I’ve never attempted fanfic before, so please excuse me if this is not very good. Thought I’d have a go and see if it was any fun. This tale is set in the aftermath of the final Angel episode and while it might reference a bit of what happened in the comics after, it will only be vaguely. Never read them myself. The story is centered around spike, but will likely venture into a Spike/Buffy thing down the road. Hope you enjoy :)

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Heaven And Hell

by Nameless and Faceless

Chapter 10  Dreams and Nightmares

AN: Just a heads up. Some of the content in this chapter is dark and could be considered disturbing by some. If you are wary of such things I just want to warn you before you read. Thanks once again to everyone that reads and reviews. It's gratifying to know people are interested in the story.

When Rupert Giles arrived at the small apartment in Las Vegas he did so with a firm plan of action in mind. He’d done his homework before getting on a last minute flight and had a good idea of what the situation was. A discrete conversation with the Watcher on scene, one of the few survivors of the old regime and a woman he didn’t know personally, had given him enough clues to complete his hurried investigation. He knew what was happening to Spike. He knew how to stop it. Most importantly, he knew how to attain his more pressing goal. He knew how to keep Spike away from his Slayer.

Not the Buffy could rightfully be called his Slayer anymore. That aspect of their relationship had ended. He continued to think of her as a daughter figure, though. He had to protect her regardless of the strain that had infected their bond over the last few years.

Knocking on the door he was greeted by his subordinate Watcher and admitted immediately. In the living room he found a strange collection of young women. The twins were there, both looking every bit like they’d been involved in a massive car accident. Both girls were moving gingerly and looked sore but they appeared fine all the same. Their advanced healing had already begun to mend the worst of it.

Then there was Tara. Gentle Tara who had died years before in a senseless murder. She was looking at him, worry clear in her pale eyes, her hands fidgeting as he remembered they always did when she was agitated or nervous. The young witch opened her mouth to speak as she rose tiredly from her seat but no words came out. She seemed uncertain what to do or say.

He took the decision from her hands and walked over to her, setting his bags down and wrapping her in a firm hug. Her hands rested on his back after a second and she hugged him back, her face in his shoulder. A quiet sound escaped her, one he knew meant she had tears in her eyes and he kissed her hair gently.

“I’m so very glad to see you alive and well, Tara,” he told her seriously as he took hold of her shoulders and pushed her back enough so he could look at her. “You mustn’t worry. We’ll fix this.”

She nodded in response, that quiet smile appearing if only briefly. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he chided her with a smile. It truly was good to see her again, whatever the ramifications might be.

They were interrupted by the second watcher, who introduced him to her Slayers. The three of them looked at him in a way that made him a touch uncomfortable but he’d long since grown accustomed to the strange notion that the Sunnydale alumni were some sort of celebrities in the new Slayer community. Those few who had survived the destruction of the Hellmouth were half legend, viewed with awe and a bit of hero worship. Awkward wasn’t quite enough to describe it.

He brushed the uncomfortable meeting aside as soon as he was able and got to business. The sooner he did this thing the sooner he could return to his life and duties in London. “I need to see him now,” he said. “We can discuss matters after I see what we’re dealing with.”

Tara nodded and drew him to the back rooms. She knocked once on one of the doors but didn’t wait for an answer before opening the door and leading him inside. There was Spike laying on a bed in the center of the room. His legs and arms had been strapped to the bed with thick leather strips and Giles was reminded of years past when they’d found him in the wake of his time with Glory. A faint trace of guilt touched the Watcher as he surveyed the battered vampire, but he pushed it aside. This had to be done.

Reclining in a chair beside the bed was a golden young man that looked very much like he’d been in the same car accident that the two Slayers had been in. Worse, in fact. He didn’t seem to have their healing capabilities that the girls did. His face was puffy and bruised as he looked up from an old book he’d been reading and removed the legs that had been crossed on the bed. His eyes met Giles’ and held for a moment. There was no smile there. No welcome. In fact, the curly haired golden young man frowned.

“Gate,” Tara said after a moment. She sounded a bit confused by the suspicion on the young man’s face. “This is Mr. Giles,” she drew Giles deeper into the room to the bedside as Gate rose to his feet. “Mr. Giles is an old friend. He… well, he knows Spike from before. He can help. Mr. Giles, this is Gate. He’s a friend of Spikes. They‘ve known each other forever.”

