Story Notes: Post-NFA. Angel and Spike survive the battle. Others aren't so lucky. Spike POV.
A/N: Been promising ShinodaBear this for a while and just never got around to posting it. Apologies to all for any grammatical errors or just plain wrongness. Completely unbeta-ed so I only have myself to blame. Feed back is always appreciated.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never gonna be mine. Not making a profit here either.
He's beating me.
I probably won't be able to walk for the next few days, or weeks. It's worse than Glory. It's worse than anything he's done to me before, even when he was an evil soulless bastard. It's almost worse than Buffy, for an entirely different reason.
And I'm letting him.
He's beating me and I'm sure at least a couple o' ribs have torn through my lungs. I hear the crack as my sternum breaks; that's a sound you'll never mistake, even if you've heard it just the once. He punches me hard enough that damned if my heart doesn't let out one single solitary beat.
Vampires' hearts aren't meant to beat and it hurts worse than my ribs, or my stomach, or my kidneys, or any other part of me that doesn't work and isn't meant to. Makes every vein and artery in my body scream.
Good thing I'm already on the floor.
I think what stops him is the blood. It's only been internal injuries, body shots, so far. The blow to my chest either forces up some of the blood in my lungs or the beating of my dead heart does because I feel it pour out of my mouth and nose.
It's funny because Buffy used to like punching me in the face more than anywhere else and the blood hardly ever stopped her. Makes him stop. He's settled over me, straddling my legs like he thinks he has to hold me down, and all that blood comes gushing out and he just…stops.
Now, I know vampires can bleed, seems I've been doing nothing but bleeding these last few years, but the blood's dead and it's cold; nothing like it is in a living body. There are people out there who seem to think that vampires feed from each other if they need blood or in the heat of passion. Don't know why they think that; doesn't work like that at all. Once we drink it, the blood is taken over by the demon and it dies quickly; everything dies quickly at our touch.
The thing is, the blood's used up, dead. No self-respecting vampire would drink from another. Lick a stray spot o' blood up maybe, but not drink and not take in as much as I've just lost. It would be as bad as feeding from animals, worse even. Course, if all you've had for years is microwaved pig's blood, then you probably wouldn't even flinch at drinking another vamp. Not that you wouldn't starve if that's all you drank.
He isn't in any danger of starving. Probably isn't even hungry. Don't know what makes him do it, truth to tell.
Or, yeah, maybe I do…
One minute he's beating the shit out of me, and I'm letting him, and the next he just stops. Looks at me as if he's never seen me before and doesn't know what's happening. I've been in this position before and I expect him to jump up and tell me he's sorry before running away. Or, knowing him, not say a damned thing as he walks off slowly with the weight of the world on his shoulders and one more thing to brood about.
He's a tricky bastard, though. Never does exactly what you expect him to. No, he looks at me and does the last thing I'd expect him to.
"Please," he says, voice as broken as I am. "Please." And it's the eyes that get me. They're full of nothing but pain and death and I don't think he's even seeing me.
I've been here before, too. It never ends well and I know that. Never stopped me before, has it? But I don't get to make the choice this time because, as soon as I open my mouth, he leans in and starts licking the blood up.
Maybe it's because he's still torn and bruised from the fight, maybe it's because I am. Maybe it's because some o' these wounds will never heal. Maybe it's because we survived. Maybe it's because he didn't and neither did he. Or, it's because she didn't and neither did she. Maybe it's because the kid-- shouldn't've even been there in the first place-- didn't. Whatever it is, I let him beat me and then just lie here and look up at the motel ceiling as he licks all the blood away.
It doesn't make it any better. It won't ever get any better. But his mouth is warm, or maybe I'm just that damned cold, and his tongue is soothing, or maybe I've just gone that bloody numb, and I let him.
The soul's still in there, but right now? I don't think it's the one in control, if anything is. If I try to stop him, I'm sure he'll just start breaking bones 'til I can't. Might not stop even then. Might not stop 'til I'm too broken to be put back together again.
Gotta try, though, don't I?
"Angel," I say, real soft and soothing-like. "Angel, can you hear me? Angel, I need you to talk to me; need to know if you're still in there."
Doesn't do a damned bit o' good. Not that I really thought it would. Sometimes you just gotta try. You can't really help someone this broken, though. Not when they're this far down in the dark.
See, I've been here before, too.
He doesn't stop 'til my face and throat have been cleaned of blood and then he leans back and looks at me with those damned sorry eyes. I think maybe this is the end of it, but I should know it's never that easy. Not for him and not for me.
I only get one warning, one breathy, "Spike" and then his mouth is over mine. He's leaning into me now like he wasn't before and, oh fucking hell, does it hurt. I can't stop myself from moaning and maybe he takes it the wrong way. Maybe, by this point, he just doesn't give a shit. Either way, his tongue slides over mine and caresses the roof of my mouth and he's still licking at any speck of blood he can find.
Now, I could bite him. I could also stake myself or greet the dawn. I think right now they'd be the same damn thing. What I'm gonna do is the one thing he probably doesn't expect.
I'm gonna let him.
Why am I? Because he'll probably kill me otherwise? Not really. Don't know if I can explain it properly, even to myself. It's the same reason I let him beat me and didn't fight back at all.
I'm not afraid of dying anymore. Been there, done that and all I got was a sodding piece of crap tacky bauble. I've already been close enough to Hell to heat my wrinklies and, right this minute, even Hell doesn't look as bad as this.
We're both broken now, wounded.
Not in exactly the same way because I don't, didn't know them the way he does, did. I didn't know who the kid was at all. That's what set this whole thing off, I asked about the kid. What was he doing there? Who was he? Oh God, I didn't want to know. Don't want to know now, when it comes right down to it. Just wanted something else to focus on. And maybe that's why.
Maybe it's because that damned fool woman showed up in the nick of time, like she always did, and got her damned fool self killed. Because of me! Zigged when I should've zagged and she stepped into the breach.
Maybe it's because I had to watch her die again and know she won't be coming back this time; too many pieces to ever be made whole. Maybe it's because now I know she meant it, really fucking meant it, and I'll have the godsbedamned nightmares for the rest o' my existence to prove it.
Maybe it's because, him and me, we're all alone now. Maybe it's because we survived when everyone else didn't. I honestly don't know.
Doesn't matter one way or any other because he finally stops and pulls back and what do I do, stupid sodding worthless git that I am? I whisper, "please" and reach up and pull him right back down. It's the last thing I'm gonna say, the last thing either of us is gonna say, for a good long while. And, for now, it's enough 'cause he's not alone in it and neither am I.
The one person in the world he loved more than anyone or anything else is dead. The one person he'd give anything for was ripped away from him before his eyes. I've been here before, too. Didn't think I'd have to be here again. Second time round doesn't look any better than the first did, I can tell you that.
Thing is, though, they died for us. They died so that we would live. I, for one, intend to do just that. Gonna make my girl proud of me, show her that it wasn't in vain. Make. It. Count.
Not just now, though. Just now, I've something else that needs doing.
In the aftermath, when the dust finally settles and it all comes home to roost, it's all about licking your wounds. Because that's all you can really do, in the end.