Harm Done – Chapter 2
Now that had been a bit of alright. Still was half convinced Dru was involved somehow though. The girl – Harmony – had been all pitter-patter at first and he'd found out not long after that for all her tarty getup it turned her quim was still untouched until he'd taken her up to the master bedroom and bloody well unwrapped it good and proper. But after that she'd been more enthusiastic and knowledgeable than he'd have guessed, and most uncertainly knew more than a little about spots that were highly enjoyable to a vamp and to himself personally – damn near killed her drilling her into the bed after she bit his nipple of all things, and did that little trick with her tongue… that wasn't the point though, point was that the mind and the body didn't seem to belong together. Like she was older on the inside somehow, if that made any sodding sense.
Wasn't sure what Dru was playing at, channeling herself maybe into California barbie but as bizarre as it was nothing else made sense. Maybe the girl would wake up in a day or two with no recollection of being a sodding seer and Spike would be trudging back down to Brazil knowing Dru had messed with his head right proper; be a mite hard to get all up and angry about her most recent transgressions with the dust of a Childe still sticking to him, wouldn't it? Good laugh at Spike's expense.
He gave the door a good slam on his way out, biting back a curse as a dog some doors down starting howling its head off. Have to be a little more circumspect for a bit, what with the girl's corpse turning like a fine wine upstairs in some overly floral bedding that would have been out of fashion when he was still among the land of the living. Hands delved deep into his duster, the cool familiar metal of his lighter reassuring in its tangibility, and going for a smoke gave him something to do as he sussed out what to do next. Christ, him – a Sire of all things. Best not to bugger it up this time, especially if Dru was involved somehow. His hands trembled slightly but he got the fag lit, and took a deep, calming puff, letting the smoke sit deep in his lungs, daring it to burn him alive before letting out a long wisp of smoke in the California air.
Right then. He took a gulp of the bottle of whiskey he'd liberated from the kitchen – not like the former occupants had any need of it anymore. Had to move the car of course, wouldn't do to give the Slayer a chance to stumble her way into realizing that something was amiss in her fair town on the mouth of hell, even if Sunnydale's Finest weren't exactly the nummiest treats in the donut shop. Pretty sure he'd packed manacles before he'd left, or at least had some chains that had been schlomping away in the boot since god knows when – good enough to hold the chit down for when she came to, no sense taking any risks with that one. Then maybe time to snoop around town a bit, check on the current status of the local group of Dudley Do-rights, and a good helping of blood, what with how much he'd slipped down Harmony's throat.
He picked up the pace back into town as another wave of morose loneliness overtook him. This better not bloody all come back to bite him in the arse.
"Oh. My. God. Spike!"
There it was. Not a declaration of admiration but of shock and not a little anger. He turned around, knowing full well what he'd get this time. A much less pleasant California blonde, not the least bit tarty unless you included the skirts she favored for doing her zippy little kicks.
"Hullo Slayer," he said with the air of the truly buggered. Not even a night in and here he was, so much for subtlety. He glanced around. Least he was back in town and not shagging her classmate at his – for want of a better word – newly won lair. Get out now while he was still a bit woozy what with the blood loss and the fourty odd hour of low simmering bender, tear out of town, then circle back later and hole up for the night. Simple.
A sensation like a worm crawling up his spine only less pleasant. "Oh, Angelus too. Marvelous."
"What are you doing here, Spike. I thought we agreed you'd never show your face around here. Ever." Her arms were crossed and her foot was going tap tap tap on the pavement like she was half a second from seeing if vamps could be dusted by the little wooden wedge of her pointy little shoes.
"Well, funny story that." He did his best to sound airy, then fell silent and just stared at her. She stared back.
"You know, normally when people say that, something funny follows. Or even you know, a story." Out of sodding nowhere she now had a stake tightly grasped in her right hand that was still somehow crossed under her left. Must have teleported out her arse which was disconcerting for more than a few reasons.
"You know what, I don't even want to know. What did you do with them?"
