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
Chapter 12 Here to There
AN: This chapter will be a bit different. I need to bridge the gap between Vegas and the place and time where the story will pick up again. At the same time I need to share a bit about the people and the world so that things make sense later. Hope you enjoy.
Year One:
The first year was something of a haze to Tara. They traveled as a group which was awkward at first. Chicago, Dallas, New Orleans. It all went by in a strange blur. The four of them would blow into a new town, find a suitable place to rent, and the process would begin.
It was strange for Tara. Her experience with the male species had been, for better or worse… well, worse. The thought of living with three guy, and at least two of them demons at that, was just shy of panic worthy. Unfortunately, there was no choice. True to Gate’s prediction, assassins came after them. Hunters dogged their heels. No matter how many died in the attempt, more seemed to come. The small group was forced to stay close enough to protect each other.
They developed a strange routine early on. Clem, ever a homebody and the only one of them likely to cause a stir among the humans, stayed in whatever house the group commandeered. He cooked for them, recorded the television shows he thought they would like and generally provided a friendly ear and easy conversation to his quieter friends.
Spike was more than a little quiet that first year. In fact, he hardly spoke to any of them except Tara. He spent most of his time alone, wandering the streets and watching the endlessly revolving world. A stillness had settled on him, a languid melancholy that didn’t welcome companionship or banter. Yet at the same time, he would do things like pick up groceries for the others and quite often Tara would find a little trinket or old book waiting in front of her door when she woke.
Gate would disappear at times, sometimes for weeks and never with any explanation as to where he’d been. When he was with them he was his usual amiable, funny self. He chatted with Clem about whatever the wrinkled demon wanted to discuss, teased Tara in familiar fashion and often sat beside Spike when the vampire was in an especially quiet mood, neither of them speaking at all. It was Gate that kept the fridge supplied with blood, that would identify the local demon friendly haunts for Clem to visit and Tara was certain that at least some of the magical supplies and tomes she kept finding were from him.
Tara found herself mothering all three of them, which was just bizarre when she thought about it. Demon or not, they were all very much guys. Which meant that none of them seemed to grasp the concept that dirty shirts did not belong on the floor, or that the plants she kept buying for their home were not ashtrays. Or that beer was not an actual meal. She found herself scolding them over mundane things. Scolding a century old vampire, a mysterious young man that time seemed unable to touch and a kitten loving demon. What was odder, when she scolded them about their living habits, they always acted contrite and apologetic. They seemed to accept her as one of them and that alone seemed to give her the right to fuss over them.
To make matters more confusing, things kept happening wherever they went. Aside from the crazy demon assassins, they kept finding trouble. In Chicago it had been a demonic cult bent on abducting children from the local hospitals and offering their souls as sacrifice. In Dallas a large family of aged vampires had laid claim to the city and didn’t seem to appreciate outsiders. In New Orleans an ancient witch had sent hordes of zombies after them.
Each time, there had been conflict. Spike would curse and growl about being put out, or he would make a show of how he liked a good fight, and he’d set toward ending the dangerous problem. Gate would make some comment about similar situation he’d once been in in some distant past or joke about how much fun he was having. But both of them would end up in a bloody fight sooner or later. Clem wasn’t a fighter. A gentle soul, he stayed away from the fighting unless something attacked the house. Then he would reveal a darker side, a side more than capable of violence. As for Tara, she would help as she could but she knew that some of the things her friends were doing simply weren’t safe for her. So she used her magic to support them, keep them informed and as was often necessary, heal them in the aftermath.
It wasn’t anything like she remembered back in Sunnydale. The Slayer and her Scoobies had always been careful, always with the research and the planning. They’d been methodical about that part of the fight against evil. Neither Spike nor Gate had that kind of patience. They’d hear a rumor or see something wrong and immediately head directly for it. She was sure that half the time they didn’t even tell each other what they were doing unless it was something very serious. What the witch found somehow more frustrating was neither man would admit that they were helping people. Spike would mutter about needing a spot of violence to comfort his soul. And Gate would just grin and tell her some story that set her ears to burning with embarrassment, something he seemed to enjoy entirely too much.
