AUTHOR: 1stRab-id, Rabid, Raeann(I go by many names…none of them MINE in RL).
FEEDBACK: Rabid1st@yahoo.com or RabidRaeann@hotmail.com
BETAS: Ah, where do I begin…Jen, Sabrina, Carrie, Mary, Nauti, et al.
SUBJECT: B/S(primarily) but also B/A, B/R, S/D, S/H
RATED: Demonic R…at least I think so…though you may find it more of an NC-17.
WARNING: This story contains a number of perverse scenes of sex and/or violence, they are written NOT to stimulate but to horrify and to illuminate Spike's demonic nature.
SPOILERS: The entire show as it airs is fair game…but mostly this is Season Two through Five…see next entry for explanation…
SUMMARY: This was a challenge from a co-worker…basically, that I write the back-story for Buffy and Spike love. Backing up what we saw on screen with Spike's thoughts. This story is a retrospective of Spike's falling in love. We begin our story just after Crush and then again…we begin in Prague.
DISCLAIMER: Please forgive me for I know not what I do…legally anyway…but I do know that these characters and situations are not mine and belong rightfully to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox TV, WB and UPN. I would be honored to have any of the above write me a note to cease and desist my creative blundering because I really only do this for attention.
The mob was advancing down the hallway, kicking in doors as they came. They must have spotted us but they seemed in no hurry to rush our position. Which was either an unexpected sign of intelligence or one of depressing confidence. I suspected the latter. We could still take the fire stairs up but I had no doubt that Tung had spell locked every exit. We would be just as trapped but in tighter quarters. I weighed the option as the mob came on. Every so often, a group would break from the main party and enter a room. Sinister sounds resulted, growls, howls and curses, the crash and splinter of shattering glass and assorted diminishing screams.
"Looks like they're resurrecting the venerable defenestration," I remarked, showing off my upper crust education. I ruined the effect by bursting into a fit of giggles when my precise enunciation struck my drugged mind as hilarious.
"Looks like what?" Gracie sniffed, absently. She was shuffling about like a trapped animal.
I tried to marshal my thoughts and mumbled, "Throwing us out the window."
The full explanation of the assassination technique known as the Prague Defenestration eluded me but an idea struck the softened mush of my brain and I wrestled with it, repeating, "Window…window? Window!"
Galvanized, I thrust Dru into the arms of the nearest wanker and staggered to the first door off the corridor on the street side of the building. My shoulder crashed into the wooden portal, partly from planning and partly from losing my balance halfway across the hall. I stumbled into the room, clinging to the doorknob so fiercely I nearly dislocated my arm from the socket. A cursory glance at the accommodations showed them suitable to my emerging plan.
"In here," I ordered, turning back to wave at my companions. As Gracie and Company moved to obey, the mob noise swelled, ominously. I shoved the lad holding Drusilla toward the far side of the room as he entered, snapping, "Keep her clear."
He looked blank but, thankfully, didn't argue. They were used to me taking charge and I didn't disappoint.
"Gracie block this door," I said, slamming the portal closed. I pointed at two other siblings, "You and you…help her out."
"Mind if I ask what the Hell you think your doing?" Gracie snarled, even as she pushed a mahogany tallboy in front of the door.
"We're getting out of here," I returned, making my drunken way to the bay window. "By the same route they've got in mind."
"Out the window?" Gracie asked, her tone a balanced mix of admiration and doubt.
"You got a better idea?" I challenged, half-hoping she had. A cursory glance outside showed a steep drop of four stories to a mob in the street, bellowing for our blood. I clung dizzily to the windowsill, trying not to vomit.
The group in the corridor had reached our position. From the sound of things, they had a couple of axes and a lot of determination. I glanced back at the remains of my family and pulled myself together. I kicked off my boots, slipped out of my duster and staggered across to take Drusilla from the arms of her keeper.
"Alright, people, we aren't here for the view," I barked. Nodding at the four strapping boys and pointing, I ordered, "Break out the glass and form a chain to the roof, I'll hand Dru up to you."
All but one of them, the lad who’d been holding Drusilla, leaped to obey. I wrapped my leather coat around my love to protect her from flying debris as the window shattered. Dru moaned, squirming slightly, as I threaded her right arm through a sleeve. I considered putting her out again but let it go, concentrating instead on getting her into the duster as Gracie and the boys enlarged the opening to the great outdoors, knocking away shards of glass.
The noise from the street increased three-fold, and then increased again as one by one my relatives started making for the roof. We were only one floor away from this refuge and, once there, we could travel the rooftops of Prague for several blocks. The city was one of the easiest to traverse in this fashion. Its houses and hotels huddled together like gossiping old women, eaves touching.
