Written for the Elysian Fields 'Artistic April Challenge' Month. Banner #49 by OffYourBird.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter One
Spike slammed his front door shut as he drunkenly stumbled over to the lower level of his crypt. Getting down the stairs was more of a challenge as he tried to balance his foot on the step of the ladder, only to miss it entirely and fall to the floor in a heap. He laid there for a few minutes before he gathered the strength to walk over to his bed; a loud groan escaped him as he plopped down onto the mattress.
His head hurt like a bitch, but it was his fault that he was in pain. Ever since his failed plan with Adam, he'd been getting hammered at Willy's, cozied up to a bottle of some truly fine bourbon. Spike had hoped that he could separate the Slayer from her mates, causing them to bicker, which would end with the Slayer having to fight Adam alone. She was a crafty bint, the best he'd ever faced, but without her friends and family, he would've killed her the first night they'd fought. They were what kept her alive. Of course, just like his other plans in the past, he had failed. As much as he hated to admit it, the lot of them were inseparable.
Spike wasn't one to pity himself; that was more of Angel's bit. He hadn't since Dru left him, but now he couldn't help it. He was stuck in Sunnydale as the Slayer's lapdog with a bloody chip in his head, living off animal blood for months now. The Slayer wouldn't even let him nick bagged human blood from the hospital. When she'd caught him stealing, he got a punch to his nose, and a lecture on why stealing was wrong. Like he gave a bloody damn. He'd done far worse in his unlife, and he knew that the Magnificent Poof hadn't drunk animal blood when he'd lived in Sunnydale.
Spike had always been an outcast. Even in his human life as William, but he'd never been entirely alone. As a human, his mother had loved him dearly. As a vampire, Dru had been his companion, for the most part, when she wasn't fucking Angelus or cheating on him with some other cheap sod. Now, he was utterly alone. He didn't have Dru. The demons in Sunnydale wanted him dead, and the Slayer and her chums hated him more so than they did before. He was so lonely he almost wanted Harmony back for the company. Almost.
All he needed was some sleep. Hopefully, when he woke up sober, the pity party he was having would be over. Kicking off his boots, he swung his legs over the bed and rested his eyes. It didn't take long before the darkness consumed him, and he was in a deep sleep.
Spike rarely dreamed, and when he did, they were blissful dreams. His personal favorites were when he'd kill the Slayer in different ways. Sometimes he'd break her neck; other times, he'd drain her so dry there wouldn't be a lick of blood left.
What he didn't like were dreams that made absolutely no fucking sense. Looking at the three doors in front of him, he wasn't quite sure what was happening. He felt lucid enough to know that something was wrong but couldn't stop himself from taking a few steps forward. He grabbed the handle of the middle door and opened it. A bright white light shined out, consuming him whole before sucking him into it.
One minute, he was being pulled into a bright light; the next, he was sitting in a room full of people. No, not just any room, one that he was familiar with from a past life.
"William, I'm glad you made it!"
Spike looked at the woman who was speaking to him. He didn't immediately recognize her, but after a few minutes of awkward staring, he realized who she was. Eleanor was a rich, successful woman who inherited all her money from her father. Spike was shocked to see her alive. The last time he saw her, he was ramming a railroad spike through her head. The bloody bitch had made fun of his poetry, along with that sod Charles. He had gotten his revenge from that night, and Angelus was with him while he did. Teaching him new ways of torture, how to penetrate deep enough to make it beyond painful, but not to kill… So, her being alive in front of him didn't make a lick of sense.
He caught a mirror to his left and was shocked at the reflection staring back at him. His bleached blond hair was gone, and in place was long and unruly hair. He was dressed like a proper gentleman, with reading spectacles on the bridge of his nose. He looked like a fucking nancy-boy.
A waiter approached them and held out a tray. "Care for an hors d'oeuvre?"
Eleanor respectfully declined.
"No, thank you, sir," Spike replied, his accent more proper than his usual cockney. Why the bloody hell did he just say that?
The waiter walked away, and Eleanor turned back to him. "We've been waiting for you," she said, gesturing to the suddenly appeared audience behind her. "We want to hear your poetry."
Spike mustered all the strength he could to stop himself from standing up and walking over to the front of the room, but it was useless. Whatever was happening to him was out of his control. He recognized more people in the crowd as he stood in front of everyone. Charles was in the corner smirking at him. Cecily was in the middle of the room, a look of pity on her face. He hadn't seen her since that dreaded night, and quite honestly, he'd forgotten what she even looked like, never giving much thought to Cecily or what had become of her after he'd left England. Strangely enough, Spike hadn't gone after her like the others when first becoming a vampire. He used to tell himself that there was no reason to when he had Dru; there was no need for senseless revenge on an old love. Now, he wished he'd killed the bitch.
Standing in front of everyone, Spike realized that he would relive the worst moment of his sodding existence, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
"Don't withhold, William," Charles said. "Rescue us from a dreary night."
