Maybe he had, maybe he'll walk for the rest of time, maybe he'll walk until his feet waste away.
Giggles burst from his chapped lips, and suddenly walking is wrong wrong wrong, he has to hide away and away and away from the voices.
Glass slices exposed skin, but it has to stop, so he lets it cut skin and shred clothes until he falls down somewhere dark. It's dark and cold and his feet like they're not being used, his blood warming the cold stone as he sags back.
Sleep is good.
The voices wake him with their screaming, and his own screams are lost among them as he claws out in the dark.
LEAVE ME ALONE
They scream and scream until he goes back to sleep, drifting between the stars that are so far away when he tries to touch them.
William is a bad bad bad boy
William killed, William took and took and took from everyone and anyone, because he was a bad bad bad boy who wanted so much from life.
Spike was a bad man, the bad man who pushed William away and under so no one could see him anymore. Spike snarled, drank, and killed Slayers and innocents, Spike reveled in the dark, blind to everything he destroyed because he didn't, couldn't care.
Now here they were, Spike and William, unsure of the Spark that had come back after so long.
Did Spike take over? Did he take and kill like before, ignoring the screams and the hands that tugged at his old Spark?
Did William surface? Did he stumble like a fledgling, crying for the lost and giving a helping hand he'd never received?
The Spark screams at them both, and the two cower away from the tide of guilt.
It's soft when Spike/William wakes up again.
He's on a cloud, surely, a cloud that keeps the screams away and makes the aches in his bones feel so dull. He burrows his face into the cloud, rubbing it repeatedly and hoping it silences the Spark, making it content and less likely to drag them back into the guilt. The cloud rumbles, pleased, and for the first time since he'd been first sired, Spike/William returns the sound with his own. It's a raspy thing, less of a purr and more of a muted screech, but the Spark likes this and fades away, dragging them down and down into sweet oblivion, sleep claiming them once more.
They're still on the cloud when oblivion fades, and it shakes the battered body.
"Spike, it's time to wake up."
This voice, this voice, they'll always remember this voice, hate and love the voice that croons so sweetly.
"Open your eyes."
William opens his eyes, everything so bright and dazzling it's too much, and he shuts his eyes with a whine. He can feel his hair being touched, so tenderly it makes him want to cry, so he does for a short while, the hand never stopping its tender touch as the salt drips from his eyes for so long. He finally stops crying so many seconds, minutes, hours later, and the hand never stops.
"William."
No no no that name was wrong, and Spike/William feels a flash of hot rage as he yanks himself away, away from the voice and right off the bed. He hisses as his face changes, coiled like a cobra when his scramble backward hits a wall.
"William is wrong, wrong, a bad boy who is wrong! The name is poison on lips, spikes in the head, blood down your chin, wrong wrong wrong!"
"No, it is not." The voice is patient, and they can hear it hasn't moved from the bed. "Who is right?"
Right, right right right who is right??
"Spike, but not Spike, William but not William, they are wrong but right and stained in blood, end them both!"
The voice doesn't end them.
"HELP US, HELP ME! WE ARE THE BLOOD THAT STAINS THE CHILDREN, THE INNOCENT, WE CAUSED THE SCREAMS!"
They don't know who is screaming, but the voice is suddenly holding the cobra, rumbling like before as they begin to weep again.
"You didn't tell me it burns, the light is burning me from the inside out, we'll die." Spike/William sobbed, nails digging into soft fabric as they clung to the voice.
Angel
"You'll be alright...you'll be alright." Angel is soft, Angelus never held him, never let William be William, he made him be Spike to survive.
"Kill us Angelus...please."
"You've come too far, I won't." He's soft, and they don't want to listen to the kind Angel.
"Will you stay?"
Angelus would have staked him for that.
"I won't leave you, either of you."
They know he won't, the big stupid oaf, but they don't want him to, desperate nails puncturing skin as they cling tighter, falling back into the void.
Druscilla had been the one to approach the pretty man, tears glistening on a face too pure for this world. Those electric blue eyes watch every word that she speaks, widening in shock when she begins to feed on him, frightened cries dying off as she's taken her fill, sweet lips being stained with their first taste of blood. Angelus had watched every moment as his childe crooned to the dead man, dragging him off into the night towards the town's cemetery.
The sweet boy awoke an eager killer, taking joy in massacring those who had mocked him after dealing with his mother. Those eyes were so bright, holding their brightest shine for Angelus and every word he spoke, eager to please those who had brought him into a new world by painting his old world in blood.
