The Rise of the Nightstalkers

Author's Note 1: This section begins about one year after the prologue to "Demon Hunters-R-Us." Badges for parts one and two are original works by me, and do not represent any actual military units to the best of my knowledge.

Author's Note 2: This story has actually been in the works since sometime in the summer of 2010, although I didn't sit down to actually start writing it until late July of 2012. The basic story for it was "played out" in discussions between my roommate (and beta), Jake, and I, usually late at night when we both should have been sound asleep. Without her able input, it would never have been written. Started 8/21/12; completed 9-25-12.

Author's Note 3: At the time this story was first conceived, before the raid that claimed Osama bin Laden's life, we (my beta, Jake, and I) did not know of the existence of the actual military group known as the Night Stalkers. This story and the unit designation are not intended to detract from or offer disrespect to them in any way; we hold them in the highest regard. To them we say thank you, gentlemen, for all that you have done, and for all the sacrifices that you have made to keep us safe here at home. May God bless and protect you, and all your brothers- and sisters-in-arms.

In this story, the unit name is spelled as one word, Nightstalkers, to differentiate from the real unit.

Disclaimer: (applies to all subsequent chapters; I'm not gonna write this over every time.) All rights to Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy; Any Humans and Vampires that you might recognize are his. All others are mine; I'll put his back without too much damage when I'm done playing with them. Some situations referred to are taken from both Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series, but I'm too lazy to go looking them up to specifically footnote them. If some item or situation sounds like something you wrote, please understand that I didn't intentionally take what was yours; it just apparently made enough of an impression to really stick in my brain.

~oOo~

Prologue

"General Payne, thank you for meeting me today," General Stuart Durgan said, restraining a slight chuckle at the irony of this meeting. He had sat across from this same man at this same polished conference table not that long ago, to discuss the same project, as it were. It really was just too amusing…

"'Afternoon, Stu," Payne responded with a weary sigh. He suspected what the other officer wanted to discuss; the fact that even their aides had been barred from the room was a strong clue.

"Relax, Mitch," Durgan said and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "Yes, I want to talk about Project Hunter—good name, that, by the way. I've read the reports; glad to see that they've had some success there. I was somewhat concerned to see the high turnaround rate among the personnel, especially shortly after startup."

"There was a… problem orienting the new handlers for the Hunter vampires," General Payne admitted with great reluctance. "Too many of the men were overly intimidated by their charges; there were even some cases of outright abuse at the beginning. Those problems have been mostly overcome, primarily by establishing more stringent selection protocols for the handlers. Despite the rocky start, we've gotten several of the Hunters acclimated; they've been out with our patrols, hunting demons around the St. Louis Hellmouth for several months now. I am fully confident that others will adjust also."

"So I read," General Durgan said agreeably, before dropping his bombshell. "I want a tour of the facility, Mitch. An unannounced inspection. I want to see the Hunters, talk to them and their handlers, without their superiors breathing over their shoulders. I want to know what they think about all this, with no repercussions for them or your project. Will you arrange that for me?"

General Mitchell Payne froze, momentarily taken aback. Then he, too, leaned back in his chair. "When would you like to go, Stu?"

~oOo~

Chapter 1

"Sit down, Major Finn," General Durgan said as he returned the young officer's salute. "This is to be more of an informal discussion. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you, sir," Riley Finn said, confused now. He'd never heard of this General Stuart Durgan before; all he knew was that he wasn't in his own chain of command.

"All right; we can get right down to business, then," Durgan said, studying the young officer before him. "Just how well did you know the vampire known as Hostile 17 in Sunnydale, Major?"

"Spike?" Riley blurted out, taken completely by surprise by that question.

"Ah. Is that his real name?" Durgan looked truly interested now. "I had wondered…"

"His name is actually William the Bloody, sir," Riley said, somewhat reluctantly. "He calls himself Spike, after the lovely habit he had of torturing his victims with railroad spikes in the decades after his turning. After he was made a vampire, that is, sir," he explained at the slightly puzzled look on the general's face.

"So… 'Hostile 17' was the label stuck on him after his capture by the Initiative in Sunnydale, then. Did he ever acknowledge the designation?" Durgan asked, though things were starting to become clearer to him. The Hunter project was still making some of the same old mistakes, it would seem.

