beneath you
part four

“Damn you, die, you overgrown wastebasket!”

Punch, block, parry, parry, thrust, stupid goddamn Fierloquel (pronounced fear-lo-quell) demon wouldn’t go down! He’d been brawling with the massive sack of stupid for about a half hour now, and not only was the fighting not going anywhere, but the smell was definitely getting worse.

Fierloquel demons had never been particularly bright, which was why Spike had been almost elated when he’d found the moron making an attempt to create a teenager goodie-bag out of two little chits stupid enough to walk home alone that night. Spike had barreled down the street and attacked the bastard, shouting at the girls to run home, before he’d dragged the Fierloquel into Weatherly Park. The problem with Fierloquels was that they sort of had a caveman complex -- basically, although they were stupid and mostly mute, if they were threatened, they killed first, and asked -- or rather, hand-signed -- questions later.

And they fought extremely well, using their nauseating smell to their advantage. The Fierloquel was around seven feet high, well taller than Spike by about two human heads, and its skin was a pale, sickly yellow. Pustules covered the arms, and shag-carpet hair covered the parts of the arms that weren’t covered with the pustules. The eyes, however, were the most disturbing, since they were the most beautiful feature on the ugly beast -- sparkling ruby with glints of sapphire and silver. The nose was long and hooked, drooping slightly over the mouth, which was filled with four rows of gnarled, snubbed down teeth. And if someone had been standing in the middle of a city dump, surrounded by all the nasty goodness of soiled diapers and year-old luncheon meats, the Fierloquel still would have smelled worse. Spike was convinced that these bloody bastards crossed his path, just for the fun of nauseating him.

This was not turning out to be a fun fight.

Feary really was descended from a long line of stupid demon cavemen. He let out a high-pitched squeal, which (due to his being mute) was the only sound he could actually make, then swung a big, hairy fist at an exceedingly slow speed toward Spike’s head. Spike ducked down low, then darted behind the behemoth before running toward the Fierloquel and vaulting over him, grasping his head between his calves and flipping Feary over onto his back as he landed.

Finally getting the stodgy piece of crap down for once, he stalked over and snatched up a battle axe that had been thrown about two feet away since the beginning of the encounter. Hoisting it over his head, he swung down and embedded the sharp, steel blade directly into the demon’s solar plexus. Feary let out another high-pitched squeal, flailing about until all at once, he stiffened and flopped back onto the ground. The body began melting into a pile of green goo and Spike, with an alarmed grimace on his face, quickly began backing away from the toxic-like substance.

Shuddering, he turned around and stalked out of the park.

Turning off of Embly Road, he had barely gone two blocks when he saw the towering figure of the brand new Sunnydale High School. He gave a soft snort and shook his head. So that was what Dawn had been rambling about. All her whining and bitching -- he’d thought that the case had been something even worse.

Nothing much had changed about the school. Well, obviously, it was new. It was bigger, too, with a larger campus outside the main building. But all in all, it was only subtle changes. It really looked like the original high school. Well, before Buffy had blown it up.

He sighed and shook his head again. This town was completely asinine. They’d rebuilt the high school right over the exact location of the Hellmouth all over again. It was like a cursed burial ground. Dawn was gonna be into something deep this school year, into and maybe involved in some things that not even Buffy herself had needed to deal with during her three years here.

Of course, Dawn was a bright little girl. With her smarts and Buffy’s strength, plus the rest of the cavalry trotting along, maybe they would actually be able to keep the Hellmouth completely under control.

He grumbled under his breath and stalked back home.

Was it wrong for her to feel giddy? Cuz she was. Giddy.

Spike was back! And she still couldn’t completely believe it. The night she’d dropped in to see Clem had been so surreal. And she was still reeling from Spike’s news.

He had a soul... had he gone to get it purposely, or had someone tricked him? Either way, he had a soul now, and Buffy would never be able to use her regular, tired, stupid old ‘soulless demon’ excuse ever again. Because according to Spike, the soul was el permanente, not a curse. He was stuck with it.

She still wasn’t entirely sure how to feel toward him. She had missed him -- there was no doubt about that, she wouldn’t have cried so hard those first few nights after he’d left if she hadn’t. But she was still angry at him for what he’d attempted to do to Buffy. If she had to choose sides, she was on Buffy’s, all the way. The Slayer was her sister -- her blood kin.

