AN: This is only my third story, and, to be honest, it's not very good. But there really aren't enough Spike/Dru stories out there, and I wanted to add one to the rather modest collection. There's not any actual romance, and Angelus actually sort of plays a role in it too, but it's still a Spike/Dru focused story. Also, it completely disregards any and all comics, so this is completely my interpretation of what happened in Prague. Please leave feedback. Constructive criticism would be great; I'm always looking to improve my writing. Thanks to my incredible beta, theowlandthedead. I really hope you enjoy!
Warnings: A bit of gore. Relatively mild for Buffy stories, but there nonetheless. Also, it might sound sort of offensive to Czech people at times. That is not at all my intent; it's a completely fictionalized and stereotypical world in which all old European countries are occult and know about vamps.
Spike looked down at his princess and felt a cold, numbing sorrow and that was too deep for tears. She looked beautiful, of course. Her long, dark hair was thick and shiny. Her skin was pale and clear. Her lips were red, her gown made of cream-colored lace. She brought to mind the image of Snow White after she had eaten the apple. At least, she would have if it weren't for the blood.
In any other circumstances, the blood covering Drusilla's upper body would have been something of a turn on. This time, however, the crimson coat of blood made Spike feel sick. Blood had soaked through her dress, around her chest and stomach. Her torso had been cut open, right through the center, from her sternum to her navel. Six of her ribs had been broken, as well as her collarbone, her left wrist, and her right arm and leg. She looked more delicate than after a nightmare, more delicate than after her Sire's punishments, more delicate than when she was crying to the stars. Those were all the natural order of things, part of Drusilla's normal life. This, though, wasn't supposed to happen.
And so Spike had to admit that Angelus, his Grandsire, his god, had been right. He didn't want to acknowledge it, but he knew that he had taken things one step too far this time.
He had never had a problem with making a spectacle of himself. He would start brawls and bar fights, happily battling as many as thirty humans at once. He would torture public figures and hang their bodies on local monuments. Sometimes he would even encourage people to come after him. He would crash parties and vandalize storefronts, just for the hell of it. And, sure, it had gotten him in trouble before. He had been forced to fend off angry townspeople, or take Dru and run across two or three countries before they were safe. But never before had he drawn a full-blown mob to their front door.
He had spent that awful night killing the owners of the three most popular magic shops in town. Prague was part of the old country, a place where most still believed in demons and vampires, and where many still practiced magic. Some of the most powerful covens in the world lived just a few towns over from where they were staying. Spike had wanted to make a splash, and he knew that targeting occult shops was the way to do it. After he had killed the owners, he had destroyed the stores, smashing the products and even starting a fire in the biggest one.
But instead of scaring the townspeople as he had hoped, he had angered them. The destruction of the magic shops had awoken something in the Czech people, some deep rooted ferocity and bravery. They had formed a mob bigger than any he had fought before, and they had followed him to his lair.
He had known that stopping at home wasn't the smartest thing to do. But he had also known that he had to gather Drusilla and her dolls so that the two of them could leave. He had thought he would outrun the townspeople; after all, he was a powerful vampire, much faster than any human. And he had outrun them. But three of the local witches had cast a spell to cause a glowing path to spring up wherever he went. While he was warning Dru and helping her pack, the mob arrived.
They had cornered the two vampires, holding torches, crosses, and branches that served as makeshift stakes. The din caused by their shouting caused Drusilla to applaud and giggle, at least until the crowd had reached her. Spike had tried his best to keep them away from her, fighting as many as twelve at once, but they just kept coming. And Dru certainly wasn't helping. She was entranced by the colored fire shooting from the witches' hands, humming about fairy lightning, whatever that was. She twirled closer and closer to the mob, dancing instead of walking. Spike tried his best to save her, but stopping her and fighting at the same time proved impossible. He could feel defeat coming, inevitable and overwhelming.
Angelus had hated magic and had always taught Spike not to target witches, or, better yet, not to draw attention to himself at all. But Spike had been bored. There had been no Slayer that he could find, and he wanted a challenge. So he went against his Grandsire's wishes once again.
And Drusilla had been the one to pay the price. He didn't know if he could ever forgive himself. He wouldn't have cared if he had been beaten, tortured, torn apart, even dusted. But to have it happen to his Princess, that hurt more than anything else in this world. He had always protected her, had sworn to always protect her, and then he had bollixed things up, worse than ever before. But he would cure her soon. And then he would prove his love. Prove it by killing the Slayer.
So, what did you think? Please let me know...