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, D/S, and B/A.
Chapter Three: Forced Family Ties
"What are you doing here? Dru kick you out?" Angel snickers, his tough skin surfacing at the sight of his Grandchilde.
"No." Spike says, his eyes boring holes into Angel's new hide, softening and melting the facade until it empties into a puddle of water at Angel's feet. His eyes remain rock-hard, though.
"Get out, no one wants you here." Angel commands. The smell of cigarettes surrounds him and overflow his senses, his emotions threatening to spill against the many barriers he's erected around himself. Spike's eyes flash with a hardly discernable emotion, but he soon looks like he doesn't care.
"Willow certainly does." Spike's words hit one of Angel's heartstrings and he berates himself for whatever it is he did that made it so obvious Willow was around him. Could Spike smell her on him, maybe? Spike senses the inner struggle and quiets him with his voice.
"I got called here, poof. Willow never tell you?" Spike smirks at Angel's obvious discomfort. The older vampire's inner turmoil turns up a notch while he remembers Willow and their latest conversation.
-----------------------
"What happens if Spike comes here?" Willow asks, and she has masked her voice to make it sound trembling and weak. Angel does not catch her lie and swallows her 'fear' into his arms.
While he holds her, she leans against him and he says: "He's never going to come here. He'll never find out where we are, Willow." He sounds sure of himself and Willow almost feels regret for making it otherwise.
"But if he did. If he found me - us." Angel squeezes her tighter and kisses the top of her head, brushing faded red strands from her face. He pulls her back from his chest and looks deep into her emerald eyes, watching them as they flick to each of his chocolate ones.
"I'd get rid of him Willow. For you, for us, for what he did to you." Angel tells her, and his voice is so full of emotion she almost backs away from his touch. She has to look away from him so she hides her face into his broad chest, because his eyes are brimming with love and she hates to watch him lie. She snuggles into him and hopes that he will grasp her close so her vision will be blocked by the black threads of his shirt, but he lifts her chin and makes her look at his melting eyes again. "Willow?" He pleads, wondering what it is that is triggering her questions.
She lifts her lips to his neck and her eyes flutter closed, trying to ignore his questions and make him forget too. It works, and soon he is moaning deep in his throat as she sucks and nibbles lightly at his skin where warm blood used to flow. He grabs her face and greedily kisses her, and she presses herself to his body because she knows he will be overwhelmed with her heat. When they fall back into the mattress behind them, Willow knows he has forgotten what she has asked and she can pretend to be Buffy again.
-----------------------
The epiphany is not lost to Spike's perceptive eyes. He almost lets himself chuckle in that sinister way he once did, but the seriousness of what is transpiring holds him back.
"Yeah, get it now?" Spike asks, his tone not mocking, almost devoid of emotion. He steps forward towards Angel, then sidesteps and walks past him, through the open gate where the huge house looms. He stops again, waiting, his back turned to a turning Angel.
Angel is in front of Spike in a flash, hitting him, scratching him, his face devoid of human disguise. Spike staggers backwards, reeling, then counter-attacks, and it is a flurry of fists and teeth. The battle ranges on, and no side gains the advantage until both vampires are huddling in separate corners, wounded and tired. Spike turns to walk away, but his insides rip up again and he knows Willow is reminding him.
While Angel reels, unmoving on the ground, Spike crawls through the gate and reaches for the doorsteps, but his borrowed blood slips out a bit too fast and he sighs into unconsciousness.
A few minutes later, Angel peeks at his wounds and prods at them, sending sharp pain up to knock at his brain. He hears the scratches of paws on concrete, and his night vision tells of a rat digging at the hard surface. Angel, with a burst of inhuman speed, grabs the rat and bites deeply into it before it can squeal - it tastes of dirty city water and fur, but he gulps it down and feels the warm blood go straight to his bleeding wounds. He'd cough and puke at the sight of himself draining a rat if he had been less desperate. When the animal is limp and cold in Angel's frozen hands, he lets it drop to the floor and picks himself up to a wobbly standing position.
When Angel finally reaches the doorstep, he sees Spike unconscious on the ground. Angel stares at the body for a moment, wondering.
Then he kicks the blonde form off the steps and into the nearest bushes, struggles into the house, and falls asleep on the carpeted floor.
