Title: If I should die before we wake

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or situations, or concepts, or anything, really.

Summary: After the events described in Deconstructing Hell Spike, Andrew and Dana are menaced by a shadowy threat to Spike's life. You should read DH first.

Rating: Um, gee, I don't know? The new rating system is confusing! Let's just say Teen, to be on the safe side.

Chapter Two: I don't know me anymore

Spike was sitting quietly in the dark when Dana woke up. As the formerly crazy Slayer got her breakfast she noticed him sitting in the window, staring out at the lightening sky.

"Are you okay?" she asked, approaching the leather-clad former demon. He turned, his angular cheekbones catching the dim light, making his face a nearly demonic mask.

"Fine," he rasped.

She nodded, sitting down cross-legged on the floor behind him, chewing her cereal. It was a tasteless bran cereal that Andrew bought for her, nothing like the sugary stuff he ate, or even the awful oatmeal Spike insisted on.

"I've just been thinking about redemption," said Spike quietly. She stared at him, wondering why he would think about that now. "I mean, now that heaven or hell seems so close, it's worth wondering about."

"But you're good now."

"No, not really," he argued. "I mean, sure, I fight the nasties. But I do it for me, not for the people. And maybe I help you face your demons, but I'm just manipulating you and forcing you to go faster so you can help me face mine. Everything I do is for me and the people I love."

"You protect the people you love. That's good, right?"

"Even evil people do that, love. 'Do not the tax collectors do so?' Or something. I saved the world while I was evil, twice. Both times to protect the ones I love. Both times I was through and through evil. It's selfish love, too. I didn't really want the best for Dru, or for Buffy. Proved that often enough. I wanted them happily dependent on me. That's evil."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Pure selfish love. The opposite of that is selfless love… I had a lot of time to work all this out. Selfless love wants the best for the other person. I've been wondering…have I ever done that? Been selfless?"

Dana was silent.

"It's sobering. I'm not a good person, really. Never have been. And I act like I have all the answers, but I'm just faking it. You know what I mean?"

"A little bit," she replied.

It was the big reason she was here. In Spike she had seen a kindred spirit, someone struggling to understand the world, to find their place in it. In Spike she had seen someone ahead of her, someone with clarity. Someone who could explain the world to her in her terms. So she had set out with him (and Andrew) to try to find some of that for herself.

And he was right, most often he only helped her when it made her a better warrior, someone useful to him. But she wasn't complaining, since she got the help she wanted out of the arrangement.

But it did sound very cold, catalogued like that. Both of them using each other. She shivered.

"Never did care much for redemption," said Spike. "Doing the right thing for a prize. That sucks. I kill the bad things. That's what I do. I don't know how to do anything else. And sometimes I do it for my own selfish reasons… the violence is nice. A bit of revenge for poor Fred, who they did in. You know?"

Dana did know. She killed things because it felt good, not because she really wanted to make things better for everyone else.

Spike sighed. "And now I get to die again. Final time."

"We can stop it," said Dana. Spike shook his head.

"Maybe. But if there's one thing I know that I never knew, it's how much time I've borrowed. I've lived more centuries than one should have to. I've lived past my time, and into a strange world I never could have imagined. Worse, I've outlived my own best times. Now I'm just an old man in a young man's body, stealing powers I should never have had from a person who should never have lived."

"You're a mortal, like everyone else. You'll die when you're old."

"That's what I'm saying! I am old, I just don't look it."

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the shrill squeal of the phone. In the other room a sleepy Andrew picked it up.

"The Dark Avenger's stronghold of justice, Andrew speaking. Who? Spike? Yeah, hold on." Andrew staggered into the room wearing a tee-shirt and a pair of boxers with hearts on them. "It's that Connor guy again. Wants to talk to you."

Spike took the phone gingerly. "Hello?"

"One of Daegstron's seers just called me, weeping about you." Connor didn't bother with greetings. "Said you were dying. Called without permission, I might add."

"Daegstron?"

"You remember? The Seer-pimp we hired to find Drusilla?" Spike barely remembered. He'd been more crazy back then.

"The one I threatened to kill if he didn't treat the Seers nicer?" he ventured, scratching his head.

