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Hullo! Two updates in two days! That's not like me. :)
However...i wanted to inject a teeny rant here first. Nothing too vitriolic, just... I've been seeing around my....i dunno, reading list? or whatever...not necessarily my flist, 'cause i follow a lot of links and such... Basically, the sentiment i keep seing is 'Well, *this show* is kinda cool but it's not Buffy...
And man, that makes me kind of...annoyed. And disappointed, 'cause - *of course* it's not Buffy! And if every new show has to *be* Buffy than guys - you're gonna be stuck watching your DVDs for the rest of your life. No, these show's *aren't* Buffy or Angel, but - they're *good*, some of them. So take off the Buffy glasses and give 'em a chance!!
That is all.
/rant
Now that i've vented my spleen, as it were...onto the fic!
Previous parts here.
Spike lay still, listening. He could hear what sounded like leaves, or maybe waves - a constant susurrus all around him. He seemed to be lying on something - something that swayed and swung, like a hammock. The smell of the sea and of green leaves and damp earth was very strong. *Am I on a ship? Feels like I'm flying - floating...* Spike opened his eyes.
Tree-tops were rushing past about a foot from his nose. Very tall tree tops, with the ground flickering past between the limbs and leaves. Ground that was far too far away for comfort.
"Jesus Christ -" Spike instinctively tried to stop himself - tried to grab something and that was when he realized his hands were tied and he was being towed along like some sort of wheeled toy. Except in the air. Spike thrashed on the end of the rope, grateful at least that the sky he saw as he rotated was heavy and dull as lead. Low, thick clouds that seemed close enough to touch, although Spike had no desire to do so. He finally steadied himself so that he was skimming along more-or-less on his belly, only a little more upright. At the other end of the rope he could see Peter.
"Peter! You little bastard! Let me go!" Peter turned in mid-air, grinning wickedly. *Oh, buggering hell. Wrong, wrong thing to say -* Peter let go of the rope.
Spike sank, toes and coat-edges brushing the trees and then hitting solidly and then - he rolled himself into a ball and braced for impact as something like a stick-and-leaf wall rose up in front of him. He hit - not too bad. Landed and rolled and smacked solidly into something much harder, making his head ring and a breath he didn't remember taking oomph out of his lungs. *Fucking hell -* Spike sat up slowly - wincing as he pushed with his hands.
"Wow, that looked really - painful. Are you okay?"
"Oh, I'm fucking fine - just kidnapped and tied up and dropped on a bloody tree house." Spike scanned the green-grey murk and finally spotted the person speaking. Another boy. "Who the hell are you?"
"Pan calls me Slightly. He says there always has to be a Slightly." The boy stirred - climbed down from his crude hammock and padded barefoot over to Spike. Tall, gangly, longish hair tangled and stuck full of leaves. Lean face and wide, dark eyes and -
*He's no boy. Fuck - what is this?* "Aren't you a little old to be in Neverland?" Spike asked, and waited for the slow dissolve to… To what? To the Watcher's sodding bathroom, or worse - an Initiative cell. The boy crouched in front of Spike and Spike caught that scent again. Blood and cake. But also a subtle, spicy musk: sweat and dirt and green, salt and woodsmoke. Nothing like the Watcher's fusty smells of dust and must and paper and tea, or the sharp stinks of disinfectants and drugs down in the cells. *Not a dream, then. Or a hallucination.*
"Your wrists are bleeding," the boy said. He was wearing what looked like hand-made trousers, clumsily stitched and cinched in tight at the waist with a leather belt. On top was the ragged remains of an undershirt, smudged and stained and held together by uneven stitches and worn patches of some other material. He pulled a knife out of the belt and carefully sawed through the rope around Spike's wrists, gingerly unwinding it. "He doesn't usually do it this tight - guess you pissed him off."
"Sod him." Spike examined his wrists, scowling, then he pushed himself to his feet. He'd crashed through a wall and hit the main trunk of the tree the strange little house was built in. The floor was branches lashed together, the walls more of the same tied to the denuded limbs. Broad, flat leaves from some other kind of tree had been fashioned into a sort of thatch. All of it swayed and creaked in the breeze and Spike thought with a shudder about the many possibilities of falling and impaling himself on a damn limb.
