I slammed the door behind me, muscles screaming as I forced them to move in
ways that they disliked. Disliked rather vehemently I would say. Every
last inch of me hurt. Guess that was comes from
(family)
being tortured to a week straight. It didn't seem that long. Course I didn't pay attention much. I could feel every second of it now. It hurt more than the days when we used to be together, when Angelus taught me everything that I would need to know about life. I can still remember the first lesson I learned. It was the first fucking thing I ever learned.
Not to scream.
Darla tried. Broke that oh-so-haughty ice bitch façade, just trying to get a whimper. I loved every second of it. The pale wisps of blonde hair that would escape from the tight knot in the back of her head. She tried everything traditional, big into tradition that bint was. She tried it all...the rack...holy water...cat o' nines.
He would always stand in the background, just watching me. Chocolate burning through the haze of cigar smoke and ages. Eventually she would get tired and start to whine and complain. Not him, he would smile.
"It's just William," he would unhook my wrists from the ceiling. "He'll never scream. Not my boy."
So I didn't. I would bite the inside of my cheeks until they bled, sing songs in my head, recite poetry. But I would NEVER.fucking.scream.
'Course, then it occurred to me that I never stopped being his boy. He never stopped being my Sire. Arrogant bastard.
It's fucking freezing in this goddamn city. The wind ripped through the streets, cutting through my T-shirt and raising goosebumps on my too skinny arms. It smells like demons, death, and that oh-so-wonderful scent of decaying life. I would rather be fucking anywhere but here. Sad thing, there isn't anywhere else I could go.
Stepping through those wrought iron gates into the open freedom of the streets I felt the familiar pang of loss. He wasn't here anymore. Well, he was. He was everywhere. 'Cause I love him...and love is blood...his blood...in me. There are still parts of my Sire in my head. The condescending laugh, the growl, the smirk...the touch. I will always remember his hands. Blunt fingers with wide palms that swallowed your speeches and taught you the ways of unlife. He was...is, my savior as much as I hate to admit it. I remember cool fingers learning the planes of my face. Showing me that screaming fine line between pleasure and pain. He was always good at that sort of thing. Home was quite different back then.
I had a home once, still do in a crazy sort of way. My home was never where we went to sleep, or where you ate, or anything like that. Home is where you learn to live, to discover the lessons of life. He taught me everything I know...he was my Sire. I can still remember the first thing that he taught me.
The faint smell of alcohol tinged my nose, lingering in the safety of darkness. There were demons there, or there used to be. I was sure of that. Glancing up at the sign in front of me, I read Caritas.
Fucking sanctuary? Bollocks. That's just what I needed right then. A bloody sanctuary. Guess there's a group for everything in this town.
I could hear the bones creaking in my legs as I paced the curb. I had no where else to go. Hell, that's why I came here. It doesn't matter where he is...where that is, that's home. Always. At least it used to be home. Now, I'm not so sure. That soul has changed my Sire to where even I don't know him anymore. I don't think that he would take me in, no matter what. That's what home is. Somewhere you can go, and they'll forgive you and keep loving you. It's hard for him to keep loving me, when he never started in the first place.
So I guess this dingy little place is home. I need a place to stay and this place will take me in. I just needed to hide from the sun, that was slowly creeping up behind me. Trying to take me unawares. I could smell it rising. Heavy and forbidding brightness, replacing the tranquil peace of night. If you weren't careful, it would crush you. Smother you with bubbly carefree happiness. And I just couldn't have that. I wanted to go back...
(to him_to home_)
to the Hyperion, but I couldn't get there now if I wanted to. I had just started walking and I don't remember the way that I came. I remember the look on his face when I left. Pity, pain, and promises. Well fuck him, he never kept his promises anyway.
The door squealed as I ripped it around on its hinges. The place was nearly empty, except for the Sumda demon passed out in the corner booth.
"Hey honey, we're closing for the day."
A green faced demon presented itself in front of me. I've seen worse. At least it didn't have antlers and slime. "I can't leave."
I got the feeling that he was looking further into me than I liked. As Queen-C would put it: he was vibey. If I had the option, I would've bailed right then and there, but I could already feel that the sun was up behind me.
"Okay," he kept staring at me. "Want anything?"
"Bottle of whisky."
"Anything in particular?"
"Yeah," I could feel my lips curving into a familiar smile, "Something Irish."
