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, he has drawn himself inward, pulled away from everyone around him to wallow. 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?
This will be a LONG fanfiction, and said length will be determined through number of readers and reviews.
Distribution: All I ask is you like to my page on this website, i.e. the original address of its publication. Feel free to do what you wish when you wish however you wish with this fic!
Authors Notes: As well, if anyone has any suggestions at all, do PM or e-mail me! I’m more than happy to oblige. Besides MAJOR points in this fic, I’m open to most anything at all X3
Spike returned, wearily shuffling back to his crypt with a defeated air about him. The failure, the absolute failure that he had known of since he had proclaimed his solitude, was certain now. He could see it in the eyes of those people he had once before – Willow, the watcher, even that roach of a blood dealer -- looked at him with pity, ------, even revulsion.
He could hear the monster inside, hear the short succession of clangs that Xander made against his bonds, whipping his hands out from the constraints of the ties as far as they would go and slamming them down on the chair back. He did the same with his feet, smashing into the floor as well as the chair legs. Spike was certain they would break soon. If not, his entire crypt would begin to crumble under the miniature quakes.
For a long while, the vampire stood in the upper segment of his crypt, not willing to venture below yet and face what he knew he had to.
Even in that upper section of his crypt, he could feel the daylight penetrating, slipping in like a vapor. It made him sick to his stomach, made his head ache. But, venturing below would only be worse.
Throwing down the bundle in his arms, Spike watched as the books skitter across the floor – the womyns studies volume sliding next to a packet of blood. One of those packets slid and began to tear, break at the seams. A leak like a needle prick came from the top, spat blood like a bursting water balloon.
Snatching up that blood bag, Spike lifted the stone coffins lid and slid into darkness. He left the bag where it was to pool all around like a wound. It was no use putting off what would only yet worse with time.
Xander had been working the ties on his wrists and ankles, working against the chair for some hours with a strength he had only come to possess within that time span. He could feel the chair, the heavy oak with legs thicker than his own, beginning to strain under the pressure. The point of its breaking would be soon, he was sure of that. Same with the binds that held him to the chair back.
The air changed about him, shifted as though a presence entered the very molecules of it. Xander sat upright, stiffened. He knew the feeling already, after the touch of it once before. His sire had returned, had come back.
A grin spread across Xanders face, wide and certain that he would enjoy what came next. For now, he would stop pulling against the strains and listen, wait patiently until the Master Vampire returned.
Spike dumped the packets of blood in the cooler – surprised the damn thing even had power Long ago, he had made an effort to tap into the graveyard generator – a pathetic little thing which kept the groundskeeper’s home warm at night.
Now, even unmaintained, Spike had the power for his cooler – the lights had all faded away, bulbs burnt out or broken for one reason or another. It’s not like he minded that much anyway.
Snatching up two of the packets – one of new bank blood, the other a congealed sack of pigs – he shut the coolers lid. He warmed them together, listening for the sound of Xander struggling in the other room. It was quiet, a dead sort of silence.
Taking out the warm packs, Spike grimaced before pulling his mind from the situation and ripping into the pig’s blood, letting it burst greedily and drips down his face. Hesitating, he almost let his ace shift, but couldn’t bear to. It was necessary for him to drink now, not for himself. If it were just for his own benefit, he would sooner fade away, but the man in the other room, the newborn, his childe…if he did not feed, the young man would be come out of control, would loose himself completely to his killer instincts before Spike could attempt restoring his soul. And I that didn’t work….there was no way he could kill the man, no way he could shove a stake into Xanders chest.
Spike threw aside the drained packet, mouth sore from not shifting his face. Feeding with his human guise on was quite difficult, painful for newer vampires. His fangs had receded into his mouth and it took great effort to tear at the pack.
Taking the bank packet, Spike entered the back room silently, looking straight ahead and trying to wipe away all traces of fear he knew the young fledgling would pick up on instantly.
Xander indeed sat there, bound to the chair still, head against his chest. Spike understood the pain he must be in, a wretched thrall of pain as his whole body changed, became and finally died. The boy must have fallen into a slumber some time ago, exhausted from the great effort his own body’s transformation was causing him. Resting, he looked almost mortal again.
The fledgling groaned, a soft mummer that nobody but a vampire would have been able to hear. Xander was stirring at the scent of blood, something a newborn craved like an addiction.
Spike held the bag of human blood to his new childe’s face, letting the bag press against his mouth. Xanders tongue shot out, licking at the bags surface, searching for an opening like a newborn cat. When he found none, the young vampire leaned forward, into the bag itself, bringing his lips up against the unsteady form of it
“Drink,” spike murmured, keeping his voice low so he barely heard it himself, “you have to tear into it,”
Xander heard and opened his mouth, newly formed fangs – with great effort – beginning to puncture the bag.
Spike pulled back at the overwhelming sent of human blood, he almost lurched forward, almost threw himself at the bleeding sack to take from his childe and drink for himself.
No. He would not drink from a human again, not ever. The pain he had already caused, the loss he was the centre of. Only with Xander about would he keep himself replenished with that vial pigs blood. When this was all over, he would just fade into dust.
The bag was almost empty, sucked into itself and drained so that the little that was left seeped about the insides of the bag, forming little tributaries in the vacuumed surface, red veins.
