strained to hear her, but he needed to focus on every word in an effort to distract himself from his infinite pain.

"Shh. Don't worry about it." Spike could vaguely pick up a sniffle, even though he could tell she was struggling to keep a calm composure. "I love you." She said even more softly.

The brutal vampire who had- just moments ago - attempted to sacrifice his lover to hell looked the Slayer in the eyes. Even from his inconvenient vantage point, Spike could see an almost genuine spark to his eyes. No one could manipulate like Angelus, but no one could emulate the genuine emotions playing across his face – fear, love, confusion, and an overwhelming concern for the woman standing in front of him.

"Close your eyes." The blonde whispered to him, tears threatening to break through at any moment. Her love, a man who was clearly enhanced by the soul of Angel, stared into her eyes for one last second, and then willingly obeyed her request. At that moment, Buffy stood back and drove her sword into his heart. Angel closed his eyes, almost as if he did not want any other image to enter his sight, and was engulfed into the portal.

With a pop, the light ceased to exist and the statue shattered. The victorious woman stood silently with her sword still pointed toward the empty pedestal. That was the last image Spike saw before his vision darkened to black.