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Spike moaned softly as he tried to shift on his sleeping bag, his body a mass of aches and pains. His broken ribs grinded together, and he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut.
However, the pain of his body was nothing compared to the pain of losing his stupid sot of a Sire. It felt like a hole had been ripped into his chest, and his heart torn out through it.
He rolled to his side with a great deal of pain, a trickle of blood running out of the side of his mouth. His saddle bag was on the other side of the tent, and he tried to crawl towards it to get the first aid kit...and the bottle of gin he had stashed in it.
He collapsed with a pained grunt before he could reach it. He felt unconsciousness pulling at him, and he tried to fight it off, but emotional and physical exhaustion was working against him.
Slowly, gentle waves of lethargy washed over him, tugging him softly into the darkness, and Spike finally gave up the fight, almost gratefully falling into the refuge of darkness.
My Spike...
Spike watched as pale, beautiful hands dragged along taut, pale skin, leaving streaks of crimson that appeared nearly black in the darkness of the chamber.
Sheets rustled softly as Spike slowly approached the large, four-poster bed, watching the black-haired vampiress writhing seductively on the covers. Hands trailed slowly over nude flesh, nails scoring narrow grooves in her skin.
"Drusilla..." He murmured softly as her chocolate eyes turned up towards him, and she held her hands out to him, and he watched the blood leaking out of the wounds on her wrists, dripping down her arms.
Spike felt blood lust flare up in him at the sight of the precious fluid, not having fed the night before, and further weakened by Buffy's attack on him.
"I miss you, my Spike..." Drusilla cooed at him, reaching out to caress his face, leaving a streak of blood, and his tongue darted out to taste it, "Won't you come back to me?"
He found himself on his back on the soft bed, and he nearly moaned at the feel of it's softness after sleeping on the ground for nearly three weeks now, closing his eyes in pleasure.
A warm hand ran along his now bare chest, and he opened his eyes as hair tickled his skin, and a golden, blond shimmer brushed over his face, and then tight, soft warmth sinking down onto him, pulling him in, capturing him firmly.
His head rolled to the side with another moan, eyes closing once more as she began to rock against him maddeningly slow. "Buffy..."
"Shhh..." She leaned over him, lips caressing his eyelids, "I love you..." She murmured quietly, "Make love to me...Angel..."
Spike's eyes shot open, and she was looking down at him mockingly, her lips twisting up into a cruel smile as she moved off of him, and as she stood, her body starting to elongate and broaden till in her stead stood Randall Flagg.
Spike blinked, and he was standing in the dark forest, snow surrounding him, wolves baying in the distance.
Flagg was gone, but he could hear rapid footsteps behind him, and Spike felt fear seize his heart, and began to run, dodging trees, his boots throwing up clumps of snow behind him.
The wolves drew closer till he could see ghostly gray shapes keeping pace with him.
The beasts' panted, tongues lolling out, mouths dripping with blood that dripped upon the snow, staining the purity of the substance, and their eyes, bloodshot and mad, watched the vampire running amongst them.
One of them leapt, hitting the vampire from behind and Spike let out a startled cry as he was knocked to the ground, skin shuddering at the feeling of hot, stagnant breath against the back of his neck, and he rolled, tossing the animal off of him.
The other wolves started to strike, and Spike snarled, vamping out as one wolf seized his arm, teeth sinking into his flesh, blood spurting from the wound.
Spike tried to strike them away from him, then howled as they dragged him down, slobbering as they tore at his flesh, hot saliva dripping on his skin, and he rolled, trying to escape from their vicious, insatiable mouths.
A wolf yelped as the vampire broke its back with a well-placed chop of his arm, but then Spike cried out as another snapped it's teeth into his abdomen, and Spike started to scream as its muzzle buried itself in his stomach, pulling out a trail of black, dead intestine.
Spike looked up as laughter filled the clearing, and his anguished eyes met Flagg's, and the Dark Man smirked at him as he nodded a silent signal, and Spike's eyes went wide as a wolf lunged for his throat.
Spike snarled as he shot awake, yellow eyes unfocused and wild as he attacked the Slayer trying to shake him awake.
