It Was The Butterflies That Did It.

It was the butterflies that did it.

Dancing at the edge of his vision... There except whenever he would turn to look. Not always present, of course, but whispering into existence far too often for him to not develop doubts.

It didn't help that he had been half convinced life was all a dream prior to encountering Vincent. And now...

The child was gone, the dog presumably at her side. It had hurt to read that goodbye but it felt somehow fitting that innocence should have fled before things got really bad.

With their absence it was harder to hope for a bright future. Harder to believe that this weary existence wasn't a dream turned nightmare.

And still the butterflies fluttered at the corner of his eyes.

Sometimes he thought Faye might see them too. The way she'd turn her head too quick and then frown in puzzlement. The way she gazed out of the windows without seeing the view beyond the glass... He could always tell when that thousand yard stare meant she wasn't seeing anything truly in front of her eyes.

Jet had actually asked once, when she had somehow not heard him calling her name multiple times. Faye had been startled when Jet clapped his hand onto her shoulder and had mumbled something about dust motes, though Spike could hear the lie in her words.

Were they living a shared dream? Had they actually died at some point before... perhaps as early as the explosion in the Linus Mines? Perhaps bewitched by that restless spirit child who lurked in the internet and drew other souls down into eternity with him? There were countless occasions where they could have met their end without realizing...

Was this purgatory? Was this a dismal dystopian dream? Was this truly living?

Jet was morose. Faye was haunted. Spike wasn't sure he could do a thing for either of them except perhaps ensure they continued to exist in this... Whatever it was. Maybe that was cruel of him. Maybe they wanted out just as much as he did. But he couldn't make that choice for anyone else, could only assume this was reality and that their lives were to be protected.

After he walked away from Faye, he felt a heavy loneliness settle on his shoulders. It was crushing in a different way than the weight he carried for the sins he'd committed over the years. There was no dream of a golden haired vixen... There was no impossible future to pretend was in reach...

There was only Spike, dead set on a mission to find answers. To find closure. To discover the truth, as if it even mattered.

Just Spike, flying off to face the devil and perhaps secure his own death.

Just Spike... and the gentle kiss of butterfly wings caressing his cheeks, brushing against his hair like the softest breeze, almost real and yet...

And yet...

Was any of this real? Would facing Vicious shatter this illusion into some sharp-edged reality he could piece back into something that had a chance of having a tomorrow?

Spike would soon find out.

@febuwhump prompt: obedience

***

Shame coursed through his veins, but damaged pride made him cry out in self defense.

"We are upholding the law of the Dragon! We are no betrayers, sensei. We are loyal men!"

"Your loyalty is not in question, Spike. It is your obedience we demand. These territorial disputes with the White Tigers and the Blue Snakes and the Golden Eagles! These - these... Pissing contests you and Vicious persist in participating in!" Mao's anger was sharp but even more cutting was the disappointment shining in his eyes.

Vicious, standing rigidly at Spike's side, kept his eyes fastened to a spot just over Mao's head. For his part, Spike could not look away from his mentor's stern face.

Embarrassment made his skin hot. To be held in such disregard... To be admonished as if they were children... Worse still, to have let down the man who had taken them in and given them a place in the Syndicate...

Mao sighed heavily. "You boys are far too brash, too bold, too disruptive. There was a reason you were removed from the Dragon's Teeth. You cannot be trusted to moderate your behavior or to adhere to the orders you are given."

"Sir, you don't understand - they started it this time! We caught them crossing into our turf by the harbor. They were setting up shop in one of the warehouses down there! We had to push back before they got the idea that this kind of thing is acceptable!" Spike protested.

Mao stared at him. "Why were either of you down there in the first place? You had no assignment in that area. There are no bars to cool your heels down on that wharf. Your... impetuous behavior was uncalled for and has set back the treaty talks that had begun between us and the Eagles. Worse, your attack on their men resulted in the death of one of their Capo's sons. They are demanding blood for blood."

Spike pursed his lips and shifted his glare to the floor. Vicious continued to stand silent beside him. Of course, Vicious never had much to say in their defense. He felt their actions spoke loudly enough and insisted that their words would only fall on deaf ears. Spike was beginning to realize the truth of that assumption.

