Title: Transmutations of a Soul (Part 1)
Author's Note: This story takes place directly after Riley leaves and the Angel episode of
"Reunion"—which is only relevant to the first part of the story. Thanks to Cyn,
Tomorrow, SCG, and Ross8472 for getting me into the world of fan-fiction. This is my
first fan-fic, so be nice . . . and review.
Disclaimer: Simply put, they ain't mine, not the characters, not the shows, yada, yada,
yada—alas, they never have been and never will be. They're that one guy's named Joss
Whedon.
"Get out," Angel said firmly, looking the dream-walker, vision, mirage, or
whatever she was in the eyes with a slightly cocky lit to his voice and a ticked-off smirk
on his lips. His eyes, those windows to the soul, held belligerence, annoyance, and deep
down, a touch of angered betrayal. All this, the stranger read in a glance.
"You have not yet heard my message," the stranger responded in a deep, accented
voice. Even in all his travels, Angel could not give her melodic tones a land of origin.
Her voice naturally calmed and Angel felt his curiosity stir for a moment; then he shook
it off.
"I don't care about you or your message," Angel said, condescension alive in his
tones. "And I don't care for your invasion into my mind," he said, not caring about the
anger he so readily expressed.
The woman dipped her head to the side, peering at him, as if that would help her
see him better. She straightened, nodding once as her glowing silvery-white hair spilled
over her shoulder. Dark golden skin and violet-gold eyes probably bespoke demonic
heritage. Angel quickly scanned his list of demons that could either dream-walk, project
empathetically or telepathically—she didn't match any ones his mind conjured up. Angel
could tell she was a fighter. The loose gray shirt, open vest and breeches, not pants, of
charcoal gray, the sword hanging at her hip, the short boots with daggers tucked in—all
showed her to be a fighter. Her regalia allowed freedom of movement without
constriction, and even now she moved on the balls of her feet.
"I know your anger and your violation," she said, her voice caring yet somehow
unsympathetic. I wonder how she manages that, Angel asked rhetorically. She
continued to speak in her melodic voice, "This is how it must be done, I can meet you no
other way. Angel, you require my help."
"Who are you?" Angel asked flatly, with nearly no real curiosity. He peered
around the dreamland, which he could see no farther than ten feet in any direction.
Colored mist swirled in droves around them and tiny breezes accompanied them. He
would have enjoyed the sensation if it hadn't been for the company.
"I am a servant," she replied, basically telling him nothing save she wasn't in
charge.
"Servant of who?" Angel asked. "Demon?"
"No," she replied, "Neither am I one."
This fact intrigued Angel. She didn't look or feel human, yet she wasn't a demon.
She didn't seem alien enough to be from another dimension . . . . "Did The Powers That
Be send you?"
"No," she said. "They hold a certain dominion over this world, but I serve the
One whom they serve."
This was news to Angel, so The Powers That Be weren't exactly in charge of
everything. "So what do you do, as a servant, I mean." For the first time, Angel's tone
was something other than insulting.
"I give wisdom," she said with a smile. "And light, I am a guide, a guard of a
special group. We recruit warriors for the Light from the Darkness."
"Then why are you here?" Angel asked, feeling his anger return.
"Because you are in danger, Angel," she replied. "You have tread a narrow line,
but are in danger of veering off into the darkness. I can be your guide."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Angel said. Then he gave a derisive
bark of laughter. "You're talking about the lawyers, aren't you?"
"'And yet I just can't seem to care'," she quoted, suddenly spearing him with a
gaze that made him flinch. "Ever heard of 'judge not', Angel? You weren't sent here to
let the people you didn't like die. What if Miss Summers or Mr. Giles decided to let you
die because of all the people you killed? What if they killed you for it? Would they be
justified in that? In revenge?"
His anger mounted as her words struck a cord in them. "Yes," he said darkly.
"They would have been justified."
The woman stared at him, disappointed. Finally she straightened, a note of anger
touching her voice. "Then you have learned nothing, Angel, nothing of the chance you
have been given. Vengeance is not yours!"
Angel strode toward her, glaring at her, less than a foot away. She was four
inches shorter than him, but she didn't seem to care. "Why not?" he asked, gesturing
above. "You and those you serve aren't doing anything about it? When was the last time
you did a damn thing?"
Fire seemed to spew from her eyes. "You don't know the plan, Angel, why things
happen. Darkness turns to light and light to darkness. You don't know what will happen.
The last person I guided was Doyle."
Angle felt stunned as he stared at her. "Doyle?" he asked, "So after you got him
working for The Powers you just left? Well, swell job you did."
Her fist lashed out and cracked hard against his cheekbone, knocking Angel back
and to the 'ground' before he realized he had been hit. Dazed, he jumped to his feet,
nearly losing his balance—that punch had been as hard as anything Buffy had ever dealt
him when he was Angelus.
