A/N #1: You all know what "strange" means by this time. "Device" is defined as: a tool designed to perform a particular task; a way of achieving something, especially in a clever or dishonest way; a plan. Thus the title 'Strange Devices.' Apologies to all for any grammatical errors or just plain wrongness. Feedback is always appreciated.
A/N #2: This is the final chapter I had planned. Maybe a foray or two back later but no promises. There are a few people that need to be thanked, in no particular order: MarieP, Roses, VampiressMelanisia, and SpikingJennsAngel for reading, liking, and taking the time to review; celeste9 for her always lovely comments on my writing and for liking quotes (one of which I have inserted just for her); and ShinodaBear for cookies, Spike-bribing techniques, and listening to my silliness- and believe me, that's not easy to do. Thank you all. Disclaimer: Not mine. Never gonna be mine. Not making a profit here either.
Strange Devices
Oh God, he was bored. There was fuck all to do while the sun was up except lie down and stare at the cracks in the ceiling. He didn't even have any cards or cigarettes to while away the long hours of the day. He was supposed to be 'resting' and wasn't 'allowed' to walk around under pain of…well…pain, courtesy of Captain Forehead.
Spike had been doing nothing but 'resting' for four days now and he'd had it. Peaches could stuff it up his arse. Spike's shoulder was finally healing and he was getting stronger every day. Soon he'd be able to go his own way and then the wanker could order himself around. Would've done it weeks ago but somebody had to take care of Angel. Not his idea of a rousing good time but there was no one else and Angel wouldn't make it on his own. Not like he could take care of himself, could he? Angel would've turned around and let himself be taken by the Horde long before without Spike around, and they both knew it. But give Angel someone 'helpless' to look after and the idiot would kill himself trying to keep going. Not that Spike didn't appreciate the help, but he wasn't about to give the prat any leverage over him by actually telling him so. Any more leverage, rather.
What had he been thinking? Well…he'd thought he'd almost died, hadn't he? Thought he'd almost slid into Hell. Again. That and he'd still been delirious from the fever; yeah, completely off his gourd. Insanity was always a solid defense. Besides, no one wants to die alone or even almost die alone, do they? But Angel had been there and Angel had been looking after him and…he'd gotten nostalgic, hadn't he?
He'd started thinking about Angelus teaching him the ropes, showing him the beauty of the kill. Thought of all the times they'd went out hunting together in the bad ol' days. Angelus hunting was pure poetry, sadistic bastard. What a strange illusion it is to suppose that beauty is goodness. Leo Tolstoy had said that. Smart man. A lot of people could have lived much longer lives by distinguishing between the two.
Angelus' victims never knew what hit them, poor sods, not unless he wanted them to; and no god in the universe could help them if he had wanted them to. Angelus was an inventive bugger, had to give him that. He could make a weapon of torture out of anything: hopes, fears, dreams, love, family, a shrimp fork. Spike had been in awe of him even after he had come to hate him.
Angel taking care of him had brought Spike right back to those first days when Angelus was still mentor/father/friend/god. Angelus had been the epitome of charm and so sweet he could rot your teeth; when he had wanted to be. And sometimes he had wanted to be. Apparently, sometimes Angel wanted to be now too.
Spike hadn't thought about everything he had hated about the bastard, had he? Hadn't thought about Angelus mocking him, or taking Dru in front of him, or the beatings he got, or any of the other one thousand petty humiliations heaped upon him. Hadn't thought about how Angelus had left them; broken up their little group. No, Spike hadn't cared a whit about that. Hadn't thought about it at all through the long years; how everything had disintegrated after the big, hulking Neanderthal had gotten a soul and skipped off. What did Spike care if Darla had then left too or if all Drusilla could talk about was 'Daddy' and how the stars were crying blood? What did Spike care if Angelus had forgotten all about them?
The old boy had come back to the fold after the Great Slayer Debacle of '98 and Spike had thought it would be a new start for their little group. Hadn't figured on Gramps going quite a bit off from being forcibly caged up by the soul all that time though. Also hadn't figured on Dru reverting right back to her Daddy fixation and having to go through that all again or, horror of horrors, having to get in bed with the Slayer (figuratively speaking at that point) to get his girl back. You know, that's probably when it all just started falling apart, wasn't it? It had all went snowballing downhill from there until he had ended up here. At the very bottom.
Oh bloody hell, was he brooding? Well, that had to stop right the hell now. There was no way he was turning into Big Stupid Git, Jr. Angel did enough brooding for the both of them. Angel did enough brooding for more than a dozen people. One more chapter of 'Brooding with Dummies' and Spike would go for a nice bracing stroll in the sunshine.
"Angel?" Not like Angel was sleeping, was it? Who the hell could sleep on this? They had stolen the blankets and pillows, along with anything else that wasn't nailed down and would fit in the car trunk, from their last motel room. But it was by no stretch of Spike's imagination a bed. A bed, a real bed, had a frame and mattresses. A bed was soft and warm. A bed was a place you wanted to lie down and rest. A bed was not a hard pallet on the floor.
