BY : Yllek
Category: BtVS AU/AR > General
Dragon prints: 940
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Title: Time
Summary: Spike’s been alive a long time. He’s no longer a vampire but he doesn’t age. Death fic.
Warning: AU. Abuse, Angst, Death, Language, Oneshot, Violence.
Age: NC17
Disclaimer: I only own this storyline and any OC’s. The rest belong to its creators - which is NOT me L

He’d been alive for a long time.

He’d seen things…done things that people wouldn’t believe.

Some of it was bad, others it was good.

Everyone else was gone, dead. Their families had long since spread about the world, their children growing with each day. Generations of them, still kept in contact in memory of their age-old family, for what they did for the world in their time with no thanks or recognition from anyone else.

But it was a different world now.

He was human, too. Woke up one day, a millennia ago, and was just human. Heart beating, blood pumping, needing to breath human.

But as time went on and he didn’t age a day, he gave up hope. He’d never see anyone again, if there was such a place to meet up.

He’d lived his life as a human, had done a lot of good, then moved on before others noticed his incapability of aging.

He lived in a cell now. He was a prisoner.

He slept in a small cold room on a single cot with a sheet over him, dressed all in white. No shoes or socks, just simple trousers and shirt.

When he woke up, he was fed. It was mostly cereal, though some days he was given toast. He was taken into a toilet where he would do his business and then would shower. The clothes would be taken and replaced with other clothes. Warmer, thicker clothes, with socks and trainers.

Then he went to another room, where he’d just…sit. He’d sit on the floor and curl in a corner. He never went outside and he wasn’t given much to do anything.

When it was night, he was fed again, then led to the toilet to do his business and take another shower, then led back to the room with a cot. His clothes were taken and his white ones were left before he left the shower, so that’s what he’d be dressed in for the night once more.

They had a two-way mirror in every room. He didn’t know if there were more prisoners where he was, but either way, they watched him twenty-four seven.

He hadn’t tried to kill himself, even before he was in the place. He didn’t see the means to. He always said he’d go down fighting, and he would, one day. If he could die. He hadn’t wanted to try it, either.


He stretched as he woke. He ignored the man standing inside of his door, as he always did. When he was ready, he followed the other man to the other room, where he sat at the table and ate his cereal.

He was then led to the toilet, where the man yanked his clothes off when he didn’t move fast enough. He glared, but there was little he could do about it.

“Shower.” The man said, already leaving with the clothes.

“Berk.” He muttered, stepping under the spray. Hot water cascaded over him and he sighed, resting his weight on his arms.

After a few minutes, he began to wash.

Once he was done, he pulled on the new clothes and followed the guy to the other room. He sat in the corner of the room, the cold tile sinking in through the jumper he was wearing.

He was surprised when a few minutes later, the door opened and two people walked in.

The woman was wearing a lab coat over her trousers and button-up. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and she had glasses dangling from a chain around her neck.

The man was a bouncer-type. He wore a long sleeved black shirt over faded blue jeans. He wore boots, stern yet well-worn.

She slipped her glasses on and stared for a moment. “It’s time.” She said.

The muscle walked over to Spike and pulled him to his feet by grasping his jumper at the shoulder.

“Coulda just said, mate.” He told him, but the man ignored him and didn’t let him go. “What’s-”

The man began walking, pulling Spike with him. When he struggled, trying to break free, he simply picked Spike up and put him over one shoulder, easily holding his hands behind his back. He stopped Spike kicking by holding both of his legs with his other hand.

Spike cursed, wriggling as much as he was able.

Nothing was white. It was all grey, with no lines. It was very clean, not a scuff or a speck of dirt on it.

Spike had never been anywhere else on the compound, but now he watched it all upside down, limbs held still.

They stopped at another room, though this one was decorated. There was a single bed pushed up against one wall, a table placed beside it. There were shelves on another wall, stacked with books and cassette tapes. There was a chest of draws, a shirt hanging out of one.

“Is everything ready?” The woman asked.

“Yes.” The bouncer-type replied, dumping Spike on his feet. He kept hold of the other man by grasping the back of his neck. “Would you like to stay?”

“No.” She replied. “I’ll be in after.”

Spike watched her leave and then found himself getting stripped like a small child. He cursed and fought the other man, but then stopped when a hit to the head left him dazed.

“Sorry.” He man apologised, still stripping him.

Once Spike was naked, the other man set the clothes aside and moved to the draws. He pulled out two items and walked back over to Spike, arranging the clothes on his body.

The shorts were only mid-thigh and the shirt was at least two sizes too big.

The man put Spike on the bed, tucking him in tightly.

Spike stayed where he was put, watching the other man curiously.

The bouncer climbed onto the bed above the covers and pressed his weight into Spike, forcing him to the bed, unable to move.

One hand came up and pressed over Spike’s mouth. He used the hold to turn the other man’s head up and to the side, baring his neck. He reached into his pocket with his free hand and withdrew a needle.

He tested it and then, checking it, inserted it into the vein in Spike’s neck. Once he was done, he pocketed the needle and quickly stood.

“What the fuck?” Spike asked, putting a hand to his sore neck.

“It won’t hurt.” The man said, then left the room.

The tinkering sound that came next let Spike know the door was locked.

He found he couldn’t move so well. Everything felt really heavy. He rolled onto his side, one arm out of the covers and dangling off the side of the bed.

He’d lived a long time, done a lot of things. He’d watched people and countries age and die. He watched everyone he once knew die a long time ago. He became human and didn’t age, having to move away when he knew he should have looked old, changed his name and identity so many times he’d lost count.

He missed people he didn’t think he would, and silently wished for it all to stop to be reunited with those people.

Everything slowed down, his heart pounding in his ear.

Whatever they’d done to him, it was going to end him. He wasn’t happy or sad. He wanted to go down fighting but he was so tired. He didn’t want to watch others leave him anymore. He wanted to do the leaving. Now he was.

He closed his eyes.


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