"They all die," she said, her voice shaking with anger and controlled grief.
"Every single one of them. For a hundred years I have turned countless to the light, and
they have all died."
For a split second, Angel was sorry. He realized the pain she probably had to deal
with, as much probably as his own. But after all the meddling the PTB had done in his
life, he wasn't ready for a spiritual warrior of light calling on his door, especially after
what had happened.
"Leave me alone," Angel said, but this time more gently.
"Be gone," she said flatly. Angel felt an invisible hand slam into his torso,
striking him down through the mist world and back to his slumber.
¤¤¤
Spike cowered under the tree below Buffy's bedroom. With a disgusted sigh he
looked at his carton of cigarettes. "Bloody hell," he muttered. Only three left. That
meant he only had time to smoke three before he went down to his miserable hole before
dawn. Spike stared at the window, he couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything, but
he could just smell her. Pathetic, the voice whispered in his mind. Buffy jogged out the
front door, heading off to patrol, not seeing or feeling Spike in the cover of the large tree.
Spike slowly puffed away on the remaining cigarettes, threw them on the ground, then
started off toward 'home'.
Spike had barely got two feet before he noticed someone was following him. He
picked up the pace, moving off into one of Sunnydale's many cemeteries. The amount of
demons . . . no, vampires, following him had risen to four. Bloody hell! He thought
again. Then again, they were probably day old, just-born-yesterday vamps too stupid to
know that crosses burned, trying to get a reputation by finishing off Spike. Fat chance—
he might have this bloody chip in his head, but he was still a fighter.
Spike stiffened suddenly as he ducked between the trees. He saw Buffy in the
clearing ahead, and he hesitated, watching the Slayer as she fought. Beautiful, he
thought, letting a smile come unbidden across his face. She truly moved beautifully,
better and more cunning than the two Slayers he had fought and killed. She moved with
passion and emotion, the other Slayers had been trained by their Watchers to ignore or
repress their emotions, not channel them. Fools.
Spike lingered for a moment, then changed directions, surreptitiously moving off,
away from the Slayer. No sense dragging her in with all this. Spike stopped in a small
clearing, a large crypt behind him, and several gravestones scattered around. He
carefully noted where they were as the vamps slipped out of the woods and into the
clearing. Spike rolled his shoulders, loosening up a bit. He'd have a jolly fight before
bed, and maybe get staked and put out of his misery.
The thought nearly froze him as the first vampire attacked. Spike ducked out of
the way, then dealt an uppercut to the ribs and another to the taller vamp's jaw. He
kicked the vampire away with a sidekick and moved on to the next, whipping out his
stake. As Spike fought mechanically, he pondered on the thought. Did he want to die?
"Hell, yes," Spike said aloud as he slammed the stake through the heart of one of
the vampires. A roundhouse, spin-hook kick combination threw another vamp to the
ground. Seeing Buffy whenever he could was the only thing that kept him sane in this
world. That, killing demons, and those little chicken wings.
One vamp kicked the stake out of his hand and the remaining two grabbed him
from behind. The idiot vampire approached him with the stake, grinning like a fool, and
running his tongue over his canine fangs. As soon as the vamp was close enough, Spike
jumped, kicking him back with both legs. The vamp flew backwards, and Spike was
dealt two numbing blows by his compatriots, knocking him to his knees. They picked up
Spike and dragged him up to a tree. Unfortunately, the idiots weren't interested in killing
him, only torturing him to death—the sadistic . . . . Bloody hell, he had done the same
friggin' thing to Angel.
Spike couldn't help but scream as they drove a stake through his stomach, twisted
it, then viscously ripped it back out. "Bloody hell!" Spike said as ribbons of agony
stretched across his abdomen. He knew that the pain wasn't what a mortal would
experience, blunted by the fact that he was dead, but it still nearly caused him to pass out.
Spike lifted his head as the two stupider vamps pinned his arms to the tree, Spike's eyes
came into focus as the other vampire approached, crowbar in hand. "Oh, no," he said
softly.
The vampire drove it through his heart, barely giving Spike the chance to again
howl in agony. It went straight through his torso, pinning Spike securely to the tree. The
vamps lopped rope around his wrists, the tied them together behind the tree—there was
no way he could get out.
After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, the vampires left, yelling loudly
and drunkenly. Spike wondered stupidly for a moment what they were doing. "Oh,
crikie," he spluttered. "Come back!" he shouted weakly as yet more pain drove through
him. They laughed even louder as dread settled on Spike. They wold leave him here, to
be tortured by the sun in the early morning light, until he burst into flame and burned
himself into cinders.
