D, I made some changes here and there. Just read through it, and do what you like, of course. If you want more done, just let me know.

-A.

Chapter 19

For the next two days Spike and Nightwing were busy serving (as Spike had put it) 'the orders of General Disarray'. That had involved a lot of destruction of property (most of it very illegal), the making of anonymous phone calls implicating gang members in crimes that they hadn't planned on committing, and most mysterious of all, the placing of innocuous seeming objects in homes, offices and other sites belonging to high-level crooks. This had puzzled even Spike until he learned from Thor that the objects had previously belonged to the Scarecrow. The implications behind that were obvious, and they made Spike even more nervous about the explosiveness of the situation.

Much to the relief of both, neither Spike nor Nightwing were asked to commit any murders, which had been a sore point with both Nightwing and Batman when the plan had first been proposed. Spike was slightly suspicious of this until Nestor explained that everyone that their boss wanted to be dead or undead had been turned. "Any more gangster vampires turn up and its gonna be another case of too many cooks, if you know what I mean," Nestor had told Spike as he elbowed him in the ribs.

It took some effort for Spike to not shove the cornpone vamp through a plate-glass window. He had hoped that having passed his 'initiation' that Nicholae and the others would bump him to a level where he didn't have to work with the Southern-fried idiot.

Kotaski, however, had told him to keep working with Nestor, saying that they had some kind of 'camaraderie ' that was useful in the plan. Since the Carpathian had to know how irritating Nestor was to everyone, Spike assumed that there was one of two reasons he was insisting on it: Nestor was a test as to where Spike's flare point was, or he wanted Nestor to keep an eye on z because, for all the goodwill that he had shown, Kotaski (and by extension Nicholae) still didn't trust him.

Spike was more inclined to believe that it was the latter, as Nestor was clinging to them like he was moss. Neither he nor Dick had been given more than a moment's peace since they had begun this little joyride. That had been a problem, as neither of them had been able to contact anyone in a position of authority. Spike had begun to wonder whether Dick had been too hasty in not taking some kind of tracking device with them---- being alone in the kingdom of the enemy didn't seem like such a good idea, anymore.

But when you got right down to it, Spike admitted to himself, even if they had been able to lead the good guys to this building it probably wouldn't have done enough damage to the Prince's plan. Nicholae was organized and efficient to the point of almost being anal, but it worked. For all the vampires he had met, Spike didn't think that he'd met more than a tenth a number of the army the Prince had assembled, and that didn't even count for however many plants Nicholae had in the syndicates by now. Never mind the fact that they still had no idea as to where the Prince was --- killing the head probably wouldn't kill the body.

So, they followed their only remaining option: play this out. They had been fortunate - their wait had only been for one more night. Spike thought that this Prince, despite his brilliant approaches to dividing his forces, destroying the enemy from within and his approach to the heroes, he was still something of a stickler for symbolism. Considering all the work the Prince had done in Gotham, his forces likely could have launched a successful and debilitating attack as much as a month earlier than it was planned they would; to wait for the beginning of the New Year left the Prince open to sorts of attacks.

Then 11 o'clock had come--- and the plans began to steam roll ahead. When Spike learned what had happened to the Joker, he had been impressed and even more unsettled as to what might await him if he were defeated. Dick's reaction had been even more alarming --- he had gone a shade whiter then Spike would have thought possible. Even Nestor, vacant as he was, had picked up on it.

"What the hellfire's got you all turned around?" As always, the southern-fried idiot couldn't see the nose in front of his face.

"It's just--- me and Batman spent years--- years--- trying to stop that smiling freak and you and your friends just---" Dick shook his head in a wonder that Spike knew was not fake.

"You're telling me," For a moment Nestor turned serious. "That's how strong our boy Kotaski is. He looked at number one felon in the world in the eyes and then ripped them clean out of his head. Guess even the Bat'll think twice about fucking with us now."

"Not a chance," said Dick, frowning. "That son-of-a-bitch doesn't know when he's beaten."

Nestor turned jovial again. "He will when we're all through with him."

