Pain.

  Searing, all encompassing. Blinding, deafening, dumbing pain. So terrible was it as it raked through his every fiber, that he thought there would be nothing more. He thought, yeah, this is what he deserved.

  For every terrible thing that he had ever done, this was just. This was what Spike imagined it felt like, to experience every ounce of pain he'd ever inflicted on others, all on him all at once. This was right, he would take it, gladly, if it meant that Dawn, that Buffy, got to live.

  He hoped, against hope, that his stupid idea had actually worked, and that the portal closed, because at last, he had succumb to the pain.

  He wasn't walking away from this, Spike realised. Not bloody likely. He'd always thought, he'd go down swinging...

  When he opened his eyes, he did not find anything familiar...

  Not one thing. Not the ceiling above him. Not the furniture in the room. Not the cut of the window, nor the moonlit scenery beyond. He blinked, he felt a mild weight upon him as he vaguely became aware that he was laying in a bed and his fingers twitched. He wasn't sure how long he was there for, but only that it was night, from the sight of the window outside.

  Unfortunately for him, the the ringing in his ears seemed consistent, so he wasn't aware of the fact that someone neared, until the door to the room opened. There, stood a girl: A young girl, by the look of her. But he didn't stop to focus over long on her appearance, he focused singularly on the scent on her.

  Blood.

  Unmistakably, that was the scent of blood. He sat up wearily, felt himself groan in response to the pain that flared in his body at the motion - but he only felt the sound he made, he didn't hear it, as his ears rang on. The girl's eyes went wide and the bowl she'd been carrying fell to the floor, blood contained within spilling all across the floor, across her feet...

  He impulsively tried to move, driven more by instinct than any real conscious decision, though the attempt was a pathetic one. She was talking, the girl, saying something, but he could hear her naught. He cradled his head, he felt himself growl again, felt as if his head would burst from the pain, and the girl backed away, eyes abruptly alarmed as he felt his brow shift underneath where he'd rested his palm there.

  She was going to run forward, he had to stop her! He reached out, pulled her back, the mess on the floor becoming worse as her feet went through the blood. Then, pain.

  He snarled, turned, facing the direction where the pain had come from, looking for the source of his pain for a crossbow bolt had been embedded in his side. There, in the door, two men stood, the two of them wielding crossbows. They, too, were speaking, screaming, if the way they moved was any indication. No! He had to protect her!

  Shoving the girl to stand behind him he faced them, though his body ached, he couldn't let them harm her. He felt her try and move, try and step forward, but he kept one hand braced in front of the girl as he faced the two intruders. More shouting by the looks of it, brandishing of weapons, and another bolt had been loaded. The men fired, but he would protect her, he caught the bolts midair and crushed them in his palm, not stopping to think about it overly much, taking his chance before the men would have a chance to load their weapons again. He snapped the crossbow out of the hands of the older man with the glasses, trusting that to be enough to dissuade him from attacking them any further! The younger man he took more personally, grabbing by the collar ready to shove him backwards, when he heard a sound.

  "-ike!" It was small, quiet, but it broke through the ringing in his ears in the same moment that he'd felt her; the girl. She'd clung to his arm and stopped him. Why? He barely had a chance to tilt his head before he felt himself being struck to the gut. One of the two men - he didn't know who - had used his crossbow as a bludgeon to his abdomen, and he wasn't holding back. And there he was, wounded, feeling the blow tenfold and he stumbled back. Yet another had appeared at the door, pushing her way forward, a woman... Blonde, effeminate, and yet, she seemed to command some presence with the two men as they had straightened, and stood back.

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  "-attacked her!" He caught the voice of the younger man over the ringing in his ears, the woman facing him, stake in hand, but the girl had been tugging at her arm then.

  "No! He protected me!" He heard all that, heard the girl say it as she tugged at the effeminate blonde's arm.

  "Spike, is this true?!" The blonde woman demanded of him. He grit his teeth, pressed his palm against his knee, and forced himself to rise to his feet...

  That had been a terrible mistake, for as he did, his body had forcefully succumb to unconsciousness yet again.

