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(no subject)
The asylum is whispering.
It always does. It's the wind through bars and broken windows, shredded cloth and hanging plastic, through abandoned rooms and hallways and past decades of cracked, flaking paint. Once he had thought of it as an unfriendly sound, malevolent and worrying, and it's still malevolent, but he no longer feels threatened and he certainly feels no need to worry.
In some ways, this is the closest to home that part of himself ever gets now. He's been spending more and more time here, wandering, listening to the whispers.
And then of course there's the company. Of more than one kind.
The place is technically abandoned, but abandoned is only ever a technical term in a place like Darrow. He and Spike aren't the only things moving in the dark.
In the building's large front atrium he stops, listening. "Cheerful fucking place, isn't it?"
It always does. It's the wind through bars and broken windows, shredded cloth and hanging plastic, through abandoned rooms and hallways and past decades of cracked, flaking paint. Once he had thought of it as an unfriendly sound, malevolent and worrying, and it's still malevolent, but he no longer feels threatened and he certainly feels no need to worry.
In some ways, this is the closest to home that part of himself ever gets now. He's been spending more and more time here, wandering, listening to the whispers.
And then of course there's the company. Of more than one kind.
The place is technically abandoned, but abandoned is only ever a technical term in a place like Darrow. He and Spike aren't the only things moving in the dark.
In the building's large front atrium he stops, listening. "Cheerful fucking place, isn't it?"
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"Just like home," he snorted, a smirk curling his lips. "Does that boy of yours know how much time you're spending in this lovely little place? He finds out how much fun you're having, he's liable to get jealous."
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But yes, he might like to see Neil here.
He touches one of the peeling walls. "It does remind me of home."
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"You and I might be the only poor sods in the universe to get all soppy and nostalgic over a rat infested dump like this one, mate," Spike smirked, toeing at a tin can on the floor at his feet, so crumpled and faded its origin was a mystery.
"So, you bring me here just to show off your man cave, or have you got other plans?"
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But he had figured that Spike might be able to help with that. Because he can't talk to Dean about this. No way.
"I dunno. We could kill something." There's the distant sound of running footsteps, echoing through the halls in such a way that it's almost impossible to tell where they're coming from. "Or I got a sixpack stashed around here somewhere." He smiles faintly. "I guess at some point we could head down to the basement."
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Spike cut Mike a look of his own. He'd been joking, clearly, but it probably wasn't that far off, as an analogy. An abandoned asylum was the Mike Pinocchio equivalent of leather recliners, wide screen televisions, mini-fridges and football memorabilia.
"Who says we've got to choose?" Spike said, already walking ahead in search of those shuffling footsteps.
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He fingers the handle of the machete. "Sound like one to you? More than one?" The echoes are making that part difficult as well.
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"Two, at least. Or something with a whole lotta legs," he said with a snort, "I don't know about you, but more than four and my skin starts to crawl."
It was definitely two, though the echoes made it harder to tell just where they were both coming from. That didn't stop him from hurrying towards a darkened, crumbling stairwell, doing nothing to try and quiet his approach.
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The stairwell is lit only by filthy narrow windows running up its walls, doing more to cast deeper shadows than illuminate anything. Something is moving forward and above them, definitely at least two - not that he'd doubted it.
"Really kinda hope we're not dealing with a nest." His mouth twitches. "I'd like to be able to hang out here more."
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"Suppose the realtor failed to mention there were already tenants," Spike smirked, clambering up the steps purposefully. Sneaking in quiet-like wasn't his style.
At the top of the next flight, he tried a door, which appeared to be either locked or rusted shut. Taking a step back, he busted through with one powerful kick.
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And of course they're hungry. They all rise, snarling, jagged teeth bared.
He unsheathes the machete, holds it at the ready. He's not afraid, but he learned a long time ago that it's better to not be the one who makes the first move.
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"You're right, mate. This would be the perfect place to wind down, have a beer."
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"Just needs a little love." He grins when it snarls at him, when it rears to spring again. "Some new carpet, some lighting, it'll be great."
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"Saw a perfectly good couch in an alley, few blocks from here. Leather and everythin', hardly any questionable stains," he said, lifting one of the vamps fully off his feet and hurling him into a pile of debris. It landed with a snarl, a broken shard of wood piercing through it's shoulder, missing the heart but causing more than a bit of discomfort.
"It'd look perfect against that wall, there."
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It's holding its intestines in now, but it's still mostly just angry. Angry and angrily surprised.
"'Course, then I'd have to get a blacklight."
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"I was all hung up, what to get you for Christmas. Thanks, mate," Spike said, standing just out of range of the vampire's grasping fingers, where it lay still skewered on that shard of wood. The vampire snarled, heaved itself off of the makeshift stake and lunged at him, getting in a punch, and another, before Spike knocked him off his feet again with a powerful kick to the gut. It landed, again, this time skewered through the other shoulder. "Oh, come on," it snarled.
Laughing, Spike kicked another shard of broken wood into the air, caught it, and plunged it through the vampire's heart, just as vampire number three tackled him from the side, sending them both flying to the floor.
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He could just take its head off now, finish this. Instead he kicks it onto its stomach and stomps hard on the middle of its back, hearing the crunch as a couple of its ribs snap.
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He was laughing when he landed hard on his back, lying sprawled for only a moment before flipping his attacker over and reclaiming the upper hand.
"Careful," he said to Mike, "You wouldn't believe what a pain it is, getting blood out of concrete."
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The fear and the pain. It rushes into him, making him almost dizzy.
But he also knows better than to tempt fate too far, and the thing is still dangerous. He swings the blade down on the back of its neck, and with three hacks it's severed through to the floor. A second of nothing much, and then the body beneath him collapses to dust.
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Reaching for the stake inside his coat, he plunged it into the vampire's heart. It looked up him, their yellow eyes meeting, before it collapsed into dust.
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"Glad you don't think I'm boring, I guess."
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So, while he wasn't aching to get off, just then, he did feel a bit of that old tug, that desire for blood, for warmth and heat and life, that he knew quite well that Mike could provide.
But it was all bagged blood for Spike, these days. It was a sacrifice, a rather large one, he'd been prepared to take.
Instead, he fished out a cigarette as he pushed to his feet. "Don't get too excited, pet. Haven't known you all that long, in the scheme of things. I might lose interest, yet."
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Neil will just have to pick up the slack later.
"I really do like this place, though."