wesleysgirl

(See tags for previous pts.)

Un-beta'd, no guarantees it will ever be finished (although I certainly hope it will be), probably riddled with errors. Read at your own risk!

Spike's fucking head is about to explode, and they're arguing.

"Just give him something for the pain," Angel's saying, familiar hands on Spike. He's keeping close, keeping Simon back. Spike's too busy waiting for his head to explode to wonder why.

"I need to understand why this is happening." Simon's voice is too loud; it sends a bolt of fresh pain through Spike and he writhes, bangs his temple with a closed fist. Doesn't help -- it never does -- but he has to do something. Angel grabs onto his wrist and stops him from doing it a second time, though. "If he's bleeding into his brain, the wrong medication could kill him."

"Won't," Spike manages to get out.

"He's had everything legal and most of the stuff that's not," Angel says. "He doesn't react badly to anything, okay?"

Spike throws his head back, then curls forward again until his forehead's pressed against Angel's solid bulk. His mouth's open, and a strangled sound forces its way out through his throat. He's going to need something to bite down on if this goes on much longer.

His head's going to fucking explode -- Simon's not going to like all the little bit of brain all over his nice clean infirmary, is he -- and that'll be the end of him. Or maybe not; maybe he'll be a new kind of undead altogether, like a zombie, going around with vacant eyes and a desperate need for brains. "Fuck," he grits out, grabbing a fistful of Angel's waistband and tightening his grip until his knuckles ache. It's a relief to feel pain somewhere other than in his head. "Do something. Anything. Knock me out again, I don't care, just don't leave me like this."

Angel's big hand curls around the back of his head. "See?" Angel says.

"Fine," says Simon tightly. There's a pause almost long enough to make Spike open his eyes again, then the press against his upper arm and the blessed cold rush of strong painkiller through him.

Everything goes kind of rounded and fuzzy then. When Spike opens his eyes -- and he has to, because with them closed he can feel himself floating in space, can feel the thrust and shove of the ship's engines, maybe even hear the breathing of everyone on Serenity -- Simon and Angel are both watching him, their heads bobbing on their necks like balloons on strings, and he grins.

"Better?" Simon asks.

Spike's not so far gone he forgets not to nod. "Yeah." He can still feel the pain, but it's distant now like it belongs to someone else. "Thanks."

"Yeah, thanks," Angel says, and hauls Spike to a sitting position. "I'll just get him out of your hair; he can sleep it off back in his quarters."

"Oh, no," Simon tells him, grabbing onto Spike's other arm and pushing in other direction. He's a bloody puppet on a string, he is. "I gave him something for the pain like you asked. Now it's my turn."

"You're not using any of your crazy techno toys on him," Angel growls, and Spike laughs. Puppets, toys. He wants to ask if they'll be playing ball next, but that just makes him giggle more hysterically.

"Simon," River says from the doorway. She looks little but determined; reminds Spike of Dawn when she's like this. "They don't want you to know."

"Know what?" Mal asks, moving her into the infirmary then stepping around her and putting his hands on his hips. Glowers like a pro, he does. No wonder Simon -- "Excuse me if I'm out of line -- oh, wait, no. I can't be out of line, because this is my ship -- but I want some answers and I'm not looking too kindly on being asked to wait. What the hell is going on?"

Kaylee appears. "Hey, Cap'n, there's a -- " She frowns as she sees them all there. "What's going on?"

"That's exactly what I want to know," Mal says.

"It's a secret," River says softly, her eyes wide.

"And we all know how everyone likes secrets," Spike says. Bloody tongue's too big for his mouth. "Only not, unless they're the ones spillin' em."

"You shut up." Angel's hand tightens on Spike's arm. "Will had an accident a couple of years back. He hasn't been the same since. He gets these headaches. But Simon gave him something, and now he's feeling better, so I'm just going to take him back to his bunk so he can sleep it off. That's all there is to tell."

Spike goggles at him. "All there is to tell?" He realizes his arm hurts and looks at it to see why. Oh, right, Angel's hand. Trying to pry it off one finger at a time takes all his concentration. "Would you -- let go -- "

"Fine," Angel says wearily, releasing him. Spike tilts alarmingly in the other direction, but Simon's still got hold of his other arm and steadies him. When Spike raises his face, River's come two steps closer.

"You want to tell." Her voice is still low.

He blinks and tries to sort out what the hell she's talking about. Wants to tell what?

"You know you shouldn't, the same way you shouldn't trust us. But you do." River's looking right at him -- it's like there's no one else in the room. "You can't help it."

Spike clears his throat and swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. "Can see it, can't you." Right inside him, like his skin's gone invisible.

"I can see everything," River confides, and if she's the one telling the secrets, well then it's not Spike's fault, is it.

"Can't say it's reassuring to find someone crazy enough to converse with your sister," Mal says to Simon, who straightens, pushing Spike upright and trusting him to sit on his own.

"She's not crazy," Simon spits out, the words sharp enough that Spike can feel them in his head despite the pain meds.

"It's all right," River says to the room. "I won't tell." And she slips away, out the door. Makes Spike feel dizzy, watching her go; he turns his face toward Simon, and Simon reaches toward him like it's second nature.

"Get out." Simon's voice is tight and he gestures at the door. "All of you."

Spike leans against him, pressing his face against Simon's shirt. Smells funny, like detergent, maybe. "Don't want to," he mumbles into the fabric.

"Not you. Everyone else." Simon's warm hand settles at the back of Spike's neck. "Go on. I won't say it again."

There's a pause, awkward and quiet. Spike wonders what Mal's face looks like -- he doesn't need to wonder about Angel's, he can guess at that well enough -- but doesn't lift his face to find out.

"I'll be right outside," Angel says, and then footsteps move toward the door and Simon tells Spike to lie down and he does, feeling as the bed and the room and the ship tilt and lift and spin beneath him.

TBC