Just another happy fic that I've posted because I have nothing better to do and I'm one of the few people who are firmly convinced that, contrary to popular belief, Spike didn't die and is waiting for me somewhere so we can get married…I mean he didn't die…yeah…don't hurt me! Review.
Cowboy Bebop: Dream Sequence
Session 27:
Legend
The pain…god the pain was too much. How could a body hurt so much and still be alive? Spike Spiegel soon found the answer as he slowly opened his eyes. The sight before him was blurry and out of focus, but he knew he was still alive, unfortunately. Was he dreaming? Was he still trapped in the dream? The pain told him it was a dream of a different kind.
But she had escaped…Julia.
She said she would be with him to the end, but that was another lie. He couldn't remember clearly when she had ever told him the truth. He couldn't remember her face anymore, it had receded to a vague outline of a delicate chin and a pair of arctic blue eyes. Once again she had left, left him alone.
A sudden noise brought him quickly to alertness, automatically he reached for the gun he always carried near him, but it wasn't there. He tried to sit up, become less vulnerable, but the intense agony that surged throughout his nerves kept him prone, helpless. Perhaps he had died, perhaps this was hell. He really wouldn't be surprised if it was, god knew he'd sinned enough to deserve it. But he'd always figured that hell would be hot, come to think of it he was rather cold at the moment.
Suddenly a face came into view, a blurry face without detail. He blinked rapidly in order to clear his vision. Slowly, too slowly for his liking, it did indeed return. The face belonged to a woman, or rather a girl for she could be no older than eighteen.
"Who…who are you?" he croaked, wincing at the harshness of his own voice. He sounded as if he hadn't spoken for a while, which was unusual, at least according to Jet who always said he was mouthing off too much.
The girl smiled, a curiously blank smile, her pale green eyes glassy. She held something out for him to see and it took him a moment to recognize the object. A spoon, she was offering him a spoon. As if his brain had finally remembered smell, his nostrils were filled with the rich aroma of spices. His stomach growled, but he didn't have the energy to blush.
He tried to grab the spoon, unwilling to let anyone else feed him like was some invalid, though of course that was what he was. After a few tries he heaved a resigned sigh and grudgingly allowed her to feed him. He had never felt so humiliated in his life…well that wasn't entirely true, but as of then he couldn't recall anything else.
"Angel?" a voice called and a figure entered his peripheral vision. He tensed, once again confronted by his complete helplessness and hating every second of it. The girl by his side moved out of his sight and he assumed she went to greet the man.
"How is he doing?" the man asked softly. There was a pause in which she must have answered him, but Spike couldn't' hear it for the life of him. "That's good. Was your day good?"
"What's going on?" Spike demanded testily, a headache beginning to form. "Who are you people?"
"Angel, darling, set the table I think we'll be having some guests soon enough." There was the rustling of cloth and then silence again. He could hear the man's steady breaths and the pounding of his own heart. The man slowly approached him, testing to see how he would react. He had to admire a man who didn't rush headlong into things, even if he wasn't that type of man himself.
"Who are you?" he repeated darkly, it even hurt to frown damn it.
"My name is Lewiston, Lewiston Bishop," the man replied formally. "And you are Spike Spiegel, the new leader of the Red Dragons."
"What?" Spike demanded in shocked outrage.
"You killed Vicious, he was the leader, therefore now you are the leader," was the faintly amused reply. He heard the sound of a match being struck and then felt something warmly familiar pressed against his lips. Even debilitated, shot up and almost dead he wouldn't refuse a cigarette.
* * * *
Recuperating was hell. The boredom was almost as bad.
Spike knew he was going to go crazy soon if he didn't leave the apartment, no matter how comfortable it was. He probably would've left too if it wasn't for the incredible pain that assaulted him every time he tried to move, that and the ever-present gaze of the girl who was attending him.
There was something odd about her, as if she wasn't entirely aware of what went on about her. Her eyes saw, but never observed anything, and that eerie little smile that never disappeared. Even her movement was of someone who was out of touch with the world or sleepwalking. She never spoke and could only answer 'yes' and 'no' questions by nodding or shaking her head, if she remembered to listen to the person speaking to her.
Lewiston on the other hand was quite a contrast to his sister, Angel. He was rather talkative and continuously moving, as if he was only comfortable when he was busy doing something. There was a nervous energy about him that was rather disconcerting in a way that differed from his sister. Spike often felt dizzy watching the young man zip about the apartment. Those two were rather interesting people.