"You cannot...seize opportunity... the way that you have. Neither of you are at a level to be trusted with making decisions for the Van. The Elders demand obedience even if you choose to not offer them respect. I will say yet again that I am ashamed at your wild behavior. It reflects poorly on more than just the two of you. It lowers me in their eyes as well. This type of thing cannot continue. Dragons do not truly exist so let us compare you to canines instead. You are curs, not men. You are to be on a leash of our control and to obey our commands. You bite who we say to bite, no others. If a dog cannot be trusted to obey, the dog is to be put down. Do not delude yourselves into thinking that the Van requires your skill set so much that this will save you from a death sentence."

Spike could hear Vicious grinding his teeth. He felt like doing the same.

There were so many arbitrary rules to follow in the Syndicate... So many hoops to jump through to keep the Elders happy... So many commands that made Spike's skin crawl. He craved the violence of taking down their enemies, fighting hand-to-hand or storming in with guns blazing. To be engulfed in the heat of battle with no time for second guessing your moves and to have only yourself, your weapons, and your bloodthirsty teammates standing between you and a painful death. He reveled in the thrill of beating someone in a fair fight and he took pride in the destruction he could cause with explosives.

He and Vicious were men of action. They were fierce and formidable and fought like devils. They deserved to be the Dragon's Claws, striking out and rending flesh! They were not made to act as the Dragon's Teeth, standing around like invisible shadows behind the puppet masters, quietly waiting for a chance to showcase their talents at keeping their lords alive. That had been belittling, to serve in such a boring capacity.

But now... To be told they weren't allowed to defend their own territory? To be made to sit idly by as rival syndicates encroached upon the streets that they controlled? It was galling. It was ludicrous. It was a mark of feebleminded frightened men.

They were Red Dragons. They had to prove their power, draw first blood, and demand respect.

Acting as delivery boys - as had been their missions lately - was embarrassing and annoying. It was pathetic work, something fit for children, not for some of the toughest men the Elders had at their beck and call.

"Sir," Spike tried again, speaking through gritted teeth. "Respectfully, we would like to be reassigned. We are being wasted as errand boys. It is degrading."

Mao's hard eyed stare made him gulp. Vicious shifted uncomfortably next to him when Mao glanced in his direction.

"You think you are important enough to make demands? You think you are worthy enough to have more responsibility? You arrogant children..."

Spike seethed at the censure from their mentor. It had hurt when he felt like they had let Mao down, especially since they had anticipated being rewarded for quelling that invasive maneuver the Eagles had tried to pull. He hadn't exactly expected rewards but this was absurd.

Outrage roiled in his belly, rising up his esophagus like heartburn. He was hard-pressed not to make matters worse for himself by adding anything else to the one-sided conversation.

Mao, clearly still vexed, gave a sigh and shrugged. "Well, fortunately for the pair of you, the Van has indeed decided that you are to be pulled from your current jobs. They were not impressed by your success rate anymore than they were pleased by your assault against the Eagles. In fact, it was decided that the pair of you shall be our offering to appease their bloodlust."

Vicious opened his mouth but said nothing. Spike physically recoiled.

"Don't look so offended, boys. It's hardly what you're thinking. In fact, it's exactly what you desire. We are sending you over there as a sort of Trojan horse if you will. They think you are a sacrifice. They do not realize that allowing you into their headquarters will mean offering their own necks to be cut. We intend for you to turn the Eagles' Nest into a slaughterhouse."

At that, Spike and Vicious glanced at one another. Smiles began to creep across their faces, hardly daring to believe their luck.

"You are to head to their neighborhood this very afternoon. Act contrite, express our condolences. They will likely bring you to the Capos themselves so you can go through with this sham of a trial they are insistent upon. This will place you near enough to the heart that you can stab it with ease. Be thorough." Mao advised. "Now, I have business to attend to. See yourselves out, if you please."

@febuwhump prompt: solitary confinement

***

He was enclosed in darkness. Trapped in a cushioned solitude that offers almost no room for movement. It is a worse confinement than the cage in the laboratory.

Well.

It is a smaller space, certainly. Less fresh air and no visibility which made the chaotic tumbling of his prison very confusing and very distressing. On the bright side, there are no injections. There was no monitor hooked up to his head. There are no lab coat wearing emotion-less employees scratching down information on notepads or inputting data into computer terminals.

