Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS.

Many brilliant thanks to ObscureBookWyrm.

A/N: I should note that I don't have any particular religious affiliation, but there are just some things that scare the piss out of my animal brain.

Awakening

Chapter Eight

"You must hunt it, Vampire."

Spike didn't acknowledge the uberbitch. He had spent the night before, after settling the still-naked Buffy into bed, cutting tree limbs and piling them just inside the cave. He had also taken all the water bottles he could find, emptied them out, and filled them with diesel from the aircraft.

The entire time he worked, his skin crawled with the knowledge of being watched. Hunted.

The unholy scent of the beast curled around him. Insidious tendrils soaked into his very flesh, until the only odor he could detect was its wet musk.

When he'd rounded the great trunk of a ponderosa, the beast had been right there, in his face. If Spike didn't have vampire grace, he would have fallen on his arse at his first real glimpse of the creature.

The long, lanky body was attached to the thick tree trunk by very human-looking hands ending in sharp claws instead of hooves, angled upside down so its shaggy hindquarters pointed upwards, its long goat face even with Spike's head.

And it was a goat. Not a mincing shepherd's sheep found in some bucolic setting. A profane one, straight out of Satan's handbook.

The beast was twice as tall as Spike, limbs articulated in an unnatural way to allow it to stand on its hindquarters. Black shaggy fur enveloped its wiry body, hanging in matted clumps at its belly. Short gray fur covered its long face, the perfect pale contrast to its blazing red eyes. Spiraling horns as thick as Spike's forearm swept from its skull.

For a moment, Spike just stared, uncertain of what he was looking at, but knowing he didn't like it one bit.

Then slowly, deliberately, it twisted its long face 180 degrees, pointing its chin downward so it could look Spike eye to eye, hunter to hunter. Then it stretched back its thin, black lips, revealing square, yellow teeth…and smiled.

Spike recognized it immediately. Not by species but by form. Its face had been emblazoned on the cover of every satanic piece of literature, altar, or orgiastic setting since the birth of Christianity.

Spike had always thought that nonsense was just a bit of leftover paganism wriggling itself into the new dominant religion. New priests trying to root out the old, doing away with all that unhealthy gluttony of eating, drinking, and shagging.

But maybe not. Maybe those new priests weren't worried about satyrs or what the fuck else. Maybe they'd been worried about whatever was in the woods with Spike. Because it sure as hell wasn't some prancing, goat-arsed man, looking to shag some wood nymphs while playing pipes.

This was the Pan behind the word panic. The old god of hysteria and terror.

Spike whipped out his blade, determined to shred the beast into unrecognizable pieces. The blade flashed in the moonlight, slicing at nothing but darkness. The creature moved so quickly, Spike barely had time to adjust before his knife thunked into the tree trunk.

It disappeared into the tree tops, its black fur blending effortlessly into the shadows. Spike tried to track it by scent, but the odor seeped into the wilderness itself, into the earth, the roots, the very air, tainting juniper and pine with its unholy fragrance.

After that, Spike refused to move mere feet beyond the entrance of the cave for fear the beast would creep in and take Buffy when he wasn't looking. Unable to sleep, he sat with his back to the rock shelf where Buffy slept, guarding her.

The fever had passed, and for the first time since the crash her sleep was a healing one. Spike could still scent the putrescence of her wounds, but it grew fainter with every hour, and the blood rushed with strength through her veins. Even her breathing grew less labored.

Spike on the other hand was worse for wear. He didn't dare hunt, and it had been days since he'd truly slept. He could feel exhaustion and hunger in his very bones.

The sun dipped below the horizon and he knew he needed to risk venturing out for more branches to complete his plan.

"I can't leave her unguarded," he growled at the uberbitch who was watching him with unemotional eyes. Spike didn't glance at her, refusing to relax his vigil in the shadows beneath the bracken. He wasn't confident his senses would detect the beast. Not after last night.

"You mean us," the uberbitch purred.

Spike flashed the bitch his fangs, yellow eyes glinting in the darkness. "No, her. I could give a rat's arse about you and your bloody agenda."

