Authors Notes: Much thanks to Beamer and fleisch for Beta'ing this chapter. It was most helpful.
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Chapter Three: Out of His Grave
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"What if a dawn of a doom of a dream
bites this universe in two,
peels forever out of his grave
and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?
Blow soon to never and never to twice
(blow life to isn't blow death to was)
-all nothing's our hugest home;
the most who die, the more we live."
-E. E Cummings
Weightless. Nothing touched him.
It's funny how dreams are like that. How the worries of the outside world melt away. You don't remember things, like the fact that you're really lying on the floor of a cave half a world away from anyone you care about.
But that wasn't important here. Here, he was standing in a field, rolling grass stretching to the horizon, waving in the gentle breeze. When he inhaled, the only scents that came to him were old dirt and pollens. The scents of untouched life. He wasn't wounded, he wasn't in pain. His toes dug into the moist soil beneath him, but he was still floating. At total peace with himself and the world. It didn't even seem odd at the time.
There was electricity in the air, the wind carrying the faintest hint of rain. Thunder rolled in the distance, and he looked up, marveling at how the clouds moved, twisted, dancing, preparing to lend rain to the earth below, to nourish and feed the land. Though the storm seemed as if it would be violent, there was no sense of impending doom; just the feeling of belonging, being complete. Everything was right, though he had no idea why.
"Beautiful..." he murmered murmured, watching the clouds move closer, tasting the tangy air, dancing with life.
"Because this is the way it's supposed to be."
He turned around, curious of this intrusion, to find Tara standing behind him, her long hair moving to the rhythm of the wind.
"This is how it all started. And this is how it will be in the end."
He smiled, raising his face toward the sky as the clouds opened, trickling rain upon them both.
"Good. Everyone should know."
She smiled too, watching him, the rain leaving her untouched and dry while it soaked him.
"But you forget, William. You've done something. You know that right?"
A flicker of worry passed over him, before it was gone again. He understood.
"Yes. I found what I was looking for."
"You did. And the worlds stand up to take notice. You passed the trials."
He nodded, looking over the quickly flooding ground.
"All tests. I was worthy."
She moved closer, the dress flowing in the wind, still untouched by the rain.
"Tests, William. But remember what tests always are."
The world began to fade, and the sand was coming back, digging into his back.....
"Preparation....."
His eyes snapped open.
There was a moment of panic. A brief moment, but terrifying nonetheless, where he didn't know where he was or how he got there, or why he was in so much damned pain. When it clicked, the terror lessened, but he was frightened still. He felt as if the cave had collapsed, that it was pressing on his chest, in sharp contrast to the weightlessness of the dream he was barely able to recall now. And the tightness of his skin, the feeling that he was too large for it to hold, wasn't going away.
He took stock of himself. Aching head, chest, arms, legs.... Okay, different approach. Still Spike? Seems so. Feeling pretty shitty? Check.
At least he had that.
Sitting up took way more energy than it should of.
Finding his vision a little blurry (tears? what?), he peered around the cave, drawing his arms to his chest, blinking. He was alone. The sun was setting. Had he slept the day away?
Jesus, this was bad. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying to...what? Now what? He had it. Got what he came for. Leave?
He staggered to his feet, sniffling. Boots. Boots are good.
He found them, after a moment, along with his discarded shirt. Boots on, laces undone. He winced as he slipped the shirt over his shoulders, leaving it open so it wouldn't further aggravate the wounds on his chest. Dressed.
He took a deep breath. He felt...pretty emotionless actually. Which was slightly disconcerting. Maybe he was still in shock. Wasn't there supposed to be screaming and crying, great gnashing of teeth, and pulling of hair?
His thoughts, though, were troubling. He couldn't for the life of him remember how he got here. He was supposed to go back. As soon as possible. That had been the plan. Go to Africa, get soul, come back. Pretty simple as plans go. He wondered if they even noticed he was gone yet. How much time had passed since he'd roared out of Sunnydale, fire in his eyes at this sacrifice he had been forced to take?
But, he wasn't sacrificed. That was...good. Wasn't it?
He looked around the cave, wondering for a moment if this was supposed to be the death of him. He knew if he looked to deeply at his motives, it would have been.
So what now?
Right. The boat. His bike was waiting there. Boarded at L.A. Took all of his stash, but they said they'd wait. How long had it been?
He edged to the mouth of the cave, pulling his shirt closed, and crossing his arms.
'If you stick a knife in me, would I deflate? Would this awful pressure go away?'
Now that was a strange thought. Didn't linger on where it had come from.
Out of the cave, half stumbling across the beach, trying not to trip on his own laces. What a sight he must be, beaten to hell, filthy, staggering and kicking up sand. And he had a crowd. How entertaining this must be for them.
