Spike dreamed. Actually dreamed, not the fantasies of blood and gore and Buffy that ran through his thoughts while he slept, but an actual dream. No, strike that. This wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare.
He was standing in total blackness. Confused. It felt so real. But he knew it couldn't be. Could it? The last thing he remembered was waking up after hitting the floor of his crypt. And the warm scent of humans. His humans. So this wasn't right.
He turned around, frowning, not used to not being able to see in the dark, and the thought down right unnerved him. That's when the sound started. It started with such abruptness that he jumped, spinning to face his new foe. But only blackness mocked him. The sound became whispering, surrounding him, taunting, teasing. The blackness took form. The form of every creature he had ever met or sunk his fangs into. Every being he had caused pain or had cause pain to him. They attacked in whirls, ripping him, slashing him, crushing him.
And then it stopped. He fell back onto the ground, panting, looking himself over for wounds that no longer existed. For the first time since, well, since Glory he was afraid. Truly afraid.
He screamed when the whispering started again....
///
He didn't know how long it was until he finally woke up. Really waking. He licked his lips, and opened his eyes, frowning as his vision came to him in a disturbing blur. He furrowed his brow, and looked around as best he could, greeted with only colour. Unfamiliar colour. Not his crypt. He closed his eyes and scented the air, catching the hints of vanilla and power. Slayer. Her bed? No. Couldn't be. She would never...
"Buffy?" he finally managed to call out, jumping in surprise when he failed to hear his own voice. What's that all about? he thought, before he remembered. Dru. Groaning, more than surprised not to hear it, he flopped back down onto the bed, cursing inaudibly at the pain the movement caused.
Something moving and colourful suddenly appeared in his field of vision. He jumped again, followed by a long string of curses at being so easily startled. He stared hard at this movement, this creature, tilting his head. He couldn't recognize anything. He reached out a hand slowly, and felt his fingers come into contact with warm flesh. He trailed his touch across this flesh, feeling lips, nose, eyes, silky hair. He scented the air again. Buffy.
"Buffy," he said aloud, or thought he did. It was what he imagined himself saying, anyway. He let his arm drop, suddenly so tired. He slipped back into the darkness.
///
This time he woke slowly. That damned dream had come again, once, twice? He couldn't recall. But it had come again, and that pissed him off royally. His anger faded when he opened his eyes, this time ready for the dizzying swirl of colours...but found that his vision had improved. He could make out a few things, no sharp lines, just fuzzy ones, but damned if he could see the mirror hanging over the Slayer's dresser and tell that it was a mirror. He smiled to himself.
"Spike?" came a voice, as if through a fog, sounding very far away. He wondered for a moment if he had actually heard it.
"Slayer?" he replied, hearing his own voice the same way.
The bed shifted slightly, and she came into view, smiling.
"You look like hell," she said, with a twist of grin.
He chuckled, frowning. He felt like hell, but not as bad as he had before. Dull and achy, really, not sharp pain. Like most of his senses at the moment. Dulled.
"Hungry." was all he said next, even though the word surprised him. He hadn't even thought about it till it crossed his lips. Bloodlust, now that he had found it, wasn't letting go. It felt as if he hadn't eaten in days. His demon raged, screaming for him to take the morsel set before him. Even if he wanted to (which he didn't), he knew that the Slayer would win that round in seconds considering his weakened condition.
"You should be. Sleeping for two days straight will do that to you." Buffy said, as she left the room.
It wasn't long, really, before she came back, a freshly heated mug of blood in her hands, complete with straw. The sight brought memories surging back, of her feeding him while he was chained in the Watcher's bleedin' bathtub. Teasing him with her bared throat. Red's spell.... That was back when he had come to them, his enemies, half-starved after escaping the soldier boys, come to them for help. And lo and behold, they had taken him in. Surprised the hell out of him, really.
"Here, drink up, and we'll see if you can come downstairs. Dawn is really anxious to see that you're alright." Buffy said, playing the careful nursemaid. She cupped the back of his head carefully, and helped him sit up. He kept his eyes on her while he drank the blood, struggling with the demon, keeping his face human.
He did feel stronger after it, and was able to stand. She helped him downstairs, and into one of the chairs in her living room. She disappeared into the kitchen, and began to talk to someone. Normally, he could have heard what she was saying, but fog still clouded his hearing.
She returned with another mug of blood, followed closely by Willow and Dawn.
"Spike!" Dawn veritably screamed and broke from the other two, looking, to his dismay, like she was going to pounce on him, but she stopped and settled with a gentle hug instead.
"They wouldn't let me see you. And they wouldn't tell me what happened!" the Key turned 15 year-old girl squeaked. "Are you alright?"