"Not really, sir," Finn said definitively. "He was chipped, but escaped, as I gather you are aware.

"And what sources remain after the destruction of the base claim that he assisted a group of human demon-fighters, which included the Slayer. Yes, I've been read in on that, Major. What can you tell me about his reliability?"

"Spike, reliable?" Finn scoffed, then sighed. "Sir, I'll be the first to admit that I'm more than a little prejudiced where Hos… Spike is concerned. I still haven't shaken all the conditioning we were subjected to at the Initiative." He paused to gather his thoughts before continuing. "Spike is the personification of the word 'opportunist,'" he finally said. "If the dictionary were illustrated, Spike would be pictured there as the definition of the term… He went to the Scoobies—the group that supported the Slayer called themselves that, sir—after his escape. He'd fought the Slayer several times before we captured him; kidnapped one or two of her hangers-on at various times also, although he'd never tried to kill any of them for some reason. Anyway, he knew them, at least a bit. He went to them for protection and food, because he thought himself totally helpless at first. They were, in their own terms, 'White Hats'—the good guys, who protected the helpless, and everyone thought Hostile 17 met those criteria at that point."

"I see," Durgan said, leaning back and resting steepled fingers against his lips in thought. "And after he found out he was not so helpless?"

Finn shook his head. "He still hung around with them, sir. He still couldn't hurt humans, but he hunted demons, including other vampires, with them, for the 'spot of violence,' he claimed. And they'd get him blood to eat. The Watcher got pig and cow blood, and not all that much, the stingy bastard—payment for his help, Giles called it. Buffy used him as a sparring partner—he could hurt her, it turned out, although he never tried to kill her after they all took him in. But one of them—the one that claimed the loudest to hate him—would get him bags of human blood when he could afford to buy it."

"So, basically, he voluntarily joined with humans to hunt demons, is this what you're saying, Major?"

"Yessir, General Durgan, I suppose so," Finn said with a frown. "He even stayed with them after Buffy—that was the Slayer—had us remove his chip when it suddenly started to malfunction, three years after implantation. They claimed that he'd somehow gotten his soul back, sir… I don't know if I really believe that or not."

"And then he sacrificed himself to help save the world—or so I see they claimed." Durgan's voice gave no indication as to whether or not he actually believed this.

"Sir… They also believe in magic in that group; one of them calls herself a witch. I only know that some weird stuff happened around them, a lot. I know that Spike showed up again several months later in LA, and that he was helping his Sire fight demons there, until some huge blow-up with some demonic law firm occurred."

"I see." Durgan fell silent again, this time for so long that Riley began to wonder if he was dismissed. Finally the general looked at him. "Do you think that there might be any vampires out there that would work with the military on a voluntary basis?"

"Vampires? In the Army?!"

"Their senses would be a major advantage to any unit they would be attached to; no need for NODs1 for them."

"And they'd become vampire flambé at the first touch of the sun," Riley countered quickly. "Surely you don't mean to use vampires against humans, General?" He was shocked at the notion.

General Durgan grinned, pleased that this mere major was actually willing to speak his mind to a general, instead of parroting what he thought his superior wanted to hear. "I can think of several scenarios where their use would be appropriate," he said. "How well do you think such as they would do, sniffing out terrorists?"

Finn froze, arrested by the thought. "Sir, from what little I've seen, they would be highly effective, once properly trained," he said slowly. "But I don't know if you could entice any to surrender to the military willingly."

"What do you think we could offer them that would get them to agree?"

Finn thought carefully before saying anything more. "Sir," he finally began, hesitantly, picking and choosing his words. "I don't know how complete the Initiative's reports were. Did they include the fact that there are vampires out there that choose not to kill humans? They still drink human blood, but… They go to places called 'suckhouses,' sir—they're seen as vamp whores by the rest. Humans go there and pay to be bitten. The bite… it can be addictive, sir. The way it makes a human feel when done a certain way… It's a sexual rush, sir. It's mostly the weaker vamps who go to places like that. Maybe, if someone were to offer a guaranteed supply of blood… but I don't know how useful they'd be. Those vamps go there because they're desperate for blood, sir; they know they're looked down on, despised by other vampires, because they don't want to kill."

