Chapter 3: The Winner Gets the Prize
"Hey, buddy! Watch out!" Bill's voice came into Spike's mind, along with the whimpering of the demon he had a grasp on.
"Huh?" Spike turned his head to see whom Bill was shouting too, but it was too late.
The second demon raised the chair high in the air, and brought it down on Spike, but he reacted instantly and grabbed it with his free hand.
"Back off," he whispered through clenched teeth, and with the rest of his strength, threw the demon back into the wall. But the other demon Spike had a grasp on broke free, and grabbed his arm.
Spike winced in pain at the demon's strong grip. "Ow, I think you broke my arm."
The demon put on a fake worried look, and replied sarcastically, "Oh, really?" Then he threw Spike into the wall where the other demon crashed in to, and laughed evilly.
Spike winced as he tried to stand up. "Okay, you win…" But Spike had another plan in mind. A rope was near him, which was connected to a chandelier to the ceiling, keeping it held up. And who was standing under it?
"Hey!" That was Bill. Spike faced him as Bill threw a hand knife to him.
Spike caught it easily and brought it down sharply, cutting the rope. The chandelier started to shake, then came zooming down on the demon.
"Hey, demon, head's up," Spike shouted, grinning at his good plan, and the fact of him winning.
The demon looked up. "Uh-oh," he said his last word as the chandelier crashed down on him, knocking him out, and in the process, stirring up a lot of dust.
"I won," Spike said weakly before blacking out.
He was running through the woods. The woods back at home: Sunnydale. He was breathing hard, and with every step on the ground, the woods lengthened. Escape was impossible. The trees were thick, and heavy, dense fog settled on the ground. He tripped on a tree root, and fell on his hands and knees.
"Why?" Buffy's voice came through the trees, almost sounding like an echo. "Why did you have to go?"
Spike looked up, and in the distance, there was a bright light. And in the center of the light was…
"Buffy…" Spike got up on his feet, out of breath. "I didn't mean to-"
"You left me. What did I do wrong? Why are you keeping me guessing where you are? And if you're safe?"
"Listen, pet, I have a very reasonable explanation. If you could just listen to me-"
"I'm tired of playing these games. If you have a soul, where is it? A soul should bring you strength, courage—but since you left, your soul must bring you weakness."
Spike blinked. This was unlike Buffy. Usually in his dreams, Buffy was nice, and if this was his dream, then-
The leaves at his feet blew away from him, and the bright light darkened. Buffy smiled evilly, and then started to change into him.
"The First Evil," Spike said to himself. "I should've known."
The First Evil, in the form of Spike, smiled. "Yeah, it's me: The First Evil. Amazing, really, I found this device that enables me to come into a person's dream."
"But why me?" Spike asked, pained that the Buffy in his dream wasn't Buffy. "Why do you have to invade my dream?"
"Oh, I'm just not visiting your dreams." He snapped his fingers and Buffy appeared next to the real Spike.
"Spike? Oh, boy, my dreams are getting insane," Buffy said.
"Buffy…" Spike began. Then she disappeared.
"I'm visiting her dreams, also. Making her believe that you killed yourself," The First Evil explained to Spike.
"Why are you torturing me? And Buffy?" Spike asked, angered by the fact that The First Evil would do such a thing to Buffy.
The First Evil grinned. "What can I say? It's a gift I was born with." Then it disappeared.
Spike woke up.
He was in a bed.
And he was aching everywhere. He remembered the fight. And the fact that he won the fight made him feel a little stronger. Then he remembered the dream. The First Evil came to him in his dream, but what did it say about a device? And what could the device do?
Spike sat up. His head hurt, his arm hurt—he was amazed his brain didn't hurt from the fight.
"So, you're awake?" Bill came into the room. He had lots of energy, so much anger, and even though he didn't show it, Spike could feel it. "I cleared the body out that demon left in here. Took me a while. Then I carried you in here, and bandaged you up, since you were knocked out."
Spike nodded. "What injuries do I have, doc?" He was slowly drifting back into consciousness, and was still rattled about the dream.
