Appropriate Ratings: NC17 overall, this chapter..... R
Warnings: M/m. Buy a box of tissues, seriously, I do promise you will need them.
Disclaimers: Not my characters. I make no money off this, I'm just playing. I promise to give them a bath and thorough cleaning when I’m done! Joss Whedon is my lord and Master. All hail Joss Whedon.
Short Summary: The end of a line
Word Count: 304 (as per Word Count)
Beta: purpledodah and laazikaat
Concrit: always welcome in comments, e-mail or MSN, whichever.
X-posted to: perverted_pages, bloodclaim, btvs_lightsout, btvs_slash, btvsatsdotcom, darker_spike, spike_fics, sxandviolence, spanderslash, darker_vault, sickchicks, spike_xander, xander_slash, i_need_a_parrot, nekid_spike
Archived Outside LJ At: adultfanfiction.net and The Spander Files
The casket was open, that’s how he’d built it so that’s how they used it. Willow was there, her wife Sakina with her. The rest were gone, even the broodmiester had passed into a human death after becoming Shashu’ed, apparently you couldn’t sign away your destiny. The frail tiny witch cried huge tears, shaking as she looked at him. But he looked at peace, not in pain for the first time in a long time, and Spike thought he deserved that, and his friends should see it, after his long spiral into hell before he died. At one point, Spike had asked him, if he wanted to be released, he’d shaken his head and smiled. “I want to die. I lived Spike, especially with you, I lived... I want to die in peace, please, no last minute speeches, no last minute cures, no mystical cures, nothing.... it’s time Spike. I’ve had longer than any human, even the ones in the bible, and I lived well with you, I don’t want to darken my past by trying to run away from a future I knew would one day come. I love you Spike.” He kissed him. And soon after that, he was gone.
First thing Spike had done was open the windows, free his spirit into the heavens. He waited half a day, then called the arrangements in. And there he was, in an open casket he’d carved with his rheumy eyes yet agile hands for himself, the date carved into the headstone by alien hands that had crafted the rest of it. It was elegant, but subdued, like most of his work these days. His friends wished him safe travels, candles were lit, flowers were left, prayers said and sermons spoken, he was gone.
“Goodbye sweet prince, you’ll be joined in the dawn.”
All parts found this prompt chart or in my memories.