5 Days More
by
BmblBee
Part Forty-One
10:15 pm Friday night. Xander Harris has 15 minutes left to live.
"Fuckin' Hell!"
Spike clutched the back of his head and rolled over on his side. He felt around to make sure there was no huge, gaping hole in his skull from the elephant gun that must have shot him and was somewhat relieved to see it appeared to be intact.
He squinted his eyes open and saw that he was still in Xander's small closet sized bedroom in his basement apartment. Two other things became immediately clear. The sun had gone down and he was alone.
Xander was gone. XANDER WAS GONE!!
Spike tumbled over to his hands and knees where he quickly pushed up and rose to his feet. When he did a wave of nausea flushed through him, twisting his stomach upside down and threatening to toss him back into the pit of unconsciousness he had just crawled out of.
Clutching the doorframe he closed his eyes and steadied himself till he was sure the room was done swaying and his feet were again on solid ground.
Opening one eye experimentally, Spike looked down and saw the crumpled note lying at his feet. Holding the wall with one hand he swooped the other down to retrieve it.
"FUCK!! God damn you Xander!!!!"
Spike shoved the scrap of paper in his pocket and ran for the front door pausing only long enough to glance at the clock on the kitchen wall and see that he had fifteen minutes to find and stop him.
Flying out into the night, Spike tried to ignore the pounding pain that still lingered in his head to feel for the bond that connected their claim. He knew as badly as he needed to just run, he would locate his pet quicker if he took his time and listened.
Reaching out with mental feelers, he was reassured to realize that yes, Xander was still alive. Wherever he was he was safe, unafraid. Spike could feel that he was alone. Walking, touching........stone, cold, hard..........HEADSTONES!
"Shit"
The boy was already in the cemetery. His death was waiting and Xander was hurrying off to meet it. Spike took off at a speed that would have impressed even him if he had been aware of it. All he could do was run. Run and pray.
"Please, no. Please don't let anything hurt him. I'm sorry I made a wish. Please punish me not him. Please, God, don't let Xander die, not tonight. Not like this. He deserves more. Please take me instead. Just let me get there in time."
Within minutes his feet hit the bottom of the hill and the small winding access road that climbed up and into the Longview Cemetery. He never slowed as he charged the last quarter mile up and around the bend.
Just as he reached the gated entrance, it hit him. Xander was no longer alone. There was someone else out there, in the dark, with his boy.
He leaped with the grace of a young cat over the rusted, ivy covered iron gate dashing through the black of the night. He knew with time almost run out, his best bet was to head straight for the area the Witch had said she found him.
It was a section of the cemetery he knew well. It was his home. At least that is what he would have called it five days ago before he had settled into a wonderful new life with his boy, his pet. His Love.
Now that he looked back, it seemed like years ago that he had been there. Living in squalor, the room littered with the corpses of small dead animals he had staved off a slow starvation with.
When he thought back on it he wondered why he had let himself get in that state. Truth was, Spike knew. It was a cowards suicide. He was trying to die but didn't have the courage to just end it.
Suddenly, interrupting his self examination, a breeze floated past him carrying with it the distinct scent of his boy.
Xander was close and he smelled of distress. Spike refused to allow himself to wonder what that meant and he rushed on.
~*~*~*~*~
"Shit, Spike. I'm sorry. I love you. Please, what do you need? What can I do for you?" Xander continued to rock Spike in his arms and coo softly in the confused vampires ear. Spike briefly wondered if this was a last dying mirage or maybe
he was still drunker than he thought and he was back in the crypt dreaming a new version of pink elephants in frilly tutu's.
Either way, it didn't much matter. Spike was a creature that could recognize and turn an opportunity to his benefit in the snap of a finger. He knew from the familiar smell that this was the Slayer's boy. Her gopher. Probably her fuck boy. He struggled to recall the human's name but that was a tidbit that alluded him.
'Fine.' he thought. 'Let's just see how far this bizarre little scenario will go.'
"I love you too, um, boy. I need blood. Lots of blood. If you really want to help me you would give me some of your blood."
Xander was washed in a warm sense of relief. "Of course. Take it all. You know that's what I wanted anyway. Did you
change your mind? Will you turn me?'
Spike's mouth dropped open and he sputtered comically, trying to find the perfect words to not fuck this up. He had clearly gone insane from the hunger. The only question buzzing about his muddled brain now was,
'if you cum in a dream you wake up in damp drawers. Ergo, if I bite and drain this moron in a dream I should wake up with a full belly. Right?'
It seemed extremely logical. Besides, what did he have to lose. The kid apparently wanted to be turned. Spike rolled his eyes at that. There was no way he was going to be saddled with a whiny, needy childe.
Just look what a pain in the arse he had been. Nope. Turning was not on the schedule of activities for this evening.
