Title: Another Nightmare
Author: MelWil
Rating: PG
Fandom: BtVS
Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no money
Feedback: lina_wilson@hotmail.com
Summary: In which Spike dreams and isn't allowed to have what he wants
Author's note: Xmas 2003 present for ladydewinter - written under the title
Christmas Nightmare
~*~
In the days after he got his soul back, Spike suffered through a series of brain-crushing, mind-piercing nightmares. They came like rows of relentless soldiers, one nightmare after another in neat, straight lines, ready to attack him again and again and again.
Eventually he stopped waking himself up with his own screams. The nightmares, he reasoned, were getting better. things were calming down and the soul didn't hurt as much as it once did.
Or he was just getting used to it, whispered a voice at the back of his head. He ignored it.
Three weeks after he received his soul back, the dreams changed. Lurking amongst the vengeful and pitiful faces of the people he'd tortured and killed was something else. There was a presence there, something he couldn't see or hear or identify. It calmed him, supported him, made him believe that things would be better.
That night he killed a demon. A hairy, smelly, oversized oaf of a demon who was inches away from tearing some poor girl to shreds.
When the demon was laying dead at his feet, the girl turned to him. She looked at him through a curtain of thick brown hair and stuttered a hasty thank you. She reminded him of someone, and the resemblance startled him.
In the next dream it was Christmas. He could see snow on the ground and he realised that it was colder than he was used to. There was an unfamiliar house in front of him, decked out in all types of Christmas decorations. Three carollers were near the front door, their voices rising and breaking the stillness of the night.
"It's pretty, isn't it?" A voice asked behind him.
He turned slowly, coming face to face with the girl he's saved earlier. "Um yeah. Hi there. Uh, what exactly are you doing lurking here in my dreams?"
Her lips turned upwards and a smile spread across her face. "I didn't think you'd forget me that quickly, Spike."
"Oh, bleeding hell," he threw his hands up, disgusted by himself. "You're Tara, of course. Willow's Tara. Yeah, sorry about that."
Tara smiled again and turned back to the carollers. "It's pretty, isn't it."
"Yeah." Spike put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, listen love, I don't know this place, do I?"
She shook her head. "You'll leave them before they get here. She'll miss you, you know."
"They? She? Who are you talking about? Where the bleeding hell are we?"
"Cleveland." She took his hand from her shoulder and held it in her own. "You know that I'm talking about Buffy."
"They've gone and moved to Cleveland? Has she gone nuts?And why the hell is it Christmas? I really should stop drinking pig's blood before I go to bed."
Tara laughed and the sound flooded him with memory. "They move to Cleveland after the end. Buffy and Dawn and Xander and Willow. They're going to listen to carollers, and then they're going to eat and laugh and remember the good times."
"Great, lets go." He pulled her toward the house. "Are they having pie?"
"Spike." Tara didn't move. "We can't."
"Sod off. What do you mean we can't? I want carols and eggnog and pie."
"We don't belong to them anymore," she explained. "We're not allowed to see them. We wouldn't even be able to see them if we tried."
"Then why the hell am I here?"
Tara reached out and pulled him closer to her. Her lips met his before he had a chance to protest, to pull away. She kissed him softly and her lips were cold, like a vampire or a ghost.
"I wanted to say Merry Christmas," she whispered. She disappeared as the carollers sang their last note.
When he woke up, he was covered in sweat. His feet were cold, like he'd been standing in the snow.
The next day the screaming nightmares began again.
~*~
In the days after he got his soul back, Spike suffered through a series of brain-crushing, mind-piercing nightmares. They came like rows of relentless soldiers, one nightmare after another in neat, straight lines, ready to attack him again and again and again.
Eventually he stopped waking himself up with his own screams. The nightmares, he reasoned, were getting better. things were calming down and the soul didn't hurt as much as it once did.
Or he was just getting used to it, whispered a voice at the back of his head. He ignored it.
Three weeks after he received his soul back, the dreams changed. Lurking amongst the vengeful and pitiful faces of the people he'd tortured and killed was something else. There was a presence there, something he couldn't see or hear or identify. It calmed him, supported him, made him believe that things would be better.
That night he killed a demon. A hairy, smelly, oversized oaf of a demon who was inches away from tearing some poor girl to shreds.
When the demon was laying dead at his feet, the girl turned to him. She looked at him through a curtain of thick brown hair and stuttered a hasty thank you. She reminded him of someone, and the resemblance startled him.
In the next dream it was Christmas. He could see snow on the ground and he realised that it was colder than he was used to. There was an unfamiliar house in front of him, decked out in all types of Christmas decorations. Three carollers were near the front door, their voices rising and breaking the stillness of the night.
"It's pretty, isn't it?" A voice asked behind him.
He turned slowly, coming face to face with the girl he's saved earlier. "Um yeah. Hi there. Uh, what exactly are you doing lurking here in my dreams?"
Her lips turned upwards and a smile spread across her face. "I didn't think you'd forget me that quickly, Spike."
"Oh, bleeding hell," he threw his hands up, disgusted by himself. "You're Tara, of course. Willow's Tara. Yeah, sorry about that."
Tara smiled again and turned back to the carollers. "It's pretty, isn't it."
"Yeah." Spike put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, listen love, I don't know this place, do I?"
She shook her head. "You'll leave them before they get here. She'll miss you, you know."
"They? She? Who are you talking about? Where the bleeding hell are we?"
"Cleveland." She took his hand from her shoulder and held it in her own. "You know that I'm talking about Buffy."
"They've gone and moved to Cleveland? Has she gone nuts?And why the hell is it Christmas? I really should stop drinking pig's blood before I go to bed."
Tara laughed and the sound flooded him with memory. "They move to Cleveland after the end. Buffy and Dawn and Xander and Willow. They're going to listen to carollers, and then they're going to eat and laugh and remember the good times."
"Great, lets go." He pulled her toward the house. "Are they having pie?"
"Spike." Tara didn't move. "We can't."
"Sod off. What do you mean we can't? I want carols and eggnog and pie."
"We don't belong to them anymore," she explained. "We're not allowed to see them. We wouldn't even be able to see them if we tried."
"Then why the hell am I here?"
Tara reached out and pulled him closer to her. Her lips met his before he had a chance to protest, to pull away. She kissed him softly and her lips were cold, like a vampire or a ghost.
"I wanted to say Merry Christmas," she whispered. She disappeared as the carollers sang their last note.
When he woke up, he was covered in sweat. His feet were cold, like he'd been standing in the snow.
The next day the screaming nightmares began again.