"Yeah. Apparently you made an impact on them. They liked you, remember? Now one of them says you're dying."

"Slayer-dreams say the same thing. Maybe I should have kept smoking."

"Crap." The one word was loaded with frustration. "My parents are gonna kill me!"

"Why?"

"I'm gonna fail calculus!" The phone hung up.

"Connor's on his way," said Spike, amused. "Thinks he can save my butt." In truth he was a little cross with Connor, but the pride outshone that. Connor was so much better than him in every way—a regular miniature Angel, without all the excess evil of Angelus.

"Will you call Angel?" asked Andrew.

Spike pulled a face. "Not bloody likely." Despite their apparent friendliness in front of others there was a lot of bad blood hovering behind the two of them always, years as vampires, souled and unsouled.


Even without the Slayer nightmares that came, he would have known Spike was in trouble. It had been nearly three months since Spike was last in trouble, and that meant it was time.

Past time.

Angel watched Faith freaking out, watched Xander trying hard not to care what happened to Spike, and chuckled. Both of them were offended by his chuckle, but he didn't care.

"It wouldn't be right if Spike weren't in trouble," he told them.

It was true. From Dru to Slayers to Buffy to everything else the former souled vampire and presently human Spike had done, he had always had an uncanny knack for getting into trouble. Mobs and death and destruction had followed the vampire (before turning human, although the only difference Angel had seen was that now evil mobs chased him).

It was only right that someone with such talent for getting in trouble should be equally gifted in getting out of trouble.

As soon as the dark Slayer and her youthful Watcher were embroiled again in their argument about whether or not to go to Spike, Angel slunk out and called him.

"William."

"Bugger! Angel."

"I hear you're in trouble again."

"Funny, eh? I don't need your help."

"I wasn't offering. Things here are… prophetic."

Prophetic and hectic. The Tomes of Algern detailed the rise of a new power, the child of a Slayer and her Watcher, the Cyclops. He had been given a supernatural tip that it would be Xander and Faith who produced this child, a baby not quite as miraculous as his own son Connor, but equally as gifted.

A Slayer, the child of a Slayer, and the inheritor of a birthright that neither Xander nor Faith realized they were carrying. Their child would have enormous power, and would be tempted by the darkness to destroy the world.

Angel intended to be there for this child, to be the mentor that prevented this. Hard as that job sounded, it would be easier than trying to pick up the pieces later.

"Bun in the oven yet?" asked Spike. Spike, who had figured out the prophecy somehow. Angel ground his teeth.

"Not yet. But at the rate they're going, it won't be long."

Angel cursed Spike's skill at finding the truth. He suspected Connor must have helped with the bookwork; Spike wasn't the greatest with prophecies. He tended to be a bit too direct for it.

"Great. Any advice?" From Spike the question was a catch-all, the way he let Angel know he wouldn't throw it back in his face as he so often did. A signal that he actually had a brain.

"Avoid women in general?"

"Ha ha."

"Seriously, stay alive. I do count on you to have my back when things get ugly over here."

"Ooh, relationship counseling? I can do that."

"I was thinking along the lines of the two or three people out there who'll figure out about this prophecy and come after the mom when things turn bad. You know?"

"You mean when things turn right."

"I mean when they realize gentle persuasion doesn't faze me."

"Ah. Of course. I'll polish my best battle axe."


"Going patrolling, pet. Want to come?"

Illyria turned around to face Spike and Dana, frowning. "I think not. I have… other concerns at the moment."

Spike stared at her, and Dana couldn't blame him. She loved to fight almost as much as he did, relishing the violence. For her to turn down a 'spot of violence' (one of Spike's favorite phrases) meant something truly huge must be on her mind.

"All right, then, pet," said Spike. "Andrew! We're going out. Come with?"

Andrew nodded, grinning. There was something unholy in the grin, a kind of madness that even Dana somewhat envied. It was something akin to passion, the way he loved to see Spike fight.

The idolization was only one of many reasons Spike hated the other man.

The bleached-blonde ex-vampire led the way, something that amazed Dana. He wasn't a born leader, she knew, having seen his fairly abortive attempts at planning. When Connor was around he began deferring almost automatically to the younger man, as if grateful for the leadership.

