Chapter 22
’i got my ticket to heaven
and everlasting life
i got a ride all the way to paradise
i got my ticket to heaven
and everlasting life
all the way to paradise’
- “ticket to heaven” by dire straits


Pain lanced through Spike’s body. Pain so sharp that there were no words to describe it.

He had been stabbed before. Stabbed, tortured, burned or otherwise mutilated. All of that rolled into on big ball of pain might get close to what this felt like. And yet, it was just a shadow of it.

He didn’t scream. He simple couldn’t.

The pair of razor sharp scissors in his back had taken his last remaining breath as well as his strength. His mouth opened in a wordless plea and he could taste his own blood in his mouth.

He raised a shaking hand to Buffy, trying to reach for her although he knew that she was too far away. His vision started to blur as he felt whatever life force kept his system running slipping away from him, slowly draining from his body along with the blood that ran down his back.

He had died before, twice. Given the fact that a person usually died only once, one would think that he had gotten used to it by now.

The first time had been a wild ride along a road of pleasure he hadn’t known existed.

The second time had been painful but the pain had been gone within the blink of an eye.

And now…

He tried to fight it, fight the fear that took a hold of him. He didn’t want to die. Not again. Not now. Not after all he had fought for; after all he had been through with and for Buffy.

The realisation came with a perfect clarity. The last clear thing that made it’s way into his mind.

It was too late.


*

Buffy tried to move. She really tried.

It wasn’t the wound that was forcing her to stay on the ground. It did hurt some but she had been through worse.

She simple couldn’t move.

The Fates were still surrounding Spike. From what it looked like they were keeping him on his feet.

Blood dripped from his mouth and nose, running down his neck. It looked like he wanted to say something but the words never left his mouth. He held out a hand to her much like he had ten years ago.

And again, it was too late.


*

Atropos shoved Spike forward, pulling the scissors out of his back in the same motion. He stumbled forward as his legs gave out, dropping him to the floor like a rag doll.

Once more, the Fate raised the scissors to her mouth, licking over the blade. She even licked her finger as she caught a drop that had escaped her nimble tongue. A slow smile spread on her lips as she looked from Clotho to Lachesis, then over at Buffy again.

“We’ll take this one.”

As if he weighed nothing more than a bag of clothes, she picked Spike up by his vest, and hurled him forward into the black cloud.

Again, thunder roared as the cloud lit up with sudden lightning. The Fates stepped into it and this time it swallowed them whole. It started to swirl like a cyclone, expanding even more.

It seemed as though a miniature thunderstorm was coming down on the roof, all centered around that cloud.

Suddenly Buffy heard a crackling in her earphone. At first it just sounded like static, garbled noises with a few words that were picked up somewhere along the way. And than she figured out that it was Spike’s voice heard through all the noise.

It was nothing comprehensible, not even coherent. It was painful moans, some garbled words. And her name over and over again.

Tears started to sting her eyes, the pain of her slashed stomach forgotten. It took her only a second to understand was she was hearing.

She heard him die.


*

The cloud was expanding even more as lightning struck down on it. It swirled, roared, and danced in front of her eyes but she didn’t see that anymore.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks but she had no more strength to sob. In fact, all her strength had dissipated. She wasn’t a Slayer anymore. For the first time in her life, she was just a little girl.

When her mother had died, she had been devastated for a while but in the end, she had still been the Slayer. She had had to be there for Dawn, had to keep her safe.

But now, it was just her. None of the stuff that had bothered her back then mattered to her now. All that mattered to her now was Spike.

When she had finally come to the realization that she loved him, he hadn’t believed her. And now that they were on their way to having an actual relationship, he was taken away from her again.

Was it her? Didn’t she deserve any better? Was being the Slayer the ultimate death sentence to a normal life after all?

Lightning struck down on the cloud again, accompanied by thunder so loud that it was almost deafening. The entire building started to shake as a violent tremor rippled through it.

And then, everything went silent.

Not just quiet but deadly silent.

The building went still. The fighting seems to cease. The cloud was gone.

And so were the Fates.


*

Buffy blinked. Once. Twice.

It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

She must have been knocked unconscious, and this was some weird dream. Or, maybe she was dead, too. Anything else just couldn’t be possible.


*

Spike coughed. The unhealthiest sound Buffy had ever heard.

Then he drew in a shaky breath, a wheezy, throaty breath.

He tried to push himself up on his hands and knees but his arms gave out and he toppled over to one side. He let out a yelp of pain as he rolled onto his back.

A shaking hand darted up to his throat, clawing at his skin as though something was choking him. With frantic motions, his other hand roamed over his chest, trying to peel off the last remnants of his vest and shirt. He coughed once more and for a second it sounded like he was trying to choke up a fur ball.

“Buffy,” he croaked, writhing on the floor, his head rolling from side to side.

In a flash, the Slayer was at his side, her eyes wide in surprise. She knelt down next to him, her hand gripping his.

“Spike?” Her voice was shaking violently. “What happened? How did you… what’s going on?” Her other hand ran over his face, trying to make sure that he was real. With their history, you never knew. Again, tears started to stream down her cheeks. “Are you alright?”

“No,” he coughed, the words sounding as painful as they must feel in his throat. “I’m not.”

Spike’s eyes rolled back, his eyelids flickering shut, then open again. Slowly, he managed to focus on Buffy. His fingers closed around her wrist, and he pressed her palm on his chest.

“I’m alive.”