It was a gorgeous night. The moon was full, the sky was black and all manner of uglies were creeping out to reek havoc on the town of Sunnydale. Spike was as close to heaven as any vampire would ever be able to get. Frustrated with all his pent up energy, the streets having been infuriatingly quiet the last week, Spike was relishing every sound and sensation that accompanied tearing off a demon's head and sending any vampire who crossed him into a cloud of billowing ash.
"This is bloody great!" he shouted to the sky as he retracted his hand and stake from another killing blow. Shrugging the black leather duster back up onto his shoulder, he replaced the weapon down the back of his jeans and continued his walk. His feet, as if bearing their own consciousness, led him to the house of the Slayer; the bane of his existence. The woman he would hand his own head to if she bid it.
"Aw, bloody hell," Spike muttered, looking up at the house as realization of his unwitting location hit him. Standing in the street, he looked up and down the street, seeking inspiration and finding none. He cursed himself for his damn-near pathetic-ness at his situation. He loved her, he was man enough to admit that, but the fact that he was standing in the middle of the night staring forlornly at her house was just, well, pathetic.
Rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger, he froze when he sensed movement behind him. Bringing his arm down slowly, he twisted his body round with stake in hand to confront another creature of the night, this one appearing from between the houses, hulking its bulk towards him. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea Spike thought idly, his body already propelling him forward.
The creature was big to say the least; he guessed about ten-foot, maybe an inch or two taller, and wide. Long arms a muddy green in colour swept at his agile form as he pounced onto its shoulders, raising the slither of wood up above his head preparing to strike, his legs wrapped around the broad neck.
A sudden blast in his back that left the air burning forced him from his perch, hitting the ground hard but rolling up onto his feet in an instant. Spike only got angrier as he realised that whatever it was had burned a smoking hole right through his duster. Snarling, he settled for kicking the demon hard and whirling past it, intent on pounding whatever was shooting energy pulses into a fine powder.
His eyebrows rose in surprise when he found it. About his height, the creature appeared human if it weren't for the solid white eyes it possessed. Dressed in a quality brown suit, he wore a wide-brimmed fedora hat of matching color, which he touched lightly in greeting to the blond vampire. Spike couldn't see where it was shooting the energy blasts from though, however thoroughly he visual analyzed the figure.
He should have remembered the hulking beast behind him; he hadn't kicked it hard enough for it to stay down for long. Cursing at his stupidity, Spike shouted in protest as he was lifted and realised that he was going to be used as a weapon to attack the unmoving man beneath him.
Eyes widening at his body was brought down rapidly, the demon gripping his with both hands about his ankles, Spike braced himself for the impending impact. However none came. Instead, he found himself being suspended slightly above the head of the man by an outstretched hand from the same, an invisible force holding both himself and the demon in place.
With a thin smile, the suited figured touched the sharp cheekbone of the vampire softly, before running light figures down his face, neck and chest, stopping at the tender flesh of his stomach. The man's expression still placid, Spike's was not as those slender fingers suddenly pierced him, digging through flesh as Glory had done so many moths ago, the pain just as intense.
His desperate writhing was restrained when the other, surprisingly strong hand gripped at his throat to hold him still. Then, the man leant forward and placed his mouth at the wound, taking a few drops of the vampire's dark blood into his throat. Apparently satisfied, he released both his hold and his intrusion on Spike's body before walking away calmly, a hand waving calmly in the air as if a passing thought, the force holding the pair still evaporating and Spike's skull connecting with the road with a sickening thud.
Blissful dark invaded his vision before his natural healing abilities kicked in, clearing his brain of the fog that had descended, allowing him to curl and wrench his legs out of the demon's hands. Landing unsteadily, Spike staggered backwards with a hand to his stomach, stemming the blood flowing from the deep wound. The demon lunged at him once more, tackling his down to the pavement, the edge of the path impacting the back of his spine painfully. Swearing loudly, he grasped at the stake only to find that he lost it as quickly as he grabbed it, the demon tearing it out of his grasp before bringing a heavy fist down on his right thigh, an audible snap penetrating the air.
Spike blanched, his body jerking at the pain before he roared in anger and agony, taking the demon's brief distraction of tearing at his flesh and clothing to sink his fangs into its throat. As a rule he never drank from demons; that was pushing it, even for him. Firstly, it was disgusting. Secondly, demons didn't usually have blood, so there was no point, and thirdly, he had never before been pushed to such an act of desperation to just hurt a demon.
It worked though, and the beast released his tattered flesh long enough for Spike to punch it once more in its bony face before twisting its head sharply. The neck made a satisfying snapping sound as he did so, the cloud of light and ash drifting down onto his body after the small explosion that caused it to disintegrate.
Ragged breathing was all that could be heard for a few seconds as he tried to control the pain his burnt and severed nerves told him he was in. A female voice shouted his name and light footsteps could be heard advancing rapidly on his position. Dawn appeared above his face, hands hovering uncertainly over his form, daring not to touch any part of him lest she harm him further.
"Help me up, Nibblet," he grunted, face contorting as his game face receded. She nodded slightly before gripping his outstretched forearm firmly, heaving him up and instantly placing herself under his arm, hefting the weight off of his bloody leg and onto her. Spike groaned at the wave of fire through his body that the movement caused before they set off at a slow place, all but dragging him back into her house.
It seemed an eternity before they were both inside, Spike collapsing boneless on the couch as Dawn disappeared in search of the overly stocked first-aid kit. She reappeared minutes later, kneeling on the carpet and shifting his injured leg so that it was propped up on the low coffee table, a barely surpressed shout from Spike making her wince.