Giles felt his eyebrows lift a bit. This young man had known Spike forever? The changes the vampire had undergone in Sunnydale, the chip and eventually the soul. The open changing of sides in the war between good and evil, Giles had always assumed that most of Spike’s old acquaintances would turn away from him in the aftermath of that.

“A friend of Spikes?” he said wonderingly. “I never knew he had friends.”

“Well, we have some common interests,” the young man responded, a smile replacing his frown. Blue eyes glinted a bit at the ambiguous statement, leaving Giles to wonder.

“Yes, I see,” the Watcher said slowly.

“Mr. Giles,” Tara interrupted their stare down. She gave Gate an annoyed look which made him look abashed after a second “Spike, remember?”

“Yes, of course,” the British man said, taking his glasses off to clean them. “I need to run a few tests to verify my findings, but I think I have an idea of how to help. Let’s get started.”

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He wasn’t quite certain where he was. Italy, by the look and sound of the people wandering the busy plaza he found himself meandering through. Exactly where in Italy he had no idea. Try as he might, he couldn’t recall how he’d arrived there or even when. Or why he had clearly been in a nasty brawl recently. His body was sore. There was a minor, if painful gash on his right leg that could only have come from a sword.

What the hell had he been doing?

At least they were in the city. Cold comfort as it was, he sensed their presence in the plaza. Could practically smell where they’d walked only an hour or two before. That was reassuring, much as he hated to admit it. The thought of being alone was unsettling. Angelus and his bitch partner/sire, he could live without. But where they went, his dark goddess went. Being without her was unacceptable.

Dru filled his senses. It was her scent that he followed. That exotic taste of insanity and debased wretchedness that was her and her alone. When he closed his eyes he could almost see her, dancing. Blood on her face and arms, giggling happily. Perfectly beautiful, achingly untouchable.

Thought of her drove away his confusion. What did it matter where he’d been when she was so close. What did anything really matter when she was waiting for him to find her. It must be one of her games. His love always did enjoy her little games. Maybe she’d taken his memory.

She wanted him to find her, that much he was certain of. She missed him and wanted to play with him. So he did the only thing that his nature would allow him to do and he followed her scent, walking through the streets of a foreign city and bypassing the countless temptations that were arrayed before him. He was hungry, but even that need could not defeat his need to see her. She wanted him to find her. His black princess was calling to him.

The trail eventually led him to a large two story building far from the milling mass of nocturnal activity. A quiet neighborhood of run down buildings, an area that had once been posh and had since fallen on hard times until it was clearly a refuge of the lower classes. Not the sort of place his “beloved family” usually frequented.

He paused in front of the building for a moment, peering up at it as he wondered why they were here. Darla had been on a kick recently about preying on the upper crust and what Darla wanted she usually got. Maybe Angelus had gotten tired of accommodating her and this was part of one of the silly games those two played with one of another.

His musing were interrupted when the distinct sound of a high pitched squeal came from the run down building. So they were still amusing themselves. That was good. Maybe they’d saved something for him. He really was hungry.

The smell of blood hit him as soon as he opened the door and stepped into the dark structure. Fresh blood. His demon, never far from the surface anyway, growled low with greedy anticipation at the scent and he shuddered in response to the powerful surge of need. He could tell that his family was playing, not simply feasting. Almost as powerful as the scent of blood was the heady sensation of pain and terror. The air was ripe with it.

It was a house, he realized. A beaten down house that had once been a fine place to live. Now it was dingy and dirty and clearly in need of repair. The walls were worn and colorless. The wooden floor was half rotted.

They were downstairs. This close, he could clearly identify all three of them, could feel them even without his superior senses. He could feel their blood calling to his in a way that no human family would ever understand. The blood knew its own.

His steps carried him to them without a second thought. Even if he wanted to avoid them, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself. It was all still so new. The darkness of it all. He’d only been turned a decade before and try as he might, the mystical chains the had on him seemed unbreakable. As much as he wanted to just take Dru and go, he didn’t think he could. Even if she agreed, which he doubted she would, the demon inside wanted its family close.

