Sold

Author:Lore

Pairing: Spike/Angel, Spike/Methos

Summary: Harmony accidentally gets Spike sold for an auction, Angel has to get him back

Notes: slave/master relationship, some corporeal punishment and basical crazy Angel

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Life's been known to suck. So why is it that it creeps up on the undead as well? Making a dead man into a toy of fortune, just when you least expect it. Wham! One second you're whistling carelessly along your way as you head up to your sire's office. The next, it crashes apart in a million pieces, scattering your illusions like the clouds they are. It's not like he should have expected any better. His warning bells should have started ringing the second Angel asked him over. But that last dredge of hope had made him ignore it once again. Such a hopelessly naive fool he still was..

All it had taken to lure him into the trap, was a single call from Angel. His sire had nagged about this and that, practically ordering him to get his butt over to the office. Yet when he did, old Captain Forehead wasn't even there. Flirting with Harmony had looked like a good way to find out where he was. Chatting up with the stupid bint, complimenting that blinding pink skirt that showed her ass when she leaned over, insinuating....By the time the shipment of Droblak demons arrived, it had been too late to back out.

Harmony had taken one look at the squishy squirmy things and had refused to get anywhere near the package. Spike had rolled his eyes at her behavior and had pushed her out of the way as he picked up the container, fighting to avoid the things' tentacles slipping through tiny gaps. He cringed at the sight of them, but refused to show his revulsion.  Desperate to get rid of his load.

Fred had told him a few days before that the annual gifts for the Vasnari were coming up. Angel had tried to get out of it, but the contracts were valid and impossible to ignore. Too many lives depended on the exchange going exactly right. The merest mistake, the smallest hint of an insult could send the Vasnari into a killing rage. Spike thanked his lucky spirits that he wasn't involved with it. He'd probably get bored within ten minutes and start a fight just to clean the air.

The designated gift room aka abandoned office,  was filled to overflowing with gadgets and treasures. Some kittens were mewling in a cage on the left, their tiny claws scratching the plastic cage. Diamonds stood displayed on the other side. It made him wonder if anyone would even notice if a few of the smaller tidbits turned up missing..

He picked up one of the boxes, holding it up to the light. Before he knew it, the door had slammed shut, a key turning. The light automatically blinked out. He tried to yell at Harmony to open the door and let him out, but it didn't seem like she could hear him. He tried to break through the door, but it wouldn't budge. By the time he fell down, leaning up against one of the desks for support he'd gone hoarse, screaming for help. It was hours after that before he saw something moving. Two big honking lizards entered the room, taking up the entire door with their huge forms. An hundred shiny yellow teeth glittered in their beaks.  A couple of hairless monkeys followed in their tracks, skittering in between their master's paws. In out, crawling over him. He pushed one off and scrambled up from the floor.. Two more crawled on top of him, he barely managed to throw one of them against the wall, before the others pulled him down, staring up at the lizards. The things were checking him out. He self-consciously clutched onto his coat. Their pets dragged him to them, slapping a collar around his neck.

Everything blurred after that, falling down stunned as something pierced his skin, going down, down... until he was rolled up on the floor, his fingertips reaching out for the collar and recoiling at the warning shock. He tried to clear his mind, it seemed impossible. Someone, something... rough hands on his arms as they grabbed him up. He couldn't speak, couldn't stand, like being drunk, only without the fun part; and worse.

They threw him down in a padded box. His fingers barely scratched the sides. His limbs wouldn't obey, or his thoughts wouldn't move his limbs and everything was dizzy, stop the car, I need to puke...

"God..."

The puny gremlins were utterly professional as they pushed the vampire in a crate, careful not to bruise him, letting the bars crush him down, covering the lid with the ease of experience. Spike's hand reached out to the bars, sticking his fingers through. Bursts of electricity shot through his veins, as he touched the metal. His blood burned. He flinched back, shaking.

Two of the glorified monkeys crawled up the box. Spike stared up at them; desperate to ask what was going on. The demons just grinned at one another before closing the crate Spike stopped breathing as the last ray of light shut down. His fists hit the walls, but the wood wouldn't give, enforced. Trying to sit, leaning against the sides, unable to move, turn until he nearly fell over, almost hitting the bars as someone lifted the crate with him in it.

They'd get him out, Angel would get him out. No matter what was between them, his sire would come.

"Thank you for your most splendid donation, Mister Angel. It will fetch a fine price."

Spike blacked out before he could hear his grandsire's response. All that went with him was a devastating sense of betrayal.

*****

"You did what?!" Angel was steaming as he leaned over her. Harmony sunk even deeper. He crushed his stake into the armrest of the chair.

"It was an accident. I swear." She shrank back even more at his growl. "You told me to prepare the gifts for the Vasnari clan." her voice cracked. "They boxed them up, and it's not like I even noticed Spike was gone. I thought he was chatting up to the girls in the print room again."

Angel moved away from her, standing somewhat lost between her and his desk. "Harmony, you sold Spike." She stared at him as if unwilling to believe he'd actually said it out loud. Then she started crying, loud obnoxious sobs that made him want to kill her even more.

"They boxed him up, Harmony. They grabbed him, threw him in a box, and you didn't notice? You didn't even bother to try and read what was on the loading manifest?"

Harmony flinched as Angel grabbed the paper, the damning paper. One box of Meanto gems, five Droblak demons, a few Siamese kittens. Some gadgets, a few more art pieces. A couple or dozens smaller items. And one vampire that wasn't supposed to be anywhere near it. Loaded up and ready for take off. He could kick himself for just standing there while the demons dragged the huge box through the portal. A portal taking their load who knows where, taking his Spike. And he'd let them.

He'd already sent Gunn out to check for legal loopholes. Tricks to get them to return the younger vampire, anything that could get him out of this. Angel hated to admit it, but as much as Spike annoyed him, the vampire was his. His. Only now, since he'd given him away, 'offered him as up as his most precious gift', to quote the Vasnari, he wasn't. Vampire laws.

If this wasn't so serious it'd be almost funny.

For over a hundred years, he'd threatened Spike that, sooner or later, he'd end up selling him, getting rid of his waste of space once and for all in the only way worse than death; to drop your bonds to your get, to sell them to a new master, allowing another full rights over your blood. It was a vampire's worst nightmare. He'd said he'd do it, a million times or more. Yet he'd never imagined actually going through with it, not until now.

He just stood there, refusing to face Harmony who was still cowering in his chair, waiting for permission to leave.

"Boss?"

He wanted to rip her heart out, there and then. "Get out!"

Harmony started crying, but he didn't care, she ran out of the room and he wished he was holding her ashes..

********

He'd been isolated from sound, light or even air till they opened the crate. He could barely move, his limbs were cramped up and his mind was still halfway off in la la land. The back of his head was yelling at him to make a run for it, to escape, to fight, no matter how hopeless it'd be... And if all that failed, to call them a thousand different names he could normally come up with at a moment's notice like... what names, couldn't... Not a single one passed his lips.

Nothing, just convenient, useless sod, to think it'd be different, souled now, had to be...

And Angel, Angel had left him. Thrown away and sold like secondhand merchandise. Didn't it matter that he'd tried, tried what, he couldn't say, tried...His head spun around at the sound of the voices, talking over him, mentioning life, children, television. Above him...

He was no fool, even if he sometimes played at being one. He knew the rules. Vampire laws. His sire wanted him gone. Even when he'd rebelled against his sire's wishes, he'd never thought it would ever come this far. No matter how many times Darla threatened him, no matter all the hints that Angelus had ever given him. It had almost become a joke between them. Behave or I'm selling you for a nickel and a dime.

They opened the bars and pulled him up, he dropped back down in a boneless heap. They turned the crate and he half fell, half crawled out on all fours. There was a thin blanket in the corner and he sank down on top of it. Barely watching as they slammed the bars in front of the cage, cell... He rested his head, and didn't even notice that one of the guards pushed a bowl of blood through the bars until they used a big stick to push it towards him. He grabbed for it. It fell down the few inches that he managed to lift it. His useless arms refused to carry the weight. Finally he leaned down, licking up every last hint of blood, his lips stained red. He was clanless now. Property of whomever Angel had handed him over too. His sire no more, nothing left...

What the fuck had he done wrong? Hell, what bloody thing had he done right, that it had taken his sire so long before he grew tired with him? Had Angel finally lost patience with his attitude? Seeing him with Buffy like that, was that what had been the final straw?

Why, Sire? Why?

Enhanced vampire hearing picked up the sound of claws scraping over the stone hallway, long before he caught sight of them. The thing looked like a mix between a raptor and a small T-rex. It was dressed in silk and surrounded by more of the smallish scattering critters that crept through the bars before their master even bothered to open the gates...  He heard a human voice earlier, screaming, refusing to cooperate. But he could have been wrong. For some reason he couldn't bring it up to care. The collar still hurt, focusing his mind on nothing but his own pain. He could barely even think with it on.

He could hear water splashing on scales in the cage next to him. His face lost it's human mask for a second as they moved up to him. He sat up, holding his legs in fear, hiding in his coat. Some of them carried a small flaming barrel with them. Jumping up and down as their three fingered claws hit the barrel. Spike cowered against the wall. Two of the demons entered the cage and grabbed hold of him, forcing him up. He opened his lips to say something and closed them only a second later.

The demon ordered him to lower his head in front of his betters and a deep seated urge to rebel made him glare back and twist his hand in a two-fingered salute.. A shock burst through the collar on his neck and it wasn't even a thought on the edge of his brain. He stood up, stock still in front of the lizard. It grabbed his head, ordering him to open his jaw. He followed commands. Letting them check his teeth, first his human teeth, then his true face. He cringed as the demons claws brushed through his hair and over his chin. His lips again, holding his mouth wide open. He didn't fight as the demon grabbed his tongue, searing it, his vocal cords.... The pain, so intense. He nearly fell down under it, glaring back, it was all he managed to do in protest. And all it got him was more pain.

A quick order to get undressed, and he hesitated again. A small shock in his collar quickly changed his mind. He pulled off his coat, shirt, shoes and pants. Throwing them on a stack. Until he stood there, cringing under their critical review. One of the critters grabbed the stack before he could move to stop them, forcing him to watch as the fibers burned.  Spike would have screamed. His, his... He would have screamed, if he could have, but nothing came out of his lips. Silence.

