A/N: So this is where the plot starts to deviate from the show and I get to explore all of the things I thought were awesome in the show but never amounted to much.
After a highly uneventful work day, with Buffy being extra obvious about picking up every plastic bottle and metal can in sight for Principal Wood to see her recycle, Willow and Buffy were in prep mode. They hadn't had to resort to bunny spells, Davie Smith told Dawn he was going to the Bronze that night. Dawn left promptly at 7pm with a strict order to be home by 10pm. It was a school night after all.
Buffy was dressed in her oldest blue jeans, a black hoodie, combat boots, with a stake in her back pocket, her battle gear to be exact. There was no need to not be cautious. As Willow had said, Spike was still a vampire. Willow wore her tough girl clothes, black pants and a blue billowing shirt; big wooden cross in hand. She really was meant to don the witchy garb, billowing looked ridiculously classic on her.
At 7:10pm they headed out the door, leaving Andrew locked tight in his room.
"What if you see someone you know?" Willow asked as she parked outside the high school.
"I forgot some very important papers in my office." Buffy had concocted the lie after many thrown out ones such as forgetting her favorite book, her coffee mug, her jacket, etc. She felt kind of guilty about breaking into the school now that she was a counselor instead of a student which had her flustered when it came to her lying skills.
"Very believable. We could even say it was Davie Smith's file."
Willow's attempt at humor went right over her. "Do you think Xander will be mad that we didn't invite him along?"
"Seeing as he hates Spike, not so much. But you do have to tell him tonight about the whole soul thing. And probably Dawn too. She hates being left out because she is the youngest."
"Xander won't be happy."
"I don't think any of us are, particularly."
"Not even Spike."
Buffy twisted her keys in door of the high school and in they went. They headed straight for the basement as there wasn't anywhere else to go. Buffy hesitated before opening the door. "You don't have to come, Will, if you'd rather not."
Willow reached for the knob, turning it. "Let's go."
Twenty steps later, they reached the basement. They peered around in the orange light that permeated the gloom. "Where do you think he is?" Willow whispered, clenching the cross in her hands.
Buffy shrugged. "He was by the furnace earlier." Moving her hand to her back pocket so that she could feel the stake beneath her fingers, Buffy ventured forward. "Spike, where are you?"
"Spike?" called Willow hesitantly.
No reply. "Why is he always such a pain?" Buffy could feel her forehead creasing in irritation.
"Should we split up?"
"No. He may have his soul back, but I wouldn't exactly cross him off my deranged vampire list. You remember Drusilla. Picture Drusilla with a soul. That's what we're dealing with." Buffy crooked her arm through Willow's elbow to ensure that they weren't separated.
"Drusilla? That's not a pretty picture. The dolls." Willow shivered. "They were a bit too terrifyingly creepy for me."
They were making their way slowly to the furnace, checking every corridor as they went past them.
"Spike?"
"I feel that this basement is hardly an improvement upon the burned down ruined school that we also used to spend time in the basement of," Willow said.
"Well, at least there is no crack in the floor leading to the Hellmouth. That seems like a better interior design idea."
"And there is electricity, another plus. Although, I did enjoy using my light of the sun spell."
"Sun spell and Hellmouth don't really seem two things that are, you know, mixy," Buffy remarked.
"Spike?" Willow called.
They finally reached the furnace room. Looking around them, Buffy and Willow didn't see anything to suggest that Spike had been there. Although, as a vampire, he didn't exactly leave a super obvious trace unless he was nesting. God. Buffy hoped he wasn't nesting over the Hellmouth. Too weird.
"Ready?" asked Willow.
"Here's the plan. You stay by the door, and I'll go in. If something goes wonky, you use the cross to protect yourself, or just stake him. A killer is a killer, with or without a soul and it's not exactly like he can go to court, or anything," Buffy directed.
"Got it. If I sense impending death, I kill him first . . ." They looked at each other. "Doesn't sound super friendly of us."
Buffy sighed. "Then just fend him off with the cross."
"Sounds better." Willow nodded.
"Okay, here we go." She pulled open the door to the furnace room. "Spi- Spike!"
Buffy's stake clattered to the ground as she raced into the depths of the room. Spike was lying on his back, his skin still baring faint marks of the burning cross. But over his left breast, deep gashes were oozing his borrowed red blood all down his bare chest.
"Oh no!" Willow gasped. His entire chest was smeared with red, the floor beneath him strangely dark.
Buffy dropped down beside Spike, knowing that he probably wasn't going to die from his latest wound, but knowing that it hurt him greatly all the same. One of his black shirts was discarded beside him, she grabbed it, balling it up and using it to apply pressure to his wound.
Spike eyes were closed and he wasn't breathing which meant if he wasn't dead, he also wasn't conscious.
"Spike? Spike!" Bufy gripped his shoulder with her left hand.
"Is he – is he -?"
"No! He's just stupid." She blinked rapidly, trying desperately to ignore the clouding of her vision. "Spike!" she shouted.
He didn't respond. Her eyes darted to the dark stains on the floor around them. It was blood, pools of it. His wounds were far worse than she had thought.
"What should we?" Willow asked, her voice trembling.
"Blood! He needs blood. Find some."
Willow ran off to heed her words, leaving Buffy with the barely clinging to his undead life Spike. Buffy pressed the already soaked shirt harder against the cuts, struggling to force the blood to stop pouring out. Anxiety made her strength even stronger. Thankfully, vampires are equal strong so whereas Buffy would have bruised one of her friends, Spike was utterly unaffected.
"Spike! Spike, wake up!" Her voice was shrill. "Stop it! Wake up!"
No response. Buffy was actually starting to panic. What if he was already dead? Could a vampire bleed out? Would they still go poof into dust if they bleed out?