Dazed and only half conscious, Spike realized the vampires were coming back.
What the hell? He thought. Then he realized there were at least ten of them this time.
They were all laughing and drinking, pointing at Spike and talking about subjects that
were oddly familiar to Spike. It took him a moment to realize that all these vampires had
either been his or Harmony's minions at one point, and were now getting their revenge.
"What so funny?" came the loud challenge from the Slayer. Spike closed his
eyes. He knew these idiots—they were strong, smart fighters, not even the Slayer could
take on ten. He and Dru had trained most of them to actually fight the Slayer together,
not going one on one.
"Slayer," Spike said aloud weakly, before he realized what he was doing. She
looked over to him in surprise, then her eyes widened in horror. Willow stood slightly
behind her.
"Oh my God," Buffy said, disgust and horror even on her face. She looked
shocked, but then her face settled into her typical, sneering indifference of him. "You
except me to help you?"
"But we have to right?" Willow asked, she looked pitying. "I mean I know
Spike's evil and all, but that's just . . . ."
"Evil?" Buffy popped in.
"No," Spike said, just loud enough for her to hear. "Get out of here, Slayer. You
can't fight al of these." Spike had to close his eyes, focusing just to get the words out.
"Dru and I trained them . . . you can't take them." Spike opened his eyes. "Get out of
here," he yelled again. "What in the bloody hell are you waiting for, directions?" Why
wouldn't she leave?
He saw Buffy shoot a surprise look at Willow. "Wow, he sounds worried," she
said, confused.
"Yep, definitely worry," Willow said, nodding. "I wonder why?" She turned to
look at Buffy. "I think we should go."
"On second thought," Buffy said, looking at the approaching vampires with wary
concern, "I think you're right."
A moment later, lighting struck down from the sky, parting to strike each of the
vampires, except Spike, the lightning didn't just flash, not just one burst of energy, but a
continuous stream of electricity. Spike turned his head to the side, not watching as the
vampires were burned horribly.
Finally, the horrible light stopped, and Spike could see charred bodies, half dust,
and half skeletons. For a split second he was terrified as he contemplated Buffy's death.
But then she and Willow came into his line of sight. They were discussing what type of
magic could have been used, and how powerful the sorcerer would have had to be.
"Excuse me, ladies," Spike said, letting a sardonic note creep into his voice.
"Could you please pull the long metal object out of my heart, please?"
"Sure," Buffy said, put a small hand on the crowbar, then yanked it out
mercilessly. Spike screamed, then lost consciousness.
Giles took off his glasses again and looked at Buffy. "So you believe someone
was directing that lightning, deliberately at the vampires."
"Well, yeah," Willow said. "How else then could it only hit them and not us?"
"Well, yes, that does stand to reason, but why did it leave Spike here alone?"
Giles asked. "I suppose we'll have to ask him when he regains consciousness."
Buffy stepped out of the small kitchen and over to the couch where Spike was
resting. They had removed his shirt to bandage his wounds the best they could, and
Buffy could see the impressive yet wiry physique and strong shoulder muscles that had
allowed him to kill two slayers in his one hundred plus years of existence. Buffy's eyes
drifted to Spike's face. While he slept, his features were open, guileless; his smooth skin
and handsome figures could have been called 'innocent'. For a brief moment, Buffy
recalled what Spike had told her about Drusilla and who he had been before he was made
into a vampire.
Spike had said he was a bad boy, but had written poetry to a love who had not
returned his affections. Somehow that didn't quite track. As viscous as Spike had been,
she assumed he had always been that way, evil even when he had been human. She
didn't really know, but Buffy assumed Drusilla wouldn't have picked just any run of the
mill guy to become a vampire. Buffy knew Darla had picked Angel for a reason, and
Angel Drusilla, so it stood to reason Drusilla had continued the cycle.
Instead of the normal disgust mixed with a paltry hatred or loathing Buffy felt for
Spike, she actually pitied him, or at least the man who had been William . . . whoever.
She wondered what the man had been like. She could see the amazing difference
between Angelus and Angel, so who did Spike used to be?
Spike looked around suspiciously. He knew that he was asleep or unconscious,
which was odd, normally he could not separate the dream world from reality.
"That's because this isn't the dream world, Spike," a woman said from directly
behind him.
Spike turned quickly and paused, laying eyes one of the most beautiful creatures
he had ever seen. She didn't look quite human, but she was no demon, that he knew.
Spike could feel the aura of power around her.
"You sent the lightning," Spike said, for once his voice serious and not mocking.
Her eyebrows raised and Spike could see into her beautiful, violet-gold eyes.
"Yes, I did."
"Why did you save me? Or was it to save the Slayer and her friend?"
"Would I be talking to you if I meant to save the Slayer, Spike?" she asked gently.