-----------------------
When Willow awoke to find Angel lying helpless and bleeding on the floor, she ran to his side and immediately performed a healing spell. Angel's wounds started to closed up and she watched the dead skin wake up from it's slumber for just a moment as it regenerated itself. Tears attempted to spill out from behind her eyes until Angel's own eyes fluttered open and settled on Willow's pretty, saddened face.
"Willow..." he breathes, and shakes his head until his thoughts cleared and last night hits him full forced. Willow sees his flinch when the memories tsunami over his consciousness and wonders, what could it be...?
"Willow..." he says again, and his head is a mixed jumble of thoughts.
"Angel, what happened?" Willow inquires, and she feels her insides squish up as she thinks of what could have done such damage to her protector. Then she remembers that he is just another captor and reprimands herself mentally for even caring.
"Oh, Willow, you won't believe..." he starts, and then remembers Spikes words:
"I got called here, poof. Willow never tell you?"
And if it hadn't been him, it must have been Willow. His eyes flash in anger and wave after wave of rage builds against the calm demeanor he forces himself to portray.
Willow senses the inner turmoil. "Angel?" she inquires again, hoping, praying it just might be a wild blonde vampire haunting the insides of Angel's eyelids. She lets herself touch his cheek and feels a chunk of Angel's mental barriers blast out, until:
"Nothing." Angel brushes her off and stands, his wounds magically closed. He stands up and walks to the kitchen, and Willow hears the sounds of a microwave spinning a cup of blood around in circles.
------------------------------
Spike groggily woke up. His skin was burning, heated and rushing with boiling blood, and he wondered why he smelled like charred skin.
Then he opened his eyes and was met with the sight of his arm burning off.
"Holy shit!!!" He yelled and waved his arm around frantically, eyes darting for shade while other parts of his body started to burst into flames. He spotted a piece of dark near the corner of the house... if he could just reach it...
Spike made a wild dash towards it and fell into the incredibly small spot of shadow right when his precious hair started to catch on fire. He busied himself with hitting his limbs frantically against the side of the house, suffocating the flames until it was just himself and his square shaped shade.
Then, the realness of the situation dawned on him.
Okay, mate, you're in front of Angel's house, with a Willow inside of it. It's broad daylight, and you're standing in the only piece of shade, which, by the way, is only big enough for you to move one inch to the left and once inch to the right if you felt the need to stretch. Oh, yeah, you're covered in your own blood and quite a few bites and bruises, with the possibility of collapsing again into the aforementioned broad daylight should you not get you're hands on some blood. If Angel sees you soaking up his only bit of shade, he will run in circles around yourself laughing at you, then beat you up again/more, and stake you with Willow's favorite pencil.
Spike couldn't find an easy way out of this. He couldn't even find a hard way. He was stuck.
Then, the front door opened with a clang, and Spike woke up from his inner workings and looked over his shoulder to see Angel coming his way, under a pink frilly umbrella.
"Nice umbrella, there." Spike chuckled, forgetting his vulnerable position. He stopped laughing when a cold plastic bag collided with his chest and he grabbed it, recognizing the feel and smell of blood. He took a quick look at it, contemplating.
"It's not drugged, if that's what you're thinking." Angel replied monotonously. Spike, too hungry to care, savagely ripped into the package and sucked the blood out from the bite holes until he was left with an empty bag.
"Thanks," Spike said, and Angel raised an eyebrow at his manners.
"Yeah." Angel replied, and there was a deafening moment of awkward silence as the two stared at each other, one still bleeding on the brick wall of the house.
"Willow's inside, I suppose." Spike broke the silence. Angel nodded his head once, then turned on his heel and stalked towards the door. Spike watched him go with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
"You can't leave me out here to die! That'd be very un-soulful of you!" Spike called after him, and Angel turned towards the platinum blonde, his hand still on the door handle.
"It would be." Angel said quietly, and walked briskly past the threshold and closed the door behind him. Spike strained to hear the click of a lock, but heard none.
One second... two seconds... three seconds...
Spike made a wild dash for the door, his skin heating up. He saw tiny sparks skip between his fingers after climbing the first step; he smelled his clothes catching fire when he turned the door handle; he felt the familiar feel of burning skin when he finally wrenched the door open, crossing into the darkness and beating himself against the floor to destroy the flames.
Finally, the personal fire was out and Spike was left in a bloody, battered, burned heap on the sickeningly pastel carpet. He heard a snicker and turned up to see Angel's half-smiling face.
"I left the door unlocked."
"I noticed."
Then Angel walked out of the room, leaving his grandchilde swooning on the floor.
