Chapter One: Buffalo or Shanshu?



He landed with a soft thud. Softer than he’d imagined, if he’d had the presence of mind to imagine landing at all. He hadn’t been thinking of landing anywhere when he’d seen the long wooden stake headed towards him. He’d seen it pierce his chest. So yeah, landing anywhere hadn’t been on his mind. Dust had been.

He’d been surprised to feel the pain. He’d always thought death by stake would be quick and painless. One quick jab to the heart and poof – dust. At least, he’d hoped it would be less painful than the last time he’d died and dusted. That long burning, as glorious as it had been to die saving the world, had been a bloody painful and awful death.

Death by stake? Sure, it took less time, but it still hurt like bloody hell.

The stab to the heart, the spreading fire through his body and then poof, millions of exploding dust molecules bursting in the air and then – well then that should have been the end of it.

But here he was proof that those millions of dust molecules had somehow reunited and he’d fallen through a blinding firestorm of light and wind before landing on something soft and quite comfy. He looked around. His black leather coat was filthy and torn and looked incongruous next to the clean and pristine leather couch he was sitting on. In fact, everything about the room was pristine and clean.

And white.

Blindingly white.

“What the hell…” he murmured, staring.

The room was shaped like an octagon and on each side there was a tall white chair that looked like a throne. They were empty at the moment and he spared a thought for who might, at one time, have sat in those chairs. The ceiling was high, at least as high as a four story building, he guessed, and it looked like the night sky; dark blue it twinkled with flashing stars. Having been a creature of the night, he knew his night sky and he recognized several constellations.

There was a light, warm breeze that smelled of roses and oranges blossoms. Not strong, just sweet enough to be beautiful.

He shook his head.

It really wasn’t possible.

Could it be heaven?

It definitely didn’t look like hell. He knew hell.

This was not it.

Could this gorgeous place be what the witch and her Scooby gang had dragged his Slayer from? No wonder she’d come back wrong.

He tried to stand up and found his legs had lost all strength and sensation. It had, after all, been quite the fight, that last battle. He grinned, his blue eyes gleaming with the ferocity of the battle rage that had gripped him as he’d faced down the demons of hell. He’d stood there when that last demon had come swooping down the alley. Him and Angel and Illyria – grinning in fierce hunger – ready to die and take the beast down with them. And they had, he’d heard the dragon’s dying screams before he’d bought his own one way ticket to the hereafter.

He sat back, spread eagle on the couch, his arms stretched across the back. As far as hereafters went, this wasn’t a bad gig. He could wait a bit until he got the strength back in his legs and then he’d find out just what this dimension had in store for him.

Lights flashed and the scent of roses was replaced briefly with the scent of ash and burning flesh. He grimaced, covering his nose and then his ears and then his eyes, as a high screeching keen filled the chamber and it went bright white with blinding light. He was shoved aside as something large and ungainly fell onto the couch next to him.

Then, silence and the scent of roses.

He sat up and glanced over and groaned.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “This is hell.”

The man next to him sat up, blinking in disorientation. Then his gaze focused on the slighter man sprawled beside him.

“Spike,” he murmured, his voice deep and scratchy as if he’d inhaled the flames of hell.

Spike stared at the dark haired man with a sneer.

“Hello, Peaches,” he drawled bitterly.

Angel glanced around. “Where are we?”

“Hell,” Spike replied, then sat back and crossed his arms and glared at the empty thrones. “For all eternity apparently.” He shook his head. “I should have known that I would end up here- with you. I deserve it I suppose, Scourge of Europe and all.”

“Oh shut up,” Angel muttered. Then, he tried to stand up and realized too late that he couldn’t. He slid to the floor with a thud as Spike laughed harshly.

“Should’ve waited a few minutes you git – no strength.”

Angel grimaced and began pulling himself back up onto the couch with his arms. After much cursing and puffing and gasping, he settled in next to Spike.

He glanced around, his dark eyes brooding. “What the hell are we doing here?”

Spike cocked an eyebrow and began to explain, as if he were talking to a two year old. “Well, you see – we went down in the fight. All those demons and that last dragon – we got him by the way – but someone got us. I saw it, Angel. Me, you, two Kleynach demons and two very large stakes. It was a plan – and they got us. And now we’re dead and stuck in some hell dimension.”