The man who'd warned him of death stood at the head of them, watching. It appeared the entire village had come to see his humiliation. Ah, there's some emotion. Good on him.
He stopped, nearly doubled over, and gave the man what he hoped was a glare.
"Bugger off." The first words of a newly souled vampire. He'd thought they'd be more poingnant.
The man blinked at him, then shouted something Spike couldn't understand. The crowd lingered for a moment more, most reflecting something akin to awe on their faces, before drifting off, going about their business.
One man, however stood motionless in the swarm, still staring. He was vaguely familiar. Dark skin, short curly black hair. Spike stared back, hoping he looked something like the Big Bad, but the man didn't flinch. He looked...ill. Something was definitely wrong with him, and not just by the fact that his eyes were completely white.
Spike snorted, and turned, ignoring the voyeur. Boat. Get on board, back to L.A. Another simple, yet highly effective plan.
Thankfully, the boat was where he left it. The Tapestry was still anchored about thirty feet down the shoreline, where a small bay allowed for the locals to build a dock. The village had sprung up around it, apparently. Must be hard for them.
Harder for him, considering he still had thirty feet to walk before he could even start his new 'going home' plan.
It took considerable willpower, and much waving off of people yammering and holding beads or other various knickknacks out at him, but he made it.
The captain was waiting for him. He was a tall, well built man, tanned from years on the water. He ran mostly underhand cargo, dealt with demons on a regular basis. Even so, his eyes widened as Spike staggered on deck.
"Looks like you've come upon some trouble. We need to shove off in a hurry? Cause that'll cost extra."
Spike eyed him, what was his name again? Neil. That's right. He swallowed, his tongue thick in his mouth.
"No trouble. No need to hurry. Gave you all I had, and you know it."
Neil continued to look at him, frowning.
"Well, we ain't got no blood, and you know what'll happen if one of crew vanishes."
"Yea, toasty vamp, whatever. Open the hold." Couldn't the git see he could barely stand, much less kill one of his beefy, half demon crew?
Neil rolled his eyes and barked an order to one of his men, who jerked open the trapdoor that led to the cargo hold. Then leveled his gaze back on the vampire.
"I'll be watching you."
Spike snorted, and would have flicked him off, if his hands weren't too busy keep his ribs together. A short shuffled, a few stairs, and a thump as he fell to the floor beside his bike, and he was alright. Just needed to sleep for a bit. Then he'd be right as rain.
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Chapter Three: Out of His Grave
***********************************************************************
"What if a dawn of a doom of a dream
bites this universe in two,
peels forever out of his grave
and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?
Blow soon to never and never to twice
(blow life to isn't blow death to was)
-all nothing's our hugest home;
the most who die, the more we live."
-E. E Cummings
Weightless. Nothing touched him.
It's funny how dreams are like that. How the worries of the outside world melt away. You don't remember things, like the fact that you're really lying on the floor of a cave half a world away from anyone you care about.
But that wasn't important here. Here, he was standing in a field, rolling grass stretching to the horizon, waving in the gentle breeze. When he inhaled, the only scents that came to him were old dirt and pollens. The scents of untouched life. He wasn't wounded, he wasn't in pain. His toes dug into the moist soil beneath him, but he was still floating. At total peace with himself and the world. It didn't even seem odd at the time.
There was electricity in the air, the wind carrying the faintest hint of rain. Thunder rolled in the distance, and he looked up, marveling at how the clouds moved, twisted, dancing, preparing to lend rain to the earth below, to nourish and feed the land. Though the storm seemed as if it would be violent, there was no sense of impending doom; just the feeling of belonging, being complete. Everything was right, though he had no idea why.
"Beautiful..." he murmered murmured, watching the clouds move closer, tasting the tangy air, dancing with life.
"Because this is the way it's supposed to be."
He turned around, curious of this intrusion, to find Tara standing behind him, her long hair moving to the rhythm of the wind.
"This is how it all started. And this is how it will be in the end."
He smiled, raising his face toward the sky as the clouds opened, trickling rain upon them both.
"Good. Everyone should know."
She smiled too, watching him, the rain leaving her untouched and dry while it soaked him.
"But you forget, William. You've done something. You know that right?"
A flicker of worry passed over him, before it was gone again. He understood.
"Yes. I found what I was looking for."
"You did. And the worlds stand up to take notice. You passed the trials."
He nodded, looking over the quickly flooding ground.
"All tests. I was worthy."
She moved closer, the dress flowing in the wind, still untouched by the rain.
"Tests, William. But remember what tests always are."
The world began to fade, and the sand was coming back, digging into his back.....
"Preparation....."
His eyes snapped open.