He gave her a small smile and patted her hair, nodding.
"Fine, Nibblet. Big Bad here, 'member? 'Sides, Sis over there took care o' me." Buffy handed him the mug, which he drank greedily.
"More?" she asked quietly, so that he barely even heard it.
"Please." he replied, handing the mug back. She disappeared again.
Willow came over and stared down at him, tilting her head slightly. Dawn latched onto his arm and glared at the witch, still brassed off at the events that resulted in the purple cast covering her arm.
"Red?" he asked carefully, not liking the way she was staring at him.
Willow blushed.
"Oh, I...just wanted to see how much better you were. We-We did a spell, a necessary one, to speed up the healing process. Giles helped..." she trailed off. Discussing magic with Dawn around was still uncomfortable for her.
"Well...thanks...an' all...." he said, looking past her, finally noticing the older Brit standing in the doorway, well, watching.
"Watcher," he said in greeting, nodding his head slightly. He respected the man, more than he would ever let on. Strong enough to stand hours of torture at the hands of Angelus, brave enough to let William the Bloody sleep on his couch and eat his Weetabix, not to mention being the sole father figure for the Slayer.
"Spike," Giles said pleasantly, giving him the 'You're going to tell me everything that happened' look.
Just then, Xander and Anya entered through the front door. Apparently, there was a meeting planned. The ex-demon smiled happily and waved at him, clutching Xander's arm. The whelp just gave a nod in greeting before he spoke.
"Evil Undead....You're looking...good..." he said.
"He's lying." Anya cut in. "You look like hell. You're all bruised and icky."
"So I've been told." Spike replied in a low voice.
Buffy finally returned with another mug. This one he sipped, and remained quiet. Buffy actually sat on the arm of his chair, and brushed away an errant strand of hair from his face, earning incredulous looks from the others that she didn't seem to notice. And the meeting started.
"Well. I'm sure you all know that some strange things have been going on. Buffy's dream's not being the worst of it." Giles started, removing his glasses and cleaning them. Bad sign.
"From what I've been able to gather, events are coming together that are linked to writing in an ancient text, long thought lost. It happens to be part of my personal collection."
He paused, replacing his glasses and looking at the group.
"It seems we've an apocalypse to advert."
"Again?!" Xander, Anya and Willow moaned. Spike had been thinking the same thing.
"Bloody hell..." he muttered, sipping on his blood.
He was standing in total blackness. Confused. It felt so real. But he knew it couldn't be. Could it? The last thing he remembered was waking up after hitting the floor of his crypt. And the warm scent of humans. His humans. So this wasn't right.
He turned around, frowning, not used to not being able to see in the dark, and the thought down right unnerved him. That's when the sound started. It started with such abruptness that he jumped, spinning to face his new foe. But only blackness mocked him. The sound became whispering, surrounding him, taunting, teasing. The blackness took form. The form of every creature he had ever met or sunk his fangs into. Every being he had caused pain or had cause pain to him. They attacked in whirls, ripping him, slashing him, crushing him.
And then it stopped. He fell back onto the ground, panting, looking himself over for wounds that no longer existed. For the first time since, well, since Glory he was afraid. Truly afraid.
He screamed when the whispering started again....
///
He didn't know how long it was until he finally woke up. Really waking. He licked his lips, and opened his eyes, frowning as his vision came to him in a disturbing blur. He furrowed his brow, and looked around as best he could, greeted with only colour. Unfamiliar colour. Not his crypt. He closed his eyes and scented the air, catching the hints of vanilla and power. Slayer. Her bed? No. Couldn't be. She would never...
"Buffy?" he finally managed to call out, jumping in surprise when he failed to hear his own voice. What's that all about? he thought, before he remembered. Dru. Groaning, more than surprised not to hear it, he flopped back down onto the bed, cursing inaudibly at the pain the movement caused.
Something moving and colourful suddenly appeared in his field of vision. He jumped again, followed by a long string of curses at being so easily startled. He stared hard at this movement, this creature, tilting his head. He couldn't recognize anything. He reached out a hand slowly, and felt his fingers come into contact with warm flesh. He trailed his touch across this flesh, feeling lips, nose, eyes, silky hair. He scented the air again. Buffy.
"Buffy," he said aloud, or thought he did. It was what he imagined himself saying, anyway. He let his arm drop, suddenly so tired. He slipped back into the darkness.
///
This time he woke slowly. That damned dream had come again, once, twice? He couldn't recall. But it had come again, and that pissed him off royally. His anger faded when he opened his eyes, this time ready for the dizzying swirl of colours...but found that his vision had improved. He could make out a few things, no sharp lines, just fuzzy ones, but damned if he could see the mirror hanging over the Slayer's dresser and tell that it was a mirror. He smiled to himself.