It was a good thing he was a master poker player capable of instant reactions no matter the stakes, because how the Slayer knew about what he'd been up to tonight was not something he cared to contemplate. And while he didn't even consider the chance she could take him, he wasn't quite so sure of defending a ruddy corpse at the same time. Wait-
"Them?" he asked, voice perfectly pitched toward casual confusion. "Don't have a bloody clue what you're talking about."
Angelus growled. Good effort at conversation, for him. Full points to the bogtrotter for trying. Buffy scoffed.
"Please, your guilt is written all over your face. You did something tonight Spike, and given how my two friends disappeared and then you suddenly show up out of the blue, I'm thinking maybe you had something to do with it."
He had only a second to be affronted at the insult to his poker face when confusion hit again. "Dunno what you're talking about. Haven't been in town long enough to get properly sauced" – technically true – "let alone run into any of your chums" – also technically true, for Harmony's definition of chums.
Slayer didn't appear to give a toss at his professed innocence though, which was annoying because he was getting a growing sense of hope that she didn't have the first clue what he'd been up to tonight, and whatever she was trying to pin on him was a bit of genuine bad luck of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and there was a real good chance he was going to get out of this looking like… well, if not the good guy, at least a chap whose been sufficiently wronged by little plaster saints and neanderthal vampires who act like they ought to know better.
"Cordelia? Oz?" She snapped at him, turning her fist ever so to give the stake a jab in his direction. He frowned.
"Brunette girl about yay high and a guy, kinda compact hair sticks up a bit but not crazy so and is uhhh… red, I think right now?" The Slayer stared off into the middle distance for a sec then snapped herself out of it with a scowl. "Why am I explaining this to you. You kidnapped them, you know what they look like. Out with it and you get a limited deal one-night offer extension of a free ticket out of Sunnydale."
"Haven't the slightest clue of what you're on about, honest truth," he replied, enjoying watching the anger bubble up inside her and threaten to pop when he flipped her the boy scout salute. "On my honor."
"That's the thing Spike, you don't have any honor," Angelus finally snapped – good to see he still had it. The poofter was past Buffy now and charging him. Spike ducked, missing the oaf by less than he honestly cared to admit and popped off two quick jabs of his own, neither landing but then he had to keep an eye on a half on the Slayer didn't he? He grinned. Not how he'd planned it but good to get some fun in anyhow. Just had to avoid being corralled into the alleyway about thirty feet to his left, and he'd be able to play with the Slayer and the poof for a tic and then bugger off none worse for the wear.
Twang.
Or he would, if he didn't have a sodding crossbow bolt jammed in his bloody thigh.
"Did someone stick a bloody beacon up me before I left town last time," he growled, a tornado of leather as he turned in the direction of his assault. Forget the plans, he'd drink from the brainstem of whichever of the Slayer's friends were behind the cheap shot.
"Who's there?" The Slayer's voice rang out, and goody she sounded just as pissed as he was. Not friends then. He felt it then – fledge. Some dimwit looking beefcake holding a crossbow ass over tit and looking like he couldn't have been more than six weeks out the ground. Thing he always hated about Sunny Dale, absolutely no standards on who the local vamps were happy to raise.
"Mr. Bloody, I'm afraid you've already outstayed your welcome." Came a slick sounding voice from the shadows behind the lackey. A dark skinned vamp stepped forward, though Spike noticed – still behind the original minion, and with two more at his sides to boot. Was wearing a poor imitation of his own outfit too, although he wore a natty little red tie and a black suit instead of something more original and classic. Bloody poseur. Red and Black might be timeless but didn't mean you had to do it for sake of the show – no character at all.
"… not really your concern. Please feel free to go," Spike tuned back into the conversation just in time to hear the dressed up git address the Slayer. He grinned, the bitch wasn't going to let that pass.
"I don't really care what beef you have with Spike." Hey! "But the day I take orders from some rando vamp is the day hell freezes over." The Slayer frowned. "I know you though, don't I. You're not random at all." And there it was, the fire in her eyes.
"You're the one who organized Slayerfest."
