Title: Neither Monster Nor Man
Author: Jennifer Campbell
Fandoms: Buffy: The Vampire Slayer/Angel
Spoilers: Through season finales
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimers: Not mine. Belong to Joss.
Notes: Finally, chapter 3 is done. Sorry for the weeks-long delay, but my writing time is so rare and sporadic nowadays. I'm working on chapter 4 now, so hopefully it will be posted soon.

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The nightmares had woken him again, and he couldn't shake himself of their terror. For three nights now, he had dreamed the same thing, of bring trapped in a small, cramped place, so very alone, and surrounded by an endless nothingness. No, not nothingness. Something was out there in the blackness, a relentless force that pushed and pulled at his prison but was not strong enough to rip it apart and set him free. He felt panic, and loneliness and the heartbreak of betrayal, and the emotions came in waves so powerful that they always forced him awake. He would bolt upright in bed with a yell, pulling the sheets to his chest as though they were all that held him in reality.

After that, he couldn't sleep again, so he found himself in a plush chair in the corner of the hotel room, waiting for the terror to subside. The nightmares were too real to originate from his own disturbed mind, he reasoned. Besides, the dreams of his own making always featured people, the ones he had killed so horribly. Often he dreamed of Buffy, and that unforgivable moment against the bathroom floor. Every time she gave him her hurt, accusing stares, his heart broke all over again.

Ask me again why I could never love you.

These other dreams were different, but somehow familiar. They presented a puzzle for him to solve, something to keep his mind off his own miserable existence.

One particular afternoon, after mulling the nightmare for a while, he gave up and went to his small desk for a pencil and pad of paper, then settled back into his chair. He flipped past the top pages of doodles and musings to a blank page, and he started to write. Moments later came a polite tapping at his door.

"What is it?" he said, rather irritated. He hated interruptions.

The door crept open a crack, and Fred peeked around the corner, her eyes wide and inquiring. "Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Fred grinned in her special way that always made Will smile in return. Even the ever-serious Gunn couldn't resist that smile and turned to putty in this slim girl's hands. She opened the door a bit more and stepped inside, cupping a steaming mug. The scent of pig blood wafted his way, and a hot, wet taste filled his mouth.

"I thought you might be hungry," she said quietly. "Angel was always hungry when he first woke up."

"Thanks," he said, taking the mug.

"You still don't eat enough, you know," she said critically as she perched on the edge of his bed. "You're much too skinny and pale. You probably wouldn't eat at all if I didn't bring you food a couple times a day, would you?"

"I try not to think much about food anymore," Will confessed. Thinking about blood only resurrected painful memories. "Any word from Angel today?"

"Nope. He's still missing in action. So is Cordelia. Why do you want to see him so much? I mean, no offense, but he's never mentioned a vampire named Will before."

He smiled sadly. "I guess he wouldn't have."

"Of course, I haven't known Angel that long. Only about a year. He and the others saved me from this other dimension where I was a slave, but everyone called me a cow. It was awful there. I--" She abruptly stopped and sighed. "There I go again, chattering on about nothing. Sorry."

"No need to apologize."

"Now you know how I met Angel," she said and cocked a shy smile. "How did you meet him?"

Will couldn't help but chuckle. This was a game they played occasionally. She fished for information, some clue as to who this stranger in their hotel really was, but Will refused to give in. They fenced with words. It was an amusing game -- she was clever and polite, and he was stoical. Sometimes he gave her a crumb, to keep her thirsting for more.

Today she was upfront about it, wanting a hint of how he knew Angel, but one mention of Spike -- whom Angel had surely talked about at some point -- and he would be shoved out the front door to a sunny demise. That option no longer appealed to him. Despite his anger and guilt, he was no longer suicidal. Besides, he found himself wanting this young woman's friendship and approval, and he couldn't endure the thought of her pain if she ever knew the truth about his past.

So instead of giving her what she wanted, he merely sipped from the mug, and Fred shifted a little uncomfortably on the bed, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her eyes landed on his notepad, and she cleared her throat a little.

"What, um ... what are you writing?"

Will shrugged. "Nothing important."

In an even smaller voice, she asked, "Can I see?"

She gave him another bright, hopeful smile, and Will knew he couldn't refuse her this request. It would do little harm and would make her happy. He nodded, and she scooted closer across the bed and picked up the pad. It still lay open to the page he had been working on when she knocked, and she read aloud.

"Come to me now again, release me from
this pain, everything my spirit longs
to have fulfilled, fulfill, and you
be my ally."

Her eyes widened. "Poetry? A vampire who writes poetry?"

"It's not mine, actually," Will said quickly, his cheeks heating. "I don't write poetry. Anymore. This was written by Sappho. It fit what I wanted to say."

"Say to who?"

He blushed again. "A girl -- woman -- I knew."

"A woman you loved?"

"Yeah."

"What happened to her?"

He tensed, and his voice came out hoarse. "I hurt her. Very badly. I betrayed the trust she had put in me, and I couldn't stay there anymore."

"In Sunnydale, you mean."

He looked up at her, wild-eyed. "How ..."

"It's what you said when you first got here. You said you couldn't go back to Sunnydale, so I kinda assumed that was your home. I wasn't wrong, was I?"

He stared at her, tongue-tied, unsure of how to answer that. Fred had proven she had a quick mind, and if he said too much, she might put the pieces together. She might figure out that he knew the Slayer, knew her friends, and if she tried to contact them, they would tell Fred who he really was, all the evil he had done. He wouldn't be able to face her disgust, at knowing the truth, not after she had treated him so kindly.

An urgent knock on the door saved him from answering, and Gunn strode into the room without so much as an invitation. A lethal ax was strapped across his back, and his expression was all business.

"Just got a tip," he said. "Demon down at Lewis Park, ate some woman's poodle. She went to the police but of course they're not gonna believe her. Detective Lockley got wind of it and sent it our way."

Fred asked, "Do you need backup?"

"Yeah. And no offense, baby, but I'm gonna need someone stronger than you," Gunn said, and smiled to soften the blow. "I really wish Wes was here, but since he's not ... Will, you're coming with me."

Will's eyes bugged out. "I -- I'm what?"

"You're coming with me. To kill the demon. You've been sitting in this room for weeks, eating the blood we paid for, and now you're going to earn your keep. So suit up."

Oh, this was not good. Violence brought out his demon, and he wasn't ready to face that just yet. Sure, he had made short work of the green-eyed bastard who had restored his soul, but what if he couldn't control himself? What if the blood-lust took over and he couldn't find his way back? What if Gunn or Fred or some other innocent got hurt because of him? He had to find a way out of this.

"It's still daylight," he protested.

"Sunset's in 15 minutes," Gunn said.

"I don't have any weapons."

"There's a whole cabinet of 'em downstairs."

Will opened his mouth again, but Gunn cut him off.

"You will be coming with me, vampire. You say you're a friend of Angel. This is what Angel does and what all of us do. We fight the good fight. And if you are who you claim to be, then you will stop yapping and get downstairs." He pivoted and marched from the room, stopping at the door for a last parting shot. "What kind of vampire are you, to run from a fight?"

"A broken one," Will muttered, and reluctantly followed Gunn.

Fred came behind, quiet but watchful. As Will fished through the weapons cabinet and waited for sunset, he could feel her eyes boring into his back. Not for the first time, he wondered whether she had guessed more about him than she let on.

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