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 3.


“Will Angry Spike and Gay Spike take it in turns to greet me?” asked Angel as he glared at Door number 3. He looked around questioningly only to find that Illyria had disappeared. “Great. This is just wonderful,” he added as he spied the Spike in Room 3 crouching in the corner. Taking a deep breath, Angel strode in through the doorway, holding the stake aloft and ready.

“Come on Room 3 Spike, what’s it going to be, hey? Angry, concerned and gay or are you just going to stay there rolled up in a ball?”

After a minute or two the ball theory seemed to be winning as Spike’s body didn’t unravel, nor did he pay any attention to Angel at all.

“Spike?”

*Nothing*

“Spike, if that’s you then you’d better let me know because I’m about to hike my vampire dusting tally up.” Angel’s brow creased and he took some tentative steps forward. “Look, at least give me some indication that you can hear me. I mean, maybe you were hurt in the fight and you can’t give me a signal.”

Angel’s scowl deepened as he thought aloud. “I mean I’d know Spike the minute I saw him, but what if he can’t communicate because of the whole beheading, dusting thing? When I came back from Hell I wasn’t exactly the life of the party.”

“Nobody invited me.”

“Shit! Spike?”

The hunched figure twitched and began to rock slowly back and forth. Angel waited, but when there was no further words or reaction he moved around beside Spike’s face and tried to see his expression.

His skin seemed to shine a deathly full moon white.

“Jesus, Spike. Are you okay?”

“Always and never, but nobody will remember me ‘til my skin grows warm and burns with penance.”

Confused by the words, Angel watched as he raised his head, then pulled back, alarmed at the haunted expression in Spike’s eyes.

“I called, but you didn’t come. Did your conscience beg you to flee without me?”

Warily, Angel stretched out a hand and placed it on Spike’s arm.

“Did something happen to you after you were dus… after the battle? Have you come back to me like this and you’re trying to communicate that it’s really you? I need to know.”

“Frivolous hearts yearn for Fragonard, yet Bosch embraces them in the throes of passion.”

Angel put the stake carefully back in his pocket, patted Spike gently on the shoulder, then turned and left Room 3 deep in thought. He lowered himself down gingerly on the end of the bridge and ran through the candidates in his head. Angry Spike was dust. Gay Spike … okay, to be fair let’s call him Concerned Spike With Gay Tendancies … was in Room 2. And Room 3 seemed to be inhabited by a Spike who was channelling Drusilla. He dropped his head down onto his knees to think thoughts which began to drift and merge until a deep waspish voice by his ear woke him with a start.

“You have only two minutes, vampire.”

“Shit! Don’t do that! I’m just taking a rest.”

“You cannot afford that luxury outside the rooms if you are truly serious about saving Spike. Ninety seconds, Angel.”

He hauled himself up and staggered over to Door 4, now acutely aware of the aches in his limbs and the open wounds which needed more blood to heal. So tired was Angel that he lurched into the cave without even arming himself with his stake.

“It’s you!”

“Spike?”

Everything was right about this Spike. Familiar carriage of his body, usual alert, discerning expression and hands on hips as he approached quickly across the room.

“What happened? Is everything all right?”

“Oh thank god, it’s you .. and by the way I didn’t ever think I’d say those words!” Angel even managed a relieved laugh. “This is insane and you won’t believe the you that came onto me in Room 2! That's the last time you ever get to call me a poof!”

Spike didn’t laugh. In fact his frown deepened and his head lowered at Angel’s words.

“What do we do now?” he asked anxiously.

“Well, I have to stake the other Spikes, then we can leave and we can go back to ….” Angel halted. Go back to where? He put a hand tentatively on Spike’s shoulder, glad it belonged to the real Spike and not to the more tortured version next door. “We’ll go ... wherever! I mean, of course you don’t have to come with me, but …”

“No! I want to come with you!” Spike exclaimed, apparently appalled at the suggestion that they split up. “What would I do if I encountered a gang of demons by myself? I mean I know you’d know exactly what to do, but I’d be lost, wouldn’t I?”

That short speech halted every single forward thought Angel had been planning since he entered the room and found ‘Spike.’

Time rolled back to a chilling damp evening with the London fog close and still and hazy silhouetted figures floating across in the horizonless silver distance.

“Angelus? It’s you!”

