tabaqui | New Fic! Wheeeee!! 'Neverland'...part one *s/x*

New Fic! Wheeeee!! 'Neverland'...part one s/x

Monday, August 7th, 2006 06:46 pm

Hallo, flist! I've felt so odd, not having fic to post. Sort of flaily! Heh. But summer always makes me feel so...weird. At loose ends and lazy 'cause i hate the heat so much.

Anyway - this is going to be a bit of an odd thing. It's a little AU, as you'll see... I certainly hope you enjoy it. I'm annoyed i couldn't come up with a better title.
Many thanks, of course, to the usual suspects - you know who you are! :)

*Cabal of witches,* Spike thought, shuddering. He lay as still as a dead thing in the Watcher's tub, listening. The red-head, the blonde and the brunette from school. Conspiring. About him. About...

"I'm not sh-sure about this. I mean, didn't Angel say it hurt? When the gypsies - I mean, wu-when your people cursed him?"

"Isn't that kind of the point, though? It's a curse - it's supposed to hurt."

*Bitch. Red-headed bitch. Should have shoved that bottle right through your brain, should have -*

"It was originally written so that he'd feel the pain and guilt of every evil deed he'd done for the rest of eternity." Firm voice, sure and steady. The teacher - Jenny. "The Chuvani thought that in time he might feel like he'd - atoned enough, or just - get over it. So the curse kept the pain alive."

"That just s-seems really cruel."

*Maybe I won't kill you. You're a little bit of all right, blondie.*

"Well, but - he's a vampire, Tara! He's killed thousands and thousands of people!"

"They all deserve to suffer. Look - here's the spell for the chip. Once we've put his soul back, we'll deactivate the chip so he can help us."

Spike jerked in the tub - froze as the chains tinked against porcelain. Deactivate? They could do it - *Fucking bitches! I knew you were lying to me!*

"According to Angel there's this law firm called Wolfram and Hart - they're humans but they work for demons. He'll have to be able to defend himself from them. They've come after Angel a couple of times already."

"But - what if he - I mean - what if something - happens? The 'moment of perfect happiness' thing?"

"I took that out." Jenny sounded smug. Spike snarled silently, flashing to the demon's face and back. "There's no loophole with this soul."

Oh god, oh bloody fucking hell. He had to get out of there.

Two nights later, the witches and the Watcher and the Slayer were out dealing with - something. Demon, vampire - end-of-the-bloody-world dance that they did every fortnight, apparently. And Spike was straining against the chains. Trying, for the fifth or six fucking time to break them. His wrists were bleeding, his shoulders ached and the tap lay in the bottom of the tub from where he'd kicked it in sheer frustration.

But nothing was happening. Not a link opening - not even bending. Magiced, those chains, and Spike kicked the end of the tub until it cracked and then he lay there, exhausted. Wishing he could get to his fucking smokes or a bottle or - fuck - anything. This weekend was the weekend. The bloody witches were going to shove a soul down his throat and ship him off to brood in LA with Angel and if it would have made him dust Spike would have gnawed open both wrists and ended it right there. But that would only make a useless mess - pig's blood stank in a mug and trickling down his forearms.

Stank enough to make him sick.

Spike pushed, feet and neck, the curve of the tub pressing hard and cold into his spine - the back of his skull. He felt as panicky as a mouse under the stoop of a hawk. *No escaping, no escaping this thing, have to get out, get out get out!* In the dimness of the bathroom, the blood smeared on the white tub was black and shiny, like ink. Spike blinked at the ceiling - blinked away stray blood-drops. He refused to believe they were tears.

"Why are you crying?"

Spike jerked upright, snarling. A shadow flinched back, hovering in the doorway.

"I'm not...who the hell are you?" A slight figure moved forward, into the anemic glow that filtered in off the street. A boy, dressed in rags and tatters and - leaves? Dark, curled hair that framed a narrow, cat-like face. And eyes... Spike shivered and gritted his teeth.

The boy made an old-fashioned bow. "I'm Peter Pan."

Spike couldn't contain the sharp, disbelieving bark of laughter that coughed out of his chest. "Bloody hell! Peter fucking Pan? I've lost it. Gone well and truly off the rails. Be talking to my mum next."

The boy eased closer - close enough to touch the edge of the tub and Spike could smell leaves and woodsmoke and that salt-sweet scent that was 'boy'. Like cake and blood together. "You have a mother?"

"No, I bloody well do not. Listen, figment, go away. I need to figure out these chains, not sit here nattering on with a hallucination."

The boy leaned a little and his fingertip touched the manacle around Spike's left wrist. "I sent Tink to look for the key. I expect she'll find it soon enough." He turned those eyes on Spike again. Ancient eyes, that promised chaos and tears in equal measure. "You're William the Bloody."

Spike's eyes narrowed and he pushed himself more upright, wincing at the raw rub of iron on his skin. "It's Spike now."

"Spike? I don't like that as much. William the Bloody! It's got a real ring to it. Like - Blackbeard Joe or Red-Handed Jack."

"I'm not a sodding pirate. I'm a vampire and it's Spike."

"Because of the railroad spikes," Peter said. He cocked his head and Spike could hear a faint tinkling like little bells, and then a crash. "Tink's making a mess."

"Serves the bloody Watcher right if she does," Spike muttered. "How do you know who I am? Oh, wait, nevermind. You're just a figment of my imagination, after all, of course you know who I am."

"I'm not a figment!" Peter said hotly. He was scowling, biting his lip, and Spike wanted to laugh. But he couldn't quite make himself. Peter looked back over his shoulder and then a moment later a fluttering mauve light darted into the room. "Hullo, Tink! Did you find it?" The light hovered for a moment, tinkling, and Peter held up his hand. Something smallish and heavy smacked into his palm. "Good job, Tink!"