He doesn't say anything, just flips up the bar and pulls out the bottle. A glass and a bottle of ice appear on the counter. "Want to sing anything?"
"Why?"
"It might help?"
"With what?"
He just stares at me. I swear I'm not this dense all the time. It has to be the starvation that has put me in this frame of mind. I'm actually considering singing for the Kermit wannabe. The lines to one of Dawn's favorite songs floated through my head.
"Fine," I opened my mouth to sing. "No," he points to the stage.
I'm tempted to camp out and growl at him, but I know how that will all turn out. I will have a short and dusty ending. So I trudge up the stairs and ease my stiff limbs onto the stool. "Better now?"
"Start whenever you want."
The only thing that comes to my mind is: this whole scenario blows. I mean really bites the big one. I'm standing on a stage, fully sober mind you, going to sing for a guy that may or may not be more of a ponce than my Sire. It has to be the starvation.
~
Lorne reached for the cordless phone behind the bar, images still floating in front of his eyes.
Angel Men Labcoats A glass room of knives Pain Laughter-Lindsey Angel Blackness Peace Pain-Angelface Loss Sanctuary ...
There was an overwhelming sense of loss when Angel diappeared. The aching sort of pain that turned out to be chronic.
Angel Investigations was first on speed dial.
"Wesley?...Yeah, it's Lorne. Spike is here....He'll stay the day....Yeah....Tell him to hurry. Bye."
The vampire sat motionless on the stage, like he'd just had an epiphany that would forever change his being. It was frightening...and sad.
"You want to know what I saw?"
"Don't need to," he heaves his body off the stool. "It's my life isn't it?"
Lorne realizes guiltily that he's glad that it's Spike's life. His life is still safe.
***
I trudged back up the stairs after left, the tape was there waiting for me when I opened the door. Black, forbidding and...inviting. I slipped it into the VCR and pushed play. A black and white image flickered to life, Spike hanging from the ceiling. Just like the good old days when...
"Have anything to tell me about Angel now?" Lindsey's voice came from off camera.
"Bugger off."
A bucket of water was tossed on him, soaking the shreds of clothing that he was still wearing. He started to smoke as his skin turned pink, then red. Spike started laughing, a low, crazy laugh. It occurs to me that my boy was never quite sane. The laugh resonates in the hollow emptiness of the room.
"Is that all you've got?" one eyebrow quirks up, mocking. "Love, I was raised by Angelus. You think some diluted holy water is going to make me tell you something? You're a lot stupider than I thought."
"This," Lindsey's voice was smiling, "Is just the beginning."
"Bring them on."
The screen cuts out, leaving me with the fearful lurch that I won't get to see what happens to him. I need to know something. Anything. Again the screen comes to life, refocusing on Spike. He looks bloodier, more worn, but still whole.
A tiny Asian man unrolls a set of 'tools' on the table set up next to Spike. Hooks, knives, and one particularly vicious thing that looked like a garden tool.
"Last chance Spike," Lindsey walked on camera for the first time.
"Sod off, can't you see I'm tryin' to take a nap?"
The Asain man looked to Lindsey for the 'OK' to go and picked up one on the smaller knives. He started to carve symbols onto the vampire's chest, watching the blood slowly well to the surface. Spike picked a point on the wall and stared, unmoving. A slow smile spread across his face and he bent down to say something to the man with the knives.
I strained to hear exactly what was said, but couldn't make it out. Whatever it was, the end result was the garden tool impaled in his stomach. I would've screamed, hell, I would've screamed bloody murder. What did he do? He started singing.
Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son? Who did you meet, my darling young one? I met a young child beside a dead pony, I met a white man who walked a black dog, I met a young woman whose body was burning, I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow, I met one man who was wounded in love, I met another man who was wounded with hatred, And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Lindsey walked back on camera, "Stop. I don't want him dead."
The torturer yanked the tool back out of his stomach, brings scraps of flesh with it.
"Why do you want to protect him? Why should he mean anything to you? What has he ever given you?"
Spike stopped singing momentarily, "He's family. He's home."
Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son? Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one? I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin', I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest, Where the people are many and their hands are all empty, Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters, Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison, Where the executioner's face is always well hidden, Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten, Where black is the color, where none is the number, And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it, And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it, Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin', But I'll know my song well before I start singin', And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
"Now you're just being annoying," the lawyer waved at the man to start again and the screen went black.
Me. I was family. Still. I was home.
