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Title: Whipping Boy, pt. 5
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Disclaimer: I don’t own Spike, Xander, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. These belong to Mutant Enemy and its creator, Joss Whedon.
Notes: Anya who? “The Wish” never happened. This is *not* a PWP. Though I may enjoy reading them, I can't write them. This is a purely H/C indulgence of mine.
“Lay all you want on me
I'll be your whipping boy”
As it turned out, Xander was quite a bit heavier than Spike gave him credit for. Trying to get him laid down again so he could then maneuver him to get his clothes off was a lot more work than Spike would have bet beforehand.
“Jesus, boy. What the hell do you eat – it’s like playing ventriloquist with a cement dummy.” Even without the need to, Spike was huffing and puffing his way around Xander. Finally done getting him into a somewhat comfortable-looking position, Spike plotted out what to do next.
“Hmm… Perhaps we’ll start with the shirt and work our way down, eh?” Nothing from The Great Catatonic. Big surprise.
Spike gently, but heftily, leaned Xander upright into a sitting position and reached for his shirt.
“Cordy?” Spike nearly leapt out of his undead skin at the sound of the boy’s voice. “Cordelia, is that you?” A sleep-addled Xander wanted to know.
“No, pet. It’s me, Spike. Just gotta get your shirt off so we can have a look-see for the poker.” Spike wasn’t facing him, but he knew Xander’s eyes were closed and that he was sweating and pale again – just like he knew Xander was seeing something and someone that wasn’t there.
“Oh, okay Cordelia.” Xander bent his arms down to flip up his shirt. Spike put his hands out to help him. “Wait, no!”
Suddenly Xander grabbed on the hem of his shirt and pulled down hard, straining the fabric, unwilling to let it be taken off.
“Shhh, s’okay pet. Need to get it off so we can find what we’re lookin for.” Again, Spike reached out and this time put his hands over Xander’s. That electric shock again – bad -coursing through Spike’s body so rapidly he could barely control the demon that sprang up in defense. Xander twisted away, wincing.
“No! You can’t see!” Xander screamed. Spike could hear pain in that voice, dripping off those four small words like blood from a freshly sharpened blade.
“Now, Xander – we have to. We have to find this thing so we can make you all better. Don’t you want to be well again?” Spike soothed into Xander’s ear. He could smell salt and sweat and fear. And for the first time, the smell of fear made Spike’s borrowed blood freeze in his veins. Bad.
“No, no, no!” Xander practically howled this time. And then he whispered, barely audible to even Spike’s ears, “No one can see…”
“See what, Xander?” But he could tell the human was fading again – barely an audible mumble from him.
“What can no one see, Xander!?” And he was gone again, leaving Spike completely alone with his thoughts and his fears, and his disgust.
“What can have you so afraid, pet? What is it?” Though the questions were pointless, for no one could answer them. But maybe there were some clues.
So now Spike had to find out what the boy was hiding. Just so happened that he had a good excuse to – he needed to find the stinger. So with that in mind, Spike quickly but gently skinned the boy of his t-shirt and threw it aside.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or to kill someone.
There, in the center of his back was a tattoo; which suprised Spike because he’d never figured the whelp to be the type of person to do something like that. A tattoo of the Beast from that damn Disney movie Beauty and the Beast. In his hand he was crushing the enchanted rose, which was bleeding through his hand. Whoever’d done it had done a good job, Spike considered.
But the tattoo took a back seat the view of the rest of Xander’s back.
From just below the shoulders and all down through his upper and lower back, disappearing beneath the waistline of his khakis were spirals and splotches of bruises, cuts, scrapes and scars.
Spike’s first reaction was one of guilt – if he had maybe done something to help Xander last night, the demon wouldn’t have been able to pummel him so bad. But then Spike realized he wasn’t looking at fresh wounds.
Most of the scratches and scars were very old – possibly from his childhood. A few were very recent, but there was no strong scent of blood invading Spike’s senses – these had to be a few days old. The fight last night had caused some of the bruises to swell, but all in all, Xander’s tango with the sleep demon hadn’t caused this.
Spike took painstaking care in gently easing Xander onto his back again, and nearly cried out in horror. Xander’s chest was even worse. There were two shallow gouges on the left side of Xander’s abdomen. They were barely beginning to heal – just the first stages of scabs. It was remarkable they hadn’t been split open last night. There was also a rather deep puncture wound just under his right nipple – old. Bruises around his stomach and lungs – punches, or kick marks. And across the whole part of his upper torso and arms was a band about two inches thick and perforated with dots along the center of the mark. Obviously a belt.