There had been such a commotion in the night. He still wasn't sure what had happened... a gas had been released. He knew that because the air had taken on a cloying quality that made his nose twitch and had eventually tugged him into a state of unconscious.

When he awoke, it was to discover this new frightening form of solitary confinement.

It had been devastating enough to be taken from his mother and the others like him. To be chosen from his siblings for a dubious future just because he apparently seemed more cognizant than the others. How he wished now that he had not given off some appeal to these scientists.

It had been lonely, so lonely, in the lab. Hearing the ruckus of other animals - not canines like himself but all sorts of creature. At first it was nonsense. Shrieks and wails, howls and hissing. A lot of hoof stamping and wing flapping and attempts at accosting the coat-wearers whenever cages were opened and testing was conducted.

All of the animals had been kept separate, of course. Able to see one another and hear one another but not to interact physically. No cuddling up for shared warmth, no sniffing or licking or playing at all.

But one day he realized he could understand the others - some of them at least. And it seemed as if they could understand his yips and whines as well.

It lessened the loneliness a tad.

For a social creature like the dog he was... it wasn't enough. Even the times he was picked up and put on a medical exam table or strapped to a board to be put through a scanning machine... those weren't enough interactions to satisfy his desperate need to connect. His inherent desire for petting and to be able to snuggle like he had with his family before he was taken.

Sometimes he would shake from the despair of missing them so much. His mother, with her soft milky scent. His siblings with their rough-and-tumble play and their fast heartbeats a rhythm of familiar comfort and the gentle heat they exuded from their little bodies when they all lay together in a happy little pile.

Being cooped up was slowly destroying him. Even as his intellect grew, his energy began to drain. He was morose, his spirit flagging. The lab was no place for pups, no place for any of the unfortunate animals trapped inside those white brick walls.

But was this any better? Bonked back and forth within this little cage - some form of transportation unit? Being conveyed somewhere but by whom? For what purpose? Had he been rescued by one of the protesters they could sometimes hear shouting beyond the building? Had he been stolen by a competing team of scientists, the ones the lab coat wearers whispered about in uncertain tones?

It was a new type of hell. Being in this small space... being in the dark in so many ways. There were moments where he feared he might suffocate from a lack of new air. It didn't help that he couldn't stop panting from fear.

He was alone. He was lost. He was terrified.

He had to try and calm down. To think ahead and plan for what to do next. His prison would be opened at some point - that was inevitable. He would not be confined forever and when the brightness of the outside world peeked in on his trapped form... he would need to be ready to take stock of the situation.

Fight or flight, these were the responses a typical creature - even human - would jump to. But Ein refused to be guided blindly down either of those paths. He would take his time, at least at first, and ascertain his surroundings. Take stock of the life forms in his immediate vicinity to determine which were friend and which were foe. He would need to be smart to stay one paw ahead of the enemy.

He had to calm down. Relax his muscles so he could leap into action when it was necessary. Strain his ears to hear as much of the world around him as possible.

This was only temporary. This cage would release him into freedom... and from there? Who knew...

@febuwhump prompt: "why won't it stop?"

***

"I don't understand." Spike muttered, cradling his left arm with his right as he sat on the cold concrete bench of the bus stop.

Annie glanced over at him. "What is your problem?" She asked in a snotty voice. Mao fawned over the kid so much that it was hard to be around Spike without getting pissed off. It wasn't even jealousy exactly it was more... well, Spike himself was a brat. He mouthed off constantly, he drank and smoked and stole - and he was only 10!

Frowning, Spike shrugged and clutched his arm a little tighter as if self-conscious. The movement made him hiss in pain and his face screwed up like he was fighting back tears.

Annie was surprised. She'd never seen a trace of uncertainty or sadness in him before. With a long-suffering sigh she turned from her position watching down the road for their bus and grabbed his arm to yank the sleeve up before he could react by fighting her off.

He yelped as the dirty fabric of his stained sweatshirt swept over his blistered skin and Annie couldn't keep from wincing at the sight.

"It's a pretty bad burn," she acknowledged after inspecting it. "We'll have to put some ointment on it and cover it up so it can heal without getting infected. Ugh, you're so much work, kid."