Those eyes are so dark now, despite the smallest shimmer of life that had returned to him.
Angel had been made aware that Spike was in L.A when a contact had called him, talking about a crazy vampire wandering the streets. At first, he wasn't sure who it was, paying his contact before heading into the remains of his former home and office space. A broken window that led into what used to be his home was the only sign someone was inside, and after moving some fallen debris, Angel descended into the burnt room, one hand holding a stake just in case.
Spike doesn't even register him, propped up on the wall underneath the shattered window he'd crawled through like a discarded doll.
His hair is so long, Angel first thinks as he approaches the sleeping man, those wonderful curls framing a face that looks so tired. This is not the man Angel knows, and after there is no reaction to gentle pokes and prods, Spike is gathered into Angel's arms and carried up and out to his car. He's just gotten into the driver's seat when Spike begins to mutter, his voice scratchy from lack of feeding.
William is a bad bad bad boy
William killed, William took and took and took from everyone and anyone, because he was a bad bad bad boy who wanted so much from life.
Spike was a bad man, the bad man who pushed William away and under so no one could see him anymore. Spike snarled, drank, and killed Slayers and innocents, Spike reveled in the dark, blind to everything he destroyed because he didn't, couldn't care.
Angel is dimly aware his steering wheel has snapped with the squeeze of his hands, but right now he drives towards the Hyperion a tick under what the police would call excessive speeding. He knows those words, the way they're forced out between clenched teeth as one hand begins to claw at tattered clothing. He doesn't even realize he's arrived and parked until he's halfway hauling Spike out of the garage and to the reception area, Spike just mutters away in his arms as Angel goes for his room, blank eyes staring out but not seeing as they pass by a startled Wesley. Angel places Spike on the bed when they've finally arrived, wincing at the rough shape of the man before starting on the easy part of removing his boots.
Spike just lies on the bed, vacant eyes staring at a ceiling that may as well have not existed. The worst of his wounds centered on his chest, and Angel knows only too well what he was trying to claw out, one hand gently caressing the side of Spike's face before he returns to the task at hand.
"It tastes like ash, ash in my mouth where it should be gold, ruined ruined ruined. Only ash forever more, all I deserve, all that should be there, ash ash ash for the bad man, the bad men, ash for Spike, and ash for William."
"It will pass." Angel knows Spike can't hear him when he wearily sits on the bed beside him, running a hand through matted hair.
He can see the shimmer in those eyes, and wonders if that's what Buffy saw in his own.
There's a soft whimper at the touch, the blonde desperately pressing close and reaching out for something, someone, anyone.
"Hush now, no need for that." Angel's voice is softer than a feather as he gathers Spike into his arms, lying down to hold the trembling man with a soft hum. It's not long before Spike begins to rub his cheek against his chest, the move usually found with fledgling's within their first few days of being undead, vying for attention, or the promise of safety from a sire as they sorted the beast from rationality. He has to take a moment before purring to Spike, hoping that if he made the other man feel safe, he would rest, rewarded a few moments later with Spike purring in response. Well, it's more of a muted cry, and the protector in Angel has him purring again, wanting to keep the other feeling safe.
Spike falls asleep in his arms, unaware both halves of Angel watch over him.
It's not for long though, Angel reading through a case when Spike begins to mutter as he wakes.
"Spike? It's time to wake up."
Paperwork is set aside as Angel gives the other his full attention, the smaller man moaning a little as he resisted...well, Angel isn't sure, but he's been there, so he stays as sweet as possible.
"Open your eyes."
Spike mutters something before cracking open those familiar eyes, and Angel can see the wonder that William always held before they close just as quickly with a wince. The investigator sighs, and decides to start moving the hand he's had tangled in Spike's hair again, giving a soft purr in hopes of once again calming the other. This seems to do the opposite, Spike pressing against his hand and side as he begins to sob, the sounds heartbreaking to most as Angel slowly continues. Eventually the cries quiet, and Angel tries again to draw the other back to consciousness.
"William?"
The other stills before letting out a low hiss, suddenly jerking from Angel's hold and off the bed before he can catch the other.
"William is wrong, wrong, a bad boy who is wrong! The name is poison on lips, spikes in the head, blood down your chin, wrong wrong wrong!" Spike's rambling stops when his scramble away is hindered by the wall across the room, his body tensing like a snake that was ready to strike. Angel wants nothing more than to go after him, but instead moves so he's sitting on the corner of the bed, watching Spike's head swaying back and forth, awaiting some unseen danger.
