Title: The Last Sunrise
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 and in 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?)
Through a series of…rather unfortunate events, Xander is a bit on the homeless side. Jobless too! Living at Giles place is getting past tedious. Still, it’s not as though there’s much choice. The young man has become a bit withdrawn himself and feeling like the most useless member of the Scooby gang.
Distribution: Just keep my name attatched please
Authors Notes: Remember: This is Fanfiction…but if I make any glaring mistakes within the context of the Buffyverse – and I’m sure I will – I would like to know. While I can’t be absolutely perfectly exact as far as everything goes, it might be nice to not make any wretched mistakes in the course of my writing.
He sat there, tied to a wooden chair. His hands had been bound behind his back, his legs attached separately different feet of the chair. The gag in his mouth was pulled tight, pulled until the flesh of his lips looked at the point of tearing.
It seemed a bit overkill for someone already dead, but Spike knew it wasn’t. He would have to leave soon, have to make his way out for the first time in months, and the last thing he needed was a new monstrosity added to his collection of unholy mistakes.
Xander sat, limp and cold, unmoving in the already still air of the crypt. He wouldn’t stay that way, those huge hazel eyes would not continue staring blindly forward much longer – Spike was certain of that. He felt it in his…his blood?
Regardless of whether or not he liked it, he would have to go out, have to get the proper supplies from the Magic Box and….provisions. It all seemed ethereal, not entirely real in his mind.
Those eyes stirred, something in them growing, swelling, not entirely alive again. Lids flicked open and shut again, moved in a grand succession of surveillance.
Spike looked again, couldn’t stand the sight of it. He left the room, going to the refrigerator.
Xander gasped, tried to take a deep breath before realizing the follow of both the gag and his new status. Searching the room wildly, he knew where he was – had been there before. Spikes crypt, a bit less suave than he remembered, but the Master Vampires home regardless.
Something inside of him burned, as though his veins were filled with something not entirely his own…something that course through him, something strong. He tried to remember what had happened, why he was where he was, tied to a chair.
A growl grew from deep in his throat, pulled out in an instant. He clashed against the chair, against the steel-hard binds on his arms and his legs. Growling again, Xander gnashed at the gag, tearing at it with fangs not yet developed fully.
The fabric ripped, but slowly and not fully. It was one of Spikes shirts, sheared. He could smell the vampire on it, spell the lusty scent, the blood. Xander grinned, taking another gnash at it until the gag finally fell away, dropped to land on his shoulders very much like a cowl.
He laughed. That strange sensation in his veins was growing, he could feel it winding its way up him until the power of it was unmistakable. The cold logic, the glorious sensation of the darkness – even within Spikes stink-hole of a home, was all coming to him.
And the lust. The blood he could smell was unmistakable. Even on his own clothing, even the stained, soiled shirt he wore drew him forward, made him want to suckle the cloth until he got every last, dried drop into his system. He reached, and couldn’t move that far…
The power was growing, and his bonds pushing, forcing him to understand his place, to understand what would happen. Xander growled again, changing this time, morphing into what he now was.
He could feel it, unmistakable feel the shirt in his features. It wasn’t painful, just a tinge, just something…different. But, with that shift, he felt the power more clearly, felt it push forward and forthright.
He growled, he laughed and then he stopped.
There was a scent from the other room, a deep and pertinent copper-scent which made him stop. Blood. He could smell it, feel it in him. Xander knew what he was and grinned, a wide, vicious grin.
Spike took out two bags of the expired blood he’d gotten from the bank well over a month ago…the stuff was near coagulating in the plastic sack. He threw the stuff in the hot water, not bothering to turn the stoves heat down. The water would boil the blood back to body temperature in no time.
Xander would need it before long.
A growl pierced the silence, the vicious sound of a wild animal confined. Followed by…laughter. The insanity, the absolute loss of mind that would be quickly followed by…Spike didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want it to get there.
He knew it would, knew with what he had done to the poor boy, there wasn’t any helping the change. Xander would become a monster, would have no chance of going back.
