TITLE: A Substantial Something
AUTHORS: MJBently
EMAIL: MJBently@hotmail.com ARCHIVE: Request, and I'll probably okay it. SPOILERS: End of season 6.
COUPLE PAIRING: Mentions of S/B, not endorsed or depicted. Mentions Dru/Spike, too. SUMMARY: Spike after that soulful trip to Africa
RATING: PG FEEDBACK: Yes, please.
DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon owns all. I just borrow and edit, and wouldn't object if he wanted to borrow it all back. No infringement; no profit; no suing. Author's Note: My first Buffy fic. Be gentle. Part 1/1
He knew he was a coward.
Anyone with an ounce of courage would have risen from the floor of the dank African cave and strode away until reaching Sunnydale.
Spike had lain on the dirty floor, writhing in pain. He had not even once tried to get up, not for a week. The creature that had put him in that condition to begin with had retreated back into his lair somewhere in the depths of the cavern. Had he stayed around, Spike may have found the strength to get up long enough to make the thing reverse what it had done, and if not, at least try to rip it apart with only his bare hands and fangs.
But, the creature was gone, so Spike couldn't even glare at it balefully. As it was, he was simply too weak to have done anything else. He could barely move, consumed by pain of every kind. At first, he thought he was going to waste away and die on the cavern floor.
He wasn't that opposed to the idea.
Only the second vampire ever to have a soul, and Spike the Bloody was going to take that soul and die with it as soon as he could starve to death. Sooner, if he could crawl out into the sun.
But he couldn't crawl, and he couldn't fight off the young village boy that came and poured a bucket of goat's blood down his throat each week. Apparently, the creature wasn't going to allow Spike to return the unwanted, unwelcome gift. Meeting Spike in full gameface didn't deter the kid, nor did he care when Spike genuinely tried to bite the boy's fingers off.
He was force fed for at least a month or two. It took that long for him to regain the strength to even sit up. The physical afflictions were going away; Spike was still a vampire and nothing but the holy could permanently hurt him and that hadn't changed.
But the huge, holy and intangible thing within him showed no signs of healing.
Spike had a soul. He knew what it was the instant the creature forced it back into his being. Spike had never imagined how such an event would feel, because he had never had any reason to think such a thing would happen to him. Souls were for humans, and for his grandsire. But now Spike, William the Bloody, master vampire, one-time scourge of Europe had one, too.
And it felt like an impossibly deep wound, somewhere deep inside his very essence.
He imagined that his demon had his soul in a chokehold with evil pressed bodily against good, giving Spike some kind of horrible internal ache that he could feel but not locate.
Spike was horribly uncomfortable, that was the only word that fit. There was pain; of course he could identify that. But there was also something so strange and so awful that he was also feeling which only qualified as extreme discomfort.
His body was suddenly too damn small. There were three distinct entities fighting for ownership. He recognized two; he hadn't known the third existed.
He was accustomed to the demon; it had been with him for more than a century. It was badly weakened, yet still the same. He could hardly move, but it still wanted murder and mayhem. It wanted to feed from and drain the boy that brought the pig's blood. The Initiative's bloody chip had kept the demon from getting any satisfaction for a very long time, for even ancient evil was powerless against new technology. But a soul was something it could fight against. The demon felt its territory had been invaded, granted, invaded by the original owner. Spike knew that a soul couldn't be forced out through only demonic desires, otherwise Angelus would still be around. Still, from the war he could feel within his very being, he was apparently the only one aware of such a fact.
The second presence was much younger, so long absent that Spike only recognized it because he had been told what it was. Since it was now likely a permanent addition, he almost wished it felt more than just vaguely familiar. His soul. Rather, William's soul. It had barely lived for three decades, now suddenly it returned to a body nearly three centuries old. If it hadn't been gnashing teeth with the demon, Spike might have been amused. His soul was as freaked out as Spike. It didn't like being in cold breathless body. Warmth, a steady heart beat, the sodding respiration process, were all missing! Or so it screamed. It liked the African boy, but not for dinner. William had been human, and apparently human souls had some inherent want for one another. No wonder Angel only went for live girls. There was another hitch. Spike's soul was nauseated by blood. It made William feel all faint, and he introduced this repulsion to Spike. Blood was not to drink, it repeatedly insisted. No more blood. No more killing. Killing is wrong. Enough of that has been done with my body, and there is to be no more! The overwhelming guilt hit next. William wasn't responsible; this was decided fairly quickly. But the demon and its agent were all horribly culpable. Spike understood now why his grandsire brooded. Nothing on this earth would ever be equal to the eternal judgement he now felt.
