TITLE: "Normal again" (7/8?) part I

AUTHOR: Richard Bachman

EMAIL: bachman_rchard@hotmail.com

SITE: nope

FEEDBACK: Give it to me luv, you know you want more of this!

DISTRIBUTION: Do whatever you like poodle. As long as Richard is mentioned I'm fine.

RATING: NC-17 Humor/angst

PAIRING: B/S

SUMMARY: Got this wonderful idea after watching normal again. Instead of Buffy, Spike gets a dose of demonic goodness inserted into his system. As his consciousness is transported to an AU where he finds Sunnydale is no longer the good old Sunnyhell he despises and knows so well, things are getting a bit surreal for the poor bleached wonder.

THANKS: To anyone for reading my senseless dribble. Love you guys. You truly make wasting my weekends worthwhile!

KISSES AND HUGS: To my dear betareader and my muse Olga.

ACT 7: Murphy's law dictates that whatever goes well, must go wrong at one miserable point in time eventually.









SCENE 1



My fingers were tapping on the table, tapping at a rhythm of a song I've heard a couple of weeks or maybe a couple of decades ago. It didn't make any difference, for it was too tuneless to be recognized as anything decent anyway. For a moment, I considered whistling too, but my lips were just too dry and couldn't carry a tune.

I was starting to get on his nerves.

"Will, can't you just stop that."

I pretended I didn't hear and ruffled with my fists on the tabletop. The bag he brought with him quivered, and I could hear a couple of bottles tinkling inside. That sounded promising.

"Will! Stop it!"

"Look, I'm just trying to provide some background music to highlight the occasion. Build up an exciting atmosphere, you know, like at those TV shows when people are winning stuff."

Liam sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Just open the bag. You're not winning anything here. It's just some stuff I thought you might need."

Trying not to look too greedy or curious, I grabbed the plastic bag and dragged it over to my side of the table.

"You really know how to spoil this for me. You know that? The next big event I can look forward to is a rerun of the third season of Passions, and that won't be on till over a week from now."

"I didn't exactly say what was inside the bag."

Eying him suspiciously, I took a peek.

It took me one minute and thirty seconds to go through the entire content and conclude that there was nothing in there that could be considered even slightly useful.

"And?" Liam asked, hopeful and moronically naïve. "What do you think?"

"I am amazed. Really." I answered. "I mean, first you asked me if I needed anything. Anything at all. I give you a whole list, neatly written in readable letters, since you complained that my ordinary scribbling was completely incomprehensible, and on a sheet of decent paper instead of using a piece of yellow post-it. Then you come back after a week and manage to bring me a full bag with absolutely nothing in there that I've asked for. Tell me mate, were you really drunk when you went out shopping or did you simply not give a damn?"

"Look, you know I can't bring you any of those things that were on that list."

"Why not?"

"You're not allowed to smoke or drink in here." He answered impatiently. "So your request for a couple of bottles of Bourbon and a six pack of expensive foreign beer is really out of the question. The same with the cartons of cigarettes you wanted. And why on earth did you need an two inch blade Swiss army knife for?"

"For stuff." I snapped back, putting the real reason why I needed it behind a locked door at the back of my mind. Didn't want to upset the poof. "Look, I want my bloody fags!"

"Yeah, you can forget about it little brother. I'm not gonna budge and watch you smoke yourself into a lung cancer patient."

"Yeah well, then watch me waste away in here suffering of deadly depressions." I gave him a very accusing glare. "I mean, what the bloody hell I'm I supposed to do with this here then? I don't even do my own laundry."

I tossed the package of fabric softener out of the bag and onto the table.

"I thought you might ask the nurses to have your clothes washed in it. You said it yourself that that outfit they're putting you in are giving you rashes."

I snorted. Really something typical for the bloody poofter to consider. "And why did you bring me these?"

"Ah, freshly bottled apple juice." He said, pointing at it with a content grin on his face. "Vitamins. Something that will built up your strength without turning your liver into purple haggis."

"I'm not recovering from something physical here." I ogled disappointedly at the bottles of urine coloured fluid. I already checked the labels but there wasn't a single drop of alcohol in it. Could have even been delighted with a couple of bottles of cider here. "It's all in my head, remember? So why don't you bring me something that was intended to clear out the mind instead of this nochey hippy stuff?"

"Will, don't be so difficult."

"I'm not being difficult. I'm complaining because I feel I'm being mistreated. Why don't you care more about those wankers in here who stuff me full with shiny little happy pills instead of worrying about my daily intake of vitamins? Since when did you become all maternal?"

