WARNING- This chapter contains a slight slashy feel, so if you don't want to read that, then don't. It's not true slash, by any means, but it is teetering the edge and I know that there are some younger and/or more conservative readers (What the heck are you doing reading vampire stories? Geez!) that may be offended. Don't be alarmed (and please don't cry), because it's not a main character or anything...
I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series. Alas... I don't own any of the characters or their extremely cool wardrobes. I am a schmuck on most accounts and Joss is merely a schlimazel. So, there ya' go... Now, I would like to take this opportunity to thank everybody who ever reviewed for me and whoever will review in the future and I would also like to get...
On with the show.
::Stuff and Nonsense- Time To Pray::
"Do you smell the kid, yet?" Spike bent over and brushed some dirt off the toe of his boot. "All I smell is crack cocaine and some frump, down the road scoring a John."
Doyle scoffed and shook his head. "Wow, I just want to thank you for that mental image. I really appreciate that little piece of skank."
Spike leaned up and gave his sire a disgruntled look. "Why did we bring him? Can he make things explode with his mind, or serve any other helpful purpose?"
Angel held back a smirk and shrugged. "He serves as a good shield."
Doyle chuckled and punched Angel on the shoulder. "Hey! I resemble that remark, thank you very much."
Spike poked out his bottom lip and sniffed. "I could use a shield and maybe a cape, for good measure." Spike quirked a brow at the Irishman and grinned. "Can you sew?"
"Perhaps." Doyle scowled. "Can you... bite my ass?"
Spike flashed his fangs and growled. "Perhaps."
Angel stopped walking and turned back toward the two men. He almost let out a laugh, when he realized both were in their demonic visages. "Let me ask one question. Is this saving my son?"
Spike fell out of game face and shrugged, before turning and walking past his sire. "You're lucky I love that kid, ya' bleedin' Mick."
Angel watched Doyle's features smooth out and smiled. "He's temperamental, but..." Angel made a fist and patted his chest with it. "...he's got a good heart." Angel glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Spike picking up an alley cat, by the scruff of the neck, and tossing it in a dumpster, before stomping out of the alley. "At least, he tries... sometimes."
"I dunno' why you keep him around. He's just a immortal teenager." Doyle grunted. "With damaged hair and an attitude problem."
Angel scrunched up his nose and shrugged. "He kind of makes me feel young again... without the whoring and drinking."
Doyle rolled his eyes and shook his head. "So, you keep him around because he makes you feel young?"
Angel scowled. "He's my childe. I keep him around because he is family. Plus, like he said, he loves Connor. Why are you so against him?"
Doyle shrugged and changed the subject. "Let's find your son."
Angel and Doyle walked in silence, in the direction Spike had taken. They turned the corner and found something unexpected. "Spike!"
Spike had Tim pinned against the wall of the building and was sniffing him, thoroughly, while growling low in his throat.
Doyle scrunched up his nose. "That's kind of an odd picture."
Angel dropped his head back and sniffed the air. He knew what Spike smelled and it made his dead blood boil. He flashed demon eyes at the boy and growled. "Where is my son?" He stomped toward the boy and pushed Spike back a half a step. His childe refused to let his prey go, without a fight.
"Why is his blood all over you? You reek of Connor's blood!" Spike all but howled.
Tim eyes were drooping and he gasped a little bit. "Michael wanted to start a... riot." Tim's eyes shut and he wheezed. Spike cinched the boy's shirt tighter in his palm and growled, once more. Tim gasped and grabbed at his throat. "My lungs..." He gargled and trembled in Spike's grip.
Spike looked the boy over and sniffed again. There was no other blood. He dropped the boy to his feet and lifted his shirt. The boy was sweat slick and trembled fiercely, but otherwise he seemed to be unharmed. "Your lungs are bloody fine."
Tim shook his head, emphatically, as he gasped. "Michael... the link... shot in... chest." Tim choked and coughed up some mucous filled blood. "He's... in pain, therefore I'm in pain."
Doyle scoffed. "He's in all this pain, and he still uses words like therefore?"
