The Penny Series

Ficlet 16) Half Penny
Summary: Damn soul. Buffy dead. Now this! Can't get worse.

Pain arced through him as he landed on the his stomach. His befuddled brain didn’t want to work and wasn’t in the mood to craterate fully, as vague and broken images flashed in his mind. Dozens of scattered images of Buffy---

Buffy.

Dead.

Face down in a puddle of water---

---crashing into a wall and then falling to lie broken on the floor---

A sob stuck in his throat, as his mind neglected his physical wounds for the torment of a more intangible anguish: grief. The sob broke loose shuddering past his throat as the small portions of air left his lungs. There had to be a mistake, an error, something, anything to let him know that her death was a figment of his imagination…

He had barely survived it the first time and had only pulled out of it because she’d been waiting for him in their bed---

Their bed.

Pain. God why here? Why here where he would be forced to think about her prone body floating facedown in water? Why this foul, wretched place?

Demon. Angelus.

Buffy!

“Oh God,” he whispered, his voice raw as the images suddenly clicked together in the clear accuracy of the final piece of a puzzle coming together.

“Hello Deadboy,” a familiar mocking voice called.

He curled up onto his side to look around him for the first time hoping that a savior had come to his rescue, for surely he was “--in hell--” because he was missing his other half.

“Not quite,” the boy said lowering to his haunches to peer down at him.

“Xander?” he asked, feeling a rise of something attune to disbelief slipping numbly through him.

“A bit incredible isn’t it?” the teenager murmured a hard glint to his expression. He swept a hand out in a circular motion. “That I caught and trapped the vampire Europe feared for centuries?”

A coughing noise came from behind Xander and the boy looked over his shoulder to acknowledge the interruption.

He lay there, dazed and hollow; the pain tearing through him was nothing compared to the sick emptiness of his heart.

“And Amy, " Xander amended. "But anyway,” he laughed, leaning heavily on his hands at he stood. "Here we are. Or rather, here you are."

He tried to follow the movement, but the crick in his neck made it impossible to see the boy’s face.

“Buffy?” he asked, his voice thick as he choked down the sob and rising bile. He rolled over trying to sit, but collapsed on his forearms from the gash, the hole in his chest that near split him apart.

A sinister little snort echoed in his head before Xander spoke again. “Buffy doesn’t know what it takes to kill that which needs killing, so I’m doing it for her.”

“Dead,” he cried out, before gritting his teeth and shook his head, trying to force the pain to subside so he could talk coherently.

Xander circled around him dizzyingly, “That’s not going to be a problem Deadboy. This little spell is going to be a doozey once it hits.”

“Spell?” he muttered disparagingly.

If it hadn’t been for that damn bit of shoddy gypsy restoration spell he wouldn’t be in this mess… it was the reason why his beloved was dead… why he wasn’t a whole… they couldn’t just make a cursst fst forever to keep Angelus from coming out to play again! Why did they have to give him a way out? Were they fucking stupid?

His momentary anger at the gypsies fled again under a tide of memories suffusing his mind as they grabbed his heart. The demon fucking his innocent wife, hurting her with vicious sful ful words, taunting her for her passion, and his attempts to get her back as he too realized that he loved the young slayer.

A hand waved vigorously in front of faceface, fingers snapping irritably. “---Hello Deadboy, I was talking here. I’m going to make you pay for everything you’ve done to Buffy, and you’ll pay in blood. This here is the Sphere of...Something about pain receptors, which when activated causes excruciating pain a hundred times worse then hell and you can’t get away from it. It will break you Angelus, and we’ll see then who has the last laugh.”

“Not--” he countered hastily, “Not him… not Angel--”

“Well that’s obvious, not that I would care one way or the other,” Xander interrupted succinctly.

“Xander-- Buffy she’s--”

The look on the boy’s face tightened, as his hands clenched. “You will not say her name!” he roared, before calming down so that his words were tight and clipped. “She may have loved Angel but she’ver ver love either of you again. When she comes back from the mansion I’ll be there to comfort her, to point out that having a demon for a lover is undesirable, and I will be there with open arms as she turned to me for happiness and love.”