Spike looked down. "Suppose not. Why are you talking to me?" he asked, fixing
his blue eyes on her otherworldly ones.
"Because I want to make you a deal," she said. "I want to recruit you."
"For what?" Spike asked suspiciously. This woman was good, pure and simple.
Fighting probably for whatever side Buffy was on. "I'm a demon, remember?" he said
leering at her. "Bad," he paused, "evil." And laughed at her.
She shook her head, smiling at him in a way Spike didn't like. "You aren't evil
Spike," she said, almost tauntingly. "You can't be. That chip in your head doesn't allow
you to be. You can't hurt anyone. You're as harmless as a," she paused, "worm."
Spike blinked. "A worm?" he asked incredulously. "A bloody worm?"
"And you love the Slayer, or at least you think you do," she finished, her tone
almost singsong.
Spike felt all expression leave his face. Utterly serious he looked at her. "How
do you know that?"
"I know what I need to know, Spike, and I can help you get what you want."
"How are you going to help me get the Slayer?" Spike said. "You don't even
know her. What are you, a witch?"
"Hardly," she responded. "She'll never love you, Spike, not a vampire without a
soul. She'll always know you want to do evil, and deep down inside you're still evil, and
the only reason you're being 'good' is so you have a chance with her. Do you really
think Buffy Summers is that stupid?" She stopped completely and took a step back from
him. "You're beneath her, remember?"
"Shut up!" Spike yelled. Horrified, he felt tears on his face. "Shut up! What do
you want?" The last was more like a desperate plea than an actual question.
"I want you to make a conscious decision to fight for the Light, Spike," the
woman replied. "If you do this I can help you create your own soul."
"What?" Spike said, utterly confused. "Create my soul?"
"I can give you a conscience, Spike, and after that, the good that you do to make
up for your past wrongs will start creating a soul. Once your soul is complete you will
become human again. Then you can have Buffy, or at least have a chance to have her."
The woman became very serious. "It was given to me to know the hearts of the children
of men, Spike, she will never love you as a demon."
"And with a soul?" Spike asked, his voice barely above a torn whisper.
"You have a chance," she said. "Let me tell you this. If you accept, you will
want to die. With your conscience comes a gift of empathy—so you will know the pain
of others, and the pain of those you have killed. If you preservere, you will gain your
soul. Let me show you what it is like to know love."
The tall lady with silvery hair and glowing eyes stared at Spike for a moment. A
strong emotion filled him, wrapped around him. It was the essence of light and
righteousness. He felt stronger and more confidant than any other time he had
remembered. It vanished, leaving him feeling cold, alone, and even more miserable.
Spike looked at her, then shook his head; he was shaking slightly. "There's no
way I can do that—I was never strong enough," he said, thoughtfully, but with longing.
"I will be there when you need me, Spike," the woman said with a smile. "If you
choose this, you will become my responsibility."
"All right," Spike said, taking a deep breath, "I'll do it. Wait! Why are you even
offering me this?"
"Love, even untrue love is powerful. You demonstrated some sense of that today
when you warned the Slayer off."
The woman stepped forward, placing her warm hands at Spike's temples and
looking him deeply in the eyes. An electrical currant raced through him, electrifying and
burning deep into some part of him, he felt a small space in him fill that he hadn't known
had been empty.
"I will see you soon," the last words reverberated through Spike's mind as the
mist worlds faded.
Buffy continued to study Spike as she fingered the stake, abruptly, he awoke,
lurching up and staring with widened eyes at his surroundings even as he winced,
touched the bandage on his chest. Buffy rolled her eyes at him, "Sweet dreams?" she
asked, a touch of sarcasm entering her voice.
Spike stared at her, as if unseeing, then shook his head. That caused him to wince
again, and he put to hands to his temples. Buffy noticed he looked as if he had been
burned there. Spike was trembling ever so slightly, and Buffy couldn't help but
commiserate slightly.
"A vamp impaled me with my own stake once," Buffy said. "It was humiliating,
and it hurt like hell, so I guess I can give you that."
Spike looked up at her, 'Yeah," he said, sounding serious. Spike slowly stood up,
and Buffy could see the controlled pain in his features. He walked over to the table,
picked up his shirt, and slowly pulled it on. A moment later he shrugged on his duster.
Giles and Willow came into the living room, and Spike looked toward them.
"Thanks for patching me up and un-staking me," Spike said, looking vaguely in
the direction of Willow, Giles, and Buffy. He slipped out the door, quietly, leaving them
all in shock.
"Did I hear what I believe I just heard?" Giles asked, staring at the closed door.
"Spike thanking us?" Willow said. "Because I thought I heard it, too."
Buffy looked up. "I'm still waiting for the world to end."
