I've had the idea for this for a long time. Since Valentine's day, actually. I was working on a gift for a friend that day, so I said "maybe next year" and found this popping up in my French notes. The timeline ofr this is that Spike was sired in April of 1880, and this is February of 1881. It's canon that Angelus always celebrates Valentine's Day with something horrible, but its head
canon that he'd start off with Dru… this uses her back story as seen in Stained Glass Saints, but it can be read as a standalone. I'm not sure how necessary it is
Warnings: stream of consciousness in someone insane's POV, pretty outright-stated, but not described imaginings and/or memories of rape/dubious consent. You decide which it is, since Dru doesn't dare fight back but would never actually want it. But it's not described, and it doesn't actually happen in the story. My readers, if you survived the fourth chapter of Whole World's Crazy, you can probably handle this. This is slightly worse.
Drusilla woke up in a cold sweat. Oh, god, the fourteenth, and her William was nowhere to be found. She'd thought maybe, just maybe, this fourteenth would be different. The stars laughed, not telling her a sodding thing. She was right. This one would be worse. Every year, Daddy celebrated the fourteenth of February with screaming. It was a day for love, but if he could love, he'd love himself and pain—only other people's pain. Except she wasn't a person. That didn't make her safe. Maybe that meant he liked her screaming better. Hopefully William wouldn't fight this.
If William interfered with the time honoured tradition, he'd be killed. Maybe Daddy would hold her in the hot spray of ash, and then… oh, god Snake! Snake in the woodshed! She forced herself to take a couple of deep, unnecessary breaths, trying to calm herself. After it was done, he'd leave, and she could burn until she almost forgot. It would get all steamy, and maybe then, her William would come back to stop the pain. Assuming he didn't scream and get trapped inside her head with all the other screams. She checked beneath the pillow, seeing that her cross hadn't been moved, and touching it experimentally. The burn at her fingertips was good, it shut her thoughts down. She sighed, moving her hands, so she didn't burn too much. If she burned now, she wouldn't be able to take it away next time.
She knew it wouldn't be long now, Daddy always did things in the same order every fourteenth: he'd get up, shortly before the sun set, and he'd be in here until the sun was down. Then he'd take Grandmummy out and impress her with some act of cruelty and return here to fill the house with screaming, dinner's and their own until the sun had long since risen. Drusilla's head would be full of razor-edged screams that ripped around like a bunch of fishes swimming and bumping around, slicing everything to shreds. She killed dinner once, couldn't take it, and the festivities extended to a week. Not to mention, Daddy had confiscated her holy water, not trusting her with it. She'd never dare burn him, but if ever there was a time to go too far…
Drusilla looked at the watch William had left in here, and realized just how little time she had. Around three minutes, give or take a few seconds. She wanted to shatter the watch, for tick-ticking her time away, but the watch was William's and she didn't want to break it if it was his, if it mattered to him. She wouldn't make William angry with her, otherwise she would be alone for all of the fourteenth, and that would mean that she'd burn, and William and Daddy both got cross when she did that. Daddy didn't like it because if she died, he wouldn't have anyone to hurt, and he'd have to sire a new seer, and William didn't like it because it hurt her, but he didn't understand that that was the better hurt. He didn't like pain, but she had to, because it was all she knew. Some pains were better than others. The pain of the cross was physical pain only. She'd long since parted with the childish notion of religion, of any benevolent deity in this world. God was a human way of consolation. They could imagine that their pain meant something. Nothing meant anything. Pain was pain, and all it served was to cause pain. As someone familiar with agony, she knew that.
That's when the vision seized her, and she made a little choked noise, seeing a couple of men walking in the streets, after dark, a lady between them. Two suitors trying to enjoy the little holiday with the same lady, though the love triangle was the least of their concerns. She watched one man turn and saw Grandmummy there. She begged him to run, but instead, he walked over to her, telling her that she was a little too beautiful to be alone today. Grandmummy smirked knowingly at him, saying mockingly, "just a little?" she turned to the shadows, finding Daddy hidden in the darkness. Dark as the void his soul left behind. "I found you one," she said casually, ripping a nail down the whimpering man's face and delicately licking at the blood on her finger. As Daddy watched, Grandmummy cleaned her finger off, slowly, sensually. Drusilla knew Grandmummy did things like that from time to time, and it usually led to Daddy screaming. Once she'd almost managed to convince herself that Grandmummy was killing him, but there he was the next night.
She snapped out of the vision, knowing she had no way to save the three humans, checking the watch. The vision had taken a lot of the time she had left, and now she was weak. They still hurt her, even though she was dead. She felt sick and weak, and the fun hadn't even started yet. But it would in twenty six seconds. Oh, god, she needed to escape, but the sun was up. Once she tried to escape anyways, thinking that it would be more pleasant to burn than be defiled anew by Daddy. Daddy pulled her back in, told her she was a bad girl for trying to run, and hurt her anyways. It was even worse burned. And the festivities lasted longer. She wasn't sure, but she thought Darla was in the room for part of it. Twenty three, twenty two, twenty-one, that was the number of fourteenths she'd spent here, enduring this. This was her twenty-first Valentine's Day with them. She'd spent more of them that way than she had any other way.
Eighteen, seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, that cursed number, fourteen. The number of this day: February fourteenth. The day every girl wanted to be treated like a princess, and she was treated like…like a thing. Like nothing, because even things get some level or respect, but not Drusilla. Daddy knew that, because he'd started it, twenty one years ago, on the floor of a church. She wasn't even a thing, and she knew it, she suffered that over and over. The shocking part of it was the way her William treated her. He was so different from Daddy. William treated her like a goddess, and he didn't even seem repulsed when he learned about the way Daddy liked to hurt her. She'd thought he would realize she wasn't a person when he saw her that night, but her white knight fought the dragon, and saved the princess. Would he do that today? And if he did, would he live?
