From the end of Grave:
"You have endured the required trials," noted the green-eyed demon.
"Bloody right I have. So you give me what I want. Make me what I was. So Buffy can get what she deserves," replied Spike.
"Very well. We will return your soul."
*****
Spike screamed in pain as energy surged raggedly through him.
The green-eyed demon's eyes grew big and translucent. He pulled his hand off, first shaking it and then massaging it with his other hand.
"Bloody hell!" yelled Spike. "You could have mentioned it was going to hurt like a son of a bitch. But otherwise," he said as he patted his chest and arms, "I'm not feeling so different, all souled and whatnot."
"That's because you have not received your soul." The deep rumble of the demon's voice was gone, replaced with tone of uncertainty.
"Well then, why don't' you hand it over. Now" he growled.
"It is not that simple," whined the demon. "There has been an unexpected - glitch."
"What? I lived up to my end of the deal. I passed your bloody trials." Spike narrowed his eyes. You're not welching on me, are you?"
"Welching?" The demon's eyes blazed red again. "We will fulfill all terms of the agreement."
Spike crossed his arms. "That's better."
"However, it will not be today."
"When then?"
"Soon."
"Oh, that's rich. So I'm just supposed to sit around in the middle of a sunny desert waiting for you and whoever rounds out the rest of 'we' to get your act together."
"You test our good will." The demon paused and then continued, "However, you do not need to wait here while we make - adjustments. In the interim, we have decided to supply you with a conscience."
Spike pursed his lips and looked upward, his eyes see-sawing from the right then to the left and then back again as he considered. "Fair 'nough." Spike stood up, bracing his body "Do your best."
From under its cloak the demon raised a hand, which contained a large fetish. It held the object out to Spike, who took hold of it. "Let your conscience be your guide." A burst of smoke momentarily obscured Spike's sight and he heard the demon say, "It is done." The fetish grew heavy in Spike's hands. He set it down and waved his hands to clear the smoke. Someone coughed. A cough too high pitched to be the demon and about three feet too low. As the last of the smoke cleared, the demon was nowhere to be seen. In front of Spike was a freckle faced, red-headed boy with a rosebud mouth. He wore green pants, a red shirt, a white ascot, a formal black jacket with tails, a top hat with a gold band and matching gold spats.
"What are you? Mr. Royal We didn't mention anything about additional trials."
"Timmy's not a trial. Timmy is," the boy took off his top hat, bowed and lisped, "Timminy Cricket."
"Timminy Cricket? Timminy Cricket? Whose idea of a practical joke is this?" Spike yelled at the roof of the cave. He took a second look at the boy-cricket. "Hey now, I must be hallucinating because you are the spitting image of that, that witch's doll."
"Timmy isn't a doll anymore, he's a real boy. The Christmas Fairy made it so. And Timmy told the Fairy that if there were any way to repay her, Timmy would gladly do so. So Timmy was sent to Spike to be Spike's guide."
"When'd that happen? Last I knew, you'd just gotten yourself out of that well and were mooning over that blonde, what's her name."
The boy smiled a dreamy smile. "Charity." Then his grin dropped into a frown. "Timmy's Charity is locked in block of ice and zombie Charity is causing all sorts of trouble. Timmy has decided to give up being a real boy if it will free Charity. But first he must find the devil's horn. Timmy has searched and searched, but Timmy can't find the devil's horn."
Spike pursed his lips and frowned. "This isn't one of those bloody historic, folkloric, metaphoric foreshadowins of Buffy and me, is it? I went through a lot of trouble to get my soul and my plan was not to just go 'n turn it back in."
"Timmy doesn't know a Buffy, but for Charity, Timmy would do anything. Even when Timmy was a doll, Charity made him feel alive. Now it's Timmy's turn. Timmy won't rest until his Charity is free from the ice that holds Charity."
"Anythin', huh?" Spike stared at the boy, resisting the urge to pull the top hat down to the lad's shoulders and make it a rather starched turtleneck. With a sigh, he squared his shoulders. "Let's push off and find this 'devil's horn' you need."
Timmy hopped up and down, clapping his hands, "Really? Spike will help Timmy?"
"Yes, if for no other reason but to move you off the bloody topic." Spike began to move toward the cave opening.
"Not that way Spike," lisped Timmy as he pulled on Spike's pant leg. "This way." Timmy pointed toward the back of the cave.
Spike shrugged. "Whatever you say, you're the guide."
With that Timminy placed his hand in Spike's and led him into the dark recesses of the cave.