The demon's eyes on him were calculating, inspecting him without making a fuss over it. Spike froze in shock and took it all even as they branded his neck. Watching the fire, watching the last sleeve still limply clinging out from the bucket as it burned; staring as the lizard stuffed it in with the rest. Lost, all of it. No costume left to hide behind. His shame was all that remained.

Two of the smaller demons picked up a garden hose and he lifted his arms in a meager defense as they turned it on him. Pushing him around until every last part of him was wet and clean enough for their estimations. The demon's claw then moved past the rest of his body, touching his chest, feeling out his arms for the muscles underneath his skin, his thighs, his cock. The lizard's claws felt slippery on his wet skin.

His mouth fell open in shock, burning, burning, his cock went hard instantly under the demon's touch. Hurting, so bad, but he couldn't dare find release. Spike finally fell down, hurting, cradling in on himself, wanting to yell, but incapable of producing a sound.

"Angelus can be proud; all the thing needs is a bit more training, and it'll be ready for purchase." Spike wanted to turn his hands to his cock, but every time he even considered it, the collar around his neck would shock him. Spike barely even realized that they moved on. He didn't care. How could he? His sire had sold him; did Angel ever even care?

*****

Vadros twitched on his stool; his tail thumped uncomfortably between his desk and the wall. His eyes were focused on the ancient in front of him. The last of the Horsemen, Death; dressed in a sweater and jeans. He'd seemed little more than a harmless bit of human meat when they'd let him and his servant in. Possibly a client, possibly a piece of merchandise. Was it his fault that the Dronog had stolen their gift for the auction? That the woman had belonged to the immortal in front of him? Methos would hear none of it. He demanded her back, with full reimbursement for the discomfort. His or hers, he wasn't quite clear on.

Vadros had refused at first, grabbing the ancient's throat, but the Horseman had shown him. His mere touch hurting worse than fire, lightening sleeping in the ancient's blood, dormant till he allowed it to awaken. Vadros had begged for mercy, not even noticing as the ancient's servant, a human boy with red blond hair raised his sword in his master's defense.

During all of this Death's heartbeat didn't skip a beat.

Methos sprawled back from his chair, legs widely spread out, at perfect ease. His face unreadable. The ancient's servant stood stock still behind his master's chair. Unnaturally still for a human, his sword hidden once more. Vadros rushed out an offer, a pick from the stable. Any of the demons ready for auction as a free gift on top of the woman. Methos didn't seem ready to accept at first and Vadros feared for his hearts as the ancient lifted his hand.

"Any creature of your stable, of my choice."

Vadros quickly nodded. He pulled back to prevent contact and hurried to lead the immortal to the auction hall, allowing him full view of the demons on sale. The ancient's lips moved; it was just a smile, but the glint in those eyes made Vadros' greenish hue turn white.

*****

Angel flinched back as if hit by a truck. He had to to stop breathing as his nose was hit with the stench of over a dozen different species of demons intermingling on the auction hall floor. A couple of large Boknar, three armed demons from the Bathras dimension were displayed across the room. They were tied up to showcase their huge muscles, the horns on their heads and the spines emerging their backs. Their orange scales reflected the fluorescent light, almost blinding him. A few more demons sat in cages, some of them growling at their bars, others tied to surfaces or large poles.

He glanced up to Gunn for support. The former street kid didn't even pretend to feel out of place, greeting several people, clients of Wolfram and Hart, and schmoozing with the crowd. Angel tried to ask Lorne what to do, but the Pylean was talking with one of the gray skinned minions of the Archduke Sebassis, leaving him standing on his own.

His dead heart screamed inside of him as he discovered what they'd done to Spike. His offspring was tied to a pole in the centre of the room. Spike's legs were spread out behind him, showing tensed up muscles glistening under a sheen of oil. Some demons congratulated him on his fine sense of taste in gifts. Angel had to struggle to keep hiding his shame over Spike's situation. It had been a week since they'd taken his boy, a full week, and this was the first real thing he'd been able to do to get him back. Angel tried to catch Spike's attention, showing him that his sire was here to save him. The younger vampire wouldn't even look at him, refused to meet his eyes or even acknowledge his presence.

A man grabbed Spike's cock, tasting it and Angel came close to ripping the mongrel's head off. Lorne grabbed his shoulder, whispering in his ear that he had to play it cool, that he couldn't show how much he hated the whole set-up. It didn't help that the mere look at Spike's helplessly prostrated body made him hard. Spike moaned as the man's nail scratched the length of his cock, flinching with the touch of pain.

Angel's fists clenched pure white, Gunn grabbed his arm before he could take another step. Angel nearly came on the fragrance of fear. His boy looked so small, so lost, displayed under a spotlight, bringing out depths and sharp angles in a way that'd have made Angelus grab for his sketchbook.

The crowd started seeping up to the stage on the side of the room, the head Vasnari towered over the daze, his scales glittering under the spotlight as he smiled, his hundreds of sharp yellow teeth glinting. Angel waited for the bidding to begin and it quickly became clear that Spike was the centerpiece of the auction. The most prized item on sale. The souled vampire kept waiting to bid, he knew Gunn and Lorne stood next to him, ready to help out if they had to. The prices given for the other demons were immense, making him clinch his credit card in near fear. But he waited. He had to.

Twenty demons were bid on, twenty, twenty three... Two more in a single lot. Angel froze as the spotlight turned on Spike. His boy's blue eyes near lifeless in their fear. Angel gave the first bid, two more demons followed, Angel added more. The archduke Sebassis went up against him. Gunn tried to stop him. "Do you know how much that is?" But all Angel could see, was Spike and the need to get him out of here. He raised his hand staring down Sebassis, as if to dare him to follow.

The Vasnari raised his hammer, ready to signal the sale. He froze as some creature crawled up on its tail; trying to pull the giant lizard's attention. He stood there like a fallen dragon as he lifted his tail with the creature on it to his ear. A murmur rose through the crowd, wondering what was going on... Angel took a step closer to the stage, Spike was his. The puny menace to society would go home with him,  claimed by his rightful owner. Angel could already imagine fucking him blind till the little pest screamed his true master's name, his name. Making him repay him for every dime he had to spend to get him back, home.

"My apologies, ladies, gentlemen and creatures of fine standing... It seems the last item, the souled Aurelian, is out of the auction" Over a dozen eyes could have petrified the demon where he stood. "Our lord Vadros has made a deal with the worshipped fourth rider of the Apocalypse. We will off course secure other items of our merchandise to make up for this loss."

It didn't seem to calm anyone and Lorne grabbed Angel's arm. Desperate to pull him back before the crowd turned into a mob.

Angel stopped listening. He twisted away and stared as two of the lower Vasnari slithered over to Spike. Angel hesitated less than a second, before he fought his way through the crowd, up to his grandchild. One of the demons attached a leash to Spike's collar before pulling him down from the pole. Spike fell down in their arms and scrambled up on the floor. They practically dragged him along with them and Angel still couldn't get through. He whispered Spike's name, but the younger vampire was long gone.

*****

Methos fell down in his nice and comfortable couch, desperately fighting to urge to grab up his sword and put a permanent end to Amanda and Richie's bickering. The box was waiting for him in the middle of the room and he ignored the sight of it. There were reasons he hadn't gotten involved in the demon world for over a century Good reasons, reasons beyond MacLeod.

"So tell me again; maybe I'll understand it this time."

Amanda threw down Methos' coat that she'd been wearing over the miniscule bit of cloth that the demons had given her. He quite enjoyed the splendor of her form as she grabbed a shirt he'd left hanging over the table. "He got a 25 million dollar extra gift on top of me and he didn't even bother to try and sell it?!" Amanda's voice rang through the room for the fiftieth time since Richie had told her how they'd gotten her back. "It's insanity. No, it's worse than that, it's criminal, an affront to God is what it is."

Richie nodded his head and got a beer out of the fridge, passing by the crate in the middle of the room. The Vasnari had told him the crate was both sound and shock proofed, so the thing inside shouldn't bother them at least until they opened it. Methos didn't even want to know what kind of demon he'd bought. Asking for the highest priced demon in the room had seemed like a good idea at the time, but he was starting to think he should have listened more to what he was getting, instead of watching Amanda. But that... thing she was wearing... He wondered if she was still dating MacLeod.

His attention kept drifting to the crate, kept turning back to it.

He noticed that Richie had gone to get a crowbar and considered stopping the kid from doing so. There was a threat level in dealing with demons, and Richie was too innocent to realize that. Richie had grown up on the street, yet in some ways, he was still far too naive. A strange thing to think of a boy who'd gone on a headhunting spree only a few years ago, but still true nonetheless. Richie might think he knew evil, and he knew more of it than most humans, but in regard to demons, he was no more than a child. Methos kept still as Richie planted the crowbar underneath the top, the wood creaked as it opened. He took the top open, and stood frozen as he looked into it.

"Methos..."

The ancient got up, wondering what had gotten into Richie, when the wooden sides fell off as well. There was a seemingly young man inside the box, bound securely, ankles and hands in manacles, chained together to keep him bowed over. Unable to move. The man looked at him, silent.

Methos froze; he hadn't...

His eyes caught their reflection in the glass doors of the patio. Himself, Richie, Amanda, the crate, but not the man bound up in front of him. Methos grabbed Richie, pulling him out of the way and looked around, anything to find a stake somewhere in the room.

"A vampire? You couldn't just get a cat like everyone else?"

The thing snarled at Amanda, but didn't move otherwise. Methos couldn't help staring at it. The creature's body was gorgeous, perfect, a work of art. Whichever vampire had found this boy and turned him, knew how to pick them. But even a beautiful predator was still just that, a killer. A vile and vicious animal.

He grabbed his spare sword from between the cushions and faced the beast. It gazed up at him. It's mouth opened. Methos could see burn scars on the creature's tongue; even keeping vampire healing in mind, it wouldn't be able to talk for days, maybe even weeks. Not that he would give it that long.

"Methos what do you think you're doing." Richie jumped in between him and the vampire. Methos tried to push him out of the way, but the young immortal wouldn't move. Too much of a boy scout like his teacher MacLeod.

"I have to destroy it."

"Methos!"