“Look,” the lad hanging back said, “maybe we should stand and fight.”
“And maybe you should get your arse out there,” I bristled, in no mood for eleventh hour dissention.
“W-Wh-What if we fall?” he gulped, still not moving. He was white as a sheet and smelled nasty the way dead things do when they’re all riled up. “A gypsy woman once told me I’d die from a fall,” he confided, his voice a breaking squeak.
“Got that part wrong, didn’t she?” I pointed out.
“Maybe she meant permanently,” he insisted, backing away, even as Gracie came toward him.
My russet haired sibling grabbed the coward by the elbow and hustled him to the window, growling, “What say I throw you out so we can see if you bounce?” She shoved him outside where he dangled, eyes pinched shut, shrieking.
I wasn’t one to stand in the way of a bit of fun but we had work to do and we needed able-bodied people to do it. Couldn’t be wasting them on Late Night with Letterman experiments. On the other hand, if the boy was useless, Gracie might as well let him go. I gave a put upon sigh, wondering why I was always the sensible one. The door behind me splintered inward under the urging of an unseen ax-man, Gracie jumped, the dangling wanker screamed and I gave reason one last shot, because, while the boy was taking up space probably put to better use by a house plant, he was family.
“Oh, for pity’s sake, lad,” I said, embarrassed to be related to the git, “you’re a vampire! You can’t be afraid of heights! Besides…buildings covered with curly-cues ain’t it?” He eased open one eye to look and nodded slightly. I nodded back, “Well, alright then, grab on to something ‘fore Gracie lets go.” He did as I asked, moving mechanically but moving. “That’s it,” I urged, as he scrambled out of sight. “Be like climbing the bloody stairs at Grandma’s.”
I wasn’t lying to the boy. Prague was noted for its ornate buildings and the Hotel St. George was no exception to the rule. The façade was covered in stone carvings, angels and gargoyles and such rot. Easy to climb if you're slightly athletic and sober. But a right bitch if you happen to be portly or pissed off your ass. Less than two minutes after I talked Junior out the window, one of our number, a bloke well over 20 stone, tumbled to his doom. Gracie ducked her head back inside, avoiding him as he fell.
"This is insane," she remarked and I wasn't the one to argue the point. She nodded her head at Dru and commanded, "Give her to me." I hesitated and my sibling snarled, "You know you'll never make it."
I looked down into my beloved's pale upturned face and sighing, pressed my lips to hers. For a moment the world stood still as Dru's arms stole around my neck. She smelled as sweet as calla lilies. She was smiling as I broke the kiss, her liquid eyes fluttered open and she murmured my name, sleepily, "Spike?"
"Hang on, Luv," I said. "You're just going for a little ride." Before I could change my mind, I gave her over to Gracie, warning, "Drop her and you'll be dying for the next fifty years."
Gracie didn't bother to acknowledge my threat but I knew she took me seriously. Tossing Dru over one shoulder, she stepped out onto the tiny ledge and started her climb. The Prague Historical Re-enactors were nearly through the door by this time and my choices were limited; immediate death by the mob in the hall, being tossed out the window by same or falling off the building as I climbed. The latter option, offering a slightly delayed death at the hands of the mob in the street, seemed like my best bet.
A fresh night breeze tickled my nose as I clambered outside. It promised me a shot at freedom. It lied, of course.
Knowing it would be suicide to look down, I glanced up. Gracie was halfway to the roof. Just passing Drusilla to the second in our ladder of wankers, she climbed another five feet and reached down to take my darling girl back into her custody. It was gratifying to see my plan working even if I wasn't an active participant. There was a harsh tangle of voices as the door-smashing mob streamed into the room I was trying to vacate. The sound concentrated my impaired faculties and I turned hasty attention toward seeking hand and footholds in the nearby stonework.
Expecting to be dragged back any second, I climbed, passing the first of my siblings quickly. In all fairness, Jimmy Stewart seemed to be frozen in place by his fear of heights. I pressed on, concentrating on my technique, fingers, toes, shift up an inch, etc. I was well behind the main party as they made the rooftop. I heard Gracie's glad cry and Drusilla chanting nonsense and I smiled.
Then I heard the twang of bowstrings, a series of harsh screams and the unforgettable inrush of air caused by a bit of wood through an undead heart. Dust wafted around me in clouds, settling grimly on my skin. There was a scuffling noise and a falling body rocketed past, inches away. During our brief encounter, I registered the body as male, horrified, about 23 years old with an Asiatic cast to his features. Not one of my crew. Risking a fall of my own, I leaned out, looking up. Drusilla was still whole but held fast in the arms of my worst enemy.