Glaring at her, Spike wrenched his arm back and stared down at the disfigured flesh. "I don't understand." He repeated. She watched him grit his teeth before taking a deep breath and finally looking at her with as innocent and respectful of an expression as he could possibly make. "The steam only hit me for a minute. It still burns. Why won't it stop burning?"

It was Annie's turn to shrug. "That's just how burns work." Then she frowned at him. "Have you seriously never gotten burnt before?"

Spike rolled his eyes and tilted his neck back and forth to crack it. Eventually he huffed another sigh before replying to her, though his eyes were trained on the ground by their feet.

"Never been around hot food or nothing." He remarked quietly.

Well. He was an orphan, after all. He'd spent most of his years on the streets. When Mao had originally stumbled across him, it had been when Spike was reeling from a fever and did such a piss-poor job of making off with Mao's wallet that the older man had been able to follow him with ease to the alley that Spike called home. It was still the place they could typically find him whenever he ran off from the youth center where Mao had stuck him.

Annie's shoulders slumped. Somehow Spike's simple admission and his childlike confusion over such a basic concept had managed to deflate all of her typical irritation over being saddled with babysitting the kid. Annie's own childhood had been marked with misery and hardship of course - her mother had been a flake who just disappeared one day. That had left Annie with a junkie dad who occasionally was able to provide useful information to the syndicate. It was her uncle, Mao, who had eventually agreed to take Annie under his wing and bring her into the outer realm of his world.

She had discovered an appreciation within herself for weapons and threw herself wholeheartedly into learning everything she could about guns and bullets and grenades and knockout gasses and brass knuckles. Self-defense was such an important skill to hone, but perhaps equally useful was merely having access to things that could hurt or kill someone else. She spent hours of her days on the shooting range or hustling antique guns from flea markets and pawn shops and estate sales. It was her passion and had become quite an addiction, truth be told.

In fact, once she was able to drop Spike off at the youth center to have his arm tended to, she was planning on going to a sale at a museum that was closing down over on the east end of town. She'd heard a rumor that they had cannons - actual cannons! - that would be up for auction. Now that would be something to own!

But first she had to do something about this little snot-nosed boy who was still putting on a brave face despite the tremors that coursed through his upper body now and again. He kept kicking his heels against the bench which at least made any shakiness in those limbs not evident to any onlookers. At least he was smart enough to know he shouldn't show any weakness if he could avoid it.

Annie glanced down the road and finally saw the familiar shape of the bus wearily working its way towards them. She held out her hand to Spike.

"C'mon, kid. I'll weasel some burn cream from the nurse at the YC for ya. It'll help a little with the pain. Best thing aside from that is to distract yourself. Why don't you find a good book in the library there and hole yourself up for a few hours reading?"

Spike warily put his good hand into hers and let her pull him to his feet. Considering how often they butted heads, it was no surprise he was hesitant to fully trust her.

"Yeah, maybe." He was still sort of curled in on himself even now that he was standing up. It gave him a vulnerability that made Annie nervous. She hated to be seen as weak and wasn't comfortable being in the presence of someone who might cast her in that light by their own timidity.

"What's the matter? Don't tell me you can't read either!" She cried.

Spike straightened up, shoulders going back and chest puffing up with a child's arrogance. "Shut up! I can read plenty!"

Annie eyed him suspiciously. Who would have been around to teach him letters? The shiftiness of his eyes seemed very telling to her.

She thought longingly of the cannons and how fun it would be to add them to her collection. Then again, where would she even store the damn things?

The bus groaned to a halt in front of them and Annie yanked Spike along after her as she climbed aboard.

"If you keep your trap shut about this, I'll help you figure it out." She told him in a fierce whisper. "I don't want nobody knowing I did you a kindness, you hear? I'm supposed to be working on my tough reputation and Mao sticking me looking after you all the time doesn't help that any." She sighed as she shoved him into one of the seats and claimed the one next to him. "Anyway, he'll be over the moon if I can get you on the right track. So. First the burn, then the books."

Spike pinched his lips together and gave a curt nod before directing his attention out the window. Good. That meant Annie could daze out for the duration of their bus ride. There'd always be another chance to own something as cool as a cannon... and in the meantime, well, it was smart to do things that put others in her debt. That was something she'd learned from Uncle Mao real quick. Favors made the world run smooth.