"It's not wrong," His voice is gentle, and Spike cocks his head to the side. "Who is right?"
Spike's breathing turned ragged as he pondered the question, and Angel slowly begins to approach the man.
"Spike, but not Spike, William but not William, they are wrong but right and stained in blood, end them both!" The beg goes unheard, Angel crouching down just out of striking distance.
He's not ready for the screaming.
"HELP US, HELP ME! WE ARE THE BLOOD THAT STAINS THE CHILDREN, THE INNOCENT, WE CAUSED THE SCREAMS!"
Angel draws him into a tight hug before Spike has a chance to claw at himself again, tears once again flowing as the man sobs.
"You didn't tell me it burns, the light is burning me from the inside out, we'll die!" He sobbed, and Angel can feel the way Spike curls against him in a way that was so familiar.
"You'll be alright...you'll be alright." The words as mere whispers as Angel presses a few kisses to the top ofnthe sobbing man's head. Spike is strong, so strong in a world that wanted to punish those who laughed in its face, and he always admired him for that.
"Kill us Angelus....please."
"You've come too far, I won't."
"Will you stay?"
It's more of a beg than a question, and he can feel Spike, William, both are fading again.
"I won't leave you, either of you." Angel murmurs, barely registering the claws that break skin as the other falls asleep, giving himself completely to Angel despite everything.
They sit there together as the night turns to day, Angel cradling the men who had to contend with having the pain of lifetimes thrown into every fiber of his being. He knows that pain intimately, but knows he won't let Spike deal with it alone.
So they sit there, Angel promising that Spike won't ever be hurt again.
He doesn't know where he is at first, not that it really matters.
Doesn't it?
The room he's in is aged, and with a deep inhale, he can smell the scent of a dozen different magic's melded in the bones of the building. There's a comfort to it, in a way, Spike has always enjoyed older buildings to newer ones that have yet to take on life, take on an identity, and he burrows underneath the blankets with a tired sigh.
The scent is familiar, and he can't help but rub his cheek against the soft bedding with a deep purr, something he hasn't done willingly in a long while. For how long he's not sure, but eventually, Spike rises to the forefront with information that makes him still.
It smells like Angel.
"No, no no no it can't." The blonde curls up as small as he can manage, hugging his legs with a slight whine. "No angel's here, there can be no Angel, unworthy of wings, of life, of care."
"You're not unworthy." He hadn't felt the bed dip, but the large hand that rested on the top of his head was achingly familiar.
"You didn't kill us, me, us."
"No."
"Bad, very bad."
"No, just able to see what you can't right now." Spike hisses, Angel beginning to move his hand through Spike's curls that had grown over the last few weeks, keeping his motion steady. The other begins to mutter as he lets Angel touch him, and as the older expected, he finally relaxes against him.
"It burns..." It's a weak whisper, but he knows Angel can hear it all the same.
"I know." Spike sighs, finally opening his eyes and looking up at Angel with a slight frown. "What?"
"...I don't like your hair." Angel rolls his eyes, keeping Spike's lack of blonde to himself for now.
"Glad to see you haven't lost your edge." The smaller man gives him a glare as Angel pulls away, watching Spike slowly sit up with a wince as he scans the room. "How's the head?"
"Beatin' like you've punched me." He grumbled, slowly drawing his legs close to his chest again. "Did you punch me?"
"No, though you did bang your head when crawling through a window."
"I crawled through a window?"
"Mhm, into my old apartment. Good thing I found you when I did, you could have gotten burnt or worse."
"Oh." Spike looks down at his covered feet, already feeling what little sanity he had slipping from his fingers like sand through an hourglass. "I'm in L.A?"
"Yes." Angel wants to ask how Spike made it back from halfway around the world, but settles for slipping off the bed to gathering clothes he'd bought for Spike. "Think you can shower?"
"Shower..." The word almost seemed confusing, blue eyes flickering around before centering back on Angel. "Where?"
"Other side of the room, green door." Spike looks around the room before zeroing in on said door, muttering something about ducks before slowly shuffling off the bed and onto his feet, wavering in place as his head spun.
Man, he was thirsty.
Angel watches the Brit pad across the room and vanish into the bathroom before shaking his head, gathering up dirty sheets and tossing them down the chute to be washed. Fresh blood is pulled from the fridge and set to be warmed, and after putting fresh sheets on the bed, he heads downstairs to gather some files to look over. Of course, his crew has questions, but Wesley is his silent hand as he shoos everyone away and back to their work.
