Title: The Last Sunrise
Disclaimer: Now, if I owned these characters in any way, shape or form, do you think that I’d be writing FANfiction? Now honestly…I’m not even bothering posting this rubbish on more than the first chap. So here it is: enjoy and don't expect it again.
Pairing(s): Besides Spike/Xander, now that would be telling, wouldn’t it?
Newly en-souled, Spike is at his most vulnerable of states. Fully rejected by the slayer, alone an din the dark, he has drawn himself inward, pulled away from everyone around him to wallow in the atrocities he had done. He will not feed, not even on animals blood, and living by himself in his rank crypt of his without any type of contact (human or otherwise), he is fading. (What happens when an accident gives him no choice but to feed or to die?)
Authors Notes: This is written in between Season 6 and 7 of Buffy. Though, Spike is fully ensouled. Regardless of his soul -- which I’d consider “new-ish” I don’t consider Buffy a major factor in this fan fiction. She will show up, but she is not with Spike. Spike, newly ensouled, has been fully rejected by the slayer. That is said; that is done. No Big Bad, End of Days. The First is not in my AU Season 7.
“You ever get the feeling that you’re supposed to be doing something else?” he said, half drawling over the bar counter, searching for some approval from the tender. Willy fidgeted nervously, never looking directly at the young man. “I mean,” Xander began again, “It’s not like I’m doing so hot here right now. Look at them all. They’ve all got their magic and their slaying and their…books!
“What do I have?” he took another drink of his beer and tried to set it down on the table. It fell from his fingers, a small puddle welling on the counter and dripping onto his lap. “Hell,” he jumped up, wiping frantically at his pants.
For the first time, Willy looked up at the boy and half-grinned.
“Ya know what your problem is?” he said, trying to hide the grin, “You’re talking about being all important to that slayer, when that’s not what you should be doing at all. Ever think that.”
“Um, yea! That’s kind of what I’ve been saying. You really haven’t been listening.”
Willy threw a cloth at the counter, raising an eyebrow as though he expected the spill to clean itself up. When it didn‘t, he began soaking up the beer, licking his fingers when he could. “Well of course I wasn’t listening, but that’s not exactly what I’m saying to ya. Sure, ya can say it’s all about finding your place, but that’s not your issue here. It’s with that whole group. You’re all on learning where your place is in that whole mess when you’ve spent, what -- how long doing that crap. It’s time you realized what you need is a new hobby, maybe a goal or two.”
Xander straightened up, staring down at Willy. “That’s just…you know what, you’re wrong.”
“Well then you keep doing whatever it is you’re doing because it seems to be working perfectly. Ya know, you in the bar every single--”
Xander grabbed his jacket and, with steps a bit unsure from drinking so much, pushed through a small crowd of helter sprites, left.
“And that’s why I don’t even try most days.” He said, wiping the counter down.
He stood at the far side of the dank room, his silhouette thin, hunched over. He propped against the wall of the crypt, running his fingers along the stone in an absent manner. A bottle dangled from his other hand, the liquid in it sloshing as the vampire swayed. Rocking methodically, he moved in time to a song, one he cooed beneath his breath.
The bottle dropped. The glass shattered; the liquid jumped up to lick the vampires’ already soiled jeans.
Swearing, he stopped the song and moved across the room, moved as though he were too light, too weak for the motion. When he reached the couch -- liberated some time ago from the Sunnydale dump -- he all but collapsed.
The blond in his hair was gone, grown away and cut out when it got too matted to just ignore. The clothing he wore was beyond use, tattered as though there were no point in putting on anything new…or clean for that matter. What did it matter when there was nobody else to see you?
With a sigh, Spike stretched himself across the paisley-patterned sofa and closed his eyes. He welcomed the darkness, but still couldn't sleep.
Xander moved, stumbling forward with a drunken grace only inherent to those of absolute intoxication. The graveyard was an old time favorite as far as shortcuts went. Sunnydale’s finest didn’t exactly do wonders enforcing the “Do Not Enter After Dusk” rule.
“Where does he get off, telling me that I should make my own goals in life. Come on, it’s not like I need goals to get anywhere! It’s not--”
He fell, dropped flat on his face over a gravestone.
Looking in embarrassed horror, he stared back at the granite pillar. “Oh that’s great, big funny Xander. Always getting caught and messing up and, and tripping!” his voice cracked.
“Amusing enough for me.” A voice growled, and something grabbed at his ankle, something from beneath the grave marker. The hand protruded from the grave, followed by a face grinning so wide it almost covered up the newly-rigid facial features. The suited man drew himself up, not letting go of Xanders leg.
“It feels good to wake up after a long sleep. I feel so—so well rested! Like a whole new man.”
Xander groaned, “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call you a whole new man, maybe just a dead one, a gently used man—hey!”
The vampire threw Xander down, jumping on top of him. Even the fledgling has strength far surpassing the young mans. Kneeling on top of Xanders chest, the great smirking face swung right next to the boys.
“I’m so thirsty, and you smell like a good drink.”
Xander opened his mouth, but the words were pushed away as the young vampire tore open his neck. The blood was spilling, falling, being pulled away. A great hammering sounded in his head, a pounding like drums. There was a roaring, the sound of blood in his ears, blood being pulled away, drawn from him without a choice. The drumbeat was growing more rapid, like that of a rabbit.
