White above, white below, white all around.

The White was certainly, well, white.

Spike listed to one side, he felt like his vision would be swimming if there was anything to see. Dimension jumping, astral projection, or whatever the hell this was, it took a lot out of a vamp. After a moment, Spike realized that he was holding hands with someone. When he looked over his shoulder, he amended the thought. Make that two someones.

Buffy was gaping, wide-eyed at the endless sea of nothingness. Next to her, connecting the circle between himself and the slayer was Meret, her projected self once again taking human form. Her face was striped with red and black pigment under her right eye and along the left side of her forehead. The war paint gave her a fearsome look, made all the more so by the steely glint in her lidless, scarlet eyes.

Where is She?

Spike started to answer Meret’s cold question, but the slayer chose that second to look over her own shoulder. With a surprised cry, she dropped both of their hands and spun around. “Who is that?” she squeaked. “And why is she naked?”

The vampire’s eyes dropped and immediately flew open wide. Maybe ‘naked’ was an unfair assessment. After all, Meret was wearing a loincloth, a paired set of leather and feather armbands, and a plethora of bone and obsidian bead necklaces that looped low to barely cover her…

Spike jerked his eyes away, embarrassed and feeling vaguely like he had just seen his little sister completely starkers.

The girl-coatl took matters into her own hands. She stepped forward and reached out a hand, palm up, to the slayer, a move that sent her necklaces swinging even more indecently. Buffy balked. Meret cocked her head to one side, red hair and feathers cascading over her bare shoulder. I am me, she said, as if that explained it all.

Spike sighed. “Buffy, meet Meret. Meret, Buffy,” his voice was a bemused drawl.

Understanding dawned in the slayer’s eyes, but before she could do anything about the coatl’s outstretched hand, Meret reached behind her and whipped an obsidian blade out of the back of her skimpy, buckskin attire.

Behind you!

Spike and Buffy spun around as one, coming face to face with the tendrils of grey that had polluted the White during Spike last, abortive visit.

“Spike, what is going on?” Buffy’s voice was tight, nervous but still battle ready. At least she was focused on the spreading grayness ahead instead of Meret, who had stepped up on Spike’s left. She held a stake in her own hand, conjured again from the gods only knew where.

“They’ll show up, over there,” he pointed towards the darker mist, gesture drawing his attention to the fact that he was once again wearing his trench coat.

Well, least my subconscious knows how to dress for a party.

He gave himself a quick pat down, looking for weapons. He quirked his lips when he found his own pockets empty. Apparently his astral self also liked fighting with only fists and fangs as much as he did.

The fog started to solidify into two figures, locked together in apparent combat. Before Spike could form a coherent word of explanation, the slayer proved that it wasn’t needed. With the speed of thought, she and Meret were gone, leaving behind vague trails of color to the points where they reappeared on either side of the distant pair. A second later, Spike was with them, but he held back, concern for the watcher staying his usual reckless abandon.

Meret had no such compulsion. Even before Elaine and Giles’ shadowy forms were distinguishable, she leapt on the necromancer, stone blade leading the way. Telepathy did have some very obvious advantages.

When Elaine finally came into view, she was dressed in the same tattered black dress Spike had seen in his prophetic dream. Shock at the unexpected attack slowed her responses, but she still managed to free one decaying hand from where it had been locked around the watcher’s throat to bat away the furious girl.

Giles, who gasped hoarsely at the temporary reprieve, balled a fist and slammed it into the necromancer’s gut. His movements were hindered by new glowing threads, twisting insidiously around his chest and arms. Hindered, but not rendered completely ineffective.

Elaine bent double, wheezing wetly and sending Meret rolling to the side.

Her way free now that coatl had been thrown wide, Buffy lunged with her stake, aiming for the stumbling woman’s back, but her angle was off and she only landed a raking blow across Elaine’s ribs, tearing old black fabric and rotting flesh alike.

Spike had rather she hadn’t. A fetid odor, like something dead and too long left in the sun filled his nostrils. The smell shouldn’t have hit him as hard as it did; he had lived in and amongst death for over one hundred years. It suddenly dawned on the vampire that this was the only scent he had ever encountered in the White. Buffy staggered away from the woman, gagging on the smell and instinctively moving to cover her nose with her left hand.

The necromancer shrieked with pain and rage, and the sound seemed to take on a power of its own. It echoed and amplified, sending waves of pain through her attackers. Giles managed to rip himself free of the dead woman’s grasp, only to fall to the ground, wheezing with exertion and the pain of the aural attack. Meret got her bare feet under her, but she too winced away from the piercing sound. Buffy was out of range, and with the watcher sprawled well to the side, Spike saw his opening.

