A Road Covered With Blood
Aug. 9th, 2007 07:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevendeadlyfunPairing: Xander/Spike
Rating: NC-17 overall
A/N: Remember how this was all from Xander's perspective? Yeah, this story isn't really working out the way I'd intended...
X-posted todarker_spike for challenge reasons, posted here for my memories
It was interesting, Spike reflected, on how much could change after death. Whole realities could rise and fall, memories displaced and returned, and a glorified bricklayer could become a warm, thoughtful man. Still a pain in the ass, but a thoughtful pain in the ass.
Xander was relaxed, more relaxed than Spike could ever remember seeing him. He leaned back in the driver’s seat, two fingers on the wheel. There was silence, but nothing ugly. In Spike’s experience, Xander’s quiet meant pain or embarrassment. This man, he could handle a silence, didn’t feel the need to fill it up with yammering. It was nice. It was interesting. It was…incredibly disturbing.
“You know,” Xander smiled at him, “I could get you a camera.”
“A camera?” Spike tried to figure out how he’d missed a whole discussion on cameras.
“So you could take a picture,” Xander explained. “You’re staring.”
“Oh.” Spike shrugged. “Sorry.”
“No, you really aren’t.”
“You’re right,” Spike agreed. “I’m not.”
Death gave a man certain liberties. Well, coming back from death did, at any rate. If Buffy could hate fuck him and half-destroy herself after her resurrection, Spike figured he could stare all he wanted.
“Angel,” Xander said quietly. “He really is…different now, isn’t he?”
Spike snorted. Different was hardly the right word. Miraculously transformed, perhaps or blessed beneficiary of a complete personality transplant. Different barely covered it.
“What clued you in, pet? The hearty hug he gave you or the great big smile he sported when he saw me?” Spike asked dryly.
“Neither,” Xander laughed. “Gotta say those were both bizarre in their own way, but not exactly worrying. It was…he’s not angry anymore.”
Spike nodded at that. Angel, or at least the Liam he’d been, was by all reports a pretty screwed up boy. Not surprising, that. Vampires rarely stumble upon the happy and well adjusted, much less decide to keep them for eternity. But, he’d never known any version of Angel that wasn’t simmering with anger. To see Angel without that coating of wrath was strange.
“Guess that means somethin’ good, yeah? Must be this brave new world taking shape around us,” Spike replied diffidently.
Xander looked at him, eyes full of shadows and questions. Spike met those eyes, but he didn’t speak. He’d learned to keep his counsel. His time at Wolfram & Hart had been awful, but he’d learned. Sometimes, silence was the better road.
A brave new world, yeah. A world where he was a wiling ally of the Slayer, not her punching bag or her wind-up fuck toy. A world where Xander kissed him in exquisite silence and jacked him to poetry. A world with no chip to hold him back and a soul he’d never sought straining inside him.
Spike shivered suddenly, feeling the collision of memories with tangible force. He could remember the other world perfectly, as clearly as he remembered this new one. He and Buffy were matched now in deaths to save the world. But he hadn’t gotten quite her reward. No vampire ever dies in a state of grace, he reminded himself. No matter what Angel believed, the road to hell was the only one open to them.
“Covered in blood,” he murmured.
“What is,” Xander asked, voice hushed and thick.
“The road to hell,” Spike answered abstractly. “It’s a road covered with blood.”
“I imagine so,” Xander said. “A lot to clean up before you can go forward.”
“Is that what you really think,” Spike sneered. “You think that if I just rescue enough puppies, I’ll be sanctified?”
“I hope so,” Xander told him seriously. “Your soul should be. Why punish you for something you didn’t do? Or worse, punish you after doing so much good.”
Spike shook his head, amazed at Xander’s naiveté. It constantly astonished him how Xander and the other Scoobies, could look evil in the face night after night and still not understand a thing about it. Was the world really so black and white to them?
“What do you see when you look at me,” he asked flatly. “A man? A soul? It’s not like that, Xander. It’s never that simple.”
Xander, stubborn stupid Xander, glared at him darkly. Spike had seen that look a hundred times in the basement and on patrol. It had one clear meaning. Idiot.
“You think that because I lost my soul that I get a free pass,” he continued. “Not bloody likely. Or, even better, you think since I got turned that I’m not responsible? Think again, luv.”
