In ShockBy ParadiseCity
They’re struggling onward, up the steps towards escape. Buffy is shaking and Harris has stopped screaming now; his hand clamped over his eye, as though trying to hold the pain back. He stumbles and nearly brings them both down with him and Spike doesn’t even think, just scoops him off his feet, left arm around the boy’s shoulder with the hand holding him to his chest and the other arm under his thighs. He’s carried Dru like this, thousands of times; and although this feels nothing like carrying his wicked girl, he automatically adjusts to the additional weight. As he lifts the boy, Harris’s hand comes around his shoulder and he can feel the fingers grip through the leather, grip so hard he knows that this contact with another body is about the only thing holding Harris together right now. Buffy lets her hold on him drop, as Spike lifts him. The boy’s one good eye is just staring straight ahead of him, staring at nothing. He’s almost as pale as Spike. Spike knows that look well. The mind and the body have endured too much, too fast and Harris is in deep shock. It’s a small mercy, but a mercy none the less, because the poor kid can’t feel much of anything right now, and how often did Angelus beat the shit out of him for sending his own victims into shock?
"You stupid boy". Not a voice but the memory of a voice, the bastard’s words so ingrained in his mind he can practically hear Him right now, can almost feel the blows that punctuated the lectures. “You worthless, useless, pathetic excuse for a demon. Call yourself a vampire? If Dru hadn’t told me herself I’d say you’re no get of mine - you’re not worth the honour. Death is an art form, boy. The art lies in damaging them just enough so that even on the edge of death, they can scream. Cry. Beg. They can’t scream or cry when you send them into shock. It’s not worth it when they can’t cry, boy”. Always had to be “worth it” with that prick and how come the Watcher or the witch, with all that learning, have never figured it out? Drive a railway spike through someone’s hand; or their shoulder; or their gut and they scream their heads off but then they go into shock, and they don’t scream anymore because they can hardly feel anything. They hardly know anything. But salt rubbed into a long, shallow cut through just the first few layers of skin….that hurts. Being hung by your wrists from chains in the ceiling for hours on end hurts. A belt an inch and a half across with a buckle as large your palm hurts when it’s your back it’s being used on. Whips hurt. A stream of Holy Water over your hands hurts like fuck. So does having a writing desk slammed shut on your fingers hard enough to make them break, especially when you have to put your hands there in the first place, stand still and not make a sound because if you do it’ll be even worse. Ask the Watcher. Ask Dru. Fuck, ask him. They’ve all suffered under those patient hands - Angelus always took His time. Spike used to claim he didn’t have the bloody patience. A railway spike through the neck gets their attention well enough, he always said. But he never added that it sent them into shock, because he wasn’t supposed to want that. He was supposed to want them to be in pain.
They’re at the surface now. Faith and Kennedy are at the driver’s doors of the two mini-buses they arrived in. The Watcher hired one for that trip to the desert and never returned it because the guy who ran the one-horse hire company was dinner for a vampire right after. Soon as they’d realised that, (when the Slayer staked the poor bastard) he’d nicked another so they had room for all of them. Personally, he’d prefer wheels with at least some bleedin’ style - he still misses the DeSoto, after some fucker nicked it whilst he was a ‘guest’ of Captain Cardboard and his lot - but ‘style’ and ‘Sunnydale’ just don’t seem to go together when it comes to wheels. He still remembers that bloody Winnebago and no, he isn’t going to go there. Isn’t going to remember a pretty blonde girl with a dazed expression that reminded him so much of Dru it hurt; a frail-seeming little girl he punched in the face despite knowing the pain it would cause him, just to stop her so-called ‘family’ convincing her she was a demon, though he’d have taken a stake to the heart rather than admit his reason; a sweet, gentle girl he always liked who was dead in the ground long before he finally had his head back in one piece. He still hasn’t found the words to tell Red he’s sorry about that. Supposes it might be best to start by telling her who it is leaving yellow roses on the grave every week. Different times, different nights – he waits until neither Red nor Bit are there. Yellow roses cos she’d said once they were her favourite colour and second-favourite flower and Red leaves the tulips, so roses it is. Yellow roses for a sweet girl who had had enough room in her heart to care about even him, when all of the others, Red included, were with Buffy in calling him a soulless thing, a monster beneath their notice or attention. She’d even teased him for fuck’s sake, embarrassed the hell out of him, which no-one had done since Dru finally left. He’ll never forget that game of poker.
