DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Joss’. Lucky man.
WARNINGS: Language (duh, it’s a Spike fic!) Violence (see former ‘duh’) explicit M/M slashy stuff! Whee!
PAIRING(S): Angel/Spike; with mentions of Angel/Buffy, Spike/Drusilla, Angelus/Drusilla
SUMMARY: Drusilla gives her Daddy a present.
Spike tried to pry his eyes open and found that he couldn’t.
He lay very still for a long moment, trying to remember why.
Oh, yeah - Buffy beat the hell out of him again, that was why.
He started to roll over, feeling the well-known outlines of the sarcophagus in his crypt under his back - then a familiar sort of tingle ran down his spine and he froze.
There was family near.
"Angel?" He asked softly, worried. He didn’t want his Grandsire to see him like this; he’d had enough humiliation to last him for one eternal lifetime, ta very much! That time he’d been in the wheelchair, with Angelus sneering at him, had been more than enough, and forget about how the poof had probably laughed himself into a coma when he found out about the chip...
...oops. Probably should get his mind back on the face that he had a blood-related vampire in his crypt while he was extremely vulnerable.
"Angel?" He asked again, and this time he got a response.
"Poor little toy. Who broke you so badly?" The words came crooning out of the darkness.
"Dru?!" He tried to sit up at the sound of the familiar voice, but two delicate hands on his shoulders easily held him down.
"Poor little broken doll... who broke my blue-eyed dolly? I needed your help, and you’re all hurt." The fingers drifted across his face, pressing against the worst injuries left by Buffy’s little fists. A cool tongue followed, lapping at the drying blood on his skin.
"Dru... what do you want me to help you with?" He barely managed the whisper; his throat ached from one particularly nasty blow. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to talk.
"It’s almost Daddy’s birthday, Spikey... I want to give him a pressie! A lovely pressie, and he’ll be so happy - he’ll be Daddy again, and he’ll love me! You have to help me, Spikey, or Miss Edith won’t be pleased."
Spike barely managed to hold back a groan. The last thing he needed was for Angel to be happy enough that Dru’s ‘Daddy’ came back. Though, he wondered if that could happen - Angel had been much more relaxed the few times he’d seen him lately, and had even taken the blond Slayer out to dinner twice. Not the best idea for a vampire who had to control his libido; Buffy dressed like a slut at the best of times. He could only imagine what she’d pour herself into for a date.
Well, back to the subject at hand. Find out what Drusilla was planning, then he could stop her.
Or, at least, warn Angel.
Unless it was something really hilarious, then he’d just let his Princess have her fun.
"What you need my help with, luv?" He croaked out the words.
Dru’s hands slid down his face to his throat, her delicate fingers tapping restlessly. "I want to give him a lovely pressie - I thought he’d like a new baby but he wouldn’t make one. I brought him such a treat, and he let him go! Bad Daddy... but I got the nice medicine, I did." There was a sudden clink of glass against stone. "I’ll make him a baby yet, and he’ll be so happy... but he won’t be happy with a new baby. So, I’m going to give Daddy my very best doll, and then he’ll be the Daddy and I’ll be the Mommy and we’ll take care of the Baby again, just like before!"
"Dru... Ang... er, Daddy won’t like a baby... it’ll just make him sad..." Spike tried to reason with her. Angel would be furious if Drusilla turned another Childe; he might even stake the vampiress. Spike couldn’t let that happen. He loved Drusilla, even if she was a looney-toon, even if she had left him. She was still his Sire.
"He won’t like a new baby, Spikey. That’s what he said, ‘I don’t want a new baby.’ But I’m not going to give him a new baby." One of her hands drifted through his blood-matted hair. "You can’t help me like I wanted, sweet Spike, but that’s all right! Miss Edith has whispered to me a lovely idea!"
"What’s that, luv?" He managed, waiting for the answer, wishing suddenly that she’d just go away and let him rest.
"I’m to give Daddy my baby!" The whisper was more like a hiss of triumph, and Spike felt fangs sink into his throat before his world spun into darkness.
"No sign of her?" Angel asked, his voice tired.
"No," Gunn shook his head. "Not even a whisper. Everybody knows she’s here, but no one seems to know where. If they do, they ain’t talking."
