Chapter 19

Shocked, and mildly horrified, Buffy stumbled back from the bed. Wes and Willow continued to chant, and she vaguely heard Giles join in. She couldn't take her eyes off of William's pale face, though she badly wanted to look away. Her heart pounded, and waves of uneasy regret washed over her. She shouldn't have done this. She shouldn't have risked this. She needed to go.

Buffy turned to flee the room, but Giles grabbed her. "Buffy! You can't leave."

"I have to," she gasped. "I have to. I can't stay."

"Buffy we need you to stay in here." Giles' voice was loud, nearing panic. "Spike will need you."

"I can't. You don't understand, Giles. He…I…I'm killing him. I can't…"

Willow and Wes's voice climbed higher, and a shiver danced across Buffy's body. She was buzzing, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. The air hummed and cackled with electricity, and a bright flash of light illuminated the room in a grotesque white. Giles clutched Buffy's arms and spun her around. "You have to go to him."

"I can't," she whispered. "I can't watch him die."

"He's not going to die, Buffy."

Giles voice was calm, firm, but it didn't reassure her. She knew what they were doing—they were turning him into a vampire. Vampire meant death. Which meant William was gone. They hadn't thought this through. How would they send Spike away and keep William? They couldn't, because he was dying, and after Spike left all that would be was dust.

"He's going to be dust," she said frantically. "I can't do that to him, Giles!"

"Buffy, you need to get a hold of yourself. He is not going to turn into dust."

Behind them, on the bed, the body started to quiver, and then to shake. "Buffy," Wes called. "We need you to hold him down."

Violent tremors forced him nearly off the bed. It looked like he was being electrocuted, his body flopping around like a fish out of water. She watched with growing horror, sure that the power surging through his body would break him. A horrible stench filled the air. Burnt flesh. Blood. Sizzling hair. Fear. Giles pushed her, not gently, towards the bed. She stumbled over her feet, trying to stop even as the momentum sent her tumbling into the side of the hospital bed.

She grabbed his arm automatically, and her skin sizzled at the touch. She jerked away as hard as she could, frightened and injured. "You're burning him!" But Wes and Willow continued to ignore her, caught up in the power of their words. The magic swirled around them, in living green and blood red. It encompassed the bed, and included Buffy. It made a barrier between her and the door, and all she could do was duck her head to avoid touching it. She knew, instinctively, that it would hurt her beyond anything she could imagine.

"Buffy! You need to hold him down!"

Buffy shifted her attention from the bright magic, growing thicker by the second, to the body. He was shaking so hard that she could hear his teeth rattle in his head, and the bandages had fallen off of his skin. The wounds were torn open, and blood burst forth, gushing at an alarming rate. It covered Buffy's face and hair, stained her shirt, she could even taste it in her mouth.

Without a second though, she jumped onto his body, straddling his hips and pushing his shoulders down. He went as stiff as a board, his entire body tense, his muscles as hard as rocks. His hand was forced back, and a horrible sigh escaped his mouth.

It's the death rattle, Buffy thought. That's what they call a death rattle. This is death. I'm killing him.  But she didn't move from her position. She realized that the chanting had stopped, but the magic still spun around them, so fast that if Buffy concentrated on it, it made her sick.

Spike's body went slack beneath her, the tension draining out of him so quickly that she lost her balance. She fell forward on him with a loud "Oompfh", knocking the breath out of her body. Her head hit his, and she saw stars. "Fuck!"

"Buffy? Are you ok?"

Buffy pushed herself up. "Yeah, I'm super."

She braced herself on the sides of the hospital bed, using the bars to support her weight so she didn't hurt Spike. Or what she hoped was Spike. At that point, she didn't have any indication that was more than just a dead body. Blood was everywhere, soaking her clothes and his. His body was completely lax, and he wasn't breathing. The heart monitor was silent. Buffy stared at him, willing him to move, to breath, to do something. Open your eyes.

"Did it work?"

"I don't know, Buffy. It might take a few minutes."

"He's dead."

The finality of the statement brought them all up short. Giles and Wes looked at each other, unwilling to move closer to the bed. Had they really killed him? Willow was paralyzed to the spot, unable to move. She was shocked by what they had just done, and the way they room looked. It looked as though they just slaughtered somebody in the most brutal fashion possible.

"He'll need blood," Wes said, rather optimistically.

Nobody moved, immediately. Nobody could move. Their bodies were transfixed as they gazed intently at the crimson soaked body on the bed. II'm sitting on a dead man/I, Buffy thought.

"I'll go," Giles said.

He left the room as quickly as he could and almost immediately ran into Angel. "Did it work?"

Giles shrugged helplessly. "I wouldn't go in there though, it's…rather messy."

"What happened?"

"I don't know, Angel. But I need to get blood, in case it did work. William…Spike…lost a substantial amount during the spell."

"How? That wasn't blood magic."

"His wounds were reopened."

"If he lost too much, he's going to be famished when he wakes up," Angel warned. "They may not be safe in there with him."

"Perhaps he'll be too weak to attack them. Even so, tell Wesley and Willow to leave. You stay in there with Buffy, as back up."

"Ok. There's blood in my office."

Angel didn't know what he expected, but it certainly wasn't this carnage. He walked over to Wes and a short, quite conversation. The girls ignored him, their attention still focused on Spike. Wes nodded and gently grabbed Willow's hand, leading her out of the room. She went without protest, but she never looked away from the bed.


Buffy was staring intently at his Spike's face, as though she could will him to life. Angel wondered why she was sitting on top of him, and why she didn't wipe the drying blood out of her eyes. Her face was pink, the harsh red diluted by her silent tears. How long had she been crying?

Angel heard Buffy's small squeal before he saw Spike stir. Spike's face shifted, and a growl erupted from his throat. Angel sprang forward, prepared to help Buffy if necessary, but when Buffy seemed totally unfazed, Angel paused, confused. Buffy didn't even realize the other vampire was in the room. Her world was centered around Spike.

She didn't look the least afraid of him, even though Spike was growling and his yellow eyes were rolling wildly. He began to buck his hips to force the Slayer's weight off of his body, but she just held onto him, grimly determined to get his attention, to make him realize it was her.

"Spike!"

He just continued his insane growling and bucking, the need to feed all consuming, the smell of his own blood driving him past the point of intoxication. Buffy knew the only reason she wasn't on the floor was because Spike was just too weak. He didn't seem to know where he was, or who he was, he just wanted to escape from her and find food. Angel quickly moved to the bed and grasped Spike's knees, forcing the lower half of his body to remain still.


Buffy did the first thing she could think of to calm him down. With a reckless disregard for her own safety—and by extension everybody else's—she put her wrist to his mouth. He didn't need encouragement. He bit her instantly and began sucking her blood greedily. Angel gasped in outrage, but Buffy ignored him. The more Spike drank, the more his eyes cleared—the foggier she became. Just when the dizziness was overtaking her, Spike released her wrist.

"Slayer?"

The loss of blood, the relief of hearing his voice, the fear, the magic that still hung in the room, the lack of sleep—everything—worked against her. She felt herself grow light headed, and realized that she was slumping forward.

"Buffy?"

She didn't hear him say her name—she had already passed out on top of his exhausted, broken, bloody body.