Somehow in the middle of all that, Tara had a conversation with Spike. They would talk about the things he’d done, about the blood on his hands and the stains on his soul. They would talk until the darkness threatened to consume him and then they would pause. He would grow entirely silent for days, not speaking to anyone unless he absolutely had to. The others would assume responsibility for his ‘walks’ which were nothing more than patrols though he refused to admit it.
Finally, he would approach her again and their conversation would resume as if nothing had happened. Neither Gate not Clem ever interrupted or stayed around when the vampire and witch had their heads together. They seemed to know that it would be impossible for the tormented vampire to open up in their presence.
It was a mixed blessing for Tara. She was so happy that he was allowing her in, but hearing about the things he’d done were difficult. Even more difficult was the wooden, empty voice he used to describe each act. Seeing him in that kind of pain hurt her, though she tried not to let him see.
One year became two and still they traveled. Still Spike continued to list his countless crimes. And still she listened.
Year Two:
Things grew a bit easier after the first year. The four of them grew comfortable with each other, each of them finding and settling into their little niche in the odd family unit. Miami, Houston, Phoenix and then down into Mexico where they finally ended up in Mexico City for a time. They’d come to accept what they were doing, if begrudgingly. The cities they visited were chosen with some care by the second year.
They would deal with a significant threat in one city and within days one of them would hear a rumor about another city. A dark force rising elsewhere. And that would be that. They’d pack up and be moving within a day or two. Not that they were doing anything heroic or acting the Champion. Suggesting that would send Spike into a fit of snarkiness that usually lasted at least a week.
Tara found it surprising how very little interaction they had with the human world surrounding them. Clem could not possibly move in the normal society, of course. But Spike, she realized, had no interest in doing so either. He walked among them, watched them and protected them but he never really interacted with them in anything but a superficial way. And Gate… she wasn’t sure that Gate even noticed people unless he was feeling flirtatious.
The witch made some efforts to maintain ties to the human world but they were largely unsuccessful. The fact that they were moving so often combined with the fact that she could be potentially putting any human she spoke with in danger made it a near impossibility. The funny thing was, she found she didn’t miss it all that much once she got used to her new life. It was very exciting. A world of magic and strangeness and danger. She had to admit privately that she was having fun, constant state of impending doom and death aside.
Unwilling to depend on the others to support her, she learned that she could make a respectable living providing small, benign charms and spells at the local magic shops of whatever city she was in. Not that she needed much money. She just disliked having to ask the others for things. None of them seemed to mind in the slightest, but she felt better about her place among them once she could provide for herself and contribute. They all protested when she started furnishing their homes with pretty curtains and rugs, but she bullied them into acceptance pretty easily. It was her money, after all.
Her tragic conversation continued well into the second year before Spike began to finally emerge from his self imposed depression. It was subtle at first, a lightening of his melancholy that was a welcome thing. She was proud of him, of the way he’d forced himself to stare his past down. It wasn’t easy and it certainly wasn’t finished, but she knew he would be okay eventually. Acknowledging his victims, owning up to his crimes was an important first step. A step that she knew most people didn’t have the strength to take.
It was around this time that Tara began to think of her strange companions less as friends and more like her family. Her boys, she called them. Odd as it was, she felt a very special bond with them that she didn’t really have the ability to express. It was completely different from anything she’d known before. Not with her horrible family. Not with the few friends she’d had before going to college. Not even in Sunnydale, where she’d always felt a bit like an outsider among the Scoobies. She belonged with these often difficult, usually gross guys. They accepted her for who and what she was, without any judgment at all. They loved her and she loved them. Family. Clem was the weird but adored uncle. Gate was the all too often annoying little brother who teased her relentlessly and went into almost fanatical protective mode whenever he thought she was hurt or in danger. And Spike, Spike was the older brother, strong and protective and oddly gentle with her feelings. The one that she could lean on when she was sad, the one that made her feel safe regardless of the hellish madness afflicting them at any given time.
