Title: Void

Author: Ariana (luckycookie)

Disclaimer: Characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel are the creations of Joss Whedon and 20th Century Fox. (Please note the WB is not listed here as they are bastards.) Not mine. Not making any money.

Summary: Spike has read Dante's Inferno five times. He thinks Dante got it wrong.

Setting: Post- Chosen, pre-Spike's resurrection

Feedback: Yes, please. Here or ariefic@hotmail.com. This is only my second posted fic. So… please please please. All comments are welcome.

Spike has read Dante's Divine Comedy twice.

He was, after all, a well-educated chap.

He has read Inferno  five times. Any more than that was unnecessary.

He has a photographic memory.

He knows Angelus has one and wonders if it's hereditary. Is that why Dru was so crazy? Did she see Angelus murdering her family over and over again?

Thanks to his long ignored but still intact 19th Century education, Spike knew what to expect when his vampiric life met an end, although he wasn't sure which of his most lecherous deeds would define how far into hell he would go.

If Spike embraced his utter insignificance in the spectrum of the universe he figured he would merely reside with those who committed murderer.

The times he really thought about it, it was Spike's opinion he should be damned to the deepest pits of hell. The hell for betrayers, buried so deep that they surpassed the searing flames and spent a frozen eternity in ice.

When Spike realized what Buffy's amulet, Angel's amulet, would do, he enjoyed the heat surrounding him, the searing oven before his damnation to The Power's everlasting freezer. (Spike relished the flames between he and Buffy, concerned, and then glad Buffy never felt the fire between them) He anticipated the pain to come and welcomed it. He deserved it, after all.

He- the Judas to the Slayer.

(Judas is to Jesus as Spike is to the Slayer.)

In his book, in The World According To Spike, up until he got this soul, he always thought Judas would be a cool guy to hang out with, a drinking buddy to sit down and have a few laughs with after a long day of screwing destiny. Two men- singularly responsible for the destruction of their world's prophesized savior. Spike could be proud that he had one upped the Other Apostle by destroying not one but two Greats. He could secretly snicker over a brew at the thought of the other man dead and rotting while Spike was still about, looking for thirds.

He didn't so much fancy the idea of that dinner party anymore.

Because he was a betrayer now. 

Buffy had trusted him, given him the amulet, blessed him a champion. He was going to save the world.

Not for soccer teams or happy meals with legs this time but because it was the right thing to do.

And she believed in him.

And it was his time.

But he failed. He couldn't have saved the world because this couldn't be hell. He wasn't being torn from his limbs or chewed on by beasts, or eternally burning or frozen. His first real attempt at doing something good with his wretched existence and he fucked it up.

Or perhaps Dante got it wrong.

Because Spike was surrounded by nothing.

He senses strained out into the void uselessly. He was alone with his thoughts, alone with his memories, alone with his soul. Because he could feel it now.

It's really there.

And from the emptiness, the souls of all he killed came crawling, moaning, and accusing him. Murderer! You shredded my windpipe and I drowned in my own blood! Sinner! Can you still hear the squish of the railroad spikes rending flesh?  No, please, don't hurt…oh God, NO!  He deserved every wallop of pain. He deserved what they said.

The World According To Spike.

This is hell.