Angel frowned, fingering the lump on the back of his head. He’d brought his crew to Sunnydale after a frantic phone call from Buffy; Drusilla had been spotted wandering the streets. The Scoobies had been unable to find her, only catching a few glimpses of a laughing shadow. He, Gunn, Fred and Cordelia had arrived within hours and set up headquarters at the mansion. Wesley had come a little later with all the information he’d been able to scrape together on Drusilla’s recent whereabouts and activities. They’d been all set to search for her, but she came straight to him - dragging a terrified teenaged boy and calling him ‘a pressie for Daddy’. Angel, who’d been alone at the time, had been horrified at the thought of draining an innocent and managed to talk her out of it - or so he’d thought. He’d led the frightened boy out of the house and watched him go, then pain exploded in his head, and he’d woken to find Buffy and all the others surrounding him, looking worried.
And there was an ugly gash down his arm, still oozing blood.
That’s when he’d realized Drusilla had planned to turn the boy, not eat him. And that idea was worse; another murder tacked onto his thousands was horrifying, but a life destroyed and a new monster to take care of was beyond his comprehension.
They had to find Drusilla - and fast. Before she managed to use the stolen blood to turn some other innocent.
"So what do we do now?" Buffy asked, heaving a sigh. It wasn’t bad enough that she had to patrol instead of spending time with her Angel; she also had to chase down a crazy Drusilla. At least she’d managed to take out some of her frustrations on Spike last night - he’d not call her ‘Slutty’ again for a while!
"Why can’t you follow the Blood-Bond between you?" Giles asked, gazing at Angel. "She is your Childe; perhaps if you..."
Angel was shaking his head. "It’s been too long since I’ve had her blood or she’s had mine. Our Bond has faded to little more than a whisper."
"What about Spike?" Xander piped up. "He’s probably had her blood pretty recent, right? I mean, they were together last year. He could probably go right to her."
"If she’s not already with him," Willow said casually, then froze.
Everyone’s eyes widened. Why hadn’t they thought of that before?! Drusilla would be with Spike; he’d do anything she wanted and enjoy it! He’d probably hold that poor boy, or some other victim, down while she killed them!
They all got up, grabbed weapons, and ran out the door. They were silent on their way to the cemetery that housed Spike’s crypt - most of them were trying to plan out their strategy.
Angel was wondering if he could bear to watch while his Childe and his GrandChilde were staked. He knew he couldn’t do it himself; some deep part of him still loved them. But he couldn’t stand by if they had gotten together again. Even with the chip, Spike would be major trouble if Drusilla had taken him back. She would probably even be able to figure out how to disarm the damn thing. Miss Edith - he should have broken that doll years ago - would probably tell her how to do it.
They arrived at the crypt and Buffy kicked the door open before anyone could suggest a more subtle entrance. She plowed inside, but Angel and the others froze.
Even the humans could smell the blood.
"Have they already done it?" Wesley whispered, horrified.
Angel shook his head. "I would have felt it, sensed it, if she’d used my blood to turn a Childe. This is something else. There’s something... familiar..." His eyes narrowed, and he pushed the others aside to enter the tomb, where Buffy was checking shadowy corners for vampires she already sensed weren’t there.
Angel stared at the blood that was sprayed on the walls, on the ceiling, pooling on the floor and on the stone coffin. It looked like something had been slaughtered in the small room... but this blood wasn’t fresh. It was, at the very least, a few hours old.
And it was familiar.
He ran a finger through one of the puddles and only hesitated a second before sliding it into his mouth.
"Whoa. Someone died in here, for sure!" Xander’s voice was awed.
"Angel?" Giles and the others were all staring at the vampire, who had turned much paler than usual.
"Spike’s blood," he whispered hoarsely, still tasting that long-remembered flavor.
"Drusilla killed Spike?!" Willow screeched. "I thought he was her Childe?!"
"She couldn’t have killed him; there’s no ash," Buffy said impatiently. She knew where the blood had come from; she’d spilled most of it herself. From the look of horror on everyone’s - Angel’s - faces, she knew to keep that bit of information to herself.
"And I would have felt him go," Angel added.
"I thought he was sorta like your grandkid?" Xander said suspiciously.
"I would still feel him die," Angel explained, "there’s a Blood-Bond between us, though it’s not as strong as the one between Sire and... aagh!" he cried out sharply, falling to his knees.
"Angel?!" Buffy shrieked, rushing over to him. "Angel, what’s wrong?!"
"She’s doing it..." Angel whispered, "she’s turning someone... and Spike ...I can’t feel Spike anymore..."
"Is it supposed to hurt?" Giles was amazed. He’d never heard of turning leaving a Sire in agony.
"...no ...she’s doing something ...strange..."
"And Spike’s gone? Dead?"
"...didn’t feel ...him die..." Angel’s eyes rolled back, and he slumped on the bloody floor.
The others were left standing around, staring at him again.
"Now what?" Willow asked.
No one had an answer.
‘Dru - what are you doing to me?!’ Spike wanted to shout the words, but his voice had completely stopped working.