That thought elicited a frown. Why was he so agitated about this? He’d made his peace with it. He’d resolved that Dru was worth putting up with the other two. It had been years since he’d really even considered leaving. Why now?

The door to the basement opened with a nudge of his foot an he strolled in, casual and confident. Confidence was the key. They preyed on the weak. They fed on uncertainty. They were stronger, all of them, but damned if he was going to be their victim. That part of him was best left dead. He was powerful in his own right and he’d make them see it someday.

His confidence was immediately shaken when he entered the basement and found his family waiting for him. It was not them. He’d long since grown accustomed to their impossible beauty, to the dark majesty that they exuded. No longer did he feel awe in their presence. Never again.

An orphanage.

They know.

Memory came rushing back, stirred by the malicious glee in all three of their gazes. He understood. They knew what he’d done.

It had been a week before in a small village up north. They’d come across a family and decided to entertain themselves but ended up arguing over which of them would get to kill which of the terrified mortals. At the time it had been quite funny to sit at their dinning table and play a card game to decide who got first pick while the humans had watched and wept. It had been a good time. All four of them had enjoyed themselves tormenting the bound humans with dire promises as their poker game had unfolded.

He’d ended up with the little girl. A tiny thing, maybe five or six years old. A sobbing, wailing bundle of terror and hopeless, animal fright. His family had claimed their bounty and wandered off to play with their food, leaving him with the child. He’d been… amused at the tiny human’s fear. Taken her hand and led her up to her room.

He’d told himself that he had soothed her fear because her cries were annoying. That he’s wrapped an arm around her tiny shoulders and whispered comforting words in her ear while the girl’s family had screamed in other rooms because he wasn’t in the mood to play with his food. She’d wept, too young to understand the real horror of what was happening but old enough to comprehend the agonized screams that were echoing through the house. But she had quieted and looked up at him with giant dark eyes and seemed to understand that she was about to die. Even seemed to accept it.

Staring into those childish, haunted eyes he’d been… troubled. Uncertain for the first time in many years. Not understanding why, he’d found himself unable to do it. It was just a mortal. A mortal like the hundreds he’d already murdered. Nothing different about her. Yet he couldn’t do it.

Disgusted with himself, he’d taken the girl’s hand and walked her out of the house. He’d taken her… where? He couldn’t remember what had happened after he’d walked out of the house. That had been a week ago and he hadn’t seen his family since. Until now.

Two adults were chained to the floor in the center of the basement. A man and a woman. The children. There had to be a dozen children of various ages. They were all huddled against the far wall in a thick formless blob of flesh as they clutched at each other for comfort against the impossible nightmares walking amongst them.

Darla was straddling the adult woman, bloody knife in hand. She’d been playing for some time already, by the large pool of blood surrounding them. The naked woman’s face and torso were covered in the delicate, shallow cuts that the eldest of the family so loved to inflict. Darla was nothing if not exquisite in her technique. He knew from experience that no one died until Darla wished them too.

Dru, his beloved Drusilla, eternal queen of his damned soul, was toying with the man. He wasn’t in pain yet, of course. That wasn’t how his family played. Pain wasn’t enough. It was an appetizer. No, his face was a mask of horrified revulsion as he struggled fruitlessly, screaming for his wife even as Dru’s head bobbed up and down on his lap and he tongue lapped at and stroked him. The body responded even when the mind and soul revolted. It was a game they knew all too well.

His eyes locked on his sire as she pleasured the horrified man but he forced himself not to react. Things would only get worse if he reacted. If they thought he was attempting to claim her as his own again, they’d take her from him. She’d leave him. Because he was weak. Because he cared about her and wanted her and that simply wasn’t how his family operated.

“Spike!’ a heavy hand slapped him on the shoulder with enough force to make him stumble and the imposing form of Angelus appeared beside him. The much large man gave him a malicious smile that told Spike that he knew exactly what the younger vampire was thinking and feeling and was amused by it. “Perfect timing, boy. It’s family fun time.”

There was a second, a brief second where Spike could only see a hazy red and fury unlike anything he’d ever experienced surged through him. He itched to throw himself at his elder, to tear the flesh from his screaming body inch by agonizing inch. He hated with a purity, hated so deep and so strong that he thought he was going to choke on it. Had he been human he very well might have.