The car slowed, and Xander drove to the edge of the road. That irritating sign stood, a beacon of Hellmouth intent, and Spike wholeheartedly wished Xander would run it down. Why bother announcing the evil of this town when anyone with half a brain could feel it in their bones?
“Explain,” Xander said as he turned off the engine. “Now.”
Spike shifted in his seat. He’d do this the right way, facing the crowd like a true gentleman. Not sporting to deny the spectators their pound of flesh, is it?
“No one makes you a demon,” Spike began quietly. “You have to want it. Darla, Angel, me…even Dru, we all made a choice. Your Sire can’t force you to drink. We damned ourselves, Xander. This soul? It’s nothing on the scales because this soul choose its fate.”
Xander remained silent, eyes black in the gloom of the car. Spike heartily wished for a cigarette, or better yet a weapon. Something to hold in his hands, keep him from regretting his honesty.
“You chose this,” Xander stated, no hint of question in his voice.
“I did,” Spike confirmed unnecessarily. “Christ, I bloody well begged for it. You see the soul and the demon as separate. But, they aren’t. They’re both me, Xander. Angel had his soul when Buffy thrust that sword in and he still had to do his time. We, he and I, were both damned a hundred times over.”
“For one fucking choice!” Xander’s voice was knife-sharp, echoing in the confines of the car.
“It’s a pretty important choice, luv,” Spike riposted. “Even if we’d never killed a single being, we chose damnation.”
Xander reached for keys and the engine roared to life. Spike sat back in his seat, a low sigh escaping his lips. He still wasn’t sure that he’d done the right thing by telling Xander the truth. It had to be told, though. He could burn up for the world every day and twice on Sundays and it still wouldn’t save him. Some choices you couldn’t take back.
“No.” The soft word floated over Spike, and he looked over at Xander quizzically. “I don’t accept that.”
Rating: NC-17 overall
A/N: Remember how this was all from Xander's perspective? Yeah, this story isn't really working out the way I'd intended...
X-posted to
darker_spike for challenge reasons, posted here for my memoriesIt was interesting, Spike reflected, on how much could change after death. Whole realities could rise and fall, memories displaced and returned, and a glorified bricklayer could become a warm, thoughtful man. Still a pain in the ass, but a thoughtful pain in the ass.
Xander was relaxed, more relaxed than Spike could ever remember seeing him. He leaned back in the driver’s seat, two fingers on the wheel. There was silence, but nothing ugly. In Spike’s experience, Xander’s quiet meant pain or embarrassment. This man, he could handle a silence, didn’t feel the need to fill it up with yammering. It was nice. It was interesting. It was…incredibly disturbing.
“You know,” Xander smiled at him, “I could get you a camera.”
“A camera?” Spike tried to figure out how he’d missed a whole discussion on cameras.
“So you could take a picture,” Xander explained. “You’re staring.”
“Oh.” Spike shrugged. “Sorry.”
“No, you really aren’t.”
“You’re right,” Spike agreed. “I’m not.”
Death gave a man certain liberties. Well, coming back from death did, at any rate. If Buffy could hate fuck him and half-destroy herself after her resurrection, Spike figured he could stare all he wanted.
“Angel,” Xander said quietly. “He really is…different now, isn’t he?”
Spike snorted. Different was hardly the right word. Miraculously transformed, perhaps or blessed beneficiary of a complete personality transplant. Different barely covered it.
“What clued you in, pet? The hearty hug he gave you or the great big smile he sported when he saw me?” Spike asked dryly.
“Neither,” Xander laughed. “Gotta say those were both bizarre in their own way, but not exactly worrying. It was…he’s not angry anymore.”
Spike nodded at that. Angel, or at least the Liam he’d been, was by all reports a pretty screwed up boy. Not surprising, that. Vampires rarely stumble upon the happy and well adjusted, much less decide to keep them for eternity. But, he’d never known any version of Angel that wasn’t simmering with anger. To see Angel without that coating of wrath was strange.
“Guess that means somethin’ good, yeah? Must be this brave new world taking shape around us,” Spike replied diffidently.
Xander looked at him, eyes full of shadows and questions. Spike met those eyes, but he didn’t speak. He’d learned to keep his counsel. His time at Wolfram & Hart had been awful, but he’d learned. Sometimes, silence was the better road.
