Title: Butcher's Blue
Author: hisluvpet
Series: BtVS
Genre: Drama/Romance
Part: 4 – Blue Eyes Shut
Rating: R
Started: 09/21/04
Summary: Spike's interaction with Buffy in Something Blue kicks off a hellish voyage of discovery that might just be the making of the man. Manifestly AU after that delightful episode, but I pull bits & pieces from other eps as I go.
Pairing: Spuffy, Wara, Xanya, Spander-lite from time to time
Disclaimer: I've got a wine cellar for any lawyers that stop by.
Posting: Let me know...then sure!
A/N: This is a story that treads on somewhat dodgy ground. If I've managed to trample on anyone's religious or philosophical theories, no offense intended – this is just my plot bunny plodding on. Oh, and Spike's downstairs is fully furnished & shrine-less, etc., as it's my mythical Season Whatever.
A/N2: Sorry for the gap between posts. I had it done, really I did, then I didn't like it. I mulled it over, then finally got an epiphany. Hopefully this version is better and worth waiting for.
A/N3: For Bittenandstaked – enthusiastic thanks for the very timely advice & the encouragement.
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People…have to be restored, renewed, revived,
reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone.
Audrey Hepburn (1929-1993)
The big blue eyes are shut…Sir John Betjeman (1906–1984).
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Spike supposed that the Watchers would say the he wasn't able to feel any of the "finer" emotions, such as love, even though before and after his turning, he had always felt everything deeply. Ever the rebel, Spike the vampire loved well, if not wisely.
But now, it was as if he'd been feeling his emotions through a filter, diluting them before he ever realized them. He'd always thought that becoming a vampire had enhanced all his senses and amplified his emotions, almost to the point of pain sometimes. Now, he knew he'd been wrapped in a greyness that had dulled his senses and his heart.
The pain that had wracked him from his injuries was gone. He felt good. He felt. There was nothing but this glorious sensation of being. No darkness, just light, a warm, brilliant light. He ought to be cringing, but he ached to be even deeper in its grasp. He stretched his being toward it, although it seemed to come from every direction, rushing toward him, pooling into his self and taking up residence. It made the ache disappear – the bloodlust, hate, self-loathing and despair that he'd lived with for over 100 years were gone. All at once, he felt love, belonging, and peace, as if he'd finally come home from a long, long journey.
Then, suddenly it was gone from within. Then, the sorrow of understanding hit him full force, and he fell into despair. He finally understood. The light had been the Light. And, he was of the Dark, turned and banished forever by his own choice. Had he a body, he would have wept, unashamed.
The joyous Light was still there; it feathered touches into his being, as if to comfort him. He embraced it, but the feelings were tainted by the knowledge that it would never be his. Hell was an arcane concept unless you'd actually been there, but Spike knew what his was going to be – to know the Light, but be banned from it for eternity.
His fitting punishment, for he didn't have any real remorse or regret for his actions as a vampire. He couldn't feel sorry for anything; that ability had been removed in his making. He only held residual traces of his human life, and was cursed with his ability to love so deeply. It only served to make him aware of how different he was from other vampires, while never allowing him to be human enough to interact well with humans, never mind the happy meals on legs issues that arose. At most, he had a desire to feel the remorse that he lacked. The mordancy failed to amaze – he'd too long thought about this, never coming to any good conclusions.
"Looks like you're fucked," a cheerfully derisive voice announced.
Surprise overcame Spike for a moment, as he realized that he was standing on an open grey plain that extended as far as the eye could see. He looked over to the source of the voice and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I got that," he answered in a wry husky voice.
A tallish young man garbed in worn black leather pants, a torn Green Day t-shirt, and battered boots barked a short laugh. "Give us a fag," brilliant eyes glinted above a maniacal grin.
With a speaking look, Spike dug into the pocket of his duster. Producing a slightly crumpled pack of Marlboro reds, he tapped one up and held it out to the whipcord lean figure before him. A wordless rising of the other's eyebrows had him pulling out his Zippo and lighting the fag, and his companion leaned in and inhaled lustily. A ghost of Spike's habitual smirk crossed his face before disappearing and a neutral expression appeared.
Holding the smoke in for a long time, the dark haired man finally let it out with a pleasured groan, accompanied by a slight shimmy of pleasure that jingled the various bits of metal he was adorned with and ran his other hand through his black, spiked hair.
"So," he gestured with the cigarette. "You get what just happened?"
"Not much to get. Figure I'm dead, and on my not so merry way. They gave me a taste of the Light, then they pulled it back," Spike responded sardonically, wondering where this was all going. He looked down, "Lesson learned and all that." Buffy, he thought briefly, sadly. The embodiment of Light and just as lost to him.
He inhaled deeply, then looked up at his companion, "You know, I can appreciate the irony of your being my personal greeter of the recently more dead, but why the build up? Shouldn't we be getting along to main event by now?"
"Just what would that be?" he was blowing smoke rings now, tilting his head up and watching them rise and dissipate into the grey sky.
