DISCLAIMER: No, I don't own any of the characters... yet.
RATING: R, for descriptive scenes, as in blood and gore and sex and rape... also for language
AUTHORS NOTES: First fanfic, go me! Set in the future. Everything since Season 3 is officially A/U, (which means no Spike chipping) no spoilers, my new universe will be revealed soon ;)
WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH!!! Sheild your innocent eyes and press the back button if you don't want anyone from the Buffyverse to meet their match.
PAIRINGS: W/S is the big one. A little bit of W/A, S/A.us, S/D, and B/A.
Chapter Two: Return of an Old Captor (Interlude)
I don't think she understands the consequences. Does she understand the consequences? Bloody bint, she doesn't understand the consequences. Magic is harmful. Magic is dangerous. Magic is pulling me towards her.
I should have known that stupid redheaded witch would figure out a way to make me pay. She'd wheedle through her damned spell books until she found out a way to get me to go back to her, and then she could make me hurt like I hurt her.
Oh, God, why did I hurt her?
She was alone, and probably frightened, I would be too if I were her and my best friends got tortured and killed in front of my eyes. Every human would probably react that way, and she is definitely no exception. I thought it had been my opening. Hadn't it been my opening?
Maybe I should stop thinking about this. Radio, yes, radio.
Damn radio.
Why am I even driving towards her? How do I know I'm driving towards her? Easy, of course, I had bitten her so hard that first night, made her mine, claimed her so no one else would touch her. She's mine, my possession; I know what happens to my things.
So why did I let her go, let Angel capture her? Drunk off my ass, that's what I was, sodding Mexican brandy. Smelled Angel, of course, he's one smelly, crappy Grandsire that I don't have the brains to stake. Smelled her, too, her precious blood that tasted so good. Nice little strawberry/peach scent they've got going on when they're together.
Fuck, that's when it all got bad.
I was so drunk that I couldn't think straight, and I went after Dru. She sodding touched MY possessions and that wasn't right, Red was mine.
--------------------
"Dru, why the fuck were you touching her?"
"Mmm, Spike, what's yours is mine, of course." Dru fondles Miss Edith's hair; the china doll uncomplaintive of the vampire's savage tugs.
"No Dru, Red is mine and only mine!" Spike's love is forgotten, and he grasps at Miss Edith and holds her high. He throws the doll down to the cobblestone floor with such a force that the china breaks and lodges into the flesh of what is nearest.
"I'm your sire, Spike! What's yours is mine!" She yells, pulling shards of Miss Edith from her leg with a gasp of pain. Blood speckles her dark gown and her eyes flash yellow.
"Red. Is. Mine." Spike is seeing red, and he grabs Dru's neck and squeezes it, hard. She makes small choking sounds and her eyes flutter softly. Spike loosens his hold and Dru falls to the ground, groping for consciousness while her thoughts slip.
"Daddy!" Dru tries to whisper, but her voice is caught in her squished throat. Her eyes remain yellow and her fangs grow longer when Spike kicks at the wooden table, breaking one of the legs.
"Got it, Dru? Red is mine." He repeats, and he grabs her form and hoists her up onto the three-legged table so she is lying flat on its surface. He brings the broken leg up to her chest and jabs it menacingly near her unbeating heart. "Got it?!"
Dru is unhearing and she falls into unconsciousness, and Spike is left holding her body up with his knee between her legs and the splintery wood pressing dangerously into her skin.
The red haze that had shielded his eyes lifts, and he is angry at his actions, so he lays his mate down gently and looks for a spot of torture. But when he opens his bedroom door Willow is gone and the scent of peach replaces her.
---------------
Red must be west from here, because every time I try to turn east my insides rip up fiercely and I can't do anything but change direction. Another one of my little witches many tricks up her sleeve, I guess.
That peach smell was Angelus, and as much as I want to hurt him, I'm not one to go around staking my Grandsires. I couldn't find him anyway, he ran off with Willow, and probably Spike-proofed the whole place so I couldn't find her again.
Well, Willow took care of that, didn't she?
Why am I calling her Willow? I never did before. Always Red, that was her nickname. Or Witch.
Or Whore.
I'm such a bastard. I tried to make her feel like it was her fault I was raping her. That I was torturing her day in, day out. Fed off of her when I got hungry, ripped at her flesh when I was angry, fucked her when I wanted a quick shag.
I have to tell her I'm sorry, because I really am. Everything finally caught up with me.
