The Space Between: Part II
Jan. 6th, 2007 11:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sevendeadlyfunPairing: Spike/Angel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: blood, angst, implied pedophilia, cannibalism
A/N: This is starting to get dark. There are quite a few possible squicks in here. Just be warned. Also, the Latin in here is pulled from vague recollections of my high school Latin class. Please don't email me or comment saying that I got the declension wrong. I won't care enough to fix it. There. You've been properly warned. Read at your own risk...
The Space Between: II
It had been two days. Two very long days, in which Angel alternately brooded and hovered. Spike had not gotten any better. His blue eyes still stared outwards, oblivious and dead. His body couldn’t heal without blood, and they couldn’t induce Spike to feed. They’d tried everything, including rigging up IV’s filled with Angel’s blood. It went in fine, only to seep uselessly out his mouth. He was shutting down, drifting further and further away from the world.
Finally, Wesley had the ingredients necessary to perform the Fugiens Animus. It required a concotion made from vervain, belladonna, resin from a flowering dragon’s blood tree, and masterwort. Mixing the herbs with aqua vitae and a drop of Spike’s blood, Wesley handed the potion to Angel.
“You’ll need to be touching him for this to be effective. As soon as you drink it, recite the spell three times and focus all your attention on Spike. If this works, you’ll enter Spike’s mind. Be warned, Angel. Not only is this extremely dangerous, but you may not find anything inside him that will help you save him. There may be nothing left to save,” Wesley counseled in hushed tones. “God knows what’s going on in there. Fragments of his life, chaos…it’s bound to be a wreck.”
“I know, Wes. But I…I have to try, “ Angel replied solemnly.
He walked downstairs to his apartment and stripped. He wanted Spike to feel him, to feel safe. He lay down carefully, not wanting to disturb Spike’s body or spill the potion. He sucked down the dark brown bitter liquid, his whole body pressed up against Spike. He closed his eyes, inhaling the unique scent of his Childe. He called to mind all the faces of Spike, from soft human poet to hardened killer. He languished in his memories of Spike’s many emotions, face flickering from adoring to petulant to enraged. He lost himself inside Spike, the chant flying from his lips unbidden.
“Subsisto profugus animus, tribuo mihi porta….subsisto profugus animus, tribuo mihi porta…subsisto profugus animus, tribuou mihi porta!”
Then there was darkness and pain and…coal smoke? Yeah, Angel decided, there was the scent of coal and lavender and death. An odd combination, those three smells. Not three scents you’d normally throw together, he thought as he opened his eyes.
He felt odd. His body, thicker and fuller, somehow constrained him. It didn’t feel like his. He stood up, and a wave of vertigo washed over him. Angel sat back down, and something lacy scratched his neck. Lace? There was lace in Spike’s head. Angel struggled to get his bearings, wondering about the lace. He understood he’d be projected into Spike’s mind, but lace…it defied comprehension.
“Run and catch…run and catch…”
He knew that soft voice, its viciousness and sweetness engraved into his own mind. He opened his eyes and saw Drusilla spinning softly in circles. It wasn’t her, though. Not Drusilla at all, but a small girl done up in lovely velvets with soft black curls tumbling around her heartbreakingly adorable face. The voice that crooned the old lullaby was Dru’s, though. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He stood quickly and strode across the room.
“Hello. My name is Angel. I’m looking for my friend. Maybe you’ve seen him? His name is Sp…William, “ Angel said as he knelt down beside the spinning girl.
“Naughty Daddy, “ said Drusilla’s voice, “ that’s not how the game is played. Run and catch, run and catch, there will be no mice and the cats
will starve. The lion and the lamb can’t stay for tea.”
The little girl stopped spinning and turned, her glittery mad eyes pinning Angel in place. The firelight played over her midnight hair and sparkled across her small vicious fangs. She leaned in, her sweet breath wafting over Angel’s face, and he recoiled in terror. She smelt of sex, of filthy perversions in dark rooms, and it was so disturbing, he almost fled.
“Shall I tell you secret, Daddy? I know so many lovely ones, covered in cherries and feathers. You like secrets, don’t you? Psst, psst, hurts in the moonlight whisper to me. I hear things and I know. You shan’t find him, for he’s another one of your broken dollies. Everything you touch turns to ashes, “ hissed the Drusilla-girl.