Drusilla had drained him almost dry - not hard, since he knew most of his blood was painting his crypt a nice shade of crimson - and then she’d poured cold, thick blood down his throat. Angel’s blood - he’d had it once before, when he’d been injured and Drusilla was off somewhere with Darla - but it was different, changed. There were sharp, bitter overtones to it.
Dru had apparently made some additions.
Now he could sense her dancing around him, her high voice even shriller as she chanted some arcane words. A spell, he could guess that much, but it was burning him from the inside out, making the strange blood inside him hot and harsh. If he hadn’t been too weak to move, he would have clawed his veins open to get the stuff out.
Would have torn his own head off, to stop the violence in his mind.
He felt like his thoughts were... folding, tearing, changing. Memories of Drusilla, of Buffy, of Harmony, of Cecily, of everyone he’d ever loved or thought he’d loved, fading and becoming like old, worn photographs. Something to take out and wonder at, but not to concern himself with anymore. At the same time, every thought, feeling, memory of Angelus - of Angel - came into sharp, clear focus.
Along with one word.
Angel blinked back to awareness for the second time in less than six hours, with his head once more aching badly.
This was getting old.
But, at least, his arm wasn’t stinging this time. And there was no circle of worried faces around him.
Possibly because they were all staring at the slim figure in the white dress, standing several yards away.
He took a brief second to realize he was laying on the ground outside of Spike’s crypt, then he was surging to his feet and flinging himself at Drusilla.
"Where is my Childe?!" he roared, instinct kicking in so hard that he couldn’t think of anything else. He could feel his newborn calling to him, though it was faint and far away since he’d had none of the person’s blood at their turning. He had to - he had to get to them!
"You can feel the baby, Daddy? It worked?" Dru was dancing with delight, keeping just out of his reach.
"Oh, the baby is safe, Daddy! Hidden away from all the bad things around here." She shoved a glass jar with a small amount of red liquid in it toward him. "Here’s Baby’s blood, Daddy, you should drink it so you’ll know him."
Angel snatched the jar but managed to restrain himself from opening it. "You turned that boy after all, Drusilla? After I told you not to?" He still burned to get to his new Childe, but he had to take care of his insane one, first.
"Oh, no, silly Daddy! That’s yesterday’s news! You should keep up with the times!" She waggled a finger at him and he heard Xander Harris snicker. Damn kid, to find something funny at a time like this!
"What did you do, Drusilla?"
She blinked at him innocently. "I made you a baby, Daddy. You said you could feel him!"
She was suddenly all smiles. "I gave you my very best doll, Daddy! You be sure and don’t break him! Someone already broke him to bits and took so much of his blood... you be good to him!" The smile had turned to a frown with the last words.
"Took his... Dru?! You gave me Spike?!"
"My very best dolly! Except for Miss Edith, but she wouldn’t make a good baby. Too hard to bite, you know. So I gave you my blue-eyed boy - poor little broken Spikey! You’ll have to mend him, Daddy, he’s all black and blue and red."
Angel felt like the bottom of his stomach had fallen out. It was hard to think. "I’ll - yes, Drusilla, Daddy will mend him. Where is he?"
"In the ground, of course! Silly Daddy! But you’ll have to dig him out, his poor arms are tired."
"Where, Dru?" He was trying his best to keep his voice patient, but it wasn’t easy. Especially with the staring, confused looks on the humans’ faces. Giles and Wesley, in particular, looked like they’d been smacked with very large fish. He felt an insane urge to snicker.
"The blood will tell you, Daddy. Now, will you be happy and we can raise our Baby together?" Her eyes were hopeful; he almost felt sorry for her.
"Er... well, Drusilla, I’m not happy yet... it’s hard to raise ...babies..." he nearly choked on the word, "you know that."
She frowned again, her eyebrows drawing together. Then her expression cleared. "Oh, you’re right, Daddy! But you’ll be happy when Baby is all grown up! So, I’ll go home and get everything ready, and tell Miss Edith about her new baby brother! You fix our doll, and then bring him when you come?"
Angel blinked rapidly. It couldn’t be that easy - could it? "Er... yes, Drusilla. That’s perfect. You go home, now."
"All right, Daddy!" And with a swirl of white lace, she was gone, running away through the shadows.
There was silence for a moment.
"We’re just going to let her go?" Buffy finally managed.
"She’s leaving. Knowing her, she’ll be back in South America by tomorrow," Angel replied absently, lifting the jar and gazing at the pitiful amount of blood in it. So little - Spike must have been nearly dust, or Drusilla would have given him much more. He just hoped it was enough to enable him to find his Childe.