An overwhelm desire to go find him raced through me. I wanted to shake him, make him understand...something. I needed him. I needed William.
(family)
being tortured to a week straight. It didn't seem that long. Course I didn't pay attention much. I could feel every second of it now. It hurt more than the days when we used to be together, when Angelus taught me everything that I would need to know about life. I can still remember the first lesson I learned. It was the first fucking thing I ever learned.
Not to scream.
Darla tried. Broke that oh-so-haughty ice bitch façade, just trying to get a whimper. I loved every second of it. The pale wisps of blonde hair that would escape from the tight knot in the back of her head. She tried everything traditional, big into tradition that bint was. She tried it all...the rack...holy water...cat o' nines.
He would always stand in the background, just watching me. Chocolate burning through the haze of cigar smoke and ages. Eventually she would get tired and start to whine and complain. Not him, he would smile.
"It's just William," he would unhook my wrists from the ceiling. "He'll never scream. Not my boy."
So I didn't. I would bite the inside of my cheeks until they bled, sing songs in my head, recite poetry. But I would NEVER.fucking.scream.
'Course, then it occurred to me that I never stopped being his boy. He never stopped being my Sire. Arrogant bastard.
It's fucking freezing in this goddamn city. The wind ripped through the streets, cutting through my T-shirt and raising goosebumps on my too skinny arms. It smells like demons, death, and that oh-so-wonderful scent of decaying life. I would rather be fucking anywhere but here. Sad thing, there isn't anywhere else I could go.
Stepping through those wrought iron gates into the open freedom of the streets I felt the familiar pang of loss. He wasn't here anymore. Well, he was. He was everywhere. 'Cause I love him...and love is blood...his blood...in me. There are still parts of my Sire in my head. The condescending laugh, the growl, the smirk...the touch. I will always remember his hands. Blunt fingers with wide palms that swallowed your speeches and taught you the ways of unlife. He was...is, my savior as much as I hate to admit it. I remember cool fingers learning the planes of my face. Showing me that screaming fine line between pleasure and pain. He was always good at that sort of thing. Home was quite different back then.
I had a home once, still do in a crazy sort of way. My home was never where we went to sleep, or where you ate, or anything like that. Home is where you learn to live, to discover the lessons of life. He taught me everything I know...he was my Sire. I can still remember the first thing that he taught me.
The faint smell of alcohol tinged my nose, lingering in the safety of darkness. There were demons there, or there used to be. I was sure of that. Glancing up at the sign in front of me, I read Caritas.
Fucking sanctuary? Bollocks. That's just what I needed right then. A bloody sanctuary. Guess there's a group for everything in this town.
I could hear the bones creaking in my legs as I paced the curb. I had no where else to go. Hell, that's why I came here. It doesn't matter where he is...where that is, that's home. Always. At least it used to be home. Now, I'm not so sure. That soul has changed my Sire to where even I don't know him anymore. I don't think that he would take me in, no matter what. That's what home is. Somewhere you can go, and they'll forgive you and keep loving you. It's hard for him to keep loving me, when he never started in the first place.
So I guess this dingy little place is home. I need a place to stay and this place will take me in. I just needed to hide from the sun, that was slowly creeping up behind me. Trying to take me unawares. I could smell it rising. Heavy and forbidding brightness, replacing the tranquil peace of night. If you weren't careful, it would crush you. Smother you with bubbly carefree happiness. And I just couldn't have that. I wanted to go back...
(to him_to home_)
to the Hyperion, but I couldn't get there now if I wanted to. I had just started walking and I don't remember the way that I came. I remember the look on his face when I left. Pity, pain, and promises. Well fuck him, he never kept his promises anyway.
The door squealed as I ripped it around on its hinges. The place was nearly empty, except for the Sumda demon passed out in the corner booth.
"Hey honey, we're closing for the day."
A green faced demon presented itself in front of me. I've seen worse. At least it didn't have antlers and slime. "I can't leave."
I got the feeling that he was looking further into me than I liked. As Queen-C would put it: he was vibey. If I had the option, I would've bailed right then and there, but I could already feel that the sun was up behind me.
"Okay," he kept staring at me. "Want anything?"
"Bottle of whisky."
"Anything in particular?"
"Yeah," I could feel my lips curving into a familiar smile, "Something Irish."
He doesn't say anything, just flips up the bar and pulls out the bottle. A glass and a bottle of ice appear on the counter. "Want to sing anything?"
