OoSooM-Ch.13

THIS CHAPTER IS RATED

FOR ADULT CONTENT, GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF TORTURE, AND SEMI-GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF MALE/MALE AND IMPLIED MALE/FEMALE RAPE!!!

*If you are under 18 (21 in some places) or such material offends you, DO NOT READ IT!!

By reading this chapter, you certify that you are of legal age, and understand the subject matter that will be contained herein, and read it of your own free will, thereby releasing the author from ramifications, legal or otherwise, brought by your viewing of the below material.

Spike and Dawn both gawked in surprise as they didn't turn to dust upon stepping outside, confusion warring with relief as they realized that the golden glow hadn't been the sun at all, but the light from a large portal.

Neither vampire wanted to be anywhere near it if something decided to come out, so they stumbled onward, blinking rapidly in the glare the portal gave off, not having seen illumination outside of candle-light in well over a century.

They could hear the sound of pursuit and tried to speed up, knowing that it was only a matter of time before they were caught, unless something miraculous happened. Both of them were working solely on adrenaline, and the rush was fading quickly. Before long, they would simply drop where they stood.

Or we can get another rush of terror to help us along, Spike thought as Angelus' voice rang out behind them. “I want them at my feet now!”

Spike and Dawn exchanged a look, then started running, though it was more lurching forward and hoping their feet would catch up than anything else.

The pounding of several pairs of footsteps was slowly but surely becoming closer and closer behind them, and the two looked around desperately in search of a safe place to hide.

Nodding his assent, Spike crouched to pull the lid off of the manhole, letting out a muffled grunt as someone tackled him to the ground, grinding his face into the blood-spattered dirt.

Dawn let out a piercing shriek of fear and anger, and Spike twisted in his captor's grasp, growling venomously as a vampire barely two years dead yanked the leather duster off of Dawn, leaving her naked, and pounced on her eagerly, barely pausing to push his pants down to his thighs.

More of Angelus' minions hurried to help their comrade hold Spike down as he became more and more incensed every second his childe was being violated.

Spike heard Angelus' laughter before the green-skinned demon came into view, and he lunged against his captors' hold, snarling in fury, wanting nothing more than to leap on Angelus and pull his head from his body, ridding himself of that smug superiority forever.

Smirking, Angelus looked down at Spike's pinned form. “When I'm through with you, you'll wish I'd killed you that first night in London, William,” he promised, his voice taking on the soft tone that Spike recognized as the precursor of torture, pain, and death.

Spike growled, twisting and bucking in an attempt to get free as Dawn's cries increased in frequency and volume, unable to see what was happening, but knowing from the sounds that she was being hurt, badly.

Angelus planted a booted foot on Spike's chest and slowly applied pressure until Spike gasped, his mouth opening in a silent scream as two of his ribs snapped, puncturing his useless lungs and bringing blood to the back of his throat.

Clawing at Angelus' leg, Spike let out a gurgling sound of pain as he felt his legs pried roughly apart and held that way, leaving him completely vulnerable and unable to defend himself.

Angelus held Spike's frightened gaze, smirking as his childe screamed in agony while one of the minions took his reward for catching the two escapees.

Spike writhed, trying desperately to pull away from the intrusion, tears of pain and anger blurring his vision as the minion slammed into him, paying no heed to the tearing flesh and spilled blood.

Finally, after what seemed like centuries, the ripping, sawing sensation was gone, and the minion slapped Spike's bare buttock lightly. “Thanks for the ride,” he chortled.

Spike's growl was weak as he glared up at Angelus, able to hear Dawn's faint sobs from somewhere behind him.

“That was only the beginning, m'boy,” Angelus assured him with a wicked grin.

With Angelus' foot no longer on his chest, Spike rolled onto his side, curling into fetal position, his body shaking in a combination of pain, anger, and fear.

“Dawn,” he croaked, then coughed, spitting blood onto the ground.

A small hand grasped his, and Spike squeezed her hand comfortingly, though they both knew that the odds were that they wouldn't survive whatever came next.

It seemed they'd been walking in circles forever when the sound of screams made Buffy halt abruptly, nearly making Legolas walk into her back.

“It's Dawn,” Buffy choked out, and then took off running in the direction of the screaming, her sword in hand.