"It's a vampire. A soulless killer. I'm sorry Richie, but if I let it go, it'll go on to kill innocent people."

"You could always sell him." Richie's fury only grew as Methos actually considered Amanda's suggestion. "There were plenty of demons there that wanted him," she continued. He couldn't help but agree. Sell the vamp to a demon, get him out of his hair, and most likely the vampire would spend the rest of his life either as a pampered pet, or have it prolonged just long enough to serve some kind of sacrificial purpose.

Considering the prices people were willing to pay, he couldn't imagine them just using him for menial tasks.

"You two can't seriously consider that?" Richie stared at him, at Amanda, stunned disbelief, still believing that the monster in front of them was anything worth his pity. "It’s wrong. You can’t do that. You just can’t…”

“Richie, that’s not a man, it’s just the corpse of a man…”

Richie lifted his arms in shock. His face turned red in rage and he practically screamed at them in stunned disbelief. "Isn’t that what the Hunters say about us? That we’re not humans, that we’re dangerous. You can’t just kill someone cause they’re different."

“Don’t be an idiot." Methos lowered his sword for a second.

"I don’t want to kill that thing cause it’s inhuman. I want to kill it because it’s a monster that’ll slaughter you in your sleep with a song in its heart.”

But Richie wouldn’t budge.

The vampire still sat there, seemingly ignoring the argument over its life. Methos got up to him and noticed that the chains on its hands and feet were bolted to the crate. The thing looked even more beautiful closer up. Perfect pale skin, little or no body fat, and sharp cheekbones lining a sculptor’s dream. The vampire’s hair was a near fluorescent white blond, but looking down, Methos could see it was not the vampire’s natural hair color.

It looked up at him when he touched its face and he noticed deep blue eyes returning his gaze. Only a few seconds later the vampire turned away, bowing its head submissively. It had been over two centuries since he’d owned a vampire and he knew enough about them to know how to tame one. To make it fear him, and obey his every single command.

Cats were mortal, vampires... weren’t. And a well trained vampire...

He grabbed the vampire’s chin, pulling him up as far as he could, catching the monster’s lips with his own. The vampire’s mouth opened, letting him in and by the time Methos finally let go, he was ready to smile at Richie’s stunned shock.

*****

“So who’s the bastard that’s got Spike?”

Wesley sat at his desk, holding one of his universal access books. He lifted his glasses and turned up at Angel. "Angel. Unlike you, I do need to breathe." Angel took a step back, his hands away from the desk. He started stammering, but Wesley wouldn’t let him. "We will get him back. If you wait." Wesley brought the book to his lips, whispering, "Chronicles of the Revelations. Rev. 6:01."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"The Fourth Horsemen, Death, also known in Varsali history as ‘the Methos’. Several cultures speak of him as an ancient being of immense power, known for his manipulative abilities and the destruction of all that stands in his way. He’s said to be immortal, a warrior of a code as old as mankind. The Watchers have generally considered them a myth, though it is said that his species feed of the souls of their own kind. They’re mostly known through battles with others like them."

“And the Four Horsemen are a part of that.”

“They were.”

Angel stared at the drawing in the book, a man dressed in white garb, long black hair hidden underneath a cowl, his face half covered in blue woad. The drawing of a skeleton mask was shown next to it. "I have some contacts in a group that apparently calls itself the Watcher's council but..."

"The watchers know something? Maybe Giles..." Angel turned to Wesley, hopeful.

"Not the Watchers Angel. A group called the Watcher's council. They're historians mostly, claiming to follow these demons. They follow, observe and transcribe, but they don't interfere. Quite a useless bunch of people I reckon, but seeing as how they're mostly harmless, we can't begrudge them their hobby."

"Find him, Wes. Whatever you do, just find him." Angel faced Wesley, sitting down on the other side of the desk. The book on his lap. "Spike’s mine, and nobody... nobody but me lays a finger on him..."

*****

His master.

Spike tried to say the word, to feel it on his tongue, to taste it as he tried to speak. Somehow it might never feel real till he could actually say it out loud. But for now, that alone was impossible. He had a master, an owner, someone that owned him, possessed him... and it wasn't Angel or Buffy, or Drusilla or anyone else he'd ever loved.

The man poured himself a drink and Spike twitched, still locked to the crate. The boy and the woman had left and he sat there, waiting, ...for what he didn't know. He had an itch he couldn't scratch and it was killing him. So instead he just followed the man, his master, as he moved across the room.

It still didn't feel real.

He considered looking at the doors, finding a way out, an escape. And instantly the collar around his neck fired up. His nerves were on fire, cooking him up, he fell down, over, his arms hurt, pulled over and he tried to get up again.

His master stood over him, a cold dark gaze holding him down. He touched his hands on the lock holding his chains to the box and they released. Spike sat up, staring at the... before he could even insult the man in his head the collar burst out again. Master master master master... I'm listening, please don't don't don't hurt me, please, listening to master, to... His master stood up again, leaving him there and Spike tried to move his arms as far as he could stretch out. "Follow me."

The man... the collar again, the master moved to the bedroom and Spike scrambled up from the floor, his movements hindered by the chains on his feet. His master opened the door and Spike stared inside, a bedroom. He froze for a second, before the collar made him move again.

I'm trying, don't you see that?

He didn't even know whom he was saying it to.

What did the master want, Spike tensed up, waiting for an order, anything. The master patted on the bed, the place next to him and Spike crawled up on it. Still just sitting there, the flannel bed sheets itched against his bare ass.

"Do you know how to get in position?"

Spike stared at him, stunned, but he quickly nodded yes and got on all fours. The master checked his position, touched his thighs gently, moving over his ass and prying open his cheeks. Seemingly approving.

Then he left and Spike just sat there, waiting. The room was nice and warm, but Spike still felt a chill pass him by.

Then something cold touched him and he nearly twisted around, to find it. But the master had told him to stay put, and even the thought of disobeying made the collar send out warning bursts. A cold slimy finger moved in between his cheeks, inside his hole, one finger. He could feel it now as the master stretched him out. Spike tensed up and the master let go, stopping...

His nerves were on fire and the master sat down on the bed in front of him, looking down on him.

"I can't do this."

Spike stared at him, scared as hell; wasn't he good enough? What if his master didn't want him? What if?

"Go take a shower."

He stared at his master, frozen, before jumping up. He didn't even know where the bathroom was. The master seemed to realize this and got up as well, opening the door and pointing him inside. The water rained down on him in the shower and Spike cried against the walls, letting his tears be hidden under the water. Thank God, nothing had happened. But why didn't his master want him?

*****

Angel was brooding again.

Fred stared into his office for just a second and there he sat in the dark, lights off, staring at who knows what, a sketchbook in his hands. He was drawing; that was supposed to be healthy, right? There were several small piles of paper discarded on the floor around him.

"Any news?" She had to say no, she hated that.

Why did Angel act like this? He should get angry, he should... but he just sat there, glaring at whomever dared to come near.

Spike was her friend, and yet here she was, unsure of what if anything she could do to get him back. Wesley was working to find information on that Methos guy, Gunn was looking through old contracts, Lorne was talking to his connections, both demons and showbiz... and here she was, standing around, unable to help.

Harmony was almost hiding behind her desk. for once she wasn't wearing any kind of make up, her hair was a mess. Fred didn't know if it was because she was feeling guilty, or because she was scared of Angel. Probably the latter.

Angel was scary, all silent like. He wouldn't say a word, but he'd just sit there and you knew you'd better run for it. A chair crashed through the window; Angel just stood there, turned away and moved further in his office.

This was not good.

*****

Methos pulled some clothes out of his dresser, a blue shirt with paint stains and a jeans that had had a few holes since his last fight two months ago. Better to get the vampire dressed in something he wouldn't mind losing if he was forced to stake the thing.

The shower was still running and he moved up to it, opening the door and looking at the vampire inside of it. Steam covered the shower stall and he could see the silhouette of the vampire's naked form through the steam on the glass. The chains clattered against the marble floors and walls. Methos closed his eyes, remembering and wondering why he had stopped. The vampire was his, and it would never recognize him fully as it's master if he didn't make him do so.

He opened up the shower stall, watching the vampire cower to the side. The vampire moved to stop the water, he probably thought it was time to get out. Methos placed the clothes on the linen cabinet and took in the sight of his vampire who was trying to hide from his eyes. He grabbed the chain and pulled him closer. The vampire faced him, just a bit shorter than him. Methos slapped him in the face for his lack of respect. The vampire didn't even flinch under it, physically it did him nothing, but he understood and bowed his head..

He pulled him down, the vampire knelt on the floor, his legs wide open, allowing Methos full access of any part of his anatomy.

"Suck me." The vampire stared at him in shock; he hit him again for even that second of hesitation.

Cold hands moved to his zipper, opening his pants and releasing his cock from his pants. Methos barely looked down at the sight of the vampire at his feet, waiting patiently for the vampire to start the job. Fine formed lips let him in and pulled on him. For a moment he thought that the vampire's teeth would come down harshly and he was ready to kick him away, but the thing flinched and started licking up and down his shaft. Moving his tongue around. Methos could feel he wasn't breathing and remembered once again why Kronos had been so fond of vampire slaves.

It made him lose all interest in the blowjob and he pushed the vampire off. It's head nearly hit one of the cabinets and Methos could see it trying to get up. He tucked himself in again and stared at the vampire who was still waiting in position, waiting for him to order it. He pushed the vampire's head to the floor, knowing he had to punish him for what he'd tried. He grabbed a wooden brush and made it come down on the monster's spine. Hitting down, down, till his entire backside flashed thin red stripes and the vampire's eyes begged him for mercy.

It was then and only then that Methos threw the clothes at him. The vampire seemed baffled by the mere concept. Then he motioned at his chains. Methos stared at the vampire for a second, hesitant to give the thing any sort of freedom. Its hands moved to the collar for a second, it seemed to try and say something, begging, but not a sound escaped his lips. Methos gave in and removed the chains. Holding them while the vampire stepped in his pants and pulled the shirt over his head. They were a bit big on him, but at least they wouldn't drop off.

Methos stared at the mirror, it was empty aside of him, and the look in his eyes was, frighteningly, resembling the past he was trying to outrun. "Write your name down." Once again, the thing made him wait. "Do it, or 'I' will name you. And you don't want to know what I could come up with."