“Aye, Will, but don’t ye be sa eager ta hunt wi’ me. Ye know tha’ll just make me set ye free sooner.”

“No! I want to come with you!” What would I do if I encountered a gang of demons by myself? I mean I know you’d know exactly what to do, but I’d be lost, wouldn’t I?”

“Ye toffy scallion, Will. Me grandchilde, turned five nights hence yet ye still canna get t’nerve ta hunt by yerself or drop t’ speech?”

Without looking back, Angel turned and walked quickly out the door.

For fourteen minutes Angel stalked up and down in front of the Spikes, trying to find some insight into which room the real Spike resided. Different incarnations of Spike was one thing, but Rooms containing Spikes who spouted snippets of dialogue from two centuries ago presented a totally different unsettling proposition.

Finally though, he had to make a choice and Angel hauled his tired body cautiously into Room 5.

This Spike was sitting quietly in the corner smoking and didn’t even bother to look up when Angel entered and strode over purposely to stand in front of him, hands on hips, expectant, stake raised, waiting.

“Well? What are you going to throw at me? Bit of insanity or maybe you’re going to try to feel me up too, huh?”

A dirty look was all that Angel received, until eventually, frustrated, he turned away to look for the blood bag that each room supposedly contained and which he’d not taken advantage of – through shock and speedy exits - in the previous rooms.

Angel grabbed some blankets from a pile thrown in the corner and arranged them loosely into something resembling a bed, then threw himself down and began to suckle on a tiny hole in the blood bag, determined that if the amount of food wasn’t substantial, then he could at least make his meal last a substantial amount of time.

All the while he watched the Spike suspiciously.

After an hour, there wasn’t a drop of blood left in the bag. There also hadn’t been a single word spoken by either occupant of the room.

“Sullen Spike, is that what you are?”

Room 5 Spike merely lit another cigarette and continued smoking and staring off into space.

“Fine. If you’re going to pretend I’m not here, then let’s keep it that way, but know this – I’m going to sleep now and if you think you can sneak up on me in the middle of the night to stake me or do anything else that Room 2 might consider doing to me, then think again, buddy! I’ll stake you in a nanosecond.”

For the next hour Angel lay with one eye open just enough so he could spy on the Spike, but eventually, when there was no reaction or glance in his direction, he fell into a deep, deserved sleep.


On waking, the first thing Angel saw through narrowed sleepy eyes was Spike watching him intently, the blue eyes sparkling sharp and clear under a troubled brow. But as he blinked and woke up properly Spike snapped his head back around and lit up another cigarette in an apparent attempt to pretend he hadn’t been observing Angel at all.

Angel stood up abruptly and made an immature gesture which involved checking that all his intimate body parts were intact, his fly was done up and no funny business had been had with him in the night during his slumber. He felt refreshed and the tightness of his wounds suggested he was on his way to being healed.

“Well Spike, can I just say that this had been the most pleasant time I’ve ever had in your company. You’re obviously not the real Spike because he isn’t capable of going five minutes without voicing his opinion or making a stupid comment, but when I find him I’ll suggest he takes a leaf out of your book.”

Angel waited, but there was still no reaction, so he threw the blankets back in the corner and left.

Determined to get this whole thing over quickly, Angel strode straight into Room 6 and was pulled up short by the shocking figure lying on the floor.

It was Spike – of course – but in such a badly injured state that he was barely recognisable. He ripped the familiar coat and t-shirt off as soon as Angel entered the room and when his torso was naked Angel could see he was beaten, bruised, battered and burned across his chest, with added giant scorch marks across his face and one eye swollen like a large ripe plum.

“Bloody hell, Spike?” Angel hesitated, reminding himself that this was probably only a pretend Spike, but … the fight in the alley? When Spike was beheaded he was in pretty bad shape, so is this what he would have looked like if he had survived?

“Spike?” Angel said as he knelt beside him. “Is it you?”

Spike didn’t – couldn’t – answer. He merely moaned and tried to roll over, but the intense pain seemed to make it impossible.

“Oh shit. Spike, stop trying to … here, let me help you … oh god.”

Angel’s dilemma lay not just with the logistics of trying to tend to a severely injured vampire. It also related to the fact that apart from torture and punching him he had never ever laid a finger on Spike, certainly not with the purpose of comforting him. But Spike’s groans and cries of pain cut through any reservations and Angel put his hands on Spike’s side and back and tried to help him move to a more comfortable position.

