Lost
Another indigo_crypt creation. You know the drill! Someone makes a nifty manip, I make a nifty story... or rather, ANYONE can make the fic. JOIN THE COMM! It'll be fun! And helps stimulate your imagination and keeps your muse hopping! Based off this manip made by edgehead220373.
Title: Lost
Pairings: N/A
Appropriate Ratings: PG13 because of death talk
Warnings: Nothing really. Just… sadness. I suppose spoilers for season 5 finale and other suchness.
Disclaimers: Not my characters. I make no money off this, I'm just playing. I promise to give them a bath and thorough cleaning when I’m done! Joss Whedon is my lord and Master. All hail Joss Whedon.
Short Summary: Spike visits her grave.
Word Count: 815 (As per MS Word Count)
Beta: Tamakin, any errors are mine and mine alone.
X-posted to: perverted_pages, indigo_crypt, darker_spike, btvsatsdotcom
Archived Outside LJ At: fanfiction.net and My IJ
Comments are necessary for the continuation of the species!
Every night, he went back. It was stupid, what with him not being all that great with the respect thing, or with the faith thing, or anything really, but he just… couldn’t stop. Sometimes, he’d bring flowers. Fresh flowers from a florist or something he’d nick along the way. Sometimes he’d just sit and trace the engravings on her gravestone. More often then not he’d spend several hours hunched over and crying.
He didn’t let anyone know. If anyone was there, visiting, he’d turn around and go back to his crypt. They didn’t understand, they never did. Once Harris had seen him leaving her grave, and had cornered him, pushing him hard against a tree and yelling. Seemed the whelp thought he was there to desecrate her grave and refused to believe when he said he just… wanted to pay his respects. He’d laughed at that, laughed harshly in his face with his brown eyes as cold as ice, snapping in fury and spat out, “That’s rich Bleach Boy. How the hell can you pay your respects to someone you never respected? She never loved you Spike, you just stalked her and rifled through her things, stole her PANTIES!! How the hell can you show respect to someone who’s dead when you never showed respect to them when they were alive?” He’d made a big show of threatening Spike, which he just walked away from. He made sure he was alone after that.
He sat down, his side pressed against the tombstone, one arm wrapped around it, and resting his head on the top. He spent a lot of time like this, just… thinking about her. He didn’t bother trying to talk to her, even when she was alive she didn’t want to hear what he had to say, and he didn’t see a point in torturing her now that she was gone. The stone felt cool against his cheek before his cheek cooled to match it.
He listened to the night sounds, an owl, a few rodents, someone screaming for help somewhere before suddenly falling silent. Graveyards were really no place for humans to wander about in at night. He felt numb inside, cold, empty. He pondered lighting a cigarette, inhaling the heated smoke and feeling it curl down his throat and in his lungs, heating him briefly before he exhaled… then he realized that meant he’d have to let go of the tombstone, and decided against it. He was as comfortable as he’d ever been.
When the next step to his nightly visitation happened he just shuddered. The tears were nothing new to him, he’d cried every single night since she died. Sometimes it was just silent tears, sometimes it was great soul wracking sobs, sometimes something in between, but he always cried. Her tombstone was damp with his tears, he absentmindedly rubbed his cheek against the damp patch, feeling the stone rub against his skin.
He lifted his head, and looked up at the sky. He could see the diamonds glinting on the black velvet, and let out a sob before controlling himself again. For once, he broke the self imposed silence.
“I… I’ve been looking after Dawn, like you said. The rest of the Scoobies could rot in hell for all I cared, but I know you care, so I help them when they ask.” He smiled to himself slightly; it looked alien on his face, and felt wrong. He hadn’t laughed or smiled in so long he wasn’t sure he was doing it right. “I know you didn’t love me, I know I had to earn that kind of trust and openness from you. I wish I’d been given the chance. I’d a done anything for you, and you know it… knew it, whatever. I just… I wish… I wish I’d been better. I wish I’d been faster, smarter, something, anything. You shouldn’t have… you shouldn’t have died. I know it’s my fault you are where you are, and I am so sorry. I am so bloody sorry I let you down.” He felt tears cutting new tracks down his cheeks. The stars stared down with cold indifference, giving neither comfort nor succor from his plight. “If Dawn wasn’t here, I’d have joined you, you know. This world isn’t worth living in without you.”
He gathered himself up, and walked away, towards his crypt. He was blinded by tears, and he stumbled over tree roots and uneven graves, but he didn’t care. He just wished… he just wished he’d been stronger, faster, smarter… there really was nothing to live for anymore, other than Dawn. He’d stick around for her, and if she asked, he’d stick around for her sprogs when she had them, but he hoped she wouldn’t ask.
