Title: "Hereafter and Returning"
Timeline: Post7.22 Chosen
Summary: After the closing of the Hellmouth Spike is dead, now he is sent to a place where it will be decided where he will spend the rest of eternity, can he prove that he's made a difference or will the blood on his hands still stain? Or can he cheat the system and get Buffy in the end?
Disclaimer: All characters, except those created by the author,belong to the creator and writers of 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' no copyright infringement intended. This story was created for entertainment purposes only.
AN: I've read a few other stories similar to this one, but I promise you that mine is very different, actually I got alot of my inspiration from watching Beatle Juice, you may see a similarity or two, but I've taken my own twist on everything. Also, this is a very Spike-centric fic, but I promise a spuffy ending.
Chapter: One Death
Burning, the fire consumed his body and all he could do was stand as the unbearable pain ripped through his corpse. Rubble fell from the ceiling and the earth below him shook. He could feel his hands and skin turning to ash and even though his sight was fading he could see as that ash shimmered in the light that was radiating from the gem around his neck. Spike knew that this was it, he was done for, but he had done it, he had saved her, saved the world and now maybe he could finally rest in peace. In the last moments before his entire body crumbled to dust and was left alone in the now collapsed town of Sunnydayle, Spike wondered just what would lie ahead, could this moment make a difference or were all the things that he had done, all the people that he had killed, were they too much to make up for, was he still condemned to hell? Then everything went dark.
White, Spike opened his eyes to blinding white light, he was standing upright in a blank white room. As he looked around he noticed that there was no one else in the room. It was empty, soundless, an eerie feeling crept over Spike, he was alone in the oblivion.
Spike: "Bright light, kinda cliché ain't it… seein' as there isn't any fire or brimstone I guessing this isn't hell."
Spike whirled around at the sound of a deep voice behind him. There before him stood a tall black man wearing an expensive suit. He had broad shoulders and looked like he could squash Spike with the flick of his finger. He had appeared out of seemingly nowhere and his tough football player like appearance only made Spike want to stand up taller and act even more cocky then usual.
Spike: "ok, so not hell, that's good… where am I then?"
Man: "You're at the sorting station."
Spike: "uh huh, and just what's that then?"
Man: "This is where it will be decided where you will be spending you eternity."
Spike: "What like judgment… alright then lets get on with it already."
Spike took a few seconds taking an unneeded breath waiting for something to happen, the man in front of him was expressionless, and after a few seconds simply took one step to the right. As he moved out of the way a faded red door could be seen from behind where he had just been standing. It had simply appeared out of nowhere just as the man had before.
Man: "Through there… just wait in line, the front desk will tell you where to go next."
Spike glanced at the man who was now standing off to the side one last time and then after staring at the door for a short while he took a deep unneeded breath and with as much courage as he could gather he walked forward, and turned the doorknob. The door opened and he walked out, the door shut behind him and he didn't even look back. The room before him had a single desk and one very, very long line. It was like the line at an amusement park for the most popular ride, it just zigzagged back and forth with rows and rows of people. Most of them looked human, but it was obvious that many of them were not. Up at the font where the desk was located at there were two doors, one on either side of the desk. The one to the left was Back, and looked like it hadn't been painted in some time, the knob was rusty and the paint chipped, the door on right was newer, it was white and it's knob was shiny and silver. Spike sighed at the enormity of the line and then quickly took his place.
Spike had moved up in the line; however his place was still quite far at the back. More people and demons had come through the door where he had and took their place in line behind Spike. Spike figured that he would be waiting in line for another hour at least. He guessed that he had been there for about two hours already, but it was hard to tell exactly, there weren't any clocks or windows, or any way to figure out just what time it was. Spike figured that it didn't really matter; it wasn't like he had someplace to be. He was dead, really dead, and at the looks of it he had an eternity to wait and stand in line.
Voice: "So, this your first time here?"
Spike turned around to face the demon who had asked him a question. The demon behind him looked less like a demon and mostly like a human. He had ears that were slightly floppy and crew cut brown hair. Spike looked the demon up and down taking in his appearance. He was wearing a business suit and would have looked very business like if not for the blood the dripped from an open wound in his chest.
Spike: "Uh, yea…I take it that it's not yours."
Demon: "No, I've been here a few times before. I was at work just before I got pulled back here."
The demon points to his chest wound as he continues his story, Spike just listens intently trying to understand more about where he is.
Demon: "…Then, the boss decided to terminate my contract, and well, here I am again…by the way my name's Zebaowendoaskenzerp…most just call me Zeb though."
Spike shakes the strange demon's hand still eyeing him somewhat suspiciously.
Spike: "Your boss did that… where'd you work at?"
Zeb: "Oh, uh this Law firm in LA, Wolfram and Hart, you've probably heard of us."
Spike: "Sorry, can't say I have."
Zeb: "ah, well that's too bad… So how'd you get here, if you don't mind me asking?"
Spike: "Oh, uh… Sunlight I guess, I got dusted."
Zeb: "Ah, vampire…well that explains your lack of death wounds, most of the guys who come in here…well lets just say that it's not hard to tell what happened to them."
Spike took a second to look around at the rest of the inhabitants of the room, and it was true, every demon and creature that Spike could see had some kind of bloody injury that, he guessed, had been the cause of their death.
Spike: "So exactly just what is this place, the bloke I saw before called it the…sorting station?"
Zeb: "yea…well this is where they decide where you'll be spending eternity…see those two doors up there, the white one leads to another room, after you go in there you are evaluated and they decide what happens to you…the other door, the black one, well that's your express ticket straight to hell."
Spike: "Got it…don't choose door number one."
Zeb: "Oh, it's not your choice…the receptionist will tell you where you belong, I've been sent to evaluation twice now, they've been giving me chances to fix…something that I did, I've kinda messed it up though so here I am again."
Spike was slightly worried. He had murdered thousands upon thousands of people, tortured them. He was William the Bloody; he had spent over a hundred years causing death and destruction. Could a few years of trying to redeem himself make any difference, or was he doomed to suffer in hell with his soul to feel the pain of his wrong doings?