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 4.


Angel hadn’t realised how concerned he’d been about the Injured Spike in Room 6 until he felt his body relax a little when he encountered the Spike in Room 7. The greeting of “Well looky here. Gonna have me a Champion Kebab!” was taken calmly and Angel even found some amusement in the form swaggering around him in one piece in a way that usually annoyed him so much.

“You going to tell me what sort of Spike you are? Angry Spike again maybe? Having to double up already? I thought twenty two rooms was too many for your simple personality.”

“Makin’ up names for me are you, poof? Gonna come as a real shock when I nail you to the ground and get to shove your words right back down that miserable throat of yours.”

Even the banter cheered Angel up considerably. This Spike at least spoke to him in the same way as the real Spike. The swagger, the attitude was all there. The only think that puzzled Angel was the fact that he just didn’t get the feeling that this was actually Spike. The hair, the speech, the words, the clothes, the swagger, the menace and insolence were all there, but …

“Stop grinnin’ at me you git. I’ll rip it off your face if you keep on lookin’ at me like that.”

“You know you can’t take me, Spike.”

Spike gave him a venomous glare and circled him, stalking and oozing menace. “Took you for the Cup, didn’t I? Convenient the way you forget about these incidents, Angel. Bet you hope you can forget after I’ve ripped your body apart limb by limb.”

Angel gave a theatrical sigh. “You’re all talk, no action, as usual.”

“You’ll be no action no talk in a minute when I finish with you, gramps”

Angel had been moving with Spike so they remained facing, but suddenly he stopped as something occurred to him.

“Let’s try a bit of Sybil therapy. Tell me about the other Spikes in this place. What do you know about them?”

Spike swayed for a second, on the brink of stepping forward but not quite able to do it, then sniggered and waggled his finger at Angel. “Ah ahhhh, naughty demon. Not going to distract me from beating the crap out of you with your psychobabble tactics.”

Something in that reaction made Angel nod to himself and turn his back on Spike for the first time.

“Do it, Spike. Do all these things you’re saying you want to do to me. Attack me, tear me apart, rip my limbs off. Go on, do it!”

There was a pause in which Angel tensed himself and prepared for the barrage, but the only crack to rent the air came from Spike’s mouth when he said, “Good one, wanker. Try to stop me from separating your head from those put-upon Atlas shoulders.”

Again, Angel acknowledged something to himself then walked out the door without looking back. Illyria was waiting for him before Door Number 8, but with a smug look, Angel turned to the right instead and went back into Room 6.

The Spike he had left half naked but with improving injuries from drinking his blood was now fully clothed again and in just as bad shape as when Angel had first seen him. He let out a moan and began to peel off his shirt, but Angel merely snapped “Save it!” and marched back outside and back down to Room 5.

The Spike there was still smoking heavily and although his head shot up when Angel ran into the room, he quickly looked away and resumed ignoring Angel just as before.

Room 4 Spike was still anxious not to be parted from his mentor and Room 3 Spike was babbling about marmoset monkeys stealing his mother’s spleen.

Room 2 … Angel had no desire to re-enter Room 2, but feeling Illyria’s uncompromising gaze on him, he felt he had better finish the experiment and go in as he had with all the previous rooms.

“Angel!”

Angel pursed his lips, crossed his arms, spread his legs and tried to look as butch as possible.

It didn’t seem to put the Spike off.

“I was worried.”

“Not here for a chat, okay? Just wanted to check that all Spike’s personalities have stayed the same.”

Spike seemed confused at this, but said sweetly, “My love for you will never change, Angel.”

*Guh!!*

Angel tried to laugh, choked, then finally burst out giggling.

“Spike! …. Oh …. My god, are you going to get some serious grief about this when we get out of here. Your love for me? Haa!! I know you’re just a pretend Spike, but some of the shit you’re coming out with is priceless. One of you up there is pretending to be Drusilla, another is Threat Spike, who can’t appear to actually carry through on any of his promises, but you …. Oh you take the cake.”