Cutting at the torn and stained denim from his ankle up, she searched her mind desperately for some topic of conversation that would enable the vampire to stay alert until she could get help, and more importantly to keep his mind of the pain he was undoubtedly in.
"Spike?"
"What?" he answered quickly, tearing at his own shirt to reach the wound in his stomach. The blood-flow had ceased he noted, and the marble skin was already beginning to come together again, leaving what promised to be an impressive scar.
"Why? What? Um... Can you fly?" Dawn blurted finally, face crinkling when she came to the wound, her hands moving about it cautiously as she continued to cut away the fabric. Once she had reached the up-most of his thigh, she tore open a packet of gauze and began gingerly dabbing at the wound, wanting to clear away as much of the blood before applying a pressure bandage.
Spike's lips quirked as he realised what she was doing, thankful for the distraction she was trying to provide him from the pain. "Yeah Pet. All the Master Vamps can."
Never taking her attention off the wound infront of her, Dawn continued her line of questioning. "Why don't you then? You could've really kicked my sisters' butt if you did before."
Wincing as she pressed once too hard as his flesh, Spike wriggled out of his ruined duster and tore the remains of his shirt from him. He definitely needed to get some air on the burn on his back, to cool it and help his body heal quicker.
"I don't like doing it. Takes a fair bit of concentration and, urgh! I never was too fond of heights."
"Why?" There was no child-like curiosity behind the question, although at any other time there would have been. There was only a grim determination to keep him awake until she could get to a phone and get someone over here.
Spike could feel his body beginning to numb, a tell-tale sign that he was going to fall into a healing sleep, his mind trapped in an unresponsive body until it had healed itself fully. He didn't like to do it often, preferring to still be able to move and defend himself if need be. But whatever that suited man had done to him had caused his body to decide for him that it was going to go into its comatose state.
Dawn prompted him when no answer came, looking up into the dark, half-lidded eyes with concern. His skin was slowly turning a muddy shade of grey-blue, eyes blinking sluggishly.
"Didn't like the thought o' fallin'. Loosing control. Can fly fine, just don' like doing heights."
A low sigh as all air in his body was exhaled before Spike slumped forward, muscles lax and still. Reassuring herself that he was already dead, Dawn finished bandaging his leg before pulling up the phone. It was one of the few times that she wished that she hadn't been left alone in the house.
Tara and Willow were out at the Bronze, a part of their make-up plan and Buffy was at the magic shop picking up a book the Dawn had left there today, one that was urgently needed for tomorrow if she wanted to complete her project and pass her class.
Settling for calling Xander despite his distaste for Spike, she rapidly described what had happened and explained that she needed someone right now to help heft the unmoving body onto a bed. A phone-call to Giles to find out what exactly was happening to Spike was also mentioned as something that wouldn't be a bad idea.
*****
The world was a haze. Blackness nibbled at the edges of his vision and everything else was a blurry smear of colour, as if the artist who had painted it had become frustrated with it's imperfections and ran a cloth across the wet paint. A few long blinks helped sharpen the edges, bring some order to the shapes until it coalesced finally into something recognizable.
Weak and slightly disorientated, Spike shoved himself up against the soft mattress he had been led on, swinging bare feet over the edge and resting his weight into the plush carpet. Standing proved to be a little trickier, but a rolling grumble in the pit of his stomach gave him the strength to rise, his nose catching a scent in the cool air. Blood.
A wry smile as he reached for the warmed blood on the bed-side table, picking up the blood and downing it quickly, feeling his fangs tingle at the sensation of the warm fluid flowing through his mouth, down his throat and into his empty stomach. His stomach, apparently, wasn't as thrilled with the sensation as his mouth was, despite his hunger.
A sensation that he hadn't felt for over a century but still remembered vividly swelled through his being, and a cool hand clamped over his mouth tightly as he pelted out of the bedroom and down the landing. Almost bowling a surprised Buffy over in the process, he dived into the bathroom and proceeded to empty what felt like a weeks' supply of blood from his body. Staggering back seemingly in shock, trembling legs gave way beneath him and Spike landed hard on his rear against the tiled wall.
"Spike?"
Looking up in reaction to the concerned voice, he saw Buffy lowering herself to a crouch beside him. "Hmm, that was kinda unexpected; Giles said that you'd be starved after your nap."
Still in some semblance of shock, Spike nodded slightly before staring at the sink, blood spattered against its edge. He felt terrible; cold to the bone and numb, like everything around him wasn't real. He hated being sick, always had. Of course he'd been excused from the retched sensation of being ill for a long time, which probably was the reason he felt worse this time around.
When he had regained his voice enough to speak, Spike shook his head again and frowned in confusion. "I dunno what happened there, pet. Bet it's got something to do with what the git did to me last night, or the night before. What night is it?"
"Two days after you got your corpse dumped on my bed, that's what night it is. And you nearly scared Dawn to death with that trance thing of yours."
"Yeah, well. Not my fault, is it? Probably had some bad blood the other night; HIV or summut maybe."
Bracing himself against the wall, Spike slid up until he was standing opposite the Slayer before stepping past her and out of the bathroom. He felt fine now, his stomach no longer rebelling against him. But Buffy did have a point; this was unsettling. Eyes narrowing in thought, he gingerly placed a hand over his stomach where he had been previously impaled. The wound was entirely healed now, but his instincts told him that that had something to do with his uncharacteristic illness. Best to keep that to himself though; his instincts had been wrong before. Rarely. Still, better not to share his thoughts to the scoobies before he dug own to the bottom of this mess.
Review me! I love the encouragement! I'll be posting as I write now, which will be about once a week, or at the very least one a fortnight.