Headful of Ghosts, pt 14
Sep. 1st, 2005 10:29 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wesleysgirl"No arguments there," Spike says. "So's Angel." They drink some more, then he says, "Sorry about Red."
Xander nods, looking at the floor. He doesn't say anything for a long time. "Me, too," he says.
Spike waits for him to say something else; to explain what happened, to cry. But none of those things happen, and eventually, Xander holds out his hand for the bottle, and Spike gives it to him. Xander takes a swallow and passes the bottle back.
"That's it for me," Xander says ruefully, touching his head. "God, I have such a headache. I think I must have hit my head, before."
"Here, let me take a look." Spike shifts and sits down, setting the whiskey bottle beside his thigh and pushing Xander's hand out of the way so he can slide his fingers through the thick hair. "Not much of a bump," he says softly, concentrating on the feel of the skin under his fingertips. "No blood. Think you're all right. Cool it with the whiskey and painkillers and you'll probably be all right."
Xander turns his head and looks at Spike, who hasn't noticed until just then how close they're sitting. "Thanks."
Spike nods and moves away. He doesn't want to think about anything right now. "You should go," he says. "Wait until morning, when the sun comes up again, and -- "
There's a crash and a shout from Angel's room down the hallway, and Spike's on his feet and running before he even realizes it.
Angel's on the floor, jerking like he's having some kind of fit and wailing, hands clawing at his face to the point where he's drawn blood. Spike flings himself down and grabs onto Angel's hands, trying to restrain him, and Angel struggles and gasps.
"They're dead!" Angel's body arches so strongly that it lifts Spike half off the floor. Angel wails again, his scream loud enough that it must hurt his throat as much as it hurts Spike's ears, and drags both of them over toward the bed, where Angel proceeds to smash his head against the frame with enough force that it splinters.
"Fuck." Spike pulls Angel into his lap and holds on.
"What the hell is wrong with him?" Xander asks from the doorway.
"Get the fuck out of here," Spike hisses.
"I can... feel them," Angel says brokenly, turning and pressing his face against Spike's stomach, clutching at him. "Every time they die, and it won't... it won't stop."
Spike strokes Angel's hair with more sympathy than he feels. "I know. It's all right."
Angel stills. Draws a shaky breath, then pushes himself upright and rubs a hand over his eyes. "I can smell them," he says.
"Who? The dead ones?" Spike asks.
"No," Angel says. His voice is cold and hard, expressionless, his face stained with blood as he turns it to look at the doorway, where stupid fucking Harris is still standing. "Him." He stands up, seemingly unaware of Spike hanging off of him, trying to slow him down. "I can smell him."
Xander nods, looking at the floor. He doesn't say anything for a long time. "Me, too," he says.
Spike waits for him to say something else; to explain what happened, to cry. But none of those things happen, and eventually, Xander holds out his hand for the bottle, and Spike gives it to him. Xander takes a swallow and passes the bottle back.
"That's it for me," Xander says ruefully, touching his head. "God, I have such a headache. I think I must have hit my head, before."
"Here, let me take a look." Spike shifts and sits down, setting the whiskey bottle beside his thigh and pushing Xander's hand out of the way so he can slide his fingers through the thick hair. "Not much of a bump," he says softly, concentrating on the feel of the skin under his fingertips. "No blood. Think you're all right. Cool it with the whiskey and painkillers and you'll probably be all right."
Xander turns his head and looks at Spike, who hasn't noticed until just then how close they're sitting. "Thanks."
Spike nods and moves away. He doesn't want to think about anything right now. "You should go," he says. "Wait until morning, when the sun comes up again, and -- "
There's a crash and a shout from Angel's room down the hallway, and Spike's on his feet and running before he even realizes it.
Angel's on the floor, jerking like he's having some kind of fit and wailing, hands clawing at his face to the point where he's drawn blood. Spike flings himself down and grabs onto Angel's hands, trying to restrain him, and Angel struggles and gasps.
"They're dead!" Angel's body arches so strongly that it lifts Spike half off the floor. Angel wails again, his scream loud enough that it must hurt his throat as much as it hurts Spike's ears, and drags both of them over toward the bed, where Angel proceeds to smash his head against the frame with enough force that it splinters.
"Fuck." Spike pulls Angel into his lap and holds on.
"What the hell is wrong with him?" Xander asks from the doorway.
"Get the fuck out of here," Spike hisses.
"I can... feel them," Angel says brokenly, turning and pressing his face against Spike's stomach, clutching at him. "Every time they die, and it won't... it won't stop."
Spike strokes Angel's hair with more sympathy than he feels. "I know. It's all right."
Angel stills. Draws a shaky breath, then pushes himself upright and rubs a hand over his eyes. "I can smell them," he says.
"Who? The dead ones?" Spike asks.
"No," Angel says. His voice is cold and hard, expressionless, his face stained with blood as he turns it to look at the doorway, where stupid fucking Harris is still standing. "Him." He stands up, seemingly unaware of Spike hanging off of him, trying to slow him down. "I can smell him."
