TITLE: Home, Sweet Home
AUTHOR: Erykah Miszti
EMAIL: erykah@hamadryad.com
WEBSITE:
SUMMARY: Spike comes to Sunnydale.
SPOILERS: Everything including Season 5, sort of.
RATING: PG (for Spike having a foul mouth)
DISCLAIMER: At least a couple of these characters and situations belong to Joss Whedon and some big, nasty corporations. Many many, blessings to Joss and his evil writer cohorts.
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It was just a town like any other in this anti-vampire state. Too much bloody sunshine in these parts.
Spike deliberately swerved his car into the "Welcome to Sunnydale" sign, knocking it spectacularly to the ground in a shower of wooden splinters. He drew the car to a momentary stop.
Drusilla keened sharply from her curled up position on the passenger seat.
"What is it, pet?" Spike reached out to draw her against him.
"We're here." She grinned naughtily and nuzzled up against him.
"Should bloody well hope so." Spike sniffed, out of sorts already. "This is the last Boca Del sodding Infierno in the book."
A stray lock of curly brown hair crept into his eyes and he pushed it back behind his ear impatiently. He was gonna have to do something about his bloody hair. Fashion was a bitch.
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Sunnydale, 1966
Spike lit a cigarette and leant back against the hood of his newly acquired De Soto. Even here, in the mildness of a California evening, he did find himself missing England. Carnaby Street especially. All that youth and vigor developing in the past few years. It made for a great meal. He tucked a hand into the pocket of his new blue jeans and did his best tough guy pose, thinking of Brando in The Wild One. He absently wished he could see himself in a mirror. Movies and clothing, best things about this moronic country. Those weird coloured stiff suits and ties that men were wearing back in London…style over comfort all the bloody time. Why couldn't they just damn well blend the two and have done. Those turtle necks made him itch and the stupid suits just made him look like a prancing ninny.
Dru was twirling in the street a few metres away. Spike smiled at her fondly. His black angel dancing in the moonlight. Her tattered white, empire line dress seemed to glow. He briefly imagined her in one of those Mary Quant type numbers that were so popular back home, or maybe a little A-line skirt and tight top. The fond smile turned to a lascivious grin. Oh well, can't have everything.
"Dru?" Spike called to her before taking a drag from his cigarette. "Are you SURE this is the place?"
She danced towards him. Her body was obviously still very weak and her movements were fluttery, not graceful and liquid as she had been before the mob. He forced the thought away.
"It's here." She grinned maniacally. "I can feel it." She closed her eyes. "Pulsing with power. The Hellmouth." She swayed slightly from side to side.
"Look, the volcano in Nicaragua, that I could understand. Even that cove in British Columbia. But this…" He stood up and used his cigarette to point towards the red brick building. "It's a sodding High School, Dru!"
Dru turned to look at the school with a bright smile, suddenly her back tensed and she shuddered. Her body spasmed. Spike threw the cigarette butt away and leapt to her side, catching her before she fell.
"What is it, love?" Spike asked her once she had stopped shaking. "A vision..?"
Dru turned pained eyes up to look at him. There was a frown on her face and some strange look in her eyes.
"My little Spike.." She cooed as she traced his lips with trembling fingers. "Do you love me?"
"You know I do." He told her earnestly.
"Will you always?" She asked it softly, teasingly, but there was an undercurrent he'd never heard there before. There was doubt.
"Until the world ends." He replied sincerely.
"And when it doesn't end?" She asked. "Will you love me then?"
"Forever and ever." He answered her, trying not to sound worried by the questioning. She often asked for reassurance of his love but this was going further than usual.
He kissed her softly to shut her up and she took the hint, kissing him back with surprising strength for someone so weakened as she was.
The kiss broke up as they simultaneously realised that robed figures were emerging from the shadows all around them. Spike took a small step back from Dru - keeping a firm grip on her hand - and struck a pose. Other hand firmly wedged into jeans pocket, hips thrusting forward in a don't fuck with me stance; he looked ready for business.
"Well, if it isn't a bloody vampire convention!" He drawled to no one in particular.
The robes hid their faces but one stepped forward as an obvious leader and Spike concentrated on him.
"You're trespassing on sacred ground, Unclean One." He was informed by a rich, booming voice.
"Should sodding well hope so." Spike countered. "It's what we came looking for." He glared. "And what who you're calling 'unclean'. Have you smelt yourself lately?!"