For the next four hours things, steadily accelerated. By two AM, the rumpus had quickened, and violence was breaking out all over the city. By three AM, half of the families in Gotham were fighting the other half.

Now, as a clock in the distance chimed four times and with dawn still hours away, Spike and Nightwing had come to the agreement that they couldn't keep up the pretense any longer. If they kept screwing around, there might not be a Gotham left to save.

"Alright," Dick said as they pulled away from the pack of undead felons they had been fighting alongside to keep throwing fuel on the fire (figuratively and literally) "…how exactly do you intend to stop this?"

That was a good question. "Well…" Spike said slowly "I generally find that when faced with an overwhelming number of enemies, it is best to start small and work your way up."

Dick nodded. "We deal with the thirteen would-be bad-asses we're with now?"

"Yes," said Spike. "However, since thirteen is not divisible by two, someone has to be dusted right now." Spike smiled, chuckling under his breath. "And I have the perfect vamp in mind for it."

Almost as if it was his cue, Nestor emerged from around the corner. "What are y'all jawboning about?" he said in his irritating drawl.

Spike didn't even have to look at Nightwing. "Well, you see," he said, moving cool as a cucumber towards Nestor " Dick and I have been having a little argument and maybe you can provide us with a little perspective."

Nestor gave another shit-eating grin. "Well, sure thing Billy Boy, what do you got in mind?"

Spike pretended to think for a second before answering him. "Well--- how do I put this--- we're trying to figure out to the biggest pillock that either of us has ever met."

Even as his end approached, Mrs. Maddox's only son remained as blissfully ignorant as he had been during most of his time on the planet. "And a pillock is…" he said, trailing off.

"You." said Spike flatly as he moved. Before Nestor could even react, Spike had already kicked him in the head, punched him in the chest and pulled a stake from under his jacket.

Up until now, Nestor's reactions had been so slow that Spike figured that it would be easy to kill him. Unfortunately, in these, his last few minutes on earth, Nestor seemed to have developed a knack for self-preservation. He shouted out "HELP!" at the top of his lungs before throwing a punch at his attacker.

Spike fell back, more out of surprise than from the force of the punch. He resigned himself to the fact that nothing was free, tonight, and began to fight Nestor.

Throughout his un-life as a vampire, Nestor had always utilized a barroom brawl style of fighting whenever he was in action. Though it was (very) primitive, this style was usually effective among the typical class of vampire found in this day and age. Spike, however, had this kind of fighting down cold for longer than Nestor had been around, living or dead. He had instigated more than his share of barroom brawls over the years, and didn't have a great deal of trouble countering every punch or kick that Nestor threw.

While they were fighting, Nestor started speaking. He couldn't seem to get over the fact that Spike had betrayed him. "How in the sand hill can you do this to me?" he said as he bobbed and weaved. "I thought we were pals!"

"Well that just goes to prove—" Spike said as he dodged and parried "…how you were the…" He landed a right cross on Nestor's jaw " most idiotic…" a kick was dodged as he continued "pecker-headed…", and then an uppercut slipped past his ear a moment later "inbred, goose-stepping…" a high kick followed it as Spike got himself ready to finish the fight "…dyed-in-the-woo-l idiot- redneck that I have had the displeasure of knowing!"

And, suddenly tired of all the John L. Sullivan crap that he was doing, Spike then landed one of the most glorious kicks in the balls that he had ever delivered. "Woof!" said Nestor as he fell, clutching himself.

"And, by the bye," Spike said the moment before he plunged the wood into the redneck vamps heart, "…Dukes of Hazard, worst piece of craps I've ever watched! " A look of extreme hurt appeared on Nestor's face the second before he turned to dust.

"I should have done that thirty years ago," Spike said as he turned his attention back to Nightwing.

Dick, however, had no time to respond (not even to ask Spike what the hell that last remark had to do with anything) and Spike realized why a second later. Even in dissolving Nestor was a huge pain in the ass, because his cry for help and screams of pain had been more than sufficient to bring the other vamps from around the corner (Spike would later marvel at their discipline; he was pretty sure that most of the pack hated Nestor as much as he did). The first vamp saw what was going on and delivered a shout of his own. "They're liars! Dust the bastards!"

