Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth when he'd rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.

Rating: I'll go for R at this time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but satisfaction mentally.
 

---------------------

A/N Many many thanks go to my betas, Holly and Schehrezade for getting me through this chapter.I can't tell you how much you saved me from bombing.

 

The plan, as he'd suspected it would be with his uncanny luck with such things, was blown all to fuck as soon as they reached the hospital and found Jesse's bed empty. It was simply too much energy to even roll his eyes. Spike tensed, finding himself in such new territory that he didn't know how to act, wasn't sure how to care that this boy was more than likely back in the clutches of his greedy great grandsire. He knew what was likely on the cards for him, and even if they did manage to restrain him and keep him away from the cravings Darla had been capitalising on, Jesse was more than likely on borrowed time. Spike had never seen a human seduced into the darker realms of life and made it out with any semblance of their former existence intact.

Buffy felt like screaming, but instead she just kicked the bed. Through the window, she watched the foreboding night that the turning in of Mr. Sunshine had left behind, feeling the swell of defeat on her shoulders. Its weight almost buckled her knees forcing her to the floor. She had this feeling, a leaden ball swirling around in her gut that something bad was about to happen, and whatever it was it would destroy their innocence for good. Well not her, she'd been deprived of innocence the second she'd killed a person with a demonic face—the first time her life was touched with murder by the loss of Merrick.

Spike draped an arm across her shoulders, hugging her to his chest as if he knew what she was thinking. He knew vampires though, unlike her with her limited experiences and associations anyway, so perhaps he did. Maybe even better than her. She was betting that his being of the demon would be an edge on understanding the realities of vampirism that an outsider could never grasp. Slaying was still of the new as far as her nightly activities went, but he'd been out in the darkness a lot longer. He'd been around for worlds longer. He knew the depths of the evil Jesse had immersed himself into. And most horrifying of all, he knew Darla.

The look on Spike's face scared Buffy the most. It was a look that said he knew it was too late, and that he just didn't know what to do about it. Tears prickled and she felt the cover of slayer slip precariously as she gave into the weakness of grief, barely held on her feet by a persistent vampire with need in his heart.

"Buffy? Pet, you can't give in to it. He's not dead yet, luv. Not if Darla plans to use him to follow me and dish up the dirt."

Momentary hope blossomed in her eyes and Spike cursed himself for giving it to her. He knew it was unlikely that Darla would stick to the plan, not if she now knew Xander was aware of it. And she'd know. She'd wonder where the silly git got his fresh blood and why he wasn't looking as peaked as the night before. Why he was flushed in his almost overwhelming need to be bitten hard, again, before the new blood had a chance to take.

Still, Buffy dealt with the realities of the world and no matter what he said, or which bubble he burst, he knew it would be just one at the front of a long line of them. If she wanted to cling to the string of this one just that little bit longer, he'd tie it to her wrist. He could do that.

"Where is he?"

The anger in the voice behind them made them both jump guiltily. They were in effect already mourning, and Buffy had thought she'd been very convincing in managing to keep Xander and Willow at the library. Seeing the hard determination in the boy's eyes now, Spike felt like chuckling at how naïve she'd been. The life of Xander's best mate was in the balance. No way was he going to stay out of danger while Buffy sought a little justice.

"W-we think he's gone back to Darla." Buffy tried to hide her quick swipe at tears but Xander saw it and his jaw flexed in fury.

"He isn't dead yet. I'd know it—in here," he claimed desperately, slapping his hand over his heart. "I am his friend, right? I didn't save him last night to lose him to that bitch now. Let's go." Xander turned on his heel and strode down the corridor, his hand flexing in preparation of when it would hold a stake over the black heart of the one who had seduced and ruined his friend. He'd assumed the role of General and Buffy was faltering to catch up and gain it back.

"No, Xander. This is my job. I'll get him back, but I can't have you in danger too. Angel's a loose cannon. We don't know if he'll be there or what he'd do if he was faced with losing his chance to out Spike." Buffy's voice was frantic, seeing too closely the possibilities of losing everything and everyone. Another friend narrowly bent on revenge could easily end up in a matching casket to Jesse, and had she really just admitted Angel had something to out?

The boy didn't notice the falter in her step when she verbally slipped and virtually admitted he had been lying about the soul, that there really was something for Angel to find, but Spike did. And he hurt for her. Holding his secret shouldn't be something she did, not if it was going to cause her pain. Now that he'd had the luxury of real friendships, he knew what it would cost her to be cast aside if her friends found out he was soulless and that she'd known and continued to lie. If they left her side, he didn't know if she could remain strong every night. It was something slayers had never had—friends. Not even family that he could recall. Except the two he'd fought against and won. The Chinese girl—he'd pretended to not know what she asked him, knowing she was more than likely off her nut to ask him, her killer, to go and tell her mum she was sorry. Only way he'd be calling on that lady would be to see if she tasted as sweet as her daughter—or if the fire of her blood was strictly a slayer delicacy. The one in New York—he'd heard rumours and had even thought he'd detected a heartbeat as he fought her, but even that tenuous link hadn't been enough to rid her of her lethargy. A son hadn't been enough to fight for when she was surrounded by no one but the kid and her watcher. Keeping them emotionally bereft had seemed to make them fighting machines, but no one could exist without love forever. Not even when the burden of responsibility was a weight heavier than the world.