Spike’s brow crinkled, and he said sadly, “Is it so wrong that I care about you?”

“In this world? No, it’s not. It’s really not. It distracts me from this mess,” chuckled Angel, “But I suggest you have bigger things to worry about besides me because when I find the real Spike I’m going to come back and stake you, okay?”

He strode out, still smirking, and walked up to Illyria feeling a lot better about the whole situation.

“All. Under. Control. These are all snapshots of Spike, some of them from real things that happened like the Spike who is a fledgling vampire, and some of them totally fake like loverboy in there. Didn’t matter that I fed the injured one in there. When I went back to see him he was in exactly the same state as the first time I entered his room. They don’t seem to be able to comprehend my questions when I ask them about the other Spikes, so I’m guessing they’re all independent little compartmentalised personality defects, some real, some imaginary who are completely oblivious about each other.”

“You are wrong.”

Angel pouted. “I am? But I’m on the right track, yeah?”

Illyria smiled strangely. “Possibly.”

“That’s all I need.” Angel smacked his hands together and rubbed them gleefully. “Somewhere in there is a 3D walking talking all action, all emotion fully wankerised Spike. Now I’ve figured out what’s going on I don’t think I’ll be in need of one of your rooms to sleep in tonight!”

Illyria actually smirked as she watched Angel trot off to inspect the rest of the Spikes.

Room 8 Spike was sitting quietly at the back of his cave reading a book. He acknowledged Angel with a brief nod but then lowered his head and went back to studying.

Angel stayed silent for a few minutes then laughed, the noise sounding stark and intrusive as it rang around the stone walls.

Room 8 Spike looked mildly annoyed and put his book down.

“Something bothering you?”

“Me? No. Not at all. The choices being offered up are getting too easy, that’s all. Spike sitting reading a book in silence is just something I can’t not laugh at.”

“You used to encourage me to study.”

This statement curbed Angel’s sense of triumph at figuring out what was going on somewhat, but he refused to be put off completely.

Angel stepped forward and waggled a finger slowly as he spoke. “No, noooo, Angelus used to encourage Spike to read in the nineteenth century. Modern day Spike is too dim to study. Besides, he has the concentration span of a two year old.”

Spike closed his book and regarded Angel thoughtfully. “You know full well that I still read. Many a time you’ve lurked in the shadows watching me.”

Room 8 Spike referring to the real Spike in his real life pegged Angel back even more, but he managed, “Like I’d watch you do anything, Spike!”

“Observing me when I read satisfies some primal geeky kink in you, Angel. We both know you watch me and we both know I know you’re watching me but because we both pretend to have no interest in each other we both refuse to acknowledge that it happens! Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my book. Stay and perv if you really have to.”

Indignant outrage didn’t quite cover what Angel felt, but somehow the idea of looking deeper into Spike’s summary of the reading situation wasn’t very appealing.

He stormed out, ignored Illyria and thundered grumpily into Room 9, desperate to find the real Spike so he could save him, straighten out some serious misconceptions, then beat the shit out of him.

Room 9 Spike was immediately identifiable as Depresso Spike, or so Angel deemed him the moment he saw him angsting in the corner, a face full of dark tortured demon memories, head in his hands, hair twined around clawed tense fingers as he shut his eyes tightly and appeared to try to block out Angel’s presence.

“Now what could your problem possibly be, Spike? Did you lose the will to live for eternity when you realised that you’re nothing but a trumped up poor imitation of me?”

Angel didn’t want this to be the real Spike, so it seemed pointless going through the motions again just to be let down.

“Stake me.”

Angel’s eyebrows shot up and he bent down to hear more clearly. “I didn’t quite catch that. You said …?”

“Stake me.”

“Angel stood up straight and exhaled noisily, impatiently. “You’re a barrel of laughs, you know that Spike?”

A third “Stake me,” convinced Angel that he wouldn’t get much more varied dialogue out of this Spike, so he left and continued onto Room 10, feeling that surely he would come across the original version now he was almost half way through the selection and was beginning to find candidates who actively wanted to be eliminated.