No clue what that was but sounded like the sort of shindig he'd enjoy attending, but boy was the Slayer mad now. Got his own blood pumping too – right then, no time to waste. In a flash, he leapt forward, yanking the arrow out of his own leg and gleefully stabbing it into the eye of the tosser who had shot him in the first place. The vamp let out a bloodcurdling scream, and the act galvanized the Slayer and even Peaches, a few quips later and Slayer had reduced Mr. Lanky the bodyguard to dust in the wind. Peaches still hadn't finished with his chap yet, and not one to miss a chance to outdo the souled up sod, Spike plucked the arrow out of his own victim's eye, giving the wanker just enough time to clutch the now vacant if gushing socket and then twisting his head off. Plonker hadn't even settled on the pavement and he was leaping over and jamming the shaft of the arrow into Peach's vamp, a great big shish kebab that went poof a moment later, though it did leave Angel's fist nowhere to go but into Spike; which give his grandsire some credit, Angel could pack a punch when it suited, Christ.
Rubbing his face he noticed than the lead vamp had taken off – not so cocky now was, he, though Spike was buggered if he knew why anyone was after him in particular, he'd only just arrived. That some other group was out for his blood wasn't exactly good news, even if they hadn't exactly been much of an ado, all told. Granted there was Peaches and the Slayer on his side who… who were looking at him and were very clearly on his side no longer.
Right, time to valiantly advance in the other sodding direction. Slayer's crew were missing from the bowling alley, eh? Might as well escape in that direction, with any luck Slayer would get distracted when they arrived and he could circle back and call it a night. Booze, bloodloss, and a bloody arrow in the leg did not make the sort of fight against the Slayer one he wanted to deal with right now, especially two on one, even if calling Angel an advantage was a bit much.
Wasn't far, and was one of the landmarks in town that he remembered precisely where it was. Wasn't like he could pick up dinner for Dru from The Bronze every night, especially when it was such a hotspot for the Slayer and her little band of musketeers, so keeping track of the other places the locals tended to congregate when the sun went nighty night had always been a high priority.
Led the Slayer and Angel on a merry chase all right, and sure enough things went predictably pear shaped when they reached the parking lot. Red and… the other one were out front, looking right anxious and then outright horrified when they caught sight of him, scrambling to get back inside until they noticed the super couple hot on his heels.
"What the hell is going on!?" the boy yelled out.
"I don't know – stay the hell away from them, Spike" the Slayer spat at him, like he'd just suggested taking a piss on her doilies. He threw his hands up and stayed well back – had a feeling he didn't want to miss this, now that he was (probably) about to be cleared of whatever mischief was going on, and might as well get a front row seat to whatever new nasty had taken a bite out of the do gooders.
"We think he might be the reason Oz and Cordy are missing – no sign of them?" The boy and the girl both shook their heads, looking like they'd both blow up at any minute.
And then having taken a moment to relax, Spike smelled it. And by the way Angel stilled, he guessed he wasn't the only one.
"What?" the Slayer asked, clearly figuring some clue had just dropped in her lap. Angel didn't say anything.
Spike had somewhat less compunctions.
"Dunno if it's your missing mates, but someone's been up to some mystical hankey pankey. Rotten lusty little squirrel scents so thick in the air I'm gagging on it." And didn't that make the witch and the boy look guilty and take a step apart? Interesting, but not the cause of the smells.
"Took a car, feels like. Smell's all saturated but there's diesel in it too. A van, most like. On the other hand… doesn't really disappear, don't think they've gone far. Anything you want to add, Peaches?"
Angel just turned to the Slayer and nodded that great expanse he called a forehead at her. Slayer turned to him then and looked like she'd swallowed muck. A surge of hatred went through him – bitch first blamed him and now here was helping – such as it was – and she had the nerve to look at him like that. Soon as he had the bloody gem… he'd fight her, and not stop, make her get up and fight and fight again, letting go of her every time his fangs were at her neck until she fell down dead of exhaustion, and then he'd suck every drop of blood out of her till she was drier than Weetabix.
