Who: Peter Vincent, Spike What: Jerry is dying, and Peter is being reborn Where: The vampires’ hideout When: At the end of the final battle with Jerry & co., Wednesday, June 19, 2013 Warnings: Peter’s foul mouth, violence and graphic imagery Status: Closed, Ongoing
Peter had known this was all a fucking trap from the moment Jerry had started handing out orders. He didn’t know if Jerry was just overconfident and choosing to ignore it, or if he was stupid enough to think he stood a chance against them, or if he had some sort of plan in mind. Instinctive loyalty to his sire aside, he didn’t care if Jerry died or not - it was the weapon used to kill him that had Peter concerned. And of course, he’d been right to not trust it, because the fucking white hats all came pouring in hours earlier than Jerry had been scheduled to meet with Beth, and the entire lair just erupted into chaos.
Peter had tried to keep an eye out, tried to watch Jerry and figure out who had that bloody stake, because he knew they would try to use it if they could. But before he could do much of anything Jerry had disappeared, and Spike was there, trying to hold him back. He fought back with everything he had, furious and desperate, but it was too late. Not even getting past Spike could have saved him from the fate he'd fought so hard against.
He knew the moment that stake drove home into his sire’s heart. He could feel it with every part of him - his sire dying, and taking Peter out with him. The vampire dropped like a rock the moment he felt it hit, his fight with Spike forgotten. He was left writhing, his back arching against the ground. The sound he made was beyond inhuman, screaming in rage, screaming in excruciating agony. The feeling was familiar, from what felt like a lifetime ago and a world away, but it was more intense this time. He could feel his very being shredded apart, the demonic being was ripped out of him, torn loose from the human Peter, his soul restored to dominance of his body and mind. The power of the stake drew the evil thing out of him like poison from a wound; it looked like blackened, silvery smoke pouring from his mouth and face, roiling in the air above his body before being forcefully drawn back to its source.