Room 10 Spike was waiting for Angel just inside the door, making Angel move past him quickly in case this was a Spike who would attack him. He needn’t have worried.

“I don’t like it here,” Spike whined.

“Gotta agree with you there,” said Angel.

“Why can’t we leave?”

“Well, if you’re the right Spike we can but …”

“You never take me anywhere.”

“Spike, I … “

“I only have one bag of blood but I bet you’re going to drink it. You always take my stuff.”

“I haven’t touched your bl….”

“It’s not fair. You never bring me anything.”

“Spike! Stop your whinging. I ….”

“I suppose it would have taken too much effort to think of bringing me blood.”

“Shut up.”

“All you do is take take take Angel.”

“Shut! UP!”

“You’re just greedy and I never get to have anything or go anywhere.”

“See this, Spike? It’s a stake. If you keep it up I’m going to …”

“Oh great. Threaten me why don’t you. Par for the course, isn’t it, Angel.”

“I swear, I’ll stake you if you don’t stop whining.”

“Yeah, that’d be typical. Let’s all stake Spike and prove we’re the big man.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything! I just want you to quit complaining for a second so we can talk and …”

“Like you let me talk or take any notice of what I say. I’m always ignored by you Angel.”

“I mean it Spike. Shut. Up!”

“You don’t listen to me. You don’t want to be in my company, you…”

Despite having twenty other Spikes left, Angel still felt guilty as he drove the stake into this Spike’s chest. After all, depresso Spike probably wanted to be staked and insane Spike surely was more partial to it than this whiney Spike?

Angel shut the door to Room 10 and walked slowly to the next door, unable to shake the feeling that staking a Spike was wrong no matter what sort of a single note facet of the real Spike’s personality it was.

Deep in thought, guard down, Angel entered Room 11 and immediately collapsed with the might of the blow that hit him across the back of his neck and sent his stake flying across the floor to the back of the room.

Stunned to within a fraction of unconsciousness, Angel barely managed to fend off the next few kicks and blows and raise himself back up to his feet. All the other Spike’s had the same feeling to them, but this one Angel recognised as something quite different. The likes of which he hadn’t encountered for years. It was pure demon, pure malice and aggression and hate. Angel knew he wouldn’t feel the same sense of guilt when he killed this one.

Killing was quite out of the question for the moment however. At least for a stakeless groggy Angel. This vamped out, vicious Spike however was hell bent on staking him and he aimed and thrust the shard of wood repeatedly at Angel’s heart until his torso and back was a mass of bloody puncture wounds.

Kicking out with all his strength was a last ditch effort that paid off. Diving for the door, Angel barely made it out and lay prone and moaning in pain at the foot of the door.

“The rules still apply. You must return to a room or the game is over.”

Angel managed a groan, but nothing coherent.

Illyria stood expectantly, hands on hips, but as the minutes passed even she showed some signs of impatience.

“You must go to a room.” There was still no reply, and dark red blood seeped out onto the stonework around her feet, making her frown.

“I cannot guide you or treat your wounds vampire, but if you tell me which room you wish to take shelter in I will take you there.”

“They’re too grumpy or insane or depressed or dismissive of me to care,” mumbled Angel as he unsuccessfully tried to rise to his feet.

“Were they all like that?” asked Illyria. Angel looked at her and instantly saw her regretting her words which hinted at advice. Despite his pain he managed to emit a chuckle which turned into a painful cough.

“You want me back in Room 2? Fancy a laugh at both our expenses? Sure, he’d look after me but I might as well stake him now because there’s no way that’s Spike. I’m not going in there again to have some pansy-arsed version of Spike make fools of us both.”

“You do not wish to return to Room 2 because you think it isn’t Spike? “Illyria grabbed Angel’s arm with a none-too-gently steel grip and helped him to his feet.

