Beta: theladymerlin and proofread by hulettwyo
Status: Complete - 5 very small parts - a total of 6,500 words all in all.
Disclaimer: The characters belong solely to Joss Whedon et co. This is purely written for fun.
NB This is my attempt at a slightly fluffy/silly story with nearly no angst and without M/M. Expect het CANON!Spike.
Begins after 'Never Fade Away.' Angel season 5.
Usually when Spike passed away, he came to again feeling intense pain or hunger and terror. Always terror.
But this time it was different.
First off, he was feeling comfortable.
He was lying on his side, curled up on a smooth, soft-feeling surface. The air around him felt warm and smelled fresh and almost sweet. He was not confined in a tight box. He wasn’t burning. All in all, it was a very different and pleasant awakening.
He blinked a couple of times.
Perhaps he hadn’t died at all. Maybe he’d simply passed out?
That idea went well with the fact that he didn’t seem to be able to focus his eyes quite right. He couldn’t see anything but brightness.
He frowned and slowly unfolded as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Chewing his lip he turned his head right and then left, blinking his eyes. All he could see around him was white.
No way to tell where anything began or where it ended.
The floor he was sitting on felt horizontal and solid, but he couldn’t see any ceiling or walls. Everything was just… white.
He held up his hands, suddenly fearing he’d gone blind.
No, his hands were there, five fingers moving and bending, and both hands neatly attached to his arms. Thank god for that.
He pushed himself off of the ground and stood swaying for a bit. It was difficult staying vertical without any points of reference to gauge a position from.
After turning full circle, he found he was none the wiser except that he was all alone in a seemingly endless space of white.
It made him feel uncomfortably exposed. Like standing in one of those identification rooms with mirrors where people could look in from the other side and you could only see, in his case, nothing. Not that he’d ever been in one. He’d have eaten the coppers long before that would ever have been a possibility. But he’d seen movies. Felt just like one of those rooms.
He looked down, all of a sudden feeling very self-conscious. He was stark naked. No wonder.
But as he gazed down his bare body, he noticed that it looked unexpectedly whole and unblemished. There were no signs of the deep gashes and wounds which had been rather thoroughly dealt to him by the demons before one had gotten lucky and ended the game once and for all.
He’d probably been decapitated, but who could tell? He’d been far too busy killing the pillocks, and in too much pain, to be able to distinguish new hurts from old ones. He shuddered and hurriedly closed the door of mental trauma and took another good look at his body. He liked his body, always had, and he was glad to see it back in one piece again.
He shrieked and spun around none too gracefully. “Who…Wes? Is that you?”
“Yes… Although technically I suppose I’m not truly me. I’m dead you know.”
“Yeah, I know. M’sorry about that, Wes. Makes two of us, I think.”
“Quite. And this time, for good, right?”
“Yeah, I expect so. Though it’s sort of hard for me to tell the difference.”
Wes looked compassionate and sort of all knowing. He was wearing beige khakis and a knitted, white sweater. His serene expression made Spike feel nervous and on guard. And why didn’t he have any clothes when Wes did?
“So you know what we’re doing here, then?”
“I know why I am here, yes. I’ve been here for a long time already. I'm aware of the fact that it’s only been a few hours for you since we lost the battle, but for me it’s been much longer.”
“So why are you here then? Paying your respects before I get send off to Hell?”
He didn’t mean for his voice to sound bitter or for it to quiver a bit in the end, but there it was: Hell scared him no matter how much he deserved it.
Wes shook his head.
“No, that’s not my responsibility. I’m here to tell you that the Powers that Be…”
“No! Not the bloody PTBs again! Those wankers killed Angel right in front of me! He was a bloody Champion an’ he didn’t even get to slay his bloody dragon!” Wes looked like he was going to object, and Spike just couldn’t allow that right now, so he continued,
An’ there we were all set up to go against the bleeding corrupt Circle of bloody Thorns, who clearly weren’t the good guys! And we offed them an’ what did we get as a thank you? We got obliterated, is what we got!”
Wes moved closer. Or at least, he suddenly seemed to be a lot closer without having actually moved his legs. It was creepily odd and very unnatural. Gave Spike a sense of magic, and he’d never liked that. He hugged himself protectively.
“I’m here on behalf of the Powers that Be. They realize that you may have your reasons for not fully appreciating them, but nevertheless they are willing to...”
“They are willing to forgive me for thinking they are wankers? Well, ta very much! I don’t need their sodding forgiveness for hating them because frankly, I don’t give a fuck. In fact, you can go tell them that. I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck!”
“Spike, hush! Listen to me. As I said, they understand that you don’t think too highly of them, but they do recognize that you are a Champion and they feel that you should have a shot at obtaining Heaven just like any other Champion.”
“Do they now? Well, that’s just real nice of them, innit! That’s just… They do?” He suddenly felt at a loss for words.
Sure, once he’d gotten his soul, he’d reckoned that he was not exactly your ordinary vamp, but it was a huge step to go from being extraordinary to being forgiven.
He’d always teased Angel about his foolish quest for redemption. Lost cause an’ all. It wasn’t that he didn’t hope for the best for the poof. Honestly, he couldn’t quite bear the thought of Angel fighting and hoping and fighting some more and then not get his long yearned for pressie. Not that Spike didn’t want the same pressie, because he did. Of course he did. He’d just never given Heaven any serious thought because it wasn’t meant for the likes of him. Or for the poof. It was… a bloody miracle if it did. But miracles didn’t happen to Spike. But maybe...
“Did he make it? Did he get to go to Heaven?”
“We all hope that you can come join us too.”
“The ponce can’t rightly feel so yet, can he? M’sure he enjoys the peace and quiet.”
“Angel’s been gone for a lot longer than you think, Spike. Time moves…”
“Differently in other dimensions, yeah… I know. Well, tell him… Tell him I said ‘Good on you mate! Think you deserved it.” He licked his lips and looked down at his feet. “I really do, you know.”
“I know, Spike.”
Wes looked at him, smiling a little. “I’ll make sure to tell him. And as I said, the thing is the Powers that Be think you deserve it too. But first, they have an assignment for you. And they have put me in charge of it.”
At this Wes looked as smug and proud as a little school boy getting his first A, and Spike furrowed his brow in slight apprehension.
Next part can be found here