Chapter Text
Session #27 // Graveyard Dream Blues
Early December 2071
Tharsis City, Mars
The golden Martian sunrise began to bathe the room, bright light streaming in through the blown out ceiling and making Spike squint. The warmth was lost on him despite the sun pouring over his face. God he was cold.
Clutching the bloody wound, he started slowly moving away from Vicious’s body, taking each step gingerly. Should he look at the gash? Probably for the best he didn’t, it felt like his guts were going to hit the floor if he didn’t keep his arm exactly where he had it. His arm was wet through the three layers of clothing covering it.
He’s surprised how little pain he’s actually in, he would have expected being cut with a katana to hurt more. He expected something sharp and burning, but instead it’s a deep throb throughout his body. The sensation is beginning to fade with every step he takes, like his whole body is starting to go numb. He clenched his teeth as the world swayed in front of him, heartbeat pounding in his head.
Every step is a fight but he keeps pushing, one more, just one more step. His knees start shaking, blackness beginning to edge his vision. Feeling consciousness starting to slip away, he looks up to the bluest sky he’s ever seen. Taking in the world one last time.
So this is it huh? This is how his life ends. Dying on the planet where he was born feels nicely full circle. He thinks of Julia, will he see her wherever it is he’s going? He thinks of Jet, and of Faye, of Ed and Ein. His friends. With Julia gone he hadn’t thought twice about leaving this world and everyone in it behind. But now, standing on death’s doorstep he wishes he could have more time with them. Just one more bounty hunt, one more night laughing over drinks and smokes and Ed’s antics. It’s too late for that now, and Spike Spiegel doesn’t do regrets.
In his mind's eye he sees his past self, flicking a lighter and grinning as he prepared to blow a building sky high, knowing it was the end. Back then it had been an end, an end to his syndicate life. But this was the end. This tiger striped cat lived his last life, and was about to die his last death.
Holding out his hand in mimicry of a gun and pointing it towards the last remaining members of the syndicate, he grins again, one more time.
“Bang”
——————
Jet circled the syndicate tower in his Hammerhead for the third time. He could already see Faye running from where she’d parked the Redtail in the mess of the top floor to where Spike lay motionless and facedown on the steps. News of Vicious’s death traveled fast and it seemed like every ISSP officer who’d been in the vicinity of Mars was there. The police were more than happy to clean up the mess now that the actual leg work of taking down the syndicate was done.
That was one of the reasons he’d left ISSP. He’d joined with aspersions of cleaning up the streets and taking down gangs like the police in the old black and white movies he used to watch with his father. The reality of ISSP was anything but. The syndicates ran the show these days, paying off entire precincts to turn a blind eye to their nefarious goings on. Yet all it took was one sufficiently motivated man to bring the Red Dragons to their knees. He could see how this would play out, ISSP would take all the credit, restoring the public’s faith in a corrupt system. It made him sick.
His fingers twitched on the controls. When Faye had taken off in the defunct Redtail (he still doesn’t know how she managed to get it moving) he’d had to go after her. It definitely had nothing to do with her calling him a heartless, cowardly bastard before she left.
He found a clear-ish spot to land, thankful the Hammerhead was such a robust zipcraft. The massive skyscraper was in ruins, ceiling gone, walls blown out, and the rubble spread over hell’s half acre. Typical Spike, guy was a pyromaniac if he ever saw one. The entire area was in utter chaos as debris still hadn’t settled. The place was swarming with cops, and the yelling of the officers could barely be heard over the sound of sirens and police zipcraft flying overhead. His and Faye’s arrival seemed to go unnoticed in the chaos.
Climbing out of the Hammerhead he approached as quickly as he could with his injured leg. He’d forgone the cane he’d been walking with since he was shot. It was clear Spike would need to be carried and Faye certainly wasn’t going to haul the 6 foot something bounty hunter on her own.
Faye was in the midst of trying to turn Spike without exasperating his injuries, her hands gripping his tattered trench coat as she pulled. Blood stained the steps beneath his limp form, beginning to form small rivlets dripping from one step down to the next. It wasn’t a good sign, it was a lot of blood.
“Let me help.” Jet placed his hands on hers as he crouched on the opposite side of Spike’s lifeless body. “Slide your arm around him, try to apply pressure where he’s bleeding. We’re gonna roll him towards you.”
Faye let out a deep breath when they made eye contact, her posture slightly less rigid. She’d been panicking since she’d eyed Spike among the rubble. Jet told her what Laughing Bull said, about falling stars and all that crap. She wasn’t one to believe in that kind of spiritual mumbo jumbo but she knew Spike put weight into the things that old man said.
“Well he’s bleeding from everywhere.” She pointed out. She could see multiple exit wounds from bullets, and she suspected his front only looked worse.
“A lot of the blood seems to be coming from his torso, focus there.” Jet instructed.
Steeling her expression, she nodded to Jet. Gently as they could, they rolled Spike onto his back.
A massive wound ran across his middle. It was well known that Vicious favored the katana as a weapon, but she hadn’t ever expected to see the gory proof so up close and personal. What kind of monster chooses such a gruesome way to kill?
Shucking Spike’s bomber jacket which she’d thrown on before they left the BeBop, she removed her red sweater and stuffed it under his arm. Sliding the jacket on again she began pressing down to try and slow the bleeding. She was shaking so badly, it was hard to keep the pressure even and constant despite the fact it wasn't particularly cold for December on Mars.
