Dust

SETTING: Up the alley.
RATING: NC-17 when I can get the boys in the mood and in position.
DISCLAIMER: The boys aren't mine. *pouts*
WEBSITE: www.colddeadseed.com ( for Spangel, Spuffy, Spike, James and writers far far better than me.)
FEEDBACK: Mmmmm, yummy. Yes please.


DUST

Part 2.


Angel didn’t even get to exercise his vocal chords again before Spike hauled him up and slammed him into the wall, knocking the energy out of him and causing the wounds in his shoulder to open up once more.

Sharp fangs imitating nails as they tore into his shoulder shocked Angel back into action, and he managed to push Spike back across the cave to face him furiously.

“What the hell is wrong with you? The battle’s over Spike and in case you didn’t notice, I was on your side!”

Not expecting another attack, Angel hesitated, waiting for the reunion that he hadn’t quite formed a picture of in his head, but which he knew he was looking forward to with unexplained pleasure.

In the meantime, Spike approached, brought both clenched hands down hard on his shoulder and sent him crashing to the floor. This time Angel didn’t bother to rise. He merely hurled all his weight against Spike’s legs and sent him flailing down awkwardly then climbed on top and crushed him.

“I have no idea what you’re playing at, but a lot of people who are very close to me – and who I thought meant something to you – are dead and now really isn’t the time for games, Spike.”

The spit hit Angel in the left eye. The knee hit Angel in the right bollock. Angel hit Spike in the middle of his nose and smashed it to smithereens.

“Are you on some sort of drugs? Have you been cursed? Seriously Spike, I need you to enlighten me so I know what the fuck you’re playing at before I have to stake you.”

Now Angel was only mildly sincere about the drugs. He was very suspicious about the curse. But the stake comment was in no way meant to be taken seriously.

Until he watched Spike rise and pull a stake out of his duster.

Spike definitely didn’t look like he was playing a game.

Angel looked at Spike. Really looked at him. He saw the menace in the way he prepared the sinewy body, ready to spring forward and attack. He saw the way Spike curled his lip in anticipation, licked his fangs and noted the rapid clenching and unclenching of the fist around the stake. But it was the hooded eyes that really held Angel's attention. Pure malice, anger, resentment and they were oh so cold as they bored into him.

His head swam. Did he deserve this much anger because he had survived and the others had died? They'd all agreed on his plan and Spike was here! Spike was alive! Did he really resent that Angel hadn't perished with the rest of them? What the hell was Spike doing in the Deeper Well anyway?

That thought cleared his head. Angel spoke carefully. "Spike, something is wrong. I don't know why we're here and that confuses me, but you're so angry at me and that confuses me even more. Let's sit down and try to work out what ..."

He caught the stake just as it broke the skin over his heart. Blood spurted out and soaked Angel's shirt and his hand holding the stake developed an noticeable tremor as he snatched it away from Spike.

"Stop this now," Angel hissed as Spike snarled and drew another stake from beneath his coat. "Spike, whatever is happening - whatever is making you react like this - we'll solve it together."

"Ha! Together? You think I'd ever want to hang around your precious self, Angel? Big chief executive with a bloody stick up his arse, champion what - moper, filibuster, wanker extraordinaire? You can fuck off with all this 'together' business because I hate you. It's always been that way and it won't change even when I've danced on your dust and trampled it into the ground. I hate everything you represent, all the things you've done to me, the way you look down the world like you're a faultless prick of a God. I'd tell you that I despise you beyond all others but you'd probably find that fact just another thing to be proud of. Another success chalked up to Team Bloody Angel! So you can just fuck right off and die instead."

This time Angel was prepared for the attack. Even so, the shocking ferocity beat him back against the wall and pain flared in his shoulder as Spike targeted it once more with his sharp fangs. Throbbing injuries weren’t helped by rising panic and searing pain as Spike managed to slowly drive the stake into his neck. Angel couldn't hold back any longer and jabbed quickly at Spike's back with his own stake, making him jerk back and roar in Angel's face.

The following onslaught was relentless. Time after time Spike flew forward, trying to aim for Angel's heart, stabbing with wood and words in a torrential storm of hatred. Angel knew his energy was low to begin with but Spike's seemed unlimited despite his own efforts. The stab wounds were taking their toll, there was no opportunity to escape from the room and he hadn't the strength to fight off Spike. The stake would find it's mark if he didn't do something to stop it.

Angel was, of course, no stranger to watching vampires dust. But very few times had he ever had the opportunity to look them straight in the eyes as they dissolved into tiny particles and fell away into oblivion. To have done it twice in such a short space of time seemed unnecessary, but nonetheless it was happening. As the stake entered Spike's chest he whipped up his head in shock, yelled Angel's name like a curse, then the words dropped away with his solidity and he shattered into a million bursts of dust.

