Author's Notes: I don't know how I feel about this chapter…I don't think I like it very much. But it's very long and I hope you do because…it's long. Very long. Look how long it is! Anyway, Enjoy.
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Chapter Seven
Angel's POV
My childe: soft, smooth, little, lithe, small, pretty, lean, charming, charismatic, wise, lush, empathetic, brilliant, devoted, rude, stupid, rash, impulsive, juvenile, homicidal, hateful, afraid, bad, bad, bad.
He's indescribable when his blonde head is bent and his blue eyes are on his shoe and his shoe is having a scuffle with the dirt on the office floor. I watch as he fidgets, trying to pretend that the three of us aren't in the same room with him. Trying to ignore us. Probably wishing us dead. He most likely never imagined that last twist, where I took him by his hypothetical horns and twisted them into wings. My boy submitted and I just had to put a little threat into my words, a little demon behind the Angel.
Looking at him – at his radioactive, blonde hair and the baby blue shirt tight around his lean form and his pale, pale skin that should have been flushed with embarrassment – looking at him, I wondered what all of that made me.
"Angel?" Wesley asked. "Did you hear me?"
God. What is God? Does God exist? There's Hell, yes. There's lots of Hell. I went there and suffered for hundreds of years and they burned and tortured and raped me because that's what you get in Hell. But God…
No, I mock God.
"Penn," I said softly.
My childer. My precious childer. One I keep warm in the night and the other I abandon in the cold. They always come home to Daddy in the end. To God. God. God. God.
"Penn?" William asks and he's looking right at me with an earnest expression, his blue eyes bright.
Wesley echoes the question and Cordelia just sits there and files her nails and stays silent for once.
Penn, my sweet little Puritan. Kill quickly and carry a sharp set of fangs. Brush your teeth. Knick crosses into their cheeks when you're done. You are God. You are the Dead incarnate. You are the antichrist. You are all that your father never will be.
Just wash your hands afterwards and scrub your fingers individually. Humans are filthy creatures.
"Angel, are you alright?"
Wesley is quite concerned.
"I'm fine," I reassured him. "I have to…undo what I've done."
But then again too few to mention…No no, that one's not true.
"Sire, are you reciting Frank Sinatra lyrics in your head again?"
I snapped my head up to find William smirking and Wesley and Cordelia looking equally amused.
"How did you-?"
"You were mouthing them, Peaches," my wicked little boy sniggered. "Sex Pistols have a much better rendition." At my groan, he protested with, "Aye!" and then proceeded to break into song.
"Spike," Wesley interrupted. "That's absolutely deplorable."
"I second that," Cordelia added, raising a finger in the air. She looked dully at me. "Tell me you punished him."
"He's wearing the shirt."
"Bloody shirt."
"It looks pretty on you," Cordelia told him. "In a highly amusing, embarrassing-for-you kinda way."
"Pack it in, Cheerleader. If it weren't for me bein' broken, you'd be hanging from the ceiling by your entrails right now."
"William," I growled, and much to his displeasure, patted my thigh. He rolled his eyes, whined out my name, crossed his arms, pouted, stomped his Docs on the floor, glared furiously at Cordelia, shot the most challenging look at Wesley imaginable, and finally, realizing that it was of no use, stomped over and perched himself on my knee.
"Why don't you go out and find Penn," he grumbled. "Maybe he'll put up with this. I'm sick of this shite."
Blue eyes flashing, he swung his legs over my lap and buried his face into my shoulder with a cranky little mew. Silly boy.
"I plan on staking Penn."
"'S what Sire does to naughty little boys," my sweet Will huffed into my neck. "'Cept for me, of course."
"Of course," I grunted and he swung his leg so his heel knocked me sharply in the shin. I winced. "Then again, sometimes Sire is very tempted."
"You're a lyin' ponce, that's what you are," my boy informed me.
Wesley, eerily reminiscent of Giles, wiped his glasses with a handkerchief. "Indeed. So the problem at hand…?"
"Me an' Peaches 'ere will go out at sunset," my silly, silly, naïve little sweetness assured him. "We'll take down big brother an' that'll be that." I cleared my throat. He looked at me. My expression must have given all away because he huffed and jumped off of my lap and stomped back over to the couch, away from the rest of us. "Why can't I?"