Angel did run then. He stood and ran away, from the firelit room and its twisted too true version of his daughter. He ran out the door and into the dark night, fog misting his skin and words burning his heart.
Ashes, ashes, ashes…
She was right, and it terrified him. He’d never brought anyone anything but pain. Sometimes they thanked him for it, as Darla had. Sometimes they begged him for it, as Drusilla did after he finished with her. Sometimes they cried. In the end, it was still pain, no matter how it was received.
He ducked into an alley, panting unnecessarily. He leaned back against the brick wall and screwed his eyes shut. If he just hid, maybe the danger would pass him by. He’d successfully avoided the truth before. Perhaps he could again. But, Spike…Spike needed him. He had to find Spike. Dizziness swamped him, and he slid down the wall
He landed on something soft and felt lace scratch the back of his neck. Lace again? Once he again, he pondered the bizarre improbability of lace and Spike. The coal black stench hit his nose again, and he heard the little girl crooning. He sighed.
He was back in the room again, and he definitely didn’t want to go through another conversation with this simulacrum of Drusilla. He stood, bypassing the twirling child and exited the door, taking stock of his surroundings.
The house he was in wasn’t a mansion, but it was large. Commodious without being uncomfortable, there were pictures on the wall and various bits of bric-a-brac dotting tables. Looking around, he saw stairs and doorways. Where would Spike go?
Angel might not have been the classically educated gentleman that Spike had been before his turning, but neither was he stupid. This was all an illusion, Spike’s mind presenting him with images he was able to comprehend. So, he had to find the place that represented safety to Spike.
Of course, with Spike, that could be anywhere from cellar to garrett. For all he knew, Spike felt safest curled up in a cabinet in the scullery. Which meant that Angel was going to have to conduct a room by room search. And that was going to take time, time Angel wasn’t sure he had.
Well, he thought wryly, no point in wasting that uncertain time by worrying I don’t have enough of it. He moved towards the nearest door and opened it. Walking in, he surveyed the room and once again, the shock of what he saw stopped him cold.
It was a dining room, with a lovely large rosewood table and high-backed chairs. The walls were soothing golden yellow, and the candles in their sconces danced and flickered across the room’s lone occupant. At the head of table, a nude Buffy sat regal and composed. She was eating something, cutting it carefully with a knife and fork. She nodded at Angel, face grave.
“Would you like some? It’s so delicious. I don’t really want to share it, but I know it’s your favorite dish, “ the Buffy-figure inquired politely. She picked up a creamy white napkin, wiping her mouth daintily. A bloodred stain spread across the snowy fabric, and Angel twitched when the scent reached his nose.
It wasn’t just bloodred, it was blood. Spike’s blood, and Angel watched as Buffy speared another piece and lifted it to her mouth. She forked it in, and sighed in satisfaction as she chewed. The blood ran in rivulets down her face, as Angel stood horrorstruck at the vision.
“Wh-what are you eating, Buffy?”
She shook her head at him, her nose wrinkling adorably. She pointed delicately at her full mouth, indicating the she wasn’t about to talk with her mouth full. She motioned him closer and he crept around the table, hesitant and yes, afraid.
She pointed down at her plate, still chewing ecstatically. He turned his eyes to the plate, and saw a mass of pulsing red. His eyes flew up to her face and she swallowed, swiping a finger across the blood on her chin.
“Taste it, Angel. It’s your favorite, “ she coaxed. “It’s the blood of love. It tastes wonderful, right from his heart.”
Angel backed away, leaving the bloody Buffy to her feast. He reached the door, his mind whirling with ugly images and even uglier insinuations. He had tasted that blood before, filled with love and desire. The Buffy-figure was right, it was his favorite. That was the part that sickened Angel most of all. He’d wanted to lick her fingers clean, gulping down Spike’s love-filled blood. The vertigo washed over him and he collapsed, once more filled with terror at the truth hidden in Spike’s damaged mind.
TBC...
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: blood, angst, implied pedophilia, cannibalism
A/N: This is starting to get dark. There are quite a few possible squicks in here. Just be warned. Also, the Latin in here is pulled from vague recollections of my high school Latin class. Please don't email me or comment saying that I got the declension wrong. I won't care enough to fix it. There. You've been properly warned. Read at your own risk...