The vampire's long finger moved to the fogged up mirror. S-P-I-K-E.

"Spike? You know that was actually one of the names I had in mind. What? Did your mother hate you? Or was your sire just that sort of cruel vindictive bastard?"

Spike seemed embarrassed, Methos thought he might even have blushed.

"It doesn't matter. Nothing in your old life matters now." The vampire flinched, but Methos shrugged it off. The sooner the vampire accepted his new life, the easier it'd be for the both of them. "Come on Spike." He turned his back on his vampire slave. Both a sign of trust and showing how little hope the thing had of gaining control. "I'm going to get something to eat, and once I have, you'll get fed." He didn't bother to look over his shoulder to check if Spike followed his orders.  Spike's naked footsteps were barely audible on the marble.

"Be a good boy, and you might be better off than you'd be on the street; annoy me... and you'll be begging me for a stake."

Methos grabbed a few eggs and a package of bacon out of the fridge. He was out of meat and there wasn't anything else he could use as blood substitute. He really better get some food in him before he did this. "Sit down. "

There was the sliding of one of the barstools as the vampire took the offered place. Methos ignored him while preparing his dinner. Add some olive oil to the pan, break the eggs, add the bacon. The fat spattered up nicely, crisping the meat. He grabbed a plate and was about to slip his meat on it when he noticed the vampire was still looking at him. No not at him, at the food. "You're weird. You know that, right?" He grabbed a second plate and slipped some of the food onto it.

The vampire hesitated for a second, but didn't bother to ask for utensils, picking it up with his hands and stuffing it in between his lips. Methos just smiled at the weird sight and finished his own meal, throwing the vampire a stack of napkins to clean up. He took his time to enjoy every last bite , delaying what came after.

The vampire still sat there, waiting for him. Methos grabbed a knife and pulled it far along his wrist, allowing a healthy dose of blood to drip out and into the mug he was holding under his arm. It wasn't much, but it would do enough to tide the vampire's thirst for the night..

Spike's eyes were fixated on his blood and he could see the demon fighting the urge to drool at the sight of food. It was strange, being that focused on, having the monster look at you like you were a three course meal, the center of it's existence. Then the healing tingles started and a burst of electricity ran past the wound, closing it up. Methos held his hand in front of the vampire's face, telling him without words to lick it up. The vampire obeyed, clearly understanding how little he could do to truly harm his master.

Methos handed him the mug and patted him on the head, softly touching the vampire's face before leaving the kitchen. He could hear the vampire drink his blood and closed his eyes, imagining the vampire's teeth piercing his flesh.

*****

Joe rolled his head and shoulders, trying to get rid of the weight of the long day. It was nearly dawn, three o' clock already, and he had yet to close down. Friday nights were like that, and the older he got, the more he felt it in his bones. Lacy, who was a regular, brought her glass to the counter before she left; she said hi to Sharon who was cleaning up the tables at the other side of the room, leaving him alone with the last two remaining customers. A tall dark man and a slightly less broad bookish type.

The second one put his hand on the first one's arm, but tall dark and broody didn't seem to be in the mood to listen. Joe had been around MacLeod long enough to recognize a threat when it was heading straight at him. He mentally catalogued all the immortals that he knew were in the area. This guy wasn't one of them.

"Mister Dawson." The smaller guy came up to him first. "My name is Wesley Wyndam Pryce. I used to work with the Watcher's council of Britain, not to be confused with your own group of ... watchers."

Oh great; the crazy people were in town. Joe had heard of them, alright, a secluded sect, with members spread across the world. They believed in monsters, demons and vampires and hid behind young girls, children that they brainwashed into hunting down these so-called threats to the world. Joe wondered how many innocent immortals had fallen to these morons.

"Wes."

Pryce turned back to his companion, sharing a look with the big guy before returning his attention to him.

"This is my employer, Angel. We were hoping you could help us with a... problem we have."

"What kind of problem?"

Angel grabbed him, faster than anyone Joe had ever seen. "A certain bastard known as Methos has someone that belongs to me. And I want him back." Joe shivered, wondering if this has anything to do with the fact that Methos hadn't been in for the past two weeks.

"Where is he? Where's Methos?!"

The man, man... thing's face changed, twisting it's features into something he could no longer recognize as human. It took some time before they left and by the time they finally did, he thanked god for surviving, praying for Methos' life. Mac found him like that, found him holding on to a crucifix like he hadn't done since those painstaking days when Ahriman had tried to make Mac believe he'd killed Richie. When they'd actually believed that Richie had been dead. The worst year of his life, up to the point where they found Richie hiding in his old 'hood in Seacouver, terrified of his teacher and best friend after he'd seen himself killed right in front of his eyes. It had taken months before Richie had even been willing to be in the same room with Mac. Even now, years later, the kid had still preferred staying with Methos when he was in town. Joe had believed then that the demon had been a one time thing; finding out there were more than that shattered what little certainty he had left in his life.

*****

Spike gave one last look at the new window. He sat alone in the room while Methos had left to take care of some business. He did not feel lonely, no it was just...This was only the second time since the auction that he'd been left on his own; the first time he'd tried to escape, so now he had a chain bound to his ankle. Not that he needed it: the collar was still burning from last time, growing hotter each time he dared glance up at the window and the night behind it. But.... the apartment felt like an echo when he, the master, wasn't here. The chain was long enough - nothing wrong with that - but it was proof of his disobedience. He twitched just at the thought of how much guilt he felt at the thought of leaving his master. He had to get out now, before....

He grabbed his neck in pain, grabbing the sponge he'd been holding and continuing the last spot. The actual fact of obeying a direct order soothed the pain, burning down the edges while driving him insane with lust. He pushed both hands in the water and cleaned the window frame. Up-down... It was still early evening, and some last edges of day were playing on the horizon.

He'd been busy for hours: cleaning up the room, mopping the floor, even dusting. Spike the Cleaner... it didn't quite have the same ring to it as William the Bloody. God, he had to laugh at his misery, or all he had left to do was to cry.

It still hurt to try talking and the worst part was that he couldn't even beg his new master to fuck him, even if he had wanted him to. Seven edges of sin and he'd crossed them all. Was this to be his redemption? To spend the remainder of his existence in servitude, a lowly pet to be done with as the master wished? It felt strangely and scarily right.

The remote was on the coffee table. He eyed it a good long second. I'm just putting it away, just putting it someplace safe... And he hid it in one of the planters. Oddly enough, the collar didn't respond. He started laughing, stopped at his throat stung under the meager sound and continued looking for keys...

*****

The line felt endless. Fred stood between a trio of bikers, covered in tattoos, who seemed to think they were scary. Compared to the demons up in accounting, they were child's play. She fidgeted; she'd never liked waiting and the scent of toasting taco shells made her stomach rumble like an oncoming apocalypse. She held on to her purse and her bankcards in it like a survival mechanism and stood ready to fight as someone bumped into her. She quickly turned on her feet glaring at the offending party.

"I'm sorry." He sounded... nice.

Fred noticed the family of five that had pushed the guy closer to her. He looked about 19, strawberry blond hair and dressed in a jeans vest and pants.

She smiled and giggled a little. "It's okay."

The kid was holding on to a plastic bag with a butcher's symbol on it. "This is a madhouse." He grinned with a smile wide enough to cross continents.

"It's the lunch-time rush. I'm sure they'll slow down soon." She cocked her head at the bag. "Groceries?"

"Yeah." He didn't continue on it and she was willing to let it go.

"A friend of mine just got a new pet." He put a strange emphasis on the word pet.

She beamed, liking critters. "What kind of pet?"

The boy, barely out of his teens pulled back a bit before smiling. "A vampire if you could believe it."

*****

Methos grabbed a paddle, slowly picking between three options while the vampire sat waiting for him to choose. His fingers stroking past the hard wood, leaving white stripes in his flesh under the pressure. He remembered the last vampire he owned, the thing's attempts to disobey shown days ahead of time, sneaking up time and time again, till he'd broken the thing. And once he did, he'd been forced to stake the creature to get rid of it. That's how loyal it had become.

Spike though was different. Methos had some trouble understanding him at times.  One second Spike was the model example of a good pet. He'd sit in position from the second he got home, eager almost for his attentions, the next he'd find pages torn out of his books. And sometimes the vampire was likely to do both.

He pulled the remote out of the soil, considering it for a second before he placed it on top of the TV. Ashes flittering down after impact.

"Where's the locket?"

The vampire just sat there in position as Methos had told him to do. His ass up in the air, pants down, his hands locked behind his back, his head on the floor. Methos kneeled down next to him, lowly repeating his question in Spike's ear, as his hand brushed through the vampire's curls. Spike still didn't move. Methos grabbed him up by the hair, forcing his head into the floor, crushing him. "Where?" he practically growled the question. Spike was shaking by now. "Where?"

"Please, master, please." It was all the vampire got out, his voice still hadn't fully returned. Methos didn't care; the locket had been a gift from Alexa, holding her picture. A last memory from right before she died. She'd bought it for him in Greece, right after he'd taken her to every museum in Athens. It was a cheap and gaudy thing, but it had been hers and that had been all that mattered. Spike's fear only angered him and he grabbed one of the paddles. Slamming it into the vampire's backside. It was ridged, and he lashed out hard enough to color the skin. The vampire gasped out in pain and he hit him again and again. until the thing cringed from his touch. Methos kicked him over.

"Please please please..."

"Where... did... you... put... that... locket?!"

Spike seemed to hiss for breath, fighting to make the sound.

Methos lifted the paddle over his head.

"Didn't... Didn't t-... didn't take the locket."

He dropped the paddle, staring at the vampire at his feet. He kneeled down next to him, taking the vampire's head on his lap, petting him, holding him in his arms.

*****

She stared at him, stunned; he quickly recovered. "Like the bat."

"Oh! They're kind of cute. With the black wings and the snouts..."

"That's the word, cute..." He seemed to start looking at the screen in front of them.

"Umm, I'm Fred." She stuck her hand out.

He stared back for a second before returning the gesture. "Richie. Richie Ryan." She beamed and shook his hand, holding on longer than was strictly necessary.