Angel cried out and put his head in his hands, dropping down with the particles as if trying to follow Spike to his resting place

"Oh Jesus. Oh no. Spike, I didn't mean to do it. You must know this wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want to you die the first time but at least you knew it was what we had to do. Didn't you? Oh God. What else could I have done? Is this some sort of payback because I didn't mean to kill you. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Is there none of your species which chooses to slowly ponder the elements and surroundings, or is that type of thought process beyond your grasp?"

Angel didn't answer, nor did he need to look up to see who had spoken.

"You are a hasty race."

"Stop sounding like a fucking Ent, Illyria," bit back Angel as he rose, tears streaking down through the dirt and grime on his cheeks. "I have no idea what just happened here and it's too much for me to think about it. Just get me back to the alley where I can lay them out and finally give them some peace."

"You still choose to avoid Spike."

"Avoid Spike! I've killed him twice in case you haven't noticed and ... Illyria, just get me out of here, please." Angel couldn't avoid begging.

"Spike was beheaded by a troll. He fought willingly alongside you. And now you have begun the test we have set you, but you must listen to the rules. Come, I will show you your task.”

Weary beyond arguing, upset and empty, and having no clue what she wanted or how else to get out of the Deeper Well, Angel followed. Illyria lead him a short way back out onto the walkbridge, turned and swept a graceful arm around her.

“You must find the real Spike in amongst these. Reject the ones you do not regard as the Spike you know, and if you choose correctly you will both be free to leave” she said simply, and the sight he saw took Angel’s breath away.

Circling the great expanse was a series of open doors, each leading to a cave. In each cave stood … Spike! Well, Spikes to be exact. At an estimate Angel guessed there were maybe twenty caves – twenty Spikes. Some stood expectantly in the doorway, some paced inside, some lounged coolly just inside the entrance, smoking, watching and others didn’t even bother to face out towards him, merely hunching into themselves right at the back or lurking in the shadows.

Angel took a deep breath.

“What the fuck? No more bullshit. One of these – and I can barely bring myself to say it, so horrific is the thought – Spikes, plural! … is Spike? The real Spike?”

“It is.”

“And all I have to do is find out which one is my … the Spike then hey presto all the others disappear and he isn’t a pile of dust in an alley any longer.”

“That is almost the scenario. Yes.”

There was a bitter laugh. “Gee Illyria, and how did I know you’d stick in a word like ‘almost’. Out with it. What’s the catch in the fineprint?”

“You have three nights, four days to find the real Spike. In that time you must reject the rest and dispose of them by traditional vampire means.”

Angel turned to her, incredulous.

“And by that you mean….”

“They must all be staked.”

Another bitter, forced laugh as Angel once again surveyed the doorways, then he seemed to come to some decision and nodded.

“Kill all the Spikes who attack me. Can’t be that hard. I’ve wanted to stake him for a hundred years, so I guess now I’ll finally get my wish.”

It was Illyria’s turn to smile now. “I believe you will not find that all these figures wish to attack you, Angel. Indeed, some may present dangers of a far more threatening kind.”

“Huh. And aren’t you the cryptic fairy godmother today? I don’t know what you think could be so difficult if they don’t all want to kill me. If Spike is out there ….”

“He is.”

“… then he’ll tell me it’s him, I’ll know it’s him because he’ll be pissing me off, I’ll go on a staking spree of the very best kind, getting rid of all sorts of Spike issues along with the fakes, then we’ll leave here both alive – well, dead – go our separate ways and I’ll never have to deal with him again, but my conscience will be clear and I won’t owe him a single thing.”

“I am yet to visit a dimension in which a problem could be solved so easily.”

“Yeah well, I hate Spike, Spike hates me. Simple. Not a lot of grey areas to sort through.”

Angel stalked off before Illyria could speak any further. He noted the faded gold number ‘1’ on the door of the first –now empty – cave, closed the door then moved onto the second and halted.

“Spike, is that you?”

“None of them can heed you unless you enter.”

“Swell, And aren’t I pleased that you’re my informative guide for this gameshow, Illyria?”

“I try to explain the format yet you insist on walking away. Impatience hampers you.”

“Maybe, but it won’t take me four days to find that idiot. We’ve got what – 20 doors, 20 Spikes?”

“Twenty Two.”

“Fine. And I predict it will take me all of – oh, say twenty two minutes to find Spike in amongst this bunch. One smartarse comment and an idiotic idea and I’ll spot him instantly.”

“Please commence then. I look forward to your quick success.”

Angel shot Illyria a dirty look, eyed the Spike in Room 2 suspiciously then finally regarded himself with a grunt. “If this one goes psycho like the last one then I’m going to need a bit more strength. Don’t get me wrong – I can take Spike any day, but the apocalypse, plus the fight I just had – I need blood first before I get into another tangle.”