Spike could no longer contain the rage he felt, and he let the demon loose. He scrambled off of the bed and grabbed the nearest thing to the bed – a statuette of the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man and threw it as hard as he could against the far wall. He picked up another random object and threw it into the kitchenette and heard the satisfying “shiiiing” of glass shattering glass and the gratifying sound of porcelain splinters showering down on linoleum. He had the urge to put his fist into the wall, but restrained himself. Barely.
Finally he got himself calmed down enough to shake off the game face and returned to Xander. He had to get this done before Giles came back. Xander would never be able to look them in the eyes again once he found out they had both been privy to this.
After a few moments of, calming breaths, even if unnecessary, Spike was able to continue. His eyes were burning and it took a few seconds of blinking to realize it was because of tears. Tears for this child who no one knew. Tears for a man no one would ever know.
After successfully wiping away ancient tears, Spike moved up the bed and reached for the button on Xander’s khakis. Briefest second of hesitation, and then quiet pop of plastic and the slooowww grinding of metal on metal as he lowered the zipper.
Slowly he reached under Xander and grabbed both pants and “Kiss Me Stupid” boxers and lowered them down to Xander’s knees. He pulled them off one leg at a time, careful not scrape any cuts that may be lying beneath the coverings.
Spike cast the pants in the direction of the shirt and took a moment to survey his subject. Wounds and sickness notwithstanding, Xander was in great shape, and not bad off as far as looks go. Sleep-tousled hair, face relaxed even if paler than should be, well defined arms and chest and abs. Powerful thighs and large squarish feet. From where Spike was sitting, Xander had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing.
Spike inched his way back up the bed and began searching for more wounds. There weren’t as many here below his waist. But there were two significant bruises, more like welts, on the outside of both thighs – hand shaped. Someone had to have crushed these thighs extremely hard to leave welts in the shape of their hands. And someone would have to pay.
Confident that he could see nothing more here, he tenderly rolled Xander onto his stomach, trying not to notice his back once more. The bruises that had continued beneath the waistline stretched all the way down and across both buttocks and down to his upper thighs. And just above the knees there was another welt – very long and very narrow across both thighs.
Right below his left cheek was a small bruise, unlike the others. This one was circular with a crater of sorts. In the center of the bruise Spike found what he was looking for – merely a millimeter in diameter but perhaps two centimeters in length. The stinger that had taken Xander down into this pit of hell.
Spike retrieved his penknife from his duster and began to slowly and carefully – so not to cause any pain – dig out the piece of disgust. Soon, he had it in the palm of his hand and was again reminded and amazed that something so small could cause so much pain and misery.
“I guess we all have our own chip, don’t we pet?” Spike said as he gingerly wrapped the stinger in a tissue from the box on the end table. He put the package in the pocket of his duster and replaced the blankets over Xander, who had begun to shiver slightly.
“Will…Willow, is that you?” Again he was asleep but awake. Another dream, another hallucination. Xander reached out and took Spike’s hand and held it firmly in his own.
“N-no, pet. Spike. I’m Spike, remember?” Spike’s grip firmed as well, and as if of its own accord, his other hand went out to stroke Xander’s hair softly, getting it out of his face.
“I know, Will. Please don’t be mad at me. I tried this time. Really, I tried…but it only made it worse. He only got…worse.” Xander’s voice cracked. Spike’s hand stopped stroking.
“What’re you talking about, Xander? What did you try? Who got worse?”
“You know, Willow. You said that maybe if I stood up to him he’d back down. It only made him madder.” Xander began to cry, tears staining his too-white face. “God I just want him to stop! Why does he do it? What did I do wrong? Why does he hate me so much, Will?”
“Wrong? You didn’t do anything wrong, Xander. You’re completely innocent. Gods, Xander, is that what’s going on? Is that what’s been going on all these years?”
“I don’t know why you help me, Willow. I’ll just be bad for you too. I’ll only end up hurting you. You shouldn’t do this. You shouldn’t help me – take care of me.” Xander’s sobbing was getting worse, and Spike worried he would choke. He tried to get Xander to sit up, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Shhh, pet. It’s alright. No one will hurt you now. You’re safe with me here. I won’t let him hurt you. Not with Spike here, pet. You’re safe.”