Angel shook her off and wobbled, but still managed to say forcefully, “He SAT on me and LICKED me. Any man doing that would forfeit the right to live, but the fact that it was Spike…!” Angel’s outrage disappeared in a cough of blood and Illyria had to support his arm again to stop him wavering.

“Room 5. Where I stayed last night. That one didn’t attack me, he left me alone when I slept there and I might be able to talk him into patching me up before I stake him.”

Illyria obliged without any further comment and together they lurched down the row of doors back to Room 5 where – upon Illyria letting go of him – Angel fell in through the door and onto the cold, hard stone.

Exhausted, Angel lay on his back for a minute, mainly to wait for the pain to subside, but partially to see what reaction he would get.

Room 5 Spike had risen immediately and seemed startled and shocked to see Angel in such a state. He threw his cigarette down and took a few hurried steps forward, then seemed to remember something and stopped dead in his tracks. Through blurry bloodied eyes, Angel watched as Spike fumbled for a fresh cigarette in his pocket, lit it, took a long, deep drag, then turned and went back into the corner and resumed his pose, sitting, staring out into space and not taking any further notice of Angel.

“I’m hurt. I need someone to patch me,” growled Angel begrudgingly, but Room 5 Spike refused to acknowledge that he was even speaking.

Angel staggered outside where he found Illyria waiting.

“Perhaps a room now where you will be welcomed?”

“If he touches me I’ll stake him!”

“If he does not touch you it will be difficult for him to help you,” replied Illyria, making her point by supporting Angel’s arm to stop him from collapsing.

Angel relented and let Illyria guide him to the second door in the selection. Groggy, he found himself outside and saw Spike standing calmly over in the far corner.

“Illyria ….” Began Angel, but she was already walking away. “Shit.”

It took some moments, but finally Angel stumbled inside the door and leant heavily against the wall.

“Oh god! Angel, you’re hu …”

“Shut it, Spike,” snapped Angel as forcefully as he could without bursting some more organs. “A few rules. One – you patch me up but you do not grope me, lick me, sit on my lap or try ANYTHING funny, understand!”

Spike nodded distractedly, his attention consumed by his concern for Angel’s wounds, which he eyed with distress.

It was very off putting, but Angel stammered on.

“You will feed me more blood if you have another bag. You will find some cloth to bandage my wounds, and you will do your best to clean these gashes in my body. Nothing more!”

The last two words were snapped out as Spike reached out to touch Angel’s body. He recoiled and finally looked at Angel with some shock.

“I would never hurt you in any way. You know that.”

“Ironic to the end, aren’t you Spike?” said Angel, but at the blank look he received he let out a sigh which turned to a groan and then sank slowly down the wall to the floor.

Spike sank with him, crouching, concerned, but not – it appeared – daring to touch.

In considerable pain, Angel glared at him for a while and tried to suppress more groans, but Demon Spike’s talons had torn into his flesh and he could feel his insides trying to seep out.

“Get on with it, but no funny business!” he warned.

Immediately, Spike leant forward and tried to open Angel’s shirt. They both hissed.

Spike held his hands up and leant back, alarmed at Angel’s reaction. “I wasn’t … I was just ….” He swallowed and put his hand lightly on Angel’s arm. “Please let me help you. I can’t bear to see you hurting like this.”

“It’s … god, get on with it. Just stop being so bloody … nice … ugghhhh, oh shit,” Angel bit his lip. “Spike, just do what you have to do.”

Angel watched warily as Spike ever so gently unbuttoned and peeled off his torn and bloodied shirt. He went to straddle Angel’s legs to give himself a better position to tend to the wounds, but remembered Angel’s warning and had to bend at an awkward angle over him instead.

“Lie down,” he urged softly, and Angel obliged – having slid so far down the wall in an attempt to not be any closer to Spike than necessary that he was practically lying down anyway.

Tutting and making small noises of distress every time he inspected a new wound and wiped away another smear of blood, Spike worked his way over Angel’s body with the most tender careful attention.

