Chapter Text
Spike looked down at his hands.
It wasn’t the first time they had been covered in blood. In the past he would have relished the sight of his pale hands covered in it. There was a time where he wouldn’t have thought twice about the dried blood slowly starting to flake.
It itched. Made the skin pull together and the small hairs stick to each other. He might not even have had to watch it dry. No. He would have licked his hands clean. Sucked each finger until the red residue was gone.
And he would not have held a human as it slumped to the floor, arms flailing through the air and shaking hands falling limp to the cold linoleum tiles. He wouldn’t have pressed his hands frantically against a damp forehead while he watched blood gush out of a bullet hole and over his fingers.
Spike looked down at his hands.
He was covered in blood.
Xander’s blood.
----------------------------------------------------
“He’ll be okay. Right? Right?” Willows small uncertain voice begged and Tara whispered reassuringly.
“It’s Xander. H-he always pulls t-through,” Tara promised as her eyes looked pleadingly up at Giles. The watcher just nodded as he stared at the white walls.
Spike could hear Dawn crying. Could hear her voice drowning in sobs. Buffy was hugging her. The slayer’s eyes filled with unshed tears.
---------------------------------------------------
Spike looked up when a strong hand touched his shoulder.
“Come with me,” Angel said and hauled Spike with him down a hall and into a supply closet. Spike just stood there in the middle of the small room, his back to the door and Angel. The closet smelled of antiseptics, hospital and sickness.
Spike felt Angel’s arms curl around his waist, pull him close and he turned in the older vampire’s embrace and rested his head against Angel’s chest.
“Spike,” Angel whispered.
And Spike started crying.