Yellow eyes. Xander was looking up at him, grinning with his mouth still closed. He swung forward, arms still bound together but otherwise free, slipping the tied pair about Spikes shoulders and bringing hard around his neck. The chain that held Xanders wrists together cut into Spikes neck, pressing so that, if he were human, Spike would have suffocated. Instead, he just stared, unable to move.
Xander pulled up, against Spikes neck until he was standing and staring down at the Master Vampire. He grinned again, this time showing his teeth but not opening them. They were a wall, a dam. Blood dripped from between them, staining the white and slipping through as though he himself were bleeding
Xander moved forward, faster than Spike would have thought possible for a fledgling so young, and pressed his lips hard against Spike own. The childe opened his mouth, human blood slipping form his own to Spikes.
Spike froze, unable to move – from loss of strength, from the sensation that was filling him. Human blood had not touched his lips since Xanders own, and before that…he could not even remember. Struggling, Spike tried to pull away – a halfhearted attempt.
Xander growled into his mouth, and pressed harder against his lips until their teeth met. Spike gave in, only for a moment, letting the blood fill him for a minute without thought, without worry of what he was doing or what would become. He was lost in the lust for blood, the sensation of feeding without worry or regret for just a moment.
Pulling away, Xander grinned too wide too slowly, and one of his new fangs sliced awkwardly into Spikes lip, spilling again blood. The fledgling licked the wound before moving back his head. Spike stood still, staring as though he could not understand what had happened, looking forward at his childe's chest as though he did not understand what stood in front of him.
The strength in him was returning, the sensation of greedy power overwhelming
Sneering, Xander looked down at the vampire with his game face showing, enjoying the moment of power. “Drink,” he said, a half chortle, low and harsh.
He kissed the vampire once more and, untangling his arms from his Sire’s neck, before falling back into his seat, watching Spike like a predator, never ceasing to grin.
Spike had left the room quickly, not bothering with tying his childe up. It was just past noon, besides the fact that the newborn was bound to him, was bound to stay where his sire was. That’s just how it worked. A childe was attached to his sire, forced to stay with their creator until they grew strong enough to live on their own. It was even more important with those of ancient blood, and the line of Aurelius ran through Spikes veins and now the Harris boy as well. It took years, decades for most of the ancients to break away from their sires hold if they ever did. There was no fear of the boy leaving.
Spike stood in the empty room, breathing heavily. He didn’t need to, but the deep exhales, the intake of air into blood not quite his own made him feel better. The breathing made him feel like less of a monster.
When he had made the move to leave, Xander had done nothing but stare. That smile seemed to have grown, to have become a permanent feature on the fledglings face like an eyes or fangs. Spike couldn’t bear to stare at it any longer.
So he stood, breathing heavily in his own little sanctuary, not wanting to face reality. Yet, the unmistakable strength that flowed through him now was something he couldn’t begin to deny.
Spike left the solace of his room just before four that afternoon. He wanted to be certain the sun was still high and his childe still in the crypt. After some time in the dark, Spike had collected the books he had borrowed from the Magic Shop and had begun pining over their elaborate texts.
Why the hell couldn’t those damn books read like actual god-forsaken English! Sure, the things were written in plain enough English letters and English words, but the sentences! It was as though whoever wrote the damn book has written in some sort of Morse code, that or just tried to fit as many words per sentence as sodding possible!
He had poured over the text before, so it came easier this time. Spike had pulled out of the book that there were actually a few ways to reinstate a daemons soul. Through the orb of Thesulah, through a pure “white hats” death and there was the less than clear gypsy method. That method was never really clear on the details, but there were a few choices here.
Because a newborn vampire’s soul had departed so recently, there were ‘curses’ which might work on his childe that would never have worked on a Master Vampire such as himself. They were a long shot, and he would require…help to perform any of these, but it was a chance he had. Only, though, before the month was up. He had one month to attempt this all, and then things became quite a bit harder…
He would have to speak to Willow, have to let the young wiccan in on his dark little secret and hope she didn’t kill him for it. Not that he would have blamed her. She was the only one strong enough to pull something of this calibre off.
Spike set the book down on the counter and stared up into yellow eyes. Xander seemed to have a new fascination with his true face, not having let himself shift back since feeding hours before. He smiled down at Spike, the childe’s large form in great comparison to Spikes own, lithe one.
Glancing at the counter, Spike saw that the entire soupy of blood he had picked up at the bank this morning was emptied in a mass of carnage on the countertop, sopping a scarlet stain into the wooden surface. It would stain.
Xander grinned once more, and moved away from his sire as though in a motion of . Spike stared at him, eyebrow raised.
“What’s it you’re doing, Harris?” he finally broke through the stand off with a curt little phrase that meant nothing.
Xander nodded, fishing into the open cooler. He picked a remaining packet of bank blood from inside of it and tossed it at Spike. The vampire caught it and stood, staring at Xander and not the bag.
He finally gave in, looked half-heartedly at the boy and clasped on the bag with his teeth. Regardless of the newborns intentions, Spike needed his strength if he were to coax the boy back in place and keep him in the crypt when night fell again. Buffy still patrolled the graveyard, and despite Xanders new vampiric strengths, Spike was hoping to at least attempt to put back his soul before the boy was dust.
If and when he failed, he’d have to do it himself.
Draining the bag, he set it on the counter with the five others and looked back to Xander.
“Why don’t we have a nice chat, Harris.” he forced the ashen words from his mouth, and motioned for his childe to follow.