The Space Between: II
It had been two days. Two very long days, in which Angel alternately brooded and hovered. Spike had not gotten any better. His blue eyes still stared outwards, oblivious and dead. His body couldn’t heal without blood, and they couldn’t induce Spike to feed. They’d tried everything, including rigging up IV’s filled with Angel’s blood. It went in fine, only to seep uselessly out his mouth. He was shutting down, drifting further and further away from the world.
Finally, Wesley had the ingredients necessary to perform the Fugiens Animus. It required a concotion made from vervain, belladonna, resin from a flowering dragon’s blood tree, and masterwort. Mixing the herbs with aqua vitae and a drop of Spike’s blood, Wesley handed the potion to Angel.
“You’ll need to be touching him for this to be effective. As soon as you drink it, recite the spell three times and focus all your attention on Spike. If this works, you’ll enter Spike’s mind. Be warned, Angel. Not only is this extremely dangerous, but you may not find anything inside him that will help you save him. There may be nothing left to save,” Wesley counseled in hushed tones. “God knows what’s going on in there. Fragments of his life, chaos…it’s bound to be a wreck.”
“I know, Wes. But I…I have to try, “ Angel replied solemnly.
He walked downstairs to his apartment and stripped. He wanted Spike to feel him, to feel safe. He lay down carefully, not wanting to disturb Spike’s body or spill the potion. He sucked down the dark brown bitter liquid, his whole body pressed up against Spike. He closed his eyes, inhaling the unique scent of his Childe. He called to mind all the faces of Spike, from soft human poet to hardened killer. He languished in his memories of Spike’s many emotions, face flickering from adoring to petulant to enraged. He lost himself inside Spike, the chant flying from his lips unbidden.
“Subsisto profugus animus, tribuo mihi porta….subsisto profugus animus, tribuo mihi porta…subsisto profugus animus, tribuou mihi porta!”
Then there was darkness and pain and…coal smoke? Yeah, Angel decided, there was the scent of coal and lavender and death. An odd combination, those three smells. Not three scents you’d normally throw together, he thought as he opened his eyes.
He felt odd. His body, thicker and fuller, somehow constrained him. It didn’t feel like his. He stood up, and a wave of vertigo washed over him. Angel sat back down, and something lacy scratched his neck. Lace? There was lace in Spike’s head. Angel struggled to get his bearings, wondering about the lace. He understood he’d be projected into Spike’s mind, but lace…it defied comprehension.
“Run and catch…run and catch…”
He knew that soft voice, its viciousness and sweetness engraved into his own mind. He opened his eyes and saw Drusilla spinning softly in circles. It wasn’t her, though. Not Drusilla at all, but a small girl done up in lovely velvets with soft black curls tumbling around her heartbreakingly adorable face. The voice that crooned the old lullaby was Dru’s, though. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He stood quickly and strode across the room.
“Hello. My name is Angel. I’m looking for my friend. Maybe you’ve seen him? His name is Sp…William, “ Angel said as he knelt down beside the spinning girl.
“Naughty Daddy, “ said Drusilla’s voice, “ that’s not how the game is played. Run and catch, run and catch, there will be no mice and the cats
will starve. The lion and the lamb can’t stay for tea.”
The little girl stopped spinning and turned, her glittery mad eyes pinning Angel in place. The firelight played over her midnight hair and sparkled across her small vicious fangs. She leaned in, her sweet breath wafting over Angel’s face, and he recoiled in terror. She smelt of sex, of filthy perversions in dark rooms, and it was so disturbing, he almost fled.
“Shall I tell you secret, Daddy? I know so many lovely ones, covered in cherries and feathers. You like secrets, don’t you? Psst, psst, hurts in the moonlight whisper to me. I hear things and I know. You shan’t find him, for he’s another one of your broken dollies. Everything you touch turns to ashes, “ hissed the Drusilla-girl.
Angel did run then. He stood and ran away, from the firelit room and its twisted too true version of his daughter. He ran out the door and into the dark night, fog misting his skin and words burning his heart.