The silence grew a bit uncomfortable, neither of them sure what to say. Until Fred, finally, could no longer take it, just as they were at the counter; Too uncomfortable to start talking, but worried over the growing space between them.

*****

Spike was still on the ground, watching his master who sat on the coffee table, crying. It hurt to see him like this and he took a risk, crawling up to the master's feet, leaning into him. Methos petted him and Spike just sat there, staring up at him. Methos unbuckled his belt and Spike waited, too eager to please him by far, to make up for things and wanting to comfort.

He pulled out his master's limp cock for him, licking it like a Popsicle, feeling it harden under harsh brushes of his scarred flesh. The master pumped into his mouth and Spike just hung on to his hips. A warmth spread through him from the collar and the happier the master got, the better it felt. Spike didn't think, he just acted, he just served.

*****

"What can I get for you?" The clerk was some teenage kid, greasy, fat hair under the Taco Bell cap.

"Six crunchy tacos and a large drink."

"Six?" Not like he really seemed to care.

"You're right... better make it ten!" Fred grinned at the amazed cashier, reaching into her purse.

Richie looked her over in total amazement. "You've got many hungry friends at home?"

"Nope! They ordered a pizza at the office." He seemed clueless. "I really... really like tacos."

"And the bastards ordered pizza instead? You poor girl." His understanding smile could have lit up the room. "Personally, I'm lucky if I even get to eat any of this. Between my friend and his pet, I'd be happy if there's anything left."

Her cheeks turned rosy as she paid for her meal. "So order extra. Or something that they wouldn't eat."

"Tried that... There's nothing Spike won't eat. Well nothing that I wouldn't eat either."

"I didn't know bats would eat human food." She took her cup, arching an eyebrow at him.

"You learn something new every day."

*****

Methos stared down at the vampire under him. He was crying as he fucked the creature's mouth, knowing full well that he had to seem almost insane. Spike seemed insatiable and Methos wondered how he'd ever done without him. He came in Spike's mouth; the vampire moaned, licking up his seed and cleaning him up before tucking him back in.

Such a miracle. He had a clear look of the vampire's ass; Spike still hadn't dared to pull his pants up. And, for a moment, Methos was tempted. He wanted it, he needed to, and yet he couldn't. He stood up, tapping the tabletop. Spike moved over, lifting his ass, laying down his head. He looked gorgeous, all ready to submit. Ready to bow down and take it. Methos came up to him, touching his cheeks, feeling him.

His vampire. His slave. His.

*****

Richie's phone rang and he was quick to answer it. "Yes, I'm almost ready., No it won't take much longer. Come on, I'm close to paying here, I don't have time for this. Damn it, Methos, next time you come get your own damn blood."

Fred's eyes became wide and round, but she schooled her expression again as Richie put the phone away. "Problem?"

"Just an impatient old bastard who can't even wait an hour. And after the hell I just went through at the butcher's to get Spike's food for him..."

"Spike... "She froze, sure now. "that's an interesting name for a bat." So why did he have to blush so nicely if he was evil? She forced herself to smile and went over to fill her cup at the self-serve fountain. "I'd have named him Vlad!"

"Or Dracula." Richie followed her, grabbing his bag with him. She took her tray to a booth by the window after filling her cup with Mountain Dew and unwrapped her first taco. Richie grabbed one out of his own bag, smiling at her as he put his teeth into it.

He looked... normal, human even. She looked pretty normal, too... until she started eating. He stared at her in stunned shock, but she couldn't help herself, munching through her taco's in record time. She used a toothpick she kept in her purse to clean a piece of lettuce from her front teeth, and took a long, refreshing drink from her soda, pleased that she hadn't messed up her new coat. Richie put down his bag and she could look into it as it slightly opened. Several blood bags were stacked up between cooling elements. He grabbed her hand and fell on his knees.

"I worship thee, O Mistress of Tacos!"

And if she didn't have the idea of this guy going home and... doing who knows what to Spike, it might have been... She blushed and giggled in spite of herself. "C-c-cut it out!"

"You're amazing."

She could feel her blush hitting danger zone and wished he wasn't so nice. But it couldn't stop her, so when he left she followed him, dropping her left over back on the seat next to her and following him up to his home.

A large apartment building surrounded by green.

He hadn't noticed her yet, and she stayed in the car, following him up, out of the car, waiting for him to be out of sight before she grabbed her phone.

"Wesley, I think I have a clue on Spike." A hand covered her mouth before she could continue.

*************

Richie set down his bags while searching his pockets for the keys. He'd tried ringing the bell, but the old man still hadn't opened. Just as he was about ready to slip the key in, the door opened and he almost fell in. Spike's arm held him before he came close to hitting the ground and Richie thanked him for the help. He bowed down to take his bags, but Spike was ahead of him and carried them to the kitchen.

Richie shrugged it off and moved to the living room. Methos sat in a fully spread out sprawl on the couch, the remote right by his hand, a pillow on the floor at his feet. He was dressed in a sweater and jeans and Richie wondered what had been keeping him so busy before. It couldn't really be the TV show he'd been watching?

Spike came out of the kitchen. He was dressed in a shirt too tight to ever have belonged to Methos. Dressed all in white, except for the black studded collar still on his neck. Richie shrugged it off and fell down on the armchair. He tried not to look at Spike who leaned over as he placed the bucket of taco's and a mug on the table before slowly crouching down on the pillow. Methos took one of the taco's , holding one of them to the vampire's lips, Spike's tongue slipped past it, licking it before his mouth touched out and his teeth bit in.

Methos calmly bit into his own, before taking another taco and dripping it into the mug that the vampire had placed on the table as well. Richie's hunger rushed away as soon as he realized exactly what kind of red liquid that the vampire was using as dip sauce.

Don't look at the vampire, don't... Richie cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I met an interesting girl at the Taco Bell."

"Oh, blond, brunette or other?" Methos changed the channel to some kind of history show. The vampire growled softly, but soon started purring as Methos hand slowly moved to brush through his curls. Baring his neck as Methos fingers slid down, slipping over the pale skin.

He liked girls, girls, hear that, girls. "Auburn, actually. She was incredible. I saw her munch down on ten crunchy tacos in less time than it took me to open the bag and grab one of my own."

"Nice, nothing better than a woman who knows how to eat." Spike's legs opened wide as he leaned back against Methos' legs. Richie tried not to look at him. It was hard to ignore.

And to think that only two weeks ago, Methos had wanted to kill the vampire. Now... Who knows what happened between them.

*****

"Nothing."

"Angel. We will find him."

He refused Wesley's comfort. His nerves were screaming, there was a cold emptiness where his connection to Spike had used to be and it was driving him insane. Even when Spike had been dead that connection had lain there as a scar that never stopped hurting. Now it was erased out of existence and it screamed at him like a howling abyss.

This was why sires would sooner kill their get than allow them to be lost to others. The sense of loss was crippling.

Who knows what that monster was doing. He slid into the seat of his car, Wes sliding down next to him. Methos could be holding him down, chained up to his convenience.

Spike had always been pretty in chains, it's one of the few memories him and Angelus agreed on. Spike chained, bruised, his cheeks bright red as he'd slammed them with Drusilla's brush. He remembered this one time when he'd found the boy laid back on top of a mountain of corpses, servant girls, the butler, the entire bloody pantry, killed in one burst of wild abandon. And why? Cause William had gotten bored.

Angelus had grabbed him then, turned him around, crushing his victims under them as he fucked the boy into their dead flesh.

William hadn't stopped laughing through it all, a bright cheerful laughter, demanding for more. He'd turned him around, fucking his mouth, just to get him to shut up. And Spike had stared at him with such devotion... He'd made sure the boy hadn't been able to sit down for days.

Angel twisted the steering wheel, slamming it to the right to avoid running into the car in front of them. The damn bastard stopped to turn left with no warning, none that he'd seen at least. The car stood there, frozen, before he started again.

Wesley was screaming at him to stop but he didn't care.

He'd carved his name in the boy's thigh, sucking up his blood as it gushed out. Spike was screaming out his name as he came.

Wesley tried to grab the wheel but Angel pushed him off, he'd seen that truck, he had.

A whip lashing his boy's backside. Red stripes that were healing way too fast till he dipped the whip into holy water. Pushing it between the boy's lips as he begged for mercy, hearing the sissing and kissing the burns away, biting the boy's tongue when he responded.

Wes was aiming his gun at him, telling him to stop. But he wouldn't, wouldn't... The metal back of the gun his his head, he flinched, it hit him a second time and a third, till his head fell down and the last thing he saw was Wesley crawling over him to get the wheel and the brakes...

*****

Fred froze in her captor's grip. He was huge, had short hair and was dressed in clothes she could only identify as expensive. The dark-haired man had her slender upper arm encircled with one hand, gripping firmly while making a conscious effort not to hurt her as he dragged her up the stairs.

Someone was waiting at the door and Fred once again came face to face with Richie. Her face turned a red blush till she realized that he was holding a broadsword. Before he'd seemed nice, almost innocent; now... ready to fight; he was terrifying. He didn't go at ease till he saw the both of them and he was staring at her, surprised, in shock to see her here, like this...She squeaked, trying to make herself look as small, harmless and helpless as possible. Making them underestimate her and think they didn't have to worry about her. Richie confronted her captor, somewhat weary in his approach. "Mac?"

The dark man stood there silently, almost hesitant to deal with Richie... Richie who... "Richie help me. I was minding my own business when this big ape grabbed me and oh my God! Spike!"

She managed to pull loose and darted past Richie into the apartment. Spike was on the floor at the couch, petted by the man on it. He barely glanced at her, a hint of recognition before he turned away, stunned, but silent. She knelt beside him. "You okay? What happened! We've been so worried. What's with the collar, and who the hell are these guys?" She kept babbling, staring at the collar on his neck, the intricate runes covering it were probably what kept him under control.

Richie blinked several times. "You know eachother?"

The tall man grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She tried to kick and fight, but he wouldn't let her go even as he glowered towards the man on the couch. "Damn it Methos. What the hell have you been doing?"

Somehow Fred hadn't expected the demon to look this... human. The dark-haired kidnapper, Methos stood up, pushing Spike to the floor. Oddly enough Spike let him. "So you're Methos..." Fred murmured to herself. "I thought you'd be... taller."