“He…he found out about Jesse. About…us. Said he wouldn’t allow a, a faggot in his house. He called me that, Willow! My own father! He said he wouldn’t let me walk out of the house so I could go – go do that. He said he’d rather make it so I couldn’t walk at all than let me do queer shit. He-he, oh God, Willow! I don’t know what to do. Jesse’s probably mad at me because I didn’t meet him last night. You didn’t tell him did you?”
Now everything was falling into place. The string of bad girlfriends who treated him like shite. The sleep-over Scooby meetings. The not wanting to be at home, ever. Like a ton of granite it hit Spike. He could only sit there, stunned, pure instinctive rage rolling through him like so many loaded cannons, threatening to fire.
“Willow, I’m scared. I’m afraid someone will find out. Please don’t tell anyone. Please! You have to keep this a secret. No one can no, or he’ll find out I told you. And then it’ll be worse. Will, promise…me…” And Xander was gone again.
Spikes eyes were again stinging and blurred with tears. Twice in one night this boy had brought him to the brink of letting out his own pain. But he couldn’t let it out. He had to be strong, as always, for someone in pain. But being here with Xander stirred up old memories and opened old wounds.
Spike clung to Xander’s hand to keep him anchored, but it couldn’t help. The cinderblock and exposed ceiling blurred and faded away. The only thing remaining was Spike and the pain that was like a fire burning him from his insides. His chest heaved and the fire ripped through the rest of his body causing him to clamp his eyes shut and call out a simple “No!”
He opened his eyes to find himself in the lab at the initiative.
Doctors ripping apart his chest with common scissors and no anesthesia. Plunging their hands in to break open his ribs to get to the organs. They wanted to know if the organs were removed, would they restore themselves or not – being unnecessary as they were.
Soldiers in the night shifts coming into his cell to play cops and robbers with water pistols loaded with holy water. Wanting to play priest with their crosses. Wanting to play doctor and puppy and a million other games to suit their sick minds. Being pistol-whipped just for fun, being made to beg for his blood. Being made to…hurt himself.
Spike began to sob uncontrollably as the images of the nightmares that still haunted him slithered away like great serpents. He opened his eyes to find himself huddled in the corner of the basement, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight around them, rocking back and forth. Remembering. Bawling.
Crying not only for the pure hell that he had lived through for only a short time, but for Xander. Xander who had lived through this for over eighteen years. Xander, whose only shortcoming was loving too much. Trusting too much. Xander who deserved nothing horrible to ever touch him or hurt him or haunt him.
Spike stayed huddled in the corner and let everything out until finally he felt drained. Drained of pain and of tears and of disappointment. Until all that was left was hope, respect, love and rage.
“I will kill him, pet. He will never lay another hand on you. You will never be subjected to that heartless bastard’s whims again. One way or another, pet, he will pay for what he has done. And he will pay slowly like you have.”
The pure hatred pouring off every word surprised even Spike. He had good reason for it, but it only now hit him what that reason was: he wanted Xander. He wanted him whole and happy and healthy. And his. He wanted Xander’s love and his trust. He wanted to protect him. He wanted to make Xander happy and keep him happy. Xander deserved it. Spike wanted it.
“Huh…how did this happen?” Spike thought out loud. “I always thought I hated you…But I guess I can see now how the past couple of months have changed it, what with you takin’ me in and, I guess…no, you know what, pet? I don’t care. I. Don’t. Bloody. Care. I’m not going to nag it. Just accept it. Deal with it. Move on. I – I bloody love you Xander Harris.”
And suddenly the pain that had blossomed in his chest wilted as the overpowering sense of love washed through him in waves almost as unbearable as the pain. A smile exploded on Spike’s chest and for one tiny second, Spike thought that his heart had beat – just once, but beat nonetheless. One small word and everything changed. Everything.
“You will be fine pet. Nothing else can happen – you’ll get better. I won’t let you not.” Spike returned to the bed and replaced his hand in Xander’s. He was surprised to find the other hand return the grip. A quick glance at his face confirmed that Xander was still fast asleep and that he was dreaming. Spike leant down and placed a miniscule kiss upon the boy’s forehead – so small but packed with so much. And as he retracted, Spike imagined his saw the corners of Xander’s mouth curl up ever so slightly into the vaguest form of a smile.