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, D/S, and B/A.
Chapter Three: Forced Family Ties
"What are you doing here? Dru kick you out?" Angel snickers, his tough skin surfacing at the sight of his Grandchilde.
"No." Spike says, his eyes boring holes into Angel's new hide, softening and melting the facade until it empties into a puddle of water at Angel's feet. His eyes remain rock-hard, though.
"Get out, no one wants you here." Angel commands. The smell of cigarettes surrounds him and overflow his senses, his emotions threatening to spill against the many barriers he's erected around himself. Spike's eyes flash with a hardly discernable emotion, but he soon looks like he doesn't care.
"Willow certainly does." Spike's words hit one of Angel's heartstrings and he berates himself for whatever it is he did that made it so obvious Willow was around him. Could Spike smell her on him, maybe? Spike senses the inner struggle and quiets him with his voice.
"I got called here, poof. Willow never tell you?" Spike smirks at Angel's obvious discomfort. The older vampire's inner turmoil turns up a notch while he remembers Willow and their latest conversation.
-----------------------
"What happens if Spike comes here?" Willow asks, and she has masked her voice to make it sound trembling and weak. Angel does not catch her lie and swallows her 'fear' into his arms.
While he holds her, she leans against him and he says: "He's never going to come here. He'll never find out where we are, Willow." He sounds sure of himself and Willow almost feels regret for making it otherwise.
"But if he did. If he found me - us." Angel squeezes her tighter and kisses the top of her head, brushing faded red strands from her face. He pulls her back from his chest and looks deep into her emerald eyes, watching them as they flick to each of his chocolate ones.
"I'd get rid of him Willow. For you, for us, for what he did to you." Angel tells her, and his voice is so full of emotion she almost backs away from his touch. She has to look away from him so she hides her face into his broad chest, because his eyes are brimming with love and she hates to watch him lie. She snuggles into him and hopes that he will grasp her close so her vision will be blocked by the black threads of his shirt, but he lifts her chin and makes her look at his melting eyes again. "Willow?" He pleads, wondering what it is that is triggering her questions.
She lifts her lips to his neck and her eyes flutter closed, trying to ignore his questions and make him forget too. It works, and soon he is moaning deep in his throat as she sucks and nibbles lightly at his skin where warm blood used to flow. He grabs her face and greedily kisses her, and she presses herself to his body because she knows he will be overwhelmed with her heat. When they fall back into the mattress behind them, Willow knows he has forgotten what she has asked and she can pretend to be Buffy again.
-----------------------
The epiphany is not lost to Spike's perceptive eyes. He almost lets himself chuckle in that sinister way he once did, but the seriousness of what is transpiring holds him back.
"Yeah, get it now?" Spike asks, his tone not mocking, almost devoid of emotion. He steps forward towards Angel, then sidesteps and walks past him, through the open gate where the huge house looms. He stops again, waiting, his back turned to a turning Angel.
Angel is in front of Spike in a flash, hitting him, scratching him, his face devoid of human disguise. Spike staggers backwards, reeling, then counter-attacks, and it is a flurry of fists and teeth. The battle ranges on, and no side gains the advantage until both vampires are huddling in separate corners, wounded and tired. Spike turns to walk away, but his insides rip up again and he knows Willow is reminding him.
While Angel reels, unmoving on the ground, Spike crawls through the gate and reaches for the doorsteps, but his borrowed blood slips out a bit too fast and he sighs into unconsciousness.
A few minutes later, Angel peeks at his wounds and prods at them, sending sharp pain up to knock at his brain. He hears the scratches of paws on concrete, and his night vision tells of a rat digging at the hard surface. Angel, with a burst of inhuman speed, grabs the rat and bites deeply into it before it can squeal - it tastes of dirty city water and fur, but he gulps it down and feels the warm blood go straight to his bleeding wounds. He'd cough and puke at the sight of himself draining a rat if he had been less desperate. When the animal is limp and cold in Angel's frozen hands, he lets it drop to the floor and picks himself up to a wobbly standing position.
When Angel finally reaches the doorstep, he sees Spike unconscious on the ground. Angel stares at the body for a moment, wondering.
Then he kicks the blonde form off the steps and into the nearest bushes, struggles into the house, and falls asleep on the carpeted floor.
