Rating: R
URL: http://www.purewicca.com/dsop
Email: ldydarkstr@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Anything Buffy, Angel, etc. is the property of Joss Whedon and other companies. The plot is mine, but probably used before by others.
Distribution: Bite me Please?, NHA, Willow's Lil Secret, Leslie's site, my site, Wic's site, Batpack Archive, etc. Anyone else ask permission.
Author's Note: I was working on For Honor, and I wrote the part about Spike musing about his problems with his Sire. I just got to thinking about how many issues Spike must have because of Angelus, Drusilla, Darla, and Buffy. So, I wanted to write a fic about it. I don't have a psychology degree, I've just done Psych 101, so please, forgive me if this isn't psychologically accurate!
Author's Note2: Angelus is Spike's Sire. I do not believe that Drusilla would've had potent enough blood to change anyone into a demon, and if she did, they would at least be a little off in the head! So, Spike belongs to Angel. Isn't that a nummy thought?
Dedication: To Poppy, because we both concur that Season 2 Spike would've kicked Season 7's ass. To The Batpack for stoking my insanity. To Amanda, because without her, none of this would happen.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"Summer time and the
wind is blowin' outside
in lower Chelsea and I don't know
what I'm doin' in this city
the sun is always in my eyes
it crashes through the windows
and I'm sleepin on the couch
when I came to visit you
that's when I knew
that I could never have you..."
Spike laughed, turning the radio station with a drunken quickness that made his De Soto swerve.
"You have no idea, mate. How about bein' created, knowin' that you could never have her?"
He laughed again, flipping off the other drivers that honked indignantly at him as he weaved in and out of traffic.
"Pain and sufferin', now that is somethin' that I know about," he mused, resting his chin on his hands while he drove, "pain and suffering is something I was taught real young."
****Past
It was night, and there were plenty of stars to be seen. "Didn't ya hear me boy? I tol' ya to stay put!"
The stars seemed so bright, so near. There was a thud and, again, the stars seemed to explode in light. More accurately, the stars were blossoming in young William's skull.
"Y-yes," Through his blurring vision he could see his attacker stilling his large black smudge of a hand.
"Ya heard me, and ya still followed?" was the query.
"Y-yes Angelus."
The smudge swung forward and collided with the last unbruised portion of William's head. He bit his lip, an attempt to keep the moan from escaping. This beating was a much lighter punishment than he had expected; he had experienced far worse.
****Present Day
A honk drove Spike to lurch out of his daydream, and he slammed on his brakes, causing the car behind him to crash into his steel bumper.
"Fuck off!" the vampire screamed, taking off down the highway at breakneck speed. He barreled down an exit, and rolled his car into a deserted rest stop.
"Mortals, Sires, and Slayers!" he cursed, slamming his fists into the already dented dash. The glove compartment fell open, revealing a full bottle of liquor. "There ya are!" he rejoiced, ripping off the cap and nursing on the bottle. Finally, the bottle fell from his grasp, and he was unconscious.
****Past
The wind ruffled his long brown hair, he stood with his head bowed, unconsciously cleansing his fingernails of the dirt lodged beneath. Strands of hair whipped across his face in the nighttime breeze, and somewhere in his constipated, garbled thinking he realized that he *should* be cold. And his hair should be neatly restrained; any gentleman in his position would not be caught dead with his hair flying about like a common man. If any of his acquaintances should see him thus... he absentmindedly glanced around for his hair ribbon. He was alone, and as his eyes finally focused on his surroundings, they widened. He was alone in a *graveyard*. Yet he didn't feel the mind-numbing fear that he should have felt before. He paused.
"Before what?" he questioned himself.
No answer came to him, instead he focused on a feeling buzzing through his brain that neither drink, nor drug had inspired in him. It was as if he was being beckoned, welcomed home. He turned, looking for the source of the emotion, and stumbled on some overturned earth.
"What the-"
It was a grave. Not just any grave, he noted, reading the carved slab. It was *his* grave. He gaped for a moment, his mouth opening and closing several times. He numbly stared down at his hands, stained black with earth, his clothes dirty and torn. The grave was an open maw, shards of wood from the lid of the coffin sticking up like fangs. There, caught on the splintered wood, fluttering like a damaged sparrow, was his hair ribbon. He snatched it up with a quickness he didn't know he possessed.
"I crawled out of my own grave?" he questioned the stained piece of satin.
"That ya did my boy," a sultry Irish brogue slid across the graveyard.
A large, dark-haired man walked towards him in the darkness, two elegantly dressed females adorning his arms.
"Why?"
This man was so familiar; his bearing, his voice. The welcoming sensation was growing, burning within him, becoming something different; a hunger.
"Because, it’s tradition! Hmph, besides, the servants were bound to notice a dead body lying about!" one of the women, a blonde, spoke; giving him a disdainful sneer.
Something in her manner made him afraid; as if this delicately-boned creature was something else entirely. Something to be feared.
The dark-haired man stared intently at him, his eyes piercing through him.
"Yer confused, aren't ya boy?"
"Yes," he rasped, why was his throat so tender?
The man gave him a raunchy grin. "Yer throat sore?"
"Y-yes."
The grin widened. "Well, ya did scream for quite awhile."
"Screamed?" Echoes of terror ghosted thru his mind.
"Aye, my boy, ya screamed the entire time; made it quite enjoyable." His voice had changed, almost a purr. Slowly his arm emerged around his companion, revealing a naked wrist. A neat flick of a knife released a pungent aroma. Thick blood welled at the surface of the laceration.
William groaned, the blood brought forth memories. He remembered screams, pain, intense pleasure, gasping, grunting, and...
