"Your father?" Spike whispered, unblinking eyes boring into the figure on the sand. "*That* is your father?"

"Damn straight he's my boy!" Anthony Harris said, spitting out a few teeth. "Useless sonofabitch, come over here!"

Xander tried to nod, but he couldn't. His father was a seething, roiling mass of wounds and gritty blood. All of a sudden, Spike's arms around him were constricting. He had to get away, had to escape this vision. The young man pushed, but nothing happened. Spike ignored him completely.

"Did he..." Doyle's green eyes flashed between Spike and the man he was questioning--Xander. The Irish ghost was both worried and furious. The presence of Xander's father--Xander's not-dead-yet father--in this place meant exactly one thing.

"N-no," Xander stuttered, shaking all over. "N..n...n..."

"You're his only child, Xander," Spike hissed, teeth gnashing. "How old were you, Xander? How old? What did he do? Huh?" Anthony merely laughed at the vampire, flicking fire away from his arms.

"Let me go," Xander growled, twisting madly. "He's not--"

"Irish," Spike shouted, tossing Xander over to Doyle. "Take care of him." Before either Xander or Doyle could intervene, Spike was on the man. Soon the two were a writhing whirlwind of fire and blood as Spike tore Anthony Harris limb from limb, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Fucking shithead! Touching your own son, raping him! Do you know what that makes you?" Spike shouted, digging his fingers into the man's chest. A still-beating heart soon lay on the sand, sizzling as fire hit it. "Not even demons do that, you bastard. I should fucking know. Even vampires don't fuck babies. Kill them, yeah. Feed from them, without a second thought. But nobody, *nobody* fucks their own children!"

Doyle settled Xander on the sand, keeping the boy's limbs underneath the protective umbrella. Spike was being burned by the fire, bits of flame in his hair and clothes. They had to do something--Spike was destroying Xander's father, and the vampire wasn't in much better shape. Before long, he'd be covered in flames.

"Spike," Doyle called out. "You've gotta stop, man. This isn't doing any good." Indeed, it wasn't--Xander was weeping openly, trying to bury himself underneath the dusty ground.

Wild eyes caught Doyle's. "Isn't it?" He asked, fingers clenching rhythmically. "He deserves to suffer."

"At your hands?" The ghost asked harshly. "At what cost to you? Violence begets violence an' all that. Think about it, Spike."

"Think about it? About the cost to me?" Spike screamed. "I'm a vampire. I will come here when I die. There is no cost to me. This man," He shouted, holding up Anthony's arm, "Raped Xander. He must be *punished* for it. He has to hurt. To bleed. Suffer."

Doyle felt tears well up in his eyes. Spike was willing to give up any chance of redemption for the man huddled upon the ground. Doyle himself wanted nothing more than to see Anthony Harris roasted on a pit of coals, but that wouldn't do any good. What Spike was doing might have made him feel better, but it was killing Xander. Each blow, each bit of flesh, made Xander cry ever harder.

"Spike."

Spike heard Xander's voice and paused. "Xander?"

"Don't," Xander pleaded, unable to look at what Spike had done. "Please don't."

Spike dropped Anthony Harris, the man forgotten as he rushed over to Xander's side. Doyle knelt over him, patting out the last bits of fire. Xander tried to touch Spike, but the blood covering him made the young man recoil. "You're..." Xander whispered, fingers dragging over sticky cloth.

"Shh," Doyle murmured, rocking both men. Xander leaned against Doyle. Spike watched for a moment before turning away. Doyle stopped him, gathering the vampire close. They sat underneath the umbrella, three broken men and their tears, until Spike's victim had put himself back together and moved away.

"He's gone," Xander said, finally putting a hand in one of Spike's.

"We should go," Doyle said. "We're nearly out of this part anyway." He let go of Spike and Xander, picking up the umbrella. The vampire picked Xander up, helping him to his feet. They walked across the sands, carefully avoiding everyone they encountered.

Xander's eyes were so focused on the ground that he almost walked right into the water in front of him. Spike managed to stop the young man, bringing Xander against his chest. Doyle's arm shot out to slap against Xander's middle, further protecting him from falling.

"Er, thanks," Xander mumbled. "That wouldn't have been fun."

"No shit," Doyle said. He looked out over the water, thinking. "Hey, Xander?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I borrow your belt?"

"Sure," The young man said, unbuckling it. "Why?"

Doyle smiled weakly. "I'm gonna go fishing."