A frown darkened his face as he thought about the meetings the young Lewiston held. They were all with other surviving high-ranking members of the Red Dragons and they were all concerned with what would happen with their syndicate. Apparently many of the younger upstarts believe he was either dead or too weak to run it. Little did they know that he was indeed alive and had no interest in running anything, so it was rather frustrating when the others kept deferring to him as if he was indeed the leader.
"You can't step down from leadership unless you're dead," Lewiston and the others told him constantly, as if he wasn't already aware of that aspect of the Red Dragons or any other mafia. Just like the gangs of old the only way to leave was in a body bag.
But Spike Spiegel had no intention of dying, not after so much trouble had been taken to keep him alive. Although, when the pain became too much, he often wished he was dead. He also wished to be on the Bebop again with the others, but Lewiston wouldn't tell him anything about it and the girl couldn't.
Perhaps he was still stuck in some horrible nightmare with no possibility of escape. That had been his goal when he had faced Vicious for the final time, to earn his freedom from the dream that overshadowed all he did. Now it seemed he was as deeply entrenched in the mist as he had been before, only now his future looked even bleaker.
* * * *
Angel hummed softly as she placed the bowl of soup by Spike on the small glass end table. It was an odd, something he hadn't heard before and yet it seemed vaguely familiar. Perhaps it was something he had heard in his wilder days, in his scarred past.
It seemed like decades since he had woken up, but in truth it had been merely weeks. Finally he was strong enough to feed himself and walk around for a limited amount of time. He was frustrated with his lack of stamina, it was as if his body had betrayed him. Though he moved under his own power he felt as helpless as he had felt when he was prone on the couch.
The brother and sister looked after him. He would go out to work and shop while she cooked and cleaned and tended Spikes injuries. From what he could tell his presence hadn't interrupted their lives in the least and yet he still felt like an intruder. Once he was healed enough he would leave, let someone else run the Red Dragons, it wasn't his problem anymore. Faye had been right, he shouldn't have kept looking into the past. There was nothing good there, nothing at all.
As he drank the soup, he hadn't been allowed to eat solids yet, much to his embarrassment, he noticed how she fidgeted more than usual and glanced at the clock vacantly for moments at end. It was obvious that she was becoming concerned about her brother for he usually was home around seven and it was already nine. If he had been any good with women he would have tried to comfort her, but since he wasn't he drank his soup.
When he had finished he wiped his mouth with the napkin provided. A small slip of paper fluttered from the napkin and landed on the floor by his feet. Grimacing in pain he slowly bent down and picked it up.
Treachery within treachery. Are we still dreaming?
He stared, perplexed, at the message scrawled across the paper. He glanced up and saw the girl standing by the window, smiling vacantly at the city below. She must have written it, she was, after all, the only other person in the room besides himself and he was pretty damn sure that he hadn't written it. Perhaps she was more aware than he had given her credit for. If that was true, was she trying to warn him of something coming? Was someone going to betray him?
"Angel?" Lewiston called throwing open the front door. The girl turned from the window and walked to her brother, smiling all the way.
Spike's eyes narrowed as he noticed the steadily spreading stain on the side of the man's coat. Obviously he was wounded, perhaps severely. Treachery. Most likely one of the young upstarts had decided to relieve him, Spike, of the position as the leader of the Red Dragons. He would have been grateful of that if it didn't mean he had to die in order for that to happen.
"Get him out of her, Angel," the brother coughed pushing her away urgently, she continued to smile blankly, but obeyed. The young man began to load his handgun as the girl urgently plucked at the sleeve of Spike's borrowed shirt.
"Give me a gun," he commanded, ignoring the girl.
"No, it's my job to protect you," Lewiston told him coolly, "Even with my life."
"Don't waste your life on me," Spike grated in frustration. "I can probably shoot better than you even in this condition."
"Angel, get him out of here," the man said ignoring him.
"Give me a gun, damn it!"
Whatever Lewiston's answer might have been was cut off by an explosion of gunfire in the hallway.
"Damn, the guards are down," he hissed drawing another gun from the recesses of his coat.
He dashed out, leaving Spike alone with the girl. She was still trying to get him to stand up, the soup forgotten on the table. There was another burst of gunfire, longer this time.
Lewiston didn't return.
* * * *
Okay, that's was my attempt at writing a Bebop fic, don't flame me too badly. If anyone likes this or thinks it has potential please tell me in a review and I'll try to get the next chapter up as quickly as I can.