Angel looked around and shook his head. “I’ve seen this place. This isn’t hell. This is a courtroom – for the Powers That Be.”

Spike stared at him, opened his mouth as if to speak and then thought twice and shut it. He patted his pocket, searching for his smokes. When he found them, he pulled one out, put it between his lips and lit up.

Angel’s eyes widened and he gasped.

“You can’t smoke here!”

Spike glanced over at him and settled back, closing his eyes and taking a long drag. “Like hell I can’t. I don’t answer to these sods anymore. I had hoped they were done with me, but here I am again. So I’ll smoke and I’ll curse and do whatever the hell I want until they show up and answer some of my questions.”

“And what would those be, William?” A soft voice asked.

Angel started, sitting up straight and staring at the vision before them.

Spike didn’t even flinch. He simply watched the goddess glide towards them. Her sapphire hair gleamed and her pale skin sparkled like diamonds in the bright white light. She took her place at one of the thrones and leaning back, smiled at them.

“Are your blokes joining us?” Spike asked, tossing his cigarette on to the marble floor and grinding it out with the heel of his boot.

She smiled at him, leaning forward, as if sharing a secret with him. “No, they don’t approve.”

He grinned back. “Then they can just sod off, can’t they?”

She giggled and Angel gaped at them. If he wasn’t mistaken, he’d have sworn that Spike was flirting with one of the Powers That Be. The gall of the idiot!

Testing his legs, Spike stood up and swaggering over to the throne to the right of the goddess, he sprawled into it. He shifted a bit, trying to find a more comfortable spot and grimaced. “Bloody uncomfortable.” Smiling at her, he said, “I had a real comfy chair back in my crypt in Sunnydale. Miss that chair.”

“Do you miss Sunnydale?” she asked, reaching over and gently taking his hand in hers.

A frown replaced the smirk and he slumped in the throne.

“Every waking moment,” he murmured, wishing he had his smokes back. But suddenly, it didn’t seem right somehow to smoke in front of her. Just like it suddenly didn’t seem right to be sitting in the throne. He slipped from it and stood, facing her.

“I would imagine that you look back on those moments in your life with great sadness and yearning,” she murmured.

He tilted his head and looked at her. “You could say that,” he said. “They were the worse of times and the best of ti-“

“Oh, for the love of God!” Angel exploded. “Enough!” He glanced at the PTB. “Can you make him shut up? Please.”

Instead, she smiled at him gently. “Angel,” she murmured. “A favorite among us.”

He smiled broadly. “Nice to know.”

Turning, she faced Spike and smiled. “Angel and Spike, saint and sinner, but which is which? At one time it was obvious. Now,” she murmured. “Not the case.”

Angel shrugged and protested. “Well – depends on who you talk to. I’m sure that the PTB could argue – “

“Oh stuff it, you ponce!” Spike interrupted. “I earned my soul back! Fought the demons for it. Trials and all that! You were cursed with yours!”

The goddess sat back and smiled enigmatically. “Boys,” she said.

They stopped arguing and looked at her.

“I knew that I was right in bringing you both here.”

Spike grinned at her. “It would be nice, love, if you could let us in on what’s going on here. I thought I was in for some well deserved oblivion this time around. You brought me back once before, can’t we let bygones be bygones and call it a life?”

She laughed gaily and winked at him. “Oh, Spike, I do adore you. I’ve been watching you for some time.”

He looked at her nervously. Sometime could be a longtime in an immortal’s life. Being under the watchful eye of the PTB wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

She gestured to both of them, her arms opening wide in a graceful, languid gesture, as if to usher them into her embrace. “You are both so special. Vampires with souls. One cursed with it and bound to repent and the other gifted with it and bound to curse it. So special and so very necessary.”

Angel stood up and faced her. There was something, a certain tone to her voice, that he distrusted. He’d never trusted the PTB.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Spike’s mouth fell open and his eyes widened as a cold streak of unease struck. He’d only ever heard that tone in Angel’s voice a couple of times and it had never been good. The goddess’ last words played back in his thoughts. Things that were special and necessary – how many did the world really need?