The vampire released, gasping. He was newborn, must not have realized he didn’t need to breath yet. “Your blood, it is my elixir!” He dove back onto Xander, drinking more greedily now.
The pounding was slowing, hammering subsiding as though the drummer were moving further away. It was only then, Xander realized that was the sound of his heart…
“I am a master of night,” the fledge bellowed, “I am the night itself! My glory is that of my ancestors – the ancient race which has lived for a thousand years. I am—“
“Do you even know what you’re talking about, mate? I mean, honestly, evoking the importance of all vampire-kind just so you can gloat. Now shut up, I was trying to get some rest! Fledglings, you lot have no respect for your elders at all, do you?”
“You are my…Master! You are one of the old ones, one of the great destroyers—“
Spike rolled his eyes, “Yea, now sod off. It’s not like this Hell-mound needs any more of you gits prancing all about, your new fangs all shiny and whatnot.”
Spike rubbed his forehead, grimacing. The monster in front of him was exactly what he didn’t need. But then again, it’s not like he wasn’t the same as that monster, as though he were any better than the fledgling. No, he was much worse. The newborn hadn’t even made his first kill, just sloppily tried to embrace what he already was. On the other hand, there was Spike, a monster, a creature of the dark that wasn’t even strong-willed enough to do what the foolish little fledge had right after waking.
“I don’t need this.” He fingered the stake in his pocket. If this fledge was so much better than he was, why wasn’t this stake in his own heart?
The young vampire dipped down, grinning as he took a drought from the shadowy figure below.
Spikes eyes grew large. A human. The young, stupid, evil thing was killing some innocent bystander. How hadn’t he noticed the scent of blood?
But he had; what else had drawn him from the seclusion of his crypt than that which taunted him, which he denied but would not deny him.
Lunging forward, Spike drove the stake into the fledgling’s heart, meeting the young creature’s confused eyes before the vampire turned to dust.
Spike stepped back, staring down at the pile of dust before stopping, retching…a dry heave he didn’t know was possible for a vampire. Blood-stained saliva dripped from his mouth, and it made him want to retch more, harder, but the smell of blood – the delirious scent quelled that. For that, he despised himself.
Forcing himself to, Spike moved towards the crumpled figure, moved forward with quick little steps, balancing on the balls of his feet like a child, or a cat, might.
Xander Harris lay, broken and bleeding, propped against a grave marker. The blood that ran down his neck soaked into his shirt, turning every place – from his collar to chest – black. In the darkness, it looked as though he were gaping through, as though that blackness was nothing itself but more darkness and night. Spike could see, though, see through the façade of the lighting that that broken boy was fading fast, that the stain all down his shirt was what little he had left of life, and that miniscule life was ebbing with every wave of fresh blood that poured from his neck.
“Oh shit!” Spike backed away, nearly tripping over his own feet, and hit the ground hard. The scent of blood was overwhelming so close to the source.
Xander groaned, his voice cracking and horse, a spindling whimper that he didn’t mean to make.
Spike could feel the terror, the wrenching horror that swept through the young mans body as death drew near. The boy groaned again, calling out this time. And though the words he spoke were inaudible, jumbled with pain and delirium, Spike knew it was for help, for comfort, for an end to the suffering. Spike almost cried out with the boy.
There was the amulet, the crystal of what-not that just came in again at the magic shop. He could steal the spell books but, this was still a horrible idea...
Spike cursed himself and, feeling Xanders dwindling pulse, reached for the switchblade in his coat pocket. “Goddamn it all,” he said, and slid the blade across his wrist long ways, so a red gash formed from wrist to just below elbow.
Scowling at the sight, Spike drew himself down and latched onto Xanders neck, taking two deep draws of blood before forcing his face away, tearing himself from the boy. He wanted more, wanted every last little drop of the ambrosiatic stuff, but…that was murder.
And this wasn’t?
Coaxing the boys head into his lap, Spike held his arm over Xanders mouth, dripping the blood betwen the boys lips with a sick expression on his face the entire time. This wasn’t what he needed, wasn’t a good idea, and certainly wouldn’t go over well with the boys slayer friend!
It took only moments for the boy to notice the blood. His tongue shot out, lapping up the spilt liquid with clumsy eagerness. Time passed, and he was searching for the stray drops now, licking his lips. It was as though Xander were unconscious during all of this – and for that Spike was grateful. He couldn’t imagine the expression the boy would make, the sick sick expression that would be on his face all the while he was forced to drink.
But now, even Spike couldn’t say Xander was being forced. The crumpled boy had lifted up, probing the air for those drops even before they hit his lips. With one, final grimace, Spike lowered his arm to Xanders mouth, gave the boy a taste of the real stuff.
Immediately, Xander latched onto the wound, sucking at it, trying to tear away at the flesh. With no fangs, he only managed a little, only managed to send an unpleasant tingle up the Master Vampire’s arm.
Spike could feel it now – the frantic beating, slow at first and then faster, growing in speed, more and more as though it were racing towards something. And then, it stopped. There was no more rushing, no more drumbeat rumbling in his mind. Only pure, unadulterated silence. A silence that made his broken heart ach.
Currently being Beta Read ^_^ I should have the edited version up very soon.