Buffy inhaled sharply, eyes going wide as his fangs sank into her slender throat, and her hands clenched at his shirt as she gasped out his name.
Spike seemed to become aware of his surroundings as soon as his mouth had touched her throat, but he kept still a few moments, trying to force back his stubborn demon, eyes squeezed shut as he prepared to feel the sting of her stake plunging into his chest.
After several minutes, his demon receded, his fangs sliding out of her throat so that only his blunt, straight teeth were resting against the tender skin, and he let go of her with a low moan, slumping back down on the sleeping bags, the pain of his wounds making themselves known again.
"I'm...I'm sorry..." He muttered, "It was the dreams...they...they were all over me..."
"Shhh..." Buffy touched her throat, feeling the wounds already began to close up, a bit surprised that he hadn't actually drank any of her blood, even though there was a thin trickle coming out of the side of his mouth. "You didn't...drink anything."
As if reading her mind, his tongue flicked over his lips, and Spike rested a hand on his abdomen, and he glanced down, lifting his t-shirt to see that Buffy had dressed and bandaged all his injuries while he had been out of it.
"I'm sorry...about freaking out on you out there..." She told him softly as she cleaned the bite on her throat, "I wasn't...angry at you. I was angry at him for not telling me..." Her voice sounded choked. "He only told me I didn't have to worry about his soul...I should have guessed it was because he wouldn't be around the next morning to lose it..."
Spike started to tell her that she needn't have worried about that either, but wisely chose not too. She had enough on her mind as it was. He closed his eyes, instead opting to try and shut out the entire world for a while longer, although he wouldn't dare sleep again, no matter how tired he was.
Buffy felt the silence stretching out between them, and she fidgeted nervously, worried that he was angry with her. "Who was all over you?" She asked, breaking the silence, and Spike opened his eyes.
"Wolves..." He muttered, almost too quiet too hear. "They..." Ripped my throat out...he finished in his mind, closing his eyes once more. Christ...he was tired and wanted to sleep for days, but there was no safety, no rest in it. Not anymore.
Buffy waited for him to elaborate, then sighed heavily when he lapsed back into silence. She shuddered as the ever-present chill invaded her clothing, and she kept her eyes on Spike's face as she twisted Angel's Claddagh ring on her thumb.
It's been hard on him, Buffy...you have to watch out for him for me...make sure he makes it across the desert with you...I don't want him to go to that...thing you all fear...I want him safe...
"Spike..." He didn't even seem to acknowledge her presence, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, "Spike...how...was it? How...was he?"
"Fast..." Spike gave up trying to shut out the world since the Slayer seemed intent on shoving it all back in his face. Spike recalled the soft, smile on his Sire's face as the stake pierced his chest, "An-And...happy, I think...he looked...grateful."
Spike rolled to his side, wincing as it put pressure on his healing ribs, putting his back to Buffy. He couldn't seem to face her right now...not without thinking of Angel...and he just wanted to forgot...too pretend it had never happened.
He just wanted to forget the entire world and the fucked-up mess he was in. He was charged to protect the Slayer and her little friends...keeping them alive and making sure they made it to whatever old, white witch was appearing in their dreams.
He envied their dreams, where they seemed to find a bit of comfort with the old woman, while he was plagued by dreams of a Dark Man, trying to drive him either into madness or into his fold. Or maybe it was all the same thing.
Buffy moved towards him, resting a hand on his shoulder, and he squeezed his eyes shut at her touch, "Spike, are you all right?"
He gritted his teeth together, trying to fight back the tears, feeling weak and ineffectual, and Buffy watched as a few drops of blood leaked out of the corner of his eyes.
She gently urged him to his back, and he opened his eyes to look up at her, her blond hair framing her beautiful face. "Spike..."
"I can't," He nearly sobbed out, angry at himself for letting his emotions be known, "I can't bloody well do this without him..."
Buffy wiped at his tears, feeling her own coming once more, and she wondered idly if she would ever stop crying in this terrible, new world they were living in. She lay beside him, and he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her throat with another choked sob, and she held him to her tightly, crying silent tears.