Eight, seven, six, Oh, no. Please no. Miss Edith! Miss Edith couldn't protect her, Daddy took miss Edith away. Three, two, one. That's when the door should rip open, but there was no door sound. She'd count up then, infinitely more on edge, because she knew that this time would end in pain. She'd count up to her doom, not knowing what number was hers. Four, Five, six, seven, eight. Oh, if he was taking extra time, did that mean he had something worse than normal planned? Eleven, twelve, what if it was William? What if William delayed him and now William was ash. Perhaps, as an example, daddy would lay her down in the ashes and ask her if William could hear her cries. What if Daddy was going to kill William and make her watch like in the old times, do it slowly?
Sixteen, seventeen, please don't fight him, William. He wants you to so he can kill you and princess will be alone. So alone. Drusilla continued to count until she got to a minute, dread increasing. When she surpassed two minutes, she knew this was going to hurt, so she prayed to any god that would hear her to help her. Not that there was one who cared. She was a soulless thing, and even if she had a soul, when she had a soul, the stained glass saints loved to condemn her. She'd never be good enough for them. At two minutes past, she knew this was going to be possibly the worst time since her siring, although perhaps he was going to try his hardest to make this worse… one hundred twenty five seconds, twenty six, twenty seven… Drusilla tried to steel herself for what was to come. One hundred thirty. The door opened on one thirty one.
She stopped counting, whimpering slightly and curling up into a ball. Any moment, he was going to tell her that William was dead, and carry her to the ashes. He'd slam her down and hurt her, then she would be alone again, and she couldn't take it, another fourteenth lying broken after her sire's abuses. Not after everything her William had done to repair her. Not that she was fixable. William had made her feel like forever meant something, and maybe, maybe if Daddy was planning to kill him in front of her, she could persuade him to let her William live. "Please don't hurt him," she said softly, "I'll do anything, anything you want." She still didn't look up, knowing that if she did, he'd see her tears, and punish her for crying. He didn't like it when she cried, said it wasn't right for a vampire to cry.
Not that he didn't want her to, just for an excuse. She felt a presence behind her as the old bed creaked and someone lay behind her. The thoughts were different though… She never wanted to see Daddy's thoughts, but she could feel their destructive presence, and these thoughts felt gentle, kind. She knew daddy couldn't just change his thoughts to deceive her, so she slowly, hesitantly uncurled, letting more of her body touch the man's, recognising the way he felt against her. Gentle arms slid around her holding her, but not forcing any more proximity, only her William… "I'm not hurt, love. He didn't touch me," he assured her, "and he's not going to touch you either," the poet added self-assuredly. William was so strong. He wouldn't let her be hurt, she knew that, but how was he alive, and how was he here.
Drusilla didn't roll over, but she let herself get a little closer to William, humming softly. "How?" she asked him, the word slipping past her lips almost harshly, barely slipping out. How could he be sure he wasn't going to be killed, she wasn't going to be hurt? Killing was too merciful for her, so she didn't fear that happening. His death would kill her inside though. She would protect him. It was too late for Drusilla to save herself, but she wouldn't let her William be broken like she was, wouldn't let Angelus ruin him like she was ruined.
William kissed the back of her neck, avoiding her scars, because he knew how much pain those caused her, particularly on a day like today, where she was already stressed. "I know because I talked to Darla, did my little curious routine, tried to find out why he wasn't planning on spending the day with his sire. I asked her if she thought it was because he preferred—well my wording was awful, but I think I managed to get inside her head. She's not letting him out of her sight," William winced as Drusilla pressed against him, and she could tell something hurt him. Drusilla rolled over and stroked her hand down his cheekbone cautiously, not sure where he was hurt. She could smell blood, but she couldn't see any, so it couldn't be that bad.
Hopefully it wasn't bad; Grandmummy could be as terrifying as the man she sired when she was angry. No, not quite. Not quite. At her worst, Grandmummy had never come close to the pain daddy liked to inflict. Drusilla's hand wandered to William's shoulder, feeling him wince beneath it. There it was. She slid his shirt town to see the long nail mark. Grandmummy's nails were lethal. Drusilla had seen them kill several people. She kissed the scar softly, tasting her William's blood on it still. The blood of her white knight, again shed to defend her. She unbuttoned his shirt and continued to kiss down his scratch just to where it ended, across his body, slightly under the other collarbone. It wasn't that deep, Grandmummy hadn't intended to kill, but her William had again suffered to save her. he made a bit of a humming noise, and she looked up at him, to see his eyes shut and his head tipped back. So her William liked this?
Well, human Valentine's Day was about love. Her fourteen had always been about torture, but that wasn't what William was about, and Daddy was likely tied up in the basement with Grandmummy. She continued to taste the blood on the scratch, just a thank you to her William for making the horrors of fourteen go away… That was the thing about William, he took the unstoppable and he made it stop. Maybe the stars were liars, the way they'd told her nothing could ever be right, because here, with the music of her William's sounds, and the taste of blood at her lips, she thought someday, it could. And she could feel in his thoughts that he felt the same. She'd come home.
And as he took her hand, seeing her cross-seared fingers, and kissed her fingertips, cool lips relieving the sting of her burn, she knew she was right. Only her William could take the pain of fourteen…