Cause and Effect

Minor squick alert for injury description. (Not nearly as bad as Chapter 7).


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Chapter Nine
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Someone was slapping him. His eyes feeling like he had two miniature stakes driven through them, each surprisingly gentle hit sent jolts of agony arcing through him. He tried to raise a hand, but it was simply too much effort.

A short pause was followed by another slap, and he tried to respond, but he wasn't sure what came out. He knew he'd made some sort of sound, because he'd felt the vibrations in his throat. A silent, painful sob escaped him as panic like he never remembered feeling before coursed through him. He couldn't hear anything, not even the whimpers he knew he was making each time the mysterious someone moved him.

**Stop!** he shouted. **Please!**

Surprised when both the slaps and the shaking stopped, he tried to lay where he was without moving, without being, and tried to find one single spot on his body that *didn't* feel like it was covered it red-hot coals. He desperately needed to find one body part to concentrate on that didn't make him want to scream. Mid-search, the nearly overpowering scent of his mysterious -- familiar? -- companion faded, the scents of the night rushing in on him.

**Don't leave me!** He knew the sound he made was so much gibberish. His throat felt like someone had taken razor blades to it -- from the inside. When the scent continued to fade, then disappeared completely, he knew he'd once again been left alone. Tears leaked out the sides of his eyes, the salty fluid stinging as it trailed down the sides of his face. **Come back. Don't leave me here alone to live.**

All he wanted right now was the familiar stranger to come back and end his existence. His wounds wouldn't kill him, and that's what scared him to the very fiber of his being. He couldn't feed himself in this condition, and without feeding he wouldn't heal. He would be so much trash for the bottom feeders to get to. Unless. . . .

He cautiously opened his eyes, and screamed. He couldn't see. He panted frantically, feeling the breath move in and out of his abused body. Was he exposed? Was he hidden where the sun's destroying light wouldn't reach him?

His un-beating heart almost restarted as that annoyingly familiar -- yet not -- scent wafted into his nostrils. Human, warm, alive -- bloody hell, he was hungry. It was then he actually felt the heat that was radiating off the human as the man leaned across him. So close, yet so far. He could have wept with the irony of it, but welcomed the human's presence anyway. The man's scent and gentle touch was proof he wasn't the last being in existence, left to live forever unable to hear, unable to see, unable to move.

**Please just kill me!** He tried to ask. He really did -- but no stake conveniently pierced his chest; though he waited for it with both anticipation and dread.

Shock flashed through him. He must have missed the stake piercing him, because he had to be dead and the powers that be had made one hell of a bloody mistake. The liquid dropping on his lips was pure ambrosia -- hot, liquid ambrosia. He flicked out his tongue, momentarily forgetting that it wasn't all there. He groaned as the open slice across the end of his tongue touched the blood, but he didn't let that stop him, lapping up each drop as it fell.

He had *never* tasted blood this good. **More!** he thought, arching up toward the source, ignoring every ache and pain the movement caused. He *had* to have more. Hot, and pulsing with emotion, it was every dream he'd had come true, each drop sliding down his throat like silk against satin. Coated with fear, worry, confusion -- it was heaven itself, and he wondered how long he would get to enjoy this mistake.

But he had to have more! As he reached, he felt his face change, the shifting of the bones in his forehead sending shards of agony stabbing behind his eyelids, new twin pains in his upper jaw eclipsing even that.

**God, Spike, what did those . . . people do to you?** Xander shuddered as Spike shifted to game face and one more injury became glaringly, horrifyingly obvious. Two gaping holes replaced the fangs that should have descended with the change. **Damn, guy, that had to have hurt like a bitch!**

The realization of just how badly the vampire had been injured moved Xander past the last of his squeamishness, and he lowered his sliced wrist to the obviously starving vampire, his mind likening the loss of Spike's fangs to what he would feel if he lost something just a bit lower. At that thought, parts of his anatomy tried to crawl back inside him -- where it was *safe*.

Spike latched onto his wrist, sucking strongly, and Xander winced as the pressure opened the wound further. He had to bite his lip to keep from gasping; the last thing Spike needed was to have that chip go off. Xander blinked as *that* thought appeared. Then frowned as he *really* looked at Spike. If the vampire hadn't been actively sucking on his wrist, moaning like he-- **Okay, I admit it, I can't tell if he's moaning cuz he's in pain, or because he's *really* enjoying himself.** Maybe it was a little of both, he thought finally, not sure what, exactly, that made *him* feel.