No one should exist without love forever.

Bloody good thing he was determined to stick around, even if her friends wouldn't have him once they learned the truth. He couldn't let Buffy know what it meant to be alone. The darkness would be too deep for one such as her to keep clear of, and he felt his heart unload that little bit more toward her that he had something to offer. Wasn't much. He didn't even know if it was good. But it was pure and he didn't feel like she was revolted by it—not if the previous night was any indication. As dark as he was, he could hope that his love would be a light for her. He'd always been raised to believe in love—the power of it and the vast need of it in this world. He'd loved Drusilla—or thought he did, at least. Didn't hold a candle to the wealth of sacrifice he felt when he looked at Buffy. His love was pure, and it was deep. And it was hers. For as long as she wanted it.

For now they were on the move. Xander continued to shrug off Buffy's attempts to not just slow him down, but get him out of the mix completely.

"Xander, you can't go into this with us. It's just not safe. How can I do my job if I'm worrying about you too?"

The brunette jerked away, his eyes hard in their temper as he stared down his friend.

"I'm doing this, Buff. Nothing you and your wonder dog can do will stop me."

Buffy stepped back as if slapped, Spike staring at the boy that he'd thought he'd had a shot of being mates with.

"You wanna have a go, Whelp?" He was all gruff and vigour, though he felt something inside seize up with the unexpected pain of losing something he'd never expected to have in the first place.

Xander had the grace to look embarrassed, and took a small step back before turning an apologetic expression to Spike.

"Look, I didn't mean that. You've given me no reason not to trust you, and you've done more than help us in all this. I'm upset and I let my mouth do unnecessary laps of the Xander Hall of Insert Foot. I'm sorry." His eyes implored Spike to understand his panicked reaction and see the insult for the desperate attempt to be in control that it was.

Spike could feel his body—previously taut in defence and ready to spring—loosen and risk a softening toward the boy. He knew what it felt like to fear the loss of someone that was cared about. Too many times to mention he'd thought Drusilla was as good as gone. As much as he was impatient with her now, as at an end as his reign of deluded love was, he never wanted her to be gone from his world.

He shrugged, a look of geek-like understanding passing between them before Xander turned and started back on his purposeful march. Buffy made as if to renew her objection, but Spike held her arm, shaking his head 'no'. He understood the need that flowed through Xander for vengeance. The sadness in Buffy's eyes showed that she did too. She was just afraid to lose more to this situation than she had to.

It was in a charged silence that accompanied their walk behind Xander, Spike feeling the warmth through his body as he ventured a touch to Buffy's arm, feeling the tingles of happiness that she wanted him, him the man even as they made their way into battle.

Xander paused on the corner and turned a hate-filled glare down the alleyway, his hand up to stop them moving beyond him. A finger drifted to his lips to indicate quiet and they all stood and watched, stunned, as Angel stopped at a door, raised his fist to knock before thinking better of it and twisting the knob till it clicked and opened for him.

His angry voice burst loudly down the alleyway to their ears before the door was snapped shut. Buffy was just a second too late from grabbing Xander's arm and preventing him jumping into a situation he wasn't prepared for.

The boiling rage that evil had tainted his friend was enough, sparking Xander into motion he hadn't planned on. He'd thought Jesse would see the foolhardiness of his actions and would still be lying and healing in his hospital bed waiting for visitors. In no part of his mind had he believed his friend was so stupid as to go back to his own personal freak show.

Not sparing a thought for thought, not caring about back-up or preserving his own life, Xander was off.

And the Slayer was left with the wretched vision of seeing her friend burst into a vampire nest with no details about what he would encounter and armed with nothing but bravado and a stake he wasn't that used to wielding. Buffy's heart rate increased even as she felt her feet turn to cement blocks and hold her motionless in the face of danger. Spike dragged her fast in the same direction Xander had bolted, his hands not quite rough but very urgent. Numbed in mind and body, Buffy couldn't help but wonder as she was dragged into evil's den—if not for Spike...

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Angel hadn't been able to lift his head from his hands since he'd signed the death warrant of that boy. His sense of competition and pure intolerance of the vampire who had contributed a large injection of risk and danger to their family from the beginning was working hard at making him relinquish control. Not for the first time since he'd left Darla, with her pet collapsed in the alley, had he considered going back and retracting the deal. As much as he needed to know the score with Spike, as much as he suspected his grandchilde was up to something evil and dangerous, his soul cried that sacrificing a human to get the dirt was not the way to go about it.

Raising his head, he stared at his hands and marvelled at how well they shook. He looked convincing, like this tearing of motivations was not a small thing that he'd decided. That the pain of sacrificing life was not something he'd chosen lightly. Yet it had been something that had easily tumbled from his lips, his acceptance of Darla's offer, and as much as he grieved for the life he already knew Darla would extinguish as soon as his use was at an end, Angel was ashamedly content to let the arrangement stand.

That didn't alleviate his anxiety that she would doublecross him. Once his soul had made peace with his selected casualty of war, Angel felt the need to be sure Darla would do as she'd promised. Would use the little bite victim to good advantage and sort out his Spike problems.

With a lightness that both worried and relieved him, Angel donned his coat and left his apartment, the eyes of a predator scanning the surroundings. He hoped against hope to come across his bleached family so he could take action now and not have to depend on the reliability of Darla's pet.