Author's Note: This story takes place directly after Riley leaves and the Angel episode of
"Reunion"—which is only relevant to the first part of the story. Thanks to Cyn,
Tomorrow, SCG, and Ross8472 for getting me into the world of fan-fiction. This is my
first fan-fic, so be nice . . . and review.
Disclaimer: Simply put, they ain't mine, not the characters, not the shows, yada, yada,
yada—alas, they never have been and never will be. They're that one guy's named Joss
Whedon.
"Get out," Angel said firmly, looking the dream-walker, vision, mirage, or
whatever she was in the eyes with a slightly cocky lit to his voice and a ticked-off smirk
on his lips. His eyes, those windows to the soul, held belligerence, annoyance, and deep
down, a touch of angered betrayal. All this, the stranger read in a glance.
"You have not yet heard my message," the stranger responded in a deep, accented
voice. Even in all his travels, Angel could not give her melodic tones a land of origin.
Her voice naturally calmed and Angel felt his curiosity stir for a moment; then he shook
it off.
"I don't care about you or your message," Angel said, condescension alive in his
tones. "And I don't care for your invasion into my mind," he said, not caring about the
anger he so readily expressed.
The woman dipped her head to the side, peering at him, as if that would help her
see him better. She straightened, nodding once as her glowing silvery-white hair spilled
over her shoulder. Dark golden skin and violet-gold eyes probably bespoke demonic
heritage. Angel quickly scanned his list of demons that could either dream-walk, project
empathetically or telepathically—she didn't match any ones his mind conjured up. Angel
could tell she was a fighter. The loose gray shirt, open vest and breeches, not pants, of
charcoal gray, the sword hanging at her hip, the short boots with daggers tucked in—all
showed her to be a fighter. Her regalia allowed freedom of movement without
constriction, and even now she moved on the balls of her feet.
"I know your anger and your violation," she said, her voice caring yet somehow
unsympathetic. I wonder how she manages that, Angel asked rhetorically. She
continued to speak in her melodic voice, "This is how it must be done, I can meet you no
other way. Angel, you require my help."
"Who are you?" Angel asked flatly, with nearly no real curiosity. He peered
around the dreamland, which he could see no farther than ten feet in any direction.
Colored mist swirled in droves around them and tiny breezes accompanied them. He
would have enjoyed the sensation if it hadn't been for the company.
"I am a servant," she replied, basically telling him nothing save she wasn't in
charge.
"Servant of who?" Angel asked. "Demon?"
"No," she replied, "Neither am I one."
This fact intrigued Angel. She didn't look or feel human, yet she wasn't a demon.
She didn't seem alien enough to be from another dimension . . . . "Did The Powers That
Be send you?"
"No," she said. "They hold a certain dominion over this world, but I serve the
One whom they serve."
This was news to Angel, so The Powers That Be weren't exactly in charge of
everything. "So what do you do, as a servant, I mean." For the first time, Angel's tone
was something other than insulting.
"I give wisdom," she said with a smile. "And light, I am a guide, a guard of a
special group. We recruit warriors for the Light from the Darkness."
"Then why are you here?" Angel asked, feeling his anger return.
"Because you are in danger, Angel," she replied. "You have tread a narrow line,
but are in danger of veering off into the darkness. I can be your guide."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Angel said. Then he gave a derisive
bark of laughter. "You're talking about the lawyers, aren't you?"
"'And yet I just can't seem to care'," she quoted, suddenly spearing him with a
gaze that made him flinch. "Ever heard of 'judge not', Angel? You weren't sent here to
let the people you didn't like die. What if Miss Summers or Mr. Giles decided to let you
die because of all the people you killed? What if they killed you for it? Would they be
justified in that? In revenge?"
His anger mounted as her words struck a cord in them. "Yes," he said darkly.
"They would have been justified."
The woman stared at him, disappointed. Finally she straightened, a note of anger
touching her voice. "Then you have learned nothing, Angel, nothing of the chance you
have been given. Vengeance is not yours!"
Angel strode toward her, glaring at her, less than a foot away. She was four
inches shorter than him, but she didn't seem to care. "Why not?" he asked, gesturing
above. "You and those you serve aren't doing anything about it? When was the last time
you did a damn thing?"
Fire seemed to spew from her eyes. "You don't know the plan, Angel, why things
happen. Darkness turns to light and light to darkness. You don't know what will happen.
The last person I guided was Doyle."
Angle felt stunned as he stared at her. "Doyle?" he asked, "So after you got him
working for The Powers you just left? Well, swell job you did."
Her fist lashed out and cracked hard against his cheekbone, knocking Angel back
and to the 'ground' before he realized he had been hit. Dazed, he jumped to his feet,
nearly losing his balance—that punch had been as hard as anything Buffy had ever dealt
him when he was Angelus.