The uberbitch cocked her head, blind, ethereal eyes unveiling all his secrets. "So it is not the Source you seek to protect, William the Bloody, but our vessel."

He thought about prevaricating, but what was the point? He'd proven himself to be Buffy's self-appointed guardian the second he pulled her off the rebar. "Yeah, you could say that. How'd you know my name?"

"We know all our vessels know."

Soddin' figured. And vessels? Did that mean she'd been lurking inside that Chinese chit when he killed her? Inside Nikki? Staring out at him from those fierce, angry eyes he'd seen in his dreams for months after?

"Well, do you know how to get us out of here?" Spike was open to a plan B. Plan A involved some serious blood play. Play he might not survive.

"You've already done so at the cost of your pride. Mayhap your life. You've proven to us that you are a Guardian. Now show us your worth as a Warrior. Defeat the beast that threatens us."

"I don't have to prove a bleedin' thing to you, bitch." Spike paced furiously at the entrance. He could hear the emphases in her words, could practically see the capital letters on the titles of Guardian and Warrior. It made something itch just beneath his breastbone. Predestination settled heavily upon him, and no matter how hard he tried to shake it off, it clung with unceasing tenacity.

"Either way, you must challenge the beast or this vessel will perish."

"Don't you think I soddin' know that?" he spat. "But if I leave it will prance on in here and have itself a real good day."

"We can defend the vessel for a time. Perhaps long enough to hold it until you arrive to lure it out into battle."

"You want to lure it when you can't even stand." He scoffed. "You're loonier than Dru."

"There is much we can do when it is needful." The Slayer tilted its head arrogantly, and just for a moment, Spike thought he saw a hint of Buffy inside those ghostly eyes.

"Yeah? At what cost to Buffy?"

He could just see this bitch using Buffy's body as a soddin' puppet, throwing her around for its own purposes. The chit's wounds wouldn't sustain that kind of movement. They'd break open and she'd end up bleeding to death.

"Her body is strong. She has the potential to house all our strength."

Spike narrowed his eyes, taking a good long look at the being embodied in Buffy's skin. Power flared bright, barely contained within Buffy's small frame. "Bloody brilliant. So why doesn't she?"

"Her body is strong, but her mind is not. It has been corrupted by outside influences."

"I thought you said she had potential. There's not much to be done for the weak-minded."

"We did not say she was of weak mind, only that it is corrupted. Steps are being taken to rectify."

Spike rolled his eyes, turning his head to continue his watch of the woods. "Great. Just what she needs. More super-powered know-it-alls stickin' their nose in it."

With his head turned he didn't see the being's secretive smile, but the strange foreign words rolled over him once again. A new verse seared into his mind.

8888

Giles sat slumped in the driver side seat of the SUV, staring sightlessly at the towering ponderosa pines. Two years ago Buffy had marched away to her death, and he'd been helpless to prevent it. Just as he was helpless now.

Trapped in this vehicle waiting for the sun to go down so his most hated ally could move about freely.

"I think we should talk," Angel prodded gently from the back seat, where he was covered by a thick, fire-proof blanket.

Giles could see no reason for them to converse now. In the predawn hours while Angel drove, Giles had navigated, barely a word spoken between them. When the sun started to rise, wordlessly Angel had pulled over onto the shoulder, and they'd exchanged seats.

Now they were parked off the fire access road, the closest point where they could enter the forest with the ATVs and make their destination.

All that was needed was nightfall. Meanwhile, Buffy suffered horrendous tortures under a sadistic vampire.

No, they had absolutely nothing to talk about.

"As soon as the sun sets, we'll unload the ATVs. I estimate it will take at least four hours to reach our destination. Five at the most, if we encounter any major roadblocks." Giles stuck to the facts.

Angel grunted from the backseat; Giles could hear the rustle of fabric as the vampire shifted.

"I don't think I ever…last year I was still recovering from…hell. And then there was the Mayor and Faith….and everything with Buffy. I just wanted to say…about Ms. Calendar…"

Giles' hand tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles bleaching white. He stared hard at a nearby ponderosa until the reddish, crackled bark swirled into demonic pulsing ciphers of hate.