But Spike was... he was Spike. He was the one she’d discovered was a closet nerd when she’d nicked one of his very old journals and she wasn’t ever going to tell him that she knew about that because he would probably kill her for it. The same Spike that had nearly gotten himself killed by a god to keep Dawn’s identity a secret, and time and time again when the teenager’s life had been threatened. The same Spike that got nervous and embarrassed and bumbling whenever Dawn had mentioned any gooshy feelings that she had harbored for the vampire before she’d realized how in over his head he was for her sister.

He was the very same Spike that she’d had that never-to-be-requited and never-to-be-mentioned-out-loud-ever-again crush on. Her extra fangy, ridgy-foreheaded, way too over-protective older brother. He had been the one to stay up at nights with her and watch The Simpsons, Roseanne, and Mama’s Family with her, no matter how ridiculous he’d thought the last two were. And he’d been the one to comfort her when the pain of losing Buffy the summer before had gotten to be unbearable.

So she couldn’t be too mad at him.

Uh-oh. Buffy was giving her a Scrutiny. It had become one of those capitilized things early on in the summer, when she and Buffy had started talking, and Buffy couldn’t make sense of half of what she said.

“What?” Dawn asked.

Buffy wrinkled her nose. “Are you okay? You’ve got one of your loopy looks again. What did they serve you for lunch?”

Dawn scowled. “I packed today.”

Buffy’s eyes widened at the same time that her brows furrowed, and the result was one very alarmed-looking Slayer. “What the hell do we have in the fridge?” she asked, jumping out of her chair at the kitchen island to check.

Dawn rolled her eyes -- honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that Buffy’s roots were showing, Dawn would think that her sister was a natural blonde. Either that, or the bleach seeped into her brain. And that reminded her: Hah! She’d said that to Spike once, and the look he’d given her had been the funniest thing -- a glare that bordered three-ways on confusion, anger, and amusement.

“Buffy, there was nothing wrong with my lunch! Jeez, I’m just feeling extra... tired today. I guess.”

Buffy tilted her head, pawing through the fridge for anything that could pass as actual food. Ew, moldy cherries. How long had those things been back there? “Extra tired?” she asked, grabbing the sliced bread, a jar of strawberry jelly and the peanut butter before she kicked the fridge door closed with her foot. She faced Dawn as she set the things down on the counter. “Tired from what? Is it your Chem teacher? If it is, I could have a talk with him. Your Trig teacher’s being pretty lenient after our talk, isn’t he?”

Dawn grinned, standing up and moving toward the island, snatching a banana from the basket. “Well, Buff, it’s kinda hard not to be lenient when you’re threatened with bodily harm, before watching an abnormally strong fellow staff member squish your favorite paperweight in her bare hands.”

Buffy, her head still lowered, peeked up at Dawn from under her lashes. “He told you about that, huh?”

“I saw the blatant terror in his eyes when I walked in. It was like Martha Stewart was just confronted by Mohammed Ali or something.”

Buffy shuddered. “Ew, Martha Stewart.” She twisted open the peanut butter jar and grabbed two slices of bread, generously slathering them with the gunk. “You know, Anya says that she’s evil.”

Dawn reached over and grabbed a knife, cutting her banana into slices before snatching more bread, and the peanut butter jar from her sister. “Martha Stewart, really? I always knew there was something creepy about her. She always seemed way too... peppy during her Halloween shows.”

Buffy nodded as she spread on the jelly, then slapped the two pieces together, taking out a bite. “Yup. Ahn says she’s a demon, that’s like all, one with the Blackness or something. She lives for the wicked evilness and stuff.”

Dawn grinned. “It figures.”

After Dawn finished creating her banana, peanut butter and strawberry jelly masterpiece, she and Buffy moved on to the living room and crashed down in front of the TV. In an unconscious movement, Dawn tossed her feet onto the table, grabbed the remote, and flicked the TV on, changing it quickly to the History Channel, where History’s Mysteries was on. Buffy nearly choked on her PB&J. The episode was on unholy and mystical beings -- witches, goblins, unicorns, Courtney Love... and vampires.

Dawn couldn’t say what had told her to change it to that particular station. She never watched the History Channel -- she was 16, it was just something that a teenager in California did not do. But something had spoken to her, and while she was aware of Buffy’s reaction to the show, she couldn’t bring herself to change it. Besides, it was funny as hell watching an episode on things that people didn’t think were real, talking like they were experts on the whole thing. Pfft.