"I can follow them… they aren't far."
"Please." And the three humans followed after Angel, Spike suddenly forgotten. That burned too. He followed, tagging along a slow distance behind, staying in the shadows. Wanted to get a look at the aftermath after going through all this, and then he'd bugger off back to sleeping beauty and fall asleep on her pillowy tits.
The witch let out a scream, drawing Spike's focus once more. Only gone a few blocks, into a parking lot of one of those shitty little strips that don't actually have any store worth anchoring the place. Not completely sordid at this point but clearly going to pot. Was a van, bouncing up and down like it was trying to wake the dead.
Sadness over took him again. Seen a van do that very same thing more than a few times in the middle of the century. Dru, dressed like a flower girl, only she tended to doll herself up so over the top that even the drugged up hippies at the time tended to find her a bit much. But she'd dance around, dainty as a pixie herself, face a portrait of innocence even as she devised the most wicked little plots and gave him knowing looks through hooded eyes. They'd hitch a ride in one of the vans, off to some protest or concert or orgy or whatnot, have a giggle and indulge in whatever drugs were going around, and then play a game of how many of the hippies they could kill before the survivors grokked that something wasn't quite peace and love in the circle. Then when they'd done in the whole lot they'd have a rough and tumble among the corpses fit to knock the van off its springs. And then –
-well, then it was what it was. Wasn't going to think about that just now, just that the van in the Sunnydale strip mall was going through the same sodding motions. Slayer and the witch and the boy seemed to be operating under the principle there was a more literal monster on the inside, way they were scrambling to open the back doors. Look of shock when what greeted them was a different beast entirely was worth the whole night just for itself.
There was a brunette alright, and Cor she was a leggy one – Slayer hadn't seen fit to mention that, had she? And yep, the lad's hair was definitely red. Good the way the Slayer mentioned the hair, because that was the only thing of the head he could see, rest of it jammed as it was up the girl's puss fit to beat the band. And the three of the pervy little voyeurs (four if you counted Angel, but who would?) who'd opened this tableau on the world doing good imitations of statues.
Witch broke first, which wasn't the way he would have bet. Third girl in one night to start rambling oh my god oh my god oh my god only this time he wasn't part of the quelle surprise… which given how much fun the two in the van seemed to be having was a bit of a shame. Girl had enough leg plenty of room for one more. Way they were carrying on it made his own evening with Harmony the ditzy fangirl who might also be a seer look like a pair of old nuns, and up till now he'd have bet the store he'd had the best night of shagging of any soul in Sunny D.
Slayer turned away, didn't even notice him. Now would be a good time to slip away, really. Clearly, he was no longer the big issue of the evening. Might even be able to slip away scot free and Slayer forget he was even here, because this was clearly something that these idiots were going to be dealing with for quite some time.
Then – second biggest shock of the night – little red witch let out a string of Latin he half remembered the sound of but not a sodding clue what it meant, and the two nasty rabbits in the van went at it for a few more seconds and then scrambled apart like they'd just seen the devil himself. And maybe they had, and the poor red headed bugger almost got his bloody neck twisted between those legs in the scramble. Everyone was looking at the witch in varying degrees of horror, and the boy with the wet eyes standing next to her was now chundering his intestines out, while the two rotten rutters were having fits.
Thank fuck he hadn't decided to use a love spell of his own tonight.
As the screaming started once more only a lot less oh no, evil monster and more what the bloody fuck did you do to us, he crept back, not turning his back to the slayer until he was around the next block. Right, time to be off. Nothing was going to top this for a lark, so time to get the car and bugger out before anyone thought any more about him. Wasn't going to spend the night in Sunnyhell either, not without a bit more time that was clearly needed to refigure the lay of the land. Go back long enough to grab the corpse, raid the fridge for any more alcohol, and then time to hare off back to the highway and grab a seedy room of the interstate where nobody would poke an eye in for two or three days without blinking.
Passing back through downtown, for the first time since leaving Sao Paolo, he felt a sense of glee without an edge of misery at all.