"Oh, nothing compared to the demon's injuries. All you have is a scratch here and there, not to mention a broken left wrist, which should heal up pretty quickly," Bill explained.
Spike sighed. Well, at least I haven't lost my memory, he thought. "What happened to the demon? And please tell me he got scared and ran away," Spike tried to make a joke, but he hurt too much toe even think about jokes.
"Well, after the fight, all his demon buddies ran away—well, rode away, actually, on their motorcycles. I thought that they'd come back for the knocked out demon, but they didn't. I checked to see if he was still alive even, but he was dead. He had a good motorcycle, too. Left it outside for you, so you can get to where you're going," Bill explained hastily.
"A motorcycle?" Spike asked, just to be sure if he heard correctly.
Bill nodded. "Yep, a motorcycle."
"Oh."
Then it became quiet. Spike looked around at the room he was in. There was a little bedside table, with a lamp on top, and dust covered the closed blinds at the window. This must be the backroom, Spike thought. Little sunlight came through the closed blinds, as the sun started to drift down behind the mountains, but it still lit up the room just enough so they could see. Bill sighed, and Spike glanced at him.
"So," Bill broke the silence, "what's your story?"
"My story?" Spike raised an eyebrow. "I don't have a story." Then, as a poor attempted joke, he added, "Unless you want to hear the story about the fight with the demon."
"The story about your soul. Why'd you get your soul?"
"Oh," Spike took a deep breath before beginning his story, "it all started a year ago, maybe two. A friend died, and her friends brought her back to life. To make things simpler, I loved her, she loved me, she told me she used me, I got mad, tried to hurt her, felt guilty about hurting her, and then I got my soul back. I don't really want to go into the details on the story." And not to mention the part about where I hurt her, Spike thought.
Bill nodded. "Nice story…really simple."
Spike laughed. "Yeah, thanks." He felt much more stronger, brighter, and the guilt inside him felt lighter.
"So, this girl you loved, who was she?" Bill asked, suddenly interested.
Spike's laughter faded. His eyes became hard and distant, as thoughts raced through his mind. "She is the Slayer." My one and only, he added.
"Really, now?" Bill grinned. "You were in love with the Slayer? That's like Phantom of the Opera. She'll never love you."
"I realize that," Spike snapped at Bill. "You don't have to go and make things harder for me than it already is."
Bill raised his hands in defense. "Hey, apologies here. I'm waving the white flag."
"Good," Spike whispered to himself, then to Bill, he asked, "Did the sun go down yet?"
Bill nodded. "Yeah, it did. So you're free to go." A loud crash came from the other room. "I need to go check on the guys," he offered, and he left.
Spike got out of bed. His leather duster was lying on the end of the bed, while his boots were on the floor. He picked up his duster first, and put it on, then sat on the end of the bed to put on his boots. When he finished putting on his boots, he stood up. He still felt weak from the battle, but not weak enough to get to where he was going. All he hoped for was that he could still be able to ride the motorcycle, even with his broken wrist.
Spike walked out from the backroom, and into the bar. There were five more vampires than before, and the counter was crowded with them, talking, drinking either blood or beer, and laughing, so Spike decided to leave.
Just as he opened the front door to go outside, Bill ran up to him. "Hey!"
"What?" Spike asked quietly, coldly.
"Here's some blood for the trip." Bill handed Spike three bags of blood. "And the keys to the motorcycle," he added as he offered Spike the keys.
"Thanks," Spike said. He took the keys and blood from Bill. "I'll make sure to eat these." He put the bags of blood in his coat pocket. "So, are you going to wish me luck?" He asked Bill. "I mean, I may need it and all." Bill shook his head. "Fine," Spike sighed as he went outside.
The motorcycle was leaning against the wall next to the door. Spike walked over to the motorcycle, grinning. He got on and started it up. The engine rumbled as he rode it to the edge of the street.
"Just like riding a bike." He checked for cars in both directions, and when there were none, he rode off into the night.
Bill watched from the window as Spike disappeared into the distance. "Good luck," he whispered, and then went back to work.