Spike was sleeping again, dreaming, remembering his creation as a vampire and subsequent abandonment by Angelus, his creator. Only, he had known him as Liam at the time. He rather enjoyed the irony, that Angelus couldn't cope with the idea of him, poor little William, becoming a father. A real, flesh and blood, child born as a baby father. As opposed to simply siring some hapless soul into the ranks of vampires. And now here he was, almost a full 128 years later and Angelus had fulfilled that naive, childish dream for him. He was going to be that real father after all. Father, mother, all wrapped up in one package, and Angel would have nothing more to do with the child at all. It would be his child, the child Angelus had denied him all those years ago. His and his alone, his payment for all those mortal dreams he had had as a naive young man. And Angelus had ripped from him out of little more than spite. His unfulfilled dreams would be a reality, finally. At least one of them.
In his dreams he told Angel so many times, in so many ways about the karmic justice served upon him. In his dreams he practices saying things like, meet your son, meet your daughter and introducing a mortal, an adult, a child, even a baby, and telling the older vampire to fuck off and leave them alone. He heard himself explain how Angel would kill them, drain their blood as he had his own mortal family. Having to comfort a crying child, afraid that their other parent would came and eat them in the night. He dreamed of staking Angel, of letting his child see that he, or she, was safe.
He dreamed too of those years between his turning and his discovery by Drucilla. Those years he had struggled to learn about his new existence. How he had woken at first light and his hand had brushed against a sun beam and he had burned. His flesh had burned. It was then that he knew what his beloved Liam had done to him. He had turned him into a demon such as himself. And he had left him there to perish.
By night fall he was well aware that Liam was not going to return to him. He felt such a fool, he had trusted his beloved demon to not hurt him. And he had been betrayed. So, like injured children the world over, he had returned to his mother and her companion and told all. Even in his dream state he wondered why Liam had never questioned his acceptance of demons so readily. The dark haired vampire had never questioned his young mortal lover's ready belief at all, just rejoiced in his acceptance. Granted Liam had never met his mother or more especially her beloved companion, Mister Trasker.
Gronmann Trasker, or rather Gronmann the Trasker demon was the demonic equivalent to a watcher. They were archivists of demonic behaviour and their interactions with mortals. Which had led to his involvement with William's mother after her husband had died. Mister Trasker had taught the newly formed vampire what he needed to know for survival. He taught him to fit in and blend with both mortal and vapiric society. To make himself fully ready to join that same vampiric society when he was strong enough to survive. It was only after his mother died, of natural causes, that William abandoned his mortal life entirely and was reborn as Spike. Gronmann had identified Liam as Angelus, he had followed his family's progress around Europe, keeping his young charge informed as to where they were, what they were doing. Who they were killing. Comforting his adopted son when he couldn't fight off the tears any longer. A better father than Liam had proven to be.
In 1880 Gronmann had finally managed to get Spike in position to be 'found' by Drucilla, apart from her sire and grand sire. She was the easiest target, Angelus' weakest point. Spike seduced Drucilla in much the same way Liam had seduced him. Simply by accepting her as she was, he believed all her various visions where Angelus and Darla laughed at their abstracted form. Spike, with the help of Gronmann, managed to interpret quite a few for her. He understood her, which Angelus didn't. Where as her daddy created her, her beloved Spike understood the pixies in her head, so she was happy. She was saddened at the so very sad tale of her poor Spike's creation. She thought it very naughty of his sire to create a childe and abandon him like that, so being her own generous self she invited him to meet her family. In effect she adopted him as her own creation. A delusion Spike never called her on.
That had been a great moment. The look on Angelus' face as he finally met his childe's new playmate, Spike. He had heard so much about Drucilia's new friend, that he had indeed anticipated meeting him. Until he saw who it really was.
Spike saw it all in Liam's face, no not Liam, Angelus' face. And his hatred hardened, his determination to be avenged grew even firmer of purpose.
"Cripes, fancy it bein' you that's my Dru's sire? Ol' bastard features 'imself!" And Spike had smiled, seeing realisation cross his estranged sire's face. "What? Ya' thought I'd up and dusted didn't ya'? I thought you'd'ave been a bit brighter than that. Or did you think I was so far less intelligent, less resourceful than I really am?" That last was spoken in his own true accent, in his own true voice. A gentle whisper of accusation.
"William.." Angelus spoke the name for the first time in seven years, only to be interrupted by the former bearer of that name.