Guan-yin Tung was waiting for me on the roof.
"It is you I want," he called, in the Mandarin Chinese I had been forced to learn thanks to him. "Join us and she dies quickly."
It wasn't much of a bargain from my end of things. First, there was the fact that I didn’t believe him. He wanted me to suffer and Dru was a means to that end. Second, I could see he had forty or so men-at-arms with him and I wasn't at my best. Even if he was telling the truth, I'd be captured and tortured and Drusilla would be dust. On the other hand, if I didn't do as he said, there was a chance he would keep Dru around as a hostage. He knew me well enough by now to know I would come for her.
I glanced down, the mob below had thinned out a bit but it hardly mattered when, in the words of Butch (or possibly Sundance), "the fall alone was going to kill me." Of course, technically, the fall wouldn't kill me. Vamps aren't that fragile or, from my point of view, lucky. The fall would maim me, severely, bashing out my brains or breaking my neck, so I wouldn't be able to escape from the sunlight or the stake-waving locals. I decided the better part of valor was a fall from a lower level and started back down the building.
Tung barked a command and a flurry of arrows rained around me. One pierced my shoulder missing the more vital area near my heart by about 2 inches. The thunk and lancing pain was enough to loosen my hold, however, and I started to slide. I pressed into the wall, fingers scrambling for purchase on the bumpy surface. I managed to slow my descent just as I drew opposite the window we had originally climbed through. I halted level with the sill.
Ten feet above, the agoraphobic was still clinging to his spot but the indoor mob had apparently moved on. I felt a glimmer of hope. If I could get inside, I could pick my spot and force Tung to come to me. With painstaking care, I edged toward the sanctuary of the broken out window. Two more arrows bit into me before I reached the ledge but I was inches away from that scant sanctuary when Mr. Vertigo took one in the throat and fell. The weight of his body slamming into me carried us both to the pavement four stories below.
Falling four floors is a bugger. Especially, when you've no life to flash before your eyes.
With nothing else to occupy my time, I managed to reverse our positions in the air so the wanker landed first, cushioning my smack into Mother Earth. The snapping of my collarbone and right arm and the grinding of cartilage in my knees was a heavy price to pay for remaining conscious. But it could have been worse.
I lurched upright, wiping off the chunkier bits of Junior’s brain spatter. The nearly incapacitating pain of my own injuries was nothing when compared to my relative’s squishy condition. And the nice thing about pain is the way it instantly sobers. My head was marvelously clear. Handy fact since I was barely on my feet when the remains of the street mob surged in. I pulled an unbroken arrow from my flesh to use as a weapon, set my back to the wall and we got to it.
The fighting was brutal, close and bloody. I fanged up and crunched down on any parts in my sphere of influence, wringing necks, breaking limbs and ripping open throats with glorious abandon. I was drenched in red nectar within minutes. One of the locals prodded me with a pitchfork and lost his head and his weapon. Armed with the pointy farm implement I held the crowd at bay, stabbing and bludgeoning. The first rush of eager lambs to the slaughter died off to a cautious circling of wary and opportunistic wolves.
And then the wolves scattered as sirens whooped down the street.
The police had arrived to break up our unlicensed assembly. I glanced up as several small cars squealed around the corner and popped out pressed uniforms. Peripherally, I caught the gimlet eye of one of Tung’s soldiers as he ducked back into the foyer of the Hotel St. George. I was being out flanked. I considered my chances of successfully running…on shattered kneecaps, pin-cushioned with broken arrows and covered with blood. Slim to none. It was less than an hour until sunrise and I was in no shape to continue fighting the masses. Luckily, help was at hand.
Many demons are against the order of society, but I have no problem with it. Civilization is a treat. I like a world where people still open their hearts and homes to a stranger in need. And, to my way of thinking, there are times when the police are a dead man’s best friend. I dropped my weapon and sidled along the wall, distancing myself from the pile of bodies. Then, I cradled my damaged arm to my chest and started yelling.
“Pomoc! Krvacim!” I screamed, hoarsely. Holding out a plaintive hand, I staggered toward the nearest official. And then, so he'd know I was English, I translated, "Help! I'm bleeding! I've been robbed. Please…help…I need a doctor. Byl jsem okraden…prosim…doktora…pomoc…pommmm…”
I collapsed, artlessly, into the arms of the dewy-faced officer, letting my open eyes glaze over. He lowered me to the ground and, obligingly, took up my cry, "Doktora! Pomoc! Doktora!"
The medical men arrived with alacrity. Noting my shallow breathing, graphic wounds and the copious amount of blood, they didn’t stop to question when they couldn't get a tactile pulse. The clammy condition of my skin and my lack of response were enough for the diagnosis of near fatal blood loss. I was in shock, pressure too shallow and low for a reading, close to death and in need of immediate attention. They shifted me to a stretcher and dashed for one of several ambulances.