Final Part here.
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Disclaimer: I don’t own Spike, Xander, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. These belong to Mutant Enemy and its creator, Joss Whedon.
Notes: Anya who? “The Wish” never happened. This is *not* a PWP. Though I may enjoy reading them, I can't write them. This is a purely H/C indulgence of mine.
I'll be your whipping boy”
As it turned out, Xander was quite a bit heavier than Spike gave him credit for. Trying to get him laid down again so he could then maneuver him to get his clothes off was a lot more work than Spike would have bet beforehand.
“Jesus, boy. What the hell do you eat – it’s like playing ventriloquist with a cement dummy.” Even without the need to, Spike was huffing and puffing his way around Xander. Finally done getting him into a somewhat comfortable-looking position, Spike plotted out what to do next.
“Hmm… Perhaps we’ll start with the shirt and work our way down, eh?” Nothing from The Great Catatonic. Big surprise.
Spike gently, but heftily, leaned Xander upright into a sitting position and reached for his shirt.
“Cordy?” Spike nearly leapt out of his undead skin at the sound of the boy’s voice. “Cordelia, is that you?” A sleep-addled Xander wanted to know.
“No, pet. It’s me, Spike. Just gotta get your shirt off so we can have a look-see for the poker.” Spike wasn’t facing him, but he knew Xander’s eyes were closed and that he was sweating and pale again – just like he knew Xander was seeing something and someone that wasn’t there.
“Oh, okay Cordelia.” Xander bent his arms down to flip up his shirt. Spike put his hands out to help him. “Wait, no!”
Suddenly Xander grabbed on the hem of his shirt and pulled down hard, straining the fabric, unwilling to let it be taken off.
“Shhh, s’okay pet. Need to get it off so we can find what we’re lookin for.” Again, Spike reached out and this time put his hands over Xander’s. That electric shock again – bad -coursing through Spike’s body so rapidly he could barely control the demon that sprang up in defense. Xander twisted away, wincing.
“No! You can’t see!” Xander screamed. Spike could hear pain in that voice, dripping off those four small words like blood from a freshly sharpened blade.
“Now, Xander – we have to. We have to find this thing so we can make you all better. Don’t you want to be well again?” Spike soothed into Xander’s ear. He could smell salt and sweat and fear. And for the first time, the smell of fear made Spike’s borrowed blood freeze in his veins. Bad.
“No, no, no!” Xander practically howled this time. And then he whispered, barely audible to even Spike’s ears, “No one can see…”
“See what, Xander?” But he could tell the human was fading again – barely an audible mumble from him.
“What can no one see, Xander!?” And he was gone again, leaving Spike completely alone with his thoughts and his fears, and his disgust.
“What can have you so afraid, pet? What is it?” Though the questions were pointless, for no one could answer them. But maybe there were some clues.
So now Spike had to find out what the boy was hiding. Just so happened that he had a good excuse to – he needed to find the stinger. So with that in mind, Spike quickly but gently skinned the boy of his t-shirt and threw it aside.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or to kill someone.
There, in the center of his back was a tattoo; which suprised Spike because he’d never figured the whelp to be the type of person to do something like that. A tattoo of the Beast from that damn Disney movie Beauty and the Beast. In his hand he was crushing the enchanted rose, which was bleeding through his hand. Whoever’d done it had done a good job, Spike considered.
But the tattoo took a back seat the view of the rest of Xander’s back.
From just below the shoulders and all down through his upper and lower back, disappearing beneath the waistline of his khakis were spirals and splotches of bruises, cuts, scrapes and scars.
Spike’s first reaction was one of guilt – if he had maybe done something to help Xander last night, the demon wouldn’t have been able to pummel him so bad. But then Spike realized he wasn’t looking at fresh wounds.
Most of the scratches and scars were very old – possibly from his childhood. A few were very recent, but there was no strong scent of blood invading Spike’s senses – these had to be a few days old. The fight last night had caused some of the bruises to swell, but all in all, Xander’s tango with the sleep demon hadn’t caused this.
Spike took painstaking care in gently easing Xander onto his back again, and nearly cried out in horror. Xander’s chest was even worse. There were two shallow gouges on the left side of Xander’s abdomen. They were barely beginning to heal – just the first stages of scabs. It was remarkable they hadn’t been split open last night. There was also a rather deep puncture wound just under his right nipple – old. Bruises around his stomach and lungs – punches, or kick marks. And across the whole part of his upper torso and arms was a band about two inches thick and perforated with dots along the center of the mark. Obviously a belt.