"But some might agree to an idea like this, for an offer of blood," General Durgan summarized, seeing that his idea might actually be feasible after all.

"And protection, sir," Finn added with a grimace. "Other vamps would hunt them down for being so weak as to accept shelter from mere humans. Remember, sir, that we're just cattle to most vamps."

Durgan nodded. "Do you still have any contact with this Spike? I'd like to hear a vampire's take on this matter."

"Spike? Uh, last I heard, he was up in Washington State, I think," Riley answered, wondering why the general would care about a vampire's thoughts.

"Good. You're to find him and present this idea to him, Major Finn," Durgan said as he passed over a slim folder. "Read this over tonight; your CO will have your new orders for this by morning. Dismissed."

"Yessir," Riley said, rising to his feet and saluting, his mind numb with shock. Him… to see Spike? Spike hated him… And, shit, he'd have to talk to Buffy or Angel first just to find him. When had the Powers that Be decided they hated him so much? But he was walking out of the office now, his body on auto-pilot.

~oOo~

Riley Finn wearily slid onto the hard bench seat with a despondent sigh. He'd been walking the night streets of Seattle for the past week, searching for Spike, but so far he'd had no luck. He'd been in more demon bars and night clubs than any human city had a right to have, especially one not possessing a Hellmouth. He'd flashed Spike's picture; people—using the term very loosely—admitted to having seen the blond vampire around, but no one would admit to knowing where he might be found. Now, tonight, Riley was taking a break from the demonic world; he'd have himself a nice, human meal, even if it was 2:00 AM. Thank God for all-night places like Waffle House.

The waitress came over to take his order, looking just as beat as he felt. Burger with all the fixings, fries, and a coffee—yeah, that would do him just fine…

"Add a nice hot cuppa tea, luv," an unforgettable voice said, as the black-and-white vision that was Spike slid onto the bench seat across the table from Finn. "So, I hear you've been looking for me, Cap'n Cornfed. Wot d'ya want?" he snarked with his perpetual sneer firmly in place as the girl left with the order.

"And hello to you, too, Hos…uhh, Spike," Riley started to sneer back, stopping himself as he remembered his orders. "Sorry," he said with another sigh. "I have a couple of questions to ask you on behalf of my superiors. Is there somewhere we can go to talk?"

"Here'll do just peachy, Finn," the vampire answered, sprawling back in his seat, his arms splayed out along the seat-back. "It's nice an' public here, yeah? Safe for both o' us. Not that I don't trust you—Oh, hell, yeah, I don't trust you, you tosser. Wot d'ya want?"

Finn waited while the waitress brought back cups and utensils for the table, then coffee for him and hot water and a teabag for Spike. Cream and sugar came next, with Finn visibly hanging onto his patience. Spike just grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes. Finally, they were left alone, although Spike knew that Finn's food would be ready soon; he could smell the meat cooking.

"Spike… Do you think that any vampires would be willing to work for the military?" Finn began, rather reluctantly. "There's a general from Washington with a crazy idea to use vamps like some combination of hunting and guard dogs. He's proposing a guaranteed blood source and housing; I assume he means bagged blood, but I don't know what kind."

The vampire gaped at him at first, then burst out laughing at the concept. "Pull the other one, mate," he finally said as he got himself under control once more.

"I'm serious, Spike," Riley began, stopping as the waitress once more approached their table, this time carrying bottles of ketchup and steak sauce, and the pot to top off Riley's coffee. This time, Finn scowled at the girl, but she ignored him and went back to the grill area.

"Might as well wait, soldier-boy," Spike said with another chuckle. "She'll be back with yer food shortly. They're quick, places like this."

"Yeah, I know," Riley admitted, still grouchy. "It's why I came here. Well, that and to get out of the rain. I just didn't expect to find you here."

"You didn't find me, mate," Spike corrected, sneering once more. "I've been trailing you for two days now, just waitin' for ya to settle someplace public without a huge audience. Didn't want to get trapped in that rattrap you're stayin' in. Don't the military pay better than that? My crypt in old Sunnyhell was better than that dump."