Ashes, ashes, ashes…
She was right, and it terrified him. He’d never brought anyone anything but pain. Sometimes they thanked him for it, as Darla had. Sometimes they begged him for it, as Drusilla did after he finished with her. Sometimes they cried. In the end, it was still pain, no matter how it was received.
He ducked into an alley, panting unnecessarily. He leaned back against the brick wall and screwed his eyes shut. If he just hid, maybe the danger would pass him by. He’d successfully avoided the truth before. Perhaps he could again. But, Spike…Spike needed him. He had to find Spike. Dizziness swamped him, and he slid down the wall
He landed on something soft and felt lace scratch the back of his neck. Lace again? Once he again, he pondered the bizarre improbability of lace and Spike. The coal black stench hit his nose again, and he heard the little girl crooning. He sighed.
He was back in the room again, and he definitely didn’t want to go through another conversation with this simulacrum of Drusilla. He stood, bypassing the twirling child and exited the door, taking stock of his surroundings.
The house he was in wasn’t a mansion, but it was large. Commodious without being uncomfortable, there were pictures on the wall and various bits of bric-a-brac dotting tables. Looking around, he saw stairs and doorways. Where would Spike go?
Angel might not have been the classically educated gentleman that Spike had been before his turning, but neither was he stupid. This was all an illusion, Spike’s mind presenting him with images he was able to comprehend. So, he had to find the place that represented safety to Spike.
Of course, with Spike, that could be anywhere from cellar to garrett. For all he knew, Spike felt safest curled up in a cabinet in the scullery. Which meant that Angel was going to have to conduct a room by room search. And that was going to take time, time Angel wasn’t sure he had.
Well, he thought wryly, no point in wasting that uncertain time by worrying I don’t have enough of it. He moved towards the nearest door and opened it. Walking in, he surveyed the room and once again, the shock of what he saw stopped him cold.
It was a dining room, with a lovely large rosewood table and high-backed chairs. The walls were soothing golden yellow, and the candles in their sconces danced and flickered across the room’s lone occupant. At the head of table, a nude Buffy sat regal and composed. She was eating something, cutting it carefully with a knife and fork. She nodded at Angel, face grave.
“Would you like some? It’s so delicious. I don’t really want to share it, but I know it’s your favorite dish, “ the Buffy-figure inquired politely. She picked up a creamy white napkin, wiping her mouth daintily. A bloodred stain spread across the snowy fabric, and Angel twitched when the scent reached his nose.
It wasn’t just bloodred, it was blood. Spike’s blood, and Angel watched as Buffy speared another piece and lifted it to her mouth. She forked it in, and sighed in satisfaction as she chewed. The blood ran in rivulets down her face, as Angel stood horrorstruck at the vision.
“Wh-what are you eating, Buffy?”
She shook her head at him, her nose wrinkling adorably. She pointed delicately at her full mouth, indicating the she wasn’t about to talk with her mouth full. She motioned him closer and he crept around the table, hesitant and yes, afraid.
She pointed down at her plate, still chewing ecstatically. He turned his eyes to the plate, and saw a mass of pulsing red. His eyes flew up to her face and she swallowed, swiping a finger across the blood on her chin.
“Taste it, Angel. It’s your favorite, “ she coaxed. “It’s the blood of love. It tastes wonderful, right from his heart.”
Angel backed away, leaving the bloody Buffy to her feast. He reached the door, his mind whirling with ugly images and even uglier insinuations. He had tasted that blood before, filled with love and desire. The Buffy-figure was right, it was his favorite. That was the part that sickened Angel most of all. He’d wanted to lick her fingers clean, gulping down Spike’s love-filled blood. The vertigo washed over him and he collapsed, once more filled with terror at the truth hidden in Spike’s damaged mind.
TBC...
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2007-01-07 07:41 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-01-07 04:25 pm (UTC)Thanks, hon!
no subject
on 2007-01-08 07:31 am (UTC)disturbing...
I love it.
*smoochies*
no subject
on 2007-01-09 07:29 pm (UTC)em
no subject
on 2007-01-10 08:51 am (UTC)no subject
on 2007-01-14 07:34 pm (UTC)Some very disturbing and painful things in Spike's mind. This has me wondering if Angel's equipped to see what he's done to Spike and be able to come out whole himself.
Great work!
no subject
on 2007-01-14 08:09 pm (UTC)