Title: Finding Comfort in Friendship
Author: The Lady Merlin
Pairing: Spike/Xander, Angel/Spike
Prompt: Community: Taming the Muse #379 Launch
Part: 2 of Finding Comfort
Status: in progress
Beta (s): none, proofread
Disclaimer: not mine, all belongs to Joss
Graphic: none yet
Summary: Spike mourns the death of a friend
A/N: This was started as a one shot but a few lovely people wanted a bit more – who am I to say no? The bad news is: this didn't go exactly as I had planned. The good news is: it means there will be more.
Spike's laugh turned into a growl when one of the demon's claws caught him in the side. If his coat had a tear in it...god dammit. His finger pocked through a small hole in the leather. Spike imagined putting holes in the Carrath, looking forward to his retribution. It was all about respect. Respect and the coat. No one touched the coat.
The hairs on his neck rose and he stuck out an arm, bringing the demon, who obviously thought Spike was too distracted to notice him sneaking up behind him, down to the grass. The ugly, lumbering brute made a satisfying crunch when it landed. He lifted a booted foot and brought it down before the demon could manage to get its bearings. The rib cage collapsed inward and with a last wheezing breath, it was dead.
Spike's toothy smile was smug. He could always count on a few lumbering Carrath demons to provide a bit of entertainment. What he didn't count on was the dead guy's other pal.
So when another of the demons roared and took him down from behind, he realised he might have made a slight misjudgement about the odds here. His head made an awful sound when it solidly connected with Frances Lawry's headstone on the way down and his vision swam when he tried to push himself back up. His left arm gave out, the shoulder joint making a sickening, grinding kind of noise. He wondered, briefly, if he was going to actually be sick. He swallowed and fought down the urge, knowing he had to move. And now. He could feel the demon right there and he rolled figuring it would be easier. A large axe whistle so close, he felt the breeze against the side of his face.
Spike kicked out with his foot in desperation and luckily connected pretty accurately with the demon's knee. It bellowed and fell, grabbing hold of Spike's ankle along the way. Another joint set up a loud, throbbing protest at the rough handling. Spike grit his teeth and tried for a kick at the face with his other foot. He swore when he missed. He cast his eyes about looking for his fallen sword while keeping the Carrath busy dodging the wild kicks from his free foot.
Spike finally spotted his favourite weapon of the week just when the most unlikely of rescuers stooped to scoop it up off the ground. And just as he was about to open his mouth to warn him away, Xander launched himself at the Carrath's back, mouth open wide in an ungodly cry of rage.
Spike watched, mouth agape, as the demon started to turn and Xander neatly slid the sharp blade in the now exposed, vulnerable side. The demon gurgled a bit before slumping to the ground where it began to disintegrate into a garish green puddle of goo.
“Well that was kinda anti-climactic,” Xander said, observing the serenely bubbling ooze.
“Quick,” Spike demanded, holding up his uninjured arm. “Before it gets on my coat.”
Xander rolled his eyes dramatically but stepped forward and grasped Spike's hand. “Gee thanks for saving me Xander,” he parroted at Spike, who was checking the hem of his coat for slime.
“Huh?” Spike said, distractedly. Demon slime could be a right bastard to get out of leather. “Oh, right. Yeah. Thanks, mate.”
“You're welcome,” Xander beamed happily, his ego assuaged. He swiped the sword across the grass before holding it out. “I think this is yours?”
Spike reached for his sword, but the world suddenly tilted sideways and he wound up grabbing poor Mrs Lawry instead. Black spots danced before his eyes and Xander's voice sounded very far away. He felt a strong arm slip around his waist and let himself rest against the solidness beside him. The spinning finally tapered off a bit and he stood a little straighter.
“You okay now? What happened?” Xander's voice held genuine concern and Spike cursed the little flutter his dead heart gave at the sound.
“Dizzy. Feel sick,” Spike responded, not feeling up to much more than that. He felt Xander's hand in his hair and he hissed when the fingers rubbed over a particularly sore spot.
“Concussion,” Xander pronounced with an air of someone who knows. “C'mon. We'll take it slow. “ He helped Spike slide his right arm around his shoulder and they set off at a careful, gentle pace.
Spike dared a peek up from the methodic left foot, right foot chant he had going, only to frown in puzzlement. “Not that I don't appreciate the help puttin' one foot in front of t'other but me crypt is back that-a-way,” he slurred.
“I know. But my truck is this way and it'll be a lot easier to clean you up back at my place. I've got some O Pos in the fridge and a nice big tub.”
“Right,” Spike said, remembering not to nod at the last moment. “Well what the hell are you waitin' for then?”