Methos let out a low curse and followed her, Legolas at his side, though he could've easily kept up with the Slayer. However, having Methos left behind would do no one any good.

The two men stopped just behind Buffy, horrified at the sight that met their eyes, yet unable to look away.

Two tall, wooden posts the width of telephone poles were sunk into the ground, and there was a body nailed to each one.

In a moment of sadistic humor, Angelus had crucified them both, leaving them to hang there until they either starved to dust, or were killed by another demon.

Spike's chin rested on his chest as he hung limply on the post from rusted metal spikes driven through his hands, stretched over his head. The stitches Dawn had made in his abdomen had burst, and his innards glistened wetly, barely held in his body as his vampiric healing attempted to fix his injuries.

As if that weren't enough, the unconscious vampire's chest had been split open-literally- his broken ribs jutting outward grotesquely and leaving his lungs and heart visible within his chest cavity.

“My God,” Methos breathed, unable to believe that somehow, these two beings were still alive. But, from what Buffy had taught him about vampires, they must be, since they weren't dust.

Dawn whimpered softly, her entire body shuddering with tremors of pain as she writhed on the post, unable to hold still, but causing herself more pain with every movement.

She was much paler than was normal even for a vampire, and there was little question as to why that was, since she was wearing no clothing, and the multiple bite wounds on her body stood out like crimson beacons on her white as death skin.

Legolas' eyes were wide with shocked horror at the scene before him, and he wasn't surprised when Buffy fell to her hands and knees, retching until everything in her stomach was on the ground, and still her body spasmed with dry heaves.

Methos took the initiative to do something, and quickly assessed what it would take to get the girl down off of the post. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about the pain he would cause her with the act.

Moving until he stood directly beneath the girl, he reached out and tilted her chin until she was looking at him. “I'm going to get you down from there,” he told her gently. “But, I'm afraid it's going to hurt quite a bit. I'll try to hurry.”

Dawn's eyes were glassy, her pupils fixed and dilated to the point that there was very little iris to be seen. The doctor in Methos automatically recognized it as a sign of critical shock and knew that if she were human, there would be precious little he could do to help her with the amount of damage she had taken.

Steeling himself for what he was about to do, Methos reached up and pulled on the spike embedded in her wrists with all of his strength, nearly falling over as it came loose accompanied by a screech of agony.

Managing to catch the girl before she could tumble to the ground, Methos draped her over his shoulder, kneeling awkwardly to pull free the spike that had been driven through her ankles, wincing at the harsh, choked moan Dawn emitted as he did so, thankful as he felt her go completely limp as she lost consciousness.

He put a hand on her back to brace her as he stood and frowned at the wetness. Returning to Buffy, he gently lowered Dawn to the ground on her side, flinching at the crisscrossing whip marks, some of them deep enough that muscle and bone gleamed visibly.

Having somewhat recovered from her bout of uncontrollable nausea, Buffy crawled over to her sister and cradled her to her chest, sobbing.

Methos stood, looking at Legolas. “I'll need your help getting him down,” he said, gesturing to Spike's macabre form.

Sickened at the sight, Legolas nodded silently and followed Methos to the second pole.

“We're going to have to force his ribs back into place,” the former Horseman said. “But, we have to be absolutely certain not to pierce his heart, or he'll die.”

Legolas' eyes widened slightly at the verbal confirmation that this poor, tortured being was still alive, and he swallowed thickly, looking into the slack face of the vampire, wondering if any shred of sanity would remain once he regained consciousness.

There was a sharp, wet cracking sound as Methos pushed Spike's rib cage closed, careful not to let a shard of bone near his heart.

He pulled his white shirt over his head, tearing the cotton into thin strips and wrapping them tightly around Spike's torso, ignoring the fact that they became soaked through with crimson immediately.

Once the vampire's chest was bound, he began the same process on his stomach, wrapping the improvised bandages cautiously to keep Spike's viscera in his body without making the injury worse.

Satisfied that moving Spike wouldn't kill him or cause parts to fall out, Methos gripped the spike that pinned the vampire's wrists to the pole, looking over his shoulder at Legolas. “I'll need you to handle the one in his feet once his arms are loose,” he informed the elf.

The blonde nodded, looking faintly ill, and took a position kneeling at Spike's feet, gripping the rusty piece of metal and waiting for his cue.