The third entity was something entirely alien in definition, but someone Spike knew very well. He was not supposed to exist. Vampires were pure demon, the story went. Dusty evil things running around to feast on humans. They didn't have the capability for anything else. Well, bullocks. Spike was unliving proof. Angel would be, too, probably, if the sod had a personality. Bloody Watcher's Council had it all wrong. Their convenient assurances to each generation's slayer were complete lies. There was something to vampires besides fangs and bloodlust. Something substantial enough to disturb a slayer's sense of morality when it came time to slam the stake home.
Spike pulled himself up from the floor and stumbled to his knees. His eyes caught hold of something glinting among the dirt and pebbles where he'd lain for so long. It looked like a very small metal square, an oddly modern item to be found in this primeval place where humans feared to venture.
Then Spike knew what it was. His mental muzzle for the past few years lay before him, now functionless. He picked it up and crushed it into pieces between two fingertips. He found the destruction to be greatly unrewarding. Spike struggled to stand fully, then let the remains of the chip trickle to the floor.
He was physically free to kill and eat all the humans he wanted. No blinding pain in his skull would stop him from feasting to his heart's content.
But it was not that simple.
His demon was no longer in control; it wouldn't direct him to mindless bloodshed anymore. Yet, his soul showed no signs of taking power over him; he didn't think it could or would interfere if he went hunting.
No, for the first time in his existence, Spike was completely in control of his own actions. Nothing evil or good turned his head. In the past, this part of him had only been allowed to function in small parts of his unlife. Spike knew this newly freed self was what loved Drusilla, longed for Buffy, and cared for Dawn. But it was also the thing rendered hysterical when Dru left him, the being that thought it could find comfort from distress by sleeping with Anyanka, and the infuriated beast that had decided to try to force Buffy into loving him, whether she liked it or not.
Spike took his first independent step toward the darkened mouth of the cave, ready to renter the world with the most dangerous and frightening tool he'd ever known: choice.
THE END
Please send feedback to MJBently@hotmail.com or review. Thank you!
AUTHORS: MJBently
EMAIL: MJBently@hotmail.com ARCHIVE: Request, and I'll probably okay it. SPOILERS: End of season 6.
COUPLE PAIRING: Mentions of S/B, not endorsed or depicted. Mentions Dru/Spike, too. SUMMARY: Spike after that soulful trip to Africa
RATING: PG FEEDBACK: Yes, please.
DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon owns all. I just borrow and edit, and wouldn't object if he wanted to borrow it all back. No infringement; no profit; no suing. Author's Note: My first Buffy fic. Be gentle. Part 1/1
He knew he was a coward.
Anyone with an ounce of courage would have risen from the floor of the dank African cave and strode away until reaching Sunnydale.
Spike had lain on the dirty floor, writhing in pain. He had not even once tried to get up, not for a week. The creature that had put him in that condition to begin with had retreated back into his lair somewhere in the depths of the cavern. Had he stayed around, Spike may have found the strength to get up long enough to make the thing reverse what it had done, and if not, at least try to rip it apart with only his bare hands and fangs.
But, the creature was gone, so Spike couldn't even glare at it balefully. As it was, he was simply too weak to have done anything else. He could barely move, consumed by pain of every kind. At first, he thought he was going to waste away and die on the cavern floor.
He wasn't that opposed to the idea.
Only the second vampire ever to have a soul, and Spike the Bloody was going to take that soul and die with it as soon as he could starve to death. Sooner, if he could crawl out into the sun.
But he couldn't crawl, and he couldn't fight off the young village boy that came and poured a bucket of goat's blood down his throat each week. Apparently, the creature wasn't going to allow Spike to return the unwanted, unwelcome gift. Meeting Spike in full gameface didn't deter the kid, nor did he care when Spike genuinely tried to bite the boy's fingers off.
He was force fed for at least a month or two. It took that long for him to regain the strength to even sit up. The physical afflictions were going away; Spike was still a vampire and nothing but the holy could permanently hurt him and that hadn't changed.
But the huge, holy and intangible thing within him showed no signs of healing.