"So - um - you're pretty old to be in Neverland, actually. Why'd Peter bring you here?" The boy - Spike couldn't bring himself to call this too-thin, doe eyed person a man - stood easily, slotting the knife back into its worn spot on his belt. He had scratches on his arms and the fading remains of bruises on his cheek and shoulder.
"He said some nonsense about the pirates always winning. Then he snuck up on me with that bloody fairy dust and knocked me unconscious. How do I get the hell out?"
"Of here? There's a ladder. You don't get out of Neverland. At least...nobody has since I've been here."
Spike glared at the boy, feeling for his smokes. He lit up and the boy - Slightly - took a step forward, his eyes gone wide.
"You probably shouldn't smoke in here. Tootles won't like it."
"Sod 'Tootles'. What do you mean, nobody gets out? Pan acted like he had to shanghai people here all the time."
"Well, yeah. He does." The boy licked his lips and took another step forward, gaze darting all around. "He does, but," his voice fell to a whisper, "but they don't exactly...go home -"
"Slightly? That you?" a voice shrilled, and the boy blanched and jerked back - bit his lip and leaned in again, closer this time.
"My name's really Xander. I'm Xander," he husked, and then he backed off across the room and another boy came in.
"Peter says you're William the Bloody."
"I'm Spike. And you're Tootles, eh?"
The slight, be-spectacled boy nodded once, pushing his glasses up and then wiping a hand down his ragged shirt front, as if to straighten a tie he no longer wore. He was younger than Xander by at least five years – maybe more. "He said you're William the Bloody and he said you're to help us with the pirates. Hook is up to something bad."
"I don't give a fuck about Hook, little munchy, or about Pan -"
"It's in the book," Tootles hissed, his eyes narrowing behind his smudged glasses and Spike growled, willing his face to stay human for the moment. "We beat Hook! We beat all of them! It's how it is!" Tootles darted to a roughly-made chest and fumbled a key from his pocket - opened the chest and drew out a cloth wrapped object. He held it reverently, stroking the worn fabric. "It's all here -"
"It's a bad bloody play by a queer little man who's been dead for sixty years or more. It's shite and I'm not fighting anybody for you or Pan."
Tootles looked up, blinking, and his face took on a hard look, eyes narrowing and his mouth pursing tight. "We'll see what Peter has to say."
"Bloody bully for you," Spike snapped. He took a hard breath, sucking in smoke and blowing it out at Tootles, who glared harder. *Need to get the fuck out of here. Starting to lose it.* "Here, you!" Spike ducked around Tootles and hauled Slightly - no, Xander - out of his corner, wringing a startled gasp from him. "Show me how to get the hell down from here."
"Uh, I -" Xander pushed at the hand Spike had twisted into the rotting material of his shirt, darting glances at Tootles. "I don't -"
"Do as you're fucking told or I'll wind your guts out on a stick," Spike hissed, letting the human mask go at last and Xander went white.
"Oh God, you're - you're a v-v-"
"Vampire. Got it in one." Spike finished his cigarette - crushed out the cherry against a bit of handy trunk and flicked the butt away into the darkness under Xander's hammock. "You know vamps?"
Xander gulped, both hands clawing at Spike's now, and Spike shook him a little. "Stop! I - know vamps, I know – S-Sunnydale...there was - a girl -"
*Fuck. Makes sense, though. Fucking Hellmouth...* "A girl, eh? I have girls for afters. Sweet little blondes and redheads when I'm all through with my tea."
Xander's pallor took on a greenish cast and he started to struggle in earnest, scent of fear and despair coming off him in waves. "No! No, they – they're not -"
"Just a dream you had once, Slightly. Isn't that right?" Peter there, quite suddenly. Coming up through a hole in the floor, his eyes glimmering in the dimness. Touching down lightly beside Spike and Xander, his mouth set in a hard little smile. "You told me all about your dreams when you first arrived here - we played Slayer and Vampire, remember?" Xander nodded spastically, his struggles dying now as he looked between Peter and Spike. His hands were cold and sweat-damp on Spike's. "But it's just a dream."
"But - but - he's a - he's one!"
"Oh, I know. But you never fought vampires, Slightly! You never knew a chosen girl or a witch. That's foolish. You were just a plain boy – nothing special. But now that you're here –" Peter smiled, his hand going out to touch Xander's side. "Now you fight pirates and redskins, and you killed a bear!" Xander flinched. His shirt was torn and Spike could see the end of a still-livid scar on Xander's thin ribs. "You ran away when you were small and the fairies brought you here and all the rest are just dreams! You've always been here, Slightly," Peter said, and his voice dropped. Softly now, he took a step closer to Xander and looked up at him, smile gone and his eyes holding a look of implacability.