And, just as though a clown car had pulled up, the other vamps began to seemingly appear out of nowhere--- all looking pissed and all ready to kick some ass.

As he and Nightwing readied themselves to fight, Spike assessed their situation. Despite his earlier bravado, he knew the odds were against them. These vamps weren't rookies. Many of them had been tough and slippery when they were alive, and they had become even more so after they'd been turned. Spike had seen more than a few of them in action in the past month. All of them were going to be pains in the ass to kill. They showed he was correct right away by not doing what happens every time a dozen men fought Bruce Lee--- attack one at a time. No, they were coming at Dick and Spike from every angle, somehow managing to surround the two in a near perfect cage.

Still, they were fighting a man who had been kicking evil's ass since he was fifteen and a vampire who'd been in his prime when most of them had still been wearing diapers. A slim edge for the enemy, but both Spike and Nightwing had faced far worse ones.

As the six of his opponents circled around, Spike did what he'd done in every fight he'd been in since the Boxer Rebellion. Everything around him that wasn't important was shut out of his mind. The buildings, the smell of gunpowder and buildings burning, the sounds of police cars and fire engines racing across the city.

There was nothing but him at the vamps he was fighting. Admittedly, given their number, and the level of noise around them, it was a lot harder than usual, but Spike had been having fights like this a lot longer than them.

Three of them --- one black, one Latino and one Italian--- soon had him in the middle of a human cage. All three were strong and hostile, as well as having the rare quality (in this time) of being skilled strategists. The ones on his left and right kept trying to kick his legs out from under him, which forced him to turn in order to block or dodge the kick, and every time he did, the third would throw a punch towards his head and neck.

Wonderful, he thought as he continued their elaborate dance. I'm going to be killed by the sodding Rainbow Coalition

After a few minutes, Spike realized that three was a crowd, but that four was a goddamn parade. A moment later, he realized that if he was to have any chance of surviving the fight, he had to go straight up the middle and take out the center square.

Too bad I was never much good at rugby, he thought as he turned and charged the Italian. The Italian was a little stunned by the act and allowed himself to be pushed back a few inches before beginning to push back. Realizing he had at most a few more seconds Spike pulled another stake out of his jacket and thrust upward with it. The Italian didn't loosen his grip and held on tight until the wood pierced his heart and dusted him.

Spike, however, had no time to celebrate the victory before one of the Italian's friends took advantage of the shift in Spike's focus to stab him in the back with a switchblade.

It is common myth that vampires are invulnerable, save for stakes through the heart, crosses and holy water. However, getting what would normally be a mortal wound for a human still isn't exactly fun for a vampire. Spike uttered a cry of pain and felt his legs turn rubbery. For a moment, it felt like they were going to give.

The black vamp seemed to think so too, and he came a little too close. Even as Spikes world became little more than a symphony of pain, he had more than enough energy to grab the vamp and throw him into a traffic light.

When his enemy stumbled back toward him with a broken nose, he was unsteady on his feet. "Here," Spike said "…let me give you a hand." He moved in, bringing up the hand with the stake in it. He managed to drive it into the black's chest before his knees finally gave and he stumbled to the ground.

Fortunately, someone quickly pulled him to his feet. Unfortunately, that somebody was the Latino, who then threw Spike against a dumpster. The steel of the trash bin hit him in the back and he collapsed to the ground in a heap.

He knew that the last vamp was going to get him, but his back was now a mountain of agony and he just couldn't seem to find his feet.

"Wonderful…" he muttered. "I've fallen and I can't get up."

The Latino moved in quickly. Spike looked around for help, but Nightwing was nowhere to be seen. Of course his sightline had just been reduced to about ten feet in front of him, but Spike figured if Nightwing wasn't there, then his goose was pretty much cooked. He continued to think that right until the Latino dissolved into a pile of ash before his eyes.

Astounded by the turn of events, Spike managed to recover enough to get back to his feet. Though he wouldn't know it until much later Nightwing--- who was just as occupied holding up his end of the fight--- had seen the trouble that his companion was in, pulled out a stake and making a throw that Willie Mays would have marveled at, hit the Latino dead center in the chest with it.