No, that’s not what he had thought just a while ago, right? Angel had gotten his soul back with some mambo-jumbo magic what-not, right? So, the boy had a chance. It was just Spikes choice, just his responsibility that the whelp…his childe didn’t fall so far before his soul could be returned.
Smoke was rising from the water, grey bellows from the heating blood. All in once instant, there was the toxicating wave of blood from the stovetop. One of the blood-bags had burst under the pressure of water. The scent of human blood wafted up.
Spike threw himself back, covering his face, pretending that the scent wasn’t there, wasn’t as alluring as it truly was. He lay, panting against the crypt wall for a moment, catching himself.
From the other room, Xander roared. He had smelled the blood too, had caught the scent and wanted it, wanted it bad. The blood lust of a new fledgling was unmistakable, was something that had to be taken care of, or…
Spike turned off the stove and dumped the contents of the pot into the sink without bothering to take the remaining bag out. It lay there, a great red sack, pusing out some of its contents from the edges.
He prodded, poked at the bag with his index finger, not sure if it had cooled to body temperature yet, not wanting to enter the other room with his new charge until he had the…food to quell such a rage.
It felt hot beneath his touch, the contents jolting away as though alive still, moving with the change in the bags shape. Spike could feel it in him, feel the hunger burning. After not feeding for almost a month and a half, giving his internal reserves to Xander had all but drained him completely. The hand out in front of him was graying, a dull tone creeping into the normally pallid complexion. He could feel it in the way he moved, unsure, soft…if it came down to a fight with Xander, even with the new vampires fledgling strength and his position as sire, there was no doubt he would loose.
Spike went to the refrigerator and took out the last packet of blood – human blood. He grimaced, but knew it wouldn’t work well if the young vampire saw him as something to be taken advantage of. He needed Harris to remain less than volatile until he had the change to fix this mistake.
Xander could feel his sire enter the room, could feel the presence of the Master Vampire the moment he entered. A wave of blood followed, a scent which made him lean forward in his chair, made him grin wildly.
“Isn’t this nice.” He drew, face still displaying his true self, “Didn’t think it would have been you who gave me this gift. I mean, you’re the one acting all high and mighty all the time, treating me like I’m absolutely—“
“Shut up Harris!” Spike shot, moving behind his childe so he wouldn’t be seen. That would do little, but it made him more comfortable with this whole…ordeal. He didn’t want to see that vampiric face on one of the Scoobies.
Xander obeyed, he couldn’t help but listen. Spike was his sire, his creator, his…master. The young vampire could feel the power rolling off of him, feel the presence that he gave off without a thought.
More than that, Xander could feel the connection, like an invisible string. They were connected, their minds drawn together for eternity and a day. Nothing could separate them, nothing…
Spike slashed open the blood bag with his fang, pulling it away from his mouth quickly, not wanting to taste the stuff any longer than he had to. The crimson stuff welled at the surface of the gash like a wound.
Xander perked in his chair, confined as he was, and scented the air. Spike was sure the boy already understood, already felt what he was. Oh god, what he had become…
“Here,” Spike held the bag in front of the fledgling’s mouth, not wanting to unbind the young man.
Xander latched on, immediately suckling against the bag as he had with Spikes arm, letting the blood seep into him, taint him. He had drained it all in less than a minute, emptied the bag completely and was searching for more. Like a puppy for his mother, the young childe ran his tongue along the tear in the bag, trying to get every last drop, every ounce of the sacred liquid he could.
Spike threw the bag on the floor, disgusted, both at himself and the fledge alike. Xander looked up, confused and still prodding the air for more blood.
“That’s enough.” Spike instructed, turning away to stare at the stone coffin behind him,
“But—“ Xander began, a desperation in his voice.
“I said that’s enough!” The vampire swore, kicking the earth. He stormed out of the room, left the fledgling alone in the dark.
He would leave, he would figure this all out, make sure this all turned out okay in the end…it was his responsibility, but Xanders problem..
Thank you for so many comments! It really makes me want to keep on writing.
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