Spike had a soul. He knew what it was the instant the creature forced it back into his being. Spike had never imagined how such an event would feel, because he had never had any reason to think such a thing would happen to him. Souls were for humans, and for his grandsire. But now Spike, William the Bloody, master vampire, one-time scourge of Europe had one, too.
And it felt like an impossibly deep wound, somewhere deep inside his very essence.
He imagined that his demon had his soul in a chokehold with evil pressed bodily against good, giving Spike some kind of horrible internal ache that he could feel but not locate.
Spike was horribly uncomfortable, that was the only word that fit. There was pain; of course he could identify that. But there was also something so strange and so awful that he was also feeling which only qualified as extreme discomfort.
His body was suddenly too damn small. There were three distinct entities fighting for ownership. He recognized two; he hadn't known the third existed.
He was accustomed to the demon; it had been with him for more than a century. It was badly weakened, yet still the same. He could hardly move, but it still wanted murder and mayhem. It wanted to feed from and drain the boy that brought the pig's blood. The Initiative's bloody chip had kept the demon from getting any satisfaction for a very long time, for even ancient evil was powerless against new technology. But a soul was something it could fight against. The demon felt its territory had been invaded, granted, invaded by the original owner. Spike knew that a soul couldn't be forced out through only demonic desires, otherwise Angelus would still be around. Still, from the war he could feel within his very being, he was apparently the only one aware of such a fact.
The second presence was much younger, so long absent that Spike only recognized it because he had been told what it was. Since it was now likely a permanent addition, he almost wished it felt more than just vaguely familiar. His soul. Rather, William's soul. It had barely lived for three decades, now suddenly it returned to a body nearly three centuries old. If it hadn't been gnashing teeth with the demon, Spike might have been amused. His soul was as freaked out as Spike. It didn't like being in cold breathless body. Warmth, a steady heart beat, the sodding respiration process, were all missing! Or so it screamed. It liked the African boy, but not for dinner. William had been human, and apparently human souls had some inherent want for one another. No wonder Angel only went for live girls. There was another hitch. Spike's soul was nauseated by blood. It made William feel all faint, and he introduced this repulsion to Spike. Blood was not to drink, it repeatedly insisted. No more blood. No more killing. Killing is wrong. Enough of that has been done with my body, and there is to be no more! The overwhelming guilt hit next. William wasn't responsible; this was decided fairly quickly. But the demon and its agent were all horribly culpable. Spike understood now why his grandsire brooded. Nothing on this earth would ever be equal to the eternal judgement he now felt.
The third entity was something entirely alien in definition, but someone Spike knew very well. He was not supposed to exist. Vampires were pure demon, the story went. Dusty evil things running around to feast on humans. They didn't have the capability for anything else. Well, bullocks. Spike was unliving proof. Angel would be, too, probably, if the sod had a personality. Bloody Watcher's Council had it all wrong. Their convenient assurances to each generation's slayer were complete lies. There was something to vampires besides fangs and bloodlust. Something substantial enough to disturb a slayer's sense of morality when it came time to slam the stake home.
Spike pulled himself up from the floor and stumbled to his knees. His eyes caught hold of something glinting among the dirt and pebbles where he'd lain for so long. It looked like a very small metal square, an oddly modern item to be found in this primeval place where humans feared to venture.
Then Spike knew what it was. His mental muzzle for the past few years lay before him, now functionless. He picked it up and crushed it into pieces between two fingertips. He found the destruction to be greatly unrewarding. Spike struggled to stand fully, then let the remains of the chip trickle to the floor.
He was physically free to kill and eat all the humans he wanted. No blinding pain in his skull would stop him from feasting to his heart's content.
But it was not that simple.
His demon was no longer in control; it wouldn't direct him to mindless bloodshed anymore. Yet, his soul showed no signs of taking power over him; he didn't think it could or would interfere if he went hunting.
No, for the first time in his existence, Spike was completely in control of his own actions. Nothing evil or good turned his head. In the past, this part of him had only been allowed to function in small parts of his unlife. Spike knew this newly freed self was what loved Drusilla, longed for Buffy, and cared for Dawn. But it was also the thing rendered hysterical when Dru left him, the being that thought it could find comfort from distress by sleeping with Anyanka, and the infuriated beast that had decided to try to force Buffy into loving him, whether she liked it or not.
Spike took his first independent step toward the darkened mouth of the cave, ready to renter the world with the most dangerous and frightening tool he'd ever known: choice.
THE END
Please send feedback to MJBently@hotmail.com or review. Thank you!