Spike cleared his throat before looking down at the piece of paper that had suddenly appeared in his hands. "My heart expands/'tis grown a bulge in it/inspired by your beauty, effulgent." Looking up, he stared into the eyes of Cecily, who quickly glanced away. Things never changed, even in his dreams. To his surprise, he heard a clap in the corner. He glanced over to see Charles clapping, and soon after, everyone followed suit.
"Beautiful," Charles exclaimed. "That was just beautiful, William."
"Really?" Spike asked, surprised.
"Yes, of course," Charles replied, walking up to him and turning to the crowd. "Everyone agrees, yes?"
The crowd began cheering. Even a smile began to grace Cecily's face. Spike would never openly admit that his peers' approval when he was a human was something he'd longed for. Especially after a hundred-plus years as a vampire, but he couldn't help the growing sense of accomplishment that began to form inside him.
"That is one of your better compositions," Charles said, turning to Spike and snatching the paper from his hands. "From now on, you'll be known as William the Bloody because of your bloody awful poetry!"
Charles walked over to the fireplace and threw the paper in, watching as it slowly burnt away. The crowd laughed as he did. Spike looked over to see Cecily snickering along with them.
Unlike before, when William had only felt sad and pitied himself like a ponce, Spike felt something much different. Anger built inside, and before he knew it, he had control of his body again and could feel the bones in his face shifting. People began screaming and running away. With a roar, he attacked everyone. It was a bloodbath when he was finished with only three people left in the room: Charles, Eleanor, and Cecily.
Charles was first, and he made sure to make it slow and painful as he jammed a wooden piece of a chair leg through his skull. Eleanor was next, and then came Cecily, but he wanted to kill her differently, something more personal. She screamed and struggled against him as his fangs tore her neck open. He drank his fill before letting her cold and lifeless body fall to the floor. Countless dead bodies were littered everywhere. Spike hadn't massacred in years, and it felt damn good. No chip to hold him back. No bloody Slayer to stop him.
"You've killed all the dollies and left me with none to play with."
Spike looked up and saw Dru across the room, gesturing with a finger for him to follow her as she walked into a closet door. Without hesitation, Spike followed his dark princess, stepping over the mutilated bodies as he did. When he opened the door, he was consumed by another bright light.
Spike looked around at the beach before him. The sun was shining brightly overhead, kids were making sandcastles, and people were swimming in the ocean. Looking at the skin on his hand, he noticed that the sun wasn't burning his flesh. He spotted Dru up ahead, walking towards the water, and ran to her.
"Not dressed for the beach, luv," he said as he came up beside her.
"I thought you liked the sunshine?" Dru asked, slowly walking into the ocean, her white dress becoming more soaked with each step she took.
"The sun is nice, yeah," Spike admitted. "But we could've done without the water bit, don't fancy sand in my clothes."
Dru ignored him and turned to look at the children. "And there's plenty to eat."
Spike grimaced; he didn't like feeding off children. It was more Angelus' style. While Spike might be a vampire, he still had lines he hated to cross. And killing children was one of them. He'd killed plenty as a vampire, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. Unless they were already dead, like the Annoying One, besides, he'd instead feed off an adult. There was more blood to consume.
"Bloody hell!" Spike yelled as he looked down at his hand; it was beginning to burn and blister.
"Don't fret, my dear," Dru said. "The sunshine will swallow you whole."
"Not really something I want," he replied. They were now more profound in the ocean, the water coming to their necks.
Dru turned towards him and stroked his cheek. "You will, soon." And before he could respond, she quickly dropped her head under the water. Spike looked around confused as he tried to find her, but she had vanished.
"Dru, luv, where are–" He didn't finish his sentence as something grabbed his leg, and he was pulled underneath the water.
Spike wasn't sure where his dream would take him next but wished it hadn't been this. Watching Angelus fuck Dru on a table while he sat in the corner in a wheelchair wasn't something he wanted to relive. It only fueled his anger how much he hated the bastard.
"It sucks, doesn't it?"
Spike turned his head to the familiar voice beside him. The Slayer was perched in a seat; a frown marred her face as her tear-filled eyes stared at the scene before them. Spike was surprised to see her riled up about it. She'd known that Angel was with Dru when he was soulless, and she was with Captain Cardboard now; why she still cared was beyond him.
"I always knew that they…," she continued. "But it's much more real seeing it."
Spike scoffed. "Least' you didn't have to watch it every night, yeah?"
Buffy glanced at him. "How'd you manage?"
"Well, I didn't have use of my legs thanks to you," he replied and glared at her. "Made it a bit hard to put a stake through the Big Ape's heart."
"You almost killed him," she argued. "I had no choice but to swing that censer at you."
"We'd both be better off if I did," he replied bitterly.
It was true. If Angel had died that night, he and Dru wouldn't have broken up, and it may have saved the Slayer from more heartbreak. Not like he gave a bloody damn about her feelings, but he liked proving her wrong.
Buffy shook her head. "Maybe for you, but as many bad memories there are of him as Angelus, I would never give that up if it meant giving up the good ones too."
"And how many good memories were there?" he asked mockingly. "If there's more bad than good, I'd wager it wasn't much of a relationship."