"Yes, yes, I changed my mind. If you want ole' Spikey to turn you then that's just what I'll do. Now you know I need to bite you in order to do that, right?"
Spike knew in his weakened state he would not be able to hold the boy if he suddenly came to his senses and tried to escape. He wanted no misunderstandings. Wanted all the gory cards on the table up front.
Xander frowned. Something didn't feel right. He could sense the bond and knew Spike was nearby but it didn't feel like he was here. Yet, here he was. Same beautiful blue eyes, same sexy accent, same clothes, same, no, not the same body.
Xander ran his hands down Spike's sides and back and was horrified to feel the protruding bones and thinly stretched skin. The only answer his mind could come up with was that the blow on the head had broken the skin causing him to bleed out.
Xander choked on the knowledge that Spike was in this condition because of what he had done.
Gently placing his warm, loving hands on the sides of Spike's face, Xander kissed the stunned, shocked lips then guided the vampire's face to the throbbing, pulsing artery in the side of his neck.
"Please, Spike. Bite. My blood is yours."
Spike wasted no more time wondering about the strange comings and goings that constituted life on the hell mouth.
He used the last strength he had to switch into his game face and he prepared to bite down.
Part Forty-Two
10:55 pm Friday night. Xander Harris is about to die.
Spike sat on the damp ground, the cold rock block of his crypt at his back and the warm pliant body of the willing boy in his arms.
He was shocked and confused. Just minutes ago he had accepted this as his last night to walk the earth. Defeated, tired, depressed and desolate, he was ready to embrace the final death. An eternity in hell would be better than the false imitation of a life he had been living.
Then, out of the blue, here comes the Slayer's boy. Professing his love and devotion and offering himself up like a sacrificial lamb leading itself to slaughter. Just didn't seem right. Really couldn't be believed, yet here he was.
They say the last stage of starvation is insanity. It is the body and the mind's way of easing the transition from life to death. So if that is the case then this is just an illusion. It isn't real. He is probably still on the crypt floor imagining all this. Dreaming away his last unneeded breath.
"Please. Spike, hurry. I'm ready." Xander tipped his head further to the side, offering his neck to the hesitating vampire. Something didn't feel exactly right about this and it certainly wasn't the romantic, loving turning he had envisioned, but hell, since he had never died before, he wasn't sure what to expect.
He was just so grateful that Spike had shown up. He didn't want to offer himself to some strange vampire, but he needed turning, so you do what you have to do. The fact that Spike had changed his mind, well it should have made it perfect. Should have.
Spike stared down. His nose was less than an inch away from the bulging pulsing vein in the side of the boy's neck. He sniffed it. Sure smelled like blood. He ran his tongue up the entire length of the exposed throat tasting the salty flavor of human sweat. In his weakened state he never noticed the wounds on the other side of the throat. Xander shuddered as the wet skin hit the cold night air.
Anticipation was curdling in his stomach like two week old milk. He didn't know why Spike was hesitating and fear that he wouldn't go through with it was beginning to be a real concern.
Reaching up reassuringly, Xander ran his hand up the vampire's arm patting his shoulder like you do a small child's back.
"It's o.k, Spike. Go ahead. I promise it's the right thing to do. I want you to do it."
The heat from the boy's hand soaked through the leather duster and into the vampire's cold body startling him out of his mental reservation. And that was all it took.
With the final decision of, what did he have to lose, Spike snorted like a wild stag, dropped his fangs and bit deeply into the warm, welcoming throat.
"OW!"
Xander jerked, shocked at the sudden flash of pain that shot through his body and he fought the urge for preservation that screamed at him to run, fight, escape. By the third draw, the pain had subsided and Xander sighed, relaxing into the arms of his death.
Spike's whole body reacted to the act of the sharp fangs piercing living flesh. Lunging forward, he clutched the victim tightly, his legs wrapping around the boy's and his limp, impotent cock humping against the boy's ass.
But it was the first deep swallow of the hot sweet blood that stunned him nearly causing him to choke and retreat. The boy's blood told a story that made no sense.
Beyond the pure love and adoration the human had for Spike, the vampire could taste something deeper. Something rich and connective. 'Holy fucking shit!' Spike's brain shouted at him. "We're bonded!"
That was when Spike sadly came to the only conclusion possible. He was insane. This was a dream, a final parting gift his brain was giving his body as a going away present.
It depressed him more than anything ever had. This was what he had searched his entire existence for. This connection to another being. A commitment of companionship and promise. If only it had been true. If only this were real, he would had indeed considered turning the boy.
But it wasn't, so Spike drank on, needing the blood but craving the addictive emotions that flowed through him. If he was dying, he was dying happy.
~*~*~*~*~
Leaping over a small stone angel, Spike knew the second the fangs had pierced his boys skin.
"NO!"