"Thanks, and sorry for making you guys have extra work on your plate." Angel rubbed the back of his neck as Wesley handed him the stack of files he was searching for.
"I think it's rather understandable." The former Watcher said little as Angel pulled out a small jar, and some cigars a client had given him a while back.
"It took me a while to get my head back on straight, I don't know how Spike will take it... but he'll come back to himself." Angel paused, staring at the small jar with a frown. "Could you call Giles? I have an idea why he...but I need to know."
"Consider it done, I'll drop by later." Angel reached over and squeezed Wesley's shoulder before he was gone back up the stairs, leaving everyone to look at each other in curiosity.
The water has stopped by the time Angel returns, and a quick scan of the room reveals the other was clearly still inside, the vampire setting down his spoils before going to knock on the door. "Spike?"
"Come back later, he's not here." The voice is soft, softer than he's heard in so long, and Angel sheds his coat before rolling up his sleeves.
"With whom do I have an audience?"
"The man whose name you've said before, with a pretty smile and eyes darker than night." Slowly, Angel opens the door, taking in the warm steam for a blessed moment that envelops him before he quickly enters the room, closing the door behind him. Spike is curled against one side of the bathtub, blue eyes flickering up from their fixation on the bubbles that covered the surface of the warm water.
"I see you found the bubble bath."
"It reminds me of that field we passed in Dublin. Do you remember how the moon shone as we danced until dawn?" Those eyes watch as Angel crouches down by the side of the tub, one hand scooping up soapy water and running it through his hair.
"I know you wrote a poem about it, hid it in my trunk under the lid where you thought I'd never know." Blue eyes flicker closed as the water continues to be poured through his hair, chasing away the dirt and grime from months of traveling in a half-dazed state.
"Did you like it?" William opens his eyes, stealing whatever stale air that sat in Angel's lungs as he stared. "I don't fear the whip."
"There is no whip," He coos, taking a moment to remember another time. "An' I did like it."
"I remember that voice, such a strong one." Those impossible eyes take on a shine at the old Irish tone he hadn't heard in ages.
"Sit forward, I need to finish cleanin' ye." William does as he's told, and neither speak as Angel makes sure he's cleaned up before pulling the stopper and standing to hand the other a towel. "I'll be outside."
"Ta." Angel quickly slips out, running a hand over his face with a sigh. It helps to know that, at the very least, Spike isn't roaming the streets any longer in his current state, something he remembers had nearly ended in his death more than once. The smaller man eventually exits the bathroom, surprised to see a mug filled with blood awaiting him on the beside table.
"If ya need any more, just ask." Spike nodded before grabbing the mug, greedily drinking the contents as he sat on the bed. It had felt like an eternity since he'd last fed, flickers of rats and other animals being drained crossing his minds eye before he's back to the present. The now drained cup is set back on the table, and Spike lays on the fresh sheets with a sigh, head thankfully no longer spinning. "Feeling any better?"
"Suppose so. Also, when did you get the accent back?" He watches as Angel winces, a bit amused as he clears his throat.
"You liked it a minute ago."
"...oh." He can feel Angel sit behind him, and only the rifling of papers breaking the silence as the city moves on outside. "Angel?"
"Yes?" The rustling stops as Spike is given the others full attention.
"Will I ever be sane again?"
"Yes." It's a simple answer, and Spike pauses for whatever Angel is going to continue with. "The screams will stop, and the memories ease, never truly gone, but not in control."
"Well I'm not goin' to be a broody little ponce." The snort from his grandsire is surprising, and a turn of his head shows Angel is more than amused. "M not."
"Spike, the world will fall to ashes the moment you stop speaking your mind. Or causing chaos. Or irritating the ever living hell out of me and everyone within a twenty mile radius. If you turn "broody," I'd have to do something drastic."
"Oh, I'm so scared." Nestling into his pillow, Spike settled so he's facing the investigator. "Who're you lookin' at?"
"A client is convinced that their neighbors are drug dealers, I think it's just some demons who aren't really hiding themselves." He hummed, beginning to drone on about the mundane facts they'd gathered before Spike had arrived to town. He's asleep by the time Angel finishes the first page, shuffling closer to the older vampire until Angel begins to run one hand through washed curly hair in a slow but gentle pattern.
Neither of them are sure how long this would last, but for now, it was enough.
