Title: The Five Demons that You Meet in Heaven (1/2)
Rating: Pg-13, verging on R
Timeline: Right after Chosen
Chapter Summary: It’s a bad day for the administrators of the afterlife. Where do you put a dead justice demon-turned-human-turned-demon-turned-human-turned-martyr? Or, for that matter, the first vampire-plus-soul to bite the dust?
ETA: Chapter 2: Almost done. Natch. Look for it and an Easter egg in the form of “Five Kisses” on the ol’ el to the jay tomorrow, on my unlocked journal.
Cold, and a bit of a relief at that what with the burning to cinders and all. Cold and smelled like those bloody Pringles Amanda was always eating. Humph. He’d’ve featured hell a little more impressive, is all.
“Spike?”
He knew that voice, ‘specially the irritated version. “Anya? What in the bloody hell…?”
“No! Not bloody hell!” A beam of light erupted from nowhere. Too bright. Not doing the poor bird any favors. “Not brimstone hell! Not any kind of hell!” The irritated huff that always put his back up during Buffy’s speeches echoed in… wherever the hell they were. Or not hell, apparently. Even if the furniture was tacky as all get out. “You would think that they could handle the basics of business administration. They’ve got Henry Ford.”
It hit him, then. Must not be dead. Last he could remember everything burned hot and clear and stinkin’ to high heaven, all those ancient bodies puffing into scrap in front of him. Got most of ‘em, anyway, stuck around long enough to see that much. Enough so the girls could handle it. Maybe it quit when he got ‘em all? Or one of those big pillars knocked him down before the job was done. Can’t even bloody die properly.
Still, always figured goin’ nuts would be a little more pleasant. Hell, even Dru saw little angels. ‘Course, maybe it was like this for her, at first. Not dead… God, if was trapped beneath a rock somewhere, charred and slowly starving an’ trapped here with chintz armchairs and the lingerin’ smell of processed snack foods… He snorted. “Chintz.”
Anya huffed again. “D’Hoffryn thought it might make me more comfortable, which is sweet even if his taste in colors is lousy.”
In a decent world, he’d hallucinate himself a Buffy. Or at least a bed, maybe a telly… Still, Anya wasn’t half-bad – hard to blame her for being bitter, what she’d been through. Could do worse, if this was crazy. “Thought he gave you the kiss-off?”
“He decided that one little slip didn’t undo thousands of years of good service.” She wiggled back into the chartreuse flocking of her armchair. “He always was fond of me.”
God, if he was gonna torture himself in his own bloody hallucination… “Back in the vengeance game, then?”
“No, stupid, I’m dead. And so are you. That’s why we’re here.” She gestured and the harsh light expanded outward, wide enough to show a fussy, ruffled tea table, another armchair, and two or three hideously precious paintings.
“An’ here is?”
“Here.” She shook her head. “It’s a waiting room, kind of, until they figure out what to do with us.”
“They? Who’s they?”
She waved an arm vaguely. “The… well, they’ve taken an interest.”
“And they are?”
“D’Hoffryn, the First Slayer, Christopher Columbus…”
”Columbus?
“It’s his fault that Xander’s penis got diseases. I would say he owes me a favor.”
“Now I know I’ve gone nuts,” he muttered. “An’ these fine folks have ‘taken an interest’ in you an’ me because…?”
“They don’t know where we’re supposed to go.” Poor girl’s eyes were bigger than normal, unflappable Anya, shaking hard enough that he could see it. “You’re lucky, you know. I had to hang around in grey nothing by myself while they mishandled the paperwork.”
“Paperwork?”
“At least they have some kind of procedure. You can’t just send dead people anywhere all willy-nilly.”
“’m not following you, luv.”
“People have to go somewhere when they die. They said with all of the apocalypses and almost-apocalypses and dimensional blending lately, there have been some mix-ups, and, well…” Anything bad enough to make Anyanka wriggle in her chair… ‘Course, sounded like this time her hide was on the line.
“Always figured I would just… blink out, like.” Spike pushed fingers through his hair – thank god, not burned off, still felt brittle-bleached. “Vampire, you know. Already cheated death, dust to dust an’ all that.”
