It hadn't taken Spike long to figure out what Peter needed. When Buffy died, he had gone out and killed damn near about anything so much as twitching within radius, and he could repay the favor. They'd go to Hell, kill a tyrannosaur, everything would be right as rain with sunshine and puppies on top. Best case, Peter would be just a little less of a wreck; he doubted it but he knew the other man couldn't help himself. It was better he had someone with him before he went teetering completely off into the deep
( ... )
Some might say that Peter had gone teetering off the deep end a number of months ago, when he'd gotten rid of all his furniture and started tacking articles of his victories to the wall. But at least he'd taken those down, left them on a pile on a floor, and tried to act like some semblance of a human being again. He hadn't gone to the trouble of buying furniture again, or making his apartment look like it once had, but at least he'd been on the road
( ... )
"Hey.." Spike trailed off, seeing the state of Peter's flat. Even he didn't live that bare bones, and he wasn't even living. Hell, his crypt had been better furnished. There wasn't really anything he could say, and he wasn't sure he wanted to try. He had come here for a singular purpose, and in times like these, as easy as it was for Spike to sidetrack himself, it was best just to stick to the plan. "Ready?"
Packed in that one word was his concern for Peter, gaze flickering to the dried blood on the man's hands. He was over the moon alright, and Spike felt like the last person in the world who ought to be reeling him back down. But there was no one else, and he was here, and that would just have to do.
"Yeah, let me just-" Glancing over his shoulder at the police scanner, Peter lifted a palm towards it, not even bothering to be discreet about using telekinesis to shut it off. His apartment falling into complete, empty silence, Peter gave it one more fleeting glance before he stepped out into the hall and locked the door behind himself.
Jamming his hands into his pockets a moment later, Peter lifted his face back up to Spike, waiting for the other man to lead the way. His focus had nearly glazed over, seeing through Spike and looking insistently at nothing before he could even try his hand at eye contact. He had no intention of small talk, or anything even remotely like it. He was just as much at a loss for words that didn't have to do with all the things he didn't want to talk about, and the only way to keep back the feeling of misery rising in his throat was to stay silent and pretend it wasn't there at all.
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Packed in that one word was his concern for Peter, gaze flickering to the dried blood on the man's hands. He was over the moon alright, and Spike felt like the last person in the world who ought to be reeling him back down. But there was no one else, and he was here, and that would just have to do.
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Jamming his hands into his pockets a moment later, Peter lifted his face back up to Spike, waiting for the other man to lead the way. His focus had nearly glazed over, seeing through Spike and looking insistently at nothing before he could even try his hand at eye contact. He had no intention of small talk, or anything even remotely like it. He was just as much at a loss for words that didn't have to do with all the things he didn't want to talk about, and the only way to keep back the feeling of misery rising in his throat was to stay silent and pretend it wasn't there at all.
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