"I want you to know that I regret everything that happened that year. Her death was a tragedy. I can never repent enough—"

"I think it best if you stop speaking now."

"Giles—"

"Not another word."

"We should talk," Angel pressed.

Giles' hand tightened and the leather creaked. "No. What I should do is open the door, drag you out kicking and screaming and watch you burn like you should have burned in hell. I should avenge her, give her soul peace. But I won't. Not because Buffy fancies herself in love with you, a monster, but because I need you to save her. So I suggest you shut your mouth and do not speak again."

Angel didn't shift, the blanket didn't rustle. Anger, sorrow, and regret welled in the silence in the cab while blue jays chattered gaily just outside the window.

8888

"What are you doing?"

A healthier Buffy peeked at him from over the edge of her sleeping bag. He dropped the bundle of wood he carried and scrounged up one of the ready-made meals that came in the survival pack he'd scavenged from the crash.

He ripped it open, handing it to her. She frowned down at it, but took it, grimacing even more when she shook some of the freeze-dried food into her mouth.

"You going tell me or is it a secret?"

Spike watched her for a moment, amazed at her recovery. She was in no shape to hike out of the mountains, but she certainly wasn't on death's door either.

"There's something hunting us."

Buffy looked confused for a moment. "The creature on the plane? It survived the crash?"

"Yeah. Nasty bugger too." Spike hid his shudder. His Anglican roots, long dormant, were sermonizing about fire and brimstone in the back of his skull.

"And what? You're going to build a big fire to keep it away?" She glanced at all the pine boughs piled at the entrance. "What's that smell?" she asked, her pert nose wrinkled.

"Diesel. It'll help the greenery burn. Will make a fair bit of smoke too. But I've arranged it so it will go out the entrance. Beast like that, it's goin' to shy away from fire. A roaring blaze will keep you safe for a bit."

Unless it made it feel more at home. Fire and brimstone and all that rot.

"What about you?"

"I'm thinkin' I don't smell so good to it. Dead as I am." He scratched the back of his neck, looking her over. "It's you it wants. All warm and wriggly. All that blood leaking from you rung the dinner bell."

"Why hasn't it come sooner?" She frowned. She had no idea how much time had come and gone. "We've been here a while, haven't we?"

"Three days."

"And those soldiers you were talking about before; they didn't come?"

He was silent a moment, debating whether or not to answer. She wasn't ailing as much, not as sickly, strong enough to hear the truth he reckoned. "They came."

Buffy scanned his face, before her mouth dropped open into a dismayed circle. "Oh."

Spike looked away, not willing to see the tiny flash of fear across her face. She hid it quickly, of course, but he'd seen it, and it didn't settle well with him. "It's playing with me. One predator to another. Wants you. Wants to take you from me."

"I'm not yours," Buffy snapped, more than a little offended. No one fought over her like she was a bone, or worse a distressed damsel. Spike didn't answer, and she figured it was because he didn't want to point out her weaknesses. It was strangely considerate of him.

"So what? You're going to swagger out there and call it out? Fight it to the death? Mano a mano?" Her brow crinkled. "Can it even think? I thought it was some dumb cow. It sure sounded like one."

"Not a cow," Spike muttered. "And it can think. Can plot. It'll come for me." Spike indicated the brush. "I just want to make sure it doesn't sneak in for a little sniff beforehand."

"Well, what is it?" she demanded.

"I don't know," he hedged. "But it's old. Powerful."

"You still haven't told me what you're doing. Why you're fighting it now. Give me a few days and we can do it together." Buffy's face flushed, and Spike was relieved to see color in her cheeks, but her agitation grated on him all the same.

"Don't have a few days." Wasn't that the truth. That hellbeast was closing in, creeping around the edges. The hackles on the back of Spike's neck hadn't laid down since last night. Every predator instinct was drawn up tight inside him, ready to fight, ready to defend.

"Sure we do. Just keep that fire burning. Or maybe…give me a couple of hours, and I think I can stand."

Spike huffed, clearly disbelieving that.

