Title of Story: A Father's Betrayal (It's a work in progress title that isn't set in stone and will most likely be changed to something more fitting to this story)

Chapter Title: Untapped Rage

Author: Alicia08

Pairings: Pretty much all pairings that fall into the canon for season 3. So that's B/A, W/O etc.

Disclaimer: It's a world Joss Whedon created; I'm just here rolling around in it.

Time Frame: Season 3, sometime between 'The Zeppo' and 'Bad Girls'

Rating: R for adult language and content.

Description: Something weird is taking place on the Hellmouth. The residents of Sunnydale are being brutally murdered by the hands of a mysterious being that feeds off the dark emotions of others. When one of the deaths hits close to home, Buffy and the gang get involved

A/N: Well, reviews are my drug and motivation so let me know if you like it, hate it, think it's meh. If it's mostly positive, I'll give you another chapter. If not, I'll do you the favor and quit now and save you the agony. :)

Epilogue

Treacherous thoughts of death and blood and revenge. It swirled and lingered, though still and constant and deafening. It was overpowering, banging around in his temple forcing him to close his eyes and push it back. Contain it. Keep it at bay. But it screamed at him inside his head to do its bidding. Lectured him the way a mother does a child who refuses to listen. Ridiculed him for his irresolute. Mocked his manhood and scolded him for his nonobedience.

"Dude, Donny. You ok man? You looking a little under the weather there"

He looks up, he sees darkness, the voices, an ocean wave of pain, forceful in its impact crashing along the fontal part of his brain, making him grunt. He holds his head, his fingers pressing into the skin where his skull lies.

"Donny man, you're starting to scare me. What the hell"

He bends over, shuts his eyes tight, still clutching his head in his hands. Something is in there. In his head. It's screaming, frantic rants about retribution and vengeance. It's crying too. It's sad, the voice. It's sad, yet angry. It grieves and it pleads with him to help it do what must be done. What has to be done. What should have been done.

"Donny, talk to me. Yo Kyle, come here and help me. Donny is fucked up"

A hand touches his shoulder, sits him up straight. Another touches his other shoulder and he hears voices. Different voices. Voices that he finds familiar. He knows these voices. They belong to his friends. He opens his eyes, looks up and he sees a tall figure hovering over him and another crouching by his side. It's David, his brother and Kyle his cousin. There are others in the background, but they are blurry, so he focuses his attention instead to the two in front of him. They are speaking to him he sees. Their lips move, they open and they close, but he hears gibberish. It's the sound you hear when your moms old record player scratches and the music comes out jumbled and slowed. He opens his mouth to speak, to tell them he can't understand what they are saying, but he finds himself without words. It's a feeling that's foreign and terrifying all in the same. He croaks, afraid for himself, grabbing at his throat with both hands.

"Dude, someone should call an ambulance, he's totally gone"

"We can't. We'll all get busted"

"But look at him. Something is wrong. He's freaking me out. This is some weird shit"

"Hey! I said no one is calling anybody so put your cell phone back in your pocket, I'm not going to jail cause your loser of a brother couldn't handle his liquor"

He's being pushed and he falls to the floor hard, the chair he occupied banging the concrete; a piece of one of its legs splinter. His hands cradle the hard cold floor, crouching over, his head held low to the ground shielding himself as lower limbs bump into him, fall over him, trample him. He's beyond terrified now. The voices in his head no longer screaming but it mumbles. He doesn't know what's worse. The screaming and frenzied yearning for spilt blood, or the nonsensical mumblings.

Something pounds into his ribs and he flinches, raising his head slightly, he peeks and sees fighting. His brother on the floor, though someone is beneath him as David thrust his closed hand forward, knuckle coming to contact with the soft brittle nose of another. He can hear it break and he glimpses the spatter of red that flies from the nose and stains the floor.

"You fucking broke my nose you son of a bitch"

"Yeah, well all the more reason to call the ambulance now ain't it. Kyle, dial it now"

"Kyle, don't dial. David, listen to me. This is not just me. All our asses are on the line here. You get busted and you can kiss that scholarship of yours gone. We're all wasted and some of them fuckers over there are high. Think about it man"

The murmuring voices in his head carry on and he tries to instead apply his attention to what's gong on around him. He still cleaves to the floor, but now he's looking straight up, his head lifted. He can't decipher anything of what's being said. It's all just slowed gabble to him, filtered with the mutter in his head.

The guy with the bloody nose. He knows him. He dislikes him. He hates him. He wants him dead. He wants to tear out his lungs with his bare hands, rip open his chest cavity slowly and painfully, take his still beating heart and then shove it down his throat.

He closes his eyes and wonders where those thoughts came from, then it starts again. The voices in his head. They get louder. They feed off his bête-noir. He tells himself he doesn't' want to kill Tony. Tony is a jackass in his own right, but that's no reason to want him dead. He advises himself of this over and over and over again. He tries to pound it into his consciousness, fighting desperately against his sudden desire for slaughter.

It's hard and it's draining. He begins to shake from the strain and he's clutching his head once more, pulling at his hair, and then he screams. He can't hear himself scream, but he knows he does. And then someone is by his side, comforting him, helping him up. He thinks it's his brother or maybe Kyle, but he can't be sure cause his eyes are closed. He's afraid to open them in fear that if he does, he'll lose his concentration. That tiny bit of will power that's keeping him from charging at Tony and pummeling him to death.