The human scowled again, but he found it hard to refute that statement. "I didn't think I'd be here this long; thought you'd be easier to find. Angel said—"

"You spoke t' Peaches?" Spike cut him off in surprise, not sure if the older vampire was betraying him once again or not.

"I knew you were in Washington somewhere," Riley explained. "Buffy told me that much, months ago. More along the lines of, 'Spike's there, so you might want to stay away if you can' sort of thing," he elaborated. "I've been pretty good at that, too, until this general came up with this crazy idea."

"Wot's so crazy about it?" Spike demanded, more to play devil's advocate than because he really thought so himself. "We got better senses, an' we're 'way smarter than dogs. Won't walk on no leashes, though."

"Yeah, like the vamps wouldn't tear out the throats of their handlers, first chance they got," Riley scoffed, shutting up once more as the girl brought his food over. No vamp, he thought, would even try to resist, surrounded by that much temptation.

"Thanks, luv," Spike said, flashing a slow, sexy smile at her. "That'll be all, yeah? Th' boy an' me, we need t' talk, so be a pet an' stay away, right?"

She nodded her head and made herself scarce; you got all types in here at night, and so long as there was no violence, she was just as happy to comply with the punk's request. He looked too dangerous to cross.

"Eat your food; then we'll talk," Spike said, nodding towards Riley's plate. He added, "Th' whelp always gets real pissy if his din-din gets cold."

"Xander's still around, then?" Riley asked in surprise as he started in on his burger.

"Yeah; he's babysitting the local House of Slayers. Got tired o' huntin' 'em through Africa, an' missed the States, so the new Council of Wankers assigned him 'ere. We shoot pool t'gether, couple nights a week."

Riley stopped eating to gape at the vampire, who grinned and took a drink of his tea. He made a face at it—not that it was bad, but it tasted of the paper from the teabag, and he'd forgotten that it would. "Didn't tell you he was here, did they?" Spike asked with a grin. "He could'a arranged a meet, first night you were in town."

"Shit," Riley growled, keeping his voice down. He sighed once more, then passed a folder across the table to the vampire. "Here, why don't you read that while I eat? It's the general's proposal—what he gave me, anyway. I told him he was crazy, but he insisted I find you and talk to you about it."

Spike took the file and started to read, ignoring the human as he scarfed down his meal. By the look of the contents, the former Initiative soldier wasn't lying… but there was no telling if this file was actually telling the truth. He'd heard some rumors out of the South, but he'd check those out on his own before making any sort of decision. "Who's this general wot come up with this plan?" he asked as he finally shut the folder and looked over at his companion. "An' why'd he send you to me in particular?"

~oOo~

"Hey, Dad, I'm goin' out with Sam to a movie. Mom said she'd be home soon; there's some frozen dinners in the fridge. Oh, and some guy is here to see you," General Durgan's seventeen-year-old daughter breezily announced with a kiss hello and goodbye to her father's cheek as she headed out the door. "He's waiting for you in your study," she tossed over her shoulder and was gone before he could ask any questions, leaving him to frown as he headed that way to see who this could be.

A young man sat in a chair facing the door, a glass of amber liquid in one hand. Shockingly white hair was gelled back on his head, contrasting oddly with the nice suit the man wore. Heavy boots, neatly polished, provided another odd note.

"You've good taste in liquor, Guv," the man said, making no attempt to rise. He slowly shook his head before continuing, "Should tell your girl not to let strangers in, though. This may be a gated place, but the security sucks, yeah? An' some bloke at the door, but no car out front… I could'a been anyone."

"Who're you?" General Durgan demanded in as threatening a voice as he could muster, considering he had no weapon to hand. His pistol was in his desk drawer, damn it…

"Relax, Guv; If I'd meant you harm, the bird'd never have walked out of here, or even seen me," the man said with a languid grin, stretching his legs out before him and crossing them at the ankles. "You sent for me—or didn't you think I'd come t' talk to you personally?" He nodded now to the folder resting on the table at his elbow, drawing Durgan's attention to it.

It had to be… Durgan realized, then blurted, "How'd you get here? It's barely dark now."