Strange indeed. Wonderfully strange. It wasn’t quite as nice as yummy Willow love but she cherished it.
They encountered Slayers, of course. Several times. It was always awkward. While it probably wasn’t the best plan of action, Spike insisted that they all avoid the Slayers when one was found. He and sometimes Gate would watch the girl from a distance to ensure she was okay and not in any immediate danger, but they did not approach or allow themselves to be approached. Instead they took to patrolling different parts of the city when they knew that the Slayer was occupied elsewhere.
The vampires depression usually flared up when a Slayer was spotted, but he never spoke about it. In fact, much to Tara’s apprehension, he never spoke of Slayers at all. Especially not Buffy. There were times, quite often in fact, when she would catch him staring at the night sky with a wistful, sad expression and she knew he was thinking about her. She didn’t bother him about it. Some things, even talking to a friend wouldn’t help.
Even with that, though, he continued to heal slowly. In the third year of their travels, he was talking more and seemed to have regained something of his old self.
Year Three:
Tara learned a few surprising things in their third year. The was the surprising revelation that Spike was famous. She’s grown more comfortable in the demon community and begun making friends in each new city and that opened up a world of information. Not only was Spike’s family, the Order of Aurelius, notorious, but Spike himself was something of a celebrity. Killing two Slayers was something that gave him a reputation. Beyond that though, word had begun to get out that he’s obtained a soul and there were even whispers that he was a Champion.
That was a double edged sword, of course. She’d never really thought about it before, but watching a city react to the arrival of an elder vampire, and one known to be a ruthless and efficient killing machine, was a revelation. More often than not, potential enemies would shy away from confrontation when they realized who he was. Vampires would make themselves scarce when he made it clear that hunting where he happened to be wasn’t acceptable. She was sure that the mortality rate in the cities they occupied dropped significantly while they were there.
At the same time a legend was always going to draw upstarts looking to make a name for themselves. Now and then some younger vampire or reputation seeking demon would seek Spike out looking for a fight. He always obliged them. It wasn’t in his nature not too and besides which, killing a challenger generally cowed any others that might have similar thoughts. Plus, she knew he enjoyed the notoriety, even reveled in it.
The second revelation was that Gate had no reputation at all. No demon she spoke to seemed to have any idea who he was other than occasionally someone would mention that he was aligned with Spike these days. She questioned him about that and the fact that she’d once tried to do a locator spell on him when a crisis had risen and he was on one of his ‘no where to be found’ jaunts and found that her scrying had evaporated into mist as if he didn’t exist at all. For all of her questions, he’d just shrugged and explained that he was complicated and didn’t like to call attention to himself, then proceeded to tickle her until she was screaming for help and Clem had had to separate them.
It was shortly after that incident that Gate and Spike had begun to have their own private conversation. She didn’t quite know what to make of that. As far as she could tell, they’d never really spoken at any great length about anything. Between the two of them there had always been a sort of unspoken understanding and trust that seemed to surpass the need for chatter. But one day she’d come home and found them sitting in the kitchen, both looking deathly serious. As soon as they noticed her, they changed the subject and things went seamlessly into the general comfortable talking that always filled the house. She’s asked them both what they were talking about but neither would answer. And after that first time, she kept finding them in similar situations.
Little by little, they started hearing about what was happening in the world. A great deal of that news revolved around the sudden introduction of almost a hundred Slayers into the demon community and the rising of resentment and fear that staggering thing had caused. There was a backlash, of course. Demons unwilling to sit idly by as this army of Slayers attempted to impose a new world order. Violent conflicts were reported with increasing frequency. Cleveland seemed to be one of the focal points of it all as the Hellmouth there unleashed fury against a small task force of Slayers headed up by Faith. It wasn’t only at the Hellmouth that skirmishes were taking place though. The world was turning bloody.