Xander shook his head, Spike *looked* like a corpse -- a real corpse -- if you discounted the moving thing, and the moaning thing. More than that, he looked like a corpse that was years in the ground. Not much more than raw skin stretched thin over prominent bones, Spike looked like he'd been flayed. What skin wasn't a raw open wound, was gray -- not pale like a vampire who didn't have any circulation normally looked, but *gray*; an ugly, flat, gray; a *dead*, flat, gray.

Spike's eyes fluttered open briefly, and Xander had to fight from jerking backward, his stomach heaving angrily. He swallowed quickly, convulsively, as he caught a glimpse of wooden balls where Spike's blue eyes should have been.

**Wood!?** he thought as he fought to control his stomach. **Okay, I am *so* out of my depth here,** he thought frantically, picturing the small wooden balls popping out as Spike's eyes grew back. He frowned then -- again. *Would* they grow back? Then another fear appeared. Would those . . .things have to be taken out *before* Spike's eyes could heal. He groaned. He had absolutely *no* clue.

**OH! Time to stop now,** he thought as a wave of dizziness swept through him, leaving him closing his eyes to try and ride it out. He pulled his arm away, only to wince when Spike whimpered and tried to follow. Holding the vampire down was ridiculously easy, and that sent another sense of forboding screaming through him. Spike was *how* much stronger than he was? It *so* shouldn't have been as easy to hold him back as it would a newborn baby.

Xander frowned uncertainly, biting his lip as he looked around them. How, the hell, he was supposed to get Spike to safety, he had absolutely no clue. Shaking his head as he realized there was only one way. He hadn't exactly come prepared to haul a nearly comatose vampire home.

"I'm *so* sorry, Spike," he said quietly, leaning close to the vampire, "but I'm going to have to carry you."

Spike didn't react negatively to his words. In fact, he pretty much didn't react at all.

Xander shivered. It just wasn't right. Spike was . . . well . . .*Spike*. He was more alive than most live people. He didn't just lay there. Taking a deep breath, Xander slid his arms under Spike's knees and neck, wincing as the vampire let out more choked, odd sounding whimpers. **God above, I never thought I'd hear *this* vampire *whimper*,** Xander thought, his concern -- Oh, who was he kidding, he was terrified. -- growing.

Lifting Spike, Xander stumbled backwards, almost dropping his burden, dismayed at how easily he'd done so. He doubted Spike weighed much over ninety pounds. The Blood Spike had received from him hadn't really done much for the vampire's color -- other than to make the more readily apparent wounds seep slowly.

Xander swallowed rapidly. Desperately trying *not* to throw up, he quickly made his way back to his car -- only one thing on his mind. He *had* to get help. From where, he didn't know yet, but he *definitely* needed help. Spike was *way* beyond his ability to patch up.

He frowned as he debated whether to try and lay Spike in the back seat, or sit him in the front. After several long moments, he finally decided the front would be easier -- on both of them. The less he moved Spike the better -- at least that's what he thought. *He* sure as hell wouldn't want to be moved around much.

*

He was being held. *He* was being held, and despite the pain it felt good. It felt . . . right. This man would make everything better. He already had made it better. He now had one place that *didn't* plague him. His stomach was full, and he was being held. He didn't remember what had happened, or how he came to be so injured, but that didn't matter. He was safe now. That much he knew.

**Wait! No, don't go,** he thought frantically as the human warmth moved away. He tried to speak, find out why, moaning as the new movement jarred his body. **I didn't *do* anything. Come back.**

"I'*.,d, s..y, S.#*"

He jerked his head toward the sound, wincing as he did so. He'd *heard* that. **Heard what? What did he say?** He tried again. "Wah?"

"Y*., s,*-!"

He let out a frustrated growl, which immediately turned into a moan as his abused throat protested. Then war warm touch was back, a light weight on his shoulder. Unfortunately, it was gone before he could truly appreciate it. It left him feeling cold, alone, bereft.