"I'm not that sick. I can get up." She proceeded to prove it, and was nearly breathless with pain by the time Spike hustled to her side. She didn't protest when he settled her back. The swamping agony was so great, she didn't even comment on the protective scowl on Spike's face, wigsome as it was.

"Now, you listen here, you stubborn bint. We can't wait because I sent out a childer call to Angelus. His Great Broodiness will be here in a few hours, but I have the feeling that beast out there's not goin' to let him through." Spike backed away, unwilling to stay close to her delicious warmth.

"No. You can't," she whispered through pain-compressed lips, grabbing at his arm.

"I have to." He allowed her to reel him in so he stood in her personal cloud of heat and Buffy-scent. Her crinkled brow was spotted with sweat, and he had to resist the urge to smooth his hand across it.

"Wait until Angel comes. Fight it together."

"Can't," he sighed, wishing it could be that easy. Wishing he could rely on family. On anyone, really. "It could ambush him miles from here. And Angelus would be unprepared. He doesn't know it's out here."

"Warn him," she pleaded, and he had to wonder at it. Was she worried about him? More likely she was worried about her own skin if he died. Or even more likely, she was worried about her honey.

"I've tried," he spat.

She held his eyes in a long searching gaze. "You can't get through?"

Spike shook his head slowly. "He's blocking me."

"Why?"

"When I sent out the call, I broadcasted images of you. It was the only way I could be certain he'd come. But he must think they were threats."

"Against me."

"Yeah." He rolled his eyes.

"So he thinks he's coming to a showdown," she replied solemnly.

"Maybe."

"So he's prepared for an ambush."

"Not really. He can tell exactly where I am down to the inch. All his intent will be focused on me. He won't expect anything to come out of right field." Spike rubbed the back of his neck. He'd already given this serious thought. Angelus in his typical way would rush in to save the girl, thinking that he already had all the facts. The big lug was single-minded when it came to Buffy.

"Not even Dru?"

"He'd have felt her out beforehand. He knows she's not here."

"Oh," she pouted, disappointed. She closed her eyes, looking strained. "Then you go to him. Maybe you can get him to listen."

Spike laughed. "Even if that was possible, I'm not goin' to leave you unguarded. As soon as I slip out, it'll slip in."

The long, searching look she gave him made him uncomfortable. He tried to shift away, but her hand was still on his arm, and even though he could break her hold on him easily, he found himself not inclined to do so.

"So what? You're gonna risk your life for mine?" she whispered.

"No need to make it sound so chivalrous, luv. It's not like that." He kept his tone low, matching her uncomfortable intensity.

"Then what's it like?"

Spike didn't answer. He didn't look at her either. Instead he focused on her small hand resting on his forearm. So small and strong.

"Seriously, Spike. I want to know." Her grip tightened, and he watched her fingers flex.

"Just…" He shrugged off her hold, slashed his hands through the air. "Just keep your eyes open and scream your bleedin' head off if anything but me comes through that opening." He stomped away, kicking the last of the pine boughs into place near the entrance.

"Spike," her voice broke. The yearning sound broke a barrier inside Spike. He whirled on her, eyes blazing.

"Before I go, answer me this. Who's Rufus?"

Buffy's face clouded, her eyes unfocused as she thought. "Are…are you asking me about my cat?" She remembered dreaming about him yesterday. Had she said something during her fever?

"Your cat?"

"Yeah, he died when I was twelve. Kitty leukemia. I still miss him. He'd climb up on my chest and purr. I could feel it all the way into my insides. It was the best purr."

"Rufus is a cat." Spike sounded unconvinced or maybe a little dumbfounded. Or insulted?

"Um, yeah. He was all white except for one black spot on his forehead. He reminded me of that yin yang symbol thingy."

"Male and female energies," he muttered, dropping his eyes to his feet.

"I guess. I always thought it was a good and evil sort of thing." Buffy shrugged, gasping at the pain. His glance was sharp and a little unnerving. Once he saw that she was fine, he dropped his eyes again.

"Not strictly speakin'," he corrected.