The light tinkled again, sounding agitated. It was hovering almost motionlessly and Spike could just make out a figure within the light; too-long limbs and dandelion puff of pale hair. Naked - and distinctly male. "That's not a girl," Spike said, feeling stupid the moment the words came out of his mouth and the light swooped at him, flicking over his lips in what might very well have been a kiss. *I am out of my fucking mind.*

"Of course Tinker Bell's a girl! Tink's always a girl; it says so in the book! They wrote a book about me, you know." Peter glared at Spike and Spike wanted to cringe away. He snarled instead, flashing to his other face and Peter suddenly grinned. "Oh! Do that again!"

"Is that the key you've got there?" Spike said, and Peter looked down at his hand.

"It is. But do that with your face again!"

"Not 'til you open these bloody chains." *Might as well give it a try. Hellmouth, after all. Maybe hallucinations can actually - do stuff.*

Peter looked ready to argue but then the light was back, fluttering and tinkling, and the look of anger gradually left Peter's face. "Yes, you're right about that, Tink. Can't very well expect him to fly with those chains. Yes, all right, that makes sense." Peter leaned onto the edge of the tub, gesturing with the key. "Tink says you can't fly to Neverland with those chains on, and she's right."

"Fly to - Neverland. No. Course not."

"But I want a promise first!" Peter held up the key and Spike bit back a growl. "Promise you'll show me that trick with your face when I let you loose."

"Oh, sodding hell. Yeah, I promise!" Spike lifted his hands as high as they would go. "Now get these bloody things off me!"

Peter shook his head but he bent over the locks and laboriously worked the key into them, grimacing a little. "You've got them all clotted up with blood," he muttered.

"Try and bleed less next time, shall I?" Spike snapped. Peter shot him a withering look and then bent over Spike's ankles while Spike carefully peeled the cuffs of his wrists, hissing a little. The skin underneath was raw and torn - grooved from the iron. He inspected them carefully and when the chains finally clinked and slithered into a heap at the bottom of the tub he stood up and climbed out. His ankles were sore, too, but the tough leather of his boots had protected them.

"Now - show me your face!" Peter tossed the key into the bottom of the tub and stood, bouncing slightly in his eagerness. Spike ignored him. He bent over the sink and turned on the water - carefully rinsed his wrists clean and then blotted them on one of the Watcher's towels. They left fuzzy, scarlet stains and Spike threw the towel down on the floor and then stretched, twisting. His back was killing him. Sodding Watcher.

Peter was floating now, six inches off the ground. Scowling at Spike, his hand resting on the hilt of a small dagger that he had shoved through his belt. "You promised you'd show me! You promised! I'll cut you if you don't show me!"

"You're an irritating little git, aren't you?" Spike said. But he sighed and faced Peter squarely, shifting his features without warning.

Peter made a small sound of delight. "Oh! Oh, that's really first rate! You'll terrify the redskins with that face! Tink! Fly closer so I can really see." The fairy obliged and Spike felt his lips lift away from his fangs in a snarl. The fairy smelled of sorrel and earth and the motion of his wings sent a small breeze over Spike.

"That's close enough," Spike muttered, drawing back a little. Peter hovered in front of him, his eyes taking in every detail.

"First rate," he murmured finally, and drifted away, toward the door. "Come on now - we need to fly fast. The pirates were plotting something, I'm sure - we'll come back to find everyone killed if we don't hurry." He didn't sound particularly put out by that.

In fact, Spike thought there was a distinct undertone of gleeful anticipation in the idea of 'everyone' being dead. *Don't remember him being this sodding blood thirsty. Been a long time, though, since I read it...* Spike brushed past Pan and headed up the hall. "Need to get my coat. And the Watcher's good whisky. And that bloody spell."

"What kind of a spell?" Peter dodged ahead, his heels kicking two smudges on the ceiling.

"None of your business," Spike said. His coat was hanging on the tree by the door. A tweedy jacket and a windbreaker that smelled like the Slayer were on top of it and Spike shook them to the floor with a small growl - swung his coat on, settling it with a twist of his shoulders. The familiar, chill weight felt good - made his shoulders go back and his chin come up. The contents of the pockets seemed to be undisturbed and he touched the keys to his DeSoto with a grin. The light - the fairy - flitted around Spike's head as he dug through the Watcher's cabinet and liberated the bottle. The fairy chattered, and Spike swiped at it.

"Tink says spells are no good. Tink says magic is in your bones or not at all. Tink says -"

"You know, I don't really give a buggering fuck about what Tink says."

Peter gaped at him in astonishment. "But fairies know all about magic!"

"It's different here." Spike yanked open a drawer on the Watcher's desk and rifled through it - turned to the bookshelves and then the coffee table that was piled with books and papers. There was a heap of broken pottery by the end-table - one of the jars the Watcher had gotten from a ransacked crypt. Spike hoped the fairy breaking it had released some sort of curse or evil spirit. Tink dodged and darted under his hands, landing little pinches and kicks and he irritably flicked the fairy away several times. He wasn't actually sure what he was looking for. He doubted they'd written 'chip deactivation' across the top. He ended up taking everything that was in the teacher's handwriting, folding it and shoving it into a pocket.

Peter was flying around and around the loft area, doing summersaults over the rail and mock fencing with his shadow, which fought back independently of what Peter was doing. Spike stared for a long moment and then pulled out his cigarettes - lit up and walked for the door.

"Right, that's me off. Ta very much for letting me free, now piss off," Spike said, and slammed the door behind him. The sultry air of a California autumn never smelled so good.

Tags:

neverland,
spander

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