"Spike!" Spike snapped.
"What?" Angelus had been surprised and looked up at the still slender, ever youthful vampire before him.
"My name is Spike. William Mansfield died in 1873, remember, you were there when he died. Come to think of it, wasn't it you that killed the poor stupid ugly shit?" Spike faced his sire off, eye to eye.
"A childe does not challenge their sire, boy, ever!" Angelus snarled back, trying to force the younger vampire into backing down.
"A sire doesn't abandon childer to the sun on the very night of their creation. I have no sire! Just a creator and since he didn't identify himself as such I owe no allegiance to anyone. Least of all the likes of you." Spike then did the unthinkable, he turned his back on his sire and dismissed him as irrelevant to his existence. Which was no more than the truth, but a truth Angelus wouldn't accept. Fate had brought his William back into his life, this time he was determined to be a true Sire.
So it was then Angelus that did the unthinkable, he acknowledged a childe seven years after his creation.
"I am your sire, you are my childe, my property, my boy. You do not turn your back on me!" He had spun Spike back to face him and took him in a painfully tight embrace. "You are mine, forever now, don't ever forget that!" Which Spike never forgot, unlike Angelus who seemed to have a very convenient memory.
Again his dreams returned to facing down Angel.
"I am your childe, this is your child, say good bye Angel, we're leaving!" So many ways to say the same thing. To fulfil so many boyhood dreams of being a father, just like his father had been to him. Of being a good sire too, if ever he felt that need. As good a father and sire as Gronmann had been to him, and as tender.
He awoke resolved, but didn't get out of bed. He couldn't really see himself wandering around Olympus stark naked and asking all the various Gods and Goddesses if they could spare some clothes for him. So he stayed put, sure that Hera, or Oz, would come check up on him soon enough. There would be time enough then to get some clothes to wear and get back on his feet and on with his life.
***
In the offices of Angel Investigation, the breakaway firm, Wesley and Cordelia were talking, laughing about all the excitement Gunn wasn't really missing haven left early. Both looked as the door banged open and an agitated Angel walked in, straight up to the book shelf and tried to rummage for what he wanted. Cordelia tried to get between the angered vampire and the books, determined to have her say. Wesley tried to spring to her defence, instinct getting the better of good judgement, he heaved himself to his feet.
In his heightened state, Angel was aware of the fresh blood smell the moment Wesley ripped open his stitches. Yet another mortal young man, so reminiscent of his William, that he had let down, but at least this one he could something for.
"Delia, shut up and call an ambulance." He snarled at her, game-faced, getting her undivided attention for a few precious moments. "Wesley's burst some stitches."
"How do you know that, Mister Inscrutable?" The ire was back in Cordeilia's voice, and Angel had to admit he didn't like it. He deserved it and so much more than the young woman before him could ever guess. But he definitely didn't like it.
"I'm a vampire, you can look it up later, but first, call the bloody ambulance!" He didn't notice the use of one of Spike's favourite mild expletives creeping into his voice. Nor did he notice the more English cadence he gave his words. Not even Angelus' deliberately roughened brogue.
"Oh, God, oh God!" Delia dashed to the phone as Angel turned to Wesley and made him sit still.
"Why did you come here Angel? What did you need the books for?" The former watcher asked, trying to distract himself from the burning pain in his belly, and the blood seeping through his sweater.
"I found a thing, a collar, I used it on someone. And I messed up Wesley. I really messed up." Angel knelt before his former friend and almost prayed to him.
"Did you use it... this thing... did you use it on Darla? Drucilla?" Wesley watched the kneeling vampire's face for every emotion that flickered over it. The pain he found there left his own physical pain so greatly diminished in its wake.
"No, Darla's dead, so's Lindsay McDonald. I didn't put the collar, the thing I found, on either of them. No! I put it on Spike's neck before I..."He simply couldn't say it. "And now he's dead! He killed himself, and I made him do it , because Buffy phoned and I hurt him and he's dead. And I put the thing, the collar around him, and I know it's important what it was. I have to know." Angel finished his litany of horror in tears.
It was the first time Wesley had ever seen the vampire shed a tear over anything or anyone. It was the first time in so long that he had even seen a hint of the vampire's soul that he hated himself for what he was about to do. Use his former employer's pain in a brutal attempt to win back his friend's soul from all the vile darkness that surrounded it.