Amused anticipation met his furious eyes. Angelus was waiting for him to attack. They all knew he’d spared that girl. They were going to punish him. They’d found a weakness in him. They only thing his loving family adored more than inflicting pain on others was inflicting it on each other. His hand closed slowly into fists. One beautiful moment of violence. Just one moment. He wanted it so much that his fists were shaking at his sides.

They won’t stop. Now that they know this bothers me, they’ll never stop. This will keep happening.

Clarity. He understood what was happening. He understood why they were doing this. Understood that they were as afraid as they were angry. He was different and they didn’t want his difference to reflect on what they were. They didn’t want to see themselves in his eyes. They wanted him to be as they were and they wouldn’t stop until he was or they killed him.

It all seemed to simple once he saw it. He even understood how to stop it. All he had to do was kill that final nagging, half-remembered voice in the back of his mind that screamed that this was wrong. He was a demon. He was evil. He’d murdered countless people without thought or remorse. He was evil. He loved the freedom that being evil allowed.

This meant nothing. He was a demon. He wasn’t supposed to care.

Please, no. Please…. Don’t do this.

He had to. They wouldn’t stop until he showed them that he was one of them. They’d never stop. He wasn’t strong enough. He was weak.

God forgive me.

A leering smile broke on his features and his fists unclenched. He slapped Angelus on the shoulder, causing the large elder to give him a surprised look. “Thanks, mate,” Spike confided, forcing a light tone into his voice. “Feeling a bit peckish. You mind?”

Before Angelus could answer, he reached out and swiped the bloody knife that the elder had been holding. Smirking, he walked away from the bigger man with a swagger that he knew would infuriate. Dru looked up at him and grinned wickedly, staring at him with a surreal adoration and he leered back.

“Not just yet, pet. You’re time will come,” he promised, walking toward the huddled mass of children. “For now, daddy wants to play.”

The screaming was an assault. It was their eyes, the no longer innocent eyes, that truly cut him though. He was a demon. He made himself smile and ignore the howling in his head.

God forgive me. GodforgivemeGodforgivemeGodforgiveme.

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“Giles,” Tara murmured worriedly “He’s crying.”

Giles looked up in surprise and saw that the inert vampire did indeed have tears streaming out the corners of his closed eyes. Tara was gently stroking his forehead but that seemed to be no comfort. Whatever Spike was experiencing was haunting him.

“He’s fading away, Giles,” the young witch whispered. “I can feel it.”

“Yes,” Giles frowned “Well, I’m ready. I’ll need you to leave me alone with him now.”

Tara nodded immediately and rose after giving Spikes forehead one last comforting stroke, but Gate snorted.

“Not likely, Watcher. You go right ahead and get too it. I won’t disturb you.” the young man’s expression was distinctly unfriendly.

“Having anyone else in the room will disrupt the spell,” Giles insisted, knowing he was lying but trusting in the urgency of the moment to avoid much argument.

“Is that right?” the golden young man was frankly distrusting.

“Gate,” Tara settled a hand on the young man’s shoulder “please. Giles would never hurt Spike. Well..” she paused and looked at Giles uncertainly as she recalled some of the interactions between the Watcher and Vampire.

“I promise I won’t harm him, Tara,” the older man assured her “There’s very little time.”

That seemed to be enough for the witch. She whispered urgently to her friend, tugging on him and he finally got up and walked out, pausing at the door to give one final glare to the Giles. “Don’t fuck this up, Watcher.”

Giles put them both out of his mind as soon as the door closed. His attention locked on Spike and he frowned at the angelic looking vampire.

“I’m doing this for Buffy,” he told his comatose former nemesis. “You, of all people, should understand that.”

Everything he needed was in place. He began casting his spell.

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It was sublime. Heavenly. She was sleeping in his arms, a warm bundle curled up against him, nestling comfortably against his side. Her arms were around him, clutching herself to him. She was asleep in his arms. Her expression was one of peace. Contentment. In his arms.

Her scent was covering him like a blanket, touching every part of him. Her hair, her skin, the now dried tears from earlier. Her breath warm against his shirt. He was afraid to move, as if moving even an inch would cause her to wake and realize where she was. As if moving an inch would make her recoil from him. So he lay there, still, and watched her sleep, studied every line of her face. Rejoiced in the peace that seemed to have enveloped her.