Spike, unfortunately, had no time to utter a thank you, or to even think about what had happened because three others had replaced the three dusted vamps. Worse, one of them was Thor, the man-mountain that Spike had first reported to when he pretended to side up with the Prince.

"So you've double crossed us," said Thor as he stared down at Spike. "Or is it triple-crossed? I've lost count of the number of times that you've betrayed your own." He frowned.

The backhanded slap that followed would have been enough to send a welterweight champion reeling. In Spike's case, it made him lose his already shaky footing. He was, however, prevented from falling by the two remaining heavies who grabbed him and held him standing.

"I never trusted you, Spike. Not for a second" Thor said arrogantly, "…and if it seemed like I did, it was only because my superiors thought that you could be useful." The hulk snorted at that. "Pretty hard to believe vampires that smart could be that dumb."

"Doesn't say—much for the success--- of this plan." Spike managed to gasp out. Thor's response was to slap him again.

"A minor miscalculation, Spike, and one that can easily be rectified." Thor smiled at Spike, face-to-face with the other vampire. "I imagine that I'll get one hell of bonus for taking you out of the picture at last."

Spike couldn't hold back. "Maybe. Or maybe the real Batman'll kick your ass to kingdom come."

This provoked a reaction, although it was not the one that Spike had been hoping for. "Oh please," Thor said as he laughed and spat. "By the time the Dork Knight gets around to us, he'll be in no condition to fight anyone."

"Really." Spike managed a weak smile, trying to project an arrogance he didn't feel. He wanted some information, and not just for its strategic value. "I've seen Bat in action from a much closer distance then you probably have. What makes you so sure that he won't chop His Excellency into toothpicks?"

"Well, you see—" The vamp on his left began to answer before he got a slap in the kisser from Thor.

"For crying out loud!" the vampire-lieutenant said, clearly annoyed. "Don't you remember 'Goldfinger', for crying out loud?"

I always knew those bloody Bond movies would ruin villainy, Spike thought to himself, exasperated. Right now, however, more important things concerned him than 007, such as… "What have you done with Mr. Grayson?" he asked calmly.

In answer, Thor stepped aside to reveal something that made Spike even unhappier about how things were going. Two vampires, one of whom Spike recognized as another of the prince's lieutenants, Pascal, were holding Nightwing very tightly, while other vamps on either side of him were holding pretty big guns.

Spike did the math quickly. He and Dick had managed to reduce the number holding them to seven, which was good work. Their luck, however, seemed to have run out with that. Both he and Spike were firmly held in place by the flunkies. The vampires were far bigger and meaner than either of them, and Spike could see that the belt that Nightwing had been wearing that contained all those useful gadgets swinging around Pascal's neck. They definitely seemed to be up shit creek without a paddle--- no weapons, no way to get help---

Wait a tick. They did have one thing. Admittedly, it was a long shot, and meant to be used only in a worst-case scenario—but Spike was pretty sure this qualified as one. The problem was going to be getting into his coat pocket for it.

"Now," said Thor, punching his hands together menacingly "…we're going to kill both of you, that's understood. And getting rid of Spike won't cause much of a problem, even with the cleanup. The question, Mr. Grayson, is what we should do with you." He walked over to Dick. "Turning you--- and I mean doing it for real this time, Mr. Grayson--- might be beneficial in the short run. But looking at things in the long view--- and that's the only way we really do look at things--- you present us with many more problems being undead then you do alive."

He began to walk around Nightwing, like a vulture circling his prey--- which was, Spike admitted, basically what he was. "The only reason that I can see for turning you is that you could give us something that for some reason Nicholae is screwing around with…" Thor turned and faced the horizon. "Where and how to find Batman."

A moment of genuine confusion hit Spike. "You're telling me that Kotaski never gave you Batman's identity?"

For a moment Thor seemed embarrassed. "For reasons which must make sense to him but not to us, Nicholae has told us that he will reveal Batman's identity only to those who need to know." Thor said, almost sounding ashamed.