The term didn't even make him cringe now. It seemed that once his head had resigned the boy to death, he didn't need to worry about the decision. It was done, and the end results could be nothing but a benefit. If he found out Spike was pretending to be trustful, if he could prevent Buffy from being slain by her supposed boyfriend, then he'd more than done his job. It wasn't like he didn't know that the boy was as good as gone, whether Darla did the honours or not. He knew what happened to those that craved what Darla was freely giving him.

He'd been brought here, his presence sanctioned by Powers far higher than any other he knew of, to keep his eye on the Slayer and to help her whenever she needed it. Angel didn't feel any doubt at all that she needed it now. She was trusting the wrong vampire, letting Spike too close to her where he could strike without warning and do more than a little damage. He felt like she'd made a fool out of him—with Spike's help—and it fuelled a rage deep inside that Angel feared.

He'd reached Darla's door before he knew it, paused and inhaled the ghastly stench of human flesh that had been fucking his sire and getting off on the flow of his blood down her throat. Angel couldn't hold back the growl, didn't even think to let his soul out to berate this primitive response to mate and food. He'd left, she'd moved on and this boy wasn't that close to Buffy yet. Wasn't someone her heart had become too attached to. What did it matter if he perished through becoming involved in dangerous addictions?

It was all he could do not to punch a hole in the door to announce his presence and then intimidate the boy into unmanly fear as he whipped Darla off the parody of a cock and beat them both senseless. He stopped at the sight, feeling his control slip as Darla growled at him, blood dripping from her fangs and tongue with the boy laid out unconscious and pale on the bed. His heart faltered, his body ghostly and Angel had to fight to control his hunger.

His soul didn't feel a thing.

 

TBC

Summary: What does a pissed off vamp do when he's dragged to the Hellmouth when he'd rather be swanning around Europe? Why, he gets inventive in order to have fun with the Slayer of course.

Rating: I'll go for R at this time. Though knowing me, a change is possible.

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy. I have merely manipulated his creation to make myself and hopefully you happy. I gain nothing but satisfaction mentally.
 

---------------------

Spike had never felt such seething hatred toward his family ever before—not when they'd chastised him, or made fun, and not even when they'd beaten him bloody to remind him of his place in the group. Always he'd held an underlying perception of awe that he'd been chosen by someone to exist—to be meaningful within the world, even if it was one he'd never even known about. Now the disgust oozed throughout his body and he felt no fear at all that the Slayer would go hell bound on each of their asses—if Harris didn't get there first.

He stood back and watched as the scene unfolded—observed his supposedly souled grandsire as he slowly reigned in his lust for the kill that had so obviously been taking place when he'd burst onto the scene. Spike wasn't fighting any kind of struggle within himself; he barely even noticed the scent of freshly spilled blood as he lit up a cigarette and leaned up against the doorframe. The show was just too entertaining to make him want a snack break—not that he'd ever be stupid enough to get the munchies for one of the Slayer's friends.

Xander had been on the end of a vicious shove that had sent him careening to the bed his drained friend lay upon and there he gratefully stayed—his face a picture of grief and horror—as Buffy whaled on the cause of all this heartache. Darla.

It was the first time Spike had ever seen the blonde bitch scared. She'd obviously just managed to grab an oriental satin robe before the Grand Imposer barged into her boudoir, possessive growl at the ready though he told all and sundry he was souled up. What a load of absolute bollocks! Not having one himself didn't make Spike stupid. He had enough of William left in him to know what a conscience and a will to do right by others meant—how wanting something good altered a body's perceptions and actions. Peaches had done little by way of proving his new status—other than the lack of corpses piling up in the area with his own especially artistic bite. If Angelus had a soul, then Spike couldn't work out what exactly it was doing for him. His complexion might have suggested a less than stellar diet, but the way he'd surrendered up a life in order to jockey positions ahead of him in the Slayer's favour...well, it was a bit much for Spike to believe this soul he professed to have was that meaningful, nor much in the way of guidance. It was barely even a leash for the more disturbing of Angelus's personality traits.

Spike grinned at the magnificent sight of Buffy and Darla going at it, fists both making impact too accurately to leave nothing but mere bruises behind. Both girls bled and again Spike marvelled at the extraordinary control his demon had over his normally lustful urges. A twitch in other parts told him that the lust wasn't altogether absent but it was the lithe grace of his girl that turned him on, not the delicious sweetness of her life's blood.

While not exactly in control, Buffy seemed to be holding her own, hurling emphatically crude observations at Angel's decidedly soulless behaviour over her shoulder. The useless git was cowering in the corner, the confrontation and the inability to justify his actions apparently making the guilt finally surge forward and overwhelm him. That, or he'd taken some acting lessons since he'd left.

All of a sudden, Buffy was propelled with blinding speed into the far wall, her petite form leaving a matching imprint in the cheap plaster. Her furious thrust to her feet did it in and her arm disappeared into the dusty remains of a once solid wall, Spike chuckling at how his girl just didn't know her own strength.

She glared at him—initially, and then she winked, a gentle smile teasing her lips until she felt her gaze falter back to the bed and her deathly pale friend and his lack of movement. Spike almost gasped as the veil of the Slayer visibly inched into place and the furious warrioress stomped her way back into the fight. She stood back a little way, her eyes never leaving the threat in front of her as she challenged Angel about his duty.