And then it happens. He's being shaken and his eyes flash open. He's looking at his brother who's standing right in front of him, his strong hands gripping his shoulders, yelling at him to snap out of it. He can hear him now, every word being said, clear and crisp.

"Donny, Donny, get a hold of yourself. Come on man, it's me. David. I'm here. Look at me man. Look at me"

Something is wrong though. He feels like he's floating in space or what he thinks floating in space would feel like. His body isn't his anymore. He can't move his hands, though he notices that they move on their own without his permission. It's a weird, frightening emotion.

Someone speaks and it takes him a while to realize that it was him. It's his voice, he's certain of it, but it's not his words. It frightens him and it frightens his brother as well.

"Donny man. What the hell is wrong with you? You're scaring me"

He sees his right hand ascend and pushes David aside, and then he hears himself speak once more, the same words as he did before. It's a low, portentous snarl, one you can compare to coming out of the mouth of a gun slinging pitiless gangster from a western. The words are cruel and menacing as it slips into his eyes mind. 'Your death will make me happy'.

His feet are now moving and it's not by his doing. He tries to stop them but nothing happens. He's walking now and within seconds, he's staring down at a bloodied nosed Tony who still lies on the floor clutching the sleeve of the shirt he wore to his nose, soaking up the dripping blood.

He can see the confusing in Tony's face as the boy lets go of the sleeve of his shirt, both his hands flying to the rigid ground and pushing himself up off the floor. He sees Tony look to his brother questionably, then turns to him.

"You're fucked man. What the hell did you take? Did someone slip something in his drink?"

His head is buzzing and he can feel the wrath it holds, the ire it begs to release. He sees Tony turn to look at the other teenage boys in the room, and next, he spots his hands coming into view and it's around the throat of boy with the bloody nose. Tony looks at him now, no confusion or pompousness evident in his eyes from a few minutes ago. All that is there is fear. Blood curdling, heart stopping feverish fear.

A hand, Tony's hands he sees are grabbing at his own in a frantic frenzy, pleading through his eyes to be let go.

He hears himself speak again, this time, the words are new and familiar. It's a thought that he's had in his head for a long time now, though he never had the courage to scream it at the person it was intended for. But now, now he was doing just that and he couldn't make himself stop. 'You girlfriend stealing bastard'

"Donny man. I'm sorry, but she came on to me. If I knew you were into her like that, I would have let it alone. Please"

It's a desperate plea lacking sincerity he knows, but he doesn't care. It's good enough for him and he doesn't want to hurt Tony. He wants to let him go, say he's sorry and just go home, but he doesn't cause he can't. Someone else is controlling him, taking from him feelings and twisting them, turning them into rage and hate and death.

Tony screams and he realizes that he himself is one by one breaking each of Tony's fingers. Slowly and deliberately and he can feel the slight curve in his lip turn up until he's smiling. He envisions it's a cruel smile, because everyone in the room is looking at him with disgust and fright. The screaming gets louder and he hears the breaking of bones as another finger snaps.

His brother is rushing towards him now he sees from the corner of his eyes and his left hand extends, thrusting his sibling straight across the room where he lands onto a table breaking it with a crash. This act shocks him for he's wondering where this strength came from. He's a skinny little dude, no more than 120 pounds, never able to bench press half his own weight. But before he can probe that question, he finds himself turning around facing Tony once again. The frightened boy still held by his throat, choking on his own tears. And then without warning, another crack is heard, this one louder than the rest and he watches in slow motion from the inside of his own body as his left hand joins his other around Tony's throat and with a quick twist, the boy is dead.

The body falls to the floor broken.

He can feel the smile on his face get wider and it churns his stomach. He sees a gaggle of boys rush towards him, but they don't make contact. They crouch around the broken body on the floor, calling the name of the dead hoping for an answer. Then he hears someone yell for someone else to call 911 and with that, everything went black.

Bryce loved his job, just as much as he loved vanilla ice cream. He found it rewarding; taking hoodlums off the street. Being a hero to so many. His father had the same job before him as did his grandfather before that and he felt honored to continue in that footstep, so when he got sworn in for duty a month ago, it had been a happy time. His wife and kids were there cheering him on as were his father and grandfather who stood and clapped with such pride as his badge was handed over to him.

He had been put into active street duty in the town of Sunnydale just a week ago. It was a strange little town he had come to notice. Mysterious deaths in the hundreds. No motives, no gunshot wounds or major trauma that would cause death. Just two teeth mark to the neck. For each case, the coroner would rule that the death was caused by loss of blood.

And then to make things all the more strange, the next day as he read the newspaper with his morning coffee, he'd spy an article about one of those mysterious deaths, only, it had been neatly explained away. Always something about drugs, and then an accident. Nothing about the teeth mark or that the body was without any other visible wounds that resulted in the death.

So now, standing in the mist of a crime scene while questioning witnesses, did their strange stories of what occurred not throw him for a loop. He listened as they told him of how their friend was murdered by another of their friends. Only, their friend, the one that did the killing, was being controlled by some other force or entity. They talked of red glowing eyes and of supernatural strength and of how their friend, the one known as Donny had collapsed right after snapping the neck of the other friend they called Tony.

During the sweep of the crime screen, they found ppc, ecstasy and an assortment of a variety of hallucinogenic drugs, so Bryce took this into account as he listened to the kids tell their tale and pretty much came to the conclusion that each of them had been experimenting with at least one of those drugs tonight. And he listened and listened and when they were done with their tale, he asked "And you say the victim and the suspect are both students at Sunnydale high is that?"

To Be Continued…