His heart wrenching scream split the night air causing a moaning and whispering among the restless spirits that inhabited the Longview Cemetery. They floated about, watching with detached curiosity the scene that was playing out before them.
Rapidly closing in, Spike could see off in the distance the shapes of two figures huddled, slumped down against the very crypt that he had used as the hovel he called home.
Through the bond he detected his boy's heartbeat, no longer strong and regular, it was now weak, irregular and thready. Spike whimpered. His legs protested that they could run no faster but his heart gave them a renewed burst of extra strength.
"XANDER! GET AWAY FROM HIM!!"
The boy lay limp in his arms. Still alive but no longer containing enough blood to recover. His life was spent. Given willingly to the vampire who was still sucking greedily on the feelings the blood contained.
"XANDER!"
When the sound exploded in his ears, Spike's eyes snapped open and focused off in the darkness at the figure rushing towards them. The nearer he got the more he looked strangely familiar.
When he leaped over the headstones, the black duster flapping in the wind and the blond, slicked back hair glowing in the moonlight finally registered, Spike withdrew his fangs and hissed.
He knew now that this was it. The final moment of total insanity when he faced himself and was at his end. For a second, Spike considered taking the boy with him. It was his kill, it's blood still spoke only to him, but he knew that was an illusion.
He wasn't really out here. He wasn't drinking the blood of the Slayer's side kick. He wasn't loved. He wasn't bonded.
Dropping the limp human from his arms, Spike stood, revitalized and strong. He yowled like a wounded cat and backed away snarling at the approaching vision of hell. Turning, he ran off into the night.
Spike had recognized himself long before his past self had. It had never occurred to him that while the future him was in the past and present, the past him would be...........even now it was too overwhelming and confusing for one small vampire mind to suss out.
It was also irrelevant. Xander was dying. He was killing his boy and he needed to get there to stop himself.
As he skidded to a stop, he saw himself, full, healthy and renewed on blood he had no right to, rush away. Immediately, Spike fell to his knees and gathered his pet up in his loving embrace. There was not enough blood left in his veins for Spike to take and he could only pray that since it was really him that had drained his boy, the result would be the same.
The only thing he was certain of was that he couldn't lose what he had finally found. Right or wrong, Spike knew what he wanted to do. Shaking the boy lightly, Spike shouted and prayed he wasn't too late.
"Xan, Xan, you in there? Come on, answer me. XANDER! Damn it boy, you answer your Master!""
Slowly, sluggishly, Xander's eyes fluttered open and tried to focus on the comanding voice of his master, his world. He tried to answer but his voice had no sound, no strength.
Spike sobbed in relief, rocking them together. Wasting no time he dropped his fangs and bit deeply into his own wrist, holding the stream of rich magic over the open lips. Just as the first drops of blood hit and rolled off Xander's closed mouth, the tingle of the draw stirred inside him. Spike knew they were both nearly out of time.
"Come on, Xan, swallow. Please, baby, open up and swallow." The fear and desperation in Spike's voice registered in the last functioning brain cell of Xander's conscious mind and his mouth fell open.
"YES! That's it. Now swallow, Xan. Come on, stick with me for just a minute more. Please, Xan, please, try."
The churning, tugging inside him grew stronger and Spike feared it was lost. He could no longer feel his feet and the power of the magic was sliding up his spine. Suddenly, when he felt he could hold on no longer, Xander's mouth attached itself to the wound and he sucked.
Two thick heavy mouthfuls slid down his throat as his heart stopped beating and the vampire holding him so tightly evaporated into thin air.
Xander Harris was dead.
Part Forty-Three
5:55 am Saturday morning. Xander Harris has been dead nearly 7 hours.
If Xander could have moved, the first muscles that he would have flexed would be the ones in his face with the biggest fang bearing grin he could manage. The pins and needles tingling throughout his body told him that things were about to change. Drastically.
He had no memory of his life or his death. All he knew was that he was about to be freed from the paralyzing restraints that held him and that he did not intend to play well with others.
Unencumbered by the hardships of morality, illegalities and rational thought, Xander operated on the basics of want, need, take and right now what he wanted, no needed, was to slaughter and drain any creature that crossed his path with a drop of blood flowing through their veins.
Acutely aware of his surroundings, Xander felt comfortable and safe in the environment of cool, dark, dank and musty. Instinctively he knew that this was his world and the creature that tortured him here did not belong. No problem, he would eat her first.
Adding to his fury was the pain that wracked his body. Everything hurt from the feel of the fabric of the unneeded clothes that rubbed nerve endings raw, to his mouth as the razor sharp fangs cut through his gums.
But deeper than that was an agony of need that translated to a migraine of pain that shot from his head to his toes and back again. It was an emptiness, a black hole that he knew would kill him if it weren't answered and filled.