"If you don't stake her, I will," she hissed, tolerance and understanding long absent from her voice. Tears made her voice crack, the girl in her struggling with the burden of seeing a friend dead as a supposed ally stood useless and conflicted.

Spike could see the shock reflected boldly in Angelus's midnight dark pools of menace and wondered how he could suck anyone in with his puppy dog act. The great lumping forehead shook as the wanker met the eyes of his sire, her furious gaze almost striking him down where he stood. The lines had been drawn, Spike could see it as clearly as he had seen the moment Dru had betrayed him with this tosser. Buffy didn't see it and he doubted she was quick enough to catch onto Darla and Angelus's age old tricks to protect each other.

The stupid bitch rocked and parried, slowly manipulating Buffy into a position on her own on one side of the room and Darla with two of her familial vampires at her back. Spike could see, from his angle, the gloat that was already spreading across her face, her sickly sweet grin taunting Buffy with a knowledge she only thought she had. While she consolidated that line, renewed her power over the biggest git on the planet, Spike stubbed his cigarette into the carpet, smirking with evil pleasure at the fizzle and melt of the cheap blend. He took a stake out of his inside pocket, marvelling at the feel of his own instrument of death in his hands—something he'd never thought he'd need to possess. He spun it in the air, a supernaturally fast rotation before he caught it and almost playfully plunged it into Darla's back. Her scream of mixed outrage and terror amused him as she just managed to turn around and stare at him in shock before she crumbled into dust. She settled on the floor in front of him and Spike didn't even bother to step over her filth as he made his way to the bed, knowing without any doubts that Buffy could handle Peaches in a castigating minute. He ignored the snarls of fury, and Buffy's surprised yet amused 'eep' at the resolution of her fight as he stared down at the forlorn figure of Xander.

"You alright, mate?" He was hesitant in his approach, feeling confused and out of place for the first time since he'd entered this balls-up of a confrontation. The sight of the boy's tears did something to Spike that he'd not felt in almost a hundred years—not since he'd failed the dying wishes of a Chinese slayer by not knowing her language. Once he'd learned the meaning of her words, he'd felt a sadness that he was never meant to feel as a vampire. He was never meant to know compassion for the pulsers, not even for his own kind really.

As he looked at the lifeless form of Xander's friend, he felt that chilling sense of not being enough or never being on time to make a difference. The slowing thud of the nearly dead teen's heart suddenly meant something other than the glee over a good healthy feed. This one would have consequences, and he only hoped it wasn't against him that they materialised.

"How could he let this happen?" Xander turned wet shimmering chocolate eyes toward Spike and almost begged him to answer in a way that made sense. Though looking at it from an entirely different angle was enough for Spike to see that none of it could make sense. Death was death. It was selfish; it was inevitable. But the timing of this one—so soon—it had been preventable. The boy had had a death wish. Spike wished that for the sake of his new friends it wasn't so, but he wasn't God. He couldn't have done anything different. They chose to keep Jesse in the dark, and as much as he hurt for them, all Spike could do was step aside and be haunted by their pain.

"You should give him a nudge, mate. Get to say goodbye."

"W-what?" Xander turned from Spike, checked over Jesse and saw an infinitesimal shudder where his heart should be strongly beating. Xander jolted to his feet in surprise, a wobbling finger pointing at what he thought was already a corpse. "H-he's still alive? Oh my God, can't you do something? We should get him back to the hospital."

Spike held his gaze as he shook his head slowly, deliberately. "He's just barely alive. Not even if I was Superman and I gave him my powers could I save him now. Best to just accept it and try an' say goodbye."

"No. I can't just accept that. He can't be dead." Eyes that refused to let go stared down on his friend and Xander gulped to hold back the flood of tears as they choked his throat. Cold hard calculation suddenly entered the moment though, and Xander turned back to Spike with steady intent. "So, if you were really Superman, you'd give Jesse your powers to save him?"

As bizarre as the question was, Spike felt it was some kind of test—felt his own paranoia at the outcome of an 'I don't really have a soul' discussion would be explosive in a really bad way, and he needed to show his sincerity from the start. And the truth was, maybe not for the whelp—not yet—but definitely for Buffy he'd do whatever it took to minimise her pain.

His nod of affirmation was strong and steady, and Xander returned it with decision.

"Turn him." The words were shot at him, only a thin sliver of tolerance dividing the hate from need.

Spike slowly shook his head, his eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You really don't want me doing that."

Xander glared with the look of a boy seizing the last of his options—despite that option being both scary and repulsive.

"I really do," he confirmed, his lips tight and his hands splayed on his hips.

It was one of those moments that Spike knew he was bound to face from time to time—if not even more frequently than that. A situation where he'd be confused between the ambiguity of right and wrong. Would granting the boys wish be doing the right thing, or creating a bad even more than if they'd left Jesse to die of his own ignorance? He was tempted to turn to Buffy and demand she take this responsibility off him by making the decision, by consoling her friend into commonsense before things spiralled out of control. But having her cuss Angel out was both entertaining and essential, and Spike had never surrendered his free will to anyone in the past. He couldn't ask it of her. He couldn't make her be responsible for the death or unlife of her friend.

