Chain

By Irfikos

Part IV: Blood, Love and Rhetoric

Epilogue

Notes: The non-Spike events of "Grave" continue to take place after 4.6. This epilogue picks up a few weeks after "Grave." After this it's Choose Your Own Adventure. Go on to watch Season 7, or wait for the sequel I'm working on.


His body convulses when it meets the earth. Broken, unable to pull himself back up, he lies still. Air so black and heavy, even he can't see his way through it. Panic brings a shattered arm up to hover over his face, unseen.

Nothing.

Then something.

A touch. Something connects. He feels a hand grasping his own, pulling him up, heedless to the protestations of his grinding bones. With all the might left in him, he tries to jerk away from it; recoil back into himself. But it has him good. His eyelids squeeze shut as he's pulled unwillingly to his feet. In case the darkness fails him... he doesn't want to see. It's Warren... or the Witch... or another...

Whoever - whatever is dragging him up, it can't be good. The pain is too great. It burns. The hand is burning him; searing his skin. And then he is standing somehow and there are more hands. And more. Tearing at him. Burning him. Roaring fills his ears. Voices shrieking. Thousands of 'em. His victims, crying out for him. For his blood - which is rightfully their blood then, innit? He swings his arms about, tries to fend them off but there are too many of them. The pain is excruciating and he can't see to fight properly. They swarm him, desperate and howling. Their hands are all over him, slipping in blood, and soon he's buried in them, screaming.

He wakes up screaming.

The sound of it echoes throughout the cave, causing little bits of dirt and rubble to come skittering down the walls. He puts his hands over his ears until the cave stops screaming back at him. Though he can see well enough in this place, it's suddenly much too dark and closed in for his taste and he flings himself at the entrance. His boot knocks against the tiny opening as he pulls himself through it and he feels something unfamiliar press against his ankle. He slides down onto the rocky soil and crouches for a moment, sniffing the crisp night air for any possible danger. Sensing nothing amiss, he kneels to inspect the boot and is surprised to find a rather impressive knife tucked away there. He pulls it from the sheath and stares at it. Interesting. Now how did he come to possess the thing?

It's hard to remember sometimes. The nights tend to bleed together - not so much now as before, but enough to keep things a bit muddled. It had been worse before the buzzing stopped. Until the noise had quit, he'd actually gotten the daft notion that flies must've hatched in his skull and eaten his brains away. Nothing in his head but flies, buzzing and buzzing... Which is utter bollocks because he's still thinking, isn't he? Can't rightly do that without a brain. For all the good it does him.

It had been the chip of course. Once the interference stopped he'd been able to suss things back together again. Well... truth be told... he hadn't even noticed at first when the buzzing had stopped, he'd grown so accustomed to it. A fellow gets used to things after awhile, see. All he really knows is... he was hunting in the woods one night and he noticed that everything had gone quiet. Then he'd realized that the woods hadn't gone quiet, the chip had. And he had no idea when it had happened. Had it been quiet all night and he just hadn't noticed until that moment? Had it been quiet for days? Weeks? He didn't know.

All that matters now is that it's stopped and that's enough. The thing he doesn't like to think about is why it stopped. Did the Witch break her bargain? Kill the git after all? If so, shouldn't the chip have had its way with him by now? Shocked him good as dust? Unless she wanted this. To keep him like this, no matter what. It'd be just like her. She'd think it some kind of bloody mercy to let him keep on. Or maybe it's nothing to do with her at all. Could be the chip finally burned itself out. What then? Means Warren could still be out there, somewhere. Can't risk being found. Warren'll be angry he's run off. He'll want to punish him for crawling away first chance he got... leaving him to the witch, bargain or no. Even if the chip has shut up for good, Warren'll find some way to get to him. Hurt him.

Right.

Best to hide. Stay hidden. Warren could be looking for him right now. After all, she is. The Slayer. Out there. Hunting him. She'd nearly got him in the tunnels one night. He'd had to duck into a pipe when he smelled her coming for him. He'd almost crawled out to her too, when she passed by, calling his name. Her voice had such a hold on him. But it was a trick. Had to be. All a trick. And he knows he has to hide himself from the likes of her.

It's all tricks, you see. Nothing's real. Or he's not. Or... Maybe it's the chip. It's taken his mind... or maybe it's the... the dreams... the confusion... the bloody spark. All gnawing at his insides. The things he sees out the corner of his eye. Impossible things. Like... people. People long dead who have no business popping out at him and saying such cruel things as they do. It's all wrong. Terribly confusing.

