"You're weak, William."
The words rang in his mind, echoing. Spike drifted off in his thoughts, losing track of the year. It was Angel, now; it was Angelus, over a century ago. It was always the same. He was part of the group, but he wasn't. He knew perfectly well that Darla and Angelus looked down their noses at him. Both of them had been rich and powerful while living, and that had started the entire cycle. His family had done well enough, but powerful he wasn't. He was a weakling, and he knew it. And no matter how much being a demon changed him, it could never raise him high enough in their eyes. Dru… she was just bonkers. But she didn't see class in her insanity, and perhaps that was why he was drawn to her. The one in the group who didn't see him as incompetent. He knew she was insane, but she was beautiful, and she was the one for him at the time. He loved her.
But the other two looked down at him, and he felt it, wherever they went. He wasn't sure why he stayed, at first. Perhaps it was because while he knew they didn't like him, they let him stay. He was part of the group, all the same. They were family, even if they didn't like him much. Darla was a cold bitch, cruel as anything and mean to the bone. Angelus was as bad, if not worse. While Darla looked down at him and tended to ignore him, Angelus never ignored him.
That had its pros and cons. Angelus was his father, his older brother, never quite his friend. His co-worker, his boss, his accomplice – well, Spike was usually Angelus' accomplice – comrade, ally, partner. Also, his torturer, and something more. If he ever stepped out of line, Angelus made sure he knew it, fast. And the line was re-drawn whenever Angelus felt like it. Is Spike failed to pay close enough attention, Angelus made sure he did. He taught him everything he needed to know about the world of vampires, demons, and darkness: the rules of how vampires fed and lived; the myths, which were true and which weren't; magic, and how it worked. And he showed him more: Angelus showed him the ropes. He showed him which demons to know and which to steer clear of; the more subtle skill involved in not killing, but turning, a victim. And more things to do before the blood was drained. He showed him a whole new set of social graces, never learned in any courtesy school he'd ever seen before. Mainly because none of those things were courteous.
And Spike drank it all in. Perhaps it was something left over from his curiosity as a human, his intense interest in certain aspects of his culture, but if someone was going to teach him, he was going to learn. And he did. Angelus was somewhere near godhood in Spike's mind. The beatings Spike took as they came, having discovered that the lessons continued afterward. He never received praise from Angelus. Acceptance, though. Somewhere, he had earned that. Angelus would never admit it or allow Spike to admit it, but there came a time when Angelus would listen to his opinion. Criticize it, and hardly ever follow the idea – but he would listen. It was a continuation of their lessons that Spike relished.
And yet, underlying the worship and eager learning, there was always the rebellious part of him that resented the superior attitude he and Darla had. It was that that made him take the cocky accent, the punk name. It was why he made sure to dress up less, act out more wildly – stand out as much as possible. He knew it drove Darla and Angelus mad, and it amused him no end. He learned quickly the easiest way to push Angelus' buttons. It become a game. The older vampire was a cold, heartless monster, and he never lost control of anything, least of all himself. He was unpredictable, which made learning the game difficult. But Spike just learned to predict all of his possible responses, and anticipate them all, always looking for the one where he yelled, lost his temper, got angry. Spike loved getting that reaction. And Angelus knew it, which made the game that much harder – but never impossible. The wilder Spike acted, the more annoyed he could get Angelus. And over it all, he delighted in the fact that as mad as he got them, they never threw him out, and he always shared in the kill.
Angelus may not have liked him, but he kept him, and somewhere, that sorted itself out in Spike's mind as being equal. And now it was the same thing with Buffy. She didn't like him. He knew that, but she kept him around. She'd told him to leave, but never enforced it. She threatened his undead life, but never staked him. And that meant acceptance in his mind. He would stay.
And the whole time, he knew it was wrong. It was wrong of him to fight on the side of good, it was stupid of him to stay with people who didn't appreciate him – and he did it all the same. And now he had fallen for Buffy, and he couldn't leave, no matter how many good reasons he was given for leaving.
"You're weak, William." The words echoed a final time.
"I know," he whispered out loud. He headed back to his crypt. It didn't change anything. He would still stay. Angelus – and Angel – be damned.
*Okay, now they talk. God, this is fun, but hard because I feel like I'm babbling, and I think I am, but when I read my babble, it sounds good. This wasn't meant to have much of a plot – more a series of reflections, and I don't always know quite where I'm going. Oh, well – I'm finding out as I go, and it's interesting to me, at least. Keep the reviews coming! And thank you, Anne Rose, sunkissedface, Tariq, and Ao Tianrong!