The responsibility of either agreeing or torpedoing the plea was agonising. Spike felt caught, despite being totally off Buffy's radar as she chewed Angel out for being the gutless wonder Spike had always known him to be. The desperation in every jerk of Xander's body made him feel nervous and he couldn't help but dart worried glances at all the players in the room. The boy that was minutes away from a full organ shutdown, the Slayer that would stake him for turning her friend, her other friend that would surely dust him if he didn't, and Angelus that would sit on his high and mighty stool the second Spike was revealed for the demon he never refuted being.

The only thing that felt right to Spike was his urge to fight it, to make Xander see sense before they did something they couldn't come back from. Before Spike had added to the terror of the night with the shape of someone this boy and the redhead had cared about for years.

"Look, Harris, he won't be coming back as your friend. You're not doing him any favours by making him a demon." Spike blanched at the fight that surged in the powerful puff up on the school boy.

"We can help him come back right. Help him not give into it and be a monster. Look at you. You did it." There was an age old wisdom in the chestnut eyes that shocked Spike. He had been worried about encountering this moment and finding out what it meant for his security amongst this crowd. "Maybe it was something Buffy said, or maybe it was how you don't act all cut up about the past like him." He jerked a thumb at Angel and Spike could see the curl of his lips and the repressed desire to spit on him. "I don't know how I know, and I don't know how it makes me trust you over him—other than the fact that he did nothing to save my friend—but I know that even without a soul, you're twice the vampire he is. If Jesse can be like you, where's the bad?"

Fuck, he wanted to argue so badly, catalogue each and every time a rabid beast had replaced the unassuming human possessed by evil. But all he could remember was himself, his shyness and his need to impress his new family. To be the best vampire he could be to make them proud of him—just like he'd strived at his crap poetry to have his mother's good favour.

So, despite the warning bells, and despite the sense of wrong that almost screamed through his blood, Spike bent and lowered his lips to the mark on Jesse's neck, and made a man a monster.


 

---------------------

Spike knew he'd made a colossal mistake the second the boy's hungry lips fed from his wrist. The minute he found Xander's stare of fascinated horror fixed on the act. The moment he saw the sweat break out on the terrified boy's brow. Spike just knew it. Should have known it before. Instead, he stared fearfully at the body that collapsed on the bed once he took his arm away, and wondered how much time he had before Buffy would kill him. Or Peaches would gloat before stomping over in his heavy footed hypocrisy and stake him in front of those he was starting to love with everything he had.

He raised wary eyes to Xander, already taking a step back in self-defence and thinking of a way that might justify what he'd done and still hang on to Buffy's affections. Not love. How could she love him for adding to her nightly worries? Before he even took in Xander's censure, Spike's gaze had flitted back to the bed, panic rising sharply as he took another step back. He'd added another monster to the line-up, a young boy who'd had everything to live for before Darla came to this town. All he could see was HER. The one he should have remembered but always forgot.

Tried to forget.

He could feel the shakes starting already, even as he saw the soft waves of renewed healthy silver hair hanging long around her shoulders, the healthy but pale pallor of her skin as she looked at him in disgust masquerading as lust. Saw her lips move as she suggested the most revolting heinous things a good son could never have contemplated with his mother in a million years. A century on and Spike felt wilted by the shame, horror that he'd not learned the lesson, and no matter what he'd decided, he was as good as fucked. He'd let Xander appeal to his vanity—his own belief that he was different, in a way above the others on the demon scale of evil. He'd retained heart and that's how he was able to love—adore the girl so much it was killing him standing here and observing his huge mistake, all the while waiting for the whip to crack and his ashes to fall.

Fear gave him energy and he couldn't help but run—run so fast so he wouldn't have to look at them or face what he'd done. He bolted for the door, leaving Buffy in the presence of his grandsire and his newly made...something. What made the difference between a childe and a minion? He'd never been allowed to know, was never permitted to do anything other than suck them dry or create a little army of servants. Spike didn't know where that fine line was that would make him responsible for the new demon that lay in jeopardy even as his sire ran like a coward. All he knew was that given the choice, that boy would never have been picked by him to wander immortal throughout the world.

"Spike!" Buffy called at his rapidly departing figure, but he didn't stop. The last thing he wanted was for her to see the blood from her friend on his lips. He couldn't outrun the memories though, and suddenly what he felt he needed—what the in-your-face vamp desperately searched for—was a quiet venue where he could grasp firm to calm and try to work out how best to come back from this event. If it was even possible.

The last thing he heard as he powered away from the scene of his latest crime was Buffy's frantic call for him to wait.

Problem was, he had nothing left to wait for. Judgement would be harsh for this one and he knew it, expected it and even forgave it. How could it be anything else when he failed the test, when the Slayer was his girl? Miracles didn't happen to evil bodies like him, and...well, he ducked his head in shame. He was off his nut to think it could have ever worked with Buffy. One little appeal from a desperate boy unwilling to lose his friend, and Spike had buckled—raced in to do the easy thing, and now he'd lost everything.

Deserved it. He did, bloody deserved every fucked up thing that came his way. So with a head filled with his impending destruction, rising vampires that wore his mark, he slipped hazardously into the night and into the arms of the Master's minions.

He was too surprised to put up any resistance as they grabbed his arms and twisted him this way and that, battering him and making him weak before dragging him off to his ancestor. Bugger, he'd forgotten there would be retribution for offing Darla. Just another mistake he'd made of the night.