He looked up at the spiteful angry teenager and saw something uncompromising hidden in his gaze. Buffy was dead, and he would join her and then they’d be together again.

“You’re thinking I’m giving you death aren’t you? Something simple and an easy way to cop out.” Xander laughed then and pulled a girl forward that he’d seen before but didn’t really know. This must be Amy. "Since Buffy can't kill you I decided to take care of it myself. But the more I thought about it, death just seemed too clean. So, a little bit of nosing around the library, a little bit of blackmail to one witch," Xander gestured to Amy, "and I now have a Sphere of Eternal Torment with your name on it. Tell him what he’s in for,” the boy barked brusquely.

“Sphere of the Infinite Agonies, every second, a life time.” Amy read, opening the book torevireviously marked spot.

He didn’t have any clue what that was, and really didn’t want to know. “Child’s play.”

“Then try to leave the circle,” Xander taunted, to which Amy looked up at him alarmed.

He inched his fingers to the edge of the circle near him, testing it out for a magical barrier, and yelled when his hand caught on fire. Jerking away from the edge, he put the flame out by smothering under his heavy weight. Mentally he shot tons of snide remarks towards the bratling and nursed his wound, momentarily pulled out of his despondency by the shock of new raw burning tide of fresh pain.

“Enjoy it, cause this is going to be your eternal life… full of endless cycles of pain. You can fry here, tortured forever in the Master's old lair. Everyone will think you got sucked into Acathala, we timed it that way. No one will look for you. You’re going to want to die, and may not be sane after a bit of this, so just remember one thing: that it was me who did this to you. So you can suffer and rot in this place forever. And the nice thing is, that with a vampire, suffering forever really has a satisfying 'forever' in it. Enjoy, Deadboy,” Xander said with a smile, before moving away with Amy out of his line of sight.

Distantly he heard an overly pleased laugh and the tail phrases of the spell to initiate the circle, that even dormant had a nasty kick to it.

“---l'elemento che dura per l'eternità in un secondo, e sradica il vero senso di stesso, il legame a me una sfera di punizione eterna, ha lasciato il suo occupante dimora nella miseria abietta, lasciare che il suo dolore di nutrire il potere da cui deriva la sua capacità all'angoscia esatta, e ha fatto la sua propria vita muore cento volte in ogni secondo…”

Her accent was atrocious but still understandable, the Italian spilling from her lips in ominous tones.

--- the element that lasts for eternity in a second, and eradicates true s of of self, bind to me a Sphere of everlasting punishment, let its occupanell ell in abject misery, allowing his pain to feed the power from which it derives its ability to exact anguish, and made his own life die a hundred times in every second…

“--- inondato lui nell'agonia mentale, e la tortura del corpo, lo riempe su con la malattia, e lo sbarazza della sua speranza, per sempre intrappolato entro questa sfera legata alla la mia ancora di salvezza, per lo tenere nel cerchio di agonie infinito."

--- awash him in mental agony, and torture of the body, fill him up with sickness, and rid him of his hope, forever entrapped within this Sphere tied to the my lifeline, to hold him in the Circle of Infinite Agonies.

“ARRRRGH!” he cried out, feeling a thousand painful knives pricking along his skin before crawling inside him and skewering him to the ground.

“Let us leave Amy, he won’t be in any condition to keep a lively conversation from here on out. Lively--- haha.” Xander offered his arm and guided the witch out of the Master’s lair. “No one will come looking for him, he’s dead to us now. That was funny too---”

“This is the last favor I’m doing for you,” she told him forcefully grabbing his arm and storming out leading the way.

He didn’t utter a sound, forced himself to focus on something besides the agony washing through him. Only one thing had the power to keep him from letting the pain become his world.

Buffy. Buffy with golden hair; Buffy with a smile gracing her pretty bow lips as she looked up on him; Buffy with her soft mewl of delight as he made love to her…

A cracked sob broke from him, his chest aching from the ruthless endless torture. Couldn’t breath.

Don't need to, stupid.

Couldn’t scream. His throat contracted so hard he felt himself react by swallowing so thickly he might vomit from the gag reflex.