"And who are you, exactly?" The ancient demanded, giving her a withering glare.

She gave one more kick to her captor's leg, before standing up as tall as possible. "I'm Winifred Burkle." She raised her hand almost in a manner of habit. "What have you done with Spike?"

Richie scratched the back of his head. "She's that girl I told you about." He said quietly.

"How do you know this... monster?" Methos' voice was low and even; the tone sent a chill upon her spine. Spike wasn't that at all, he was...

"Monster?" The tall guy let her go. "Methos... what have you done?" A face off went on between the two men, Fred felt herself fade away in a discussion between the two. Wondering if she should just let them at it and grab Spike to safety with her.

"Spike get your chains from my room." Fred expected the vampire to protest, to say something, anything... He didn't even hesitate. Still silent, it was starting to scare her. She could only watch with horror at the bowed down shoulders, the instant obedience...

She rushed after the blond and touched his shoulder. "C'mon, Spike, talk to me!" But Spike didn't even meet her eyes, he turned to Methos instead.

The hatchet-nosed freak merely cocked an eyebrow. "Spike, the chains, now."

A short command and Spike was moving again, ignoring her. She could see a short look in his eyes before he turned away. He wanted to talk to her, but couldn't. Something in Fred's head snapped, and an almost animal noise emerged from her throat. The next thing she knew, her knuckles were sore. The guy Richie called Mac held her again. Methos stared up at her from the ground. He was holding one cheek and looking startled by her nerve. Richie and Mac pulled her back, holding her in a solid grip while Methos got up from the floor.

**********

A single tear dropped down from Spike's cheeks. A loose curl fell down over his eyes as he sat in the dark, face to the wall. His arms were chained over his head, his feet locked in restraints, deep red cuts lined his perfect skin.

Booted feet stirred the blood-red rose petals blanketing the floor, and a glossy black whip broke the silence with a sound like a gun shot. After a few moments, there was the clanking of well-oiled machinery as the section of floor under Spike's kneeling body lifted, pushing him up and spreading his legs. Spike let out a beautiful moan as his genitals were ground down into the top corner by his weight, and he arched his back like a breaking wave falling over the front.

The monster grabbed his hair, pulling his back up, stretching his spine to breaking point. Tearing into him without warning. "Come for me, come for your master."

The door kicked open and the dark man broke free, staring back at the intruder. Angel stood in the door, large and menacing, dressed in a long black coat that fluttered along his legs as he stared down at the monster that had taken his boy. His anger raged in his eyes and his fists clenched around his sword as he stared down at what the monster had done to his boy.

"You!" The leather-clad male growled, spinning around, the whip still in hand. "How much does it take to get rid of you?!" He prowled towards Angel, lips peeled back from his teeth in a snarl. Angel faced him silently, his presence a soothing strength for his get. One wiry arm drew back with the whip and lashed out at the slave's apparent rescuer.

Angel grabbed the whip in one hand, punching the monster in the face with the other. He yowled and fell back. Angel lifted his sword, taking the monster's head, watching as it rolled away from the body.

He turned to Spike, watching his boy's naked form stretched out for pleasure. He touched Spike's calves, licking the blood of the wounds, hearing Spike moan under his touch. Goosebumps forming under his skin. So beautiful. "Please Angel. I need you. Please take me."

Angel prepared him, using blood and spit as he opened Spike up. His boy, his beautiful boy, a study in ivory marked with ruby lines, arched and moaned as Angel pushed into him, beckoning him without words to fulfill and satiate a need that welled from the depths of his recently-regained soul. "Daddy's here now. Daddy's here."

Spike moaned, his skin writhing under his grandsire's fingertips. And if his moans turned to pleading Angel just held on to him, comforting him like a sire should.

"No no no no no no no no no..." Spike came under him, screaming as he did so. Opening up his neck for full possession. Angel bit down, staring at the master's head, it stared back at him. Eyes he hadn't looked at in so long. His own.

Angel was still screaming as he woke up.

*******

Spike returned, holding a set of chains. He placed it down on the table, waiting, his hands behind his back, his feet stretched apart. Methos slowly got up from the ground, inspecting the chains in front of him. Duncan let go of the girl, leaving her in Richie's hands. The Scott was furious, ready to tear him apart. Methos tried to ignore him.

He moved on to Spike. "Does anyone know where you are?" Methos demanded as he went over to start clipping the manacles onto Spike's wrists and ankles. The little minx set her jaw; refusing to talk. Methos' eyes were on her again, trying to see how serious she was. She didn't flinch. He wondered how a kid like her had ended up getting to know a vampire. What kind of game had the blond been playing to get her on his side? He turned away from her and moved over to the cabinet, opening the shelves and pulling out one of the wooden paddles. Duncan was still waiting for answers, Methos was sure his patience wouldn't last much longer. The kid froze like a deer in headlights, staring at him in fear as he held up the paddle, testing it on his hand. Duncan's mouth opened wide, ready to protest as he stepped in front of her. He lifted it up. It came down on Spike's ass, hard. She winced in shock screaming 'no'.

"Who knows you're here?" He started to lift the paddle again. Spike stayed in position, his clothes somewhat protecting him from the impact. Methos wondered how sore he still was from the previous beating. Three hits this time, one on his back, one on his ass, a third against his spine, the vampire flinched back with every hit. Desperate to stay in place. His mouth opened, ready to scream. The silence was deadening..

"Methos, what the HELL!" Richie let go of Fred's arm, starting towards him, as if he were the monster here

"He can take it." What were three short hits to a vampire?

Someone grabbed his hand before he could hit Spike again. Duncan and him faced off in a confrontation of will. He looked at the Scott, demanding him, asking him for his support...Then Richie was there as well, dragging him back, away from the vampire. Methos fought to break free, Spike stayed in place, obeying his master's last command. Methos wondered if he should reward him for that or not.

"Have you gone insane?" Duncan stared at him, the paddle in his hands now. "Methos, what's wrong with you?" The Scotsman was probably convinced by now that he'd taken a dark quickening, but he hadn't. He just had to deal with a situation that neither of the two boy scouts could possibly understand. "He's not human Mac"

The girl darted forward and tried to pull Spike clear of the confrontation between him and MacLeod. Methos glared at her, but MacLeod wouldn't let go. Spike grabbed for the collar on his neck, shaking in pain. He hesitated for a second, considering he might allow the vampire to move. But the girl had already knelt down next to him. "Sh, sh-sh-sh, it's okay, I'll get that off of you." She acted as if she was talking to a frightened wolf pup. Spike flinched away, falling down. Electric currents running through him, originating from the collar. Methos was starting to wonder how strong the damn thing was. All he'd known was that the thing would keep the vampire under control... But how far did it take that order of keeping him under control?

*******

Wesley stared at him dead cold as he woke up. Gunn was waiting outside of the car, dressed in Armani. It still looked wrong to see him like that. "We managed to track Fred's cell up to this side of town, the psychics are still looking for a definite fix."

Angel nodded, grabbing his head and the blood trickling down from his scalp. Lorne quickly threw him an icepack. He held it against his head without a further word. Wesley was looking at a map, holding a phone while he marked possible locations. Angel ignored them, lifting his nose to the air, if Spike was near, he'd find him. No matter under what rock that bastard was keeping him.

Gunn answered his phone, giving off a last instruction. Lorne still stared at him. "Angel we can't find them, Spike or that Methos guy, if you don't calm down."

Angel just searched the air once more, finally finding what he'd been looking for. He didn't wait for the others to follow him.

*******

The closer she got to him, the more Spike's convulsions worsened. Fred quickly took a step back. "Get that thing off of him!" She screamed in that stop-a-mob tone she rarely used. Nightmares coursed through her head, five years of Pylea, five years of constant fear and trembling, five years of being nothing but a slave and now this monster wanted to do that to her friend. She wouldn't let him. A cold strength coursed through her and no sane man would have refused her.

Methos on the other hand faced her point blank, even though the taller guy was held his arms behind his back, he still refused to show any sign of giving in. "No." Was all he'd say.

Again, the animal noise emerged from her throat, but Richie grabbed her before she could reach the bastard again. He tried to soothe her, telling her they wouldn't let him harm Spike. "Get that off of him." Methos just laughed her in the face, madly so. "Just wait till Angel gets here, you... you horrible man. He'll make you stop laughing." Sometimes working for one of the scariest vampires in the world had it's advantages. Sometimes... not today. A cold silence filled the room following her pronouncement. "Who's Angel?" Richie asked as Methos tensed up.

Before she could answer the dark man let go of Methos. "Angelus."

"Um, well, not really..." Mac seemed to relax. "... he changed his name over a hundred years ago."

"What the hell are you doing working for a psychopath like Angelus?" A moment earlier the dark guy had been at her side, now he seemed to indignant at even the thought of anyone working with Angel.

"Says the guy working for one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse." Richie snorted at her scorn. She still didn't know at which side he'd be. Part of her hoped it'd be hers.

Methos ignored their squabbling and got up to Spike. Touching his head almost gently as he lifted the vampire's face. "What's Angelus to you?"

It was then that Fred got to understand Spike's silence as he had to struggle for the next word. "Sire" He sounded hoarse, in pain.

Methos let go of him, looking out the window, his back turned on the others, Spike still down at his feet. Fred stuck her tongue out at Mac. The big guy just rolled his eyes. continuing a tirade that he'd stared before but that she hadn't bothered to listen to. "I don't work for Methos and he hasn't been one of the Horsemen for... well years."

"Well Angel hasn't been Angelus for well over a year either. He has a soul now." She snapped back. None of them seemed to expect that. Hell, it didn't even seem like either Mac or Richie had a clue about the very meaning of that statement. "Angel's one of the good guys now." She tried one last time.

"I'll believe that when I see it," A Scottish accent appeared, hidden under a near growl. "Your 'good guy'" Fred didn't like the emphasis he put there, "beat up a friend of ours. Beating up a mortal for information.. Joe's just a defenseless old man and that 'good man' beat him within an inch of his life. What's good about that?"

"Joe?" Richie's face was wrenched in terror. Fred could almost believe that these were just regular people, with friends and family, like her own group.

"He'll be ok, Thank God that Lacy managed to call the hospital even before I got there."