"How the hell should I know?" Spike growled.
"Didn't learn fuck-all at your fancy schooling, did you now, William."
"At least I finished my stretch, John," Spike snarled back. "You bunked straight off."
"Waste of time," the youth rejoined almost cheerfully. "No because I was unintelligent or anything, but because I wasn't interested in it. I'm incapable of doing something I don't want to do. I just can't do it. I can't force myself to do things. I either want to do it or I don't."
Spike stared for a few seconds, then laughed self-mockingly as he shook his head. Pulling out a fag of his own, he lit up, and lifting his head he exhaled, "Kinda get that. Was a time I felt the same way. Sometimes still do," he trailed off pensively then took another heavy drag and looked pointedly at the youth before him, just waiting.
"Got some patience along the way, didn't you" said John sotto voce. He gestured wordlessly to a black leather couch that had appeared and the two sat down, putting their collective feet up on the accompanying coffee table scattered with copies of Rolling Stone and Punk magazine.
"All right," Spike's mouth quirked. "I'll bite. Why am I here? All comfy like, as opposed to being tormented in the fiery pits 'o Hell or some such."
"You're here to wait until the time's right," the youth directed to Spike as he tapped ash into an ashtray that claimed that someone in San Antonio loved them.
"So now what? I'm in Hell's waiting room?" Spike's lip curled, but his stomach felt a bit hollow. This had a little too much of a No Exit feeling for him.
"Somethin' like that," John nodded leaning his head back and staring and the grey nothingness of sky. "And deadness is really a state of mind. You should know that."
Spike stared non-plussed at John as he finished smoking his cigarette and ground the butt out in the ashtray. Then, he closed his eyes and appeared to be communing with himself. After five minutes of this, Spike was ready to help him to his second death.
Suddenly, John leaped up off the couch, sprang up on the coffee table, grinning manically as magazines slid onto the floor. "Right then!" he exclaimed. "Wait's over – time for mystical discourse shit," he lifted his arms over his head and gestured broadly.
"Have you lost what little sense you were born with, mate?" Spike asked incredulously.
"Don't know as I was born with any," John quipped as he hopped backwards off the table onto the floor with a flourish. "They came and now we can get started."
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"I c..can't see anything," Tara quivered.
"That's weird; there's usually a bunch of candles lit," Dawn pushed the crypt door open further and it hit the wall with a muffled bang. "I bet they didn't light any for him before they left," she muttered darkly.
Tara jumped, and wondered just how Dawn would know the usual state of a vampire's crypt. Well, it was Spike's crypt, but somewhat creepy all the same.
Dawn told herself that there was nothing in the crypt in the dark that wasn't there in the light. She swallowed and tried to sound confident, "Got some matches or a lighter?"
"Sure," the Wicca replied, and delved into her bag, pulling out a butane barbeque lighter she kept in her 'Magic on the Go' kit. She clicked it on and the pair proceeded forward in the gloom. It was raining, and the air was dim and grey. They could hear the sounds of the drops on the roof of the crypt, but otherwise, the place was as still as the grave.
"Here," Dawn produced a half-melted deep red pillar candle and Tara lit it. They then went around the crypt and lit all the candles that they could find.
"Where is he?" Tara finally spoke as she scanned the crypt, finding no Spike in sight.
"Oh, crap," Dawn exclaimed. "He's not here!" The girl anxiously ran around the bier where Spike normally slept, then heaved a sigh of relief. "No piles of dust, anyway," she made a moue. "Are you sure Willow, Xander and Anya brought him back here?"
"W-willow said they b-brought him in here, put him on the bier, a-and left," Tara assured the girl. "M-maybe he went out?"
"No way," Dawn shook her head. "Buffy's been sick in bed for two days, and she has Slayer healing. If he's half as sick as Buffy is, he still wouldn't be able to move."
"At least n-not very far," Tara crossed over to where a rug was pushed over and a previously unseen trapdoor was open. She was relieved that neither of them had stumbled over the hole and fell in their attempts to negotiate the darkened crypt. "Down here, maybe?" she gestured.
Dawn peered down the dim opening and marveled, "Spike's got a basement." She grabbed a candle and started down the ladder steps before she could lose her nerve. Tara watched anxiously, unsure if this was such a good idea, but knowing that Dawn would not be denied. Having both her mother and sister ill at the same time had been a telling strain on the teenager. Adding on Spike's injuries and illness had made Dawn fretful and irascible, also very determined to check on his welfare and tend to him as best she could.
Tara knew that Dawn considered the vampire a friend, and truth be told, she wasn't so sure that she didn't also. It was yet another strangeness of the Hellmouth that she'd been exposed to ever since she hooked up with the Scoobies courtesy of Willow. She shrugged as she carefully followed Dawn downstairs; she could watch out for Dawn and help Spike, which was good all around.