@febuwhump prompt: rope burns

***

Her wrists stung painfully from where the rope had chafed her skin. It had been a pointless endeavor in the first place, trying to slowly and methodically adjust her wrists to get the synthetic fibers to loosen enough to tug herself free.

She had known from the first sight of the colorful coil that it was a material that would prove impervious to abrasion, which meant she wouldn't be able to use friction to deteriorate the fibers. That, coupled with the terrified obedience inspired by the silver-haired syndicate man and his suit-wearing lackeys, had led her to instead offer her hands willingly to be bound.

At no point had she been left on her own to try and use the scant centimeters of advantage she'd managed to secure by positioning her arms and wrists for the bondage they'd inflicted upon her.

And then they'd cut the ropes and tied her up anew once they reached their destination: a crumbling cathedral shrouded in darkness of several types. Shadows from the setting sun that stretched into every crevice, shadows which faded into deeper darkness as clouds covered the sky and began a merciless downpour. Then, a more subtle darkness, the sins of man that radiated from each of these well-dressed thugs.

Strung up with her arms behind her back - behind, indeed, a pillar against which her back rested - she had been helpless to attempt to free herself. More than that, fear kept her firmly in place.

At first, when she had realized they not only knew her ruse of familiarity with Mao Yenrai but that they were intent on using her for their own nefarious purpose, she had been relieved that they wouldn't be slitting her throat and tossing aside her corpse. She was also thankful that violating her - beyond merely trussing her up - was not on their agenda.

But it was difficult to pretend that she wasn't terrified. She had to draw upon every ounce of will power to keep her voice light, to keep her eyes clear of tears, to keep from trembling.

Seeing the boys on the screen when she was forced to call and beg for their help - something she frankly refused to do, choosing instead to be as nonchalant as possible - was such a relief that she sagged against her bonds. The rope burns on her skin made her straighten back up a heartbeat later, the reminder of the danger she was in even if Spike decided to show like he'd mentioned he might.

Hope threatened to rise in her heart and she angrily dashed it aside. He had claimed it wasn't for her and so she knew she could not truly rely on him for a rescue attempt. Whatever odd games were being played here - she wanted no part in them and regretted getting involved. She was a pawn here, not even a player, and that rankled as much as the fact that she was tied to a rough pillar that was most certainly leaving gouges against the bare skin of her back.

Between her wrists and her spine and her pride, she wasn't sure what hurt the most. It was better to focus on the pain than the horror of her situation though. The sharp memory of Mao's mutilated corpse sitting beside her in the opera box. The callous manhandling of her person there and here. The utter indifference with which Vicious gazed at her.

Well. At first his look had been considering. Sizing her up, judging her worth, trying to determine her merit. And then... following Spike's casual dismissal of interest in her... she was surprised that he hadn't killed her immediately. Her use to him was obviously null and void at that point, unless he intended to use her as a distraction if and when Spike showed up.

It didn't matter. She had to keep herself on task.

The grunt assigned to keep her in line was rearranging the ropes holding her arms together behind her back. She was being released from standing before the pillar - a minor improvement as now she could feel cool air blowing along the scrapes of her back - and the man was positioning her at his side in one of the darkest corners of the cathedral.

"Move when I move you. Say nothing. Disobey and die." He muttered to her when she dared to look in his direction.

Fresh fear spilled down her spine and she forced herself to stand straight and tried to give off an air of being entirely unaffected by everything that had happened and was going on around her. She summoned all the grace she could muster, determined to act as if her presence was by choice. These bonds might as well be ribbons, the gun pressed to her temple could be the weight of a crown sitting jauntily upon her head.

She was not a frightened woman, shivering internally at the prospect of her imminent demise. She was not a terrified prop whose abrasions burned with every brush of the rope against her soft flesh. She was not going to die here like a panicked animal.

She was going to control her breathing and continue to try and shift out of her bonds. She was going to stomp this man's foot with her stiletto heel while ducking and twisting to avoid the bullet he would automatically fire. She was going to use these rotten pews as a cover to manage an escape from this situation all on her own.

And then, over the sound of the rainfall outside the decrepit building, she could hear the repetition of steps that indicated someone was approaching at a steady pace...

these lunkheads make my heart go pitter pat

sin’s twelve days of christmas gifts; 2023

spike spiegel & faye valentine ❄ happy holidays @kiraannwrites