And for all that it was, I wanted to give into that sulky face.
"You can't fight," I told him bluntly. "That's why you can't. I'd be better off taking Cordelia with me."
Cordelia glared at me, but I ignored it.
"Aye!"
"Having to protect you would bring me at a disadvantage, Will. You know that. You're staying here."
"No. I'm not."
"Yes. You. Are."
I stood up, walked over to him, and towered in what I imagined was an intimidating fashion. He glared at me unwavering, his blue eyes still brimming with a hard defiance that couldn't be forced. I leaned down, grabbed his ear, and whispered low enough so that only he could hear, "You will stay here. You will not argue. You will do as you're told."
"No," he snarled, yanking out of my grip. "If you're gonna kill Penn, I wanna watch. I always wanted to see the wanker burn."
I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take it. Couldn't take his insolence, or his pouting, or his spoiled demands. Couldn't take it.
I backhanded him across the face.
He didn't make sound. Only looked back up at me with pain in his eyes and a quickly bruising cheek.
"Angel!" Cordelia scolded.
I ignored her, looking out the window. The sun was almost down. Darkness was setting in.
"Wesley, Cordelia…stay here and watch him for me?"
"Of course," Wesley said immediately. Cordelia mumbled her agreement, sounding very put-upon, but I hadn't expected much else.
Will stared at me with empty eyes and when I reached to brush his messy hair, he jerked away.
"And Daddy shall smite me down." The words escaped his pretty pink lips in a whisper and when I tried again to touch, he looked away in disdain.
My little boy might not know his place, but he knows mine. Time to play God again.
The sod. The bloody fucking sod.
"Spike, would you like something to eat?"
Percy is hovering, every so often touching my shoulder with a gentle hand and speaking soft words of comfort because he knows I'm feeling like shite. He keeps asking me if I want anything and when I shake my head no, he looks around and wipes his forehead free of sweat. If I fidget or make to stand, he gets this look about him- like he's going to hyperventilate or pass out or some such.
The poor nonce is drenched with fear. It's thick in the air.
I know what he's afraid of. Me leaving. Him not fulfilling my sire's wishes. Poor chap's so eager for acceptance he's about to wet his knickers.
"Wesley, I think he's fine," Cordelia called over the top of the recent edition of Cosmo.
"You're not looking all that well, Spike. Are you certain that you don't need anything?" he asked again. "A book? Are you bored?"
"No. 'M fine, Watcher," I mumbled, hoping to satisfy him. "Sit your arse down. You're givin' me a bleedin' headache with all your nervous energy."
We were downstairs now, me on the couch and Cordelia at the table, Percy between us pacing like mad. I was fighting with myself, looking around for a place to escape. Part of me just wanted to give in and go curl up on Sire's bed, dig my head into a pillow, and fall asleep. Most of me, however, wanted to leave and follow the insensitive poof out into battle.
I felt the couch sink as the Watcher sat next to me and then felt it rise up again after a fresh dose of fear drifted to my nose.
"Can't bite you, Percy," I reminded him and I heard him sigh as he returned to his place. I felt stagnant and alone and miserable and all of those things where you've been rendered immobile and you're trapped and you have no bleedin' idea how to get out of this cage that you're stuck in and these people are here watchin' you like prison guards.
The joys of solitary confinement.
This is bloody ridiculous.
"On second thought, you could go into my sire's room and find the book of poems by William Blake."
The bumbling whelp shot to his feet immediately, then realizing that this might be a trick (smart bloke), asked, "William Blake?"
"He reads 'em to me sometimes. Puts me at ease."
"Right then. Stay."
Right then. No.
I watched as he disappeared completely into the bedroom and looked to see Cordelia absorbed in the magazine. Silently, stealthily, I moved toward the stairs.
"Uh uh, mister."
Bollocks.
"I'm getting an apple."
"Like Hell you are. Sit back down."
Bloody cheerleader. Shoulda eaten her over the donut incident.
"I'll be back in a minute," I told her, hopping up the first two steps.
"I'll call Angel!"
"Spike, where are you going?" Percy had returned.
"Getting an apple. Cheerleader's makin' a big fuss."
"Why do you need an apple?"
"Because um…" Apples are upstairs and upstairs has an exit that you can't watch me escape from. "I always eat apples when I read William Blake. 'S tradition, mate. You can't break tradition."