Gaining the bottom of the steps, Dawn proceeded carefully, locating more candles on a ledge and lit them. Tara moved up and they each grabbed another candle, turning to explore the chamber. In the dim, yellow light of the candles, there appeared a large, four-poster bed. On the deep red coverlet Spike lay on his side, his arms curled around his body, his knees drawn up, totally still, a naked statuary of a once-man, head flung back, his face a rictus of pain.
They both were startled by the sight, though the dim light and his posture made it impossible to see much except for muscular arms and a lean flank. Tara made a low sound, put her candles on a small bedside table and went to tug the other side of the coverlet over the vampire. Dawn immediately made for the head of the bed and placed her candles on the table also, and touched Spike's forehead.
"He's burning up," she exclaimed, stroking his hair back from his sweaty forehead. "That's not normal, is it?"
"I'm n-not totally sure, Dawnie," Tara replied frowning. "But I don't think so."
"What can we do to help him?" Dawn asked, feeling helpless and useless – oh, so familiar feelings for her, and she despised them just as much as she always did.
Tara knew there wasn't much that could be done for the vampire; if his own strong powers of healing couldn't fight off the demon's infection, there wasn't much anyone else could do. But, there were healing spells she could try. They would augment his own healing powers, or at least they would on a human. She was less sanguine about it working on a vampire. But, looking at Dawn's face and then at Spike's still form, she knew she had to at least try.
"I have a healing spell I could try," Tara spoke quietly, lifting her bag from her shoulder and placing on the bed next to Spike.
"Can I do anything?" Dawn asked, eager to help.
"See if you can find some more candles and light them," Tara replied and she began digging in her bag. "I'll need a little more light to read by."
Dawn agreed quickly, and with a last stroke of Spike's forehead, she lifted one of the pillars and began walking about the spacious room, looking for more candles to light. When she was done, the room glowed. She moved back over to where Tara had sat on the edge of the bed next to the vampire and was reading something in a battered text.
Tara mumbled to herself, going over the inventory of supplies she carried with her to double check that she had all she needed. Satisfied, she directed Dawn to stand on the other side of the bed. "Here," Tara handed Dawn a bundle of sage tied with an intricate ribbon and the lighter. "Just hold onto that for a moment," no stutter and hesitation in her voice, she was sure of herself and her way.
Taking out a purple candle and a small pocketknife, she inscribed an eolh on it. Looking over at the bedside table, she picked out a small dish that had a partially burned white candle on it. She would have preferred a cleansed dish, but the white candle shouldn't interfere with the spell too much she reasoned. She scraped off as much of the wax as she could, then put the purple candle on the plate. Taking a small vial from her bag, she rubbed some basil oil on the candle. Lifting the candle up, Tara spoke, "In the divine name of the Goddess who breathes life into us all I consecrate and charge this candle as a magickal tool for healing," and then lit it.
"All right, Dawnie," she called to the teenager. "Light the sage and hold it so it makes some smoke, but not too much, Ok?"
"Got it," Dawn nodded, and did as she was asked.
When the sage smoldered to Tara's satisfaction, she took Spike by the shoulders and carefully rolled him onto his back, gently tugging his arms and legs down flat. She was unable to resist smoothing his hair back from his forehead, as it has sprung forward in a mass of slightly sweaty curls. She was relieved to see his face has relaxed a little from it expression of terrible pain. She could see that the pain remained, but may have been slightly reduced by their ministrations.
Tara then centered herself and put her hands on Spike's chest and intoned, "Magick mend and candle burn, sickness end; good health return." She felt the power of the magick flow from herself into Spike, and she hoped it would be enough to make a difference. Both Spike and Buffy were very ill, the Othanyskr demon's poison was so strong.
Willow and she had spent the last two days with Buffy, performing healing spells, but with minimal effect. Giles had maintained that her Slayer healing was what was going to pull her through. Willow had maintained that she could help, so she remained. Tara was willing to stay, but had been approached by Dawn for help in attending to Spike, having had to wait until a Saturday in order to make the journey to the vampire's crypt.
"Did it work?" Dawn asked as she carefully held the smoldering sage.
"I felt the spell go into him," Tara replied with a small smile. "I think it will help, even if only a little."
"That's good," Dawn's voice wobbled a little, and she was horrified that she was sniffling.
"Why don't you give me that," Tara gestured to the sage, and the teenager handed the bundle to her. She walked over to a corner and found a section of floor not covered by carpet and dropped the remains onto the dirt. Carefully, she stepped on the bundle until she was sure it was out.
Rubbing her wet cheeks and sniffing valiantly, Dawn perched on the side of the bed next to Spike and took one of his hands. "We're here Spike, Tara and me. I think Buffy would have come, but she's still resting after that fight you guys had with the Oscar Meyer demons." She squeezed his hand and said, "I'm not gonna leave you, and neither is Tara. We have a cell phone, and Willow's gonna call us when Buffy wakes up. So, you gotta wake up so you can get the news, Ok?" she finished tremulously. Looking up, she saw that Tara had sat down on the other side of the bed and had taken his other hand in her. They both had their resolve faces on, as if by sheer will alone they could compel the vampire to heal.
TBC