It had been a difficult night. The betrayal by her friends had wounded her more deeply than she could admit. But wonder of wonders, she’d allowed him to heal her pain. She’d let him comfort her. Let him love her and make things right. She’d been broken and she’d let him fix her.

He really couldn’t describe what he was feeling. It wasn’t like before when he’d had her in his arms. That had been all fire and pain and lust and fury. It had hurt them both as much they’d both taken pleasure from it. A violent, physical dance of lust and self loathing. Ripping each other apart because they could only connect through pain.

No, this was different. She trusted him. He knew it down to the core of his being. She’d let him in, if only for one brief night of weakness. Let him truly see her at her most vulnerable. Trusted him not to hurt her. That trust made him feel like a giant. Like a god. Made him feel more alive, more at peace than he’d imagined possible.

He’d never known that the world could be that sweet. That perfect.

This is Heaven. This is what Heaven is.

It wasn’t going to last. Some part of him knew that. She would wake eventually and she would leave, because she could never love him like he loved her. Because he wasn’t what she needed. But right then, in that time with her nestled so comfortably, so peacefully in his arms, he couldn’t care.. The fact that she trusted him enough to give him that night meant everything to him. He knew somehow that whatever happened after that night would be okay. No pain, no loss, nothing could take that feeling away from him.

His head lowered, lips brushing her blonde locks as he inhaled her scent. In response, her arms tightened around him and she wiggled even closer, as if she was afraid he was going to move away. She made sleepy noises that made him smile but he just kissed her hair again, taking joy in the perfection of the moment.

The stray thought struck him that they were lucky his soul wasn’t the result of a curse like a certain unnamed git of a vampire. This was Spike’s moment of perfect contentment. Perfect happiness. Nothing could match this.

“Thank you,” he whispered, so hushed that it was almost inaudible because he feared to wake her. “I don’t deserve you and I know you won’t stay, but thank you for tonight.”

She nestled deeper once again, her face angelic, so beautiful that he felt an ache simply looking at her.

I don’t want to leave. This is the only place I want to be.

Something told him he could. All he had to do was close his eyes and he could stay there with her forever. He knew it in his bones. He could be hers. In her arms for eternity. He could stay in Heaven. All he had to do was let go.

It was wrong, a part of him whispered. It wasn’t real. But it was real. He was so tired. He didn’t want to hurt anymore. He didn’t want to think about the thing’s he’d done, the man he’d been. He just wanted to hold her, love her.

I don’t care if its real. I need her.

So he closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her hair and willed himself to let go. This was all the reality he needed. Nothing else mattered.

There was a shocking flash of blinding light, a pulse of light that washed over them both, and suddenly the room was gone, leaving the two of them on the bed surrounded by blackness. No. Something was going to take her away from him. No.

A second pulse, and she was gone. He felt himself howling, but there was no sound. He felt his body shaking violently as the loss of that connection but he couldn’t muster even the energy to scream. He was simply empty. She was gone. His Buffy.

No.

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Spike was thrashing as the imprisonment spell ended. He was howling and jerking against his bonds, but he was not awake yet. Giles watched him, forcing himself to be cold about this. To do what had to be done.

The vampire was free of his magical prison. Now all that remained was to ensure he followed the correct path once he was awake again.

The Watcher placed a hand on Spike’s forehead and began chanting once more. He didn’t have much time.

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He was laying on the floor in a room that had no doors and no windows. Broken, exhausted. Empty. Alone. He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to go on.

“Hello, Spike,” a soft voice, a voice he would know anywhere. Desperate blue eyes jerked up, and there she was. Older, sadder. Her arms crossed over her chest protectively. Smiling at him. A smile without much warmth.

“Buffy?” he whispered huskily.

“You have to get up, Spike,” she said, not moving toward him. Looking at him in a strangely distant way. Much like she’d looked at him before the soul. Untrusting. Insistent.

“I… I.. I just wanted to…” he whispered softly, confused now. Had it been real?

“I know what you wanted,’ she frowned, and something inside him broke. “No.”

“No,” he repeated slowly.

“No.”

His eyes closed slowly and his head dipped, just a bit before he forced himself to look at her again. He’d known. He’d always known. It was hard to face it, but it wasn’t a surprise really.