A brave new world, yeah. A world where he was a wiling ally of the Slayer, not her punching bag or her wind-up fuck toy. A world where Xander kissed him in exquisite silence and jacked him to poetry. A world with no chip to hold him back and a soul he’d never sought straining inside him.
Spike shivered suddenly, feeling the collision of memories with tangible force. He could remember the other world perfectly, as clearly as he remembered this new one. He and Buffy were matched now in deaths to save the world. But he hadn’t gotten quite her reward. No vampire ever dies in a state of grace, he reminded himself. No matter what Angel believed, the road to hell was the only one open to them.
“Covered in blood,” he murmured.
“What is,” Xander asked, voice hushed and thick.
“The road to hell,” Spike answered abstractly. “It’s a road covered with blood.”
“I imagine so,” Xander said. “A lot to clean up before you can go forward.”
“Is that what you really think,” Spike sneered. “You think that if I just rescue enough puppies, I’ll be sanctified?”
“I hope so,” Xander told him seriously. “Your soul should be. Why punish you for something you didn’t do? Or worse, punish you after doing so much good.”
Spike shook his head, amazed at Xander’s naiveté. It constantly astonished him how Xander and the other Scoobies, could look evil in the face night after night and still not understand a thing about it. Was the world really so black and white to them?
“What do you see when you look at me,” he asked flatly. “A man? A soul? It’s not like that, Xander. It’s never that simple.”
Xander, stubborn stupid Xander, glared at him darkly. Spike had seen that look a hundred times in the basement and on patrol. It had one clear meaning. Idiot.
“You think that because I lost my soul that I get a free pass,” he continued. “Not bloody likely. Or, even better, you think since I got turned that I’m not responsible? Think again, luv.”
The car slowed, and Xander drove to the edge of the road. That irritating sign stood, a beacon of Hellmouth intent, and Spike wholeheartedly wished Xander would run it down. Why bother announcing the evil of this town when anyone with half a brain could feel it in their bones?
“Explain,” Xander said as he turned off the engine. “Now.”
Spike shifted in his seat. He’d do this the right way, facing the crowd like a true gentleman. Not sporting to deny the spectators their pound of flesh, is it?
“No one makes you a demon,” Spike began quietly. “You have to want it. Darla, Angel, me…even Dru, we all made a choice. Your Sire can’t force you to drink. We damned ourselves, Xander. This soul? It’s nothing on the scales because this soul choose its fate.”
Xander remained silent, eyes black in the gloom of the car. Spike heartily wished for a cigarette, or better yet a weapon. Something to hold in his hands, keep him from regretting his honesty.
“You chose this,” Xander stated, no hint of question in his voice.
“I did,” Spike confirmed unnecessarily. “Christ, I bloody well begged for it. You see the soul and the demon as separate. But, they aren’t. They’re both me, Xander. Angel had his soul when Buffy thrust that sword in and he still had to do his time. We, he and I, were both damned a hundred times over.”
“For one fucking choice!” Xander’s voice was knife-sharp, echoing in the confines of the car.
“It’s a pretty important choice, luv,” Spike riposted. “Even if we’d never killed a single being, we chose damnation.”
Xander reached for keys and the engine roared to life. Spike sat back in his seat, a low sigh escaping his lips. He still wasn’t sure that he’d done the right thing by telling Xander the truth. It had to be told, though. He could burn up for the world every day and twice on Sundays and it still wouldn’t save him. Some choices you couldn’t take back.
“No.” The soft word floated over Spike, and he looked over at Xander quizzically. “I don’t accept that.”
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no subject
on 2007-08-09 11:51 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-08-11 04:33 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-08-10 12:46 am (UTC)it all comes down to choices.
I love that Angel is happy and I love that Xander hasn't given up on Spike.
no subject
on 2007-08-11 04:34 am (UTC)*hugs*
no subject
on 2007-08-10 03:20 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-08-11 04:35 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-08-10 09:18 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-08-11 04:35 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-08-10 11:30 pm (UTC)I can see why Spike's ultimate destination would rub Xander the wrong way, but I think Spike's right about his fate. Xander can choose not to accept it, but I don't see how he can change it. This was a thought provoking chapter.
no subject
on 2007-08-11 04:38 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-10-31 08:28 pm (UTC)Great dialogue. :)
no subject
on 2007-12-20 01:57 am (UTC)