Liam pulled that face again, the placid I - am - so - very - not - insulted look, while underneath the surface the whole soddin volcano was raring to go BOOM! I knew that look far too well from Angelus, and if I were a clever bloke I would just stop here with pissing him off. However, this was Liam. The fabric softener version of the bloody poof and therefore even more harmless, I wager. And I happened to be his only little brother.

Surely he would have a wee bit more tolerance for me then usual.

"What's this?" I asked, chuckling sarcastically. "A tube of moisturising skin cream!?"

"It's not skin cream! It's a homeopathic ointment for - "

"And what's all this then? Herbal tea, vitamin pills, bloody cans of sun- dried prunes? What, you accidentally switched brown bags with a constipated old gran?"

"No! I didn't! Look I just thought you might -"

"Oh! Don't tell me, you got this stuff home already. Just cleared out the kitchen cabinets in one mighty sweep and tossed this bag together for poor little Spike. Well, let me tell you one thing mate; no wonder you're constipated with that large stick constantly up your soddin ar- "

Liam leaped out of his chair. The expression on his face was absolutely no longer hiding the deadly eruption underneath; his mouth was crudely hooked, his large hands were clenched into white knuckled fists and if looks could kill. Well, let me say that I would have ended up fitting in a tiny ashtray. Or a very tiny coffin. Nowadays I'm just not sure what I bloody am anymore.

I really don't want to admit this. But I was genuinely scared of him.

Too much Angelus in the bloody poof then I could possibly manage.

He leaned over the table and had me by my loose fitting shirt before I could jump out of the chair.

"Look you ungrateful little brat!" He spat. "I brought you this because I thought it might help you to get better. I'm just trying to help."

"Yeah. Why don't you try staying away from me for a change." My daft mouth was once again quicker then my slow working brains. "I just got enough of your soddin assistance, you bloody poofter!"

I flew with my back against the wall, the chair tossed on the floor with what should have been enough racket to get Mighty Mike in here to save my ass, but for some bloody reason, a nice prank that the cosmic powers are playing on me perhaps (they never really did like me much), he didn't show, and I was stuck with the mouth foaming poof turning Angelus on me.

My spine ached as it hit the tiled surface. Angelus' face hovered a nose length away from mine. I tried to smack him, but he seized my wrists and pinned them down above my head. Dangling there like a bloody defenceless idiot, I couldn't stop all those heavily sealed doors inside my mind from soaring open. Very bad memories surfaced. Dark nights. Decades ago. Sweat and tears. Pain. Lots of it. And blood.

Blood everywhere.

Oh God, I really would like one of those soddin happy pills right now.

His grin was cold and vindictive. Not a trace of Liam or Angel was left in there.

"Dad was right about you. You're one piece of intolerable shit. You won't listen. You just won't till you're smacked around like a bitch." His grasp around my wrists tightened till it became painful. I started to breathe heavily and I tried to kick him with my legs, but he surprised me with a violent blow as he pushed his knee into my stomach. The air was kicked out of my lungs, and I wanted to double over out of pain.

"Even a dumb mutt can learn faster then you can. You wanne try me again, little brother?"

I shook my head anxiously. What's going on? This couldn't real. He.he couldn't be Angelus.could he?

He pushed his crotch between my legs and I could feel his cock trough his damp trousers, hard and erect like a soddin flagpole.

This must be a nightmare.

Please let it be.

"I'll teach you how to behave. You're like a stupid little dog that needs to be told what to do." He hissed, and lowering my arms, he turned me around to face the tiles. When I struggled, he grabbed my hair and banged my head against the wall. It then became frightfully clear to me that, without my supernatural strength and agility, his advantage in posture and weight would make him win in any brawl against me every time. By the time he slipped his hand down my knickers, pushed between my legs and touched my arse, I was too numbed by fear and feeling too defeated to be able to defend myself against him any longer.

The only thing left that I could do was to try to hold back the tears as my eyes became glossy.



SCENE 2

"Will? William?"

I didn't react. Didn't even flutter my soddin eyelids.

"William! Look, is there something bothering you? If there is, you really should tell me."

"Tell you what?" I asked. We were in the recreation room, Buffy Nightingale and I. The other mental health patients, or loony bin citizens, or whatever I should call them without being politically incorrect were keeping themselves busy in here. They were reading, or playing one of those daft company games like scrabble or apple chess. Most of them were hanging out in front of the telly, drooling over a kiddies program involving a big fat purple dinosaur. I myself was joining a couple of others in their attempt to record whatever was spooking inside our loopy minds on a piece of bad quality canvas. Buffy looked over my shoulder to study my work, and somehow it seemed to trouble her.

