Familiar faces and old lovers lost, Spike found the driving need to throw himself overboard. Into the abyss; tossed with starlight and dust, he sunk. Down, down to the deepest layer, the currents found him. Rotten, with rose petals and empty casings, he let the ocean take hold.
Nothing ever went his way. Through ichor and static, the inhabitants of the bloody depths filtered him into the cracks, churning saltwater and twisting him on his head in a turbulent cycle until he couldn’t tell up from down.
With bared teeth and broken bones, he hit the bottom; clawing his way through the muck to find his own bitter, broken fortune. Gasping for air, his head bobbed above the surface once, twice, three times before he was sucked into the void again, darkness and scattered memories overtaking him until the roaring waves came to a screeching, grinding halt in his mind.
Quiet. All there was left once the tides had turned was an aching, deafening silence. On the weathered coastline, Spike looked up—
The sky above cracked like a whip, and all at once: the glittering stars of lightyears past filled the night with such brilliance he found it hard to look away. Couldn’t. Milky Way as far as his eyes could see, something shifted within him—torn open with a burning glow that drove him to his feet—and he took off towards the distance; an indescribable urge telling him to go, go, keep going, racing for the light at the end of the tunnel.
There, on the other side of his cage, he found only a man. And there was something about this man—he was so very clearly not of this world, facing inward, eyes wide with worry and wrought. Spike couldn’t help but to laugh. There, he found his solution. There, he came to terms with what he truly was. On steady legs, rowboat teetering beneath his feet, he reached for the hand reaching for his.
No, compared to the hell he came from, a proper ship didn’t sound so bad at all.
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