Spike could no longer contain the rage he felt, and he let the demon loose. He scrambled off of the bed and grabbed the nearest thing to the bed – a statuette of the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man and threw it as hard as he could against the far wall. He picked up another random object and threw it into the kitchenette and heard the satisfying “shiiiing” of glass shattering glass and the gratifying sound of porcelain splinters showering down on linoleum. He had the urge to put his fist into the wall, but restrained himself. Barely.
Finally he got himself calmed down enough to shake off the game face and returned to Xander. He had to get this done before Giles came back. Xander would never be able to look them in the eyes again once he found out they had both been privy to this.
After a few moments of, calming breaths, even if unnecessary, Spike was able to continue. His eyes were burning and it took a few seconds of blinking to realize it was because of tears. Tears for this child who no one knew. Tears for a man no one would ever know.
After successfully wiping away ancient tears, Spike moved up the bed and reached for the button on Xander’s khakis. Briefest second of hesitation, and then quiet pop of plastic and the slooowww grinding of metal on metal as he lowered the zipper.
Slowly he reached under Xander and grabbed both pants and “Kiss Me Stupid” boxers and lowered them down to Xander’s knees. He pulled them off one leg at a time, careful not scrape any cuts that may be lying beneath the coverings.
Spike cast the pants in the direction of the shirt and took a moment to survey his subject. Wounds and sickness notwithstanding, Xander was in great shape, and not bad off as far as looks go. Sleep-tousled hair, face relaxed even if paler than should be, well defined arms and chest and abs. Powerful thighs and large squarish feet. From where Spike was sitting, Xander had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing.
Spike inched his way back up the bed and began searching for more wounds. There weren’t as many here below his waist. But there were two significant bruises, more like welts, on the outside of both thighs – hand shaped. Someone had to have crushed these thighs extremely hard to leave welts in the shape of their hands. And someone would have to pay.
Confident that he could see nothing more here, he tenderly rolled Xander onto his stomach, trying not to notice his back once more. The bruises that had continued beneath the waistline stretched all the way down and across both buttocks and down to his upper thighs. And just above the knees there was another welt – very long and very narrow across both thighs.
Right below his left cheek was a small bruise, unlike the others. This one was circular with a crater of sorts. In the center of the bruise Spike found what he was looking for – merely a millimeter in diameter but perhaps two centimeters in length. The stinger that had taken Xander down into this pit of hell.
Spike retrieved his penknife from his duster and began to slowly and carefully – so not to cause any pain – dig out the piece of disgust. Soon, he had it in the palm of his hand and was again reminded and amazed that something so small could cause so much pain and misery.
“I guess we all have our own chip, don’t we pet?” Spike said as he gingerly wrapped the stinger in a tissue from the box on the end table. He put the package in the pocket of his duster and replaced the blankets over Xander, who had begun to shiver slightly.
“Will…Willow, is that you?” Again he was asleep but awake. Another dream, another hallucination. Xander reached out and took Spike’s hand and held it firmly in his own.
“N-no, pet. Spike. I’m Spike, remember?” Spike’s grip firmed as well, and as if of its own accord, his other hand went out to stroke Xander’s hair softly, getting it out of his face.
“I know, Will. Please don’t be mad at me. I tried this time. Really, I tried…but it only made it worse. He only got…worse.” Xander’s voice cracked. Spike’s hand stopped stroking.
“What’re you talking about, Xander? What did you try? Who got worse?”
“You know, Willow. You said that maybe if I stood up to him he’d back down. It only made him madder.” Xander began to cry, tears staining his too-white face. “God I just want him to stop! Why does he do it? What did I do wrong? Why does he hate me so much, Will?”
“Wrong? You didn’t do anything wrong, Xander. You’re completely innocent. Gods, Xander, is that what’s going on? Is that what’s been going on all these years?”
“I don’t know why you help me, Willow. I’ll just be bad for you too. I’ll only end up hurting you. You shouldn’t do this. You shouldn’t help me – take care of me.” Xander’s sobbing was getting worse, and Spike worried he would choke. He tried to get Xander to sit up, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Shhh, pet. It’s alright. No one will hurt you now. You’re safe with me here. I won’t let him hurt you. Not with Spike here, pet. You’re safe.”