"Well then…I'll get your apple for you."
I took another step up. "Um, no, Watcher. Y'see, it works like this…I get the apple, you warm me up a nice mug a blood so I can dip and enjoy. No sustenance involved without the blood, yeah? It's like coverin' 'em caramel only much much more appetizing. So you do that then…"
"Spike, please…" Wesley took a step closer to the staircase as I took another step up.
I sighed. Sod this.
"Look, Percy. You know I'm gonna run. I know I'm gonna run. So I'm just gonna run already."
"But-"
I scrambled up the stairs, raced into the office, and vaulted myself outside before he could so much as register what was happening.
I ran and ran and ran until I was sure that there was no possible way they could have followed me that far. And then I started to track my sire's scent.
The aroma exuded by my sire was something that always provided me with comfort. My sire. His blood. My home. He smelled like home. It used to be, back in the day that home smelled like biscuits and tea and me mum's deteriorating body. And music. Sounded like music- her sweet, sweet voice singing old melodies till my eyelids drooped.
Then he came along and home wasn't corroding life, but a corpse itself. Cold and firm and masculine and domineering. No more songs to sleep to, just a vampire's purr.
Strangely, it's how I prefer it.
"Why, William, wherever did you get that frumpy shirt?"
I spun around quickly to see Penn, the cocky bastard, grinning up at me so wide it was maniacal. Then I realized what he had said, glanced down at my proclamation to free the puppies, and thanked the hells that I couldn't blush.
I raised my head, jutted out my chin, and clenched my fists. "'S a gift from a lady."
"You have a lady friend, then? No longer with Drusilla, I take it?"
"We're takin' a break."
He laughed then, a very fake laugh. The kind of laugh the higher ups used to have back when I was lad. The kind of laugh that was directed at me.
"Oh, William, I'm sorry."
"Where's Sire?" I snapped. I really just wanted the silly berk to be dusted. I'd been around him less than a minute and he was already gratin' my nerves.
"Angelus?" his smile grew. "I've been waiting for him, too. I wanted to get his opinion on my latest work." He grabbed my wrist and pulled me further into the shadows. Blood. Lots of it. It was a tiny girl, her little head split open on the concrete. Twin puncture wounds in her neck. Little cross on her cheek.
"Poor little thing cracked her head. Nice contrast, though, I think. Her skin is very milky white and smooth, but you can see a hint of pink in there. Rosy cheeks, just like a doll. The red of her blood really sets it out, don't you think?"
I smirked. "I'm guessin' the little chit cracked her head open while runnin' away from you. Otherwise you never would have caught her."
He shoved me against the wall. "Shut up. Angelus will approve."
Now he was just confusing me. Did he have any knowledge of Angel's soul or was he just in denial? I figured that he was making all of these killings to call the old man out, but maybe he had different intentions in mind.
"He'll never really think you're special, y'know," I told him. "I mean…he taught you to do this. You've just been imitatin' him all these years. Do somethin' more original and maybe he'll give you that little pat on the head you've been longin' for. Maybe even a 'good job' and a 'that's my boy' will come into play."
He punched me in the gut. Hard. Bloody bastard.
"Hush now, William. You know not what you say."
"Oh, you arrogant prat. I know exactly what I'm talkin' about. You're just another stupid little bratling begging and pleading and living for Daddy's bloody acceptance. You killed 'im and now you'll never bloody get it. It's your own damn fault."
"Shut. Up."
"No! You stupid fucking ponce! Just get over it, will you? You're a mediocre vampire because you've had one bleedin' plight in mind this entire time. You SUCK."
"You're one to talk, William!"
"I've killed two slayers! I'm a master vampire! You…you're like one of those sorry excuses for artists who copy Starry Night and sell it for an affordable price at Cheap Hacks 'R' Us!"
"Yes, well…" he got right up in my face then and shouted, "Let's see what I can do when I cut off all of your appendages and paste them back together again, shall we?"
"BOYS!"
He spun around and moved to the side, putting our very angry, very mean-looking sire into my direct line of sight.
"What have I told you two about fighting?"
"Angelus," Penn breathed.
I'm. Going. To. Heave.
"Penn, it's not nice to threaten to slice off your brother's arms and legs."
