Disclaimers: Spike belongs to Joss and Mutant Enemy, not to me.
Rating: PG-13 for British swear words
Spoilers: Grave
Distribution: Ask and ye shall receive, I'd just like to know where it winds up.
Feedback: Yes, please! Flames used to make Crème Brulee.
Author's notes: I'm not certain this is really what he wanted. I'm just sayin' it's fun to think about.
Spike's first awareness was of wracking pain, unspecific and everywhere. *Bloody hell.*
Smells collected themselves and pushed into his brain. Stone, dampness, faint tropical breeze - - *Not my crypt* - - burnt flesh, blood, too close to be anything but his own - - *Not in good shape, am I* - - hint of crushed insect, stench of demon - - *Ah, the cave.*
Memory started to return. The fights, the beetles, the searing pain starting at his chest and burning its way out of his eyes. *That's it then, it's done.* The weariness, the sense of trauma, he accepted; it was a package deal. The depression was mildly surprising. *Must be the start of the soul settling in. Imagine I'll be feeling that more when the shock wears off.*
Spike tentatively raised his head from the floor and squinted; his vision was intact, but evidently there was dirt stuck to his face. Grit slid under his palms as he pushed his chest up off the ground. His injuries reannounced themselves even as the overwhelming agony of the demon's magic subsided. Sitting up still hurt. "Couldn't have fixed the damages while you were at it?" Spike inquired, blearily looking around as he brushed black earth off his cheek. The cave didn't look any different, but there was a noticeable lack of a host. "Buggered off, did you? Right."
Spike craned his neck towards the tunnel leading outside, but it was as dark as when he entered. *No way of telling how long I've been out, then. Days, a minute, could be any amount of time.* He automatically checked his arms and abdomen, but they appeared the same. Spare of flesh, but no desiccation. *But there wouldn't be, now.* He was hungry, though.
Carefully he stood, and just as carefully walked to the ledge holding his shirt and the few possessions he'd brought. He raised his lighter, held the flat shiny surface so he could catch his reflection, and saw . . . rocks. Spike turned, faced the wall behind him. Those same stones, in reverse.
Grinding rage. Adrenaline surged through him; game face descended and fangs lengthened instantly. "You cheated me, you bastard!" Spike roared into the depths of the empty cave, arms raised and fists clenched. "I was never this before! I was supposed to be human again!"
FIN
Rating: PG-13 for British swear words
Spoilers: Grave
Distribution: Ask and ye shall receive, I'd just like to know where it winds up.
Feedback: Yes, please! Flames used to make Crème Brulee.
Author's notes: I'm not certain this is really what he wanted. I'm just sayin' it's fun to think about.
Spike's first awareness was of wracking pain, unspecific and everywhere. *Bloody hell.*
Smells collected themselves and pushed into his brain. Stone, dampness, faint tropical breeze - - *Not my crypt* - - burnt flesh, blood, too close to be anything but his own - - *Not in good shape, am I* - - hint of crushed insect, stench of demon - - *Ah, the cave.*
Memory started to return. The fights, the beetles, the searing pain starting at his chest and burning its way out of his eyes. *That's it then, it's done.* The weariness, the sense of trauma, he accepted; it was a package deal. The depression was mildly surprising. *Must be the start of the soul settling in. Imagine I'll be feeling that more when the shock wears off.*
Spike tentatively raised his head from the floor and squinted; his vision was intact, but evidently there was dirt stuck to his face. Grit slid under his palms as he pushed his chest up off the ground. His injuries reannounced themselves even as the overwhelming agony of the demon's magic subsided. Sitting up still hurt. "Couldn't have fixed the damages while you were at it?" Spike inquired, blearily looking around as he brushed black earth off his cheek. The cave didn't look any different, but there was a noticeable lack of a host. "Buggered off, did you? Right."
Spike craned his neck towards the tunnel leading outside, but it was as dark as when he entered. *No way of telling how long I've been out, then. Days, a minute, could be any amount of time.* He automatically checked his arms and abdomen, but they appeared the same. Spare of flesh, but no desiccation. *But there wouldn't be, now.* He was hungry, though.
Carefully he stood, and just as carefully walked to the ledge holding his shirt and the few possessions he'd brought. He raised his lighter, held the flat shiny surface so he could catch his reflection, and saw . . . rocks. Spike turned, faced the wall behind him. Those same stones, in reverse.
Grinding rage. Adrenaline surged through him; game face descended and fangs lengthened instantly. "You cheated me, you bastard!" Spike roared into the depths of the empty cave, arms raised and fists clenched. "I was never this before! I was supposed to be human again!"
FIN