-----------------------
When Willow awoke to find Angel lying helpless and bleeding on the floor, she ran to his side and immediately performed a healing spell. Angel's wounds started to closed up and she watched the dead skin wake up from it's slumber for just a moment as it regenerated itself. Tears attempted to spill out from behind her eyes until Angel's own eyes fluttered open and settled on Willow's pretty, saddened face.
"Willow..." he breathes, and shakes his head until his thoughts cleared and last night hits him full forced. Willow sees his flinch when the memories tsunami over his consciousness and wonders, what could it be...?
"Willow..." he says again, and his head is a mixed jumble of thoughts.
"Angel, what happened?" Willow inquires, and she feels her insides squish up as she thinks of what could have done such damage to her protector. Then she remembers that he is just another captor and reprimands herself mentally for even caring.
"Oh, Willow, you won't believe..." he starts, and then remembers Spikes words:
"I got called here, poof. Willow never tell you?"
And if it hadn't been him, it must have been Willow. His eyes flash in anger and wave after wave of rage builds against the calm demeanor he forces himself to portray.
Willow senses the inner turmoil. "Angel?" she inquires again, hoping, praying it just might be a wild blonde vampire haunting the insides of Angel's eyelids. She lets herself touch his cheek and feels a chunk of Angel's mental barriers blast out, until:
"Nothing." Angel brushes her off and stands, his wounds magically closed. He stands up and walks to the kitchen, and Willow hears the sounds of a microwave spinning a cup of blood around in circles.
------------------------------
Spike groggily woke up. His skin was burning, heated and rushing with boiling blood, and he wondered why he smelled like charred skin.
Then he opened his eyes and was met with the sight of his arm burning off.
"Holy shit!!!" He yelled and waved his arm around frantically, eyes darting for shade while other parts of his body started to burst into flames. He spotted a piece of dark near the corner of the house... if he could just reach it...
Spike made a wild dash towards it and fell into the incredibly small spot of shadow right when his precious hair started to catch on fire. He busied himself with hitting his limbs frantically against the side of the house, suffocating the flames until it was just himself and his square shaped shade.
Then, the realness of the situation dawned on him.
Okay, mate, you're in front of Angel's house, with a Willow inside of it. It's broad daylight, and you're standing in the only piece of shade, which, by the way, is only big enough for you to move one inch to the left and once inch to the right if you felt the need to stretch. Oh, yeah, you're covered in your own blood and quite a few bites and bruises, with the possibility of collapsing again into the aforementioned broad daylight should you not get you're hands on some blood. If Angel sees you soaking up his only bit of shade, he will run in circles around yourself laughing at you, then beat you up again/more, and stake you with Willow's favorite pencil.
Spike couldn't find an easy way out of this. He couldn't even find a hard way. He was stuck.
Then, the front door opened with a clang, and Spike woke up from his inner workings and looked over his shoulder to see Angel coming his way, under a pink frilly umbrella.
"Nice umbrella, there." Spike chuckled, forgetting his vulnerable position. He stopped laughing when a cold plastic bag collided with his chest and he grabbed it, recognizing the feel and smell of blood. He took a quick look at it, contemplating.
"It's not drugged, if that's what you're thinking." Angel replied monotonously. Spike, too hungry to care, savagely ripped into the package and sucked the blood out from the bite holes until he was left with an empty bag.
"Thanks," Spike said, and Angel raised an eyebrow at his manners.
"Yeah." Angel replied, and there was a deafening moment of awkward silence as the two stared at each other, one still bleeding on the brick wall of the house.
"Willow's inside, I suppose." Spike broke the silence. Angel nodded his head once, then turned on his heel and stalked towards the door. Spike watched him go with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
"You can't leave me out here to die! That'd be very un-soulful of you!" Spike called after him, and Angel turned towards the platinum blonde, his hand still on the door handle.
"It would be." Angel said quietly, and walked briskly past the threshold and closed the door behind him. Spike strained to hear the click of a lock, but heard none.
One second... two seconds... three seconds...
Spike made a wild dash for the door, his skin heating up. He saw tiny sparks skip between his fingers after climbing the first step; he smelled his clothes catching fire when he turned the door handle; he felt the familiar feel of burning skin when he finally wrenched the door open, crossing into the darkness and beating himself against the floor to destroy the flames.
Finally, the personal fire was out and Spike was left in a bloody, battered, burned heap on the sickeningly pastel carpet. He heard a snicker and turned up to see Angel's half-smiling face.
"I left the door unlocked."
"I noticed."
Then Angel walked out of the room, leaving his grandchilde swooning on the floor.