Spike's week long bender of pity and booze was far from over. Even faced with impending money shortage, Spike had his means to get what he wanted. Just a soft finger that trailed over a girl's cheek here, a friendly smile there, a bruising kiss all around and a quick shag later, he could just about take anything he wanted from that half deserted bloody gas station, just outside the city limits. Just a couple of bottles to get him through the night, a chocolaty snack, a few packs of smokes to reign himself in when his urges to lash out got too bad. He'd even gotten a nice little souvenir from that girl and in whatever light that actually made it this far into the cemetery, he saw it shine. With his enhanced eyesight, it appeared to shine far brighter than the half empty bottle next to his side, wedged into the grass. After a long draw from the bottle, he picked it up again, carefully holding it up by its silver chain. If anyone had noticed that he was even here, they didn't care. But then, they didn't know.
When his flesh hit the shiny metal, it burned and a sizzle of smoke rose up in the chill night air. And while it hurt, he didn't even flinch, hadn't in years. Angelus had made bloody sure of that. With his free hand, he reached for the bottle and once again, filled his mouth with the shitty, cheap whiskey that got him drunk all the same. When the sound of hurried footsteps filled his ears, he didn't even budge. But it sounded like a bloke. And it definitely wasn't Damon. After finally swallowing his whiskey, he let his head rest against the gravestone he was sitting against, wondering if he got a visitor.