After several minutes, his cries tapered off, but he kept his face hidden in her throat, breathing heavily, and Buffy stroked his hair, "Go to sleep, Spike..."
He shook his head, and Buffy kissed his temple, "I'll watch over you, okay? If it looks like you're having bad dreams, I'll wake you up, all right?" She coaxed gently, knowing that he needed it, "I got you right now..."
She listened as his habitual breathing slowed before coming to a stop, his chest stilling beneath her. She lifted her head, running her eyes over his face, his brow furrowed, and his body much too tense for his sleep to be restful.
She murmured to him softly, no real words, just murmuring, stroking his face, forehead and hair, till he slowly started to relax under her caresses, brow smoothing and face relaxing as his lips curled up into a tiny smile.
Buffy sighed as she settled back beside him, watching over him as he slept, her fingers still absently brushing through his hair.
Xander shuddered as he 'patrolled' the campsite, holding his rifle in his hands tightly, eyes peering into the dark trees. He could see lithe, gray shapes slipping through the trees, just outside the light thrown by the fire.
Willow was building it up as much as she could, but all the wood was damp and slow to light, and it only produced a meager source of illumination.
Xander brought up his rifle, aiming at one of the animals, but it seemed to know that it was being threatened and immediately slipped back into the woods, only to reappear about twenty yards off to his left.
Smart bastards...
Xander lowered the gun, looking towards the tent that Buffy had disappeared into hours before. He had peeked in before he took watch, seeing Buffy and Spike snuggled together quite comfortably, both sleeping.
He had considered waking them, but when Spike had shuffled into camp that morning, he had looked wasted and half-dead. Add on top of that Buffy beating the Bejesus out of him, and it equaled one very tired vamp. He figured if they all wanted to be moving out by tomorrow morning, he needed his rest.
A wolf threw it's head back and let out a chilling howl.
He really hoped that they would be out of the mountains soon.
Spike jerked awake when a wolf howled, and he sat up, his entire body ridged, and Buffy opened her eyes groggily, looking up at him. The vampire seemed surprised to see her, then remembered her urging him to sleep, and he smiled a tiny bit.
He felt more rested then he had in days, no dreams plaguing him, and he rolled his shoulders, wincing a bit as they popped.
"You feeling better?" Buffy asked him quietly, and Spike nodded.
"Yeah...bit," He ran a hand through his mussed, dirty hair, the blond locks stained a rusty red with blood, then pulled off his t-shirt, tossing it into a corner of the tent. He fished through his saddlebags, then frowned when he found he was out of shirts, he shook his head as he took one of Xander's shirts, the fleece soft against his skin.
He then crawled towards her, "Roll over," He ordered softly, then reached beneath the sleeping bag, removing his rifle, where it had been wrapped in a blanket to keep the barrel from freezing and exploding when fired.
"Want me to keep you company?" Buffy asked quietly, but Spike shook his head as he popped a smoke in his mouth.
"You get some more sleep...we're moving out as soon as dawn comes," He told her, and she sat up, drawing her knees to her chest. "I'll send Willow and Harris in here to sleep for the night. Body heat an' all that rot..."
"You're still going to be here tomorrow...right?" She asked, and Spike didn't seem at all surprised by her question.
"We'll move out first thing in the morning," He replied, then finally met her gaze, his voice all seriousness. "Together."
Spike slowly ran his hands along soft, black leather, eyes narrowed slightly as chrome sparkled in the bright morning, the sky clear and blue, but the air was bitingly cold.
Spike glanced at the bike that had faithfully carried him since he had to abandon his beloved DeSota on a clogged highway, before he had arrived in Sunnydale, then back at Angel's motorcycle, obviously well-cared for. It was the only thing he had left of his Sire.
Buffy didn't say a word as she watched Spike siphon the gas from the gas tank of his bike to transfer it to Angel and Xander's cycles, and Spike lay his saddlebag across the seat as Buffy slipped Oz's guitar over her shoulders.
"Harris...you bloody well watch the road, ice is right beneath the snow, and I doubt anyone really cared about plowing and salting," The vampire instructed a bit curtly, and Xander nodded as he straddled his bike, Willow climbing on behind him.
