Rated: PG13 for language and darkness
Pairing: W/Spike
Genre: pure BtVS
Disclaimer: All things BtVS and/or AtS belong to Joss Whedon, Fox and/or whomever is currently claiming responsibility for them.
Distribution: WLF. No one else. Don't ask.
Author's Notes: Takes place in some random time after Spike gets the chip. Tara and Willow were never together.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
I can't believe he did it.
Now, don't get me wrong, it really shouldn't have come as a shock, especially when he threatened my friends and myself with it every chance he got. It began to be a running joke after a while - watch out or Spike will, you know, kill you one day 'when he gets that bloody chip out of his head'.
We always laughed about it.
Now it doesn't seem nearly as funny.
My hands are cold. Like ice. But the cold isn't bothering me nearly as much as the random, shifting patterns of my own thoughts. One minute its love, the next hate. Confusion wars with passion. Sanity struggles against the maelstrom of pure chaos.
And here I am, just chained up, thinking about what never should have happened and how we could have avoided it. Maybe a trip back in time? But where to begin? When Spike first showed up - we should've killed him then. No - let's go back further. All the way to that fateful night or day, whichever it was, when Drusilla, in all her mindless, insane glory, decided that some snot nosed little pansy of a poet was going to be her new pet. How about we go back to that moment and just stop it from happening? Certainly that would make it so that these last few nightmarish days never happened.
Right?
He killed them.
Goddess.
I can't believe he killed them.
I found Buffy first, spread out on her bed, her arms up over her head though there were no ropes tying her down. He was strong enough to just hold her, I guess. Why waste perfectly good rope when brute strength alone would work. She had been savaged, her neck torn open, bloody bits of skin hanging from the open wound he had made of her throat. There was so much blood on the bed, on the floor, that I wondered if he had bothered to even taste.
Running through the streets of Sunnydale, feeling as though the devil himself was at my back, I made it to Xander's house. The one he shared with Anya. Her body was right behind the partially open door and I had to push hard just to open it enough to slip inside. It looked like she had tried to crawl to the hall, maybe for help, after he had left, leaving her for dead. She was certainly dead now, though, her blood pooled on the wooden floor around her head. Her eyes were still open, her lips were torn and bloodied. Bruises covered the little bit of her skin I could see. At least she had fought - and hard - from what I could tell.
Sobs were tumbling from my mouth as I walked slowly down the hall. At that point I hadn't even stopped to consider that, perhaps, Spike was still in the apartment. I knew what I'd find when I made it to the back of the hall.
The bedroom door swung open with just a tap from my fingers. My hands flew to my mouth, stifling the scream that was bubbling up from my heart, my soul. A scream that decried the inhumanity of what had been done to this, my bestest friend in the whole wide world.
He was all but naked, stripped down to just his boxers, but the redness on his skin made up almost a second skin for him. Blood. Everywhere. Covering his body, still oozing from the thousands of cuts on his skin. He had been shredded and the instruments of that torture, mere kitchen knives, were still laying strewn about the room, covered in his life's blood.
At that point I ran, knowing there wasn't anywhere I was safe, but needing to be away from the scene of my friends' deaths. I ran and ran until I couldn't run anymore.
And found I had run home.
The door was already open, broken right from the hinges.
I should have known better than to go inside.
He was waiting in my room. Just sitting there on my bed. His clothes were spotless. Had he changed before coming over to do to me what he did to my friends? Or was he really that fastidious of a killer?
"Nice to see you finally decided to come home, Red."
The way he said that, said my name, I knew there was something much worse in store for me than just death.
And then blackness.
When I woke up it was to find myself chained in this room, my head so woozy I couldn't even concentrate enough to figure out if I knew any spells that would help me. Later, when the grogginess faded, I realized how well and truly screwed I was.
He showed up after that.
You will be my princess.
You will be my mate.
You will be this.
You will be that.
He went on for hours and hours. He still is. I can't argue, there's a gag in my mouth. And what good would it do? I won't have a choice. Not when he Turns me. I'll be under his complete control then.
Across the room I can see Giles, chained up as well. He hasn't regained consciousness yet. Good for him. It'll be easier if he never does. I know what Giles is there for. My 'initiation', so to speak. He's there to be my first meal. Just like Angelus' family was to him, Spike's was to him, etcetera etcetera etcetera.
Goddess help me.
I'll have no choice.
I should have known. Should have seen it coming. He said he'd do it and, damnit, he did.
But still, I just can't believe it.
~*~The End~*~