"They all die," she said, her voice shaking with anger and controlled grief.
"Every single one of them. For a hundred years I have turned countless to the light, and
they have all died."
For a split second, Angel was sorry. He realized the pain she probably had to deal
with, as much probably as his own. But after all the meddling the PTB had done in his
life, he wasn't ready for a spiritual warrior of light calling on his door, especially after
what had happened.
"Leave me alone," Angel said, but this time more gently.
"Be gone," she said flatly. Angel felt an invisible hand slam into his torso,
striking him down through the mist world and back to his slumber.
¤¤¤
Spike cowered under the tree below Buffy's bedroom. With a disgusted sigh he
looked at his carton of cigarettes. "Bloody hell," he muttered. Only three left. That
meant he only had time to smoke three before he went down to his miserable hole before
dawn. Spike stared at the window, he couldn't see anything, couldn't hear anything, but
he could just smell her. Pathetic, the voice whispered in his mind. Buffy jogged out the
front door, heading off to patrol, not seeing or feeling Spike in the cover of the large tree.
Spike slowly puffed away on the remaining cigarettes, threw them on the ground, then
started off toward 'home'.
Spike had barely got two feet before he noticed someone was following him. He
picked up the pace, moving off into one of Sunnydale's many cemeteries. The amount of
demons . . . no, vampires, following him had risen to four. Bloody hell! He thought
again. Then again, they were probably day old, just-born-yesterday vamps too stupid to
know that crosses burned, trying to get a reputation by finishing off Spike. Fat chance—
he might have this bloody chip in his head, but he was still a fighter.
Spike stiffened suddenly as he ducked between the trees. He saw Buffy in the
clearing ahead, and he hesitated, watching the Slayer as she fought. Beautiful, he
thought, letting a smile come unbidden across his face. She truly moved beautifully,
better and more cunning than the two Slayers he had fought and killed. She moved with
passion and emotion, the other Slayers had been trained by their Watchers to ignore or
repress their emotions, not channel them. Fools.
Spike lingered for a moment, then changed directions, surreptitiously moving off,
away from the Slayer. No sense dragging her in with all this. Spike stopped in a small
clearing, a large crypt behind him, and several gravestones scattered around. He
carefully noted where they were as the vamps slipped out of the woods and into the
clearing. Spike rolled his shoulders, loosening up a bit. He'd have a jolly fight before
bed, and maybe get staked and put out of his misery.
The thought nearly froze him as the first vampire attacked. Spike ducked out of
the way, then dealt an uppercut to the ribs and another to the taller vamp's jaw. He
kicked the vampire away with a sidekick and moved on to the next, whipping out his
stake. As Spike fought mechanically, he pondered on the thought. Did he want to die?
"Hell, yes," Spike said aloud as he slammed the stake through the heart of one of
the vampires. A roundhouse, spin-hook kick combination threw another vamp to the
ground. Seeing Buffy whenever he could was the only thing that kept him sane in this
world. That, killing demons, and those little chicken wings.
One vamp kicked the stake out of his hand and the remaining two grabbed him
from behind. The idiot vampire approached him with the stake, grinning like a fool, and
running his tongue over his canine fangs. As soon as the vamp was close enough, Spike
jumped, kicking him back with both legs. The vamp flew backwards, and Spike was
dealt two numbing blows by his compatriots, knocking him to his knees. They picked up
Spike and dragged him up to a tree. Unfortunately, the idiots weren't interested in killing
him, only torturing him to death—the sadistic . . . . Bloody hell, he had done the same
friggin' thing to Angel.
Spike couldn't help but scream as they drove a stake through his stomach, twisted
it, then viscously ripped it back out. "Bloody hell!" Spike said as ribbons of agony
stretched across his abdomen. He knew that the pain wasn't what a mortal would
experience, blunted by the fact that he was dead, but it still nearly caused him to pass out.
Spike lifted his head as the two stupider vamps pinned his arms to the tree, Spike's eyes
came into focus as the other vampire approached, crowbar in hand. "Oh, no," he said
softly.
The vampire drove it through his heart, barely giving Spike the chance to again
howl in agony. It went straight through his torso, pinning Spike securely to the tree. The
vamps lopped rope around his wrists, the tied them together behind the tree—there was
no way he could get out.
After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, the vampires left, yelling loudly
and drunkenly. Spike wondered stupidly for a moment what they were doing. "Oh,
crikie," he spluttered. "Come back!" he shouted weakly as yet more pain drove through
him. They laughed even louder as dread settled on Spike. They wold leave him here, to
be tortured by the sun in the early morning light, until he burst into flame and burned
himself into cinders.