"So - it’s over?" Cordelia asked hopefully. "We can go back to LA now, right?"
Beautiful color, though... He swirled the blood around, noticing that it was still fluid and fresh. Spike had to be close. And aware, because he could feel the Bond thrumming slightly. Dru’s spell-turning wasn’t the sort to keep him out for days like an initial turning, of course... "As soon as I get my Childe," he replied absently.
"What?!" Eight voices shrieked in unison, making him wince.
"Angel - Spike isn’t your Childe." Wesley’s voice was almost patronizing. "Dru is still his Sire... just because she’s drained him and fed him your blood and apparently buried him doesn’t make him..."
"You have no idea," Angel opened the glass bottle and breathed in the soft aroma. His Childe - he’d never thought to have another Childe, not after receiving his soul - he couldn’t believe the gift Drusilla had given him.
"You can’t drink that, Angel!" Wesley was apparently still the voice of the others. "How hard did Drusilla hit you, anyway? Vampires can’t change their Sires!"
Angel growled as a hand reached out to take the jar. He felt his game face come forward and he didn’t care. "You know nothing, Watcher," he snarled, "this has happened before. Leave now - I’ll meet you at the mansion after I find my Childe."
"It’s happened before?" Giles looked interested. "I’ve never heard of..."
"Just because you haven’t heard of it doesn’t make it impossible!" Angel was well on his way to roaring. "Now leave! I have to find my Childe!"
"Angel... it’s Spike!" Buffy nearly spat the name. "You hate Spike!"
"I never hated Spike," he replied coldly, lifting the jar to his lips and gulping its contents before anyone could protest further. "And now he’s mine, so leave!"
"Angel - are you turning into Angelus?" Cordelia’s voice wavered a little.
"No!" he shouted, beyond irritation. "But he’s my Childe now and I have to..."
"It’s instinct," Giles interrupted. "I doubt if any vampire could fight it. Let him retrieve Spike, and he’ll calm down."
"So, what, we just go home?" Willow sounded incredulous.
"No!" Buffy shouted. "I’m not going home! Where is he, Angel? We can dig him up and stake him!"
Angel turned on her, so angry his amber eyes were bleeding red. "You will not stake my Childe!"
"Buffy - leave him be. You can’t fight this while he’s acting on instinct. Let’s go to the mansion and wait."
Buffy didn’t like it, but Giles took her arm and led her away. Angel could hear he and Wesley becoming excited over the idea of viewing a ‘fledgling Childe’ and he growled. Spike wouldn’t be a normal fledge, and he wouldn’t have his new Childe poked and prodded by curious humans, either.
He pushed those thoughts away and stood still, letting the scant mouthful of blood flow through his system, awakening a new Bond inside him. He could feel his Childe strongly now, and he felt pain and fear and the desire for Sire, so intense that he howled. Then he was running, running toward the source of those feelings, through the older, wilder part of the cemetery until he shoved through some tangled briars and fell to his knees next to a newly-turned patch of earth. He tore at the loose dirt, flinging it aside. A soothing purr started in the depths of his chest and a frightened keening noise answered it. The sound of a terrified Childe, calling for Sire, and he dug faster.
The longest minute of his unlife passed by, then his hands met slender fingers that were trying to claw their own way out. He wrapped his hands around those of his newborn and pulled.
Spike came out of the loose earth with a whimper of pain, one blue eye opening just long enough to see him - then his arms were full of his keening Childe. He rocked him, soothing purr still strong in his throat, brushing the dirt from Spike’s back, from his blood-encrusted hair. The purr was hard to hang on to; the single glimpse of his Childe’s battered face made him feel more like roaring in anger. One eye had been swollen completely shut, his lips were split, the rest of his skin bruised and cut and one of his exquisite cheekbones was clearly broken. He could feel ribs shifting beneath his hands, and one arm was awkward in its clutching. Someone had beaten his Childe severely.
Someone was going to die.
"Shh, shh, Childe," he soothed, "I’m here, it’s all right."
The heartbreaking keening slowed at his words, and an uncertain purr began to take its place.
"That’s right, Little One," he encouraged his Childe softly, "that’s right." He cupped the back of Spike’s head, while his other hand tore his silk shirt open, not caring that the buttons went spinning away into the darkness. One sharp fingernail opened a cut on his chest and he guided his Childe’s lips to it. "Drink, Little One. Drink. It will make you stronger."
For a moment, Spike just licked the blood weakly, then he felt the tentative pull of his Childe’s first proper feeding. "That’s it - that’s good, Childe. Drink, grow strong. We’ll go home soon."