Methos ripped the spike from the vampire's wrists, startled when Spike abruptly came awake with a sound somewhere between a snarl and a scream, his entire body bowing in pain. “Now!” the Immortal hissed.

Legolas pulled the remaining spike out quickly, rising to his feet and steadying Methos, who had lost his balance as all of Spike's weight fell on him, and helped lay the suffering man on the ground.

“He needs blood,” Methos said, then looked up at the elven prince. “Do you think you can keep him from killing me if I can't get him to let go?” he questioned.

Legolas arched an eyebrow at him. “Yes,” he stated simply, thinking that in his weakened state, Spike was hardly a match for elven reflexes and strength.

Methos quirked an off-kilter grin, then used the sharp spike to slit his wrist, holding the dripping wound to Spike's fanged mouth.

He yelped in pain as the vampire's fangs sliced deeper into his wrist and Spike began pulling hard on the vein.

“Gods, that bloody hurts!” the Immortal complained grumpily, shifting his position in an attempt to make it less painful.

As Methos moved, Spike's golden-flecked amber eyes snapped open and he growled, bearing down harder on the Immortal's bleeding appendage, making the dark-haired man gasp.

“Um…any time now, Legolas,” Methos said, clenching his teeth as he attempted to pull his arm away from Spike, only to have the vampire grip his wrist with both hands and growl dangerously, moving his head from side to side and deepening the wound like a pit-bull setting its grip before its jaws locked.

Legolas moved forward, trying to pry Spike's hands off of Methos' wrist, letting out a surprised sound as he found himself flat on his back, his jaw throbbing from the impact of Spike's knee slamming into it.

Sitting up, the blonde elf frowned as Methos folded over onto his side on the ground, still trying ineffectively to pull his wrist away from Spike's mouth, the Immortal's struggles growing weaker as the blood loss sapped his strength and left him panting for breath.

Legolas looked to Buffy for help, only to see that the Slayer was laying flat on the ground, her sister curled against her body, face buried in her throat.

“This can't be good,” he murmured, perplexed as to what to do.