“Tell me he’s alive!” She shouted, yelling over the cacophony of sounds echoing around them. She felt terrified. Were they too late? Spike’s blood was coating her hands as she tried to staunch it, hot and thick, and there seemed to be far, far too much of it.
Holding his breath, Jet ran his hand along Spike’s neck praying for a pulse. He couldn’t die, it couldn’t be his time. The kid was only twenty-eight for god’s sake. His finger’s felt a slow, weak flutter. Holding his finger as still as he could he waited until he felt it again, and again. Jet exhaled. Spike was alive, but barely.
“He has a pulse, but it’s faint. We have to get him to Doc’s. It’s his only chance.” He said gravely.
He’d seen his share of gut wounds in his time with ISSP. He knew the prognosis wasn’t good, it never was with gut wounds. Then again, Spike had survived multiple bullets to the gut before. This though, this was a whole different beast. They hadn’t moved any of his clothes to get a look at it, opting to just try and keep him together instead, but it seemed like Spike was sliced from one side to the other. Intestines, stomach, liver, all could be severed and all could be fatal. Doc, the miracle worker that he was, was Spike’s only chance. This went far beyond what Jet himself could patch up.
Faye stared at Spike’s face, trying to take in his features like it was the last time she might see them. Wanting to commit him to memory, just in case. If the worst happened she never wanted to forget his face. His ridiculous hair and upturned nose.
He said he wanted to know if he was really alive. Did he figure that one out? Get the answer he was longing for? She didn’t know what he wanted the answer to be. How ironic would that be, for Spike to finally realize he is really alive only to die shortly after. Then again his whole life was ironic. Crime syndicate member turned bounty hunter, he reunited with the love of his life after years apart only to have her killed within hours. Maybe it was a fitting end, but she refused to believe this was the end of Spike Spiegel.
She’d only just begun to realize how she fit into this world. Returning to where her childhood home had once stood was a painful experience, but it showed her that she couldn’t look to the past to find belonging. Spike was right, but of course he hadn’t taken his own advice when the past came knocking.
As she’d laid on that patch of dirt in what was once Singapore she realized her home was on the BeBop. Sure she’d all but told Spike to go fuck himself when he asked her to come back, but that’s just what she does. Knowing where you belong and knowing how to belong are different things. How ironic for her that when she did return she found that Ed had taken her shitty advice and stayed on Earth with Ein, and Spike was running off on a suicide mission.
“Hey Jet! That your guy?” Jet’s friend from the ISSP yelled over the sound of zipcraft and police cruisers. She instinctively wanted to cover Spike, not let anyone get a good look at him, but she knew this was the friend who called him to let him know what kind of danger Spike - and by extension they - were in.
“Yeah and he’s hurt pretty bad. He’s coming with us.” The look on Jet’s face was hard, emotionless. This was the Black Dog talking, sinking his teeth in and not letting go.
She was thankful for Jet. She’d never said as much to him, but she really should. Without him their lives would have descended into anarchy long ago. She crossed her fingers that this man would let them leave. They didn’t even want anything for Spike killing Vicious, allowing ISSP to make all these arrests. They just wanted to leave with him.
The officer held his hands up, palms facing out in a placating gesture.
“Listen from what we can gather your guy is the reason we are taking down one of the most prolific syndicates in the solar system. Just get him out of here, I’ll be in touch.” He ran off, helping another officer cram an unruly syndicate pawn into a cruiser.
—————
Moving Spike was no easy feat. His dead weight was a struggle to get into the Hammerhead given Jet’s injury, her size, and the katana wound. She left her Redtail parked in the ruins, they could come back and get it later, it would need to be towed anyway. Despite Jet’s better judgment she had taken off to Mars in the half broken zipcraft and barely made it planetside in one piece. She didn’t even know if the Redtail would hold together for the trip back. It had been put through the ringer defending the BeBop. Though even if the cops junked the thing, she didn’t care. It was worth it to ride in the Hammerhead keeping watch over Spike. The most important task right now was getting him to Doc’s alive.
“Don’t you die on us Spike, you lunkhead.” She whispered, resting her forehead on his. His skin was tacky with cooled sweat and whatever ash he was covered in. Hell probably smells a lot like he does right now - acrid, metallic, and smokey.
“How’s he doing Faye?” Jet called from the pilot's seat.
The Hammerhead had a bigger cockpit than either the Swordfish or the Redtail, but it was still one hell of a tight squeeze to get them all inside. Jet was flying crammed up against the control panel in order to fit Spike and herself behind it.
At Jet’s question she reached out for his pulse point. It was still there, still weak. Say what you will about him, Spike was one tough bastard.
“He’s hanging in there.” She called back.
Jet was obviously gunning the zipcraft as fast as it could go, because the trip from Tharsis City to Doc’s place in Alba City took much less time than it should have. She was thankful for that, time wasn’t something Spike had a lot of right now.
“We should get some bandages on him before we move him again, it’s a longer walk from here to Doc’s lab.” Jet said as he crawled back into the cramped space with them.
Pulling out a box with a red cross on it, Jet handed her a roll of thick gauze.
“Get to work on the bullet holes. I’ll handle the slice.”
They worked silently in tandem until they’d crudely bandaged all of Spike’s wounds. Getting out of the Hammerhead they managed to balance his weight between the two of them again with one of his arms over Jet’s shoulder and one over her’s. It was awkward due to the height difference and they were really half carrying, half dragging him but it was the best they could do as they made the slow march from the zipcraft to Doc’s.
Fate is fickle, Space Cowboy