Angel watched him suspiciously and tried not to be tense, but every time Spike touched him with those hands * too delicate for a stag, Drusilla. Why did ye not turn a girl instead?* he shivered, Spike noticed, he tensed, Spike frowned etc etc. Angel was thankful when Spike skittered across the room and brought back a blood bag and some bedding.

“Turn over and I’ll tend to your back, then you should drink and heal while I bandage you.”

With a grunt, Angel obliged and spasmed with a delicious mix of pain and pleasure the moment he felt Spike’s fingers flitting over his skin.

Angel felt himself relax, glad to not be facing the features he tried to avoid at all cost in recent times. He found himself thinking extraordinarily bizarre thoughts. The hands working on his back soothed more than his soul. How long had it been since someone had tended to him like this? Touched him with an ounce of care? Wolfram and Hart employees only cared about getting him out of their sick bay as soon as possible, so anything they did was thorough but rapid.

“Angel?”

*Fuck!* Angel realised with horror that in amongst his moans of pain he had inadvertently let out an audible noise that couldn’t be mistaken as anything other than a satisfied groan.

“Your back’s done. You can turn over.”

Even the voice was wrong. Timid, kind, it hinted at emotions that Angel really did not want to confront. He turned over and reluctantly looked up at Spike, who knelt shirtless beside him, anxiously holding the remnants of his trademark black t-shirt which Angel now realised he intended to use as bandages. Angel wanted to vehemently protest at so many things: Spike’s naked torso, the despairing look in his eyes, the …. Love. And it was this last emotion that held Angel’s gaze so mesmerically that he couldn’t look away.

Spike looked …. Well, he looked …. Angelic! His face was open, honest, and the concern was genuine. His skin shone pale *of course* but clear and smooth. Had his eyes always been so blue and bright?

Angel gulped.

Spike gave him a look which couldn’t be mistaken for anything else other than longing but said simply, “Sit up so I can bandage you.”

Angel felt so out of sorts that he did just that.

As the bandaging began, Angel shut his eyes to try and think nasty, evil Angelus-like thoughts, thus taking his mind off what was happening. But even though he couldn’t see, there was no way of blocking out Spike’s touch each time he reached around Angel’s chest to circle the bandage. And it was impossible not to inhale his scent each time he moved in and his face came tantalisingly close to Angel’s, his hair sometimes brushing Angel’s cheek.

“Angel? It’s done.”

Relieved, Angel opened his eyes to find Spike’s face shockingly close. He stared, open-mouthed, completely unable to look anywhere else other than into the crystal blue facets of Spike’s eyes.

“You need to drink,” suggested Spike softly and he lifted up a blood bag - the corner torn off with sharp teeth - to Angel’s lips.

Feeling as if his life couldn’t spin more wildly out of control than this, Angel raised a hand to the bag and together they held it up while he slowly drained the contents, sucking and watching Spike the whole time..

Now Angel was fairly positive that Spike had never looked at him so utterly adoringly like he did as he watched him drink. He was even more positive that he, Angel had never ever looked at Spike this close, for this long without feeling complete distaste and the need to make Spike bleed and cry out in pain.

It was very disturbing.

Not disturbing enough to stop Angel lying back down when Spike put the pillow beneath his head. Not so disturbing that it made Angel push Spike away when he arranged the blanket carefully over his body as if he were a child.

The limit seemed to only come when Angel watched Spike lie down beside him, not touching, but lying quietly, observing him on the cold stone floor.

“What are you doing?” Angel felt surprised that this voice held so little anger.

Spike blinked slowly and Angel wondered when his lashes had grown so long.

“Keeping you safe.”

Oddly, “Oh,” was all Angel found to say in reply.

“Sleep, Angel. I won’t ever let anything happen to you.”

And the strangest thing of all was that Angel found no reason to disbelieve Room 2 Spike and let himself dissolve into a well-deserved, post-apocalyptic sleep feeling safer and more relaxed than he had in decades.

************