The was a horrified gasp and a second figure stepped forward. The vampire threw back it's hood and revealed a small blonde woman, glaring straight at him with absolute loathing. Spike did a double take and Drusilla clapped her hands together in joy.
"Bloody hell!" Spike exclaimed with a smile of surprise spreading across his face. "Darla, what are you doing here with these.." He tried to come up with a definition and wound up just shrugging. "..freaks?"
"Spike." She spat contemptuously and looked over at Dru. She just shook her head incredulously as Dru grinned at her brightly. "And Drusilla."
"Hello grandmother!" Drusilla was obviously happier to see Darla than Darla was to see her.
"You know these low creatures?" The first robed vampire demanded.
"Yes." Darla sighed as she looked at Spike. "They're relatives." She did not like acknowledging the fact. "Spike, this is the Order of Aurelius. We guard the Hellmouth. Because of your lineage, you're one of us."
Spike looked around the circle and nodded.
"Great. Family re-union." He grinned. "Just don't try and make me wear one of those robes or I'll kill the bloody lot of ya."
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"You'll have to find yourselves somewhere to stay." Darla told them scornfully as they walked through the empty streets of the town in the direction of the Liar of the Order. "There's plenty of cemeteries and crypts in this town."
"Can't we stay with you, Grandmother?" Dru requested in a pitiful tone, pouting like an upset child.
"No." Darla said firmly. "And don't call me that."
Dru keened unhappily and hugged closer to Spike. He put a reassuring arm around her.
"That's okay." Spike haughtily informed Darla. "We're just here looking for a cure for Dru. As soon as we've found one, we'll be leaving this sunny hell."
He paused.
"By the way, how's Angelus…?"
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Two years later…1968
Darla threw a punch at Spike's head, which he easily dodged.
"I'm getting very sick of you interfering in the Order's affairs, William." She spat and launched into another series of blows.
"Just keeping up with the family." He replied delivering a roundhouse kick to her stomach. "You guys are so hung up on your rituals that you've forgotten how to have fun!"
"You should leave this town." She told him. "There's nothing for you here. No cure." Her punch connected with his jaw.
"I know." Spike replied. "But this town's growing me." He grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and threw her across the church floor. She glared at him from her fallen position.
Spike grinned cockily.
"In the cradle of my loving family…" He snatched up the amulet of Keltar from the altar and put it around his neck, pausing to admire it for a moment. He looked back at Darla. "It feels like home."
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One year later… 1969
Dru huddled, terrified, at his side while Darla and the rest of the Order came towards them with flaming torches. Spike was so scared that he barely noticed the blood streaming from his nose and temple or the pain in his broken bones. The stakes brandished at them kept them moving backwards until they reached the De Soto.
"You've insulted our rituals, made alliances with our enemies and stolen from us, Spike. But those rules that you hate so much are about to save you." Darla began. "You are one of us, so we aren't permitted to destroy you." It obviously pained her. "So, just take Dru, get out of this town and never come back."
Spike fought the nagging pains in his body and puffed himself up in front of her, in front of them all.
"I'll be back." He stated. "When you and that precious Master of yours are nothing but dust."
He met her hate filled eyes for a long moment before turning away to help Dru into the car. He settled her into her seat before moving to the drivers side and sitting himself down behind the wheel. Pointedly he held the door open and looked back at Darla.
"Hey, Darla, if you happen to see Angelus," He smiled at her involuntary wince of pain at the name. "Give him a big kiss from his old pal Spike." He winked at her and closed the door.
The robed Order of vampires scattered as Spike threw the car into a wide circle and put his foot down on the accelerator.
"He wont be back." The vampire nearest her stated and Darla turned to look at him.
"He will." She acknowledged bitterly and shooed the vampire back towards the liar.
Darla stood alone watching as the taillights of the De Soto disappeared into the night. Softly, low in her throat, she uttered a curse.
"I hope one of those Slayers he's always chasing rips his unbeating heart apart."
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Spike deliberately swerved his car into the "Welcome to Sunnydale" sign, knocking it spectacularly to the ground in a shower of wooden splinters. He pulled the car to a stop and got out.
Sucking in a lungful of Sunnydale air, mingled with the smoke from a freshly lit cigarette, Spike took at cursory look over the town he thought he had left for good nearly 40 years earlier.
He smiled.
"Home, sweet home."
--- The End ---