"Well anyways, I thought it was neat. Sorta like human nature. Not everyone is all good or evil. There's always a spot of darkness or light."

The intensity of Spike's stare made Buffy a little uncomfortable. Finally, he glanced away to the dark entrance.

"Sorry, luv. I need this now." Carefully he removed his duster from her bed and slid it on, slipping on his persona of the Big Bad at the same time. Buffy could see his shoulders become straighter, his muscles tenser, the lines of his face harder. With his duster on he looked more like a vampire than a man. When he turned away, something seized in Buffy's chest, a hint of panic.

"Why are you doing this, Spike?" She just couldn't figure it out. Any of it. Why she was here, tucked away safely in this cave, and not dead back at the plane? Why had Spike fed her, doctored her, and soothed away her fears? Her memories of yesterday were spotty, but she definitely remembered Spike's strong, sure hands and his rumbling voice comforting her.

She certainly didn't understand why he was willing to risk his life to keep her safe. Like he said, the beast wasn't interested him. It wanted her and all her warm, wriggly life. Spike could have slipped away days ago and left her at the beast's mercy.

So why hadn't he?

His back to her, Spike turned his head so she could see his profile. He stared at the dying sun, watching as the shadows crawled out.

"You girls. Slayers. I never gave you much thought beyond the challenge. You're the best of the best, top of the predator food chain, and all I wanted was to prove my rocks, first to Angelus, then to Dru, by beating you in battle. Should've known it wouldn't work. Just made the Poof jealous, or maybe sick. Didn't know it at the time, but he had his soul that first go around in China. And Dru…well, you know how she is. But you girls…"

He was silent long enough for Buffy to start to fidget. She wanted nothing more than for him to finish his thought. As if by him doing so, she'd gain insight into Spike, and maybe into herself as well.

"What about us?" she asked, wide-eyed and a little breathless.

He turned to look at her then, eyes searching. She stilled under his gaze, wondering what he hoped to see.

"It just occurred to me, is all. You girls are champions. Protectors of the entire soddin' world. Saw that when the Poof tried to pull it all into hell. But who stands up for you when you're knocked down? Who champions you?"

Buffy stared at him, mouth slightly ajar, eyes huge. "Spike, Slayers don't get champions," she said softly, gently, like she was trying to explain death to a child. "When we get knocked down, we die. Then another stands up in our place." She shrugged, the action revealing a tiny shred of hopelessness. No one knew better than she the inevitability of destiny. You could fight it, but there was no winning.

"I figured you'd say something like that." He adjusted the collar of his duster, squaring his shoulders to go. Suddenly, Buffy's eyes sharpened on him.

"You're not seriously claiming to be my champion, are you? Because that's just ridiculous," she scoffed, chin held high.

"Damn right it is!" he sneered, angry at her haughty dismissal. It reminded him just a little too much of candle-lit parlors and prettily coifed women. "That damn ugly critter out there is between me and my next hot meal, is all. Someone's got to take it out, and it sure as hell ain't goin' to be you."

"And why haven't I been your hot meal?" she demanded. Fresh Slayer blood was on tap, and as far as she knew he hadn't had a sip. Hadn't pinned her down, torn in, and made her neck his chalice.

All of his actions – his mercy, his protectiveness, even his gentle care for her – all stank of white-hat goodness. Given the circumstances, it was downright heroic.

When he didn't answer, she blurted out, a little smugly, "Maybe I'm your spot of good in all that evil."

He looked her over from head to toe before finally saying, "If that's so, then that make me your spot of evil." He laughed at her horrified look and sauntered out.

Buffy gathered herself, leaning up as far as she could on an elbow. "Spike," she called.

He paused to look at her.

"Don't die." There wasn't a hint of mockery in her pale, solemn face.

The smile he flashed her was pure cocky swagger. "I'm William the Bloody Magnificent. It's goin' to take more than some Bible-thumper's wet dream to take me out."

The silver of his lighter flashed in his hand as he set the boughs on fire from outside the cave. Through the first flickering flames, he saw Buffy's eyes bleed white.

Hypnotized, Spike listened as she chanted the final verse, the exotic words searing into his mind.