Likewise, they heard word of savage battles between Wolfram & Hart and Angel and his allies, which seemingly included two Slayers. The evil law firm had not taken well to what happened in LA. Details were vague at best but it was clear that the war Angel had provoked was now in full swing.
One bit of news, delivered by Clem, had a surprising effect. The wrinkled demon reported that Angel had managed to kill an ancient vampire named The Immortal over some conflict. That news had sent Spike into an inexplicably good mood for weeks. Tara was pretty sure the complicated vampire had even sent Angel a fruit basket. (AN: This actually has nothing at all to do with the story, so sorry to any Immortal fans out there. The character always just bugged me and never seemed to have any real purpose other than to make it so angel and spike would not speak to Buffy in Rome. I couldn’t resist giving him an ignominious end.)
Year Four:
Spike seemed entirely himself in the fourth year of their travels. He smiled more often, joked with Gate and Clem, teased Tara and seemed to be taking enjoyment out of the strange wandering lifestyle they’d adopted. She could understand, in a way. They way they were living was like an odd reflection of the life he’d led with Drusilla, Darla and Angelus. Only one not twisted with depravity and murder. That had to be odd for him.
To look at him, he seemed fine. One had to look very deep to see the pain inside and that was okay since she knew that he was at a point where he didn’t need to pour his thoughts out to her anymore to work his issues out.
He was more comfortable than she’d ever seen him. The sarcasm was back, as was the suggestive predator routine and the all too obvious swaggering arrogance. There were subtle differences though. The underlying need for approval was missing. The deeply buried uncertainty was there but it didn’t seem to haunt him as it always had. It wasn’t so much that he was okay but more than he’d learned to be comfortable in himself. He didn’t seem to feel the need to prove himself to anyone who happened to question him anymore.
Some of it was masking, she knew. He hadn’t dealt with his feelings for Buffy at all and he wasn’t going to be whole until he did that. She had no idea how to untangle that mess. In fact, she knew that it wasn’t her place to even try. Whatever he had with Buffy was incredibly intimate and personal. As close as Tara was to him, that part of himself would only reveal itself to Buffy. The core of what he was belonged to her alone.
She had hope though. Things were better, despite the fact that they’d had to leave Toronto in a hurry after failing to destroy a pack of demonic wolves hunting the Canadian countryside. They’d done a lot of good despite the defeat and she suspected that they’d weakened the pack enough to make it manageable for the locals anyway.
Then Gate had disappeared again and when he returned, he had looked grim and informed them that Slayers were being murdered. He didn’t have details but was quite sure that three Slayers, at least, had been cut down in the past month. That had cast an unpleasant pall over them. Spike had gone deathly silent until the names of the murdered Slayers had been uncovered by Clem a week later. Not Buffy.
The rest of the year had been much the same. Rumors of violent conflicts and whispers about a demonic backlash against this new Slayer army. Hints here and there that what they were hearing were more than just rumors. Hunters arrived again after an almost two year hiatus, seeking Clem and maybe Spike.
Twice more, reports that a Slayer had been cut down. No details as to how or who. No demon or vampire bragging about the kill. Just a strange report that a Slayer had been discovered in a pool of her own blood.
A troubled Spike had grown more introverted as his concern grew. He took to almost obsessively seeking information, taking dangerous risks as he sought to find answers. A few times she heard him muttering about breaking his word not to contact her, but Tara was sure he hadn’t spoken to Buffy since he’d been returned to the mortal plane so she didn’t understand who he was talking about.
Tension continued to mount among them until even Clem, good natured Clem, was waspishly snapping at people. They were all worried and all uncertain as to what to do about it.
When Spike finally turned up some information, a lead as to where they might find out more, it was a blessed relief to all of them. Heroes or not, it wasn’t in any of their natures to stand by an watch as allies and possibly friends were killed. None of them were naïve enough to think that if this war erupted it would not claim the people they never spoke of but had not really left behind.
So they packed quickly and were on the road within an hour. Headed to Boston.