	WARNING!!!! THIS CHAPTER IS RATED FOR ADULT CONTENT, GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF TORTURE, AND SEMI-GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF MALE/MALE AND IMPLIED MALE/FEMALE RAPE!!! *If you are under 18 (21 in some places) or such material offends you, DO NOT READ IT!! By reading this chapter, you certify that you are of legal age, and understand the subject matter that will be contained herein, and read it of your own free will, thereby releasing the author from ramifications, legal or otherwise, brought by your viewing of the below material. Sunnydale, California 121 years after the End of Days (Sunnydale time) Spike and Dawn both gawked in surprise as they didn't turn to dust upon stepping outside, confusion warring with relief as they realized that the golden glow hadn't been the sun at all, but the light from a large portal. Neither vampire wanted to be anywhere near it if something decided to come out, so they stumbled onward, blinking rapidly in the glare the portal gave off, not having seen illumination outside of candle-light in well over a century. They could hear the sound of pursuit and tried to speed up, knowing that it was only a matter of time before they were caught, unless something miraculous happened. Both of them were working solely on adrenaline, and the rush was fading quickly. Before long, they would simply drop where they stood. Or we can get another rush of terror to help us along, Spike thought as Angelus' voice rang out behind them. “I want them at my feet now!” Spike and Dawn exchanged a look, then started running, though it was more lurching forward and hoping their feet would catch up than anything else. The pounding of several pairs of footsteps was slowly but surely becoming closer and closer behind them, and the two looked around desperately in search of a safe place to hide. “Sewer,” Dawn hissed, spotting a manhole nearby. Nodding his assent, Spike crouched to pull the lid off of the manhole, letting out a muffled grunt as someone tackled him to the ground, grinding his face into the blood-spattered dirt. Dawn let out a piercing shriek of fear and anger, and Spike twisted in his captor's grasp, growling venomously as a vampire barely two years dead yanked the leather duster off of Dawn, leaving her naked, and pounced on her eagerly, barely pausing to push his pants down to his thighs. More of Angelus' minions hurried to help their comrade hold Spike down as he became more and more incensed every second his childe was being violated. Spike heard Angelus' laughter before the green-skinned demon came into view, and he lunged against his captors' hold, snarling in fury, wanting nothing more than to leap on Angelus and pull his head from his body, ridding himself of that smug superiority forever. Smirking, Angelus looked down at Spike's pinned form. “When I'm through with you, you'll wish I'd killed you that first night in London, William,” he promised, his voice taking on the soft tone that Spike recognized as the precursor of torture, pain, and death. Spike growled, twisting and bucking in an attempt to get free as Dawn's cries increased in frequency and volume, unable to see what was happening, but knowing from the sounds that she was being hurt, badly. Angelus planted a booted foot on Spike's chest and slowly applied pressure until Spike gasped, his mouth opening in a silent scream as two of his ribs snapped, puncturing his useless lungs and bringing blood to the back of his throat. Clawing at Angelus' leg, Spike let out a gurgling sound of pain as he felt his legs pried roughly apart and held that way, leaving him completely vulnerable and unable to defend himself. Angelus held Spike's frightened gaze, smirking as his childe screamed in agony while one of the minions took his reward for catching the two escapees. Spike writhed, trying desperately to pull away from the intrusion, tears of pain and anger blurring his vision as the minion slammed into him, paying no heed to the tearing flesh and spilled blood. Finally, after what seemed like centuries, the ripping, sawing sensation was gone, and the minion slapped Spike's bare buttock lightly. “Thanks for the ride,” he chortled. Spike's growl was weak as he glared up at Angelus, able to hear Dawn's faint sobs from somewhere behind him. “That was only the beginning, m'boy,” Angelus assured him with a wicked grin. With Angelus' foot no longer on his chest, Spike rolled onto his side, curling into fetal position, his body shaking in a combination of pain, anger, and fear. “Dawn,” he croaked, then coughed, spitting blood onto the ground. A small hand grasped his, and Spike squeezed her hand comfortingly, though they both knew that the odds were that they wouldn't survive whatever came next. Sunnydale, California 121 years after the End of Days (Sunnydale Time) It seemed they'd been walking in circles forever when the sound of screams made Buffy halt abruptly, nearly making Legolas walk into her back. “Buffy?” Methos questioned. “It's Dawn,” Buffy choked out, and then took off running in the direction of the screaming, her sword in hand. Methos let out a low curse and followed her, Legolas at his side, though he could've easily kept up with the Slayer. However, having Methos left behind would do no one any good. The two men stopped just behind Buffy, horrified at the sight that met their eyes, yet unable to look away. Two tall, wooden posts the width of telephone poles were sunk into the ground, and there was a body nailed to each one. In a moment of sadistic humor, Angelus had crucified them both, leaving them to hang there until they either starved to dust, or were killed by another demon. Spike's chin rested on his chest as he hung limply on the post from rusted metal spikes driven through his hands, stretched over his head. The stitches Dawn had made in his abdomen had burst, and his innards glistened wetly, barely held in his body as his vampiric healing attempted to fix his injuries. As if that weren't enough, the unconscious vampire's chest had been split open-literally- his broken ribs jutting outward grotesquely and leaving his lungs and heart visible within his chest cavity. “My God,” Methos breathed, unable to believe that somehow, these two beings were still alive. But, from what Buffy had taught him about vampires, they must be, since they weren't dust. Dawn whimpered softly, her entire body shuddering with tremors of pain as she writhed on the post, unable to hold still, but causing herself more pain with every movement. She was much paler than was normal even for a vampire, and there was little question as to why that was, since she was wearing no clothing, and the multiple bite wounds on her body stood out like crimson beacons on her white as death skin. Legolas' eyes were wide with shocked horror at the scene before him, and he wasn't surprised when Buffy fell to her hands and knees, retching until everything in her stomach was on the ground, and still her body spasmed with dry heaves. Methos took the initiative to do something, and quickly assessed what it would take to get the girl down off of the post. