What the hell?
"A church?"
It had to be a joke. Had to be. Someone was out there, trying to pull one over on old Spike. There was no other explanation for the reason he was awake, unbruised, and somehow still undead as ever in a fucking church.
He recalled the fight. There had been rain, and blood, and the stupid sodding dragon that Angel had been hell-bent on killing, but the fucker had gone and gobbled up his grandsire instead. Poor guy never really had a chance, actually. Spike had gotten a good laugh for a bit, though, out of watching the dragon eat Angel clean in half.
"Bet you didn't see that coming," he'd half-laughed, half-coughed as an ogre made its way to him. He was ready to die, though. He just sort of wished it had been the dragon to kill him and not some Lord of the Rings reject. It just felt more proper... but what could you do? He'd already died twice. Once when Dru had taken poor William the poet and changed him from a ponce of a man into a vamp. Into Spike.
Then, there had been Sunnydale and the amulet. He'd felt pain, fire, and then... nothing until he awoke screaming in Angel's office that day.
Both times, he'd died of his own free will. Both times with a soul, even though it probably didn't count for much either time. But this time? The third go around? Yeah, he'd known Heaven wasn't waiting for him either, no matter how many people he might try and help or how many times he'd wish for release. Angel had told him before - Hell was waiting for them both, despite the souls they both had.
So, it was odd to wake up, look around, and find out that after the ogre had stepped on him - and really, what a humiliating way to go - that he wasn't by the Pearly Gates where Buffy might have gone that one time. He wasn't in Hell with Angel. No, Spike the Bloody was in a run-down church.
He sat down in a pew, looking around to see if anyone else was there, and sighed. He tried to fish around for a fag, but his pockets were empty. Shaking his head, he realized he was wrong. No smokes, no company, and a vamp in a church?
"I'm in soddin' Hell, I am," he groused.
It had to be a joke. Had to be. Someone was out there, trying to pull one over on old Spike. There was no other explanation for the reason he was awake, unbruised, and somehow still undead as ever in a fucking church.
He recalled the fight. There had been rain, and blood, and the stupid sodding dragon that Angel had been hell-bent on killing, but the fucker had gone and gobbled up his grandsire instead. Poor guy never really had a chance, actually. Spike had gotten a good laugh for a bit, though, out of watching the dragon eat Angel clean in half.
"Bet you didn't see that coming," he'd half-laughed, half-coughed as an ogre made its way to him. He was ready to die, though. He just sort of wished it had been the dragon to kill him and not some Lord of the Rings reject. It just felt more proper... but what could you do? He'd already died twice. Once when Dru had taken poor William the poet and changed him from a ponce of a man into a vamp. Into Spike.
Then, there had been Sunnydale and the amulet. He'd felt pain, fire, and then... nothing until he awoke screaming in Angel's office that day.
Both times, he'd died of his own free will. Both times with a soul, even though it probably didn't count for much either time. But this time? The third go around? Yeah, he'd known Heaven wasn't waiting for him either, no matter how many people he might try and help or how many times he'd wish for release. Angel had told him before - Hell was waiting for them both, despite the souls they both had.
So, it was odd to wake up, look around, and find out that after the ogre had stepped on him - and really, what a humiliating way to go - that he wasn't by the Pearly Gates where Buffy might have gone that one time. He wasn't in Hell with Angel. No, Spike the Bloody was in a run-down church.
He sat down in a pew, looking around to see if anyone else was there, and sighed. He tried to fish around for a fag, but his pockets were empty. Shaking his head, he realized he was wrong. No smokes, no company, and a vamp in a church?
"I'm in soddin' Hell, I am," he groused.