Chapter 4 - Injuries

Sleep eluded him. He tossed and turned dozens of times, but he couldn’t sleep. As he lay on his cot in the basement, he heard a small creaking noise come from upstairs. Spike assumed it was probably one of the girls coming down for a snack. The rest of the house was still sleeping after the events of the night before. Everyone was exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

He listened as the person made their way to the kitchen, then silence. He turned back over onto his stomach vowing to get some sleep. That was when it hit him. Blood. The scent of blood overpowered his brain. Powerful, enticing, Slayer’s blood. Spike bolted upright in bed and shot up the stairs as fast as he legs would carry him. What he found was enough to rip his heart from his chest.

Buffy was sitting on the floor, leaning against the counter. A petite paring knife was clasped in one hand with a long slice of splayed skin running half the length of the inside of her other arm. Buffy watched as the blood dripped down onto her leg and eventually ran on to the floor, a look of fascination on her face.

Spike grabbed the dishtowel off the counter and quickly grabbed Buffy’s injured arm, wrapping the towel around the wound tightly. Then he reached out to take the paring knife away from Buffy. She looked up at Spike with confusion, her brow furrowed, and she refused to release the knife.

“You’re in the wrong dream,” she said. “You don’t save me in this one. Let. Me. GO!!”

“Buffy, pet, this isn’t a dream.”

“No. Wrong dream. No, no, let go!” Buffy started pulling away from Spike in earnest.

“Buffy, stop, you’re bleeding. I can’t...Buffy...STOP!” Spike ordered.

Buffy started screaming. Incoherent sounds and screeches, mixed with ‘no’s’ and ‘dream’s.' It was all Spike could do to keep the knife away from the both of them and the towel secure around her arm.

“Spike! What’re you doing?!” Willow came and knelt next to the struggling couple.

“Found her like this. Her arm’s laid open like a bleedin’ gutted fish. Can you put her out?” Spike inquired, still struggling with a thrashing Buffy.

“What?” Willow asked with confusion.

“Magic, Red. Knock. Her. Out!” Spike said. “I can’t keep pressure on her arm with her like this. She’s gonna sodding bleed to death. Now, unless you want me to clock her hard enough to do it, so, knock…her…out.” Spike emphasized the words again.

Willow glanced a moment at Spike, then turned her gaze to Buffy, noting the blood soaking through the dishtowel.

“Now would be a good time!” Spike growled out.

“Somnolentia,” Willow said, reaching out to touch Buffy’s forehead.

Buffy fought for another second before succumbing to the spell. Then she slumped against the counter, the knife dropping from her hand to clatter against the floor. Spike let go of her right arm and grabbed Willow’s hand, putting it against the cut on Buffy’s arm.

“Hold that, tight,” he commanded as he reached behind Buffy and scooped her up in his arms. “Don’t let go,” he said as he stood, Willow automatically standing with him as she held onto Buffy’s arm.

“Where are we going?” Willow asked.

“Her room. We’ll clean her up and put her back to bed,” Spike answered as he made his way to the stairs.

Once back in Buffy’s room, Spike gently laid her on the bed then left the room. He came back a moment later with the massive First Aid Box they’d assembled.

“Pressure point, just up on her arm, know where it is?” He asked Willow.

“Sure. Kind of surprised you do, though. Didn’t think you needed to know a lot of first aid,” Willow stated.

“Then use it so I can dress the cut.” Spike pointed to Buffy’s arm. Willow’s other hand came up and squeezed the correct spot on Buffy’s injured arm. “Not sure why you’re surprised. All of ‘em good bite spots. Doesn’t always have to be the neck, you know,” Spike said as he unwrapped the towel and dropped it in the trash can next to the bed.

“Little harder, Red,” Spike said, noting there was still a fair amount of blood leaking from the wound. “Where’s the thread you and the watcher stitched me up with?” He asked, digging through the box with one hand.

“Back right corner,” Willow indicated, nodding toward the box. “You think we should take her to the hospital?”

“Yeah right. And tell ‘em what? She ran into several doors and then decided she wanted to update her knowledge of anatomy?” Spike asked sarcastically. “They take one look at her, and they’ll lock her away for good. ‘Specially if she starts spouting off about demons and such. Is that spell strong enough to keep her out for this?” Spike asked as he held up the suture. Willow nodded. “Good. If we can get the bleeding stopped, her healing should kick in and fix this,” he said as he went to work on the wound.

After several minutes of Spike’s handy work, Willow admitted she was impressed with the stitching, saying that it wasn’t perfect, but it was a lot better than she’d expected of a vampire.

“Not my best work, but it’ll do,” Spike commented as he leaned back to survey the stitches. “How long will she be out?”

“Probably another five or six hours,”

“Good. Wake up one of the girls. I want someone up here watching her at all times. Make sure we don’t have a repeat of her little cutlery experiment,” Spike said.

“You think she’d try it again?” Willow asked him hesitantly.

“I think her head is so messed up at the moment, she’s capable of just about anything,” Spike said softly, staring at Buffy. She was sleeping, but judging by her quiet moans, it was anything but peaceful. “The others will be up in a couple hours and Giles will want a meeting. You should get some rest. I’ll be in the basement.” And with that, he left the room before the witch could see just how much the thought of what was running through Buffy’s mind was tearing him apart.