As cold and empty as that graveyard felt, it was still better than what he felt when he left it.
Title: Lost
Pairings: N/A
Appropriate Ratings: PG13 because of death talk
Warnings: Nothing really. Just… sadness. I suppose spoilers for season 5 finale and other suchness.
Disclaimers: Not my characters. I make no money off this, I'm just playing. I promise to give them a bath and thorough cleaning when I’m done! Joss Whedon is my lord and Master. All hail Joss Whedon.
Short Summary: Spike visits her grave.
Word Count: 815 (As per MS Word Count)
Beta: Tamakin, any errors are mine and mine alone.
X-posted to: perverted_pages, indigo_crypt, darker_spike, btvsatsdotcom
Archived Outside LJ At: fanfiction.net and My IJ
Comments are necessary for the continuation of the species!
Every night, he went back. It was stupid, what with him not being all that great with the respect thing, or with the faith thing, or anything really, but he just… couldn’t stop. Sometimes, he’d bring flowers. Fresh flowers from a florist or something he’d nick along the way. Sometimes he’d just sit and trace the engravings on her gravestone. More often then not he’d spend several hours hunched over and crying.
He didn’t let anyone know. If anyone was there, visiting, he’d turn around and go back to his crypt. They didn’t understand, they never did. Once Harris had seen him leaving her grave, and had cornered him, pushing him hard against a tree and yelling. Seemed the whelp thought he was there to desecrate her grave and refused to believe when he said he just… wanted to pay his respects. He’d laughed at that, laughed harshly in his face with his brown eyes as cold as ice, snapping in fury and spat out, “That’s rich Bleach Boy. How the hell can you pay your respects to someone you never respected? She never loved you Spike, you just stalked her and rifled through her things, stole her PANTIES!! How the hell can you show respect to someone who’s dead when you never showed respect to them when they were alive?” He’d made a big show of threatening Spike, which he just walked away from. He made sure he was alone after that.
He sat down, his side pressed against the tombstone, one arm wrapped around it, and resting his head on the top. He spent a lot of time like this, just… thinking about her. He didn’t bother trying to talk to her, even when she was alive she didn’t want to hear what he had to say, and he didn’t see a point in torturing her now that she was gone. The stone felt cool against his cheek before his cheek cooled to match it.
He listened to the night sounds, an owl, a few rodents, someone screaming for help somewhere before suddenly falling silent. Graveyards were really no place for humans to wander about in at night. He felt numb inside, cold, empty. He pondered lighting a cigarette, inhaling the heated smoke and feeling it curl down his throat and in his lungs, heating him briefly before he exhaled… then he realized that meant he’d have to let go of the tombstone, and decided against it. He was as comfortable as he’d ever been.
When the next step to his nightly visitation happened he just shuddered. The tears were nothing new to him, he’d cried every single night since she died. Sometimes it was just silent tears, sometimes it was great soul wracking sobs, sometimes something in between, but he always cried. Her tombstone was damp with his tears, he absentmindedly rubbed his cheek against the damp patch, feeling the stone rub against his skin.
He lifted his head, and looked up at the sky. He could see the diamonds glinting on the black velvet, and let out a sob before controlling himself again. For once, he broke the self imposed silence.
“I… I’ve been looking after Dawn, like you said. The rest of the Scoobies could rot in hell for all I cared, but I know you care, so I help them when they ask.” He smiled to himself slightly; it looked alien on his face, and felt wrong. He hadn’t laughed or smiled in so long he wasn’t sure he was doing it right. “I know you didn’t love me, I know I had to earn that kind of trust and openness from you. I wish I’d been given the chance. I’d a done anything for you, and you know it… knew it, whatever. I just… I wish… I wish I’d been better. I wish I’d been faster, smarter, something, anything. You shouldn’t have… you shouldn’t have died. I know it’s my fault you are where you are, and I am so sorry. I am so bloody sorry I let you down.” He felt tears cutting new tracks down his cheeks. The stars stared down with cold indifference, giving neither comfort nor succor from his plight. “If Dawn wasn’t here, I’d have joined you, you know. This world isn’t worth living in without you.”
He gathered himself up, and walked away, towards his crypt. He was blinded by tears, and he stumbled over tree roots and uneven graves, but he didn’t care. He just wished… he just wished he’d been stronger, faster, smarter… there really was nothing to live for anymore, other than Dawn. He’d stick around for her, and if she asked, he’d stick around for her sprogs when she had them, but he hoped she wouldn’t ask.
As cold and empty as that graveyard felt, it was still better than what he felt when he left it.