disclaimer: the characters of BtVS are owned by Joss Whedon and Co.
Prologue
He had never fought so hard.
Even at the end, when he knew it was useless, when he was covered with sweat and blood and maddened by the mockery of her laughter, he still struggled to maintain his grip on the stake so that he could take her with him.
He slumped wearily against the garden wall, eyes glazing as she walked toward him.
Once he had watched Buffy in that same position as Angelus closed in for the kill. Somehow she'd miraculously pulled the rabbit from the hat and won thta bloody fight.
But there would be no miracle for him.
Morgan pressed her stake against his chest.
He'd lost so much blood it was hard to move; still he struggled to stand, willing himself to die on his feet.
She hesitated at the end, she cocked her blonde head curiously. "Aren't you going to tell me why, Spike?"
He made it erect at last; his eyes were on a level with hers. "Not the brightest crayon in the box, are we?" he managed.
"Now I wonder...was it for HER?"
"No," he grunted, then cursed himself.
"Oh, I think so." Morgan was laughing again, there was genuine amusement in those ice-colored eyes. "What a joke you are...William the Bloody!"
He lurched at her then, squandering the last of his strength. His hands closed on her stake, but they were slippery with blood and he couldn't maintain his grip. She twisted it away; as in slow motion, he saw it enter his chest.
"So long, Spike," he heard Morgan chuckle. "See you in hell."
Why does that sound so sodding familiar? Spike wondered.
And then he was gone, down into darkness. He saw streaks of color, heard cries and moans, even what sounded like a child singing.
Then the dark closed tight around him; and he saw and heard nothing more.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was the tiniest pinpoint of light in the darkness.
It grew larger and larger, filling his mind until his eyes opened wide to see it.
He was lying on what seemed to be a moor...he could see bracken and purple heather. The sky was overcast and gray, and a light breeze was blowing. Spike shook his head, trying to clear it.
"If this is hell, it isn't what I expected," he said aloud.
"It isn't."
Standing quite close was a badly-dressed little man, wearing the most deplorable hat Spike had ever seen.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" Spike demanded rudely.
The little man shook his head. "Already told you, hell hasn't a thing to do with it."
Spike was startled. "Here, you're not telling me I'm in heaven?"
The little man snorted. "You?"
"Yeah, I figured," Spike said quietly. "So, you going to answer my questions, or not?"
"Some of them," his companion nodded. "But I only want to explain things once; so it'll have to wait till we get there."
"Get where?" Spike asked. There was no change in the scenery anywhere; just the rolling moorland stretching in all directions.
"Just head east," the other gestured vaguely. "I'll go on ahead. Better make it snappy!"
"What?" Spike could hardly believe his ears. "You want me to...here, get back here!"
But the little man was gone.
Spike let loose a stream of curses. They relieved his feelings but did nothing to assuage his predicament, so he started walking in the direction the little man had claimed was east.
He walked for what seemed like hours.
"Sod it all," he muttered, "maybe I'm moving in circles!"
He stopped suddenly, and yelled "Hellooooo!"
Not even an echo answered him.
Spike sighed, and kept walking- largely because he didn't know what else to do. After a time, he noticed he was climbing up as the moor swelled to a gentle rise.
"At least it'll offer a bit of a view," Spike spoke aloud, encouraged. "Should be able to see for miles in all directions!"
In the event, he saw nothing at all.
After toiling up for another long stretch, he finally round the crest of the hill.
And crashed right into the last person he'd ever expected to see...
Again.