She whipped around, her borrowed blood running cold at the sight of him walking towards a woman she didn’t recognize. Her senses told her vampire, and she screamed Spike’s name, knowing the woman standing apart from the crowd was not a mere minion like the others. She would not be so easily dispatched.
Buffy bellowed his name again, pushing through the attacking vampires to get to him, knowing deep in her bones this was something dreadful. He didn’t turn to look at her, made no signs that he’d even heard her. He simply continued to move towards the woman as if he was being pulled forward in some sort of strange slow-motion.
In a moment of horrific realization, Buffy knew what was happening. Whoever this woman was, she had a thrall – and somehow, she’d managed to catch Spike in it.
Buffy started to run towards him, only to be tackled by one of the remaining minions. He snarled, moving to strike her, but she felt extra strength flooding her veins, her desire to save Spike overriding all else. She struck out, kicking the minion off of her before she staked him and turned to stake the next as well with one movement.
Three vampires now remained, but Buffy wasn’t slowed. She didn’t care that she was outnumbered. Spike needed her…
Finally, she stood with only one other vampire, the marble floor beneath their feet littered with dust. He froze, a terrified look passing over his face as if he had just realized he was now alone.
“I’ll kill you, too,” Buffy snarled.
He responded by fleeing, and Buffy didn’t go after him. She didn’t have the time. Instead, she ran towards the hallway she’d seen Spike and the woman go down, praying to a god who had long ago forgotten her that she’d get there on time.
She found him in a room at the end of the hall, one she’d believed empty during her time there. Perhaps it had been… It was decorated in white lace and silks, a large bed in the center holding porcelain dolls, as if it were the room of a child.
Yet the woman in it now was far from a child. Her demon’s face was in the fore, its features making her appear almost as a snake. In her arms, she held Spike, and Buffy stilled, the panicked breath she’d been exhaling as she ran coming to a stop as she searched for a sign that she’d been fast enough, that she’d stopped the horrible thing she so feared.
Then the woman let go, Spike’s body slumped to the floor, and Buffy knew she had not.
The scream was loud, echoing on cold walls, and Buffy didn’t know it was hers. It wasn’t real… It couldn’t be real…
Tears heavy on her cheeks, Buffy ran to him falling to her knees before pulling him into her arms, cradling him. Her senses told her what she didn’t want to believe. No heartbeat, no breath…
Just a dead body…
“No, no, no…” she repeated over and over again, denying what was right in front of her. “Please, no. Spike…wake up. You…you gotta wake up, baby.”
“He won’t wake yet, silly girl. It isn’t time. The moon isn’t right yet.”
Buffy had almost forgotten the other vampire in the room, but the sound of her sing-song voice brought Buffy’s head up. “How dare you?!” she snarled. “I’ll kill you!”
The vampire simply laughed, a sound that made Buffy sick to her stomach. “How dare I? I did you a favor. I could take him for myself, you know.” She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. “He was mine first.”
“Yours…” Buffy’s eyes widened as she gasped, realization hitting as she knew why the woman would do this, and why Spike would so easily fall under her thrall in the first place. Drusilla…
“You should run now, sister dear. Daddy will be here soon, and he’ll be quite cross you’ve ruined his little game. There may be a spanking.” She shook her head. “And he certainly won’t like your new toy.”
“How could you do this?” Buffy demanded. “How could you do this to him?”
“Don’t be an ungrateful princess. He was mine, and I’m letting him be yours. You should thank me.”
“Thank you…” Buffy asked in disbelief, her anger and grief mixing inside, fueling her rage. “You…”
“Drusilla! Where the fuck are you, and why are all my minions dust!”
Angelus’s voice echoed through the building, shaking against the walls, and Buffy gasped softly, her body growing still. She couldn’t fight him, not now. Not with things like this.
“Run, sweet sister,” Drusilla whispered. “Through the window. Take our William somewhere he can be safe until he’s ready. Hide him from Daddy. He’ll be so very cross.”
“You’re insane,” Buffy growled.
Drusilla laughed, the sound both childlike and sinister all at once, and Buffy trembled. She heard Angelus’s footsteps echoing in the hallway, and she knew she didn’t have much time.
“Dru! Come out here and talk to me now!”
“I’ll stall him,” Drusilla whispered conspiratorially, as if they were friends playing a game and Drusilla hadn’t just murdered the man Buffy loved. “And I’ll keep our secret. Daddy needn’t know.”
Buffy ran her hand against Spike’s brow, knowing the warmth she felt there would soon fade away. Tears continued to fall from her eyes as she knew that even if he woke again, the man she’d loved was dead. She didn’t know who he’d be, if he’d look at her with love ever again. She knew most vampires weren’t like her, and she didn’t know what the turning would do to Spike.
Would he be no different from Angelus?
Would he remember how weak she’d been, how she’d cried?
Would he leave her alone, leave her to suffer in death?
“Run, you silly girl,” Drusilla hissed before she glided from the room, calling to Angelus. She could hear him yelling and the muffled sounds of Drusilla trying to coax him into a better mood.
Buffy had no choice anymore. What was done was done, and she couldn’t take back Drusilla’s actions. Spike’s heart had stopped, his breath had stilled.