Wobbly from the sound, he still managed to slam his fist into Elaine’s jaw, mercifully cutting short her magically enhanced scream. Maybe it wasn’t subtle, but there were only so many things he could do against magic. Beating the sorcerer to distraction was one of those things. The crunch of bone was gratifying, as was the fact that the chip, weakened as it was, didn’t even give him a twinge. Apparently Elaine had signed off any rights to claim her humanity the first time she had died.

Spike followed through with another punch, and another, snarling a litany of insults with each landed punch. The blows, and his verbal barrage, which touched on Elaine’s smell, her second-rate spell-casting, and everything in between, kept the necromancer too stunned to mount much of a defense. He was vaguely aware that Buffy had scuttled past him and was helping Giles to his feet.

“Get him out of here!” he yelled at the slayer, still slamming his fist into decayed, green-tinged flesh. Pieces of tissue were coming loose, and he didn’t want to spend too much time deliberating on the nature of the ooze that was starting to coat his knuckles.

“How?” she shouted back, frustration obvious in her voice.

He growled in frustration and glanced over his shoulder. The slayer was struggling ineffectually with the remaining glowing threads that bound Giles to his captor. His distraction proved a long enough hesitation for Elaine to regain some of her wits. Suddenly Spike felt his left arm rip free of its socket, seemingly of its own accord. The pain was excruciating. His roar of surprised agony was cut short when he was flung away, tumbling like a rag doll across the empty whiteness.

Despite her damaged jaw, which was broken in at least three places, Elaine somehow managed to force hysterical words past her lips. “You killed them!” She raised her rotting hands, skeletal and sharp like claws. “All of them! You killed my family!” Each word was infused with raw hatred, and more than a little insanity.

And you tried to kill mine.

Meret’s dagger sank into Elaine’s back all the way to the hilt. The coatl yanked her weapon free and struck again, tearing deeply into rotten flesh and tattered cloth.

The necromancer jerked spasmodically and coughed, black blood rising to her lips. When Meret’s hand rose to strike again, Elaine lashed out with her magically enhanced strength, sending the girl sprawling towards the slayer and her watcher.

Buffy shoved Giles behind her, leaving the man to stumble back, still bound and off balance. In a flash, she was on Elaine, booted feet capturing and keeping the dead woman’s attention in the most painful of manners.

While the slayer kept their prey wholly occupied, Spike dragged himself to his feet. His left arm hung limply, and he grabbed it with his right hand, growling and yellow-eyed in pain when the motion sent sparks of agony shooting through his body.

Gentle hands grasped his shoulder. He snarled defensively, but his mind was flooded with reassurance and calming thoughts.

Meret.

Her fingers gripped tighter.

This will hurt.

And it did. But she moved her hands with assurance and it was soon over. Spike’s arm slid back into its socket under her firm grasp, and the pain receded to a dull ache.

They come. Let us finish this.

“Who?” Spike scrambled to his feet, but her movements were a red blur against the White, even to his enhanced eyesight. “Meret, who’s coming?”

The coatl threw herself into the fray, moving in tandem with Buffy against the necromancer as if she had always been fighting with hands and feet instead of wings and fangs. They! was her only response, but Spike could hear the capital in that word. He had a good idea who ‘They’ were.

“You’ve got to be kiddin’ me,” he grumbled, even as he took off in Giles’ direction.

The watcher was twisting and turning, looking for all the world like a tweedy Houdini in an invisible straight jacket. Well, maybe not so invisible… “Hold still,” he barked, drawing Giles’ instant and irritated attention.

The man thrust his arms forward, clenched fists stretching the glowing lines of power to their limit. “Get this net off of me.” Each word was pronounced slowly and distinctly, and each was saturated with barely controlled anger.

“Your wish is my command, Ripper.” Spike’s hands melted through the threads, their light winking out in his wake. Giles flexed his wrists, and started to step forward, jaw set in furious determination.

That done, it was back into the fight.

Spike caught Buffy’s eye and jerked his head towards the watcher. She nodded, added one last slug into the necromancer’s much abused face, and spun away, letting Spike slid into her place in their violent dance. Meret slashed her blade across Elaine’s face, missing, but still holding the necromancer’s attention during the brief interchange.

Elaine looked ready to drop, but she was apparently much harder to kill than she looked. Maybe it was the fact that she was already dead, or maybe it was the madness Spike could see lurking in her eyes. Either way, he and Meret had their hands full wearing the unhinged, decaying husk of a woman down.

On the plus side, the effects of Elaine’s wounds were starting to show, her movements getting sloppier and sloppier. Also, the necromancer seemed to have determined that Meret and her stone dagger were the main threats in the fight, but all of her magic seemed to slide past the coatl. Willow’s spell still held, even across time and dimensions: a fact for which the vampire was deeply thankful.

