The dim light of Spike’s crypt flickered from the half-burned candles scattered around the stone interior. You sat on the edge of a wooden coffin, gripping the sides so hard your knuckles were white. Everything felt wrong. Too sharp, too loud—the world had tilted on its axis, and you weren’t sure you’d ever find your footing again. Your throat burned. A deep, aching hunger gnawed at you from the inside out, and it took every ounce of willpower you had left not to give into your new vampire nature.

Spike leaned against the wall across from you watching you carefully. He hadn’t said much since he dragged you in here hours ago, just kept his distance and let you sit in silence. But now, as you clenched your jaw and squeezed your eyes shut, he finally spoke.

“You’re gonna have to feed soon, love.”

Your stomach twisted violently. “Don’t—” The word came out hoarse, raw. “Don’t call me that. Don’t act like this is normal.”

Spike sighed, pushing off the wall. “Never said it was normal. But it is what it is.” He stepped closer, his boots scuffing against the stone floor. “Fight it all you want, but the hunger? That’s not going away.”

You shook your head violently. “No. I won’t do it. I won’t be like—”

“Like me?” Spike finished, tilting his head.

You swallowed, looking away. “Like any of them.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with things unsaid.

Spike sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. Woke up undead, all your mates looking at you like you’re the next big bad. Slayer probably sharpening a stake right now, yeah?”

You flinched. Buffy hadn’t been there when you woke up, but the way Giles and Xander had looked at you… like you were a problem that needed solving. Like they weren’t sure if they should be relieved or terrified.

“I shouldn’t be here,” you whispered. “I won't do it...I wont drink... Blood...”

Spike crouched down in front of you, his blue eyes sharp but not unkind. “Yeah, well sooner or later you have to... Except you want to dry out like a Sponge"