“Hospital casualties and helpers over here” Kennedy is yelling. “Walking wounded and everyone else with Faith” and he carries Harris over to Kennedy’s bus. Sees her eyes widen in shock of her own as she looks at them and then several hands reach out of the bus to help him in. He tries to lower the boy onto a seat – it’s not like he needs to go the hospital and going there will use up a seat that another Potential might need, but as he tries to let go, the boy’s hand tightens against his duster. It’s then, as he thinks of telling Harris to let go, that he realises he’s talking already. Talking to Harris, not saying anything significant, just “we’re here, you’re safe, I’ve got you, hang on Harris, stay with me now” over and over and over. So he sits on one seat, Harris still held against him and he wants to laugh for a moment because who would have thought it? He thinks back to when he was tied to a chair in the boy’s basement, listening to his screaming matches with his parents, only they weren’t ‘matches’ cos he never screamed back ‘less he was drunk himself, just stood there and took it. Fuck him if that wasn’t too sodding painful to listen to, because it reminded him so much of the past, standing there and taking it because even a snarl or a blow is better than being ignored. He can remember when Harris’s only comment about Spike’s suicide attempt had been an offer of help to end it all. When the boy looked at him with nothing but hate and contempt in his eyes – not that that has ever changed. But who would have thought that three years later his presence, his voice, his feel would be so well known, that so deep in shock Harris can’t think, the boy is clinging on for comfort; for a link back to the real world.
But again that’s leading somewhere he isn’t prepared to go, because there was a time when Dru and Angelus’s presence was comfort; when their voices or their touch could lead him back to the world through a haze of pain, even though the pain was invariably caused by Angelus. And he doesn’t want to remember those days. He’s tried to forget Angelus’s role in his early years for over a century – and he’s tried to forget Dru’s role in them since she left him. Never thought he’d be wanting to forget Dru.
Buffy is sitting beside him, turned in her seat to look at Harris and the witch and the ex-demon are sitting in front. He must be almost as out of it as Harris, because he didn’t see or sense them get in. He certainly didn’t smell them, because right now all he can smell is everyone’s pain, fear and blood and a really weird smell that he knows from his years with Angelus is what used to be Harris’s left eye. There was a time when this much fear would make his mouth water and this much blood would have him wanting to take throats out, but right now he’s scanning as much of Buffy as he can see and she doesn’t look injured beyond the bruises. She seems to sense his eyes on her, because she looks up to meet his eyes and Christ but she looks almost as shocked as the boy. She swallows hard and for a moment there’s a spark of gratitude there and then it’s swallowed up in her fear for her friend and she looks down again. He tries to shut out the voice in his mind that isn’t quite encouraging him to go for throats, but is complaining because he’s hungry and there is blood and they’re afraid and that always makes the blood taste so good. Needless pain was never his style, whatever the Watcher’s Diaries say about him, but fear adds so much to the blood. And that side of him that still dreams of blood and the hunt is complaining about sitting here and not feeding and he’s so sick of voices in his head. When he finally got The First to shut up bitching at him, he thought they’d all go but they haven’t and it’s taken till just the other day for him to realise that this must be what the twat feels - the two voices and the two sides, always pushing and pulling and it must be worse for Angel, because He’s in there and He never wanted the bloody soul, while Spike wanted the soul returned, wanted William back. He understands now why Angel changed his name because he’s thought of doing the same, but who could he be? William was dead for 126 years and anyway he isn’t ‘William’ anymore but he hasn’t truly been ‘Spike’ since the night the church organ broke his back so who can he be? Because Dru’s ‘black knight’ died three years ago on a hot night in Brazil as he watched her walk away from him and ‘Will’, who only Angelus knew about, died a hundred years earlier on a fire-filled night in China when He left them to Darla’s tender mercies and fucking hell he’s not going there.
