Unacceptable Losses

“He’s getting worse,” Dawn offered quietly, her troubled gaze focused on the mug in her hand.

Spike sighed. “Gonna get even worse before it gets better, Bit.”

“I was really hoping you weren’t going to say that.”

“Not just us he’s running from,” Spike stood and set his mug on the desk. “And there’s a reason he’s running.”

Dawn looked at him quizzically.

“Damned if I know what it is, pet. But seems like it’s big and ugly, and it’s getting closer every bloody day.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Try to be there when it catches up with him.” He nodded toward the closed door of Angel’s office. “You alright on brood-watch?”

“Sure,” Dawn tossed her hair. “I’m thinking maybe what Angel needs is a little field trip. He doesn’t have any texts that cross-reference rituals with moon phases or star alignments, and I got to thinking that maybe we’ve been going about this all wrong, you know, looking up the demon itself instead of trying to identify the ritual from another angle.”

Spike grinned as enthusiasm for the research sparkled in her eyes.

“Good thought, luv. And the added bonus of forcing Angel to cough up some cash. I approve.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but didn’t stifle the giggle.

As the vampire turned his eyes to the stairs once more, her amusement faded, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. A quick squeeze in return, and Spike headed up the stairs after the retreated human.


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

Xander splashed cool water over his face, cursing his shaking hands. He dried his face and closed his eye. Suddenly the bits of marshmallow floated in his vision, once more becoming those bits of bones, and he grasped at the counter, willing himself not to be sick again. He opened his eye to dispel the image and faced his pale visage in the mirror.

“You fuck. You pathetic fuck.” His voice shook with self-hatred. “You deserve to feel this. You fucking killed her.” With effort he curbed the desire to slam his fist into the mirror, and he slowly stepped back from the counter, bringing his arms up around himself. As he backed into the wall, the bruises on his back flared. He welcomed the pain and pressed back harder as he slid down the wall to rest on the floor, resting his head on his knees. Even the pain couldn’t stop the shaking.

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

As he approached Xander’s room, Spike could hear the rapid heartbeat and smell the fear and anger. He drew in a deep breath, scenting the man, taking in the pain and worrying at it, searching for a way past the barriers to find the vulnerability beneath. Despite his seemingly calm words to Dawn, he fought against fears that whatever help he had to offer Xander would already be too late.

Squaring his shoulders, Spike sauntered to the bathroom to find Xander huddled against the wall. He leaned against the doorjamb.

“Seen you react pretty extremely to chocolate before, pet, but tends to be glee not horror most days.”

“Fuck off.” The words shattered off his tongue.

Spike stepped into the bathroom and crouched before the shaking figure.

“You know I’m not going to do that.” He clamped down on the need to grab the man and shake him, force him to talk about whatever it was that had him so completely unraveled. He got the trauma of killing someone you loved. Hell, he not only killed his mum but vamped her first. Even as a demon, the shock had hit deep enough to last for centuries. Only the interference of the First had allowed for the healing needed to get past the hurt inflicted. Spike refused to let Xander suffer that long, but the man would have to share that pain before it could be healed.

“Come on, pet. Off the floor.” Spike reached out only to have Xander flinch back violently.

“Don’t t-t-touch me!” Xander stifled the panic. He couldn’t keep his equilibrium with the vampire so close. God, he never should have gone to the club, knowing that he wouldn’t have space to recover on his own, but at the same time, he needed that pain. The last thing he wanted was concern, even the caustic concern that Spike offered. Being touched in kindness threatened to bring all the feelings spilling over, drowning both of them.

Spike growled. He heard disgust in the stuttered words. Fine, the boy thought he was a monster? He would show him a monster. Snarling, with demon face to the fore, and moving faster than Xander could track, Spike pounced and yanked Xander to his feet, shoving him against the wall with feet dangling above the floor.

The sudden pain that flashed across Xander’s face brought Spike back to himself. The man’s face went white, and Spike winced internally as the soul gave him a swift kick for hurting the already fragile human. He pushed that guilt aside as he took in the pale features. His eyes narrowed. A sharp shove against the wall should not have resulted in that much pain. Gently, he lowered Xander to the floor and steadied the man when he would have stumbled. Without a word, he turned Xander to face the wall.

As soon as Xander registered that his back would be to the vampire, he began to struggle again.

“Spike, hey buddy, thanks for getting me up. Feeling much better now.” He tried to turn around, but Spike held him firmly, so he settled for craning his neck around, ready to plead to avoid letting the vampire see his bruised back. “Maybe I should go lie down. You know, fragile human being sick and all that. Bed would be very much of the good right now.” Another growl answered him. Giving in to the inevitable, Xander turned his face back to the wall and rested his forehead against the cool tile. Time to work toward plausible denial, but his brain refused to cooperate.

Spike slowly lifted the cotton shirt and sucked in a breath at the fading welts and bruises. He recognized the welts—flogger with at least nine tails. The bruises resulted from a blunt instrument of some sort. He let his fingers trace hover over the marks, tracing without touching. Without a word, he let the shirt drop back down, spun on his heel and stalked from the bathroom.

After a long moment and several deep breaths, Xander turned around to find himself alone. He shot a look at the mirror, taking in his burning cheeks. Shame flooded his whole body so that he thought it might dribble out his ears. He wondered what color shame would be, and he stifled images of drowning in yellow-brown bile. Spike no doubt recognized the markings, and he had walked away. No more offers to help, no more trying to get Xander to talk. He swallowed down despair. He got what he wanted. Spike stopped pressuring him. So why did being left alone leave him feeling more wretched than ever?