“You have to wake up soon, Spike,” she was speaking to him again. He listened, but he couldn’t look at her. The distrust, even anger in her eyes was like hot coals inside him. “I sent Giles to help you, to create this link so I could talk to you. But we don’t have much time. You have to wake up and get back to your life.”

“Why?” he asked hoarsely, reeling. He’d known, but he hadn’t expected her to be this cold.

“Because I want you to be okay,” she insisted. “You’ve been a good friend.

“You want me to be okay?” he shook his head slowly, willing himself to push past this. Allowing anyone to see him this broken, even her… maybe especially her… he couldn’t let her see.

“Of course I do,” she snapped with a touch of asperity. “I’m not a monster. You’ve done a lot for me.”

A growl, deep in his throat. Don’t let her see. He forced himself to stand, to look her eye to eye. By sheer force of will, he crushed the pain inside and hide it from her.

“All in a day’s work, Slayer.”

She eyed him closely for a second, then glanced away as if listening to something he could not hear. “Good,” she said, looking back at him. “We don’t have much time left. I need to tell you one last thing before I say goodbye.”

“Say it,” he said, his tone duller than he would have liked.

“I need you to stay away,” a quiet tone. She wasn’t angry, just staring at him to make certain he understood. “I’m happy now, Spike. I have someone to love, someone who loves me back. It’s healthy and right and I’m happy. I know you have… feelings. But I can’t have you around complicating things. I’m sorry.”

There was a moment, a brief moment, where he just looked at her. He’d known she could never love him, but…

This is Hell. This is what I deserve.

“Go on, Slayer,” he said roughly. “You won’t be bothered.”

Those endlessly deep green eyes met his for a lingering moment. He looked for a trace, just a hint of something that said she cared. But there was nothing.

I’m in Hell.

“Goodbye, Spike.” she said softly “Be happy.”

Then she was gone, leaving him to stare at the empty space she had occupied. What was there to say? What was there to do?

“I love you, Buffy,” he whispered.

And then he was waking.

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His eyes opened to find people staring down at him. A happy, teary eyed Tara was sitting beside him on the bed, holding one of his bound hands and smiling her gentle smile. Gate was behind her, looking just shy of livid for some reason. His friend met his eyes and the anger mostly faded into a welcoming smile before the glare returned to the third person in the room. Rupert Giles met Gate’s scowl with a frown of his own before he looked down to Spike, his face completely unreadable.

“Welcome back, Spike,” Giles said with a cool, distant nod.

No soddin’ way he was going to let the Watcher see his pain. It was his and he would deal with it on his own. She’d said she was happy and that was what he’d always said he wanted for her. Bugger all if he was going to break his word. Even if she’d been a bitch about it.

The vampire looked at the three of them, then down at his own bound and damaged body on the bed and groaned, forcing an amused quirk to his voice when he spoke. “You know,” he drawled “I can’t remember the last time I spent an entire year without ending up shirtless and covered in bruises from some torture session.”

Tara giggled and leaned in to kiss his hair in an affectionate, sisterly way. Strange how that simple, quiet act seemed to heal the burns, just a tad.

“Expect there’s a story to tell,” he said after a moment “But all I can think of is getting a nip of sleep. I’ll talk to you two later, ya?” both Gate and Tara nodded, smiling. Then Spike turned to the Watcher, forcing his voice to remain level.

“Good to see you again, Rupes. Was quite a party. I’m sure all the kiddies loved it. You’ll excuse me for not shaking your hand. Thanks for all the help, now kindly fuck off and leave.”

Tara gasped, but Spikes eyes were already closing and he was no longer listening. A moment later, he heard them leave and he was alone again, trying not to be haunted. Knowing he would be.

Hell indeed.

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Rupert Giles was on a plane heading back to England that night. He was exhausted. Though experienced with magic, he wasn’t nearly as strong as Willow, or even Tara. His work with Spike had tested the limits of that strength. But it was done.

A part of him felt guilt over what he’d done. For a time, he’d witnessed the dreams and memories haunting the vampire. It as all too painfully obvious the depth of the love for his Slayer that existed there. Crushing that would never be something he’d be proud of.

It had been necessary. He’d done what he’d had to to protect her. He’d done it for her.

He just hoped she never found out what he’d done in her name.