He felt the tears threaten to come again. Everything was *so* confusing. He was *nothing*; no, he was less than nothing. He was garbage to be thrown away. That was ingrained into him. He wasn't sure where he was, who he was, or why he was, only that he wasn't Important. No, someone else was. Who? So, why was he now being cared for? He wanted to ask, but couldn't form the words. He clenched his eyelids tighter. Even if he *could*, he wouldn't be able to understand the answer. He just wanted to understand. Was that *so* much to ask for?

Evidently it was, because no answers seemed forthcoming, and soon, the relaxing vibrations under him, lulled him into a restless sleep.

***

"Wah?" he asked, then bit his lip to keep from screaming as X-- ? -- He wracked his mind. He *knew* this man. He knew he did. He had a name. He knew that name. He fought to remember, to place the scent -- the wonderful, secure scent -- with a word, a name, a meaning, groaning when it didn't come immediately.

"Xan--" he ground out finally.

"Yes, Spike?"

He was close. He could hear the hope in the half-heard words, could smell it coming off the man. But, that was only part of it. He knew it. He could figure it out.

"Xan--der."

"That's, me"

He almost grinned. He knew he'd got it right. His Xander's scent reeked of approval and he basked in it, his pain utterly secondary to that.

*

**Yeah, that's me. The Xand-man,** Xander thought later with an intense frown. why why did it suddenly sound like a title instead of his name? "I am now, officially, up that creek without a paddle," he whispered to himself, watching the vampire sleep. "I don't think I even have the boat."

Xander ran a finger over the long healed cut on his wrist-- the place where he had *willingly* sliced himself to feed a vampire -- wondering even now, with a sense of . . . 'wow' floating freely through him, exactly what had possessed him to do it.

He grimaced as he realized he was still covered in his, and Spike's, blood, both of which were caked to him by dirt and ash. **Ash?** He gulped, closing the distance between him and the still passed out vampire. He didn't think it possible, but Spike looked even worse, laying in the comfortable bed than he had when Xander had found him.

He spun away suddenly, striding toward his kitchen. **I'm an idiot. That's all there is to it,** he thought as he half-heartedly washed himself off. **I'm a sucker for hard luck stories; that's the only possible answer.** Xander glanced over his shoulder, toward the bedroom door. **Either that, or I really *am* crazy.**

He silently pulled out the sharpest knife he had, not allowing himself to really think about what he was going to do. He hadn't had time to think about it the first time. Spike had looked like he'd fall apart if moved. It had felt like the only thing he *could* do. He couldn't just leave him there.

//Why not?//

He shook his head, sighing. It didn't look like much, he thought, looking at the deadly knife. It was small, tiny actually, with a thin flexible blade he could bend nearly in half with just the slightest pressure of one finger, but it held an edge like no blade he'd ever had -- on a knife anyway. It'd slice through skin almost like a straight razor -- at least that was his hope. Immortal he might be, but that didn't mean he actually *liked* pain.

Still resolutely refusing to really think about what he was doing -- afraid he'd chicken out if he did -- Xander found himself once again standing over the Vampire. This time, however; he took a deep breath and sat down beside Spike. Then, with a tiny flick of his wrist, he made the first slice. He winced. **Ouch!** It wasn't deep, or long. He wanted it to drip only. He wasn't sure he could actually wake Spike up enough *to* feed.

Biting his l lip lip nervously, Xander edged forward, frowned, suddenly wondering the best way to do this. His frown deepened as he realized that during his hesitation, the cut on his arm had already healed. **Well, shit!**

"Fine!" he muttered. Finally, crawling fully onto the bed, he pulled Spike into a sitting position and slipped in behind him, letting the vampire rest back against his chest. Once he had them both in position, he re-cut his wrist, this time making a slightly deeper cut -- he *really* didn't want to do that again. It hurt! The blood welled up instantly, dripping off his arm in a slow but steady stream.

His stomach heaved, just a little, as he watched it, but startled out of his thoughts as Spike whimpered. He quickly brought his bleeding wrist to the semi-conscious vampire's mouth, and the appreciative moan he received in response made him chuckle.

"Not biteable, huh?" he whispered, hoping it wouldn't be long before he had one more thing to tease the Vampire about.

TBC
Kiristeen
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