Don’t throw up…

He needed to keep as much blood in his system as possible.

Don’t be sick, don’t be sick, he whispered over and over again in his mind. Pain convulsed his throat. He hardened his jaw, rocking on his hands and knees staring blearily down to the ground. It was dirty gray, moldy, cold from being damp.

Heat swamped him, like fire searing him horrifically, threatening to burn him to ashes but going so slowly he might never get to that blissful welcomed rest.

No. Don’t wish for death.

But Buffy!

Good point. Think about her.

Buffy. Love. Mate. Dead.

Damn you. Stop thinking.

Hurts.

No shit Sherlock.

Can’t breathe.

Not suppose to. FUCK!!!!!!!

Head arched back he let out a wordless howl, clutching the floor with his nails, scrapping them, as he drew blood from the ripped and damaged nails. His head felt as if someone was drilling a hole in his skull.

Bile swelled his throat, as he coughed hoarsely, and clutched his head. The slightest movement might have it fall off, so hard was it pounding and shaking on his neck. With a gasp, he stood on shaky legs feeling numbness splinter his resolve, the pins of thousands of needles stabbed at him, trying to force him down, but he had to get out of the circle.

Fire you idiot!

Better the fire than this…

Better this than facing her grave.

I wouldn’t visit there… I couldn’t.

You would, every single fucking night until it sunk in. Probably leave pennies---

She isn’t--- she can’t--- Buffy.

IS DEAD!

It’s your fault! You killed her trying to get her!

My fault? MY FAULT? Fuck you. I loved her too you bastard.

You don’t know the meaning of the word.

Want to bet? I love Buffy Anne Summers. I love the slayer. Fancy that.

You killed her… the light to my dark. The other half of my coin.

Soul you mean; and stop talking in clichés you’re making me sick. And I did love her - she was my queen.

His body spasmed under a wash of mental projectory, blinding him and he stumbled to the ground inches from the circle’s edge. He saw through his own eyes, behind closed lids, just how his demon viewed Buffy. There was a wave of frustration and confusion and the odd moment of tenderness, along with jealousy and anger near boiling over. His Buffy was constantly in the demon’s thoughts, the reason behind every single action…

Obsession.

Love.

Dancing, fighting, making love.

I could have with her what you never could.

I’m going to kill you.

Yeah I see how you want to go about that too. Fire. Brainless idiot.

Oh Christ…

“RRRAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHH!”

The scream echoed off the walls, magnifying the sound so that all of Sunnydale must have heard. Visual slits in his skin were opening up to show the first sign of physical pain. Blood seeped out of the wounds, slowly at first, and then faster. Looking down at them made them hurt worse, and the lost of the precious red life was going to make his hunger rage.

Put your mouth to the blood.

What?

DRINK! YOU CAN’T LOOSE THIS MUCH BLOOD!

I know. I don’t want to live.

There is no death!

The demon cursed royally in his mind, as he curled up with a whimper into a fetal position. Closing out the view of his blood drenched body, he focused on remembering her smell to stave off the odor of his blood filling his nose. Stale anyway.

Screw you its blood. Sustenance.

No, that’s what she is.

She’s dead. Dead. DEAD. Now live you undead bastard! Think of killing that runt. Think of something besides…

Buffy? So much for love.

He felt the sun rise and set, and rise and set, and rise again. But he couldn’t tell how long had passed outside his narrowed realm of life. There was only a voice in his head, demanding less and less frequently to act, to live, to do something besides react to the pain that hadn’t stopped torturing him. Two thoughts plagued him, kept his eyes open and red. A hurt too deep for pain, and it was raw. Fresh still in his mind.

Buffy. Mate.

Buffy. Dead.

Three words he held onto, that went with an image of a smiling petite blonde whose smile fell into lines of anger before stilling and stiffening in the throes of death. The raw meaty heart which throbbed the only pain that counted to him, contracted and expanded in agony of wounds mentally touched and prodded.