A hand on his shoulder and hell, he jumps almost out of his skin. Harris gives a low moan as he’s jolted and Spike feels a surge of guilt cos Christ knows the kid’s had enough pain for one night. Least he doesn’t have to worry about the bloody chip kicking in since Buffy called the solider-boys in to remove it. Soul or no soul, if he ever again meets the bastards who designed that thing and put it in his head…
“Spike? We’re here.” Buffy’s voice, gentle as the night she called him ‘William’ for the second and last time as she ended their fucked-up ‘thing’ and yes, he knows it was a fuck-up, didn’t he tell her that himself even before Joyce died? Joyce….he needs to go to the grave again sometime soon, take some new daffs and say hello; that’s another grave he visits without anyone knowing and he wonders what Buffy would think if she knew….
“Spike!” Her voice is more insistent now and he looks up at her, not quite understanding and then he sees that they’ve stopped and people are getting out. He can hear Kennedy now he’s back with it again and she’s yelling for paramedics. The three girls all jump out and turn to watch. Buffy half-offers a hand and then pulls it back when he slides easily out of the van, still holding the boy. He glances over at the brightly-lit front entrance, they must have started to see the victims because all of a sudden there are gurneys and wheelchairs being brought out. Buffy yells for one, and two guys come rushing over. He tries to set Harris down again but the boy won’t let go. He places him on the gurney so he can slip his right hand out from under the kid’s legs and he gently takes hold of the boy’s face and turns it towards him.
“Harris?” He doesn’t quite squeeze or shake the kid’s head but a sort of mix of almost doing both. “Harris? Look at me. Xander, look at me.” He can hear the sharp intake of breath from the Slayer and the huff from Red and Anya. For fuck’s sake do they think that little of him that they think he would say that to hurt the kid? Christ knows he’s always been able to hurt with words – from what he hears and remembers, he could probably give the High School Bitch Queen, Cordy, a run for her money – but he’s hardly going to do that right now is he? What the hell do they want him to say to the kid? ‘Turn your face in my direction’? But he loses track of that train of thought because Harris’s one remaining eye has just about focused on him. He keeps his voice gentle and calm, speaking soft but clear, just like he used to speak to Dru when she was coming round from one of her spells.
“Xander, we’re at the hospital. They’re gonna help you, they’re gonna do something for the bleeding and the pain but they can work best if we let them alone. You need to let go so they can get you into the bloody ER, ok kid?” Thankfully a hundred-plus years of talking Dru down has clearly taught him something, because there’s comprehension in Harris’s eye and the tight grip on his duster loosens. Then Harris lets go completely and they push him gently back onto the gurney. Then they’re off and the three girls go with Xander, as Spike straightens up. Kennedy stumbles against him trying to carry another girl and he’s helping her now.
Later, he’s standing leaning against a wall somewhere in the hospital, he’s not sure where, just trying to ignore the hunger and the little voice that tells him even if he’s not going to take advantage of all the injured about, there’s all those bags of blood and it’s human and he hasn’t had human blood since The First was making him kill people; that thought shuts the voice up stone dead, if you’ll pardon the expression.
Then Buffy is there with Red and Anya and Kennedy. It’s odd thinking that Red has a new girl and he misses Tara, but he doesn’t know how to tell the witch that.
“Everyone’s admitted. Everyone is ‘stable’. Almost everyone’s asleep and those that aren’t have people watching them” Buffy says. Her face goes tight for a moment and he knows who she’s going to talk about. “Xander’s asleep – well, drugged. They…they said that they can’t save…..”
“He’s lost his eye” Spike says in a dead calm tone of voice and she nods once, sharply, and he can smell the tears on the older three but the newest little girl doesn’t know Harris well enough yet to feel grief, just shock and sympathy and sorrow for her girl’s pain.