"Really?" Suddenly Spike knew how he was going to get to the device in his coat and could even see an ironic way of getting the device activated. "'Cause I can tell you how to get him here right quick."

"That would be a neat trick," said Pascal "…considering that right now he's halfway across town."

"The left pocket of my duster…" said Spike, lies coming as smoothly as buttermilk "I've got something that I took from Dickie Bird while I was prepping him…"

"… To imitate being one of us just to get you in good with Kotaski?" said Thor, his tone sarcastic.

It was a testament to the pace and fury of the last few hours that Spike had momentarily forgotten the ruse he had played. "Geeze, when you put it like that…" he said, half in jest.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." said Pascal in the same vein. "Please try and describe this in a way that makes you come out the hero."

"And while you're at it," added Thor "…can you give us one good reason that we should believe anything you tell us, now?"

Unfortunately, that was a valid point. It was time to stop being disingenuous and do some outright lying. "All right. I've been working with Nightwing from the get-go. We were trying to flush out his Excellency, him because of the dent you've been making in the homeless population; me because I now occasionally fight on the side of justice and puppies and all that crap." Spike began to talk faster because he now saw that Thor had brought out a stake. "Anyway, when we started this undercover shit, he gave me this emergency locator device. According to him you press a button, you send up one of those Bat Signal thingies."

"And he trusted you with just one," said Thor doubtfully.

"No, I figure he's got a couple of those on him somewhere. This is the one he gave me."

"You rotten bastard!" Nightwing yelled at Spike. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Good, Spike thought to himself, you're playing it alright but don't oversell it "I'm sorry, Richard m' boy," he said in as humble a tone he could manage "It's been nice fighting with you, but I gotta look out for myself."

By now Thor was fishing through his coat looking for the device. "What's make you think that we'll spare you just because you give us the Bat?" he said loudly.

"I don't," Spike said honestly, "but at this point I'm out of trick and whatever I have to do to save myself I'm gonna do."

Thor was now looking at the apparatus. Fortunately the people at Angel-Slayer had made it look fairly innocuous --- it was a black plastic square, no more than six inches long on any side, with a small blue button in the center. "So if I push this button, then Batman will know where we are." He said slowly, glancing at the item in his hand.

"Believe me, Thor," Spike said coolly, "push that button, and you will definitely get his attention."

Thor considered this for what seemed to be for hours but Spike knew had to be less than a minute. Finally, Thor put his finger on the button. "After this, one of you is going to die."

Spike hoped he would be able to make this threat work for instead of against him but it all depended on a single hope.

Thor pressed the button, and the results were almost instantly clear. In the space of five seconds, the streetlights, the lights in the building they were in and every other light on the street blinked out all at once.

All of them were taken by surprise by this--- even Spike, who had known what was coming. However, his reactions and movements were far faster than any of the others. In the brief seconds of darkness he reacted quickly against the momentarily distracted henchmen. One might say that his movements were faster than the speed of dark.

Dick reacted nearly as quickly against the vamps restraining him. By the time the lights were on again, three of the seven left had been dispatched. One of the dusted was Pascal, so the enemy had been reduced to Thor and his three flunkies.

The three henchmen were clearly unnerved by what he and Dick had done when the lights went out. Thor, however, didn't seem disturbed in the slightest. "Nice trick," he said coolly. " Helped you get the jump on them."

Then he leapt forward and kicked Spike in the small of his back. Before Thor's foot had landed, his back was still in excruciating pain. After that, it got worse, if that could happen. Spike collapsed to the ground, trying to deal with the sensation.

Thor walked up to Spike with two of the remaining henchmen. "You really thought that some penny ante light show was going to help you beat me, Spike?" Emphasizing his extreme displeasure with what had just happened, he kicked Spike in the jaw.

Dickie boy, where the hell are you?

It was a relevant question, but one Spike thought was never going to get answered. Thor's henchmen had grabbed Spike by the arms and lifted him to his feet.

"You may think that you've done a bit of damage here tonight, Spike," Thor said as he came up in to Spike's face "but all you've done is spit in the ocean. Doesn't matter what you or your friends in capes do; in one week this city will be ours, and Batman's head will be on a pike to warn off any of our other enemies."