"Why?"
"It might help?"
"With what?"
He just stares at me. I swear I'm not this dense all the time. It has to be the starvation that has put me in this frame of mind. I'm actually considering singing for the Kermit wannabe. The lines to one of Dawn's favorite songs floated through my head.
"Fine," I opened my mouth to sing. "No," he points to the stage.
I'm tempted to camp out and growl at him, but I know how that will all turn out. I will have a short and dusty ending. So I trudge up the stairs and ease my stiff limbs onto the stool. "Better now?"
"Start whenever you want."
The only thing that comes to my mind is: this whole scenario blows. I mean really bites the big one. I'm standing on a stage, fully sober mind you, going to sing for a guy that may or may not be more of a ponce than my Sire. It has to be the starvation.
~
Lorne reached for the cordless phone behind the bar, images still floating in front of his eyes.
Angel Men Labcoats A glass room of knives Pain Laughter-Lindsey Angel Blackness Peace Pain-Angelface Loss Sanctuary ...
There was an overwhelming sense of loss when Angel diappeared. The aching sort of pain that turned out to be chronic.
Angel Investigations was first on speed dial.
"Wesley?...Yeah, it's Lorne. Spike is here....He'll stay the day....Yeah....Tell him to hurry. Bye."
The vampire sat motionless on the stage, like he'd just had an epiphany that would forever change his being. It was frightening...and sad.
"You want to know what I saw?"
"Don't need to," he heaves his body off the stool. "It's my life isn't it?"
Lorne realizes guiltily that he's glad that it's Spike's life. His life is still safe.
***
I trudged back up the stairs after left, the tape was there waiting for me when I opened the door. Black, forbidding and...inviting. I slipped it into the VCR and pushed play. A black and white image flickered to life, Spike hanging from the ceiling. Just like the good old days when...
"Have anything to tell me about Angel now?" Lindsey's voice came from off camera.
"Bugger off."
A bucket of water was tossed on him, soaking the shreds of clothing that he was still wearing. He started to smoke as his skin turned pink, then red. Spike started laughing, a low, crazy laugh. It occurs to me that my boy was never quite sane. The laugh resonates in the hollow emptiness of the room.
"Is that all you've got?" one eyebrow quirks up, mocking. "Love, I was raised by Angelus. You think some diluted holy water is going to make me tell you something? You're a lot stupider than I thought."
"This," Lindsey's voice was smiling, "Is just the beginning."
"Bring them on."
The screen cuts out, leaving me with the fearful lurch that I won't get to see what happens to him. I need to know something. Anything. Again the screen comes to life, refocusing on Spike. He looks bloodier, more worn, but still whole.
A tiny Asian man unrolls a set of 'tools' on the table set up next to Spike. Hooks, knives, and one particularly vicious thing that looked like a garden tool.
"Last chance Spike," Lindsey walked on camera for the first time.
"Sod off, can't you see I'm tryin' to take a nap?"
The Asain man looked to Lindsey for the 'OK' to go and picked up one on the smaller knives. He started to carve symbols onto the vampire's chest, watching the blood slowly well to the surface. Spike picked a point on the wall and stared, unmoving. A slow smile spread across his face and he bent down to say something to the man with the knives.
I strained to hear exactly what was said, but couldn't make it out. Whatever it was, the end result was the garden tool impaled in his stomach. I would've screamed, hell, I would've screamed bloody murder. What did he do? He started singing.
Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son? Who did you meet, my darling young one? I met a young child beside a dead pony, I met a white man who walked a black dog, I met a young woman whose body was burning, I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow, I met one man who was wounded in love, I met another man who was wounded with hatred, And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Lindsey walked back on camera, "Stop. I don't want him dead."
The torturer yanked the tool back out of his stomach, brings scraps of flesh with it.
"Why do you want to protect him? Why should he mean anything to you? What has he ever given you?"
Spike stopped singing momentarily, "He's family. He's home."
Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son? Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one? I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin', I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest, Where the people are many and their hands are all empty, Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters, Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison, Where the executioner's face is always well hidden, Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten, Where black is the color, where none is the number, And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it, And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it, Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin', But I'll know my song well before I start singin', And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
"Now you're just being annoying," the lawyer waved at the man to start again and the screen went black.
Me. I was family. Still. I was home.
An overwhelm desire to go find him raced through me. I wanted to shake him, make him understand...something. I needed him. I needed William.