"What did this collar look like? I'm usually pretty good with objects, demon artefacts. I take it, it was a demon artifact, this collar?" Wesley looked directly into Angel's eyes and almost blanched at the pain he saw there. But concentrating on Angel was better than listening to Cordeilia fret about the time the ambulance was taking to arrive.
"It had these claws, spikes, when the collar closed around the wearers neck the spikes shot forward and pierced the flesh. There were four on the top and four on the bottom. When I closed it around Spike's neck I felt it warming up." Angel took a deep shuddering breath, to calm himself. To simply not throw up what little blood he had drunk earlier all over Wesley's lap.
"Pass me Gronmann's Catalogue. It's on the second shelf down?" He pointed to the bottle green leather bound book at the left the second shelf.
Angel stood up, shakily, and crossed to the shelves. Picking up the book Wesley requested, he idly opened it to the title page, then the dedication page and froze in place. Even Cordeilia knew something was deeply wrong as Angel began to shake. It was far more than a mere tremble. He was lost in a personal horror strong enough to almost shake his soul loose.
"What's wrong? Angel? What is it?" She reached his side and glanced at Wesley before turning back to the souled vampire. "Let me see, we can't help if you don't tell us what's wrong?" She eased the book out of Angel's hands and looked at the words written there. Looking from Angel to Wesley and back again she began to read the dedication aloud. Not understanding, but knowing it was somehow relevant to Angel's dire state. "Dedicated to William James Mansfield, my stepson, friend and greatest student. Victim of Angelus, fate and the Gods." She looked at Angel's whiter than ever face and then at Wesley's matching face. "Will someone tell me what's wrong? It's not like Angelus didn't bite people all the time, now is it? He was the really big bad, the evil incarnate one, wasn't he?"
"I'm sorry, Angel, I didn't think. Gronmann's the best reference on demonic artefacts. I simply didn't think... I'm sorry." Wesley turned to look at Cordeilia to explain. "William James Mansfield is far better known by the names he assumed once turned as a vampire. One of them was Spike. Angel's childe." Wesley again turned to Angel and this time he held his eyes, letting the vampire see both his sympathy and his accusation. "Only Angel, or Angelus as he was then, didn't stick around to instruct his childe in the finer points of survival. That was left to the writer of the book you're holding, his step father, sort of."
"I left him to die." Angel admitted, retrieving the book once more and giving it to Wesley.
The former watcher looked through the index for a collar matching Angel's description and took as deep a breath as he could before passing the book back. As the vampire read the words before him the doors opened and the ambulance crew finally entered. Wesley was prepped for travel and taken into the ambulance, Cordeilia had to usher the shocked vampire out the door.
"We'll follow in his car." She told the paramedics as they bundled Wesley into the relative safety of their vehicle. "Keys Angel, now!" She held out a hand and took the keys from Angel's numb fingers. She knew then that whatever was troubling Angel it was of paramount importance.
As they headed out the door the telephone started to wring, it's shrill tone filled the now quiet and empty room until the answering machine picked it up. The woman on the other end held the receiver from her ear and let the demon behind her listen in.
"See, no one's there, what shall I do now?" Her voice trembled as she spoke.
"Try later!" The demon replied, letting the woman live a little longer than intended.
In the car Cordeilia tried to get Angel to talk, to explain, to tell her just what was so wrong.
"Talk to me!" She demanded. Not really prepared to hear what Angel had to say, but knowing she was going to have to listen very carefully. She suspected that this would be a story he could tell only the once.
"The collar I put round Spike's neck is called Hera's Collar. I put it round his neck while I tortured him, and raped him, and then he staked himself. With the collar on he'd have been... stop the car!" He managed to hold on till the car screeched to a halt before he threw up. As he did so Cordeilia read the relevant passage and felt pretty damn sick to her stomach herself. When Spike suicided he took himself and a clump of cells that would have grown into Angel's baby with him.
Quietly, without complaint for once, she rode the agony of a vision while Angel came to terms with his actions, their consequences, and what might have beens. Time enough later to stop his own suicidal crusade. Even if it meant saving Wolfram and Hart in order to do it.
She vowed to herself that she would call Buffy in the morning and discover just what her involvement was, if any. She did recall her name being mentioned at some point. Then it would be past time to put her family back together again. If she could.
[Reviews - 0] [Kudos - 298]
Download story PDF format or ePUB format or MOBI format
Table of Contents
Download story PDF format or ePUB format or MOBI format
Table of Contents