Thor paused, and then took out a knife long enough to be a machete. "Too bad we won't be able to display your head," he said with a smile. "Spike on a pike--- pretty poetic, huh?" The smile disappeared. "Third times the charm, right?"

Thor brought the machete up in an arc. It seemed like Spike's goose was cooked.

And exactly one second later Thor was burning. As big and tough as he had been, in the end he screamed as loud and painfully as anyone else would have, human or otherwise.

The two vampires who were holding Spike reacted exactly as you expect someone to react when they're near a burst of flame, and jumped backwards to avoid it.

Unfortunately for them, they had to let go of Spike to do it. Fortunately for Spike, he had managed to grab on to Thor's machete before they were able to. With a wide swing, he cut the head off one of the henchmen, who promptly exploded into dust.

The second, having seen ten of his comrades dispatched in less than fifteen minutes, did the most sensible thing that he could have done. He ran. For a moment, Spike considered chasing the last one down and pumping him for information. Then he decided, The hell with it. His back and his jaw hadn't yet recovered from the beating they had just taken, and in any case they had other and far bigger fish to fry.

Speaking of which… "You know, Richard," Spike said angrily, "you could have set me on fire with one of those flares you just used. "

Dick looked down at his newly recovered utility belt. "That was a possibility, " he answered Spike calmly. "But considering how you've handled the last couple of days, I figured seeing you go up in flames would be an upside to this Night of a Thousand Screams we seem to be going through."

Spike was royally pissed now. The last few days--- hell, the last few months--- had been as draining on him as it had been on the rest of the law enforcement officials. Now that they were in the middle of what felt like a collaborative effort of Martin Scorcese and George Romero, he was tired of having everybody question his loyalty. Hell, HE wasn't even sure which side he was supposed to be betraying. What he felt like doing right now was taking out his aggression on Dick and fuck the consequences.

But he knew that he couldn't, and he knew that Dick, despite all his anger, couldn't do it, either. There were bigger and far worse problems ahead of them and miles to go before they slept.

So, after a moment, he uncurled his fists and calmly spoke. "I'm sorry that, in spite of everything I've done to keep you alive in the last week, you still don't trust me, Richard."

He held up his hand before Dick could interject. "However, we have long since passed the point where we can be suspicious of each other. This city is now in the process of self-destruction and you and I are among the few people who might be able to stop it. On that contingency I am asking you to set aside your doubts and help me help you help Gotham."

Dick considered this for what felt like a very long thirty seconds. Finally, he walked up towards Spike. "In case I've been unclear, helping someone like you goes against everything I've been doing since I was fourteen."

"Gee, and you were so sweet about it before." Spike mumbled.

'Furthermore, since your methods have involved stopping my heart, doing massive property damage and blacking out Gotham for ten seconds, I'm not really sure your way is better, Spike."

There was a long silence. "But?" Spike pressed.

"Actually, those are pretty good arguments." admitted Nightwing. "But you're right. Things have started to blow up around here. If we don't start pulling together, we may end up dying apart."

Spike started to breathe a sigh of relief, and then remembered he didn't breathe. He settled for saying, "All right now. " Then he saw something on the horizon and for the first time began to believe that there might be something to hope for. "What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?"

"And go where?" asked Dick.

"Well, that little car might give us a clue."

Dick turned and saw what Spike had: one of the miniature Bat Cycles. His voice showed some slight nostalgia. "Haven't been on one of those in a while." He shook his head. "But even if we've got a ticket to ride, we still don't have any idea of what to do next."

"I'm not sure either," acknowledged Spike, "but right now I think that we'd better do what the halfwits in Sunnydale whenever they faced a new wrinkle."

"Which would be?" Nightwing pressed.

"A group meeting in the Magic Box where they'd come up with a strategy." Spike considered what he'd just said. "There isn't a magic shop in Gotham, is there?"

"You think we need more magic to beat Nicholae?"

"I think," admitted Spike "we'll be needing all sorts of magic to stop this Big Bad."

Edits finis