Disclaimer: All the characters belong to someone else, alas.
 
Fair warning – things are getting dark again, and our heroes are by no means out of the woods yet. Hopefully there are no ill effects from my continued lack of beta.
 
*************
 
Spike woke up again, finding himself upright, bound hand and foot to a wall by some unknown means. Across from him, Buffy was waking up in a similar position. You alright, love? he asked, his concern rippling across their link.
 
Buffy groaned inwardly, I’m fine. Although the next time I decide to mouth off to the Devil himself, can you please tell me to shut up?
 
Duly noted. Spike looked around. It was a small, cavelike space, lit as before by an unseen source of orange light. Spike had the feeling they were not going to be enjoying themselves nearly as much.
 
What do you think we’re in for? Buffy asked, silently. Since they didn’t know who was listening, it seemed safer to communicate telepathically. Besides, Buffy found that Spike’s mental presence was quite comforting.
 
No idea, pet. Spike was nervous, but he tried to stay calm for her sake.
 
“Comfortable?” said a voice from nowhere in particular. Buffy and Spike looked around, but saw no one but each other.
 
“Been better,” muttered Spike, testing his bonds. They seemed to be entirely beyond even his enhanced strength.
 
“Let’s get started, shall we?” continued the voice. “As you may have heard, you have some sins to atone for, Mr. Pratt. Ms. Summers, have you ever really understood what Mr. Pratt’s life as William the Bloody was like? I think it is time you got to know the real Spike.”
 
Buffy strained against her bonds. “Leave Spike alone!” she snarled in frustration.
 
“I think not,” stated the voice. “Enjoy the show.”
 
Spike felt as if someone had turned on a high powered arc lamp in his brain. All of his deeds as a vampire started flowing into his head, one by one. It was just like after he had gotten his soul back, but ten times worse. Every victim’s scream, every moment of pain they suffered was being slowly, relentlessly played back into his mind.
 
Buffy felt Spike’s mind twist and writhe under the onslaught. Then she felt the victims as well. Oh my God, she was twelve. Twelve! How could you do that? Railroad spikes in the neck? In the groin? The entire family? Slaughtered half a village? How? God, Spike, how?
 
Spike barely heard Buffy’s thoughts. His brain was burning. He felt them. Oh God, he felt them. Stop. Please, stop, I’m sorry. No, no, no… He wanted to go mad, like before. He wanted to dust, to pass out, anything to make it stop. But the cacophony of voices pleading, accusing, screaming, shrieking, and wailing went on, and on.
 
Tears rolled down Buffy’s cheeks. How could she reconcile this monster with the man she loved? The man she had died for? She had known about the deeds of William the Bloody – lord knows there were enough stories about him in the Watcher’s diaries. But to experience what his victims had felt – their fear, their pain. It was agony. Layered on top was Spike’s own crushing remorse, his mental anguish at having to feel all these things again. The mental link had become a feedback loop, as each one’s pain was amplified and reflected back to the other. Her horror at his past deeds became another sharp splinter of torment.
 
After a time, Buffy could feel the madness starting to creep into Spike’s mind. That was even worse somehow. He was so clever, quick, and intelligent. It was what had made him such a worthy opponent, and such a powerful ally. But she could feel him slipping into darkness. The demon inside him howled in frustration as his soul burned. Shoving her own horror aside, she tried to call to him through their link. Spike! Stay with me! But he could do nothing but struggle inwardly against the relentless attack by those he had wronged.
 
How long can we last? Buffy wondered. The implications of eternal came crashing into her consciousness. Neither of them could die. This could literally go on forever. Oh God, what have we done? Buffy prayed. But in that darkness, she was not sure anyone heard.
 
*****
 
It was late, and few employees were still around in the dark halls of Wolfram and Hart. Wesley and Angel sat in a conference room, waiting for a Medium. Although they had a number of them on staff, Wesley had decided to go with an outside source. Until they knew more about what they were facing, they thought it best to keep the number of people who knew what they were contemplating to a minimum. They hadn’t even discussed it with Gunn, Fred, or Lorne yet. Wesley quietly hoped it would all end up being nothing. The medium would find that Buffy was in heaven where she should be, and they could mourn her and move on as before. Somehow, though, he felt things would not be so simple. They never were when Angel was involved, it seemed.
 
Angel, for his part, felt at a loss. What did this prophesy mean? What if they were in hell? Could he really bring them back? Should he? What would that take? What would happen if he failed? Angel sighed and shifted in his chair. These questions had no answers yet. First things first: find out where they really were. He looked at the clock. Where the hell is this woman? he wondered impatiently.
 
The phone on the conference table rang. “Angel,” answered the vampire. “Good. Send her up.” He turned to Wesley. “Security is bringing her up now.”
 
“Good. Maybe she can get some answers for us,” Wesley responded.
 
A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. The door opened and in walked the most stereotypical California hippie that Angel had seen since the ‘60’s. She had gray straight hair down to the center of her back, held back by a braided headband. Her clothes consisted of a loose sweater and a flowing patterned skirt, and she actually wore Birkenstocks. She had dark brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and held out her hand with an easy smile. “I’m Melody,” she said, shaking Angel’s hand. “From the skin temperature, I’m guessing you’re Angel.”
 
Angel smiled slightly, in spite of his mood. “Pleased to meet you. This is Wesley.” She turned and shook hands with the Englishman as well.
 
“Shall we get started?” she asked. They sat down around a small round side table. Melody opened a large flowered bag and pulled out some candles. She spent some time arranging the table, lighting the candles, and dimming the room lights. “Join hands,” she said, holding out her hands to the two men. “Tell me the names of those you would like to contact.”
 
“Their names are Buffy and Spike,” said Wesley.
 