Buffy fumbled as she reached across Dawn for the remote. The teenager’s hand shot out and grabbed Buffy’s wrist. “Hey!” she protested. “Leave it alone, Buffy! Come on, it’s funny! These people think they’re brilliant when it comes to this stuff!”

“No!” Buffy yelped. “It’s enough that they get in my face all the time whenever I’m patrolling, I don’t wanna watch them on TV!”

“Oh, get a sense of humor, Buffy! Xander would think this was hilarious, and Spike would probably be rolling around, laughing on the floor!”

Oops. Buffy was quiet, her jaw hanging slightly open, and it didn’t take long for Dawn to realize that she’d slipped up and said the ‘S’ word again.

Buffy’s shoulder jerked slightly, as though she were having a muscle spasm, and the Slayer looked down. She took a deep calming breath, then looked at Dawn again. “Dawn, go to your room, please.”

Dawn looked at her sister in disbelief. “What?! But all I did was say his name! You’re making me go to my room for that?!”

Buffy stood up. “Dawn, you know I’d appreciate not hearing that name anymore, and --”

“Buffy, that’s not fair! All I did was say his name, it’s not like I cursed or something!”

“Dawn!” Buffy spun around and glared at her younger sister. “In this house, that name is a curse! Do not ever say it again, in front of me, to yourself, don’t even write it in your diary!”

Dawn stood up, almost livid. “You’re the one who said we had to open up to each other, Buffy! Like it or not, he’s still a part of our lives, whether he’s here or whether he isn’t! I can practically see your brain oozing with him, you think about him all the time whenever you think I don’t notice! I know you’re mad at him, and I know he hurt you, but I also know how much you miss him! I miss him, too, Buffy, no matter how mad I am at him for what he did, he’s still Spike, and I still miss him and love him!”

The younger Summers broke off, gazing at her sister pleadingly. “Buffy, please. Tell me what I’m missing. Fill me in. Let me know what on earth is going on because at the moment, I am completely clueless! You promised me that we would actually start talking to each other now, and we have been -- but whenever it comes to Spike, you want to run away and hide! Talk to me, please, Buffy!”

Buffy looked away, then sank back down onto the couch. Putting her face in her hands, she leaned forward on her elbows and took a deep breath, then sat back. Dawn sat down next to the Slayer, noticing that Buffy’s eyes were filled with unspilled tears.

“I don’t know what you’re going to think of me, Dawn. You know the place I was in last year. I felt like I was trapped, and I couldn’t get past what Willow and Xander did, bringing me back and everything.” Buffy shook her head. “I felt like I couldn’t feel, like part of me, the part that knew how to be happy, and loving, and cheerful, was left behind when they pulled me back. And because I couldn’t feel...” She permitted herself to give Dawn a shamed, sideways glance. “I let myself sleep with Spike. So that maybe I could.”

Dawn stared at Buffy blankly. “You... used him,” she stated quietly, lowering her eyes.

Buffy cleared her throat. “Yes,” she whispered. “I used him.”

The teenager sat up slightly and let out a deep sigh. “Oh,” she murmured. “Is... that why he did... what he did?”

Buffy bit her lower lip, gazing at the coffee table. “That was... part of it. It was also because I told him that I didn’t love him. He sort of got a little desperate after that.” Her hand lowered and began unconsciously massaging her thigh, where his beseeching, pleading hands had bruised her four months ago.

The teenager glanced back up at her. “So this was both your faults. He’s the one who got all fondly and pushy, but you’re the one who pushed him to it. And you were trying to push the whole thing off on him.”

The Slayer didn’t look at her sister. “Yeah, I... did.”

“Nice, Buff. Real nice. You’re supposed to be the grown-up, and instead, when you screw around with the man who loves you, and make him go all apeshit on you, you play the evil vampire wild card. Yeah, it was Spike, but he didn’t have a soul. He couldn’t control himself the way you can. You pushed him to the edge like that -- you made him go insane with wanting you to love him.”

The Slayer looked up at her sister, her expression manifesting disbelief. “Dawn, wait a minute. I know I screwed up, but Spike is in the wrong here, too. Why are you defending him like this?”

Dawn glared at her. “Because he was there for me when you died. He took care of me, played with me, protected me, and he loved me. He didn’t treat me like I had no real knowledge of the world. He gave me the facts straight, and he treated me like an adult, which, by the way, I’m becoming, if you would ever take notice.”