For too brief a time, Spike had once had a bed of his own in a proper house, and a family of sorts; in his right mind and given half a chance, he wouldn't have eaten any of them anyway, even Daddy Dearest, and that made them family in his book. Bitch and fight they did but, in the end, they always came together; no matter how much pain or betrayal had come before. What else was family, if not that?
Knew exactly what they thought of him, though. The kicker was he couldn't really blame them. He'd done a lot of things back then that he wasn't proud of now. Course, he'd also done a lot of things he was pretty damn proud of when he thought about it.
They would always remember him, though, wouldn't they? One of only two vampires in the entire world with a soul and the only one who had ever closed a Hellmouth. Maybe they'd look back on him one day with a certain nostalgic fondness and say, "Remember that time when Spike…" It was the least the bloody wankers could do after the sacrifice he had made. Course, he was only half as dead as they thought he was, but that was hardly his fault. Would've rather stayed torched than been stuck with His Royal Broodiness at Evil, Inc.
Spike could've left, after he got all corporeal again. Really, though, where did he have to go to? What if she hadn't meant it when she said she loved him? How would she have reacted if he had just shown up on her doorstep? He honestly didn't know but he was afraid it had just been a lie to comfort the extremely flammable. If so, he hadn't wanted to be an albatross around her neck. Besides, fucking with Peaches gave him a warm, glowing feeling inside; the pride of a job well done. No one could mess with Angel like Spike could. It was some kind of natural talent.
Maybe Blue had known what she was doing when she had saved Spike along with Angel. Spike had never thought she would be the self-sacrificing type, though. Didn't fit in with his image of her at all. Just goes to show how badly love could bugger you over, even if you were soulless. He'd forgotten that it was ten times worse if you had one.
"Angel?" Still no response. Angel was playing dead again. As if Spike wouldn't know. He always knew when the big git was brooding instead of sleeping. When Angel slept, all the lines in his face smoothed out and he looked so…so…well…never mind. And once in a great while, in his sleep, he smiled; a genuine smile that Spike hadn't seen in an age.
When Angel was brooding, his great granite forehead scrunched up and the skin around his eyes tightened as if he was in pain; just like they were now. Probably wondering what the hell they were going to do next or trying to think up some way they could get money that wouldn't involve theft or a mugging. They could siphon gas from cars at the motel across the way but blood was a different matter entirely. You could only drain so many animals in an area before all the wildlife started to stay away and they couldn't buy blood if they didn't have money.
They were probably going to starve after all. It would be just his luck, wouldn't it? Sunnydale had to have had some sort of curse on it, besides the whole Hellmouth thing. From the moment he had stepped foot in it, Spike was stuck like he'd walked right into quicksand- the more you move, the faster you sink.
He'd gotten stuck with a wheelchair, an insane Grandsire, a pissed off Drusilla, and a chip. He'd been stuck in lust with an enemy and then in love with same. He'd stuck himself with the bleedin' soul. He'd been a prisoner, insane, a secret weapon for evil, a secret weapon for good, a pillar of fire, a ghost, and almost sucked into Hell. He'd had his arms chopped off and was nearly killed by a horde of demons. Now he was stuck out in the arsehole of Nevada and playing house in a trashed out gas station, with Peaches of all people. And he could trace it all back to good ol' Sunnyhell. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
"Oi, Peaches." Still nothing. Why did Angel even bother? He knew Spike wouldn't give up. It wasn't like they hadn't done this every day for almost a week. Angel would lie down and brood and Spike would talk to him until Angel cursed at him and then Angel would try to sleep or Angel would lie down and brood and Spike would talk to him until Angel didn't curse at him and then they would both try to sleep. Angel never slept but for minutes at a time and that only while Spike was talking to him. Did Angel honestly think Spike didn't know what was going on here?
"Angel." Jab Angel in the side with a sharp, bony elbow. "What do you think really killed the dinosaurs? I think it was a spell. Some sort of demon mojo." There was more than one way to skin a cat and Spike knew every way to skin this particular one.
"Spike, stop it… and shut up." Bingo. Angel didn't open his eyes but Spike knew he was listening. He could almost feel all Angel's muscles relax.
"You don't think so?" Spike didn't really think so either but it would get the Soulful Wonder to stop brooding.
What on the green earth did Angel have to brood over so much? And right, there was the whole couple of centuries of guilt about his evil and murderous past and then seeing most of his friends die but…him and Angel, they were vampires. Vampires feed on humans, it was what they did. Course, not so many took quite the pleasure in it that Angelus had, but there was no use whinging about it all the time. That way lay madness and uselessness. Spike should know; he'd done a spot of it himself once. Hadn't solved anything, had it? A small spot of self pity every once in a while and that would do you just fine in Spike's opinion. And as for the other, well, all humans had a shelf life. Sooner or later, everyone they knew would die while they just lived on and on; baring rampaging demon hordes and starvation, that is. Least their fallen friends got to go out fighting the good fight.
