Title:  Mudshovel
Author:  Mourning Star
Rating:  R
Category:  W/S (but not romantically)
Disclaimer:  Joss, Joss, bo-boss, banana-fana fo-foss, me my mo-moss, Jo-oss.  Title comes from a song by Staind.
Summary:  Spike gets a soul, but he's less like Angel than anybody knows.
Distribution:  Noctilucent (my archive--if the bloody thing ever gets up...*mutter*), and just let me know where if you want it.
Feedback:  Always appreciated, craved, yearned for, wanted, desired, demanded, begged for, etc.
Notes:  Just a really short, dark fic to release my aggressions.  Mainly dialogue, not much sense. :)
 
 

~Part I~

Spike glared at the small girl in front of him with the openness that only hatred possesses.

"What the fuck do you want?" he ground out, his tone low and threatening.  "Haven't you taken enough, or do you want my fucking heart on a pike in your dorm room?"

Willow blinked back tears at his harsh words.  The air around her body trembled as she did, the fear she radiated nearly tangible and vibrating in tiny shock waves.

"It wasn't my fault," she protested weakly.  The newly-ensouled vampire sneered at her.  His lips twisted up into a sadistic smirk, like a predator that had cornered its prey.

"You'll pay for this with your life, you know."  His accented voice was laced with feigned nonchalance. She looked so scared...he reveled in it.  He wanted to bathe in her blood, to make her pay for forcing him to feel.  And oh, how he felt.

Rage.  Anger.  Seething pain.  Torment.  The kind of feelings that morph into insanity-drenched violence. Out of all of them, she should have known.  She was the smart one.  The brains behind the brawn.  Naive little bitch.

"What?" he demanded, "Did you honestly think I'd end up all cute and cuddly like the fucking poof?!"  His blond head was thrown back as a loud, sarcastic laugh wracked his body.  "You...you...stupid...bitch!!  Did the fact that my name was William the Bloody -before- I was bloody turned just happen to slip your mind?! Did you think we were actually -friends-?!"  He was yelling now, screaming at the top of his decayed lungs.  She never knew he could be so loud....

"DID YOU REALLY THINK I'D START GIVING A BLOODY FUCK ABOUT PEOPLE?!!"

She covered her ears with her palms, desperately trying to block out his shouts.  He couldn't hurt her, he had the chip, he couldn't hurt her, he had the chip...her mind droned on and on in a pathetic attempt at self-assurance.  She watched through petrified green eyes as he vamped out and let loose with a roar that ended in a low scream.  He sank to his knees, both of them cracking with the sudden force.  He didn't seem to notice.

It was only moments before he regained his composure, and it was then that Willow saw the bloody streaks running down his face and realized that he'd been sobbing.

"But," he began again, a falter in his voice.  "But, I know how to fix it."

She froze with fear as he began stalking towards her, wagging his finger, menace thriving in his voice and steps.

"The slayer shagged the soul out of dear, sweet, little old Peaches..."  His face was right before hers now, and descending to her neck and tensed in anticipation.  She was surprised when she didn't feel him bite.  But the hiss in her ear plagued her mind with other, much more terrifying thoughts.

"You look like you know how to make someone very...very...happy," he whispered, and ran a cold tongue over her heated flesh, moaning at the feel of her pulse racing beneath her delicate skin.

"Spike, don't--"

"YOU DID THIS TO ME!"

Again with the shouting; Goddess, he was so loud....

"You did this to me, and you are going to be the one to undo it.  If you don't like it, that's not my problem.  This is your doing, your fault, not mine."

"N-no..."

"What was that, pet?"

"No!  I'm not undoing anything--least of all your fucking pants!"

She glared at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, as he practically giggled at her defiance, as though it were useless.  And suddenly, as though his emotions were nothing more than switches to flick on and off, he resumed his ravenous scowl.

"You don't know that.  You don't know a Goddamned thing.  You can't fucking feel this.  You take and you take and you take -every- little pissing thing from me and you expect me to run to you and yourn for MY SODDING SALVATION!  You expect me not to hate you all with every thread of my very being...not to find some semblance of peace by avenging the death of what I was?"

Run, run, run, get away, run....

"NOT so bloody fast, little girl."

Ow...oh, Goddess, he's hurting me...he can't hurt me...how....

"H-h-how?"  Her voice was a mere pitiful whimper.

"Because, love, I'm not thinking of hurting you, oh no.  That's the last thing the soul would want, and the chip, too.  I'm thinking...that you're feeling a bit masochistic tonight.  I don't really want to do this," he lied, "but it seems that my soul is turning a blind eye tonight.  Pity.  It seems I forgot to mention what an expert at the art of denial I am.  Oh, don't worry.  I'm not thinking of "having my evil way with you."  Somehow, a different option seems much more appealing," he snickered, pushing her flat to the ground and laying on top of her small form.  "Right now, I can think of nothing that would make me happier than to gut you, pelvis to sternum, and hang your entrails from a tree.  Oh!  I've got a novel idea; I
could remove your femur and tie it to the intestines--what a swingset that'd be, eh, love?"

"You sick fuck."

"You are the rat to my plague.  Such vile creatures. I enjoy the crunch their bones make when I crush them under my boot."

She barely registered the dull thud and crack of her scull as he slammed her head down on the concrete. Darkness black as blood encompassed her vision.

"I'll immerse myself in your bliss...it'll be such a happy, beautiful ending, Willow, you'll see...the unity of one...such a happy ending...."

Through the streets of Sunnydale, a mad cackle met a slow death, drowned in the pitch black of the night.
 

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