Spike ignored the stupid comment, that Doyle just had to make, and asked a question of his own. "And that's bad why?" Spike grunted, as he watched the boy fall to his knees. If this was all true, and it wasn't Tim's fault Connor was gone, then it was very inhumane to leave him out in the cold. Spike leaned down and offered the boy a hand.
Tim took the hand and sighed, before passing out cold. He fell sideways and hit the ground, with a thunk. Spike took a step back, in shock. The kid looked pretty dead to him, and Spike knew what dead looked like.
Angel shook his head and sighed. The boy was a victim, not a criminal. He leaned down and picked the boy up, draping him over his shoulder and walking toward the nearest place that was open this late at night. He stepped inside the smoked filled bar and called out for some help. A man with a rifle took a step out of the back room and grunted. "My friend needs some help. I need to use your phone." Angel laid the boy down on the bar and walked toward the man.
The man scowled and shook his head. "I know that kid and he ain't welcome in my bar. He's responsible for bringing that murderer in here."
Spike smirked at the bartender and answered snarkily. "Well, looks like he's on a roll, cause he's just brought three more murderin' types into your lovely establishment, and he isn't even awake to realize it." Spike vamped out and hissed at the man.
The man shrugged. "I have demons come in here all the time. 's not like it's anything new to me. Now, get the kid offa' my bar and outta' here."
Spike shook his head in feigned sadness and bit his lip, with sharpened canines. "Was that a command? Cause if it was, I just want you to know that my friend here..." Spike pointed a thumb at Doyle. "...he doesn't react well to commands."
The man crossed his meaty arms across his chest and grunted. "He doesn't, does he? What's he gonna do about it?"
Doyle leaned into Spike's side and whispered harshly. "Yeah Spike, what am I going to do about it?"
Spike grinned at the confused Irishman. "You'd be surprised what he can do about it. Doesn't look like much now, but I'll tell you what... He's something to behold when he vamps out!"
"Vampires don't scare me none." The man took a few steps toward the men and sniffed.
While the bartender was establishing his power and manhood, Angel had slipped into the back room and found a phone. He dialed a familiar number and sighed when the other line was picked up. "I'm at MLK and fifth. I need you down here, now!" He hung up the phone and walked back into the room, where he found the bartender retching into a bucket behind the counter.
The man wiped his mouth with the back of a beefy palm. "He does got a disease! Get him out of here or I'm calling the cops! Or maybe a priest!"
Doyle frowned and shifted back into his human face. "I'm gonna' hurt you for that." He muttered, as they walked back outside and onto the street.
"We gave Angel enough time and a good enough distraction to get him to the phone and not get anyone killed. Plus, I got to poke fun at your horny face. All in all, I say that we did quite well." Spike grinned at the Irishman. "Horny face..." He chuckled, in a juvenile fashion and shook his head. "I crack meself up."
Doyle rolled his eyes and gave into the laughter. He looked back at the older vampire and the boy, who was draped nonchalantly over in his arms. The kid looked like a rag doll. "Did you get to the phone?"
Angel nodded and looked down the road. "We'll have help soon." He looked at the pallid face that lay against his shoulder and sighed. "Hopefully it will be soon enough."
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Michael grunted in pain and grasped at the bed sheet, he was laying on. The white linens where slowly turning red and then brown.
"Now, why would you go and do a thing like that, back at the bar?" The voice was lilting, but there was no accent to speak of. It was musical, but it burned his ears.
"I wanted to have a fun night out with a friend. What's so wrong about that?" Michael grabbed his chest and almost heaved.
"Quit touching your chest. I have it healing, but I decided to do it slowly, so you can learn a lesson from all of this nastiness."
"Very few out there that can heal a punctured lung. Who are you?"
The man laughed and shook his head. "I thought you had an idea of who I was. When you threw that broken bottle into my windpipe, I was positive you knew." There was a sigh in the voice. "You always were a bastard, even without a body. If not for you, the Druids would still be around."
"And that's good?" Michael groaned, when he tried to sit up and look at the man."
"Not necessarily. They worshipped you and you betrayed them, that is all." The voice was thoughtful.
