Convulsus 2/?
By: Broodus Foreheadus
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series, nor do I make any money from these stories. I am just borrowing them, but I can't promise they will be clean when I give them back. ;)
Warnings: Slash!Slash!Slash! Angst, Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort,
A/N: I want to apologize for how long it has taken to get this up. But I promise that I'm working hard on it when I have the time. However, I don't have much time lately, so I hope you don't mind going a week or two between stories.
Special Thanks To: forsaken 2003, LostGryffindorFoundSlytherin, and cursedgirl. Thanks for the reviews everyone! More More More!
Spike dropped his bags and sped off following the scent of Xanders' blood. Up ahead, he spotted a dark form on the ground and picked up speed. He skidded to a halt next to the broken bloody form of Xander Harris. He sunk to the ground in shock, barely registering the faint heartbeat coming from the boy.
"Please let him be ok," he quietly prayed to whatever god that would listen, not even noticing the single pink tinged tear sliding down his cheek.
Spike worked quickly, gathering Xander up in his arms, being careful not to jostle him too much. Using all the speed and swiftness he could muster, he shot to where he had stashed the Desoto and gently placed Xander in the back seat.
As he sped through the streets toward the hospital, the only thought he allowed to cross his mind was He's got to be ok. All others, he locked away in the deepest part of his brain to analyze later. He didn't yet allow himself to wonder why he cared about what happened to the boy.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Desoto screeched to a halt and Spike left it idling right there in the middle of the emergency lane. Ignoring the shouts of the paramedics that he can't park there, he gathered Xander and raced into the building. He nearly growled at the desk clerk when she didn't move fast enough after he yelled at her to get her arse in gear.
There was a flurry of motion as doctors and nurses took Xander from Spike and placed him on a gurney and started wheeling him away shouting things that sounded very medical and foreign to Spike. He was stopped when he tried to follow the huddle through the big swinging doors.
"You can't go any further. The best way you can help him now is to answer some questions for me. Do you understand, or do I have to have you escorted out of here?"
Spike glowered but stayed put.
"Good. Now, what is his name? We may have his records on file."
"Alexander Lavelle Harris," Spike said immediately. The faster this went, the faster they could fix Xander.
"Ah. I knew he looked familiar. We've patched up quite a few bones for him in the past year or two. He's never come to us with this much damage before."
"Yeah whatever. Do you have his information or not," he said impatiently.
"Yes we have his medical records. I know it's hard to see loved ones hurt, but the most you can do for him now is let us do our jobs and stay strong for him when you can."
With that, the doctor rushed off to get the Xanders' records, leaving Spike In the waiting area alone with his thoughts.
Loved ones? Is that wot's goin' on here? No. I'm not in love with the Zeppo, the Demon Magnet, the White Knight. I can't be. It's just 'cause we work together. That's right. Even he didn't believe himself.
Ok, so I feel something for him. But it's not love. He added quickly. When did this happen? He thought back to his time in the Basement of Doom. It was rough at first, which was expected seeing as how he was tied to a chair nearly all day every day, but then as time went a kind of uneasy trust built between them. After working beside Xander, fighting beside him, Spike began to respect him. Any human, who readily throws himself repeatedly in battle against all manner of demons and nasties alongside people wielding strength and magics and doesn't complain about it, deserves a measure of respect. That respect was solidified that night Xander stood up to him and put him in his place.
Not that I would ever tell him that, spike thought.
Not wanting to think anymore, Spike proceeded to call the scoobies, leaving messages for them when he got no answers telling them briefly what happened. At least I didn't have to talk to any of them.
He went back to his claimed spot in the waiting room and pretended to sleep. He didn't have to worry about falling asleep, seeing as the longer he went without word from the doctors, the more he filled with dread.
Finally, more than an hour later, Spike shot to his feet as he heard the shuffle of the doctors' feet coming toward the waiting room.
"How is he? Is he ok? When can I see him?" Spike raced through the questions without pause.
"He'll be fine. He's asleep right now. He won't wake up for hours. I just need to ask a few questions, and then I'll show you to his room. Is that ok?"
Spike sighed impatiently. "Yes, yes, ask away."
"Ok. Every time we had him in before, he wouldn't allow us to do a full examination. While he was in there tonight, we noticed quite a few scars that are rather old. Years old. But we don't have record of hardly any of them. Do you know anything about these injuries?"
Years? Spike thought, I thought he didn't know anything about the demonic world before his sophomore year of high school.
"No. I don't know of any injuries he had before a couple years ago. What kind of injuries do you think he's had?"
"As far as I can tell from the scars, he's been severely burned and cut many times all over his body. I don't know how he's had this many injuries and never been in a hospital for them. If you'll follow me, you can see him now."
As Spike followed the doctor, confusion flooded his mind at the doctors' words. Burns and cuts? Was he fighting demons before Buffy came? Questions came one after the other with no answer to any of them. The doctor stopped him outside a door, jarring from his thoughts.
"I feel I have to warn you. He's quite bruised, and he has some IV's in, and he's really bandaged up. I assure you, though, it looks a lot worse than it is. But that's not to say he's not badly injured. He'll be laid out for quite a while when we let him go. Will you be the one to take care of him at home?"
"Yes," he answered quickly so as not to talk himself out of it.
"Good. After you've spent some time with him, I'll have some medications and instructions that you'll need to care for him properly." After a pause he continued, "He's going to be alright. You can count on that."
With that, the doctor left. Spike had no doubt that Xander would be ok. Without realizing it, he had made the decision to see to it. After taking, a deep, unneeded breath, preparing himself for what he might see, he opened the door and walked into the room.
For the second time in just a few hours, Spike found himself fighting back tears, still not wanting to accept the feelings causing them. Xander was covered in bruises almost everywhere he could see. His face, where the bandages didn't cover, was swollen almost beyond recognition. His right arm was strapped to a board so he couldn't move and pull the IV's. His torso was wrapped tightly in bandages with bruises showing from underneath stopping only where the sheet started at his waist.
Spike moved silently to the side of the bed and took in the steady rise and fall of Xanders chest, thankful that he was alive. That he was going to be ok. Gazing down at that bruised and swollen face, he made a vow to himself that he would have Xander and belong to him in return.
He trailed a finger down Xanders' cheek then leaned in and, as lightly as he could, pressed his lips to his forehead. He would make this boy…man...love him. No matter how long it took, he would love him, and be loved in return.
Almost so quiet spike almost missed it, Xander murmured one word in his sleep that gave Spike hope that maybe he could keep his promise.
"…spike…"
Spike gave Xander a smile no one has seen in over one-hundred twenty years. That smile held so much love, the sun itself would dwarf in its light. Although Spike was confused about these sudden, intensely strong feelings, he couldn't stop that smile, nor did he want to.
Still smiling, he closed the blinds on the window, brought a chair over to the side of the bed, lowered the safety rail, and laid his head upon Xanders' warm, unmarred left hand. Surrounded by the scent of the man whom so suddenly had his heart, he was contented and, for once, didn't question it. Breathing deeply, he let himself fall knowing his boy…his man… would be there to catch him.
TBC