His own screams were familiar, so was the stone that pillowed his head, the chill seeping into his naked body, and the gnawing hunger devouring him inside out. But he didn’t care, his hands clenched so tight, that the silver metal of his Claddagh tore into his palm, spilling precious blood that was not replenished. The sluggish seeping drew his attention, as did the dried cracking blood on his hands, a long time ago he had started to feast of the meager meal in hopes to stave off the growing starvation, but it was no use. Everyday he got weaker, the blood got staler, and it became a chore to try to keep the charade up.

He stopped breathing unwilling to expend the unnecessary energy.

Suffocation wouldn't kill him.

He tore at his skin, hoping more blood loss would fuel a quicker death.

It didn't.

He pictured two hazel eyes traveling from blue gray to green gold.

And then he felt dead.

He’d never see those eyes travel that spectrum of color again. Wouldn’t be able to read them for her feelings or see into them to touch her soul or feel them linger over him in a caress.

He thought her name constantly so he would never forget, and came close to tears when a time of intense earth shattering agony arced through him so that his thoughts stilled and he lost her name.

Thinking of her, dreaming of her, remembering her was heaven and he visited her often, but soon her features dimmed and all that he remembered were eyes of changing color and hair like spun golden fire.

Hell was the place he’d dwell in whenever her name slipped his mind. Hell was the place he dwelled in whenever her name slipped from his mind…

Buffy.

What a name to bring such hope and such resounding despair.

Buffy.

The answering echo of her name was softly whispered, the voice was tired too, but never slept either for fear of the unknown.

One day, long after the sun had risen a pair of sneakers entered his line of vision. He looked at the curious things and tried to figure out what they meant. Something was breaking into the monotony of his routine.

The new voice was loud and angry and shouted close to him, making him jump.

It was an effort to lift his head to stare blearily at the new comer, the shape focused after several minutes and he growled. He knew this thing, it was what put him here.

Kill.

“---blood sucking fiend,you you know she’s acting like a---”

Confused, he stopped dragging himself closer to the circle, willing to risk fire for the sounds gurgling in the thing’s throat and tilted his head.

“Buffy?” he croaked, his voice soft and pathetic.

The sound of breaking glass resounded in the empty chamber, neon green glowed brightly then died out. A growl trembled in the air. “---bitch won’t leave the mansion. She's stopped crying though---”

“Buffy?” he whispered incredulous.

“---I thought she was coming around when she left the mansion---”

“Buffy?” he asked.

“---but no. She went to your apartment and came out with this li bla black book.”

There was a pause, as the thing looked down at him, and he stopped talking the corner of his lips twitched before he laughed. “God you’re pathetic. I wonder if you’ve cracked? Not enough though if you still remember her.”

“Buffy?” he muttered desperately, forcing himself to move closer to the feet linked in his mind to the pain.

“Buffy,” mocked the owner of the shoes before he turned to walk away. “Buffy’s moping and that just screws everything up.”

The pain was held at bay, suspended from the reality he had been thrust into.

Buffy. Mate. Alive.

A surge of hope and desperation to reach her suffused him, fueling his . Th. The world around him seemed more friendly, but still…

He snarled, the shoes and the voice had to be punished.

Kill.

Alive.

Kill runt.

Buffy.

He looked around ignoring the pain stabbing through him, his mind pounding horrendously under the added knowledge that his mate was alive.

Free.

Yes now.

Find her.

Find him.

He scooted closer to the edge, and reached his hand out of the air above the white line of imprisonment.

FIRE!

Too late, his hand burst into flames causing him to yelp and growl. Nursing the tender raw flesh, he looked around curiously. Every movement ade ade was a strain on his senses, every thought focused off of that pain and onto her.

Must find.

But he couldn’t figure out how to get out of his circle.

****

Simultaneously three things happened in Sunnydale without anyone knowing. A blonde girl placed a prayer onto a Claddagh ring and sealed it with a kiss before placing it gently on the floor as she shed her first tears for a lost love. A witch was flown through a windshield out onto the road where the over turned car collapsed finally on top of her and killed her instantly. The Sphere of Agonies, tied to the life-force of the witch, collapsed setting free a deranged vampire in a desperate search for substance.