Spike closed his eyes and surrendered.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Buffy threw her hands up in the air as she watched Spike streak through the really dark shadows of the alley and out of sight. She'd just turned around in time to see Jesse's shiny red lips fall from Spike's arm and her once lively friend slumping deader than dead on the sheets beneath him. Spike had appeared shell-shocked by his actions, and Buffy couldn't help but want to kick his ass for doing something so inherently true to his nature. She thought he could be good, was trying to be good and he couldn't resist taking a final taste of her friend and then making him into a monster she'd have to kill?

Something so didn't sit right about this mess.

Buffy was loathe to turn around. For as long as she stood staring out the door and into the now empty but smelly alley, she could ignore a friend grieving and another beyond dying. She could forget that she was led into this situation by a supposedly souled vampire that obviously had trouble seeing where the wrong was. She could forget she was a slayer with a destiny and a duty to rid the world of vampires and just be a girl in love with one. She couldn't kill the guy she wanted to be hers in all ways possible—eventually—so how could she lift her stake to someone who could potentially have been her friend for the next however many years?

She didn't have the answers. Buffy never wanted to have the answers. That's what the Council paid Giles to have, and in deciding what to do about Jesse, he could make with those answers, too. She so was not going to be the one that ruled he had no chance of being good—of being how she thought Spike could be—simply because she was irrational and trusted a vampire she thought was more soul-having than the actual one was.

"Just what the hell went on here?" Eyes squeezed tightly shut, Buffy had no choice but to turn around and face the know-it-all smirk of a brunette she was coming to totally detest, and Xander, his expression a mix of shattered grief and hope.

"Let me go after him, Buffy. I'll be able to scent him and then dust him so you won't have to even face it." Angel stood before her, eager and renewed in purpose now his grandchilde had screwed himself over and was surely on borrowed time. He reminded her of a hyena, that bloodlust very firmly showing on his shirtsleeve.

The thought of Spike's fate being nothing but indiscriminate ash in some dirty, public yet unknown point was too much for her to bear and the knowledge that if she didn't find him and bring him to safety—Angel surely would, but so without the safety part.

"No."

The cold derisive snort that came along with the denial didn't come from her and Buffy looked at Xander in surprise. Sure, she hadn't known him long, but God his moods were unpredictable. Nobody knew how another would respond to the death of a friend, but this was even beyond that. This was Xander's best friend from childhood about to be raised a soulless demon. And that really should have sounded more doom and gloomish than it had in her head.

Buffy took tentative steps toward Xander, her hand reaching out for his as they stood looking at the body.

"What happened, Xan? Why did Spike do this? Why would he put me in this position of having to stake my friend?" The sadness of failure was creeping up on her and Buffy felt the smallest wobble of her bottom lip even as her eyes felt the sting of tears. Her other hand clutched her stake and she marvelled briefly that it hadn't even known the thrill of piercing an undead heart tonight, and yet the devastation of death was rife in the little room.

"I asked him to do it. He didn't want to, so you can't punish him for it. I-I didn't know...not that he'd feel bad about it. Didn't know he'd run off—" Xander shook his head, his eyes never wavering from the stillness of Jesse as they waited.

"Oh," Buffy began before Angel jumped in, oozing confidence now that Spike had dug his own grave and run off like a monumental idiot.

"He knew he'd be staked, that's why he ran off. Knew Buffy would plant that stake as deep into his heart as she could push, and his self-preservation kicked in."

Pure rage ran through the two humans, passing from one to the other through the hand clasp that whitened their hands with the tightness of the hold.

"Then he was worlds of wrong," Buffy spat, her frustration and irritation at Angel climbing notches faster than Spike disappearing into the night. "There will be no staking of Spike. Go near him and it will be you who gets to feel the wind rushing through more than your hair. Capiche?"

Angel stepped back in confusion. He'd finally been provided with the perfect opening to get rid of the most irritable boil on the butt of vampirism, and he had every right after the blond fool had destroyed his sire. Darla. Oh God! The thought suddenly hit him and all strength departed his body and left him fumbling on his knees so close to her ashes. The pain in his chest built and burst into a crescendo of howls that he couldn't control and it was as if the demon spawn of her making had curled in on itself and huddled Angel into a corner of the room.

Buffy and Xander watched in a mixture of disgust and ethical interest before sinking down to the bed, adrenaline sapped from them due to the death at their side. It was way too easy to ignore him.

"I'm so sorry, Buffy." Xander couldn't even look up as Buffy started, but firmly squeezed his hand.

"None of this is your fault. Maybe he'd have been a little more careful if we'd warned him, but somehow I'm guessing that her being a vampire wasn't that big a surprise." It was a brave but tragic smile that graced her lips, yet Buffy couldn't bring herself to stand and walk away. Her friends needed her, both boys needing something that only she could give at this point. Strength of protection against the evils not so beyond their current door, but also the truth of knowing what had happened. Even Willow wouldn't have been enough this time. She hadn't seen the devastation, the choices left to them with Jesse's heart beating every beat like it was about to be his last.

"He was thinking with that thing most of us guys think with. It's a highly productive thought—most of the time." He chuckled humourlessly, the sound difficult to hear against Angel's wailing the opposite end of the room. "God, can't he put a cork in it?"

Buffy giggled. "I guess he's having memories of when HE only thought with that thing boys think with."

The shared humour, the laughter was too short lived and they were quickly focused again on Jesse.