"Angelus," he breathed, his eyes going wide as his memories trickled into his mind, like the rivulet of blood flowing down Angelus' wrist.
"Aye, my William, but you shall come to know me as Sire."
The chocolate-brown eyes mesmerized William; holding him within their grasp until he fell to his knees, imploring.
"Drink," his Sire commanded.
*
Angelus had never let him forget that one moment. The young fledgling had learned that his submissive behavior at his rising marked him as weak. The reproach of his new species, coupled with that of his human memories, caused something to snap in William's persona. He had been dead only five years when it all changed.
*
"Get out ya miserable excuse for a childe! Get out! The sight of ya makes me sick!" Angelus roared, and the fledgling went scurrying out of the room.
"I think I made a mistake Darla," Angelus remarked to his Sire, staring into the fire.
"Oh, really? Finally realized that?" Darla snapped.
"He was so calm at his rising. I was so sure that the fire he had when I turned him would carry through. Instead, he is no different than the poet he was."
William turned away from the door, escaping into the street. He wandered the London streets and parks that he still thought of as 'home'. He was so deep in thought that he collided with a well-dressed woman. Cecily.
"Oh!" she gasped, turning white.
He scrambled away from her, darting into the shadows.
"Are you all right, my dear?" her companion asked her.
"Oh! I almost thought I saw a ghost! But, that is not possible," she fanned her face, her heart rate accelerating.
The hungry fledge could almost hear his stomach rumble.
"Who, my dear?" the man, obviously her husband, offered her his arm as they began to walk.
"That awful poet, William, William, oh, whatever his last name was."
"Really, is he dead? Of what did he die? One of his own poems?"
They laughed, and their laugh sent tingles up William's spine. His fangs elongated as he changed into the face of his demon. "Let *me* explain to you what dramatic irony is, luvs," he growled, following them.
They wandered for a while, finally taking the tube. William grinned, snatching up a railroad spike from the track on his way into the car.
*
It was nearly dawn when he decided to stride home. He had discovered a part of himself tonight. He was not weak. He was a demon.
"Little poppet found himself," a dreamy voice sung from the shadows.
William froze. Drusilla. He was not allowed to look at her, touch her, nothing. She was Angelus' private pleasure. A grin spread across his face, and he raised his eyes.
" 'Ello princess," he let his speech relax, rejoicing in the slovenly dialect his mother had scolded him for using. He also knew that Angelus and Darla hated the 'covent garden trash'.
"Poppet has found his darkness; a little prince in his own little nightmare," she cooed, touching his bloodstained lips. He bit at them, causing her to squeal.
"He certainly has grown," Angelus emerged from his darkened bedroom; his eyes level, betraying nothing.
William met his gaze, and defiantly slid his arm around Drusilla. "What have I grown? A pair?" he snorted.
Angelus' eyes flickered dangerously from William to Drusilla. She had removed the railroad spike from Will's jacket pocket and was licking it like a lolly.
"Perhaps," Angelus mused. He could smell two different types of blood on his childe. "Who did you kill?" he asked nonchalantly.
"Two people," William replied with a grin.
"Who, boy?" his Sire growled.
"None of yer business, git!"
Angelus slammed Will against the wall, pinned at the throat. "I am your Sire, Childe. You will treat me accordingly."
William just smiled wider. "I'm not yer whipped fledge anymore, Angelus. I'm a fuckin’demon! I kill, and I can torture."
"You and every other vampire out there," Angelus laughed with disdain, releasing him.
The young vampire glowered, "You'll see Angelus, wait until the dawn, and you'll see." He adjusted his bloodstained lapels and turned on his heel.
"’Night, Princess," he called over his shoulder.
Drusilla looked up from the railroad spike, licking the last of the blood from her lips. "Goodnight Spikey," she waggled her fingers.
"Come Drusilla," Angelus opened his bedroom door.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?" her sire asked irritably, running his fingers through his hair, collapsing on the rich coverlets.
"The stars say that poppet is right. You'll know what he did with the dawn."
"Who, Dru?"
"Spikey, the poppet," Drusilla answered amicably, settling into her Sire's lap.
***
The 'stars' were not without a sense of irony it seemed.
Darla dropped "The Dawn" newspaper onto Angelus' lap that evening, crossing her arms.
"I could smell the blood last night! He hadn't even bothered to bathe! I ordered him to burn the clothes immediately; imagine if the servants saw them! Do you know what he said to me?" she shrieked.
"What, Darla?" Angelus calmly replied, scanning the newsprint. He was well-accustomed to his Sire's moods.
"He told me to 'bloody do it myself'!" she fumed, pacing.
"What did you do?"
"I beat him senseless with a fire iron! But it didn't end there. He *was* unconscious, and I turned to leave, and he said, 'luv, next time a little harder, I like it that way'!"
Angelus looked up to find Darla glaring at him furiously. "I'll take care of it," he promised. She growled and stormed away. Only then did Angelus crack a smile and begin to read.
GRUESOME DOUBLE MURDER
2 brutally murdered in tube car! A man and a woman riding the new underground, were brutally stabbed, cut, and viciously rendered asunder by a pointed object!
"Like a railroad spike?" Angelus mused out loud.
There is evidence that both victims were, in a horrendous fashion, physically corrupted prior to their untimely demise. Scotland Yard is withholding any further information on this horrifying event until the victims (may God rest their souls) can be identified, which will be difficult due to the vast magnitude of malicious physical damage. There were no witnesses, and the bodies were discovered by a nurse, who had to be carried away in hysterics caused by the gruesome scene. One officer was quoted, ‘Everywhere is blood, the entire car is awash in it! What those poor people went through must've been pure hell.’
Angelus looked up from the paper and grinned. "That it was, that it was."
The End