By Spike's estimate, it would take them three to four days to leave the mountains behind them, and then in another two they would enter the desert.
He couldn't help but feel that he was jumping headfirst from the frying pan, straight into hell-fire.
Xander squinted, the sun's rays bouncing off the snow a bit blinding, and the going was slow on the roads. The cords in his arms were taut as he fought to keep the heavy bike upright, the wheels threatening to slip on the ice at any moment.
He watched Spike and Buffy up ahead of them, and wanted to risk a glance back at Willow, but resisted the urge to do so. One lapse in concentration, and he could lose control of the bike.
Willow's arms were holding him tightly, and he could feel the smooth, curvature of her helmet resting against his back.
The sun became warmer as the day wore on, and soon, he could see patches of brown, barren earth through the trees.
He frowned, watching as wolves appeared and disappeared, and sped up a little till he was abreast of Spike, gesturing at the vampire.
Spike glanced at him, and Xander's face, distorted and obscene, reflected back at the boy in the visor protecting the vampire from the sun's rays, and Xander pointed towards the trees.
Spike gave him a slight nod, indicating that he had already noticed they were being followed, unable to voice it verbally without removing his helmet. He held up five fingers, and then three. He had already counted eight pack members.
He felt Willow's grip on him tighten, and he glanced at Buffy, who called over the roar of the motors, "They've been following us since we left camp. I think they're just watching us."
Yeah...like that's real reassuring, Xander thought, rolling his eyes, then looked back at Spike. He had his rifle resting across the handlebars, one hand on the stock. That was probably a good idea, and Xander would have done the same, but he wasn't exactly good at shooting things when he was sitting still, let alone moving.
He really couldn't wait till they were out of the mountains.
"We're not going in there, are we?" Xander asked in some trepidation, staring ahead at the dark maw that threatened to swallow them.
"Not scared of the dark, are we, Harris?" Spike asked, but there was no mocking tone in his voice. In fact, it was rather flat. He wasn't looking forward into entering the dark tunnel himself. It spanned the entire length of the road, and cars were crammed together, in both lanes. He studied the entrance with a scholarly interest, the visor of his helmet flipped up. He had it up for about thirty minutes already, and he could feel his face reddening, and knew he would probably be peeling by the end of the day.
He glanced over his shoulder, careful to keep his face away from the waning sun in the sky. Willow and Buffy were sitting together on the side of the road, facing away from the cars. Willow's shoulders were shaking, and the Slayer's arm was wrapped firmly around her. He should have never had stopped so close to the traffic jam. The sight of the blackened, rotting dead, entrapped in their cars for eternity, had upset her greatly. Namely, vomiting violently and weeping just as harshly.
Of course, he and Xander had suddenly found the tunnel greatly engrossing, and would probably find it interesting till after the waterworks stopped. Not that he blamed her for it, though. He was definitely not looking forward to having to tell her that they would have to go into the inky blackness of the tunnel. There was no other way around, unless they completely backtracked, which wasn't an option at this point.
"We're going to have too walk the bikes through, there's no other way," Spike said, and then gave Xander a desperate look, "We have to get started if we want to be through before night-fall."
"It's pitch black in there, Spike. How are we going to get..." Xander shook his head when Spike vamped out, "Night-vision. Handy-dandy for the resident blood-sucker, but what about the rest of us mortal folk?"
"I lead, you follow," Spike replied with a sigh, and then looked towards Buffy and Willow pointedly before flipping down his visor.
"Fine...make me do the hard part," Xander groused, but headed towards the two girls without farther protest. Spike didn't envy him a second.
“Oh God…oh God…” Willow chanted beneath her breath in a steady litany, holding tightly to Buffy's hand, eyes wide as she tried to pierce the absolute darkness around her. It was no use. She couldn't get a glimpse of Spike's white-blond hair up ahead of them, or even a peek of Buffy's face.
But she could hear…oh Goddess, but could she hear. She could hear the rasp of Spike's leather pants as his thighs rubbed together, the squeal of metal as Spike attempted to maneuver his bike around a car. Xander was having worse luck of that, having to feel his way in the darkness while pushing his cycle. Every sound they made bounced back off the closed walls of the tunnel and echoed around them, creating a surreal, vacuum of sinister blackness.