"Spike really only did this because you asked him to?" Buffy watched Xander's eyes harden through her watery view on the world and sighed as his jaw ticked.

"Nope. He did it because I ordered him to. I don't think I was probably very fair, but this is my friend. He deserves the chance, doesn't he, Buffy? Please don't tell me I did the wrong thing."

All Buffy could do was be silent.

 

---------------------

It only hurt when he opened his eyes.

He did it once, at the beginning when he first regained consciousness. Dru was there, her face serene in that confused little girl way of hers while she held her doll—that bloody meddlesome Miss Edith—and looked at him like he'd been the saddest most upsetting thing to happen to her in a long while. When the sword was thrust through his gut, wrenching a shout of ragged agony from his lips, he saw her tiny smile and could guess the way she would have it be made better. She stood back from her minions as they thrust more sharp blades into his broken body, wary of getting his blood spatters on her spotless filmy white dress. It was her encouraging little clap and bounce that finally did it, and Spike closed his eyes.

It didn't hurt if he couldn't see. He wouldn't let it hurt. They could slice open his testicles for all he cared, on the inside of his eyeballs was a vision in the sunlight, her golden hair swept about her face in a sudden gust of wind as she giggled and the tinkling sound of her happiness gave him something to hold onto.

Something that wasn't Dru and her disloyalty.

If he was honest with himself, he'd let go of Dru in that moment of irritation and sarcasm when they'd first rolled into town. When it became clear that his opinion was again inconsequential to her bigger plan, Spike had had enough and allowed his feelings for her to dull. And then she'd left him wandering around the town while she shacked up with the wrinkled up old git and the rest of their family. It had been, for the most part, convenient while he researched the Slayer with his unusual soul card. Until the impromptu deception turned into something else entirely. Until it became opportunity that showed him many different paths and ways toward true happiness.

Like was apparently his tradition, he'd buggered that up in no short order. His commonsense had become skewed from a century of evil thoughts and actions so he wasn't quite aware of what was acceptable or not in this world of many alternating shades.

Buffy might be smiling in his dreams, but he knew his nightmares would be closer to reality. Each hot painful lance in his body, each and every blunt punch that shattered his bone could have been her. He knew that hatred could be the only response to what he'd done. It seemed only fitting that he realise his mistake and almost immediately being captured by Dru and her minions.

Up to now he just hadn't wondered why.

He knew that Drusilla wouldn't react well to rejection, but he never pictured her going this far. He'd never taken her for a hypocrite, not really. Mixed up for sure, especially if she had her git of a sire prodding her into confused loyalties. So why was he here when he could be ducking and diving into hiding spots until he was ready to face the stake that Buffy had most assuredly carved his name upon?

As holy water was thrown in his face and he felt and smelled the way his flesh burned, he gave up caring. It seemed more than apparent that whether Buffy or Dru had him, he was the proverbial toast. And as the image of a drained Jesse and a desperate Xander came to his mind, he couldn't summon up the will to care.

To be condemned was to be condemned, didn't much matter who took care of the sentence. At least he wouldn't have to see her face as he fluttered into dust. At least he could die remembering her lips and her smile for him, and imagine that that one time they'd committed their feelings for one another had been more explicit and she'd said the words to his face.

His jaw clenched until his teeth felt pained, his eyes flowing water through the tightly squeezed barrier, Spike imagined how her lips could convey the words, and he felt it alright to give up.

His last moments had been an effort to do good by her, to try to turn the leaf she needed to be with him guilt free. He could pass with the knowledge that in his last he'd made peace with himself and his actions. He made peace with being a demon and killing indiscriminately until pain painted the world over.

Feeling serenity sweep over him, Spike opened his eyes and soaked in Dru's frown. He smirked and winked at her, knowing that she could tear him apart limb by limb and he wouldn't even feel it. Self-absolution was powerful.

He waited for the final toll to be paid and his chance to pass beyond.

Bloody hell it was slow.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Buffy kicked Angel out of the apartment so he couldn't stand over them with his ironic judgement about what they should or shouldn't do with Jesse. One missing vampire was all the stress she could handle from that quarter and to have a souled yet unrepentant demon staring at them with judgemental disdain and disapproval was too much even for her.

Buffy had phoned Giles, requesting he take Willow home before meeting them with the intention of transporting Jesse somewhere they could control the situation when he rose. Not that she'd told Giles that. Only that they had a man down and needed his trusty car. It was only after as much of the plan was relayed that she felt comfortable sharing over the phone and she'd hung up the receiver that Buffy marvelled at the existence of a phone line in an evil vampire's apartment in the first place.

And a comfy bed, though the ewwness of that discovery so didn't want to be visited at this time. Buffy felt like she was doing pretty well at holding the consuming grief at bay, but realising the truth, she knew that she ultimately hadn't gotten that close to him. It was that fact that upset her more than anything—even that Spike had sired him and run. This was what made her feel the tight constriction of guilt in her throat. It seemed like as soon as she'd arrived in the school she'd come between such a strong trio of friends, offering up a secret that only two of them became privy of. Oh, it had been Xander's call, and evidence was pretty good at showing that that may not have been the best course of action to follow, but she'd still given Xander enough of a situation for him to make such hard decisions.

It was like she'd walked in and just taken his place in the group and it made Buffy feel such wrenching guilt that she almost felt the need to collapse and cry against Xander's shirt.