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about the pain he would cause her with the act. Moving until he stood directly beneath the girl, he reached out and tilted her chin until she was looking at him. “I'm going to get you down from there,” he told her gently. “But, I'm afraid it's going to hurt quite a bit. I'll try to hurry.” Dawn's eyes were glassy, her pupils fixed and dilated to the point that there was very little iris to be seen. The doctor in Methos automatically recognized it as a sign of critical shock and knew that if she were human, there would be precious little he could do to help her with the amount of damage she had taken. Steeling himself for what he was about to do, Methos reached up and pulled on the spike embedded in her wrists with all of his strength, nearly falling over as it came loose accompanied by a screech of agony. Managing to catch the girl before she could tumble to the ground, Methos draped her over his shoulder, kneeling awkwardly to pull free the spike that had been driven through her ankles, wincing at the harsh, choked moan Dawn emitted as he did so, thankful as he felt her go completely limp as she lost consciousness. He put a hand on her back to brace her as he stood and frowned at the wetness. Returning to Buffy, he gently lowered Dawn to the ground on her side, flinching at the crisscrossing whip marks, some of them deep enough that muscle and bone gleamed visibly. Having somewhat recovered from her bout of uncontrollable nausea, Buffy crawled over to her sister and cradled her to her chest, sobbing. Methos stood, looking at Legolas. “I'll need your help getting him down,” he said, gesturing to Spike's macabre form. Sickened at the sight, Legolas nodded silently and followed Methos to the second pole. “We're going to have to force his ribs back into place,” the former Horseman said. “But, we have to be absolutely certain not to pierce his heart, or he'll die.” Legolas' eyes widened slightly at the verbal confirmation that this poor, tortured being was still alive, and he swallowed thickly, looking into the slack face of the vampire, wondering if any shred of sanity would remain once he regained consciousness. There was a sharp, wet cracking sound as Methos pushed Spike's rib cage closed, careful not to let a shard of bone near his heart. He pulled his white shirt over his head, tearing the cotton into thin strips and wrapping them tightly around Spike's torso, ignoring the fact that they became soaked through with crimson immediately. Once the vampire's chest was bound, he began the same process on his stomach, wrapping the improvised bandages cautiously to keep Spike's viscera in his body without making the injury worse. Satisfied that moving Spike wouldn't kill him or cause parts to fall out, Methos gripped the spike that pinned the vampire's wrists to the pole, looking over his shoulder at Legolas. “I'll need you to handle the one in his feet once his arms are loose,” he informed the elf. The blonde nodded, looking faintly ill, and took a position kneeling at Spike's feet, gripping the rusty piece of metal and waiting for his cue. Methos ripped the spike from the vampire's wrists, startled when Spike abruptly came awake with a sound somewhere between a snarl and a scream, his entire body bowing in pain. “Now!” the Immortal hissed. Legolas pulled the remaining spike out quickly, rising to his feet and steadying Methos, who had lost his balance as all of Spike's weight fell on him, and helped lay the suffering man on the ground. “He needs blood,” Methos said, then looked up at the elven prince. “Do you think you can keep him from killing me if I can't get him to let go?” he questioned. Legolas arched an eyebrow at him. “Yes,” he stated simply, thinking that in his weakened state, Spike was hardly a match for elven reflexes and strength. Methos quirked an off-kilter grin, then used the sharp spike to slit his wrist, holding the dripping wound to Spike's fanged mouth. He yelped in pain as the vampire's fangs sliced deeper into his wrist and Spike began pulling hard on the vein. “Gods, that bloody hurts!” the Immortal complained grumpily, shifting his position in an attempt to make it less painful. As Methos moved, Spike's golden-flecked amber eyes snapped open and he growled, bearing down harder on the Immortal's bleeding appendage, making the dark-haired man gasp. “Um…any time now, Legolas,” Methos said, clenching his teeth as he attempted to pull his arm away from Spike, only to have the vampire grip his wrist with both hands and growl dangerously, moving his head from side to side and deepening the wound like a pit-bull setting its grip before its jaws locked. Legolas moved forward, trying to pry Spike's hands off of Methos' wrist, letting out a surprised sound as he found himself flat on his back, his jaw throbbing from the impact of Spike's knee slamming into it. Sitting up, the blonde elf frowned as Methos folded over onto his side on the ground, still trying ineffectively to pull his wrist away from Spike's mouth, the Immortal's struggles growing weaker as the blood loss sapped his strength and left him panting for breath. Legolas looked to Buffy for help, only to see that the Slayer was laying flat on the ground, her sister curled against her body, face buried in her throat. “This can't be good,” he murmured, perplexed as to what to do.