A bloodied fist grabbed Angel’s shirt and through the blood and swollen flesh, a cobalt eye looked up at him imploringly. “Help me Angel. You know how to help me.”

“I will. I am. Look, it’s okay. Did this … I mean, your injuries … are they from the alley? The fight against Wolfram and Hart? I need to know.”

Spike just cried out as his body spasmed and Angel found himself clutching Spike tightly to his chest, feeling helplessly lost and inadequate as both a grandsire and a nurse. He noticed the blood bag in the corner and fetched it and some blankets to try to make Spike more comfortable.

“Here, drink,” urged Angel as he tried to pour a little of the blood into Spike’s mouth, but he couldn’t stay calm long enough to accept the liquid.

“Spike, come on, please?” Angel shifted so Spike’s head was cradled in his arm and his body lay across his lap. Feeling like a clueless dickhead but not knowing what else to do, he drank the rest of the blood himself then sliced open his wrist and lay it firmly over Spike’s mouth. There was a protesting splutter and more moans, but eventually Spike began to draw the blood from Angel’s wrist into his mouth and swallow it down in big noisy gulps.

How long had it been since Angel - Angelus fed a vampire like this? Had Angelus ever fed anyone in this fashion, holding them gently, nurturing them as they drew from his wrist? Drusilla certainly had only revelled on punishment and reward and when the reward came she didn’t want it to come tenderly.

Angel tried to block out the suckling noise and the waves of blood being pulled from his wrist that inexplicably sent blood throbbing in waves around other parts of his body. He tried concentrating on the ceiling and counting cracks in the rock for a while, then closed his eyes and attempted to recite Yates and John Donne in his head from memory.

Nothing worked. Each time he couldn’t escape his attention centring on the body he held in his arms and the mouth sucking in a mesmerising rhythm from his wrist. Finally, the drinking stopped but Spike still held his mouth to Angel’s wrist and closed his eyes as his body visibly started to heal.

Angel frowned and pulled his wrist away from the partially opened lips which he felt had lingered on his skin for far too long for his liking. He was impatient to get out of this place and he needed Spike to confirm that he was indeed Spike.

“Tell me what happened? How did you get here?”

Spike opened his eye and swallowed deeply.

“Did she tell you?”

“Illyria?”

“Buffy.”

“Buffy?" Angel let out a huff of frustration at the mention of her name. "What does she have to do with any of this?”

Spike spoke softly, wincing as he tried to sit up to face Angel. “I’m here because of her. It’s what she wants, but I need your help too. I don’t know how it's supposed to work.”

“Spike, I’ve had enough with the cryptics. What the hell are you talking about Buffy for and what are you trying to get to work?”

“My soul.”

“Your … ?”

Angel slid away from Spike and stood, stepping back when Spike shakily followed him to his feet.

“You can help me Angel. You can show me how to cope.”

Angel fled the cave and spent the next ten minutes brushing signs of blood off his clothes and making sure that his wrist was licked to remove any sign that anyone – especially anyone from Room 6 - had ever fed from there.

“Does twenty two minutes take longer in the vampire world than it does in L.A?”

That did it. “Fuck off, Illyria! I have no idea what you’re playing at but I’m at the point now where I’m ready to just leave and let every damn Spike in this godforsaken place go up in a cloud of dust. This is madness. I have Spike’s going off their heads at me, Spike’s coming onto me, insane Spikes, Spike’s saying stuff to me that I haven’t heard since I was evil and in another century, sulky Spikes who won’t even acknowledge me and injured Spike’s who trick me into feeding them, then go off rambling about my ex girlfriend before asking for advice on souls! I am not going to do this any more.”

“He is there.”

“Where? Jesus! Just tell me and I’ll take him and leave.”

“The Old Ones will not permit that until you have passed their test.”

“Fuck their tests.”

“You only have two minutes left to enter a cave.”

“Fuck their timekeeping too.”

“You will find what you need by looking in all the rooms.” Illyria walked forward so she was unnervingly close, her icy eyes cold and unreadable. “Find Spike and he will help you find yourself.”

It was on the tip of Angel’s tongue to point out that he knew exactly where he was and wasn’t lost, but sarcasm was proving not to work particularly well on Illyria, so he snapped his mouth shut and stomped off toward Room 7.


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