But when nobody else was there to take up the mantle of leader, he stepped into the responsibility with his customary cockiness, as if it were no big deal. She knew it was a big deal, that he agonized over every little thing, that he was deathly afraid he would get one of them killed.

Even though he was careful never to show it.

"We're starting with the warehouse in the southern part of the city, then heading north to sweep the major cemeteries," said Spike brusquely, checking to make sure that he had stakes. "Then we'll hit the big bars, check for unusual demon activity."

"That's more like a mission statement than a plan," noted Dana.

He shot her a rude hand gesture, glancing to Andrew, who had grabbed a crossbow. "You watch yourself with that thing. No shooting the two of us."

"It was an accident!" said Andrew, his eyes widening. "Illyria really looked like a demon!"

"That's because she is one, ponce," muttered Spike. He glanced to Dana. "We ready?"

They strode out into the brisk night air, Dana watching out the corner of her eye to see if Spike was watching her. He did, sometimes, acting as if she was doing something wrong, just staring at her as if wondering how to fix her.

She found it incredibly annoying.

Tonight he had a distracted look on his face, and she wondered how long it would take him to push her away, to try and force her to leave. He'd soon realize, she was sure, how dangerous she was.

She'd seen Slayers killing him in her dream, and she was a Slayer. Soon he would realize.

"All right, nut-job," said Spike. "Stop staring at me. The other vampires are here already."

He had misspoken again, realized Dana with a start. He was calling himself a vampire again—he often did, when he wasn't concentrating.

She looked around, but saw nothing. She could sense them, though, and glanced to him in surprise.

"How did you know?" she asked.

He grinned, glad to have slipped one by her. "I saw one going in the warehouse."

It was always the same abandoned warehouse that caused the trouble. As they approached it cautiously Dana was surprised the feeling hadn't broken her out of her reverie sooner. "There's a lot of them!" she whispered.

Andrew shook his head. "Look at the lights," he whispered. "They're having a party."

Spike's jaw clenched shut. "Let me take a look." He darted forward and scaled a wall quickly, hoisting himself up to a window. A moment later he returned, scowling and shoving his hands into the pockets of his black leather duster, a new one he'd picked up from a mail-order place.

"There's nearly a hundred there," he said gloomily.

Andrew, to Dana's surprise, grinned widely. "I have this really awesome idea I want to try," he said to Spike.

Spike glanced from Dana to her Watcher, then back again. "Is that right?" he said skeptically.


"I'm talking about something primal, something unstoppable!" roared the tall, dark human, throwing a vampire across the room to shatter a statue.

Personally, Lilah thought he was really talking about something pathetic, something as easily stopped as an invasion of tissue paper. But she just nodded and grinned, hoping he would shut up.

"Argh!" The bellow was also pretty unnecessary, in her opinion.

"So, have you worked off the rage yet, or are you ready to talk about options?" she asked him.

She hated working collections for what was left of Wolfram and Hart. Without the nearly unlimited resources of before she was merely a wraith, with no more physical presence any more.

And nobody respected her, which was even worse.

"I'm this close to crushing all the Slayers around the world, and those vampires that destroyed you!" he howled. "And you're worried about a few souls I owe you?"

That caught Lilah's attention. "You're going after Angel? In that case, no terms. We want it all now. You're officially a bad credit risk."

He did a double take, the smooth, chiseled lines of his face contorting in surprise. Apparently he was stupid as well as having anger management issues. "Why?" he asked. Lilah just rolled her eyes and didn't answer. "Look, I don't have any souls right now! I just sacrificed my last set of minions for this powerful spell to take out the Slayers."

"Take out the Slayers?" asked Lilah skeptically. When a loser this big started boasting she just knew something was going to go wrong.

He grimaced. "I see," he said, after reflecting for a moment. "You think I can't do it."

"I didn't say that."

"But you thought it." He seemed to have calmed down now that they were off the subject of debts owed and favors done.

In truth, it was a subject Lilah had been on a lot lately. The last vestiges of Wolfram and Hart were trying to regroup and start over, and it was a pathetic sight. Together Spike and Angel had set them back to nothing, so that once more vampires were more powerful than the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart.

And the vampires weren't doing too well right now either, with the sudden invasion of Slayers. All around, evil wasn't doing so well.

