fangstress (fangstress) wrote in bloodclaim,

The Hive:Chapter 12

Originally posted by fangstress at The Hive:Chapter 12


Chapter 12

By Fangstress

Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer crossover Angel the Series

Warnings: Violence, Slash, Rating R, Spangel, Eventual Spander, Souled!Vamp!Xander, Hive’Verse!, Crossovers, Supernatural, Gunn/Sam, Ghost!Wesley/Illyria,  Post Series, Ensemble Cast, Angst, Hurt/Comfort,

SUMMARY: Xander's life changes forever when he tries to help a deranged Slayer...

To read Chapter 1, click here:

To read Chapter 2, click here:

To read Chapter 3, click here:

To read Chapter 4, click here:

To read Chapter 5, click here:

To read Chapter 6, click here:

To read Chapter 7, click here:

To read Chapter 8, click here:

To read Chapter 9, click here:

To read Chapter 10, click here:

To read Chapter 11: click here:


Angel gave Xander an odd look-- concern? Sympathy?  He touched Xander lightly on the shoulder. "Xander." he said, quietly.

Xander met his eyes, warily.

"Come on. Let's go see Spike," Angel said with a hint of sadness. "It's time."



Chapter 12

By Fangstress

Xander reflected on his strange, new life-- or Unlife, rather, as Angel led him down the dark corridor. Everything seemed like a blur to him, but he'd been at the Hyperion for more than a month in his new life as a Vampire.

And after all the repair work he'd done on the old hotel, this was the first time he'd even seen this part of the underground wing. Separated as it was, from the rest of the building by a false wall and dim labyrinthine passageways, it seemed like subterranean catacomb in ancient Rome, not modern day Los Angeles.

Finally, they came to a dead end hallway, shrouded thickly in velvety darkness, only the light from a single lamp attached to the wall illuminating the wooden door before them.  Angel touched Xander's arm. "You ready?" He asked.

Xander nodded, suddenly feeling an inexplicable tightness in his chest, in his stomach. "How-- how bad is he?"

Angel gave a grim smile. "Depends on the day." He slowly approached the door at the end of the hallway, Xander close on his heels. He stopped in front of the door, sighing. "Xander, I need you to keep as calm as you can."

"Sure," Xander said quietly. "I can do that." He took a deep breath. “I’m better than I was, Angel. I can do this.”

“Yeah, I know.” Angel gave Xander an assessing look. "Come on, then." He opened the door, and Xander followed him into Spike's rooms.

At first, it looked like an ornate, well appointed Victorian sitting room had been stirred with the gargantuan hand of God, manifesting as hurricane and tsunami; there were papers and writing materials... absolutely everywhere. Every single surface in the room was piled with papers, scrolls, notebooks, parchment, loose sheets or fine writing paper, crumpled brown paper torn from paper bags, what looked like Japanese rice paper, all shot through shot through with gold and silver; any kind of paper that existed it seemed, Spike had it; and it rustled and shifted under their feet as Xander and Angel stepped into the room. 

Looking around amidst all the clutter, Xander almost missed the sad slight figure, huddled over a desk piled high with paper and books.

It was Spike, and he was muttering something softly and urgently to himself; writing furiously on a sheet of paper with a raggedly feathered quill pen. His emaciated frame trembled as if he were freezing, though the room was very warm, though Spike was tightly wrapped up in a heavy, scarlet, velvet robe, with black wool trousers peeking through the folds. His boots were same ones Xander remembered, and lace frothed at the frayed cuffs of the robe, which made his wrists look terribly fragile.

That get-up should have made Spike look dashing and maybe even romantic, Xander thought, but Spike seemed so broken and lost. He was paler than he'd ever been, and his sunken eyes burned too brightly as if he was feverish. Which was an impossibility, anyway—vampires didn’t get sick.  Xander listened as Angel questioned Spike quietly-- had he fed? Obviously not often.

"Quit your fussing, 'Gelus." Spike said to the walls, to the air. "I’ve been endeavoring to finish my chapbook. Very important it is, utmost importance-- lives hang in the balance—worlds---”

"The M'ke'jhisian-Geodetic texts? You translated them?" Angel asked, coming closer to peer over Spike's shoulder, but not touching him.

Spike, snarling, spun his chair around to face Angel, but then dropped his head into his hands, and rocking, began to keen softly. “Deep, deep under. I can feel the buzzing, the buzzing bees, and the bees in their armor so busy with their stinging, stinging bitches!"

"Spike." Angel shot Xander a worried glance, then refocused on Spike, trying again. "Vision, Spike? Or flashback? Or is it a dream?"

Spike took a shuddering breath. “Dreams." He huffed. “I think." But he seemed to be calming, focusing.

"Spike," Angel said. "You with us? I brought someone I think you'd like to see."

Spike's long, curly, honey colored hair draggled into his face, and he pushed it back with a shaking hand. "Don't want to. 'S my fault." He turned back to his desk, picking up the pen, hunching over the desk.

"No-- no, Spike--" Angel slowly approached the trembling vampire. “It’s Xander-- and he's here, and it's not your fault."

"All my fault-- all my--" Spike's writing became...violent, the scratch of the pen ripping holes into the paper becoming audible.

Xander started forward, but Angel stopped him with a look.

"Give him a minute. He's not-- tracking so well, let him get your scent."

It was all Xander could do to stay still and quiet, but even he could see that Spike was on the razor's edge of stability-- balanced there so precariously; it would take almost nothing to push him into the state he'd been in at his worst down in the basement of the High School, over the Hellmouth.