“I don’t know what I thought.” You could see it in her, sometimes, thousands of years ol’ Anyanka’d seen.
“Yeah, well.” Couldn’t hold her eyes.
Figured, his spectral self could still get stiff. Sitting on the floor all this time – how that little tidbit had escaped his attention. “Heard anything? About you, or me, if they’ve told you.”
“It’s all very uncertain.” A deep, shaky breath. Poor girl.
The walls shook, melted down one side, rattlin’ Anya’s chair. On his feet, lightin’ quick, to face the threat. A woman, tinglin’ with magic from across the room. And old, she was, ancient as paper. “You are not what I would have expected.”
Had to try, not to be softened by her molasses voice. Who knew what she was, in this place. “Pardon?”
“I could feel you, burning so brightly across her surface.” She smiled, too slow, like she was just slightly off the timeline of this place. “Giving her strength. Of course, she’s always had that.”
“Buffy.” She nodded, her too-slow smile spreading across her face. “An’ who might you be?”
“A Guardian. Hers, and now yours as well, for a time.” She raised an arm, slow, finger hoverin’ by his shoulder. “May I?”
Christ, he nodded, just like that. A hypnotist, maybe? Gotta be more careful, or he’d get deader, if that was possible, lettin’ powerful strangers lay their hands on him.
“So cautious.” A little bit of teasing in her voice. A mind-reader, then. “I wonder. You are so different from the other, settled in like steel at her core. I peeked.”
No way to hold back the snort. Figures that soddin’ Angel would chase him right into his half-assed afterlife.
“She is remarkable, to have touched you both. And to have been touched.” That slow smile was a full smirk now. His mouth curlin’ up in spite of himself. Dirty old broad. “Remarkable. I would say she deserves a reward.”
“An’ that’s where I’m to come in, yeah?” A stately nod. “And not her bloody steel core – which, by the way, makes her sound like a battery.” Or a sex toy.
“Perhaps.” The old face was troubled now. “Things are not so simple.”
“An’ if it’s Angel she wants?” Big mouth of his, but dammit, girl deserves a reward she wants, not something else rammed down her throat by a pack of mystics. “Her reward, yeah? Oughta get a big soft bed an’ a house to keep her sister in, or three hundred shiny axes for the next apocalypse, if that’s what she wants.”
“But she can have you. Not so generous with the other. They have plans for him. My brothers are quite adamant.” Hard to look at her – something was at work here, and wasn’t that the understatement of the bloody year – but he held her eyes until they crinkled, matched a slow tolerant smile. “And you should know by now that we cannot intervene.”
“Seems to me that’s what you’re doin’ right now. And two days ago, point of fact.”
That eerie grin again – the charm was wearing off. “Well, then, we cannot intervene so directly – not without great cost. But if we are careful, we may restore you with no cost at all.”
“How’s that? It sounds too good to be true, usually is.”
“Clever. It may be difficult. You have your allies, and your enemies. Come, and I shall introduce you to both.”
The wall shimmered and melted, the woman strode through. A step to follow her and then movement caught his eye, poor Anya, gripping the arms of her chair, white-faced.
The wall was sickening now, blurry mess of a thing, a big black hole in the middle growin’ every second. A breath, two, and the woman stepped slowly from the center of it. “You young people have no appreciation for the dramatic exit.”
“We’re bringin’ Anya with us.” Both women were staring. Good to know they thought so highly of a fellow. “Been through a lot. She deserves to know the score as well as me.”
The old woman sighed, deep and heavy. Made him tired, to watch. “Anyanka may not come. Her… negotiations are separate.”
“Well, that’s a shame. ‘m not leavin’ without her.”
She shook her head, heavier this time. “Yes,” she said, reached out quicker than thinking to latch a hand around his wrist, “you are.”
A sick yanking low in his stomach, rushing cold and dark…
Bloody gods.
A/n: Dedication: While this is likely to sully her good name, I’d like to dedicate this to my awesome beta . I was too behind the 8-ball to get this to her, and god knows it would have been the better for it, but she’s my fandom rock and I shout it from the badly uphostered rooftops. This is my act, getting together. :)
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/278174.html
