Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. If you recognize a character,
s/he belongs to either DC/Vertigo Comics, Neil Gaiman, Joss Whedon, or
UPN. Though in the case of the BtVS characters, I think the actors who
bring them to life have a claim to them as well. I'm writing for fun, not
profit, and if you don't believe me, I can send you my bank statements.
Suing me would cost you more in legal fees than you would be able to recoup
from my meagre assets, so I'd advise you not to bother. Now, on with the
story...
The sun was just beginning to rise as the battered band gathered slowly around the body, unaware of the two watchers standing in plain sight.
"This is too weird," Buffy said.
The Slayer hugged herself, as her companion stepped over to stand by her side. She was small, the paleness of her skin accentuated by her shaggy black hair, dark eyes, and black clothing. She turned to Buffy, the sun glinting off the silver ankh around her neck.
"Well, I did warn you that staying around to watch never does any good," Death said amiably, "but you always did have to go your own way."
"Yeah - you'd think I would have learned by now, huh?"
"I wouldn't knock that stubborn streak of yours. It kept you alive for a long time - a lot longer than most Slayers."
"I guess - so what now? I mean, you always hear about the afterlife and tunnels of light and stuff, but I don't really know what to expect. I wondered though..."
"Everybody wonders - and sooner or later, everybody gets to find out. All I can say is that it's never quite what you expect."
"Meaning...?"
"Meaning are you ready to see for yourself?"
Buffy looked at her friends one last time, then frowned, seeing that there was someone missing.
"Just a minute - where's Spike?"
"Over there," Death gestured in his direction. The vampire was just struggling to his feet in the shadows, and as she saw his face, Death cocked her head, studying him.
"I think I might not be done here just yet," she mused.
"Huh? What do you mean? He's not dusty, and there's no one about to make with the stake that I can see..."
"The sun's rising, though."
"So? All he has to do is stay in the shadows there, and he'll be fi..." Buffy stopped in mid-speech as she realized what Death meant. "No," she said, shaking her head vehemently. "No, he wouldn't... would he?"
"I don't know yet - but he's thinking about it."
"Well make him STOP thinking about it!"
"I can't do that, Buffy. We had this conversation before - free will, remember? I only pick them up once their choices are made, I don't make their choices for them."
"Can't I do anything? Get Giles or someone? We've got to stop him!"
"Do we?"
"YES!"
Death looked thoughtful.
"Well, technically he is already dead - so I suppose you could talk to him. Maybe that would do some good."
"The others...?"
"Won't hear a thing," Death said, "The dead speak too quietly for the living to hear. Go on, Buffy, but hurry - we don't have much time."
Spike had just managed to stand and was slowly moving to where the Scoobies were gathered, his will the only thing keeping him upright as agony from his broken leg shot through him with every step. He had barely gone five feet when he saw... and promptly collapsed.
He couldn't quite see into the centre of where the Scoobies stood, couldn't see what his shattered heart knew he would find there - but he saw who stood in front of him.
A small, dark-haired girl of kindly aspect who had stood next to him, a sad but knowing look upon her face, while Drusilla drank him into his unlife. He could dimly recall the touch of her hand upon his, her softly spoken words...
It's a high price to pay for the existence you've chosen... but the choice was yours. We'll meet again though, William -- eventually.
He had asked his Dam about the girl, but Dru had merely laughed...
"Oh, she's a deep one she is... deep as the grave and older than the earth and of all the Seven, she's the only one what never lets you down. 'Cause when you see her, you're already on your way a fathom deep with the worms, so you can't be let down any more, you see..."
He had almost forgotten all about it - but if he hadn't realized who she was before, he knew now. Death - and the Slayer stood by her side...
"Spike," Buffy said softly.
"No... not you," he whispered, shaking his head. "It was supposed to be me..."
"Spike, dammit, listen to me!"
Her vehemence startled him into meeting her gaze.
"That's better," she said, crossing her arms. "Look, we don't have much time, so I'm just telling you: DON'T. I'm still counting on you, because I know I can. You kept your promise, Spike, and I need you - Dawnie needs you - to go on keeping it. You can't do that if you're all dusty. So please, no suntanning, okay? No other deliberate dust-inducing activities either - got it?"
The vampire nodded numbly, tears tracking down his bloodied cheeks.
"Good," she said, her face softening. "Like I told Dawnie - this was the work I had to do."
"It's time to go, Buffy," Death said gently. The Slayer nodded, and turned back to Spike.
"Thanks - for everything. And I just want you to know -- you're not a monster," she smiled tenderly as he looked at her, his eyes wide, then leaned down and kissed him sweetly on the lips. "You're Spike."
She stepped back a pace to where Death waited, holding out her hand.
"I know you'll keep your promise."
With that the Slayer took Death's hand, and the two of them disappeared from his view. But as Spike finally broke down, sobs wracking his body, he could hear a rush of air, like the beating of powerful wings...