"God bless DC winter days, Guv," Spike said with a laugh. "Overcast was heavy enough, an' this is a nice, shady old neighborhood. That, an' leather makes a good shield. Plus no one looks at ya twice, bundlin' up on a cold winter day like this one; lot of folks here from outta town, not used t' the weather. Sit, an' let's talk about this notion o' yours, yeah?"

Slowly Durgan moved towards the desk, but his… guest… shook his head and sat upright in his chair once more. "Why don't you sit over there?" he said, waving a hand towards the other chair that bracketed the fireplace he sat beside. "Wouldn't want any misunderstandin's sendin' you reachin' for the gun I can smell in that desk."

The general sighed, but he sat where indicated. "So what do you want to talk about?" he asked, trying not to sound as threatened as he felt.

"Your plan sounds good on paper, but I don't really believe it," Spike said slowly. "Not after wot I heard 'bout St. Louis. Those vamps you got sniffin' demons there—they sure don't seem real happy there, all locked up like animals. An' they sure ain't feedin' well, Guv; can smell it on 'em. Well, on most of 'em," he amended thoughtfully.

"You went down to the St. Louis Hellmouth?" General Durgan asked in surprise, sitting back in his chair.

"Well, yeah. Wanted t' see for meself, didn't I? Can't b'lieve everything you read, these days," Spike answered with a sneer. He watched, curious, as the human nodded in agreement.

"I know. I toured that facility before speaking to Major Finn," the general said bluntly, his frown showing what he'd thought of that place. "They're making a lot of the same mistakes with their personnel that the Initiative did. There are a few handlers who view their charges with respect, but their immediate superiors are keeping their hands tied, preventing them from treating their vamps as they would prefer—as the handlers would prefer, that is. Too many of those vamps would rather eat the humans there than work with them. That's not the sort of setup I'm talking about for this." He waved one hand toward the folder in clarification.

Spike said nothing, easing back in his chair once more and taking another sip of his drink as he waited for the human to continue.

"That's why I sent Finn to talk to you, Spike… You are Spike, correct? William the Bloody, 130-year-old vampire?"

"Master Vampire, an' have been for most o' those years," Spike corrected carefully. "Matter o' pride, that, like those stars you wear on your uniform—somethin' hard-earned, yeah?"

"I stand corrected," General Durgan said with a formal nod. "Just goes to show that I was right—you are the man I needed to talk to. So. What would we need to do to make this work?" he asked, his voice going serious as he looked the vampire right in the eyes.

"You're serious about this—about vamps bein' in the military, like, an' not just t' hunt other demons?" Spike looked at this human carefully, trying to read his thoughts through his eyes, searching for the truth.

Durgan nodded, wondering what the vampire was trying to get at.

"You'd have to get volunteers," Spike explained slowly. "Not like some vamp you'd be putting a chip inta. Vamp goin' against humans'd have t' be able t' defend hisself. An' you'd have t' feed 'em on human blood. Cow an' pig'll keep us alive, but it tastes like shite, an' there'd be too much temptation all around otherwise. If ya do use the chips for trainin', you'd have t' be able t' turn 'em off when they go int' th' field."

Durgan nodded. "That could be done easily," he agreed, more comfortable with his guest as the conversation progressed. Spike had obviously thought quite a bit about this project before he'd come, looking for ways to make it work, not to shoot it down.

"Another thing," Spike continued with a frown. "Y' can't just grab up any vamp an' think this'll work. Most ain't like me an' Peaches—Angel, that is, Guv." He chuckled at the look on Durgan's face at his nickname for his Sire, but continued. "Peaches an' me, we've got souls; the others don't, yeah? Makes a big difference. So ya can't just grab any vamp off the' street, not even a suckhouse vamp, even if they sorta volunteer. Minions—they'd be th' lower-class vamps—cannon-fodder, like—they were never meant to be high-status vamps; just created t' do menial labor, an' take orders. They need a Master Vampire around t' control 'em; a human just won't do. Wouldn't have th' control, like, not t' eat the other troops; most o' them could never develop that, either. So you'd need t' recruit minor Master Vamps, and Childer, t' make this plan o' yours work."

"I take it there aren't too many of those around, though," Durgan said with a sigh, slumping in his chair a bit.