Spike slowly looked up, and then looked right at Xander with an odd, fey look. "I'm sorry. So sorry, Xander. You'll have to kill them. It's the only way." He turned his chair, facing Xander as if he thought he was dreaming. “It’s the Prophecy. It’s all that’s left to us…”

A chill went through Xander, but he stayed where he was, doing his best to project calm.

"None of that now," Angel reached out, tilted Spike's face up, searching Spike's eyes with his own. "You with me, Spike?" He asked, gently.

Spike swallowed audibly, and his eyes seemed to clear. His voice was a little rough, as if he'd just expended a great deal of effort. "Angel. Xander. Hyperion. My rooms." It sounded to Xander like some sort of ritual.

"You hungry?" Angel dropped his hand to Spike's shoulder, just letting it rest there. Not threatening. An anchor.

Spike shook his head, faintly. He smirked half-heartedly, and it made him look skeletal. "Later." He looked around the room, and then gave Angel self-deprecating look. "Made a mess again." He shrugged a little, and Angel removed his hand. Spike swayed, as if he was weak enough that sitting up was tiring him out. His eyes widened as he looked directly at Xander as if really registering who it was in front of him.

Xander started forward, and then stopped in his tracks. He didn't want to do anything to set Spike off again.

Angel nodded at Xander; and he approached Spike, crouching down before him.

"Spike." Xander reached into his pocket, drawing out the lighter he'd carried for Spike for so long. "We made a promise to each other." He reached out, and slowly took Spike's hand in his own, marveling that Spike didn't flinch. Instead, Spike cocked his head, staring at Xander with an awestruck gaze, full of wonder. His lips curved gently. "Xander? All grown up and one of us, now, “he said softly. He lifted a hand to Xander’s face, drew his index finger down the line of the strap on the patch.

"Yeah, it's me, Spike." Xander’s eye stung and he blinked, not wanting to cry in front of his old friend. But it had been so long. He cleared his throat, and Spike moved his hand to ruffle Xander’s hair.

“It’s longer. I like it.”

It was hard for Xander to speak past the lump in his throat. “I didn't know--- didn't know you were alive."

"I know. I--I was hiding." Spike said, sadly.

“From me?" Xander whispered, hurt. He’d figured something like this, but hearing – it was like being socked in the gut.

Spike hung his head, then looked back up to meet Xander’s eye. "From Buffy. The Watcher. The whole bloody Council. Never you, luv." Spike said quietly. He snagged Xander's hand, in his own, squeezed gently. “I’m so sorry--'bout what happened." He swallowed hard. “I know you'd rather have died than be... like this."

"It's not so bad." Xander said slowly, not wanting to distress Spike. “I mean, I've got my soul-- I'm not on a killing rampage..."

"Not much of it, yeah." Spike grinned. "The control. It'll come. Takes time."

"Yeah, Angel's always saying that."

Spike swiveled his head to look over at Angel, who, Xander noted, had been remarkably unobtrusive, perched on a paper littered Queen Anne settee; relaxed and observing quietly.

“Done a good job with him, Angel,” Spike offered. “Sorry to be out of it so long, this time. Meant to help.”

Angel nodded. "Feeling better, then?"

"I--" Spike stopped, seeming to look inward, as if he were taking an internal inventory. He looked up at Angel and then Xander, eyes wide as if in dawning realization. "Much better.”

Spike got an odd look on his face just then... like he was...listening to something. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Fumbling around the mess on his desk, he found a pack of cigarettes took one out and lit it. He took a deep, deep drag and shut his eyes. After a long moment, he opened them and focused intently on Angel, eyes almost electric with awareness. “Angel-- its happening."

Angel sighed, hung his head. “I feel it, too. “

"What? What's happening?" Xander looked back and forth between the two Master vampires in confusion. Something—tightened and pulled, just at the edge of his awareness—sharp, prickling—it felt like--

Angel just shook his head. “You’re feeling it too?”

The shivery waves of …knowing…were making Xander twitchy. Everything was too close. Spike. Angel. Everything. Too close. He felt like slapping at his skin—at the inside of his head-- "Again with the cryptic, Angel-- and Spike, you should know better--" Xander snapped. "What? Is. It. Now?"

"Xander." Angel quelled Xander with a look.

Right. Calm.

Spike, pushed his hair out of his face, and drew himself up in his chair looking far more lucid than he had even moments ago. “It's the Triumvirate Prophecy. Three Aurelian Vampires with Souls. Three become one. We're bonded, Xander.  Connected."

Xander looked at Spike with something very much akin to panic. With Spike’s words, something had clicked into place. He felt ...linked to Spike and to Angel in a way he hadn't before. As if there was a low thrum of energy -- a tenuous line stretching between them—linking them to each other-- strengthening him, making him calmer-- and making him feel as if he were more of himself.

And Spike was calm again.

And Angel…

He stood suddenly, and stepped back, trying not to step on papers littering the floor. "What is this? A bond? What's it mean, Angel? Spike?"

Spike gave Xander a look of profound sadness, pity. “It means war." 


That’s all for this week—and I’m sorry I’m a few hours late with this chapter. I ended up doing some restructuring and writing this one on the fly--- all while trying to move to a new apartment, working overtime, and recording and stuff with my band—along with extra band practices. I’m fairly happy with this, though—and I hope y’all enjoy it. Hope to see you next week!



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