“He…he found out about Jesse. About…us. Said he wouldn’t allow a, a faggot in his house. He called me that, Willow! My own father! He said he wouldn’t let me walk out of the house so I could go – go do that. He said he’d rather make it so I couldn’t walk at all than let me do queer shit. He-he, oh God, Willow! I don’t know what to do. Jesse’s probably mad at me because I didn’t meet him last night. You didn’t tell him did you?”
Now everything was falling into place. The string of bad girlfriends who treated him like shite. The sleep-over Scooby meetings. The not wanting to be at home, ever. Like a ton of granite it hit Spike. He could only sit there, stunned, pure instinctive rage rolling through him like so many loaded cannons, threatening to fire.
“Willow, I’m scared. I’m afraid someone will find out. Please don’t tell anyone. Please! You have to keep this a secret. No one can no, or he’ll find out I told you. And then it’ll be worse. Will, promise…me…” And Xander was gone again.
Spikes eyes were again stinging and blurred with tears. Twice in one night this boy had brought him to the brink of letting out his own pain. But he couldn’t let it out. He had to be strong, as always, for someone in pain. But being here with Xander stirred up old memories and opened old wounds.
Spike clung to Xander’s hand to keep him anchored, but it couldn’t help. The cinderblock and exposed ceiling blurred and faded away. The only thing remaining was Spike and the pain that was like a fire burning him from his insides. His chest heaved and the fire ripped through the rest of his body causing him to clamp his eyes shut and call out a simple “No!”
He opened his eyes to find himself in the lab at the initiative.
Doctors ripping apart his chest with common scissors and no anesthesia. Plunging their hands in to break open his ribs to get to the organs. They wanted to know if the organs were removed, would they restore themselves or not – being unnecessary as they were.
Soldiers in the night shifts coming into his cell to play cops and robbers with water pistols loaded with holy water. Wanting to play priest with their crosses. Wanting to play doctor and puppy and a million other games to suit their sick minds. Being pistol-whipped just for fun, being made to beg for his blood. Being made to…hurt himself.
Spike began to sob uncontrollably as the images of the nightmares that still haunted him slithered away like great serpents. He opened his eyes to find himself huddled in the corner of the basement, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight around them, rocking back and forth. Remembering. Bawling.
Crying not only for the pure hell that he had lived through for only a short time, but for Xander. Xander who had lived through this for over eighteen years. Xander, whose only shortcoming was loving too much. Trusting too much. Xander who deserved nothing horrible to ever touch him or hurt him or haunt him.
Spike stayed huddled in the corner and let everything out until finally he felt drained. Drained of pain and of tears and of disappointment. Until all that was left was hope, respect, love and rage.
“I will kill him, pet. He will never lay another hand on you. You will never be subjected to that heartless bastard’s whims again. One way or another, pet, he will pay for what he has done. And he will pay slowly like you have.”
The pure hatred pouring off every word surprised even Spike. He had good reason for it, but it only now hit him what that reason was: he wanted Xander. He wanted him whole and happy and healthy. And his. He wanted Xander’s love and his trust. He wanted to protect him. He wanted to make Xander happy and keep him happy. Xander deserved it. Spike wanted it.
“Huh…how did this happen?” Spike thought out loud. “I always thought I hated you…But I guess I can see now how the past couple of months have changed it, what with you takin’ me in and, I guess…no, you know what, pet? I don’t care. I. Don’t. Bloody. Care. I’m not going to nag it. Just accept it. Deal with it. Move on. I – I bloody love you Xander Harris.”
And suddenly the pain that had blossomed in his chest wilted as the overpowering sense of love washed through him in waves almost as unbearable as the pain. A smile exploded on Spike’s chest and for one tiny second, Spike thought that his heart had beat – just once, but beat nonetheless. One small word and everything changed. Everything.
“You will be fine pet. Nothing else can happen – you’ll get better. I won’t let you not.” Spike returned to the bed and replaced his hand in Xander’s. He was surprised to find the other hand return the grip. A quick glance at his face confirmed that Xander was still fast asleep and that he was dreaming. Spike leant down and placed a miniscule kiss upon the boy’s forehead – so small but packed with so much. And as he retracted, Spike imagined his saw the corners of Xander’s mouth curl up ever so slightly into the vaguest form of a smile.
Final Part here.