"Demons did not kill the dinosaurs." It wouldn't be too much longer and Spike would have him breathing again. Angel hated that, tried never to do it. Too much like a disguise if he went around breathing all the time, wasn't it? Sometimes Angel was a right idiot.
"How do you know? Weren't there, were you? I think it was a spell." And there it was- one deep, calming breath. Angel wasn't thinking about anything now except Spike and, maybe, how many ways Angel could get his hands on him; and you could take that any which way you wanted to. Good. It was the way it should be.
"There is no way a spell killed all the dinosaurs." The blankets shifted and he could feel Angel looking at him. Don't look back. Keep staring at the ceiling; he'd give the game away otherwise.
"Didn't kill all of them. Wouldn't have birds or sharks or alligators if they'd killed them all. You should watch the Discovery channel, mate; might learn something. Brilliant TV that is. No, they just killed the big ones." Actually, that wasn't a bad theory. Now he was wondering if that was even possible.
"Spike, that's not even possible. No demon would have that kind of magic." Hah! Angel was trying to use logic on him and that annoying 'I am the voice of reason and authority' tone, the prat. He should know by now that that never worked. Not on Spike. Spike knows all Angel's hiddens. Can't use that tone on someone who knows all your dirties and had a front row seat for most of them.
"A bunch of them would. Maybe a hell god would; nasty little buggers, those are. Went up against a hell god myself once." And that should be a bad memory, shouldn't it? But that was the first time she had kissed him. Well, the first time she had done it of her own volition. Wonder what she was doing now? Best not to think of that. He didn't want to start brooding again. He'd leave that to Peaches.
"That's ridiculous. Why would demons, or a hell god, want to kill the dinosaurs?" Angel was actually thinking about it now, wasn't he? Nothing in that great, bloated head but whatever stupid thing Spike was pestering him with now. No thinking on lost friends or far away lovers. No worrying about the Horde at their backs or if they were going to start starving to death again. Nothing in his head at all except Spike.
"Don't know. I wasn't there. You have to admit something killed them, though." And now Angel has rolled over onto his side. Spike could feel the weight of those serious brown eyes, only inches away, just daring him to look back. Not yet though, not just yet. "Come to think of it, who says they were really dinosaurs?"
"It's all the years of peroxide soaking into your head, it's damaged all your brain cells; what little you had. Of course they were dinosaurs, that's why people call them 'dinosaurs.' I don't think hundreds of archeologists and science labs around the world would mistake old chicken bones for giant pre-historic lizards." How the hell would Angel survive without Spike to keep him out of his own head? How the hell would Spike survive without someone to look after? Granted Angel was no Drusilla, or Buffy, or even Dawn when it came right down to it, but Angel still needed looking after. Spike was good at that. Maybe the only thing he really was good at.
"They could just as well have been some species of demon. Big fight over who ruled the earth, some group of gits lets loose with the big spell, and next thing they know they're all petrol and environmental hazards." He couldn't resist it anymore. Spike had to see the expression on his face.
Oh God, that's just priceless! Spike couldn't stop himself from smirking and, damn it, so what if he was giving Angel that stupid idiotic look? Couldn't help himself when the poof was looking back at him like that, could he?
They might still be caught by the Horde and die in screaming agony and they might still eventually starve to death, but they weren't right now. Right now they were arguing about silly things that wouldn't do a damned thing to get them out of the situation they were in. And weren't those the most precious moments? The ones that don't seem to really count until you look back on them later and say, "That was when the tide turned. That was when it all came together."
Spike was one step away from sodding bad poetry, wasn't he? Just one little step. Would it be so bad to take it? Would it be so bad to admit that while their relationship was complicated, and half the time they couldn't even stand to look at each other, they did have one. Maybe neither wanted to acknowledge it right out, but it was there. And, with no buffers between them anymore, it was only getting stronger.
"Spike, you're an idiot." But those velvet eyes were sparkling now, weren't they, even as his eyelids slid closed? And there was a twitching at the corners of Angel's mouth that was trying hard not to be a sleepy smile.
In a few minutes, Angel would finally give up his damned unnecessary deathwatch and fall asleep to the sound of Spike talking about anything and everything he could think of. As long as Spike was talking, Angel would sleep. As long as Spike was talking, Angel's world would narrow and there would be no past to be reminded of and no future to worry about. As long as Spike was talking, Angel's dreams would be free of death and pain and he could finally lay down his burdens and rest.
Sometimes you spend so long looking at trees that you eventually only see forests; mountain out of a mole hill kind of a thing. Angel always did that. He never learned to take life as it came. Spike could take it, and what he couldn't take he changed, that was why Spike was the strong one. Angel wouldn't survive on his own. Maybe he could have once but that time was long past.
And Spike had just talked himself into staying with the great poof, hadn't he? Well…that was a bit of alright. Home is where the heart is after all; even if it's in a hulking git sleeping next to you in an abandoned gas station in a godforsaken bit of Nevada. Besides, Spike just couldn't resist sticking around to see how it all ended.
ooo