"There's nothing bothering me." I lied. "What made you think there was?" I frowned. "Did I do something wrong again?" It came out so naturally that it didn't even surprise me anymore. I mean, come on, it's always something that I've done, isn't? There are people mysteriously killed by a bunch of unidentifiable vampires, oh it's probably Spike. Buffy is suffering of Joan of Arc syndrome and comes to me for a little bit of cold comfort, so the evil fiend had wickedly seduced her of course. Captain Card Board comes back to Sunny D to do a little bit of early Eastern egg hunting, I end up with my lair burnt to bits, just because I want to make some money for the financially troubled Slayer. There is the possibility that our planet is going to be struck by a giant meteorite which gonna end the whole bleedin puppet show; let's grab our pointy sticks and Christmas nutcrackers and go have a jolly good go on the vampire's testicles.

Buffy watched me, guilt written on her face. "Oh no! Absolutely not! I mean, you were very quiet the last few days. Which is excellent of course!"

You see? I'm only good enough for her if I shut my gob and pretend to be a piece of wooden furniture or something. Women.

"It's just." She hesitated and gazed once again at my painting. "Um, Will, don't take this too personally, but what are you trying to paint here exactly?"

"Isn't it obvious then?" I asked, frowning and a bit insulted, though I knew that I was never any good at drawing stuff. I guess she was more familiar with the little masterpieces Angelus used to leave behind on her bed. The asshole couldn't even write a decent grocery list, but he was a hell lot better than me on the ol' charcoal and paint. For some very unfair reason, chicks really seem to fall for that.

"It's a.hmmm."

I blinked my eyes a couple of times, my mind trying to make something out of the chaotic lines and shouting primary colours that were snaking up and down the black painted canvas. Big fat blobs of paints were splashed on the surface, like someone had just gagged all over it. Bloody hell, what was I painting here?

"It's.It's something.abstract." I tried, tilting my head to one side to observe it better. "Probably."

"You used up all the red acrylic paint." She said. "There isn't a single tube left for Steward here to paint his fire with. And I really think you shouldn't let Giles or anyone of the staff see this. I know that it is a part of the art therapy class that you ought to be able to express your inner frustrations, but this." She hesitated, her pretty face showing total disgust. "Frankly, this is just too much."

She tapped on my shoulders, a friendly gesture really, but I got no soddin clue why she asked me to get rid of the painting. It didn't look threatening to me at all.

It didn't look like anything really.

"Just throw it away and start over again." She opted.

"We're out of blank canvases."

"Well.then.I don't know. Paint over it, for God's sake!"

She went to the next Rembrandt; mister Steward the Inferno demon, who was painstakingly drawing tiny little faces on people trapped in a large building engorged by fire. If I was not mistaking, there was a funny little burning figure jumping out of the window from the tenth floor.

And she thought my painting was sick.

It wasn't until we came back after lunch and I approached my work of art from a distance, that I finally saw what I had been painting.

There, in crude, twisted lines and badly chosen colours, was the indisputable figure of a demon. His tall body crooked but powerful, his face partly hidden underneath blots of red paint, illustrating blood, but still chillingly recognizable.

The dark creature was sodomizing a faceless young man, the naked victim's body pressed helplessly against a brick wall overgrown by creepers covered in thorns.

There was red acrylic paint just about everywhere.

I didn't scream or anything. Just grabbed the soddin thing straight off the easel and tossed it in the bin, pouring a pot full of thinner over it till the recreation room smelled like a toxic chemical plant and I got yelled at by that wanker Steward. I didn't give a rat's arse about it. Just made sure that the entire coat of paint was stripped off the canvas before I turned my back on the whole thing.

I think I'll give up art therapy for a while.



SCENE 3

I had a bad dream last night. No, not a bad dream. More like a soddin nightmare, really. I was in a living room. Large. Nicely decorated and immaculately clean. Modern. With an impressive wall sized window that reached to the floor, looking out at a green and lush garden. I noticed that the weather outside was bloody awful. A thick blanket of dark clouds hung low over the horizon, gushes of wind stripped the trees in the garden from their green foliage, and tiny specks of rain appeared on the glass. Somewhere far away came the rumbling of thunder.

I was still not myself in that dream. Funny, isn't it? Even in my sleep I'm not allowed to be Spike. I have to be content to be William, the eternal victim.

Anyway, Liam was there too.