There was a moment of panic. A brief moment, but terrifying nonetheless, where he didn't know where he was or how he got there, or why he was in so much damned pain. When it clicked, the terror lessened, but he was frightened still. He felt as if the cave had collapsed, that it was pressing on his chest, in sharp contrast to the weightlessness of the dream he was barely able to recall now. And the tightness of his skin, the feeling that he was too large for it to hold, wasn't going away.
He took stock of himself. Aching head, chest, arms, legs.... Okay, different approach. Still Spike? Seems so. Feeling pretty shitty? Check.
At least he had that.
Sitting up took way more energy than it should of.
Finding his vision a little blurry (tears? what?), he peered around the cave, drawing his arms to his chest, blinking. He was alone. The sun was setting. Had he slept the day away?
Jesus, this was bad. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying to...what? Now what? He had it. Got what he came for. Leave?
He staggered to his feet, sniffling. Boots. Boots are good.
He found them, after a moment, along with his discarded shirt. Boots on, laces undone. He winced as he slipped the shirt over his shoulders, leaving it open so it wouldn't further aggravate the wounds on his chest. Dressed.
He took a deep breath. He felt...pretty emotionless actually. Which was slightly disconcerting. Maybe he was still in shock. Wasn't there supposed to be screaming and crying, great gnashing of teeth, and pulling of hair?
His thoughts, though, were troubling. He couldn't for the life of him remember how he got here. He was supposed to go back. As soon as possible. That had been the plan. Go to Africa, get soul, come back. Pretty simple as plans go. He wondered if they even noticed he was gone yet. How much time had passed since he'd roared out of Sunnydale, fire in his eyes at this sacrifice he had been forced to take?
But, he wasn't sacrificed. That was...good. Wasn't it?
He looked around the cave, wondering for a moment if this was supposed to be the death of him. He knew if he looked to deeply at his motives, it would have been.
So what now?
Right. The boat. His bike was waiting there. Boarded at L.A. Took all of his stash, but they said they'd wait. How long had it been?
He edged to the mouth of the cave, pulling his shirt closed, and crossing his arms.
'If you stick a knife in me, would I deflate? Would this awful pressure go away?'
Now that was a strange thought. Didn't linger on where it had come from.
Out of the cave, half stumbling across the beach, trying not to trip on his own laces. What a sight he must be, beaten to hell, filthy, staggering and kicking up sand. And he had a crowd. How entertaining this must be for them.
The man who'd warned him of death stood at the head of them, watching. It appeared the entire village had come to see his humiliation. Ah, there's some emotion. Good on him.
He stopped, nearly doubled over, and gave the man what he hoped was a glare.
"Bugger off." The first words of a newly souled vampire. He'd thought they'd be more poingnant.
The man blinked at him, then shouted something Spike couldn't understand. The crowd lingered for a moment more, most reflecting something akin to awe on their faces, before drifting off, going about their business.
One man, however stood motionless in the swarm, still staring. He was vaguely familiar. Dark skin, short curly black hair. Spike stared back, hoping he looked something like the Big Bad, but the man didn't flinch. He looked...ill. Something was definitely wrong with him, and not just by the fact that his eyes were completely white.
Spike snorted, and turned, ignoring the voyeur. Boat. Get on board, back to L.A. Another simple, yet highly effective plan.
Thankfully, the boat was where he left it. The Tapestry was still anchored about thirty feet down the shoreline, where a small bay allowed for the locals to build a dock. The village had sprung up around it, apparently. Must be hard for them.
Harder for him, considering he still had thirty feet to walk before he could even start his new 'going home' plan.
It took considerable willpower, and much waving off of people yammering and holding beads or other various knickknacks out at him, but he made it.
The captain was waiting for him. He was a tall, well built man, tanned from years on the water. He ran mostly underhand cargo, dealt with demons on a regular basis. Even so, his eyes widened as Spike staggered on deck.
"Looks like you've come upon some trouble. We need to shove off in a hurry? Cause that'll cost extra."
Spike eyed him, what was his name again? Neil. That's right. He swallowed, his tongue thick in his mouth.
"No trouble. No need to hurry. Gave you all I had, and you know it."
Neil continued to look at him, frowning.
"Well, we ain't got no blood, and you know what'll happen if one of crew vanishes."
"Yea, toasty vamp, whatever. Open the hold." Couldn't the git see he could barely stand, much less kill one of his beefy, half demon crew?
Neil rolled his eyes and barked an order to one of his men, who jerked open the trapdoor that led to the cargo hold. Then leveled his gaze back on the vampire.
"I'll be watching you."
Spike snorted, and would have flicked him off, if his hands weren't too busy keep his ribs together. A short shuffled, a few stairs, and a thump as he fell to the floor beside his bike, and he was alright. Just needed to sleep for a bit. Then he'd be right as rain.