All Souls' Night, 1/7 (?)
Oct. 31st, 2007 12:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevendeadlyfunPairing: Spike/Xander, mentions of Spike, Buffy, Willow friendship
Rating: R overall
Warning: Character death...sort of
Summary: Ten years after Sunnydale's destruction, Spike returns to the ruins. Chasing his lover on All Souls' Night, when the dead can return and walk amongst the living, Spike will do whatever he must to get Xander back.
A/N: Written forfall_for_sx. Thanks to my beta, kidcyclone , for putting up with my complete insanity while writing this. Also, a big thank you to virtualpersonal for her inspiration over at waywardbunnies . I've twisted her plot bunny completely out of shape, but it was still the inspiration!
Buffy stood at the lip of the jagged crater. She shivered, the unusually cool wind whipping up around her. Ten years ago, she’d stood here and smiled. The whole world had waited for her then, bright and shiny. She’d assumed that a life away from the Hellmouth would be simpler, easier. She hadn’t understood how many monsters a world could hold.
Her hand snuck out, colliding with the shaking hand of the man next to her. She could almost feel his unbeating heart breaking at the sight of Sunndale’s wreckage. Thinking about what was coming was unbearably difficult for her. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how Spike was feeling right now.
Spike gazed bleakly down into the pit that he had made. Somewhere in that wreckage was his past. Dru’s dolls, Joyce and Anya, all of that and more turned to ash by the force of a single soul. Somewhere down there was Xander.
“You ready?” Willow asked him gently, and he flinched almost imperceptibly at the sound of her voice.
“No,” he answered honestly. He wasn’t ready, wasn’t sure there was any way to be ready for what was coming.
“It’s time,” she told him, her face grave. He nodded and gestured towards the remains of the town. She smiled, a tense little smile that trembled with the effort she was making.
“Hecate audite meus placitum. Patefacio porta,” Willow chanted, fingers outstretched. *
As Willow begged for Hecate’s intercession, Spike stood silent, his fingers entwined with Buffy’s. Ten years ago, that was his definition of perfect happiness. Ten years ago, he’d have been somewhere in the stratosphere. Now, his only thought was that she wasn’t Xander. Xander who was dead, Xander who he hadn’t saved.
It had been a stupid fight. They’d bickered constantly, endlessly. It didn’t matter about what, they just couldn’t seem to break the habit of picking each other apart. Man U or Liverpool, curry or a fry-up, stake or behead. They had a fight for every topic and night of the week. Spike couldn’t even remember what they’d been bickering about, only that Xander had stormed off. His last words to Xander that night were burned into his memory.
“Piss off, mate.”
They rang in his ears every night since. He heard them in his sleep, his own voice echoing endlessly. Piss off, mate. Piss off, mate. Piss off…
He could hear it now, the words rising above the churning wind. The words that threatened to choke him, drowning out everything but his guilt and shame. The ground shook underneath him and he stumbled, pulling Buffy backwards away from the cliff face. They fell into the dust, watching wide-eyed as Sunnydale rose from its cratered tomb.
*Translation: Hecate, hear my plea. Open the gate. (or roughly that. It's been years and my Latin is way rusty!)
Rating: R overall
Warning: Character death...sort of
Summary: Ten years after Sunnydale's destruction, Spike returns to the ruins. Chasing his lover on All Souls' Night, when the dead can return and walk amongst the living, Spike will do whatever he must to get Xander back.
A/N: Written for
fall_for_sx. Thanks to my beta, kidcyclone , for putting up with my complete insanity while writing this. Also, a big thank you to virtualpersonal for her inspiration over at waywardbunnies . I've twisted her plot bunny completely out of shape, but it was still the inspiration!Buffy stood at the lip of the jagged crater. She shivered, the unusually cool wind whipping up around her. Ten years ago, she’d stood here and smiled. The whole world had waited for her then, bright and shiny. She’d assumed that a life away from the Hellmouth would be simpler, easier. She hadn’t understood how many monsters a world could hold.
Her hand snuck out, colliding with the shaking hand of the man next to her. She could almost feel his unbeating heart breaking at the sight of Sunndale’s wreckage. Thinking about what was coming was unbearably difficult for her. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how Spike was feeling right now.
Spike gazed bleakly down into the pit that he had made. Somewhere in that wreckage was his past. Dru’s dolls, Joyce and Anya, all of that and more turned to ash by the force of a single soul. Somewhere down there was Xander.
“You ready?” Willow asked him gently, and he flinched almost imperceptibly at the sound of her voice.
“No,” he answered honestly. He wasn’t ready, wasn’t sure there was any way to be ready for what was coming.
“It’s time,” she told him, her face grave. He nodded and gestured towards the remains of the town. She smiled, a tense little smile that trembled with the effort she was making.
“Hecate audite meus placitum. Patefacio porta,” Willow chanted, fingers outstretched. *
As Willow begged for Hecate’s intercession, Spike stood silent, his fingers entwined with Buffy’s. Ten years ago, that was his definition of perfect happiness. Ten years ago, he’d have been somewhere in the stratosphere. Now, his only thought was that she wasn’t Xander. Xander who was dead, Xander who he hadn’t saved.
It had been a stupid fight. They’d bickered constantly, endlessly. It didn’t matter about what, they just couldn’t seem to break the habit of picking each other apart. Man U or Liverpool, curry or a fry-up, stake or behead. They had a fight for every topic and night of the week. Spike couldn’t even remember what they’d been bickering about, only that Xander had stormed off. His last words to Xander that night were burned into his memory.
“Piss off, mate.”
They rang in his ears every night since. He heard them in his sleep, his own voice echoing endlessly. Piss off, mate. Piss off, mate. Piss off…
He could hear it now, the words rising above the churning wind. The words that threatened to choke him, drowning out everything but his guilt and shame. The ground shook underneath him and he stumbled, pulling Buffy backwards away from the cliff face. They fell into the dust, watching wide-eyed as Sunnydale rose from its cratered tomb.
*Translation: Hecate, hear my plea. Open the gate. (or roughly that. It's been years and my Latin is way rusty!)