"Hey, you up for a patrol?" Xander has asked, stopping by his crypt one evening. He'd figured the boy was either looney or on something, but he didn't smell any drugs in the boy's scent, so maybe he'd just eaten one too many twinkies and couldn't sleep from the sugar rush.
"Sure, why not." he'd replied, and pulled on his duster. He'd let Xander lead the way, keeping an eye out for any nasties while mostly ignoring where Xander was going and what Xander was blathering on about. "It was really complicated at first, since I didn't have the designs of how it was supposed to have worked, but I borrowed a few tools from work and I think I was able to figure it out, and it should be good as new. I can't wait to test it out."
"Mmmhmm." Spike had grunted noncommitaly.
They were making their way through some of the back alleys in Sunnydale, when Xander exclaimed, "Hey, look! It's that old vampire-wannabe club place."
Spike nodded. He remembered that place with all the little humans swooning over 'The Lonely Ones', and Buffy with a stake at Drusilla's chest. The door of the club wasn't quite hanging off its hinges anymore, and Spike frowned.
Xander noticed what he was looking at. "You think somebody's moved in there?"
"Don't know." Spike replied, and stalked forward. "I'll check it out. You stay here."
"Okey dokey. Xander said, stake in his hand just in case.
Spike crept into the old club, every sense on alert. He didn't sense any vampires or humans hiding in the shadows, but he didn't want to over-look them if they were there. He was at the foot of the stairs when he inhaled, and frowned again. Xander's scent was close. "Dammit, I thought I told you to--" he whirled around, and stopped at the sight of Xander standing just outside the door. But if Xander was still outside, then why was his scent inside the old club?
Xander grinned, a wicked, awful grin, and pushed the large door closed. Spike cried out in denial and flew up the steps, but to no avail. The tiny click of the lock echoed though the air seconds before Spike reached the door. He began pounding on it, screaming in rage even as he knew the door wouldn't budge. It had taken over a dozen vampires working from both sides to bust open the door the first time; there was no way he would be able to force it open himself.
He finally stopped banging, sliding down the door to sit on the floor. This didn't make sense. Why did Xander lock him in an empty club? He knew he'd freaked the kid out when he'd tried to stake himself, but he hadn't thought it was in the boy's nature to make a vamp starve to death. Spike looked around the room again, this time taking note of the details. There were a few pillows and blankets, but all of the furniture and everything made of wood had been removed. Apparently starvation was the key word for the day. Bloody pillock.
The first day of his imprisonment, after searching the club from top to bottom several times for another way out, he mostly brooded. Thought about Angel, about Dru, and about his unlife now. Wondered if either of them would care if Spike was dust, or if they'd ever find out. The second day he tore everything he could get his hands on to shreds. Tiny bits of cloth and cotton were scattered everywhere, and when everything was torn into as tiny bits as he could tear it, he began kicking the scraps around the floor. By the third day the hunger was gnawing away at his belly, and he was half-tempted to suck on his own arm just for something to do. The fourth day he was so weak and hungry that he couldn't really move much more than to thump his boot against the floor. He thumped in a variety of rhythms and occasionally whimpered a melody out along with the thumps. The evening of the fourth day Xander returned, this time with ropes and chains. The moment Xander was within reach Spike used his last remaining energy to lunge at the boy, intent on ripping out his throat despite the pain of the chip. The moment Spike's mouth touched Xander's neck though, his lips started to smoke and burn and he recoiled away, collapsing to the floor as he writhed from both the pain of the chip firing and the pain of the holy water Xander had anointed his neck with. He didn't have the strength left to put up a fight, and let himself pass out as Xander tied, shackled, and carried him out of the old club.
He awoke some time later chained to Xander's bed, with Xander lying beside him. The blindfold cut off his vision, but his sense of smell told him where he was. Xander was applying some cool balm to the burns on his mouth, and whispering, "I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't mean to hurt you, but you can be so stubborn sometimes. It was the only way I could think of to help you see reason." A straw touched his tongue, and he carefully closed his wounded lips around the straw and drank the blood. 'That's a good boy. Drink up so you can get strong again." A hand started petting his hair and Spike jerked away, knocking the straw out of the cup in the process. He felt the sticky straw splatter against his bare chest, heard Xander sigh. "I was hoping that you would be nice, but I guess you still have some issues to work out."
He heard the mug being set down on the bedside table, and blurted out, "What's going on, Xander? Why are you doing this to me?"
Soft lips on his own, and a chuckle in ear. "I love you, silly. I want to help you."
Spike opened his mouth to speak, to object to this sudden declaration and demand answers, but a piece of cloth was shoved in his mouth, and then more cloth interwoven with wires was tightened around his head as a gag. Xander kissed his forehead, and then curled up at his side.
"Good night, darling. Sweet dreams."