“We need to get back,” Buffy says. “I need to know how the others are doing, and we need to speak to Giles. I…I don’t understand how that preacher was so strong, I mean…” she glanced at Spike. “He had no problems with you, me or Faith and that’s….”
“Got me shit-scared” Spike says, still dead calm cos he’s too tired now not to be calm. He’s vaguely aware that he was in some kind of shock himself and he’s coming out of it now. Really all he wants to do is get something to eat to stop the voice in his head and then sleep for something like a week, preferably in Buffy’s company as when he sleeps alone the dreams aren’t good but he doubts she’ll offer and he can’t ask because he hates seeing pity in her eyes.
“How reassuring” Anya says in that biting tone of hers and he knows she’s using it cos if she didn’t she’d be screaming. “This Preacher person took out two Slayers and a 120-something-year-old vampire…” Buffy and Willow and the Potential glance around but there’s no-one close enough to hear and let’s face it, in this town no-one would pay a blind bit of notice anyway. “…and he killed two Potentials with his bare hands and he…” her voice starts to shake – there’s still something between those two even if the wanker did leave her at the altar – and then she pushes on and ignores the flinch her words draw from the other women “…he took Xander’s eye. and he scares Buffy and he scares Spike. I think this is one apocalypse we’re going to lose.” He glances at Buffy and remembers the first apocalypse they averted and why and what it cost them – her and him both. Angel and Dru, it still hurts him deep down and he wonders if it still hurts her but he isn’t going there either because he doesn’t want to know anything about her feelings for Angel. There is so - much these days that he doesn’t let himself think about.
None of the women actually say anything in reply to Anya and he doesn’t either. He doesn’t know whether it’s because they’re all too tired or whether it’s because they agree with her.
The five of them drive back in silence. Having arrived at the hospital over-loaded with girls and two men, just five of them leave, over a dozen wounded remain with a further six watching them. They go into the house in silence to face the ‘walking wounded’ and Giles, and shit someone has to tell the Niblet that Harris is hurt. Because Buffy immediately starts to de-brief Giles and Faith in the kitchen and won’t let Dawn in, somehow it turns out to be him, and she screams at him, slaps him and claws at his face, howling that it’s his fault. He grabs her wrists to keep her nails from his face without hurting her, just like he used to do with Dru and he thanks whoever might listen that she’s too young to think of kneeing him in the balls. Then Kennedy comes running and pulls her away and fuck if she doesn’t glare at him like it’s his fault. Then Red is there and for a moment, just a moment, before she dives into “helping Dawnie”, she puts one hand on his shoulder and looks into his face.
“Thanks for helping Xander, Spike. And…” she glances over at Dawn, crying her eyes out on Kennedy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, she doesn’t mean it, it’s just…”
“M’n easy target, pet” he answers, pretending it doesn’t matter. “’Bit could clobber me for a week and still not hurt me, eh?” and Red smiles briefly, wordlessly thanking him for being ‘understanding’ and turns away to deal with the girl, but it does hurt because there was a time when he could do no wrong in the Bit’s eyes and then he messed that up big time didn’t he? But how come Buffy, who has the right to hate him forever, seems to have forgiven him and the others refuse to?
He’s starving now, but Giles and Buffy and Faith are still talking in the kitchen He doesn’t think he can face Giles’s coldly accusing look just to get some blood so he just removes himself and goes down to the basement. He lies on the fold-out bed – he laughed when Buffy called it a cot, two nations separated by one language and what-all - and he wonders how Harris is going to handle this and how Buffy is going to handle the fact that two girls died tonight as a result of decisions she had to make, and he wonders if she will even notice that he isn’t up there.
Probably not. After all, he’s just the cellar-dweller isn’t he? Just the useful monster in the basement that she can bring out to help her hit something. Thinking that hurts, so he tries to sleep, but the dreams are bad tonight.
~Fin