He stands up, shaking off such unpleasantness. It won't do to dwell - go all broody and annoying like some. He cuts a silent path through the woods. Moving with vampire speed, he makes his way toward town. That's what it was. He must've done this before. Shortly after the chip had shut up. Yeah, he has a vague recollection of being in Sunnydale again. Although what the hell he'd been doing there he hasn't the foggiest. He'd apparently had his wits about him enough not to return to the caves a great sun-scorched cinder though. There's a bit of luck in that, at least. He'd come back to the caves before daybreak.. He'd come back full of blood, wearing different clothing ...and he had the knife.

Right. He's got it now. That's when he'd started trying to cut out the stinging thing the Witch'd put in him. Cut it out and maybe the dreams'll stop. Maybe then he could get some bloody rest. So far, he hasn't been able to find it. Of course. Stupid git. Something like that, it can't just be cut out. He really has gone off the track, hasn't he? He brings a hand up to trace the most recent of wounds through the fabric of the shirt. Mostly healed. Been awhile then. Can't believe he'd forgotten about the knife. What else has he forgotten? How long had he been down there, dreaming?

He stops and looks around him. Well then. Speaking of going off the track, when the bloody hell had he reached town? He's on a sidewalk. Recognizes it. Recognizes the street. He's standing in front of Jack's Beverages, the liquor store he always avoided. All mirrors and domestic swill. He'd always preferred The Keg, on the other side of town. Broken security cameras and the occasional halfway decent import. No sodding mirrors. Much better.

Right. He knows where he is. There's a start. The next question, which hadn't occurred to him to think until just now - why? Why is he in bloody Sunnydale? He hadn't been sleepwalking, had he? No. He'd just been walking. Had he meant to come here? Why'd he leave the cave?

Spike turns in a circle glaring at the buildings around him as if they'd conspired to bring him here themselves. Oh, he's lost his fucking mind, is all. He's completely insane, no doubt about it. Has to be to come back to this place. He rattles off into laughter. "It's hell," he explains to the buildings. "I get it. This is hell. This is my hell, innit?" His snorts of laughter echo down the street.

A heavyset bloke in a plaid shirt and ball cap steps out of the liquor store carrying his purchase in a crumpled paper bag. He glares at Spike suspiciously and gives him as wide a berth as the narrow sidewalk allows. The laughter stops immediately and Spike swivels smoothly to mark the human's progress as he brushes past. The fellow drops his eyes and quickens his step. Heartbeat speeds up. Blood pumps faster. The vampire watches with rapt attention as the man hastens away. Spike parts his mouth a bit, scenting the air in his wake.

Fear. The man had been afraid of him. He reaches up to touch his face, confused. Could he see? Do people see the beast he really is when they look at him? The thing he saw in the Witch's eyes? He's transparent then. A monster loose on the streets. He has to hide. Has to get away. It's not safe-

Feeling panic start to rise within him, he ducks into the alley ahead. Sidling along the building wall, he drags his palms along the rough brick like a blind man feeling his way. Helps to hold onto something solid when he gets like this. Head down, forehead pressing against the brick, he takes a few great gulps of utterly useless air. Like all alleyways in Sunnydale, this one smells of rubbish and death. Familiar. He's feels a bit safer here, tucked away in the shadows. Out there is the glare of the streetlamps making him feel all exposed and vulnerable to attack. Out there are the glares from the people, bustling about all human and warm and smelling of hot, coppery blood. He digs his fingers in, clinging to the comfort of the wall in a desperate embrace.

It was a mistake to have left the safety of the caves and forgotten tunnels. Whatever impulse keeps driving him back to this bloody town, he has to put a stop to it. Shouldn't have come here. Shouldn't be here. Doesn't belong. He just needs to -

"Dude, you alright? You look kinda -"

Something grabs his shoulder. Startled - spinning - lashing out - he grasps at the source of the voice and automatically sinks his teeth into flesh. He tears a hole and drinks. Only when the thing stops twitching and he feels the blood humming in his veins does he pull away, letting the body slip to the pavement. Everything sways for an instant as the effect of the blood hits him. It's been awhile. Hadn't realized how hungry he was. He slides down the wall and crouches beside the rapidly cooling body before him. Some kid. Not yet twenty. All baggy pants and floppy hair. Stupid little tosser. Shouldn't have been out alone at night. Place like this. Shouldn't have... shouldn't have startled the crazy, muttering vampire in a dark alley. Shouldn't have...

He brings his knuckles up to his mouth, brushing them over his lips and covering the offending fangs. But the fangs are gone. Just blunt human teeth there now. The blood burns inside him. It feels heavy. Like hot lead in his veins. Makes him queasy. He wipes the remainder from his lips with his trembling hand.

"Fuck," he whispers, pulling his hand away and cocking his head to take in what he's done. "Bloody hell..."

Spike stares down into the kid's face. The kid's dead eyes stare back up at him. They stay like that a long time, the two of them.

~Fin~