"Tell me about your big, world-changing plans," said Lilah, comfortably amused.

"First I subverted the Slayer dreams so that they saw He Who Turned Back being killed by them. That was a costly spell. Then I cast another spell, one that they can't possibly anticipate."

"Oh?"

He grinned. "Tonight they'll dream that he wins, and kills them all."

"That's it? Dreams?" Lilah was sorely disappointed, causing the massive brute's temper to flare again. His vampire minions cringed back from him in anticipation as his face creased with heavy lines.

"No, it's not!" he snapped. "The dreams are easy enough to subvert. A few psychics, a spell or two. Nothing costly. Building a doppelganger of He Who Turned Back… that was costly."

Lilah felt her heart jump. A fake Spike? She was scared half to death by the thought. "You've let loose another world-destroyer on us?" she asked calmly.

He shook his head. "No, he's an ordinary vampire changed to look like the world-crusher. And gifted with a few marvelous abilities that could change the world—but that ought to be enough to give them more than nightmares."

Lilah sighed heavily. "Dare I ask why you want to do this?"

The tall, heavy-set human grimaced. "The world-crusher is just a tool in my hand for this. I want those Slayers dead—need them dead!"

"There's always been a Slayer."

"One! One little girl who kills thousands, millions, of us! One unstoppable little girl who always saves the world! This isn't an even fight any more. They're winning it, and you see it, don't you? They defeated you, didn't they?"

Lilah stared at him for a long minute. "We can't help you in any way," she said finally. "But consider your debt absolved."

"Then you do think I can do it!" he roared.

"Either you'll do it and win big, and owe us one, or else when you go down I don't want any way for them to track us down from your ashes," replied Lilah. "Choose one."


In sad and happy moments there was always a bit of a catch in Andrew's eyes, as if he actually felt the guilt of his past sins. This, and this alone, was why Spike put up with the little git.

"Explain it again," said Spike, peering into the boy's face.

Andrew nodded, the somber expression on his face never once giving way to the fanboy fervor Spike knew he must be feeling.

"You take the magic bone in your left hand, and the magic rocks in the right hand. They won't want to go together, but you have to hold them pretty near to each other. Then you say the words."

Spike nodded. He didn't need to hear the words—he was pretty good at Latin. "And then?"

"As the shape rises you cross your wrists." Andrew demonstrated. "The second incantation. Then you throw the rocks—not the bone!—at the shape. Wave the bone between yourself and it, and the third incantation. That one's important, it's the one that locks the form."

Spike nodded. "Making the formless look like what I tell it to look like. What am I telling it to look like?"

"Um, Halle Berry."

"Sod that. Uma Thurman."

Andrew rolled his eyes.

"What?" said Spike, snapping.

"Oh, sure, a blonde who knows how to use a sword? Subtle much, Spike?"

"What?"

"Listen, the golem isn't just here for looks, you know."

"Ponce. Everything's not about Buffy, you know. All right, what about that Kirsten Dunst bird? Can we make it look like her?"

"Again, blonde."

"No! She was a red-head!"

"Geek much, Spike? She dyed it for the Spiderman role."

"Oh, come on!"

"Last chance, and we're going with Halle Berry."

Spike scowled at him. "Catherine Zeta-Jones."

"Good choice!" said Andrew, grinning.

Dana watched them both suspiciously. The amount of time they spent in their pointless monologues made her suspicious. Why did it matter who the golem was crafted after? So that they could leer at an unsuspecting celebrity (or the double of the celebrity)? No, they could do that much cheaper with Pay-Per-View.

A moment later the magic was done, and Catherine Zeta-Jones was peering blankly at them.

"You are to go into that warehouse," said Spike, pointing. "Tell them you're lost. That you need help. Let them bite you."

As the golem moved off gracefully Andrew sighed. "I'd really like to be there to see it!"

"I wonder how many will fall for it before they realize everyone who feeds from her dusts?" asked Spike. "Not all of them, surely."

"Well, there's real human blood in her," said Andrew, carefully wiping clean the cut in his palm. "It should seem very real."

"Will the holy water dust all of them?" asked Dana.

"Before being diluted too far, you mean?" said Spike. "Dunno. I guess we'll see."