Fred felt almost inclined to comfort him, to apologize, but then she stared at Spike, at the paddle on the table, the chains on his hands, the collar on his neck. "He wouldn't..." she faced him. "Not unless it was the only way to find out where Spike had gone." Fred glared defiantly up at Mac, daring him to argue. Daring to find any good in what had been done to Spike.

Methos didn't seem to be listening to either of them. He just stood there, his back to them, seemingly staring at the vampire. "Angelus." He turned around, facing them. "The last time I heard of him Holtz was on his trail. I didn't think it was a good time to be in Europe."

Fred shivered violently at the bad memories that the name Holtz conjured up in her brain. Attacking her and Charles, attacking them all, staking Darla in front of Angel.

"Master?"

Spike's pained voice rang almost pleading, for what Fred wasn't sure. Methos turned to him, taking the vampire's hand and helping him up. "We're leaving."

***********

Just a bit more, a bit...Angel froze as the trail split up. He noticed a sledgehammer left behind on a truck and picked it up. Now where...He lifted his head again, choosing direction and running after it. A car nearly drove over him, he jumped up on the roof, and moved on. His boy was waiting.

**********

Vampires... Methos had only packed some clothes when he left, he'd hired people to get the rest of his stuff when he'd relocated. All he'd taken were his clothes, his sword and the vampire. And Richie who'd gone along after one of Duncan's hints to the same. The young woman was tied to a chair, a gag in her mouth to keep her from screaming for the neighbors. Duncan just kept going over the image of the vampire's face twisting to that of a demon. Methos had said it was his true face. He still didn't quite believe it.

Vampires, real... Methos said they were monsters, the true creatures of the night, living only for the kill, to cause destruction. And after his struggle with Ahriman how could he not believe. He'd grown up in more superstitious times and yet as he grew up as an immortal, seeing the world, he'd believed that's all they had been. Only to have more and more of them proven real.

The vampire had looked like a young man, terrified of it's master, terrified to disobey. Duncan had stared at his fear, remembering all too well what it had felt like to get a beating. Yet what Methos had done earlier was just so cold blooded. Methos had told him it was necessary. He'd explained his every action, making it clear to him that this was the only way to keep a vampire around and domesticate him. It still felt wrong, no matter how you put it. And yet despite that, he'd let Methos run off with the trembling man, vampire. He'd let him take him outside, and sat there, watching the girl. Why? Because it had been Methos doing it. Methos who...

He got up to the girl, taking the gag out between her lips. She started cussing at him and he let her, taking place in the chair next to her. She finally stopped, looking at his smile. She worked for Angelus, that alone should be enough to keep her here, safe from her master, who was also a vampire. Duncan knew enough about Angelus to believe it.

"You can't let him do it." It was the first non insult she said.

He opened up a deck of cards, staring at it, laying it out. King, queen and the fool. "You can't let him take Spike."

"Richie will protect your... friend." A friend who'd turn on her if Methos was to be believed. Methos thought the vampire had been playing on her insecurities, getting her to believe he could be trusted, just for the fun of seeing the betrayal in her eyes when he did kill her. Methos was the one who knew about vampires. Was it wrong to believe the ancient? He'd heard of Angelus, he'd seen the scraps left over from a town that had Angelus and his ... family, passing through. It was almost a comfort to know that Angelus wasn't human... or immortal.

"And you don't think it's wrong. Keeping a sentient being as a slave, treating them like a pet. Against their will." His heart cringed at every word, knowing full well he agreed with every syllable. But Methos ...

"Why do you like him? He's a killer right?"

"No!" As Methos had told her the vampire would make her believe. "Spike's not like that. He hasn't been like that for a while now. He's changed."

"And you think vampires can change like that." He remembered Methos telling him about the people he'd butchered, almost high on the sheer memory of it. And at the same time burdened with a thousand regrets. Methos had changed, but he had a soul, something Methos said, vampires didn't have.

"Spike did. He's a good guy." Black ace, he put it up. Placing a ten under the fool. "He saved my life." Duncan looked at her, wondering how sincere she was. "He saved all our lives. He's a champion, a hero. He died not even a year ago, giving his unlife to save every single human being on the planet from an overwhelming army of super vampires."

"He didn't look... dead to me."

"They brought him back, he was ashes, and then he wasn't. He spent those first few months as a ghost, haunting Angel. It wasn't until a few months ago that he got his body back. He spent the past two months on the streets saving the innocent, defending the helpless." She looked at him with utter sincerity. Believing every word she said, and for some reason, so did he. "He gave his life to save the world and this is how you repay him?"

********

Never say never say never.

William fell on the bed, his hands crushed under him, tied on his back. His sire sat on top of him. Angelus hard crotch crushing down on his chest. The older vampire arched closer, slowly unbuttoning William's shirt. William looked away as Angelus tongue licked over every piece of skin he uncovered. He closed his eyes, desperate to imagine that it was Drusilla on top of him. Angelus wet tongue reached his neck, his legs held down between his sire's thighs.

Shock

Spike sat in the back of the car, next to the trunks. The master was driving while Richie called to the airport. Spike clutched on to a blanket that his master had given him; just in case. He leaned back against the glass, staring out in the night air. Watching the world pass by unaffected by his presence. Richie turned over the seat to look at him. Spike bowed down his head. His muscles relaxed when he stopped thinking. A gentle warmth poured out of the collar as he gazed up at the Master.

Shock

William screamed through his gag as Angelus removed his shirt, it clung over the ropes. Angelus mouth stopped over one of his nipples, biting it. William gasped for air. He stared away at Drusilla who stood naked in the corner. Her back was torn open, red welts showing on her pale white skin. She'd been a bad girl tonight and wasn't allowed to watch with the dollies. William tried to crawl away, but his legs were bound together. Angelus propped a pillow under his ass. William bucked, trying to kick him off. But it wouldn't do. "Who am I?"

Shock

Master pulled to the left. Spike struggled to stay up. Richie screamed, telling him to stop, but the Master didn't listen. Spike sat up, staring at the man in the middle of the road.

Shock

Angelus grabbed William's cock through his pants, William moaned, embarrassed to show even that little a reaction. Angelus pulled it out of his pants, it was disgusting, he hated this... oh god it felt so good. And he gasped for air as his sire's took his cock in one quick turn. "Don't."

"So you don't want...this." Angelus lifted William's legs, removing his pants. "Or this..." He grabbed William's legs pulling them up. Tucking the pillow farther under him.

William tried to let go, to imagine anyplace, anytime but this. Angelus slapped his face, pulling him back into reality. "Who am I boy?"

William moaned as Angelus fingers brushed over his ass, touching, reaching inside of him. Stretching muscles that shouldn't be touched by any hands but his own. He felt like losing everything inside of him. It hurt, every time again, it hurt. It wasn't normal, couldn't be. And yet it felt so good.

So full, so...

"Sire. You're my sire. Master, please please..."

And only then Angelus would enter him, again and again, till he felt like breaking. Tearing him apart, so full, so...

Shock

Angelus stood on the road. Spike stared as his new master steered the car ever faster towards him. Angelus was holding something, grabbing. He jumped up at the very last second, landing on the hood, the sledgehammer in his hands crashing through the windshield. The master turned, fighting to get him off. But his fist came crushing through the glass.

Spike flinched back as they crashed against a wall, crushing him down, it hurt. Richie's face fell down, blood dripping from his lips. The master was stuck behind the steering wheel and Angelus stood there staring at him. The collar broke out in shocks worse than ever. Pain blinding his mind to anything but his master's voice, till even that left him behind as he headed for darkness...

*******

Gunn saw Fred come out of the building, running down the outer stairs. Forced to pull back as Wesley was the one to take her in his arms and comfort her. So hard to accept that he'd really lost her.

"Spike?"

"Methos left with him. Where's Angel?"

Yes where was Angel? Playing drama queen as the peroxide pest had once said? He hated to admit it, but he had missed the blonds presence at the office the past few weeks. Spike was refreshingly young for a vampire. He had a sense of fun, knew about music, even if his taste was stuck in the seventies and quite frankly... he was a friend.

God his life had taken strange turns, working with vampires, spending time with them off the slaying field. What had happened to black and white? Was it him that was wrong, that this was normal now?

He brushed it off, staring at the man following in Fred's tracks.

"Who the hell is he?"

"A friend, now come on, we have to find Spike."

"Angel's already after them. I think he caught a scent."

The ' friend' stared at him and Gunn wanted to ask him what his problem was. What? He didn't like to deal with a brother? Then Gunn noticed that Lorne was coming up to them.

"Holy mother of God." The stranger crossed himself, staring at the Pylean.

"What? You've never seen a green man before?"

*********

The pain was blindingly endless. Methos stretched his arms, desperate to get to a knife, a weapon, anything. He could taste blood on his tongue and had trouble breathing, crushed by the seatbelt that had barely kept him alive before and was now forcing him into his car seat. Stretching tighter as he moved. He finally got to something sharp and cut through the belt. He gasped for air, his ribs continued healing under his skin and they itched.

He got up, crawling out through the broken car glass. his foot was stuck. It stung, it felt like there was a single part of his body left unbruised. He crawled to the backseat. Noticing Spike who was lying there. The vampire was starting to wake up. Methos touched his face and removed his shackles, making it easier for him to get out when he woke up. He grabbed his sword and dragged it out from under the seat before leaving the car. Richie was still dead.

He fell down on his knees, holding on to his sword, fighting not to fall over. He gazed down at the cross formed by the hilt. When he finally managed to lift his face he stared back into the eyes of the devil. Two burning lumps of coal. The monster stood in front of him. He was bigger and broader than MacLeod, not quite Silas' size. He'd never met this thing, but he'd read enough to know what he was dealing with. He got up from his knees, using his sword as support.

Vampire to immortal.

Angelus, the scourge of Europe himself. Methos lifted his sword in salute, ready for the fight of several lifetimes. Ready to survive.

The vampire stood silent, watching him, measuring him up. Methos could see the fatal mistake in those eyes, mere instants before the vampire attacked. The monster underestimated him. Thinking that because he was injured and human, that he wouldn't stand a chance. He twisted out of the way, his sword hitting against the steel of the vampire's hammer. The vampire was faster and stronger, but Methos knew what he was doing. Allowing the beast to get just close enough to strike back. He pulled a knife out of his coat and stabbed it in the vampire's hand, forcing him to drop the hammer. He knew he'd barely bought himself a second of shock to act.