Melody raised her eyebrows. “I need full names. Do you know how many dead folks there are out in the ether? Full names, and if you had a picture of them, that would help immensely.”
 
Angel released his hands and went to his bookshelf. From within an old book of poems he extracted a picture of Buffy. She had been 16, and they had been in love when this picture was taken. His heart broke just a bit, seeing her like that again, knowing what had followed. He handed the picture over to Melody. “Her name was Buffy Anne Summers. She was the Slayer.”
 
“Beautiful girl,” murmured the medium. “And the other?”
 
Angel and Wesley looked at each other. Wesley spoke, “He was a vampire. He went by the nickname Spike, or by William the Bloody. But I have no idea what his real name was, do you Angel?”
 
Angel shook his head. “I know he was called William, but he would never tell us his last name. I once got bored and tortured him for half a day trying to get him to tell us, but he never would. I think he was afraid I would go after his family or something. I don’t have any pictures of him either.”
 
Melody sighed, “Well, we’ll work on the girl then. It’s always so much easier the more information I have. Now concentrate.” They joined hands again.
 
Long minutes went by as they all focused on Buffy’s name, and her face in their memories. After a while, the medium spoke in a low voice saying, “We call on the spirit of Buffy Anne Summers. Come to us. Hear us. Those you have left have questions for you. Come to us!” Her voice had risen and her grip tightened. Suddenly, the table shook slightly, and a thin mist rose from the candle.
 
 
*****
 
The torment went on, and on. Spike’s anguish had become a never ending mental scream echoing in both their brains. Buffy longed with all her being to either break the bonds and comfort him or break the link somehow – anything to get a moment of rest from this.
 
Then out of nowhere, another presence entered her mind. Buffy Anne Summers… come to us. Buffy had no idea what this voice was, but it seemed feminine and kind somehow. She strained to focus on it. With all her strength she called to the voice: We’re here! We’re in hell! Please, oh God, please help us! They’re hurting us, hurting him and it won’t stop. Please, make it stop! It hurts!
 
*****
 
The mist swirled around the table then seemed to enter the medium’s nostrils. Her eyes snapped open wide. Angel started and nearly dropped the others’ hands. Her eyes, which had been brown as coffee, were green. Buffy’s eyes. She was looking out through Buffy’s eyes. Then she started crying out, in a familiar voice, wracked with pain, “Please, oh God please help us! It hurts!” The medium began screaming over and over, until finally she flew back, toppling the chair and breaking the circle. The mist vanished, and when Wesley helped her up he saw her eyes were brown again.
 
Melody was shaking violently. Angel got her a glass of water as Wesley helped her back to her chair. Her teeth clattered against the glass as she got herself gradually under control. “I saw her,” she finally rasped out. “She… she is in hell, as you were told. They are there together. It seems as if the torture is mental, and being visited on both of them. It was horrible.” Melody shuddered again.
 
“And you are absolutely sure it was her?” Wesley asked. He had to be sure. He couldn’t even contemplate this unless he was sure.
 
Melody fixed him with a glare. “It was her. No doubt about it.”
 
*****
 
Buffy clung to that comforting presence for as long as she could, but almost as soon as she felt it, the presence was gone. She nearly wept in frustration. But then she realized that something had changed. She felt much more in control of her mind all of a sudden, as if that interruption had reset something. Buffy concentrated, and fought back, forcing her thoughts into Spike’s mind. She had an idea.
 
Spike! Buffy called out through the red haze of his mind. Think of the slayers you killed. Xin Rong, Nikki Wood – think about them.
 
Spike dimly heard her thoughts, but couldn’t understand why she was asking about the slayers, of all people. But unbidden, their last battles started looping in his mind. The crack of Nikki’s neck. The taste of the Chinese slayer’s blood mixing with the smoke from the battle raging outside. The despair in the black almond eyes as he drained Xin Rong. Robin Wood’s misery, still fresh so many years later. Oh God, forgive me.
 
No! Buffy concentrated her thoughts like a laser. Think about what you felt about them. How did you view them?
 
Blearily, Spike tried to comply. Magnificent. They were magnificent. The ultimate opponents. Beautiful. Graceful. The swirl of painful thoughts seemed to lessen somewhat. The way you Slayers move – it was better poetry than I ever could have written. It was an honor to fight them. It would have been an honor to lose to them, even. To fight a slayer on even terms is a gift. An absolute gift.
 
Buffy kept up her efforts to distract Spike and break the endless torture. Listen to me. I know what you are now. With absolute certainty, I know what you are capable of. And I still love you, and I still need you. Fight it, Spike. Just like you fought your demon for these past few years. Hold on to me. I am right here. I’m not excusing what you did. But I am not casting you away either. Hold on.
 
Spike twisted in his bonds, and ground his teeth. But he heard her, and he held on.
 
*****
 
As Melody continued to recover from her experience, Wesley glanced at Angel. He had picked up Buffy’s picture and was regarding it solemnly. Those screams, Angel thought. I’ve never heard her scream like that. She could fight 15 demons and still be wise cracking a mile a minute. But Buffy pleading? Begging for rescue? Christ, what have I done?
 
Wesley turned back to Melody, who was picking up her things. “Let me escort you to the door,” he said, helping her gather up the candles.
 
“Thanks, but I’ll find my own way out,” she responded. She was still clearly shaken, and obviously wanted to get as far away from there as she could. “I hope that helped.”
 
“Yes, it gave us the answer we needed. Thank you.” Angel responded mechanically. Wesley ushered her out the door then alerted security to see her safely on her way. He turned to Angel. “Next move?”
 
Angel was still regarding Buffy’s picture. Then he looked up with pain filled eyes. “We need to bring them back.”
 
TBC