“Oh bloody hell,” he muttered and went to stand beside Angel.

“Spike,” Angel warned.

“What do you want, witch?”

She laughed again. “Oh no, Spike, it’s not what I want. But what you want. I’m here to reward you. Finally, with what your heart most desires.”

“My heart?” Spike asked. “My bloody heart hasn’t beat in well over a hundred years. It doesn’t want anything!”

She raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Oh, really? Not even a certain green eyed blond with the worse syntax we’ve ever come across?” She laughed as both her saint and her sinner flinched. “I’m here to reward you both.”

“The Shanshu Prophecy,” Angel murmured.

“Give the man a prize,” Spike replied.

“Shut up, Spike and let the goddess speak.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “So says the vamp who wants to be a real boy someday.”

“Yes,” the goddess replied. “The Shanshu Prophecy.”

“That a vampire with a soul would come and save the world and in return-“

“Oh shut up, Peaches, we know the bloody prophecy,” Spike snapped.

The goddess chuckled.

“He is right, you both are fully aware of the prophecy. At this point it is simply a matter of rewarding it to one of you.”

“One of us?” Angel said, choking on the words.

She smiled sadly. “Oh yes. I’m afraid the prophecy is fairly clear on that. Only one vampire.”

“Screw the prophecy, they are never fool proof,” Spike said. “Not worth the parchment they’re written on.”

“Oh, in this case it is. One vampire with a soul; one human life.”

“So who is it going to be? Step right up on the Price is Right!” Spike crowed.

The goddess looked at him. “Actually, Spike, it is your choice.”

He stopped crowing and stared at her. “Pardon?”

“The Powers That Be have decided that it is your choice.”

“My choice?” He was beginning to sound like an idiot, even to himself.

“Yes, as the vampire who earned his soul back through the trials and who gave up his undead life saving the world from an apocalypse, you are the champion and you should by all accounts be the one to fulfill the prophecy. But with Angel here, it becomes a bit confusing. So we’ve decided that Spike, you can chose – Angel or yourself – to fulfill the prophecy.”

“You have got to be kidding me?!” Angel exploded. “After everything I’ve done, you put my fate into his hands?”

Spike grinned. “A certain justice there, isn’t there, Granddad?”

“Shut up.”

Spike turned to the goddess. “So explain to me exactly how this works.”

“You choose who will fulfill the prophecy. Once chosen, that person will return to earth in a human body, with a human soul and all its accompanying mortality. The chosen one will have no recollection of his previous existence as a vampire. Imagine simply being dropped into a life – you will never know anything else.”

“Complete oblivion,” Angel murmured in yearning.

“Tabula Rasa,” Spike said with a nod. “Like what Red did to us that time. Wiped the slate of our pasts right clean.”

The goddess nodded. “Yes. And then we’ll give you a new one, like what was given to Dawn. You will have your own name, a past, and a future that will be up to you to play out. You will never know that your life was anything other than what it is.”

“And the other one? The one who doesn’t get to be a real boy again?” Spiked asked.

She smiled. “Well, that one goes back to earth the way he came from it. A vampire with a soul. The world needs there to be that balance. We can take one of you from the world, but we must give one back.”

“Jesus,” whispered Angel.

“There has to be more to it than that,” Spike said with certainty.

She nodded in approval. “No one ever gave you enough credit. You’re smarter than you look.”

“Thanks, love,” he said with a grin.

“So here’s the deal,” she continued. “There’s a new evil rising in Buffalo and the Slayer and her girls are going to need all the help they can get. And quite frankly, the world needs all the help it can get. It needs one of you – it needs a vampire with a soul – and the Slayer is going to need someone to fight by her side and – to – “

“To what?” Angel asked.

Spike had lost all ability to speak at the mention of the Slayer.

“She’s lost,” the goddess replied. “She’s lost her heart and her soul – figuratively speaking – and she needs one of you to give it back to her.”

Angel took his place next to Spike.

“So let me get this straight. One of us fulfills the prophecy and goes back to earth as a human with no memory of his previous life. The other goes back to the way things were, but has to go and face Buffy and help her get her heart and soul back.”

The goddess nodded. “That sums it up.”