"You'll always be here." Peter reached up and put his hand on the back of Xander's neck, stroking through the thick, dark hair. Spike felt the shiver go all through Xander – felt the aura of menace that was like a knife pressed to the throat. "No one leaves Neverland."
Xander stared at Peter - glanced once at Spike, his eyes dilated and wide with panic. Then he wrenched away hard enough to tear his shirt, stepping back from the both of them and plucking at the tatters that now hung from his shoulders, trying to draw them together. "I'm - I don't want to - leave. I'm going to - going -"
"Going nowhere. We're having a feast!" Peter kicked into the air, smiling again - grinning. "Tootles! Light the lamps and call the lost boys! We're feasting in honor of William the Bloody, pirate-killer and redskin hunter! Our newest lost boy!" Peter crowed, head back and throat extended and Spike resisted the urge to lunge for it and tear that column of golden-white out with his fangs.
But he hesitated, because... It fucking hurt and he didn't want to fail - be brought to his knees - in front of these fucking children. He needed to test the chip when no one would notice. *Fucking Neverland…maybe they don't count? What'd he say – the magic there won't work here… Maybe…* Spike snarled to himself. *Bloody soldiers...gut them all...*
Tootles was jumping up and down, crowing right back and Xander slipped away into the far side of the house, moving among slap-dash chairs and a rickety table. Setting places with leaves and carved platters and Spike snorted in exasperation and fumbled for another cigarette. At least he wasn't in a fucking bathtub anymore. Or having his bloody soul crammed down his throat. Go along with it, for now. Make his move when he knew more - had the lay of the land.
A little swarm of lights - three mauve, two blue and one white - fluttered in through a skylight of sorts and buzzed around Spike, darting in for touches. The blue ones were smooth and sexless and more daring than the lone female, and one mauve one - Tink, Spike presumed - settled for a moment on his shoulder, little mouth and fingers nipping at Spike's ear. Then they were gone. Spike sighed. Neverland was going to be a fucking pain in his arse.
However...i wanted to inject a teeny rant here first. Nothing too vitriolic, just... I've been seeing around my....i dunno, reading list? or whatever...not necessarily my flist, 'cause i follow a lot of links and such... Basically, the sentiment i keep seing is 'Well, *this show* is kinda cool but it's not Buffy...
And man, that makes me kind of...annoyed. And disappointed, 'cause - *of course* it's not Buffy! And if every new show has to *be* Buffy than guys - you're gonna be stuck watching your DVDs for the rest of your life. No, these show's *aren't* Buffy or Angel, but - they're *good*, some of them. So take off the Buffy glasses and give 'em a chance!!
That is all.
/rant
Now that i've vented my spleen, as it were...onto the fic!
Previous parts here.
Spike lay still, listening. He could hear what sounded like leaves, or maybe waves - a constant susurrus all around him. He seemed to be lying on something - something that swayed and swung, like a hammock. The smell of the sea and of green leaves and damp earth was very strong. *Am I on a ship? Feels like I'm flying - floating...* Spike opened his eyes.
Tree-tops were rushing past about a foot from his nose. Very tall tree tops, with the ground flickering past between the limbs and leaves. Ground that was far too far away for comfort.
"Jesus Christ -" Spike instinctively tried to stop himself - tried to grab something and that was when he realized his hands were tied and he was being towed along like some sort of wheeled toy. Except in the air. Spike thrashed on the end of the rope, grateful at least that the sky he saw as he rotated was heavy and dull as lead. Low, thick clouds that seemed close enough to touch, although Spike had no desire to do so. He finally steadied himself so that he was skimming along more-or-less on his belly, only a little more upright. At the other end of the rope he could see Peter.
"Peter! You little bastard! Let me go!" Peter turned in mid-air, grinning wickedly. *Oh, buggering hell. Wrong, wrong thing to say -* Peter let go of the rope.
Spike sank, toes and coat-edges brushing the trees and then hitting solidly and then - he rolled himself into a ball and braced for impact as something like a stick-and-leaf wall rose up in front of him. He hit - not too bad. Landed and rolled and smacked solidly into something much harder, making his head ring and a breath he didn't remember taking oomph out of his lungs. *Fucking hell -* Spike sat up slowly - wincing as he pushed with his hands.