"You bastard! You come back with a soul only to die? After everything you've done to me! – Of everything you've done to me, this is the worst! How could you?"
Hot tears splattered on her hand, dripping down to mix with the blood. "Spike!" She slapped him hard across his cheek bone, so angular they could have cut ice.
Horrified at her action, Buffy crumpled, her body curling protectively over his, as the tears gave way to sobs. Everything was such a mess. Her hand relaxed its pressure on the shirt. What was the point? He was bleeding out, but he was already gone.
With blurry vision, Buffy saw his stupid bleached hair unkempt in tiny ringlets. His skin frozen, not that he was ever warm, but room temperature was preferable to morgue cold. If he died like this, there would be so much left unsaid. The anger and fear Buffy held over what he had done to her, of how he had touched her, she would never get to heal that. She would never get to apologize for how she had treated him, because no matter what she said to herself, there wasn't any excuse big enough to make what she did alright.
Buffy would never be able to reconcile the man to the monster. The demon who went to get his soul, for her. Because he loved her, in his own demented and evil way, he had loved her. She wouldn't be able to sort out her own confused feelings, the fact that he knew her better than anyone ever had, that he was closer to the walls she had built around herself than even Angel had been. That he had, somehow, worked his way in.
No. It couldn't end like this.
Buffy pulled back from him, reapplying the pressure. "Willow! Willow, please hurry."
Using her left hand, Buffy wiped away the water from her cheeks, sniffling to contain the crying. "You're going to be okay," she told the unconscious vampire beneath her. "And when you are, I'm going to beat you up properly."
The hoarest chuckle sputtered from his chest, ending in a cough. Buffy's heart rate went into double time.
"Spike?"
Excruciatingly slowly, he opened his eyes. "You – should – have – knocked."
"Spike," Buffy breathed, her eyes running over his face. "What the hell were you thinking? You could have died! You still could!"
He closed his eyes again, dragging in a ragged breath.
"Spike!"
He opened one eye.
"You stupid jerk!" And she was crying again. Buffy turned her head away so that he wouldn't see. It was bad enough that she was straddling his waist, her shirt marred with his blood, one hand pressing the shirt to the gashes in his chest.
Cold skin ran up her left hand, to her wrist. He squeezed weakly in what Buffy took to be meant as a comforting manner.
She looked back down at him. "When I'm done saving your life, I'll kill you myself."
The right corner of his mouth tugged up in the vaguest attempt of a smile.
"Buffy!" Willow's shout was the most welcomed sound to Buffy's ears. She came racing through the door, bags of blood in her hands and bulging from her coat pockets. She tossed one to Buffy.
Catching it, Buffy bit into it, ripping open the plastic. She pressed the leaking bag against his mouth, Spike began to drink feebly. The taste of blood was bitter and sweet in her mouth, an unpleasant taste, but one she could deal with.
Spike drained the first bag in under a minute. By then, Willow was standing next to her, hand out stretched with the next bag. Buffy tossed the empty one to the side, repeating the opening process on the new bag. This time, Spike drank more greedily, his energy clearly returning, albeit slowly.
By the third bag, Spike could bite it open himself, and with the fourth, he reached up to hold it. Buffy got up shakily, stepping to the right of his body so that she could continue to staunch the bleeding until he started to heal. Spike's blue eyes were open, fixated on her.
Buffy looked up uncomfortably at Willow, she was watching their exchange with wariness. It was etched across Willow's eyebrows and by the tilt of her mouth. "I only have six bags, will that be enough?"
"It will have to be," Buffy said.
Spike tossed the empty bag aside, lifting his hand for the next; Willow gave it to him gingerly, avoiding touching him. Cautiously, Buffy lifted the corner of the t-shirt. The bleeding had slowed considerably, now it was merely trickling from the three cuts. Each was five inches long and at least two inches deep.
"We're going to need to bandage you up," Buffy said, not looking at him.
Spike didn't answer, simply finished the bag and took the last one. The shirt in Buffy's hand was entirely soaked through with blood. She tossed it into the corner of the room. Her eyes ran over the filthy floor until they found a heap of discarded clothing. She crossed to the pile, seizing the first shirt she saw. Holding it up, Buffy ripped it cleanly in half.
"Can you stand?" she asked Spike.
Sluggishly, Spike pushed himself up with his hands until he was propped against the back wall. He looked at her expectantly. "That was my good shirt." His voice was rough as sand paper.
Buffy scowled at him. "And now it's a bandage. Willow," she looked over at her, "I need you to brace his shoulders so that I can wrap the bandage around him. Just keep your neck clear of his teeth."
Spike frowned. "You know I wouldn't."
"No. I don't know that."
Willow reached her arms out in front of her, placing her hands against his shoulders, so that Spike could lean into them. She leaned to the far left, keeping herself a safe distance from him. Buffy stepped beside Spike, taking the half shirt and wrapping it around his chest.
One shirt wasn't enough, two shirts were need to be an effective bandage."Done."
Willow's hands fell from Spike shoulders and she stepped clear of him.
"Let's go," Buffy said. Willow looked from her to Spike. "You," Buffy clarified, "are coming with us, Spike. This basement is making you crazy. You can't stay here."
He pressed his hand to his chest and she saw that his normally chipped black nails were clear of any polish. "I don't have anywhere else to go."
Her lips creased. "Anywhere is better than here. We'll clear out a crypt for you."
"Or you could stay with Xander!" Willow nominated. "He could, you know, keep an eye on Spike until we know that he's not . . ."
"Crazy?" Spike asked, non-pulsed.
"Well, yeah."
Buffy frowned. "Do you think Xander would be okay with that? He didn't like having Spike there before."
"But he did it. He'll do it again, if you need him to."