I was skewered with an IV, running to a bag of plasma, and transferred to a wheeled cot before they loaded me into the vehicle. One of the attendants flashed a bright light into my eyes while the other whipped up a stethoscope and listened to my heart. I played dead. Rather convincingly. I stopped my faux breathing and failed to flinch, flutter or dilate. I was given another injection and hastily wired up to monitors. The ambulance started moving. There was an ominous hum of equipment, a barked order of "Clear" and I was hit with a jolt of electricity that arched my body four inches off the antiseptic sheets.
"Bloody Fucking Hell," I screamed, hardly overstating my case. Snarling into my fangs, I sat up, seized the bloke with the electric paddles in his grip and with one hand snapped his neck.
The man in charge of the vital signs monitor, screeched, stumbled back and skittered to the far wall of the vehicle. He curled into a ball and threw up his hands in a futile attempt to protect himself. I assessed the situation and noticed we were isolated from the driver, who was still making good time.
"Speak English?" I asked, the survivor as I plucked the IV out of my arm. He bobbled his head up and down, babbling out a heavily accented request for mercy. I let my fangs recede as I asked, "You know what I am?" He nodded again, going white and I smiled reassuringly, "Don't worry, Mate, I need you to patch me up. Do a good job and you get out of this alive, understand?" Another nod and a tiny squeak as I hauled him upright, inquiring, "Now…how long 'til we reach the hospital?"
"Fifteen, twenty minutes," he replied, in a dull fatalistic tone, "depending on traffic and the route."
"Plenty of time to get me into working order, then," I said, indicating he should hop to it.
He took a bit more persuading but eventually I coaxed him into helping. He cut off my clothing with a shaking hand. Gritting my teeth, I watched him ease the arrow points out of my body and hastily bandage up the wounds. When he was finished, I splashed myself down with alcohol, washing off the blood of the masses. I yanked on my right wrist until my shattered ulna and the two halves of my broken collarbone lined up. I would need a day or two of rest and a bit of blood for the bones to set proper. My knees were healing already.
Motioning to the Doktora, I told him to strip his partner and hand over the clothes. He did as I asked, eyeing me warily all the while. He seemed fascinated by my package, dangling about in the breeze. I figured, in his line of work, he'd seen it all before, so it must have been something about me in particular. Buggery wasn't exactly my cup of tea but if I hadn't been so rushed I'd have given the boy a thrill for his trouble. Things being what they were, I decided to hide the light of my nakedness under a bushel.
I worked the shirt he handed me over my damaged arm and shoulder. Leaving it open, I was stepping into the dead man's pants when the intercom to the driver crackled out a coded message. I had time to glance toward my companion and see his eyes light with hope before the ambulance skidded around a corner and slammed to a stop. Pants around my thighs, I lost my balance, crashing to the floor. The angel of mercy was on top of me in a flat second.
"Vampire," he hissed, in his native Czech, stabbing down with a fragment of arrow.
Some things are instinctive. I caught the wrist of his armed hand and snapped it. He howled briefly then gurgled as I took hold of his chin, positioned his neck and bit carefully into his jugular. I held him in a close embrace and he pressed against me, confirming my earlier suspicions. 'Course, the bite takes a lot of people that way. And a lot of my kind too.
The salty sweetness of fresh blood slid down my throat. It was thick and sticky as honey but still a refreshing draught after a hard night's labor. Common sense should have told me I hadn’t time for a sit-down dinner, but then I was always a tad impulsive in the face of temptation. I was just giving into the rush of it all, thinking how my half-naked state was a blessing in disguise and how an EMT might make a nice addition to the family, when the back door of the ambulance popped open.
There was a scurry of movement as Ororo Munroe’s dead brother tumbled onto the pavement and I found myself looking over Tasty Poof’s shoulder into a trio of startled faces.
One of the newcomers screamed and ran. One screamed and fainted. And the third, spat out an oath and rushed me. There’s always a hero about when you'd least expect it.
I rolled over on top of my meal, kicking out and back, to take Czech the Barbarian in the balls. He howled and fell over sideways, clutching his equipment. I howled with him as the momentum of his charge put my knee out of commission again. It was a bit of a race to see which of us recovered first but I managed to get all the way into my pants, scramble over the assorted bodies and burst out the door before the hero made his feet. Other people were running in my direction but I didn’t stop to check on pursuit. The sky overhead was streaked with light, sunrise 20 minutes and counting. I needed shelter and I needed it fast.
END OF THIS PART