When a sharp blow from Meret sent Elaine sprawling across the formless ground, Spike grabbed the woman by the arm and a handful of hair, driving her further still into the unseen surface. At the prolonged contact, the vampire felt something odd, almost like a pressure against his mind. When the force spiked in tandem with a particularly vicious snarl from the dead thing beneath him, Spike finally understood.

The trapped souls he had released before in the cave had gone willingly. This one wasn’t going to be so obliging. Not that he blamed her. Hell wouldn’t be his preferred vacation spot either.

Spike pushed back, in much the same way he nudged at Meret when she was being particularly irritating, and slammed into a wall. Undead and crazy-angry apparently equaled more psychic fortitude than undead and ADHD. In the time it took to reassess the intelligence of the plan, Elaine forced the offensive, tearing through the vampire’s mind.

Spike reeled. In his confused state, it was hard to tell if the sudden breeze he felt against his back was from a real disturbance in the White, or a physical manifestation of the mental whiplash he was experiencing. When a shroud of green feathers descended over him, he altered his assessment to divine intervention or hallucination. Either one rated a slightly hysterical laugh.

Elaine’s mental assault came to an abrupt halt, lifting the mental fog just in time for Spike to see a gaunt, serpentine face lower next to his own.

Hello, my son.

“Hi, dad,” Spike said facetiously, still pressing the suddenly motionless necromancer down into the nothingness. Mictlantechutli tilted his toothy snout towards him and curled one gaunt lip back in a reptilian semblance of a smile.

Spike nodded towards Elaine’s frozen, terrified face. “Think she recognizes you.”

The green serpent slid closer, reptilian mouth curling into a chilling smile.

Indeed.

Spike took in the god’s altered appearance. He could well see why the necromancer was frozen in fright. Coiled erect, Mictlantechutli stood as tall as a man. The rustling tail behind him was whip-lean and scarred, and a great ruff of feathers fanned out around the god’s head like a mane. Needle sharp fangs poked out of his mouth at all angles, bristling like a crocodile’s. Even the protruding bones that jutted from under the withered scales added a hard, jagged appearance to the god of death.

Feeling more than a little intimidated himself, and irritated by that, even though he was facing a god, Spike dropped his eyes and looked to his fighting partner. Much to his surprise, Meret had her head bowed, weapon hand pressed against her chest in a gesture of supplication. Spike couldn’t help but smirk. Humility was an odd look on the usually irreverent coatl.

Mictlantechutli followed his gaze. After a moment, Meret jerked her head in a brief nod as if answering some silent command, and darted past Spike. He turned to watch her go and found himself staring into the eyes of a red mirror image of Mictlantechutli’s green form.

Quetzalcoatl.

His spread wings sheltered the tired slayer, who had one arm slung around her watcher, supporting him since his abused body had apparently made its opinion known over the anger that had been fuelling Giles’ actions. Spike could sympathize.

Buffy seemed to be in deep thought, but considering her company, that probably indicated a silent conversation with the god of life. They turned as one when the coatl neared. Quetzalcoatl swept a wing wide to encompass Meret, and with a flash, the group was gone, red light fading in their wake.

Spike gaped in surprise, but he dared not release his hold on Elaine. Mictlantechutli responded before he could form a question or complaint.

This is a matter for the dead. Now, only the dead remain.

The god’s mouth opened wide, needle-sharp teeth inching nearer and nearer to Elaine’s terrified face. A weak spell, a mere whisper of pain, floated across the surface of Spike’s skin, but the necromancer was beat. And what was more, she knew it. He could see it in her sunken, mad eyes.

With a motion too fast to track, Mictlantechutli struck. Spike braced for the impact, but none came. Instead, Elaine’s form simply melted under his hands. He fell forward, sprawling suddenly without the necromancer’s supporting weight. Quick as thought, he rolled aside, expecting some trick. Instead, he found himself looking at the bemused expression on Mictlantechutli’s toothy face.

A soul such as hers must be willing before it will cross over. I do not believe that she realizes that I will be waiting for her on the other side as well.

Spike wasn’t quite sure he was hearing the god correctly. “Wait, you mean she’s gone?”

Mictlantechutli inclined his gaunt head.

The vampire laughed. “You mean, she turned yellow,” he wheezed around his mirth, “And served herself right up on your platter? That’s bleedin’ priceless!”

It was amazing how expressive such a stiff, scaly face could be. Mictlantechutli’s had dark amusement, a little confusion, and some disappointment painted in obvious strokes.

I had wished to get at least one good bite in.

That earned a falsely sympathetic grin. “Yeah, well. Maybe you won’t take so long to show up next time. Besides, I bet she would’ve tasted worse than zombie meat.”

Indeed.

Spike dropped his head back. As the White started to fade to gray, and then black, it took his many aches and pains with it.