“You cannot sleep or eat or stay outside the caves for more than fifteen minutes between each visit. Each cave contains a bag of blood and you are free to choose where you stay and you may shift between caves as you like. There is also bedding in each cave, which of course you will not require as you intend to leave in twenty two … one … minutes.”

“Oh keep ‘em coming Illyria, you’re a real standup comedian.” Angel glared at the Spike before him, hands on hips, trying to gauge if he would be facing an onslaught if he entered the cave. He felt drained and tired beyond what a vampire should experience and going through all this for Spike seemed like a giant thankless waste of time.

“How do I know if he’ll attack me?”

“You don’t.”

“Fabulous.”

Stake in hand, tense, Angel crossed the threshold into the gloomily lit cave.

Room 2 Spike smiled at him, then frowned and exclaimed “Oh Angel, you’re hurt!”

“Don’t you dare come near me or I’ll use this,” cried Angel, feeling overly dramatic but highly alarmed at the concern in this Spike’s voice.

“I won’t! I won’t.” He held up his hands in compliance and backed off, but continued eyeing Angel’s wounds with anxiety. There was an awkward stand off until he said softly, “I think I can help you with your wounds if you’ll let me.”

Angel snorted. “Well, if you are the real Spike you’re drugged because there’s no way he’d ever offer to help me or heal me.”

That comment got Angel a strange look, but his lack of negativity about the offer of help made Spike inch forward and hold out a conciliatory hand to Angel’s shoulder. “You really should let me tend to that. You aren’t healing. Have you not had any blood?”

The hand was shrugged off, but Angel didn’t push Spike away. “I do need blood. I was told I could drink it here in the caves,” he said warily.

“Oh, you can, Angel. It’s not warm I’m afraid, but I’m sure it’ll help.”

Angel watched as Spike sprang off to gather a bag of blood for him, even going so far as to rip the corners off the bag with his teeth to ensure it was ready for him to drink.

Through narrowed eyes, Angel eyed Spike as he sniffed the blood. “Stand back as I drink this and don’t try anything.”

Once more Spike made a submissive gesture with the hands that had made many gestures before in Angel’s direction, but none of them vaguely submissive. Angel wolfed down the bag then stood back ready for an attack. Spike merely hovered like a concerned mother hen.

“I don’t have any more right now I’m afraid, but please let me look at your wounds. I can’t bear to see you in so much pain.”

Angel let himself lean back heavily onto the stone wall. His whole body cried out for respite, sleep and attention, but the situation he found himself in demanded that he keep his wits about him. Nevertheless, he had no idea what ‘Spikes’ the other caves would hold, and this one seemed not only to be an infinitely better proposal for a safe rest than the first Spike had done, but a far easier proposition to deal with than the real Spike.

“No tricks,” Angel warned, then slid down to the floor with a groan. Spike gave him a look which sent a shiver down his spine at it’s sincerity and Angel watched, fascinated, as Spike inched forward as if trying not to scare a frightened kitten, knelt down and began to crawl up his body until he was straddling Angel and fingering his shirt.

“What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Think. You’re. Doing. Spike?”

The fingers froze half way through releasing a button.

“I’m checking you out,” he said falteringly, innocently as Angel tried to ignore the possible double entendre and was shocked back into silence. Then Spike continued and gently peeled off Angel’s shirt, crying out softly in distress at the sight of the bruises and wounds that still required far more blood and rest to heal properly.

“You poor thing,” said Spike as his eyes flitted worryingly over all the wounds. “ I don’t have any water or bandages, but …”

Angel wasn’t sure which action caused him to hurl Spike back across the room. It could have been the moment when his body lowered down so he was not only straddling his lap, but sitting ON his lap. Directly OVER his cock which Angel flat out refused to believe had stirred at the motion. Or it could have been when Spike lowered his head and ran a cold, moist tongue over his bloodied shoulder which sent a bolt of something Angel refused to define down to regions in his body he refused to acknowledge.

Angel stood over the sprawled figure, stake in hand, buttoning his shirt one-handed as best he could, and shaking with fury and shock.

“You sick weasel, Spike. You call me a poof and yet I come in here and you’re all over me like a fucking rash. You licked me and you sat on my ... my ... oh my god!”

And with that, he stormed out, unsure about why he still held the stake and confused about why Spike still held his form and hadn’t been dusted.

Illyria stood watching him as he emerged, ruffled and raging.

“I see you chose not to eliminate the Spike in Room 2.”

“Only because he’s some sort of sick queero who tried to .. ugh … I couldn’t get away fast enough. But he’s definitely not Spike. I’ll go back and dust him later.”

“Very well,” said Illyria. “But in the meantime …”

Angel followed her gaze to Room Number 3.

*********