The teenager sighed and shook her head. “Did he ever ask you anything in exchange, Buffy? I mean, I know your relationship was based, like, solely on sex, but was there ever anything else he asked of you? Besides that? I bet that every single time you went to him, he was hoping that you might give him a chance. That you would finally see him, and notice him, and, and maybe, just maybe, love him, like he loved you. Am I right?”

The blonde remained silent for a while. Closing her eyes, she knew that Dawn was right. Huh. Her sister was gonna grow up to be Sigmund Freud. The world was a scary place. “He... He never asked for anything. Except for me to give him a chance.” It hurt, admitting it out loud. It meant that she really was the cold-hearted bitch that Spike had seen her for. She had used someone that loved her, chip and soul be damned, since those weren’t factors in his affections for her, and then she’d broken his heart.

Spike had called her on it -- several times, in fact -- but he’d never pushed it when she’d refused to answer. He must’ve realized early on that he wouldn’t get much out of her except for sex, so he forced himself to enjoy her company -- any small bit of her company at all -- instead. Taking what he could get, just for the chance to be near her, even if she did use him as a responding dildo.

It was completely her fault that Spike had attempted to rape her. She’d ruined him, destroyed his heart and mind, until all that she’d left within him was his desperation to be with her and an animal’s need for a mate. They might have actually been able to have something, if it hadn’t of been for her. She’d ruined it all. The thought forced the tears out of her eyes and down her cheeks.

Dawn had remained quiet since Buffy had spoken, staring down at her hands, folded placidly in her lap. After a second, the teenager leaned back against the couch and sighed. Looking over at Buffy, she tilted her head. “What would you do if he came back?”

Her voice sounded longing and pleading. Buffy hated having to dash the girl’s hopes. She stood up and licked her lips, swallowing hard. “He’s not coming back, Dawn. He’s been gone for four months already. And you know the routine. Once they leave, they never want to find their way back.”

Dawn maintained her Pollyanna attitude. “Spike’s different. What if he does?”

Buffy managed a small little smile. “I know he’s different. And I think I’d be in my Bohemian Rhapsody element if he did. But...” She looked down as she headed toward the steps. She stopped at the bottom, looking towards Dawn again. “He’s not coming back, Dawn. They never do.”

Dawn watched silently as Buffy made her way up the stairs.

And then she smiled.  

“I still don’t get it.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “What’s not to get?”

Dawn shrugged weakly, giving him a tiny, sheepish grin. “Everything?”

Spike sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Such as...?”

Dawn sat up, kneeling above her book. Her right hand rose to accompany her words. “Okay... like the Puritans. They wanted to separate from the Church of England, 'cos the king and everyone was holding them back. But then, they came to America, and they believed all sorts of ridiculous things, and in their own way, they were holding everyone else back, too. So if they were just doing the same stupid thing as the Church of England, what on earth was the point of breaking away from it?”

Spike scratched his ear slightly, sitting up on his bed in order to peer down at Dawn, who was sprawled on the ground. “That’s the thing, pet. The bloody Puritans thought that they were right, an’ the church was wrong.” He frowned. What could he use to explain it more easily to her? “It’s like all that rot that’s going on overseas, y’know, with the bin Laden bull. He and his radical Muslims think that they’re right, am’ everyone else is wrong. Not all Muslims act like that, mind you, but the deal with that wanker is that he believes that America is nothing but a huge lot of white devils.”

The teenager’s nose wrinkled up. “White devils? But we’re not... I mean, there’s Muslim people here, too. And... and, Jews, and Hindus and lots of people. And they think we’re all satanists?”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Something like that. Anyway, I don’t know what the deal is, I think they believe they were sent by the Almighty Himself to carry out the final judgment, or something, for all the wrongs that America perpetrated against them. An’ so they decide to destroy the World Trade Center. Huge buildings, millions of people working in them, lots of races an’ ethnicities, and it wasn’t just a symbol of America, it was a symbol of the whole world. So when they hit us, they were carrying out an attack on the rest of the world as well. An’ they call the attack a... a holy war.”

Dawn sighed. “So basically, what we have isn’t just a failure to communicate, but a bunch of morons who think that they’re God’s chosen people, and that they were sent by Him to, like... punish people that treated them badly? And it’s all just a load of crap because they think we’re the evil ones? What did we ever do to them?”

Spike shrugged. “Don’t really pay that much attention to history, Bit. I just know that the government is fucked, an’ so are our nippy, brand new friends overseas.”

Dawn smiled. “Because America isn’t gonna take this lying down.”