Someone had trouble breathing. Rasping, panicked breaths that filled her ears, overriding even the steady pounding that had started just a few seconds ago. Oh…Goddess…who was pounding? Why wouldn't it stop? Stop, stop stopstopstopstopstopstopstop…
Then strong, hard arms were gathering her into a equally hard body, a voice crooning soothingly in her ear, but she couldn't hear what it said over the pounding that just wouldn't goddamn well STOP!
“Willow…willow, luv…come now…breath…you have to breath…shit…” Spike looked up in Buffy's direction, her face dim and pale in the darkness, her eyes wide and her pupils so large that they consumed the whole of her iris, making them appear inky black. “Think she's having a panic attack.”
“What?” Xander called, several feet back from them, “What's going on? What's wrong with Willow?”
“She's fine…just having a bit of panic, is all,” Spike answered looking down at the redhead clutching desperately to his leather duster, her face pressed against his chest as she breathed raggedly, muttering `stop' beneath her breath over and over again. He could hear her heart beating erratically, going so fast; like a frightened sparrow caught in the claws of a tabby. He was almost afraid it was going to break her chest; it was going so hard and rapid.
“You have to guide the bike, Buffy,” Spike told her, “Your night-vision…how good is it?”
“Better then Xander's but not as good as yours,” Buffy replied in a quiet voice; she could discern shapes in the darkness, but that was it. It would have to be good enough. “I can see you if you stay pretty close.”
“All right,” Spike swung Willow up into his arms, still whispering in her ear, stroking her hair, crooning bits of song as he moved ahead of Buffy, the group setting off again, Spike careful to remain right in front of Buffy. He was reminded of caring for Drusilla after one of her more vicious visions; holding her and rocking her as she cried, singing old, English lullabies his nanny used to sing to him when he was just a lad. Always there for her to hold onto; her sturdy protector, her rock, in a sea of mass confusion.
Even though he was the one to hold her when she was scared or half-broken by her madness…she still cried for her daddy when she died.
Spike's jaw clenched, and he forced away the grief and bitterness, reminding himself it really no longer mattered. Dru was gone and so was Angel.
Instead, he focused on the sound of Willow's rapid heartbeats, on her still erratic breathing patterns, on the warmth seeping from her skin, into his, the feel of her soft hair beneath his calloused fingertips.
Both Buffy and Xander started in surprise when a low, rumbling sound filled the tunnel around them, bouncing off the walls and surrounding them.
What the…it sounds like purring…Xander thought, and then his eyes widened somewhat when he was able to pinpoint the origin of the sound. Just ahead of him…right near Buffy. It had to be Spike…it couldn't be anyone else…unless a humongous mountain lion was in there, purring away for all it was worth.
A small smile flitted across Buffy's face as she listened to Spike's soothing, almost musical trill, meant to calm the redhead in his arms. Underneath the purring, she could faintly hear Willow's breathing even out, into a slow, repetitive rhythm. After half an hour, it became soft snores as she seemed to finally doze off, the panic attack having worn her out.
However, Spike kept purring, to calm her even in sleep, in case of bad dreams. If she did dream, he wanted her to wake up and be comforted, not have another breakdown in the middle of the black tunnel. It seemed like an eternity, even to him, before they finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel, and glanced over his shoulder to see if Buffy and Xander had noticed it. They had. Buffy was breathing a sigh of relief as Xander wiped his arm across his forehead, trying to dispel the cold sweat that had plagued him since entering the tunnel.
"Next time, Willow pushes the bike and Spike carries me," He joked weakly, elicting eyerolls from Spike and Buffy.
"You all right, luv?" Spike asked Buffy in a low voice.
"I'm fine," She replied, and then added in a softer voice, her eyes finding his gleaming, amber orbs in the darkness, "And thank you...thank you for caring for her...for caring for all of us..."
Spike ducked his head slightly as he turned forward, mumbling an unintelligible response beneath his breath, and then barked out, "All right, people, move it. With any luck, we'll be out the mountains by early afternoon tomorrow. Step to it!"
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