I'm a vampire with a soul.
RATING: R, for descriptive scenes, as in blood and gore and sex and rape... also for language
AUTHORS NOTES: First fanfic, go me! Set in the future. Everything since Season 3 is officially A/U, (which means no Spike chipping) no spoilers, my new universe will be revealed soon ;)
WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH!!! Sheild your innocent eyes and press the back button if you don't want anyone from the Buffyverse to meet their match.
PAIRINGS: W/S is the big one. A little bit of W/A, S/A.us, S/D, and B/A.
Chapter Two: Return of an Old Captor (Interlude)
I don't think she understands the consequences. Does she understand the consequences? Bloody bint, she doesn't understand the consequences. Magic is harmful. Magic is dangerous. Magic is pulling me towards her.
I should have known that stupid redheaded witch would figure out a way to make me pay. She'd wheedle through her damned spell books until she found out a way to get me to go back to her, and then she could make me hurt like I hurt her.
Oh, God, why did I hurt her?
She was alone, and probably frightened, I would be too if I were her and my best friends got tortured and killed in front of my eyes. Every human would probably react that way, and she is definitely no exception. I thought it had been my opening. Hadn't it been my opening?
Maybe I should stop thinking about this. Radio, yes, radio.
Damn radio.
Why am I even driving towards her? How do I know I'm driving towards her? Easy, of course, I had bitten her so hard that first night, made her mine, claimed her so no one else would touch her. She's mine, my possession; I know what happens to my things.
So why did I let her go, let Angel capture her? Drunk off my ass, that's what I was, sodding Mexican brandy. Smelled Angel, of course, he's one smelly, crappy Grandsire that I don't have the brains to stake. Smelled her, too, her precious blood that tasted so good. Nice little strawberry/peach scent they've got going on when they're together.
Fuck, that's when it all got bad.
I was so drunk that I couldn't think straight, and I went after Dru. She sodding touched MY possessions and that wasn't right, Red was mine.
--------------------
"Dru, why the fuck were you touching her?"
"Mmm, Spike, what's yours is mine, of course." Dru fondles Miss Edith's hair; the china doll uncomplaintive of the vampire's savage tugs.
"No Dru, Red is mine and only mine!" Spike's love is forgotten, and he grasps at Miss Edith and holds her high. He throws the doll down to the cobblestone floor with such a force that the china breaks and lodges into the flesh of what is nearest.
"I'm your sire, Spike! What's yours is mine!" She yells, pulling shards of Miss Edith from her leg with a gasp of pain. Blood speckles her dark gown and her eyes flash yellow.
"Red. Is. Mine." Spike is seeing red, and he grabs Dru's neck and squeezes it, hard. She makes small choking sounds and her eyes flutter softly. Spike loosens his hold and Dru falls to the ground, groping for consciousness while her thoughts slip.
"Daddy!" Dru tries to whisper, but her voice is caught in her squished throat. Her eyes remain yellow and her fangs grow longer when Spike kicks at the wooden table, breaking one of the legs.
"Got it, Dru? Red is mine." He repeats, and he grabs her form and hoists her up onto the three-legged table so she is lying flat on its surface. He brings the broken leg up to her chest and jabs it menacingly near her unbeating heart. "Got it?!"
Dru is unhearing and she falls into unconsciousness, and Spike is left holding her body up with his knee between her legs and the splintery wood pressing dangerously into her skin.
The red haze that had shielded his eyes lifts, and he is angry at his actions, so he lays his mate down gently and looks for a spot of torture. But when he opens his bedroom door Willow is gone and the scent of peach replaces her.
---------------
Red must be west from here, because every time I try to turn east my insides rip up fiercely and I can't do anything but change direction. Another one of my little witches many tricks up her sleeve, I guess.
That peach smell was Angelus, and as much as I want to hurt him, I'm not one to go around staking my Grandsires. I couldn't find him anyway, he ran off with Willow, and probably Spike-proofed the whole place so I couldn't find her again.
Well, Willow took care of that, didn't she?
Why am I calling her Willow? I never did before. Always Red, that was her nickname. Or Witch.
Or Whore.
I'm such a bastard. I tried to make her feel like it was her fault I was raping her. That I was torturing her day in, day out. Fed off of her when I got hungry, ripped at her flesh when I was angry, fucked her when I wanted a quick shag.
I have to tell her I'm sorry, because I really am. Everything finally caught up with me.
I'm a vampire with a soul.