"You're not gonna stake him, are you?" Xander looked at her with big earnest brown eyes and Buffy felt the anger that had begun to rise at being put in this position falter and dive. She'd thought all vampires were black until Spike had introduced the concept of a soul. Now that she'd met the true vamp with soul, she was glad that she'd learned of it from Spike first or she might have felt the need to disbelieve the possible good in whatever incarnation. Despite the tableau spread out dead centre of the bed—and she was so ignoring that unintentional pun!—Buffy still believed it was loving motives that made Spike do something so monumentally stupid.

"What did you think was going to happen?" She couldn't stay mad, even though she had every right to be. "Why did you ask Spike to do this, Xand? You know that vamps are evil. It's my job to take them out."

He hefted a crazy sounding sigh in a mix-up of laughter. "Well, thank God that's not true or that crazy blonde bitch might have killed us all. If it was your job then you've slacked off with Spike—and that so isn't a criticism right now."

Buffy jerked in surprise. Did that mean that Xander suspected...

"I know, Buff. I know Spike is soulless and yet, I'm so not with the caring right now. I know it's something that's supposed to make me wig spectacularly, but he's been nicer to us and more helpful when we've needed him than Angel—and he's the one who claims to have the real soul." He snorted, his lip curling in obvious disgust for what he saw as soulful behaviour. His friend was dead because of that soul. "Nah, I took advantage of him. Kinda goaded him into doing it. Yeah, he might be trying hard, but I could see he didn't quite have all the knowledge the soul crowd have inbuilt to do the right thing. Strangely—not that concerned. He still seems no worse than Cordelia on a bad hair day. So yeah, he may struggle with the technicalities, but he tries to do the right thing—if he can work out what that actually is."

They shared snickering laughter before settling with a fond smile. Buffy knew she should have been worried—should have started to prepare herself that Xander might one day take this act and hold it against her. Use it to drive a wedge between her and Spike. Ever since they all discovered her secret they'd had the badness of vampires almost beaten into them. Hopefully this relaxed and accepting attitude he held now would exist long enough for her to show them that Spike really did intend to do good, and that he was a great vamp to have around. Obviously the collar of a soul wasn't enough to keep them safe, just using Angel as the only example they had, so it was left to their instinct and reliance on example to decide if being around any vampire could ever be considered risk free.

She so hoped nothing would happen to jeopardise the one thing she had full belief in.

The hesitant knock on the door broke her from the uncomfortable reverie and Buffy felt a tightening in her stomach. Giles poked his head around the door and found them sort of shielding the body on the bed. He stepped inside, shutting the door with a determined click before making his way around the bed and stopping at the obvious corpse.

"Oh dear lord. I-I understand why you wanted Willow home." Giles's eyes seemed to focus on the ragged puncture marks at Jesse's throat and he slumped a little in sadness. "I'm so sorry, Xander. This must be tremendously difficult."

Xander shrugged, about to open his mouth and get on with the telling of the dilemma when Buffy subtly elbowed him in the ribs and he clamped his lips shut.

"Giles, we have a bit of a sitch. Jesse's kinda about to be undead. We need somewhere we can keep him comfortable for when he rises, but somewhere that we can chain him up and stuff."

Giles looked at them as if they were insane. "Are you mad? Your job is to stake vampires, Buffy. Not make friends with them. We are not about conducting experiments with our friends. A-as painful as it is to lose a friend—" Giles paused and both Buffy and Xander could see the sudden hollow guilt that tinged his eyes. "You can not expect that he will rise to be anything but a monster in the body of a boy you once knew. He will not remain your friend. He will wake a vicious monster who will want nothing from you but your blood."

Buffy swallowed hard, knowing in her heart that in this situation that was exactly what would happen. But she had to support Xander and she also owed Spike the benefit of the doubt. Besides, if he'd created a disaster it had to be one he dealt with on his own. Perfect learning opportunity for him, too.

Xander's face was lined with tragedy and a knowledge no boy his age should have to deal with. "I know that this is probably a mistake. But I have to give him the chance, right? He's my friend. He'd do the same for me." He implored the Watcher to see what he meant—and hoped that he could recognise the desperation that had spurred on this act by a vampire who would now be struggling with these people to be trusted and accepted.

Rather than fight further, Giles helped them carry the dead boy out to the car, glad that rigour had not quite started to fully set in as they manipulated him into the back seat.

"I guess my place is the only one that is even half set up for something like this. He can sleep on that old bed in the basement and I have chains—plenty of chains." She studiously ignored the raised eyebrows aimed her way. "Ooh, but we'll need blood and—" Buffy stopped babbling, running out of things to say and the energy to say it with. The night had been exhausting and she still had a wayward vampire to find.

The look on Spike's face had been worrying, and teemed with his rather sudden disappearing act, Buffy felt a chill settle. Something was making her feel that it wasn't so simple—not any of it—and not having Spike there to guide them was way beyond wiggy. This was his experiment—his childe. How were three humans meant to know what to do to pave the way for a newly born demon?

The little car zoomed through the streets of Sunnydale, preparing all of them for what was yet to come. The urgency of it all escaped none of them, and an edge of apprehension settled over all of them.

The night had been forever altered; a new level of darkness had corrupted their lives and Buffy was left staring out the window, imagining what kind of future there would be for them all.