"You have endured the required trials," noted the green-eyed demon.
"Bloody right I have. So you give me what I want. Make me what I was. So Buffy can get what she deserves," replied Spike.
"Very well. We will return your soul."
*****
Spike screamed in pain as energy surged raggedly through him.
The green-eyed demon's eyes grew big and translucent. He pulled his hand off, first shaking it and then massaging it with his other hand.
"Bloody hell!" yelled Spike. "You could have mentioned it was going to hurt like a son of a bitch. But otherwise," he said as he patted his chest and arms, "I'm not feeling so different, all souled and whatnot."
"That's because you have not received your soul." The deep rumble of the demon's voice was gone, replaced with tone of uncertainty.
"Well then, why don't' you hand it over. Now" he growled.
"It is not that simple," whined the demon. "There has been an unexpected - glitch."
"What? I lived up to my end of the deal. I passed your bloody trials." Spike narrowed his eyes. You're not welching on me, are you?"
"Welching?" The demon's eyes blazed red again. "We will fulfill all terms of the agreement."
Spike crossed his arms. "That's better."
"However, it will not be today."
"When then?"
"Soon."
"Oh, that's rich. So I'm just supposed to sit around in the middle of a sunny desert waiting for you and whoever rounds out the rest of 'we' to get your act together."
"You test our good will." The demon paused and then continued, "However, you do not need to wait here while we make - adjustments. In the interim, we have decided to supply you with a conscience."
Spike pursed his lips and looked upward, his eyes see-sawing from the right then to the left and then back again as he considered. "Fair 'nough." Spike stood up, bracing his body "Do your best."
From under its cloak the demon raised a hand, which contained a large fetish. It held the object out to Spike, who took hold of it. "Let your conscience be your guide." A burst of smoke momentarily obscured Spike's sight and he heard the demon say, "It is done." The fetish grew heavy in Spike's hands. He set it down and waved his hands to clear the smoke. Someone coughed. A cough too high pitched to be the demon and about three feet too low. As the last of the smoke cleared, the demon was nowhere to be seen. In front of Spike was a freckle faced, red-headed boy with a rosebud mouth. He wore green pants, a red shirt, a white ascot, a formal black jacket with tails, a top hat with a gold band and matching gold spats.
"What are you? Mr. Royal We didn't mention anything about additional trials."
"Timmy's not a trial. Timmy is," the boy took off his top hat, bowed and lisped, "Timminy Cricket."
"Timminy Cricket? Timminy Cricket? Whose idea of a practical joke is this?" Spike yelled at the roof of the cave. He took a second look at the boy-cricket. "Hey now, I must be hallucinating because you are the spitting image of that, that witch's doll."
"Timmy isn't a doll anymore, he's a real boy. The Christmas Fairy made it so. And Timmy told the Fairy that if there were any way to repay her, Timmy would gladly do so. So Timmy was sent to Spike to be Spike's guide."
"When'd that happen? Last I knew, you'd just gotten yourself out of that well and were mooning over that blonde, what's her name."
The boy smiled a dreamy smile. "Charity." Then his grin dropped into a frown. "Timmy's Charity is locked in block of ice and zombie Charity is causing all sorts of trouble. Timmy has decided to give up being a real boy if it will free Charity. But first he must find the devil's horn. Timmy has searched and searched, but Timmy can't find the devil's horn."
Spike pursed his lips and frowned. "This isn't one of those bloody historic, folkloric, metaphoric foreshadowins of Buffy and me, is it? I went through a lot of trouble to get my soul and my plan was not to just go 'n turn it back in."
"Timmy doesn't know a Buffy, but for Charity, Timmy would do anything. Even when Timmy was a doll, Charity made him feel alive. Now it's Timmy's turn. Timmy won't rest until his Charity is free from the ice that holds Charity."
"Anythin', huh?" Spike stared at the boy, resisting the urge to pull the top hat down to the lad's shoulders and make it a rather starched turtleneck. With a sigh, he squared his shoulders. "Let's push off and find this 'devil's horn' you need."
Timmy hopped up and down, clapping his hands, "Really? Spike will help Timmy?"
"Yes, if for no other reason but to move you off the bloody topic." Spike began to move toward the cave opening.
"Not that way Spike," lisped Timmy as he pulled on Spike's pant leg. "This way." Timmy pointed toward the back of the cave.
Spike shrugged. "Whatever you say, you're the guide."
With that Timminy placed his hand in Spike's and led him into the dark recesses of the cave.