"Spike?" came a voice, as if through a fog, sounding very far away. He wondered for a moment if he had actually heard it.
"Slayer?" he replied, hearing his own voice the same way.
The bed shifted slightly, and she came into view, smiling.
"You look like hell," she said, with a twist of grin.
He chuckled, frowning. He felt like hell, but not as bad as he had before. Dull and achy, really, not sharp pain. Like most of his senses at the moment. Dulled.
"Hungry." was all he said next, even though the word surprised him. He hadn't even thought about it till it crossed his lips. Bloodlust, now that he had found it, wasn't letting go. It felt as if he hadn't eaten in days. His demon raged, screaming for him to take the morsel set before him. Even if he wanted to (which he didn't), he knew that the Slayer would win that round in seconds considering his weakened condition.
"You should be. Sleeping for two days straight will do that to you." Buffy said, as she left the room.
It wasn't long, really, before she came back, a freshly heated mug of blood in her hands, complete with straw. The sight brought memories surging back, of her feeding him while he was chained in the Watcher's bleedin' bathtub. Teasing him with her bared throat. Red's spell.... That was back when he had come to them, his enemies, half-starved after escaping the soldier boys, come to them for help. And lo and behold, they had taken him in. Surprised the hell out of him, really.
"Here, drink up, and we'll see if you can come downstairs. Dawn is really anxious to see that you're alright." Buffy said, playing the careful nursemaid. She cupped the back of his head carefully, and helped him sit up. He kept his eyes on her while he drank the blood, struggling with the demon, keeping his face human.
He did feel stronger after it, and was able to stand. She helped him downstairs, and into one of the chairs in her living room. She disappeared into the kitchen, and began to talk to someone. Normally, he could have heard what she was saying, but fog still clouded his hearing.
She returned with another mug of blood, followed closely by Willow and Dawn.
"Spike!" Dawn veritably screamed and broke from the other two, looking, to his dismay, like she was going to pounce on him, but she stopped and settled with a gentle hug instead.
"They wouldn't let me see you. And they wouldn't tell me what happened!" the Key turned 15 year-old girl squeaked. "Are you alright?"
He gave her a small smile and patted her hair, nodding.
"Fine, Nibblet. Big Bad here, 'member? 'Sides, Sis over there took care o' me." Buffy handed him the mug, which he drank greedily.
"More?" she asked quietly, so that he barely even heard it.
"Please." he replied, handing the mug back. She disappeared again.
Willow came over and stared down at him, tilting her head slightly. Dawn latched onto his arm and glared at the witch, still brassed off at the events that resulted in the purple cast covering her arm.
"Red?" he asked carefully, not liking the way she was staring at him.
Willow blushed.
"Oh, I...just wanted to see how much better you were. We-We did a spell, a necessary one, to speed up the healing process. Giles helped..." she trailed off. Discussing magic with Dawn around was still uncomfortable for her.
"Well...thanks...an' all...." he said, looking past her, finally noticing the older Brit standing in the doorway, well, watching.
"Watcher," he said in greeting, nodding his head slightly. He respected the man, more than he would ever let on. Strong enough to stand hours of torture at the hands of Angelus, brave enough to let William the Bloody sleep on his couch and eat his Weetabix, not to mention being the sole father figure for the Slayer.
"Spike," Giles said pleasantly, giving him the 'You're going to tell me everything that happened' look.
Just then, Xander and Anya entered through the front door. Apparently, there was a meeting planned. The ex-demon smiled happily and waved at him, clutching Xander's arm. The whelp just gave a nod in greeting before he spoke.
"Evil Undead....You're looking...good..." he said.
"He's lying." Anya cut in. "You look like hell. You're all bruised and icky."
"So I've been told." Spike replied in a low voice.
Buffy finally returned with another mug. This one he sipped, and remained quiet. Buffy actually sat on the arm of his chair, and brushed away an errant strand of hair from his face, earning incredulous looks from the others that she didn't seem to notice. And the meeting started.
"Well. I'm sure you all know that some strange things have been going on. Buffy's dream's not being the worst of it." Giles started, removing his glasses and cleaning them. Bad sign.
"From what I've been able to gather, events are coming together that are linked to writing in an ancient text, long thought lost. It happens to be part of my personal collection."
He paused, replacing his glasses and looking at the group.
"It seems we've an apocalypse to advert."
"Again?!" Xander, Anya and Willow moaned. Spike had been thinking the same thing.
"Bloody hell..." he muttered, sipping on his blood.