"Wow, that looked really - painful. Are you okay?"
"Oh, I'm fucking fine - just kidnapped and tied up and dropped on a bloody tree house." Spike scanned the green-grey murk and finally spotted the person speaking. Another boy. "Who the hell are you?"
"Pan calls me Slightly. He says there always has to be a Slightly." The boy stirred - climbed down from his crude hammock and padded barefoot over to Spike. Tall, gangly, longish hair tangled and stuck full of leaves. Lean face and wide, dark eyes and -
*He's no boy. Fuck - what is this?* "Aren't you a little old to be in Neverland?" Spike asked, and waited for the slow dissolve to… To what? To the Watcher's sodding bathroom, or worse - an Initiative cell. The boy crouched in front of Spike and Spike caught that scent again. Blood and cake. But also a subtle, spicy musk: sweat and dirt and green, salt and woodsmoke. Nothing like the Watcher's fusty smells of dust and must and paper and tea, or the sharp stinks of disinfectants and drugs down in the cells. *Not a dream, then. Or a hallucination.*
"Your wrists are bleeding," the boy said. He was wearing what looked like hand-made trousers, clumsily stitched and cinched in tight at the waist with a leather belt. On top was the ragged remains of an undershirt, smudged and stained and held together by uneven stitches and worn patches of some other material. He pulled a knife out of the belt and carefully sawed through the rope around Spike's wrists, gingerly unwinding it. "He doesn't usually do it this tight - guess you pissed him off."
"Sod him." Spike examined his wrists, scowling, then he pushed himself to his feet. He'd crashed through a wall and hit the main trunk of the tree the strange little house was built in. The floor was branches lashed together, the walls more of the same tied to the denuded limbs. Broad, flat leaves from some other kind of tree had been fashioned into a sort of thatch. All of it swayed and creaked in the breeze and Spike thought with a shudder about the many possibilities of falling and impaling himself on a damn limb.
"So - um - you're pretty old to be in Neverland, actually. Why'd Peter bring you here?" The boy - Spike couldn't bring himself to call this too-thin, doe eyed person a man - stood easily, slotting the knife back into its worn spot on his belt. He had scratches on his arms and the fading remains of bruises on his cheek and shoulder.
"He said some nonsense about the pirates always winning. Then he snuck up on me with that bloody fairy dust and knocked me unconscious. How do I get the hell out?"
"Of here? There's a ladder. You don't get out of Neverland. At least...nobody has since I've been here."
Spike glared at the boy, feeling for his smokes. He lit up and the boy - Slightly - took a step forward, his eyes gone wide.
"You probably shouldn't smoke in here. Tootles won't like it."
"Sod 'Tootles'. What do you mean, nobody gets out? Pan acted like he had to shanghai people here all the time."
"Well, yeah. He does." The boy licked his lips and took another step forward, gaze darting all around. "He does, but," his voice fell to a whisper, "but they don't exactly...go home -"
"Slightly? That you?" a voice shrilled, and the boy blanched and jerked back - bit his lip and leaned in again, closer this time.
"My name's really Xander. I'm Xander," he husked, and then he backed off across the room and another boy came in.
"Peter says you're William the Bloody."
"I'm Spike. And you're Tootles, eh?"
The slight, be-spectacled boy nodded once, pushing his glasses up and then wiping a hand down his ragged shirt front, as if to straighten a tie he no longer wore. He was younger than Xander by at least five years – maybe more. "He said you're William the Bloody and he said you're to help us with the pirates. Hook is up to something bad."
"I don't give a fuck about Hook, little munchy, or about Pan -"
"It's in the book," Tootles hissed, his eyes narrowing behind his smudged glasses and Spike growled, willing his face to stay human for the moment. "We beat Hook! We beat all of them! It's how it is!" Tootles darted to a roughly-made chest and fumbled a key from his pocket - opened the chest and drew out a cloth wrapped object. He held it reverently, stroking the worn fabric. "It's all here -"
"It's a bad bloody play by a queer little man who's been dead for sixty years or more. It's shite and I'm not fighting anybody for you or Pan."
Tootles looked up, blinking, and his face took on a hard look, eyes narrowing and his mouth pursing tight. "We'll see what Peter has to say."