Dazed and only half conscious, Spike realized the vampires were coming back.
What the hell? He thought. Then he realized there were at least ten of them this time.
They were all laughing and drinking, pointing at Spike and talking about subjects that
were oddly familiar to Spike. It took him a moment to realize that all these vampires had
either been his or Harmony's minions at one point, and were now getting their revenge.
"What so funny?" came the loud challenge from the Slayer. Spike closed his
eyes. He knew these idiots—they were strong, smart fighters, not even the Slayer could
take on ten. He and Dru had trained most of them to actually fight the Slayer together,
not going one on one.
"Slayer," Spike said aloud weakly, before he realized what he was doing. She
looked over to him in surprise, then her eyes widened in horror. Willow stood slightly
behind her.
"Oh my God," Buffy said, disgust and horror even on her face. She looked
shocked, but then her face settled into her typical, sneering indifference of him. "You
except me to help you?"
"But we have to right?" Willow asked, she looked pitying. "I mean I know
Spike's evil and all, but that's just . . . ."
"Evil?" Buffy popped in.
"No," Spike said, just loud enough for her to hear. "Get out of here, Slayer. You
can't fight al of these." Spike had to close his eyes, focusing just to get the words out.
"Dru and I trained them . . . you can't take them." Spike opened his eyes. "Get out of
here," he yelled again. "What in the bloody hell are you waiting for, directions?" Why
wouldn't she leave?
He saw Buffy shoot a surprise look at Willow. "Wow, he sounds worried," she
said, confused.
"Yep, definitely worry," Willow said, nodding. "I wonder why?" She turned to
look at Buffy. "I think we should go."
"On second thought," Buffy said, looking at the approaching vampires with wary
concern, "I think you're right."
A moment later, lighting struck down from the sky, parting to strike each of the
vampires, except Spike, the lightning didn't just flash, not just one burst of energy, but a
continuous stream of electricity. Spike turned his head to the side, not watching as the
vampires were burned horribly.
Finally, the horrible light stopped, and Spike could see charred bodies, half dust,
and half skeletons. For a split second he was terrified as he contemplated Buffy's death.
But then she and Willow came into his line of sight. They were discussing what type of
magic could have been used, and how powerful the sorcerer would have had to be.
"Excuse me, ladies," Spike said, letting a sardonic note creep into his voice.
"Could you please pull the long metal object out of my heart, please?"
"Sure," Buffy said, put a small hand on the crowbar, then yanked it out
mercilessly. Spike screamed, then lost consciousness.
Giles took off his glasses again and looked at Buffy. "So you believe someone
was directing that lightning, deliberately at the vampires."
"Well, yeah," Willow said. "How else then could it only hit them and not us?"
"Well, yes, that does stand to reason, but why did it leave Spike here alone?"
Giles asked. "I suppose we'll have to ask him when he regains consciousness."
Buffy stepped out of the small kitchen and over to the couch where Spike was
resting. They had removed his shirt to bandage his wounds the best they could, and
Buffy could see the impressive yet wiry physique and strong shoulder muscles that had
allowed him to kill two slayers in his one hundred plus years of existence. Buffy's eyes
drifted to Spike's face. While he slept, his features were open, guileless; his smooth skin
and handsome figures could have been called 'innocent'. For a brief moment, Buffy
recalled what Spike had told her about Drusilla and who he had been before he was made
into a vampire.
Spike had said he was a bad boy, but had written poetry to a love who had not
returned his affections. Somehow that didn't quite track. As viscous as Spike had been,
she assumed he had always been that way, evil even when he had been human. She
didn't really know, but Buffy assumed Drusilla wouldn't have picked just any run of the
mill guy to become a vampire. Buffy knew Darla had picked Angel for a reason, and
Angel Drusilla, so it stood to reason Drusilla had continued the cycle.
Instead of the normal disgust mixed with a paltry hatred or loathing Buffy felt for
Spike, she actually pitied him, or at least the man who had been William . . . whoever.
She wondered what the man had been like. She could see the amazing difference
between Angelus and Angel, so who did Spike used to be?
Spike looked around suspiciously. He knew that he was asleep or unconscious,
which was odd, normally he could not separate the dream world from reality.
"That's because this isn't the dream world, Spike," a woman said from directly
behind him.
Spike turned quickly and paused, laying eyes one of the most beautiful creatures
he had ever seen. She didn't look quite human, but she was no demon, that he knew.
Spike could feel the aura of power around her.
"You sent the lightning," Spike said, for once his voice serious and not mocking.
Her eyebrows raised and Spike could see into her beautiful, violet-gold eyes.
"Yes, I did."
"Why did you save me? Or was it to save the Slayer and her friend?"
"Would I be talking to you if I meant to save the Slayer, Spike?" she asked gently.