Pointing at Spike, Angel said incredulously, “And it’s his choice.”

She nodded again.

Angel dropped his head, shaking it and laughing. “You guys have a great sense of humor.”

“Thank goodness someone does,” she murmured.

He shot her a look and stopped laughing.

She glanced back at Spike. “Well, Spike, what will it be? Human or Vampire? Sweet oblivion or Sweet Buffy?”

He stared at her and then looked over at Angel. Unable to face either of them, he turned toward the wall and tried to think.

Being human had never appealed to him. As a human, he’d been a sap, a wanker, a complete and utter Nancy boy. As far as he remembered, Spike had taken to being a vampire like a boy to his toys; he’d reveled in it and celebrated his strength and the evil that had taken root in him. He’d done everything with gusto – he’d killed and he’d loved – god how he’d loved Drusilla. She’d been his sire and he’d worshipped the ground she’d walked on. That was the one thing the demon in him had never killed – the poet and the lover within him. And they’d found their inspiration in Drusilla. He’d loved her and killed with her and with her, he’d felt complete.

Over time he’d been able to forget that he’d once been William the Wanker, regularly humiliated by everyone around him.

Spike would never in a million years have imagined he’d want to go back to that.

Until Buffy. For Buffy he’d have done it. He’d have done anything to be a man for her. To be a whole and good man for her. To be the man she needed and wanted.

But this prophecy – what good was it to be a man and not have the woman he loved?

He glanced at Angel.

All Angel had ever wanted was to forget the demon within him. To be free of his guilt and his past. To, as Byron had once written, to live and bare the aspect and form of breathing men. To sleep at night and walk in the light of day.

As far as Spike was concerned, the sun was highly over rated.

It would seem, he thought to himself, that it was an easy choice. Except for the catch. The whole – having to go and save the Slayer from herself - catch.

Spike hadn’t contacted Buffy when he’d been hurled back after going down in a blaze of glory – how could he have? He’d wanted to. But in the beginning he’d been unable to – physically unable to leave Los Angeles. As a ghost he hadn’t even been able to pick up the phone and call her. When he’d finally regained his form and gone to Italy on a mission with Angel, he’d discovered her in the arms of the Immortal.

And that had been that.

Apparently dying in a blaze of glory wasn’t worth much in the love department because his Slayer, his throw me a bone, “I love you” as you’re dying Slayer, had moved on pretty quick; to another dark and brooding type!

How the hell would he explain this to her? Not only had he been spared by the PTB once, but twice and if the goddess was right, Buffy wasn’t looking to be saved.

Christ.

He turned to the goddess. “What happens if I can’t do it?”

“Can’t do what?”

“Save her from herself, give her her heart and soul back?”

The goddess smiled. “Failure is not an option.”

He looked at her blankly.

“You have to keep trying. Forever. You can’t walk away from her, Spike, until you’ve healed her. If this is the path you choose, then you choose your fate and you can not ever walk away from it.”

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, taking a deep breath that he didn’t need, but old habits died hard. Then he glanced up at Angel.

“Well, Peaches, this is a right old pickle.”

Angel stared at him, a look of honest to goodness devastation on his face.

Spike shook his head. “Oh, stop brooding. I know how much you want to be a real boy again.”
He turned to the goddess. “So how do we do this? Is it just a matter of my saying “make it so?””

“What will it be, partner? Shanshu or Buffalo?” The goddess asked with a grin.

“Bloody hell, do you have to put it that way?”

She shook her head. “No, you do.”

As he opened his mouth, she held up a hand. “Wait.”

He grimaced. “What for?”

She gestured to Angel. “Don’t you want to say goodbye?”

Spike turned and looked at the taller vampire.

“Bye, poofter.”

Then he turned back to the goddess.

“Buffalo.”

He never saw the look of amazement on Angel’s face.

Or the grin of satisfaction on the goddess’s.

In a split second, the bright and pristine room smelling softly of roses and orange blossoms was gone and he was standing in a dark cemetery swimming with the scent of sewage and diesel and an angry looking demon was facing him.

And it was cold. As cold as brass balls in December.

Perhaps he should have sent Angel here after all. He would have felt right at home.

“Christ,” Spike muttered. “I hate Buffalo already.”