Nothing left to do, Buffy lifted him in her arms, his body limp. He seemed so human in that moment, so fragile.
So lifeless…
She jumped from the open window and into the grass, Spike’s body still in her arms. Her body ached, her heart screaming, but she didn’t stop until she reached Spike’s car, carefully placing him inside before she slid into the driver’s sear.
Her hands were against the wheel when he slumped against her, and she burst into tears, turning to gather him against her chest.
“I’m sorry, William,” she whispered, her lips against his hair. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”
She held him tight, knowing she’d failed him. She was supposed to keep him safe, see to it he survived their assault on Angelus’s mansion. Instead, she’d let the unspeakable happen.
Buffy wondered if it had hurt when Drusilla had turned him, if he’d felt the unbearable agony she’d suffered when Angelus had taken that final bite of her flesh. Had he been frightened as he’d slipped towards death? Had he begged for his life?
She should’ve been faster. She should’ve been able to break through the remaining minions and gotten to Spike before Drusilla had been able to change him. Angelus had been right. She was pathetic, weak, garbage.
She fell forward, bent over his still body, sobs racking her small frame. This wasn’t what she’d wanted. This had never been what she’d wanted.
Drusilla believed this was a favor?
It was so far removed from a favor. It was her worst nightmare unfolding in front of her eyes. Her Spike, her champion, was now the thing he’d hated most. He’d been the only light she’d been allowed to touch for so long, and now he was part of the dark.
Trapped in darkness just like her…
The fact that he’d asked for this only that morning brought her no solace. She believed now, as she had then, that his request came only because he didn’t truly know what he was asking her for. He didn’t know how turning changed you, how it twisted everything inside until you knew that even if you could look at your reflection, you wouldn’t recognize who you saw.
She sat up again, staring down at his face, lit by a nearby streetlamp. He looked so pale, no movement under the surface, nothing flowing in the blue veins etched into his skin. Drusilla’s fangs had marred his perfect neck, erasing the marks that Buffy herself had left.
The sight of it made her shake with primal rage, and she hated the other vampire for daring to touch what was hers, to do take this sort of liberty with a male Buffy had marked as her own. She didn’t care that Drusilla had been his wife, once upon a time. That was before, in the mortal world.
In the demon world, Spike was hers. And Drusilla had taken him from her.
But as much as she hated Drusilla, Buffy knew she was the one who ultimately held the blame. Spike had been hers, and therefore, he’d been hers to look after, hers to protect. She’d allowed him to walk into Angelus’s lair with very little planning, throwing themselves at the mercy of fate. She’d known things wouldn’t go smoothly, and yet, she’d done nothing to stop it, nothing to stop these horrible events from falling into place.
She’d done this to Spike just as much as if she’d stolen his life.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered as she stroked his hair, even if she knew he couldn’t hear her. Until the demon Drusilla’s blood created inside of him awoke, Spike was only dead.
He was a shell, waiting to give rise to something dark, something hated.
Buffy wondered then, when he finally saw what a failure she was, if he’d finally be able to stake her.
For now, however, all she could do was wait. She had no idea when Spike would wake up. In truth, for all she knew, Drusilla had been lying and Spike would never wake again. The thought of never seeing his eyes open again made cold fear grip Buffy’s unbeating heart, and she wasn’t sure which possibility was truly worse.
She wouldn’t have the answer to that tonight either.
Buffy wiped at her eyes roughly, forcing herself to be strong for now, to keep looking forward even when she wanted to collapse on the ground and wait for the sun. While Drusilla had turned Spike, she’d shown no desire to act as a sire should, and he was in Buffy’s care now. It was her job to wait for him to wake, to introduce him to his new existence, no matter how much the thought of it made her ache.
Having a mission to hold her together, Buffy drove away.
The sun was setting over the horizon. Buffy could feel it in her blood, beckoning her to leave the shelter she’d sought during the day, to prowl the night, to feed. But as she’d done for two days now, she sat, neither sleeping nor eating.
Only waiting.
Spike remained still, and she wondered how long until she had to give up hope. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t made a sound since she’d brought him back to the apartment and laid him on the bed. He was nothing more than a corpse, and yet, she’d kept him company, speaking to him, stroking his skin, his hair.
Begging him to wake up and love her still.
In the two days since their ill-fated raid, she’d tried to convince herself it would be okay. Spike loved her too much to treat her as Angelus did. He wouldn’t be like that, wouldn’t be like the cruel, heartless vampires she’d known. He’d love like he always had.
He’d love like she did.
She’d had to believe it was possible. She’d had to believe they could still be real. It was the only way she could preserve her mind.
When his eyes finally opened, she gasped, the blue so intense, stronger than she even remembered. He took a deep, choking breath, gasping as if he needed air, struggling on the bed as he fought to save a life that was already gone. She remembered the feeling, remembered how it burned deep inside, how difficult it was to wake up as something other than what you’d always been.
She reached towards him, prepared to soothe him, to comfort him the way Angelus had refused. To tell it was all right even when it wasn’t.
Then, he said the word that made her word come crashing down. A moan, a whisper. A heartbreak…
Drusilla…
Her hand fell away from him.