He turned his sword, the hilt forming the symbol of the cross, a weapon to push in his opponent's face. The symbol started burning and he grabbed a stake, readying himself to drive it in the vampire's chest.

*********

The world was upside down, dancing the foxtrot on his brain while all he wanted to do was open his eyes. He wasn't sure what was up or down. His head stung and he wished he could just cut it off to stop the drums from beating his eyes. He noticed his shackles were on the bottom of the car and he crawled out through the front window. Richie was dead. Spike gently touched his head. The poor kid had been nice to him, kind master. And now he was dead. Spike wasn't sure if he should feel guilt. He hated the guilt, it hurt worse than the collar.

The master stood in the middle of the road, facing Angel. Angel attacked and Methos ducked out of the way before lashing back. It took mere seconds for the tide of the fight to change. There was no beauty in this battle, just brute strength and brutal efficiency. His master against his sire.

Former sire.

Angel had stood there, every fiber of his being demanding Spike, demanding what... he didn't know. And for the first time in over a century, that demand didn't call to him to drop everything he had going for him and obey. It was as if he'd lost an arm, and merely the ghost of it's stump was left behind. He no longer belonged to this man, this creature that had once been the center of his existence. The stinging never stopped.

Spike knew Angel was stronger, he was faster. He should have won. The collar forced him to get ever closer to the fight, Demanding through every nerve in his body that he'd do something. That he'd protect the master. Sire, master... His neck burned for every wasted second of standing here and allowing his master to be hurt. Only the lack of a command to aid saved him from worse.

Sire master

Master sire

Sire

Who to fight, who to defend, the choice was easily made as the stake headed to his sire's chest. When Angel stared at him, still alive, he no longer cared about the ...

*********

They came upon the battlefield. Methos was about to kill Angelus. Duncan knew he'd never manage to get there in time, and his heart felt like shattering. Then the blond vampire jumped on top of Methos. His face was twisted in pain, his limbs were shaking, twisting, disturbingly so, yet he held on to Methos, keeping him away from the bigger vampire.

Duncan could see Methos staring at the vampire. There was a strange sense of disbelief in his eyes, a sense of loss. Duncan wondered how hard it would be to get him to make sense, and realized... it was already done. He hesitated there and then as he could see the vampire struggle one last second before being overcome by a seizure and falling to the ground. The other vampire, Angelus, ran up to him. He knelt down at the younger man's side, staying there even as the blond flinched at his touch. Tears fled the blonds eyes and Duncan forced himself to look away from the scene between them.

He stared at the car. Richie was still in it. The boy had died, blood all over his chest, but there didn't seem to be anything that wouldn't heal on its own. He pulled his former student free and carried the body to the road, giving his former student a more comfortable place to revive, using his coat as a makeshift pillow under Richie's head.

Methos stood behind him and Duncan refused to acknowledge this. He wasn't sure if he even wanted to face the old man right now. Angelus' entourage ran up to the vampire and his burden. Fred kneeled down next to her friend, staring closely at the collar.

"How do you get it off Methos?"

The old man kept silent.. Methos still stood there and Duncan repeated his question. "How?" He didn't threaten, he didn't even warn the old man. All he did was to expect him to do the right thing.

Methos touched his shoulder and Duncan finally turned to him.

"I'm sorry." Was all he said.

"I'm not the one you have to apologize too."

Both of them turned to the vampires

*********

Methos knew he had to lose control, knew he had to give up his claim. Like in those children's movies, where the kid has to turn the wild critter he befriended back into the wild. He'd never before considered doing so with a vampire.

Duncan stood there, talking about apologies. And all Methos could think was the kid asking daddy to say sorry to his bear for throwing it off the bed. Soulless, evil, soulless... Dead, yet pain.

He got up to the vampire, Angelus started growling as he approached. He didn't care. It's not like the bastard knew how to kill him. He wasn't feeling guilty, he wasn't... even as he saw the pain on the vampire's way too human face. Spike just stared at him.

"I'm sorry master, sorry sorry..."

He placed his hand on the collar, as the vampire's owner he was the only one able to set him free. But did he want to? Did he want to be responsible for all the lives this vampire would take if he did... Spike just looked at him.

There was too much feeling behind those eyes. But then, that weird bit of trivia had always been there. Not like a wild animal, but like a child, new in the world with so much to learn.

Maybe it was possible for a vampire to change, to learn new tricks. Did he want to let him go, free prey for whatever slayer he ran across, a threat to humans. No longer his to keep safe?

He noticed the vampire's pain again and tore off the collar. Spike sighed in relief, falling in his sire's embrace.

Methos sat down next to them, staring at them both. He had to set it free, what other choice did he have?

*********

Spike had come back... wrong.

They'd left him at his apartment that first night. He hadn't gone in till Angel told him to. Angel had reminded him that he was free now, that he was on his own and could make his own choices. Spike had then entered the apartment and slammed the door in his face. Angel understood, it's what he deserved after all.

Four hours later he'd gotten a call from Wolfram and Heart. The cops had picked Spike up after a bar fight. Two ogres had attacked some hot young thing. Spike had torn the place apart. Angel had arrived at the police station just in time to get Spike out before the sun came up. He was lucky the bartender didn't have him charged.

The cops had seemed a bit dumbstruck when they saw him. "You don't look like a grandfather. How old where you? Five?"

Angel struggled desperately to come up with an excuse... "I'm his step grandfather." The cop looked at him in disgust. Probably thinking, he'd just married some poor old widow to get his hands on her pension funds. Angel was desperate to explain, but didn't have a clue what to say.

Spike sat on the top bunk in the cell, waiting for him. Drunk as a skunk. He stank hours in the wind, filthy, covered in blood. His and others. He hadn't bothered to clean up after they freed him. The vampire seemed small, but the other four men in the cell were cowering against the bars on the other side of him. Angel just shook his head and ordered him to follow.

Spike wasn't allowed home after that. Angel took him home with him and dropped him on the couch. Spike tried to fight him on it. But Angel stood firm. And Spike was too out of his mind to walk out on his own.

He managed to slip out the next morning, ready to leave for the sewers. "So what? Just cause the old bloke had me played like a pet, doesn't mean I'm your bleeding dog now." Angel had stepped out of the way and let him go.

It took only two more hours before Fred called him. Spike had gotten in a fight with some of the demons up in accounting. The Dagrin had leered at him, talking about how pretty he'd looked when up for sale. Spike had jumped on them without a second of doubt. They'd found Dagrin parts for days afterwards. Angel wished he could have done it himself.

He tried to talk, but Spike left without a word. Fred told him he'd sat with her sulking for hours. He'd gotten angry when she told him he was brooding. But he'd stomped off, rather than saying a single angry word to her. She told him he looked lonely.

Gunn had tried to get him to open up, Spike yelled at him to get out. He came back to him an hour later, bothering the lawyer while he was looking over one of the divorce cases they dealt with. He'd stayed at the office that night, and the night after that.

Angel offered him the couch in his penthouse. Spike refused. Angel found him sleeping on the couch in his office instead. And all that time, Spike refused to talk to him. He finally grabbed hold of him, shaking him to make him see sense. Spike just stared at him. "I'm not yours, so what do you care?"

Angel dropped down in his chair, staring over the desk at his empty office. He knew what to do.

********

Spike kicked against the bag, hitting it again and again, till it cracked and the filling flooded out. He kept hitting it, falling over as it finally cracked apart. He started beating his fists into the floor, he needed to hit something, anything. There was a desperation there that stopped him from noticing his scrapes, the blood dripping from his knuckles. Someone grabbed his shoulder and he twisted around, attacking his sire.

Angel crawled up to him and Spike growled at him from his crouch. Angel circled him and Spike tensed up, terrified as he sought to escape. His sire pounced on him, forcing him to the ground. Spike looked up, struggling to get him off. "You are mine. " Angel licked out over his nose, tasting the salt on Spike's skin. Spike stared up at him. He didn't say a word. "Mine, forever."

Spike barely flinched when his sire's fangs pierced the skin on his neck. "Yours."

"Mine." Spike stared up in his eyes. Life was flowing out of him and fool that he was, he still wanted this so much. It scared him how much he wanted it, how much he needed it. Angel pressed his wrist against spike's lips and Spike bit in. Flowing over in his sire's essence. There was a sense of belonging in the blood. A need to know who he was, what he was all combined in one package of sire. "And nobody's taking you from me ever again."

His sire stayed on top of him, pressing him down. Spike planted a kiss on his sire's lips. "Yours?"

"Always."

And then Methos entered the room.

*******

Angelus growled as he sat up, one leg over Spike, his arm dragging the younger vampire closer. Methos couldn't help but think that he looked like a papa wolf protecting his cub. Spike instinctively moved closer to his sire. His hair was greased up, flattened to his skull. He was dressed in black. Methos had to admit, even if only to himself, that he'd missed the kid. Kid, the vampire was over a century, yet, he still felt like a child, an innocent almost. A child really, and his sire wasn't that much older.

Methos showed his hands, clearly empty. He hadn't bothered to try and get his sword in the building with him. He wasn't here to fight. Angelus got up, Spike behind him.

"What do you want?"

Methos turned from the one to the other. "To apologize." Angelus bought it as much as he did. "And to tell you I'm leaving town. Just thought I'd say goodbye." And see Spike one last time.

"Good riddance." Angel spat out the words with suitable venom.

Spike ... he didn't know what Spike was feeling. The vampire mostly seemed confused. Angel got up to Methos, staring him down.

"Duncan said your boy saved the world." Angelus looked at Spike, his hand crunching the younger vampire's shoulder in a dead grip. "He said that he has a soul." Angelus nodded his head. "How?"

"I asked for it." Methos smiled at Spike, not quite believing his own ears. A curse, he would have understood, but... "I went through demon trials, fought some battles, got invaded by bugs and managed to survive."

"And you'd asked for a soul?" He had to hear it repeated, still halfway refusing to accept it. It felt like watching the sky cry blood, like finding out that cows had learned to fly, or that Duncan MacLeod was evil. He fell through his knees, surrounded by silence, no words came, no words would ever come.

finis

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