Swan Song

Gabriel was sure the night had gone perfectly. His spirits soared to be reunited with his sire. He'd heard tales through the ages, of course, of the exploits of Spike, and had feared if they ever met again that he'd be cast off, brushed aside. Spike was... different, but he was sure that the core was still there. William still loved him.
Those thoughts were deep in his mind as he passed down the hallway and heard the retching from the bathroom. Spike was busy being violently ill, it sounded like. He thought with pained dismay that perhaps the food had been too much. That Spike would think he was trying to poison him as the toilet flushed... but then he heard the soft sound of sobbing. That sent a shock of terror straight down his spine.

Spike wrapped his arms tight around his stomach as he emptied the contents of it violently. This was worse than being sick with a stomach full of just blood, but not as bad as the dry heaves. The nausea was compounded by the fact that he had been starving, and he knew his Childe had worked hard on the dinner.
Quietly closing the lid and flushing, he lay his head down on the royal blue-piled top, and started to cry. He hated it, hated himself for it, but he couldn't stop the tears from coming anymore. He could only delay them until he could secret himself away and let go. Angelus had reduced him to this, to a... a... Unable to think of a word that described accurately what he feike,ike, his sobs increased, and he pulled up tight around himself, feeling the cold of the porcelain through his shirt.
'I should just stake myself.' The thought ran through his head constantly now. He'd come close several times, but Angelus had made sure there was nothing in his reach he could use to escape in any way, shape, or form. Over the course of six months his grandsire had systematically unraveled Spike's reputation and rank as a master vampire in every way possible. By the time he escaped, William the Bloody was a description of how Angelus left him half the time.
His fingers curled in the plush of the lid cover as he thought on his own sire. She... God, she encouraged Angelus, laughed and smiled at the worst of the tortures. The sound of her giggles as she... she was the one who told him... to... to...
The room began to spin and seemed to shrink on him as the attack intensified. His brain still triggered his lungs to try to draw in as much air as he could, making his chest burn from the effort of hyperventilation. Closing his eyes, he held on tight enough to hear the fabric he was gripping complain at its seams. He knew that if his heart could beat, it would be going like a hummingbird's wings. It was a distressing discovery that since he couldn't faint from lack of air, the attacks would often stretch for almost an hour.
He wanted to run away, escape the tiny white-tiled room and go... anywhere. Anywhere where there were no people, no sounds, just silence. But if he left, he might run into Gabriel, and he'd surely ask what was wrong, and he'd have to tell him, and he couldn't do that! His Childe still had some respect for him... If he told him what he'd allowed Angelus to do to him all those months, surely he'd stop... stop loving him. He'd disown his own sire. Of course he would. He had to hold on, to ride through the shakes and the need to scream. Out of control, everything always got so out of control at times like this.
He desperately wanted to brea for for the air he gulped in and out to have some effect on his mind. At least to clear it. He reached the point where the world around him seemed... He didn't feel a part of it anymore. He couldn't feel his fingers, bluish from his death-grip on the lid cover. Most of him was numb, in fact, and the world around seemed to flicker and shift like a funhouse mirror. It made sense he couldn't feel his body anymore in this realm... Vampire don't exist in the looking glass...
Wonderland... wonderland!
A little voice in his head began happily reciting The Walrus and the Carpenter, and he listened to it. A child's voice. His voice. His voice when he was a sweet, fresh little boy, oclocklocks kissed silver by the sunlight in his Granna's lovely English garden. He wanted to go back there, where it was safe. Where there was no Angelus, no Drusilla; all that existed was warm, golden sunlight.
And no Gabriel.
Gabriel... his gentle-hearted poet Childe. Cruel joke... to be given a second chance with him for eternity, only to be constantly hiding that he... He was madder than Dru. He was sure of it. There would be no hesitation to lock him away in the most secure of asylum cells. And Angelus had taken his time with Dru... savored it. Not with him. He'd been rushed, as if time was running out for something. And Dru helped. Nonstop. Non-stop. One or the other, or both, someone always...
Some feeling came back and his hands went to the collar he still wore. He felt the panic intensify as his throat closed up. He couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe. But he didn't need to breathe. But he did! But he didn't! His chest hurt, the muscles contracting so tightly that more pain spread through his ribs as he tried to inhale. He couldn't speak, nothing more than a strangled squeak. The world twisted, and as he began to scrabble for escape, it turned into an insane, nightmarish vision of the room where... The grotesquely distorted door burst open, and there stood Angelus, staring down at him with burning golden eyes, arms opeto hto him.
"William..."
Spike screamed, and the funhouse mirror shattered.