"Technically he's my nephew…" Penn trailed off. "And he started it."
Bloody well right I did. Didn't dare say anything, though. Poof was gonna kill me as it was.
"William, you're in big trouble when we get home."
Yeah yeah yeah. Sing us another.
I watched as his eyes trailed over the surroundings and settled on the little girl. His jaw tightened and he clenched his fists and his eye ticked a bit. Then he looked to big brother, looked him over real good, and said, "This is unacceptable."
The expression on Penn's face? RICH as anything, I'll tell you. His eyes widened and his jaw went slack and he looked like he couldn't decide whether to scream or cry. Then FINALLY something dawned on the wanker and he aimed a punch at our very flowery and soulful sire, which was immediately deflected.
"We were to meet in Paris," Penn huffed, before getting kicked in the face by Peaches.
I settled down next to the little corpse and watched them fight for some time. Angel always had the upper hand of course, as the teacher usually does, so it was all more than a little boring. Eventually, I realized that I was sitting next to a puddle of human blood and after making sure that my sire was preoccupied, I would dip my finger in and suck it clean.
It was cold, but it was human. That's all that I ask.
What I didn't expect was that moment when my eyes were taken away from the fight. What I didn't expect was Penn hauling me to my feet, grabbing me from behind, and locking me into place with his arm around my neck.
"Aye!" I protested.
Bloody Hell.
Oh god. Oh god.
He's got my baby. He's got my Will.
"Favoritism, Angelus? You wouldn't have looked twice if he had me in this position, but now look at you. Afraid, angry, desperate. All over sweet little William." He smiled wide. "Emotional attachments are weaknesses. You taught me that."
Of course I taught him that. I taught him everything…and now the little bastard was going to best me? It doesn't get much worse than this.
"Would you look at this shirt?" he continued, fingering my boy's much-hated shirt. The shirt I made him wear. That awful, awful shirt. "Such a pretty blue color with such a juvenile message. It makes him look so very young, doesn't it? Even younger than he looked with his long, curly hair. It brings out his eyes, too. You're favorite little boy- Ow!" My boy had stomped on Penn's foot with one of his large boots and in the second that my eldest was taken off-guard, my youngest took him down with a punch to the face and a kick to the groin. Then he brought his leg back and kicked him in the groin again…and again…and again…and…
"Throw me a bloody stake, will you?" he called back to me. After a moment of shaking the surprise away, I obliged, and within another few seconds Penn was dust. William, looking very proud indeed, trotted up to me and leapt into my arms; wrapping his legs around my torso and his arms around my neck. "Did you see me, Sire? I can fight demons!"
I grunted. "Daddy's little demon fighter." Then I started walking to the car, still carrying him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Oh, shut your gob. Y'know you're proud. I was expectin' a headache after that stomping on the foot bit, but it didn't come! And that's when I knew I could take that wanker…and I did, didn't I? I took 'im down. And did you see how many times I kicked him in the knackers? I shoulda let him live just so he could never use those again. It's all thanks to this shirt, too. If this shirt weren't so bleedin' irritatin', I would have never become mad enough to even try to hurt the tosser. But I did and now he's dust! And now we know I'm capable of a good spot of violence here and there if it involves the right opponents. And…why aren't you talking?"
I glared at him.
"Bloody Hell, you're gonna thrash me aren't you?"
Ah, yes…my clever boy.
"Siiiiire. I only did it to help you. And look what we learned! I'm a Grade A Warrior Against the Forces of Darkness now. I could even hit you if I wanted to."
I stopped, gave him a look, and mentally smirked when he turned away.
"Didn't say I was gonna, did I?" He sighed, wriggled away from me, and took a few steps back. "I like my skin on, thank you very much."
I rolled my eyes. When he was afraid of me, he didn't really need verbal responses. It made it all the more amusing.
"I s'pose you can toss me about…just a bit, though. I'm pretty fragile right now, y'know? That was a life or death situation! If you hurt me too much, I might break, yeah? We don't want me in a fit for another week… do we?"
I grinned.
"Siiiiire!"
I took a step toward him, grabbed his hand and pulled him into my arms.
"We'll see," I whispered into his ear. "We'll see." He nuzzled my cheek. I could sense his relief.
I gave him 40 lashes when we got home.
TBC…
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