This time, he was even a bigger poofter then he normally is. He was really upset, pacing around the place while running his hands through his hair, tense enough to yank bits out of skull, so to speak. Not that he ever would of course. He wouldn't function properly without his pointy hairdo to scare off the other demons with any sense in hairstyling.

But so to speak.

"Look, Liam." My voice was trembling, anxious. My throat was awkwardly dry. "I don't think you can go on like this. You need help."

"I don't need any help!" Liam turned toward me, his face damp and sweaty, his grim eyes desperate. "I'm. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for those horrible things I've done to you but. you have to understand. I cannot help it. I. "

His bit on his lower lip, tears shining in his eyes.

"I wasn't myself."

"I know it's not your fault." I tried to reason with him. "You're not.him. You're not violent and.and not vindictive. I know that you care about me and would never do anything to hurt me. But he's just getting too bloody strong. Liam, please. Go see a doctor."

"You don't understand." He hissed. "I can't afford to go see someone for help! They're gonna lock me up for this!"

"You bloody well have to! It's getting worse and worse every time."

"It will pass. It always does. Sometimes he stays away for months."

"Liam, listen to me."

"And - And if it gets too bad, I still got those pills Dr. Kiernan has given me. I can repress my blackouts with those. Make him go away." He said it as if he actually believed in it. That a couple of those cheap Prozac imitations could save him or me from the monster that was threatening to take over his life.

"Liam!" I was screaming instead of talking. I was bloody well done talking. "Don't you have any bloody idea what you've almost let him do to me? He was trying to get into my knickers and fucking rape me! If I hadn't whacked him on the head with that soddin lamp, you could have.You."

I was suddenly out of air as my stomach started to object. I retched dry, my emotions getting the better of me. I saw Liam approaching tentatively, as if he wanted to offer help, but finally didn't dare.

"How long do you want to wait before you decide that it's enough?" I asked. "Till you're no longer yourself anymore? Till he has taken over completely and I've lost my only family that I have left to that bloody sadist? Is that what you want?"

There was a long, burdened silence as I waited for his answer, which never came. Liam just kept staring at me, his eyes praying for forgiveness, his lips perhaps mumbling it softly without the words reaching my ears, but for my tensed nerves and my wary mind, that wasn't anywhere near enough anymore.

"Right then." I said, turning away from him with as much dignity as I still could manage. "If that's what you got planned for the rest of your life, I'm leaving."

I went upstairs to the guest room, emptied the closets, jammed my clothes in my bags without giving much notice, and rushed back downstairs again. In the hall, Liam was waiting, blocking my way out.

"Will, you can't leave now. We have to talk." He started.

"We're done talking."

"It's getting worse outside. You have to stay, at least till the bad weather is over."

"I'll take the risks."

"Look, Will... Just give me another chance and listen. Listen to me, will you?"

"No. It's done. I've made my point with you. You've got to see a doctor for this. A proper one. Not Dr. I-don't-have-a-licence-to-practice-and-I'm-not- really-a-doctor Kiernan. That bloke picks bullets out of gangsters and prescribes drugs to addicts. You need a head doctor. A bloody shrink. Get it?"

I pushed him out of my way, and to my surprise, he let me through.

"As long as you're still convinced that you can survive like this," I added, swinging the front-door open and gazing at the rain that was falling out of the darkened sky in buckets outside, "I would rather not come here to see you anymore."

As I stepped through the rain, heading for the rusty green Lincoln that was parked at the end of the deserted suburban street, I knew for certain that my brother kept watching me till I got into my car and slammed the door close at the driver's side. I caught a glimpse of him in my side mirror, still standing there in the rain in front of his porch after I started the engine and drove off.

The dream ended in a series of hazy tidbits. Small snapshots. Nothing fancy. As if my brain suddenly decided that it had done enough for one night and filled the remaining airtime with badly edited parts, like what TV channels usually do after primetime. The only thing I did clearly remember was that my hand was pierced by tiny pieces of the car window, and my blood mixing with the rain and the mud.

I guess it was all just a dream, and I should forget about it. It's not like I'm expecting to have this same thing over again tonight, and since it's only Monday, I still have three days left before the poof's visit day. No reason to go out of my mind here and talk myself into doing total cracker stuff.

Tomorrow, I'm gonna have a huge bowl of cereal, drink a glass of that apple juice Liam brought me and have a good laugh at this daft nightmare of mine. Perhaps I'll even tell Buffy about it, so she can tell me to sod off with my paranoid ramblings. Just to keep a bit of normal dialogue between us flowing, you know.

However, for tonight, I am a bit nervous to go to sleep.

TBC