Her companion smirked. “Exactly. It’s kinda like when the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor.”

His eyes began to get that faraway look in them, and Dawn grinned, sitting up. Woohoo! Storytime!

“Dru an’ I were hiding out somewhere in Portugal at the time, an’ we were freezing our bloody asses off ‘cos, you know, it was December an’ all, an’ we were in an area not far off from the Mediterranean, so with the breezes coming in off the sea, it was like diving head-first into a SnoCone or something. So even though we’d just eaten enough homeless people to stave off the hunger for three weeks in advance, I stood up an’ said, ‘It’s too bloody cold, I’m sick of this, let’s go find us a nice little villa.’ So we packed up, an’ pushed our way into this little place by the ocean, an’ just as I was snapping the owner’s neck, this report comes in off the radio they were listening to.

“It’s all in a mix of Spanish and Portuguese, an’ since Dru only knew Italian an’ Russian at the time, she was all quaking an’ crying, 'cos she didn’t know what was going on. ‘What’re they saying, Spike, what’re they saying?’ she’s asking, an’ I says, ‘Hush up a bit, pet, an’ lemme listen.’ So I stay quiet for a few minutes, so I can hear the whole report, only I have to turn up the radio by then, on account of Dru was wailing, wavering right on the edge of a bloody hysteria 'cos she thought the world was ending again.

“So when I got the information, I tell her that the Japanese invaded America an’ bombed Hawaii, an’ that FDR declared war. An’ the one thing that he said, it’s always gonna stick with me, ‘cos they had a little excerpt of it in the news report; but he says that the Japs ‘have awoken a sleeping giant,’ an’ that was when I knew that the Allies would win the war. He sounded like he was ready to tear into them himself, if he hadn’t been bloody incapacitated in that wheelchair. Poor sod, I know how he felt.”

This was one of the best things about Spike, one of the things she loved the most. He was always so colorful with his stories, and he had actually lived through some of the world’s biggest crises. And aside from that, whenever he told a story, he tended to get side-tracked, and would go rambling off on several different subjects at once before he remembered what the heck he’d been talking about in the first place.

Spike came back to himself after a bit, then glared as he realized that Dawn had managed to push off about ten minutes worth of studying, all to hear a story. “Nibblet,” he started, using his warning voice.

Dawn’s eyes went wide, and she ‘eep’ed. “I know, I know, I’m sorry! I just wanted something to take my mind off of studying, just for a little bit. History is grating on me, Spike, and I know it isn’t exactly your thing, but at least you’re getting me somewhat interested in it, you know?”

Spike rolled his eyes, fighting (and losing) the battle to keep a smile off of his face. “Okay. You get off easy, this time, but only because you’re actually learning something, here.” He cocked an eyebrow and peered down at her. “You are learning something, right, Bit?”

Dawn smiled brightly, stood up, and hugged him as tightly as she possibly could. “You bet!”

Spike chuckled, hugging her back before he pushed her gently away from him. “Good. I want you to keep your grades up, Bit. You don’t have the excuse of a Hellgod being after you anymore, no more dilly-dallying with your schoolwork.”

Dawn nodded dutifully. “You betcha. I’m Study Girl this year.”

Spike snorted again, yawning slightly as he looked at her. “Speaking of, Study Girl, where are you actually s’posed to be? Not here, I know that.”

He had to give her props. At least she had the decency to look sheepish. “Uh... Janice’s?”

Spike made the noise of a buzzer. “Wrong answer, pet. Try again.”

“My room?”

“Do not pass ‘Go,’ do not collect any pity points from me, 'cos you ain’t getting them.”

“Xander’s?”

Spike looked horrified. “Is that what you’re torturing yourself with these days?!”

Dawn giggled a bit. “Okay... I’m supposed to be studying at the library. At least, that’s what Buffy thinks.”

Spike tilted his head. “An’ what is Buffy going to say when she doesn’t see your pretty little nose buried in the middle of a History book in some dank, rustic-smelling library?”

Dawn frowned. “I don’t know... I’ve gotten away with it before...”

The door of the crypt slammed open from upstairs, and footsteps -- very familiar footsteps to Spike’s ears -- clacked above their heads. “DAWN!” a voice called.

Dawn’s eyes widened. “But not this time,” she whispered.

Spike swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down maniacally with the action.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered.

Dawn’s sentiments exactly.

Next

Back

NC-17 Home

*Keep in mind that none of these characters are mine, and any views they express are the ones that I put in their mouths*