The worst part was that it was unnamed. A memory just out of reach that he couldn't quite put an understanding to. It was frustration and fear. It was the blind pup searching for a tit just out of reach as hunger burned it's belly. It fed his fury. It drove him and gave him purpose. Humanity would die, slaughtered in his search for fulfillment.
Even though the room was dark, Xander knew the burning rays of the sun would soon start climbing over the horizon. It was unnecessary to think about it. Avoiding the daylight was imperative.
He knew as long as he stayed here, in this cave, he was safe. He would protect his hiding place against all intruders. It was what his base instinct told him. Others must die so that he could survive.
Focusing his senses on the disgusting, blood filled creature that hung on him, Xander could hear the steady, slow, thumping of her heart as the blood coursed through her body. The thought of all that filling his mouth and stomach caused a strange tingling in his cock.
His mind allowed the idea to grow and he knew that his cock would be as engrossed in the killing as his fangs were. A joint partnership in penetrating, punishing and butchering.
His fingers twitched in their straining to reach down and bring satisfaction to himself.
THEY TWITCHED! They moved!
It was just ever so slightly and still unnoticed by the sleeping creature that pressed her head on his chest, but Xander's brain squealed in glee. Immediately he checked himself. He knew showing movement before he was fully functional would reveal vulnerability.
It would give the enemy an edge. It would risk his survivability. Xander checked himself and laid perfectly still. It wouldn't be long.
Willow jerked awake. For one confusing moment she floundered, fearful in the strange darkness, she nearly tumbled backwards off the upside down crate she had spent the long night sitting on.
Quickly everything came back to her and the familiar sorrow flooded her with misery. She wasn't sure what had wakened her. It could have been the dream of her and Xander running through a park. He wanted to stay and swing, she wanted to move on to the slides. When she went back for him he was gone. She had searched everywhere and awakened when his body washed ashore on a fisherman's pier.
It could have been the ache in her body that now matched the one in her heart. The muscles in her back, legs and neck all felt twisted, knotted and pulled into unnatural directions from spending the night sitting in the damp on a small crate that was never designed for comfort.
Checking her watch, Willow sadly had to admit she would be relieved when this was all over. She wanted a hot bath, a warm soft bed, and away from this thing that now bore very little resemblance to the friend she once knew.
Standing, she stretched her arms high over her head, bending her small body first to the left then to the right. Her entire being screamed in protest. She reached down and touched her toes, a small fart popping out of her empty, morning intestinal tract.
Embarrassed, and before she could consider the pointlessness of it, Willow glanced over to see if Xander had heard, smelled or was planning one of his classic sarcastic remarks. Nothing. No response. Willow wiped a tear from her cheek.
Xander flinched as the wave of rotting food swamped him. It almost caused him to rethink his plan on eating her. Almost.
Xander held steady and did not move. Concentrating internally, he felt the cracking of his joints as the rigor mortis released itself and retreated in the same progression it had, just hours ago, overtaken him. His feet, legs, hips back and arms all relaxed smoothly, like boiling water poured on ice, the rigidity simply melted away.
He was free.
Willow frowned. She could have sworn she had seen a twitch in Xander's fingertips. A movement so minute it may easily been imagined. She shook her head as her brain sought a point of reason. The room was dark, she was in here with a dead body and the shadows could easily play tricks on your mind.
She walked all the way around the table, staring, watching intently for any indication that she wasn't seeing things. She placed her hand on his cold legs and wondered why they didn't seem as stiff and plastic as they had earlier.
Willow looked again at the time on her watch and knew that her shift was over. The time had come and gone and all of their fears were, thank God, unfounded. It was time to go upstairs and leave this part of her past behind her. She
would wake Buffy and Giles and they could go on with the arrangements. She could go on with her life. Sad but necessary.
Finally, she circled around and stopped at his head. She looked down at him and needed to say one last good bye. He looked so peaceful, like he had just fallen asleep and Willow decided that was the way she wanted to remember him.
Leaning down, with her lips just inches above his, she prepared for one last good night kiss.
"Sleep well, Xander. I love you"
The response was not what she expected. The piercing yellow eyes flew open, glowing in the dark, they locked on her
as the beloved face slid away, replaced by the ridged fierce, terrifying face of a demon.
Disbelief and horror flooded her senses and she did the only thing her body knew to do. She screamed.
"AAAHHHH!!!!! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"
It was a sound, magnified and painful that sliced into his eardrums like a knife and Xander's hands flew up, clamping around the throat of the weak, disgusting creature that was hanging threateningly in his face.
The iron grip cut off her wind and silenced the noise. Instantly, and never releasing his hold, Xander leaped gracefully from the table to the cold floor below.
Willow's eyes bugged like saucers as her hands clawed desperately at the cold steel fingers. Her lungs burned and struggled for air as her feet slowly felt the floor disappearing beneath them.
She strained, trying to not pass out. She prayed not to die.
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