Spike grinned. "Didn't say that, now, did I, Guv? There's plenty, if ya know where t' look for 'em. Even some as might volunteer for yer plan, just t' get a safe haven. Me, though? I'm not one of 'em," he stressed, lest this human get the wrong idea.

"Wouldn't take you even if you were willing," Durgan laughed back, adding in explanation at Spike's affronted look, "You've got too much negative history with the military, too much of a reputation as a loose cannon. Besides, I was told that you keep the demons on the West Coast mostly under control; you're needed there too much."

"Too right," Spike agreed, letting himself puff up briefly in pride. "Master of California, that's me, an' no military puppy-dog."

Durgan chuckled again at that show of pride, before going serious once more. "So where would I find suitable candidates for this program, Spike?"

Before Spike could answer, the study door swung open. "Stuart, are you in here?" the woman framed in the doorway asked, then, "Oh, I'm sorry; I didn't realize—"

"That's quite all right, ma'am," Spike replied in a more refined accent, rising to his feet before the General could say anything. "The General and I were just talking. William Pratt," he said, crossing the room to take her hand briefly as Durgan froze in fear. "I met your daughter earlier; a lovely young lady. She has your eyes."

"Yes…" Mrs. Durgan managed, taken aback by the cultured English accent of this young man. "Well, I'll leave you to your business, then," she said, beginning to retreat from the room.

"A pleasure, missus," Spike said, before closing the door behind her. "Lovely lady. Now, where were we?" he asked, his accent hardening back to its earlier Cockney tones.

"Suitable…" Durgan started, still somewhat in shock over the perceived danger to his wife.

"Oh, yeah; that's right," Spike cut him off with a chuckle. "'Most every good-sized city in the States has a Court o' some sort—some Master Vamp as has set hisself up as cock-o'-th'-shite-heap. You find lesser Masters an' Childer there, hopin' someday t' take over, or just for a place t' belong. Lots o' minions, too—vamps are social creatures, Guv; we don't like t' be by ourselves much. But Masters of a territory, 'specially younger, weaker ones, don't usually care much t' have Masters of other bloodlines in their Courts; too much of a threat of challenge, yeah? Could ask around the Courts for volunteers. How many d'ya need?"

"Maybe a dozen to start," Durgan replied, wrenching his mind back on track. "Do the bloodlines matter?" he asked, concerned now. "There was nothing about that in the old files I read."

"Matters in a court; shouldn't matter for you," Spike answered, then sneered, "Initiative wankers just thought us animals; never asked about how we lived. Too much guilt that way, if they'd acknowledged us as intelligent an' civilized-like. Just sliced an' diced, Guv."

"I'll be looking further into that, personally," Durgan swore, although he doubted he'd get far.

"Yeah, well, blood wasted, an' all that," Spike waved it off, and Durgan filed that expression away as the vampire equivalent of spilt milk. "You got a place set up for this little party o' yours?" the vampire went on. "Soldier-boys all picked out?"

"There's a complex of old warehouses, offices, and abandoned ammo bunkers in a back corner of a large base in North Carolina. The bunkers needed too much of an upgrade for our modern munitions, so the area is currently disused. It should provide more than adequate facilities for quarters and training…"

"Best understand an' accept one thing, Guv," Spike warned. "Vampires—we're possessive buggers, yeah? 'Specially us Masters. We judge our strength by what we can take an' hold, so we don't let go of what we view as ours easily. You assign handlers to your vampires, they're gonna see the humans as theirs. Their Pets. They'll protect 'em with their lives, once they accept 'em. Means ya can't shift 'em around; once they're paired up, that's it. Any other soldiers they're in with, same thing, especially if they get some of their blood. And they will drink a little from th' tap, from their handlers especially. Marks 'em as theirs, so those men'd best be told to expect it. Possessive, yeah?"

"Right… I think I saw that with several of the Hunters in St. Louis," Durgan admitted, finally understanding what he'd seen. "I don't think the base commander there understands that—or cares," he added with a frown.

"Yeah, well, he won't like wot'll happen if he threatens one o' those handlers in front o' their Vamp. Chip or no chip, he'll have a bloodbath," Spike told him solemnly, then grinned. "So when d' ya want your first vamps, an' where d'ya want me t' bring 'em?"

1 NOD: Night Optical Device