To his surprise, the Slayer didn't respond. No witty comeback. No arguing. Nothing.
"Least' with Dru and me," he continued. "There were good moments. Our love was eternal until Angelus came and fucked everything up."
"It couldn't have been all Angel's fault if she left you for a Chaos demon," she argued.
Suddenly Dru's words from their trip to South America came back to haunt him: I can still see her floating all around you, laughing. Why? Why won't you push her away? Spike growled. Even in his damn dreams, he couldn't escape the bloody bitch!
"Why are you even here?" He asked angrily. "This is my dream; I should be drinking your blood from a chalice, not sittin' and chattin' with you."
Buffy frowned. "It's my dream, not yours."
Spike looked at her. "What are you on about? You're in my dream and rudely interrupted."
"Look, Ican't stand you in real life," she said. "I don't want to deal with you when I'm sleeping too."
"Same goes for me," he replied but then began thinking. The Slayer seemed too coherent and annoying to be a dream version like the others. They weren't sharing the same dream, were they?
"Slayer?"
"Yeah?"
"You don't suppose this is both of our dreams?"
Buffy turned away from Angelus and Drusilla fucking to stare at him. "I'd say no, but we live on the Hellmouth, and I've seen weirder things happen."
Huh, why would he and the Slayer of all people share the same dream? They hated each other! It didn't make a lick of sense.
"This girl has been following me," she said. "Every time I'm thrust into a new dream, I see her lurking around."
"You reckon she's the reason this is happening?"
Buffy shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe? I also keep seeing this guy holding a tray of cheese, so it's hard to tell."
Spike rolled his eyes. Her response proved his point earlier. The Slayer obviously couldn't manage without her chums. Luckily, Angelus and Dru finally finished, and he could feel something beginning to pull on him.
"Well, Slayer, it looks like we're going our separate ways."
And to his surprise, she looked panicked, but before she could say anything, a bright light absorbed him, and he was gone.
When Spike opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that he was in the upper level of his crypt, lounging in his chair in front of the telly. It was daylight outside, but he had a feeling that he was still in a dream.
There was a loud banging at his door, and suddenly the Slayer barged in.
Spike sighed. "Should've known it's you. Why don't you strut off to your dream and leave mine the bloody hell alone?"
"Maybe I would if I didn't always have to come clean up your mess."
"My mess?" He asked incredulously. She was off her bird if she thought he had anything to do with this. "The mess is yours. Everything that goes wrong in my life is because of you."
"You know what?" Buffy reached behind her and pulled a stake out of her pocket. "I'm sick of your scheming and complaining. You're a killer. And I should've killed you after the stunt you pulled with Adam. Actually, I should've done this years ago."
Spike looked her in the eye. Anger radiated off him in waves. The Slayer had pushed him to his last nerve. "You know what? Do it. Bloody, just do it."
Buffy frowned. "What?"
"End my torment. Seeing you every day, everywhere I go, every time I turn around. Take me out of a world that has you in it!" He growled and yanked off his shirt, throwing it to the side. If the bitch wanted to kill him, then let her do it! He was sick of her spouting threats and never acting on them. It was only a dream. Maybe if she killed him, he'd finally wake up from this nightmare! "Just kill me!"
Buffy stared at him. She wasn't going to back down from a challenge, and that's what he was doing, challenging her. As much as Spike despised her, he couldn't help but feel a slight admiration for her as well. She was the most challenging Slayer he'd ever faced, maybe the toughest ever to live. He could hate her guts but also respect her simultaneously.
Buffy stared at him for a few long moments. Neither one of them moved but didn't back down either. Then, Buffy raised her stake and went to lunge. Spike braced his chest, ready for the blow, but she stopped just as the stake came close within contact of his skin. They stared at each other, each surprised at the last-minute decision made by her. She didn't kill him. No, she couldn't kill him, and Spike wasn't sure why.
He looked down at her lips, and without thinking, grabbed her upper arms and slammed his lips against hers. At first, she didn't respond, and just as Spike thought she was going to pull away, her lips began to move. It was a challenging and demanding kiss, both seeking dominance over the other. Buffy suddenly pulled away with a noise of dismay, bringing her hand to her mouth. Spike could only stare at her as he panted. He noticed she dropped the stake and, judging from her eyes; she had no intention of using it.
Buffy walked towards him, putting her hands on the back of his head, and pulled him to her. They kissed again, this time more passionately. Spike brought his hands up to clutch her back and then began to kiss her cheek down to the side of her neck. He could hear her moans and pants, and it only fueled him more. When he pulled back up, the face looking back at him wasn't what he expected.
Buffy smirked. "Too bad it wasn't the real Buffy kissing you."
Spike released her and took two steps back, realizing that he had made this Buffy up in his head, unlike the previous one. Bloody hell, did he just dream about kissing the Slayer? Suddenly, Spike wanted nothing more than to wake up from this nightmare. He felt something pulling onto his body, and for once, he welcomed it; soon after, a bright white light consumed him, and he was sucked into a new dream.