  Pain.

  Searing, all encompassing. Blinding, deafening, dumbing pain. So terrible was it as it raked through his every fiber, that he thought there would be nothing more. He thought, yeah, this is what he deserved.

  For every terrible thing that he had ever done, this was just. This was what Spike imagined it felt like, to experience every ounce of pain he'd ever inflicted on others, all on him all at once. This was right, he would take it, gladly, if it meant that Dawn, that Buffy, got to live.

  He hoped, against hope, that his stupid idea had actually worked, and that the portal closed, because at last, he had succumb to the pain.

  He wasn't walking away from this, Spike realised. Not bloody likely. He'd always thought, he'd go down swinging...

  When he opened his eyes, he did not find anything familiar...

  Not one thing. Not the ceiling above him. Not the furniture in the room. Not the cut of the window, nor the moonlit scenery beyond. He blinked, he felt a mild weight upon him as he vaguely became aware that he was laying in a bed and his fingers twitched. He wasn't sure how long he was there for, but only that it was night, from the sight of the window outside.

  Unfortunately for him, the the ringing in his ears seemed consistent, so he wasn't aware of the fact that someone neared, until the door to the room opened. There, stood a girl: A young girl, by the look of her. But he didn't stop to focus over long on her appearance, he focused singularly on the scent on her.

  Blood.

  Unmistakably, that was the scent of blood. He sat up wearily, felt himself groan in response to the pain that flared in his body at the motion - but he only felt the sound he made, he didn't hear it, as his ears rang on. The girl's eyes went wide and the bowl she'd been carrying fell to the floor, blood contained within spilling all across the floor, across her feet...

  He impulsively tried to move, driven more by instinct than any real conscious decision, though the attempt was a pathetic one. She was talking, the girl, saying something, but he could hear her naught. He cradled his head, he felt himself growl again, felt as if his head would burst from the pain, and the girl backed away, eyes abruptly alarmed as he felt his brow shift underneath where he'd rested his palm there.

  She was going to run forward, he had to stop her! He reached out, pulled her back, the mess on the floor becoming worse as her feet went through the blood. Then, pain.

  He snarled, turned, facing the direction where the pain had come from, looking for the source of his pain for a crossbow bolt had been embedded in his side. There, in the door, two men stood, the two of them wielding crossbows. They, too, were speaking, screaming, if the way they moved was any indication. No! He had to protect her!

  Shoving the girl to stand behind him he faced them, though his body ached, he couldn't let them harm her. He felt her try and move, try and step forward, but he kept one hand braced in front of the girl as he faced the two intruders. More shouting by the looks of it, brandishing of weapons, and another bolt had been loaded. The men fired, but he would protect her, he caught the bolts midair and crushed them in his palm, not stopping to think about it overly much, taking his chance before the men would have a chance to load their weapons again. He snapped the crossbow out of the hands of the older man with the glasses, trusting that to be enough to dissuade him from attacking them any further! The younger man he took more personally, grabbing by the collar ready to shove him backwards, when he heard a sound.

  "-ike!" It was small, quiet, but it broke through the ringing in his ears in the same moment that he'd felt her; the girl. She'd clung to his arm and stopped him. Why? He barely had a chance to tilt his head before he felt himself being struck to the gut. One of the two men - he didn't know who - had used his crossbow as a bludgeon to his abdomen, and he wasn't holding back. And there he was, wounded, feeling the blow tenfold and he stumbled back. Yet another had appeared at the door, pushing her way forward, a woman... Blonde, effeminate, and yet, she seemed to command some presence with the two men as they had straightened, and stood back.

  "-attacked her!" He caught the voice of the younger man over the ringing in his ears, the woman facing him, stake in hand, but the girl had been tugging at her arm then.

  "No! He protected me!" He heard all that, heard the girl say it as she tugged at the effeminate blonde's arm.

  "Spike, is this true?!" The blonde woman demanded of him. He grit his teeth, pressed his palm against his knee, and forced himself to rise to his feet...

  That had been a terrible mistake, for as he did, his body had forcefully succumb to unconsciousness once again.