"Bloody bully for you," Spike snapped. He took a hard breath, sucking in smoke and blowing it out at Tootles, who glared harder. *Need to get the fuck out of here. Starting to lose it.* "Here, you!" Spike ducked around Tootles and hauled Slightly - no, Xander - out of his corner, wringing a startled gasp from him. "Show me how to get the hell down from here."
"Uh, I -" Xander pushed at the hand Spike had twisted into the rotting material of his shirt, darting glances at Tootles. "I don't -"
"Do as you're fucking told or I'll wind your guts out on a stick," Spike hissed, letting the human mask go at last and Xander went white.
"Oh God, you're - you're a v-v-"
"Vampire. Got it in one." Spike finished his cigarette - crushed out the cherry against a bit of handy trunk and flicked the butt away into the darkness under Xander's hammock. "You know vamps?"
Xander gulped, both hands clawing at Spike's now, and Spike shook him a little. "Stop! I - know vamps, I know – S-Sunnydale...there was - a girl -"
*Fuck. Makes sense, though. Fucking Hellmouth...* "A girl, eh? I have girls for afters. Sweet little blondes and redheads when I'm all through with my tea."
Xander's pallor took on a greenish cast and he started to struggle in earnest, scent of fear and despair coming off him in waves. "No! No, they – they're not -"
"Just a dream you had once, Slightly. Isn't that right?" Peter there, quite suddenly. Coming up through a hole in the floor, his eyes glimmering in the dimness. Touching down lightly beside Spike and Xander, his mouth set in a hard little smile. "You told me all about your dreams when you first arrived here - we played Slayer and Vampire, remember?" Xander nodded spastically, his struggles dying now as he looked between Peter and Spike. His hands were cold and sweat-damp on Spike's. "But it's just a dream."
"But - but - he's a - he's one!"
"Oh, I know. But you never fought vampires, Slightly! You never knew a chosen girl or a witch. That's foolish. You were just a plain boy – nothing special. But now that you're here –" Peter smiled, his hand going out to touch Xander's side. "Now you fight pirates and redskins, and you killed a bear!" Xander flinched. His shirt was torn and Spike could see the end of a still-livid scar on Xander's thin ribs. "You ran away when you were small and the fairies brought you here and all the rest are just dreams! You've always been here, Slightly," Peter said, and his voice dropped. Softly now, he took a step closer to Xander and looked up at him, smile gone and his eyes holding a look of implacability.
"You'll always be here." Peter reached up and put his hand on the back of Xander's neck, stroking through the thick, dark hair. Spike felt the shiver go all through Xander – felt the aura of menace that was like a knife pressed to the throat. "No one leaves Neverland."
Xander stared at Peter - glanced once at Spike, his eyes dilated and wide with panic. Then he wrenched away hard enough to tear his shirt, stepping back from the both of them and plucking at the tatters that now hung from his shoulders, trying to draw them together. "I'm - I don't want to - leave. I'm going to - going -"
"Going nowhere. We're having a feast!" Peter kicked into the air, smiling again - grinning. "Tootles! Light the lamps and call the lost boys! We're feasting in honor of William the Bloody, pirate-killer and redskin hunter! Our newest lost boy!" Peter crowed, head back and throat extended and Spike resisted the urge to lunge for it and tear that column of golden-white out with his fangs.
But he hesitated, because... It fucking hurt and he didn't want to fail - be brought to his knees - in front of these fucking children. He needed to test the chip when no one would notice. *Fucking Neverland…maybe they don't count? What'd he say – the magic there won't work here… Maybe…* Spike snarled to himself. *Bloody soldiers...gut them all...*
Tootles was jumping up and down, crowing right back and Xander slipped away into the far side of the house, moving among slap-dash chairs and a rickety table. Setting places with leaves and carved platters and Spike snorted in exasperation and fumbled for another cigarette. At least he wasn't in a fucking bathtub anymore. Or having his bloody soul crammed down his throat. Go along with it, for now. Make his move when he knew more - had the lay of the land.
A little swarm of lights - three mauve, two blue and one white - fluttered in through a skylight of sorts and buzzed around Spike, darting in for touches. The blue ones were smooth and sexless and more daring than the lone female, and one mauve one - Tink, Spike presumed - settled for a moment on his shoulder, little mouth and fingers nipping at Spike's ear. Then they were gone. Spike sighed. Neverland was going to be a fucking pain in his arse.
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Sami
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Thank you!