Spike looked down. "Suppose not. Why are you talking to me?" he asked, fixing
his blue eyes on her otherworldly ones.
"Because I want to make you a deal," she said. "I want to recruit you."
"For what?" Spike asked suspiciously. This woman was good, pure and simple.
Fighting probably for whatever side Buffy was on. "I'm a demon, remember?" he said
leering at her. "Bad," he paused, "evil." And laughed at her.
She shook her head, smiling at him in a way Spike didn't like. "You aren't evil
Spike," she said, almost tauntingly. "You can't be. That chip in your head doesn't allow
you to be. You can't hurt anyone. You're as harmless as a," she paused, "worm."
Spike blinked. "A worm?" he asked incredulously. "A bloody worm?"
"And you love the Slayer, or at least you think you do," she finished, her tone
almost singsong.
Spike felt all expression leave his face. Utterly serious he looked at her. "How
do you know that?"
"I know what I need to know, Spike, and I can help you get what you want."
"How are you going to help me get the Slayer?" Spike said. "You don't even
know her. What are you, a witch?"
"Hardly," she responded. "She'll never love you, Spike, not a vampire without a
soul. She'll always know you want to do evil, and deep down inside you're still evil, and
the only reason you're being 'good' is so you have a chance with her. Do you really
think Buffy Summers is that stupid?" She stopped completely and took a step back from
him. "You're beneath her, remember?"
"Shut up!" Spike yelled. Horrified, he felt tears on his face. "Shut up! What do
you want?" The last was more like a desperate plea than an actual question.
"I want you to make a conscious decision to fight for the Light, Spike," the
woman replied. "If you do this I can help you create your own soul."
"What?" Spike said, utterly confused. "Create my soul?"
"I can give you a conscience, Spike, and after that, the good that you do to make
up for your past wrongs will start creating a soul. Once your soul is complete you will
become human again. Then you can have Buffy, or at least have a chance to have her."
The woman became very serious. "It was given to me to know the hearts of the children
of men, Spike, she will never love you as a demon."
"And with a soul?" Spike asked, his voice barely above a torn whisper.
"You have a chance," she said. "Let me tell you this. If you accept, you will
want to die. With your conscience comes a gift of empathy—so you will know the pain
of others, and the pain of those you have killed. If you preservere, you will gain your
soul. Let me show you what it is like to know love."
The tall lady with silvery hair and glowing eyes stared at Spike for a moment. A
strong emotion filled him, wrapped around him. It was the essence of light and
righteousness. He felt stronger and more confidant than any other time he had
remembered. It vanished, leaving him feeling cold, alone, and even more miserable.
Spike looked at her, then shook his head; he was shaking slightly. "There's no
way I can do that—I was never strong enough," he said, thoughtfully, but with longing.
"I will be there when you need me, Spike," the woman said with a smile. "If you
choose this, you will become my responsibility."
"All right," Spike said, taking a deep breath, "I'll do it. Wait! Why are you even
offering me this?"
"Love, even untrue love is powerful. You demonstrated some sense of that today
when you warned the Slayer off."
The woman stepped forward, placing her warm hands at Spike's temples and
looking him deeply in the eyes. An electrical currant raced through him, electrifying and
burning deep into some part of him, he felt a small space in him fill that he hadn't known
had been empty.
"I will see you soon," the last words reverberated through Spike's mind as the
mist worlds faded.
Buffy continued to study Spike as she fingered the stake, abruptly, he awoke,
lurching up and staring with widened eyes at his surroundings even as he winced,
touched the bandage on his chest. Buffy rolled her eyes at him, "Sweet dreams?" she
asked, a touch of sarcasm entering her voice.
Spike stared at her, as if unseeing, then shook his head. That caused him to wince
again, and he put to hands to his temples. Buffy noticed he looked as if he had been
burned there. Spike was trembling ever so slightly, and Buffy couldn't help but
commiserate slightly.
"A vamp impaled me with my own stake once," Buffy said. "It was humiliating,
and it hurt like hell, so I guess I can give you that."
Spike looked up at her, 'Yeah," he said, sounding serious. Spike slowly stood up,
and Buffy could see the controlled pain in his features. He walked over to the table,
picked up his shirt, and slowly pulled it on. A moment later he shrugged on his duster.
Giles and Willow came into the living room, and Spike looked toward them.
"Thanks for patching me up and un-staking me," Spike said, looking vaguely in
the direction of Willow, Giles, and Buffy. He slipped out the door, quietly, leaving them
all in shock.
"Did I hear what I believe I just heard?" Giles asked, staring at the closed door.
"Spike thanking us?" Willow said. "Because I thought I heard it, too."
Buffy looked up. "I'm still waiting for the world to end."