"They sacrificed children to me." Michael laughed and then gasped. "Damn it."
"You are pulling more human characteristics out of these people. You will soon be human enough to feel remorse, if you don't watch it."
Michael almost growled. "Better than being in the wind, the trees, and the water. It's nice to be able to make something happen, with your own two hands"
"With somebody else's two hands, you mean." The man's voice had gotten closer.
Michael briefly realized that he didn't hear any footsteps, when the man would walk, then he felt a searing pain within his mind and howled.
"He's trying to take the body back over, isn't he? You made a mistake in choosing this body. The Powers had some plans for this boy. You haven't ruined them, as of yet. The boy is strong, but you almost killed him." The man grabbed a hold of Michael's hair and yanked him up roughly. "We can't have that."
Michael winced and tried to shake the man off, but he was too weak, physically. He had obviously lost too much blood, when that gunshot had sailed clear through his chest. "I want to keep this body for a while longer. It has a hint of evil to it, without being overly done." Michael gasped when he opened his eyes, and saw empty eyes staring back at him. The eyes were there, but they weren't... holding anything. No soul, no spirit, no life...
"You are starting to understand? This body is just a vessel."
Michael took a moment to look the body over. The face was attractive from top lip to brow, but the bottom half of the face was covered in what seemed to be a veil of sorts. A mask, he concluded, masks were manlier. There was no mistaking the masculinity in this body, either. It had to have been a ninja in some other lifetime, or a big jungle cat. "What is this? What are you trying to prove?"
Slowly the eyes widened and took on a softer shape. The hair started to grow and became full and long. The body became smaller in form and rounded in all of the right places. The mask fell away and revealed a face that made Michael's heart catch. "I'm trying to offer you a gift, in exchange for the boy." The woman's voice was soft and convincing; in only the way a woman could make it. "This body is a shape shifter's. There are very few left in the world. Another additive is that, it won't age, because... Well, mostly because you are unaging and you are running it. It's vacant and we would like to give it to you, in exchange for..." The woman poked Michael's chest and tittered.
Michael scowled and bit his lip. "What's the catch?"
The woman giggled and shook her head. Her hair shook over her shoulders and almost seemed to glitter around her head. "Cynical too?" She gave Michael a smile, but something was off.
The eyes! Michael realized that the smile hadn't reached her eyes, and her eyes were still dead.
The woman smirked. "It's left to you to fill them up. Take this body as a gift, and all you have to do is... leave."
"Leave where?" Michael arched a brow and waited.
The woman started to morph once more. The hair became shorter and blonde and the face and body shaped into a familiar form.
Michael gasped and shook his head. It was Tim. In every way shape and form, it was Tim. All but the eyes.
The boy grinned, sweetly. "Leave Connor. Leave California. Leave the mass population, if you will. We have plans for this area." The young man draped himself over Michael, forcing the boy to lay back. His knees where on both sides of Michael's hips, pinning him in place and his hands rested on the boy's wrists, down at his sides. There faces were mere inches apart. "Do you want this body? You can have it, you know?" He moved just slightly, causing the boy under him to gasp.
Michael groaned and dropped his head back. "I thought temptation was the devil's work." He stated ruefully.
Tim's hand grabbed the back of Michael's head and pulled it forward, until their noses touched. "Well, let me ask you something. What would Jesus do?"
Michael arched a brow and grinned. This had to be a joke. "Turn you down."
The young man grinned and nodded, slowly. "True. I know something that helps, though. You sure as hell aren't Jesus."
Michael thought for a moment and looked the body over, as much as he could from his precariously prone position. "So, can this body do any more tricks?"
The man sat up a little and grinned, maliciously. He bounced up and down and chuckled when the boy beneath the onslaught, swatted at him. "Would you like to try it out?"
TBC
-Okay, lets not throw stones people, cause I'll feel inclined to haul 'em right back atcha'. I know what I'm doing... *looks unsure* Ahh... Please review. I need my ego stroked or I'll just kill 'em all. Not a threat, mind you. It would just be delightfully fun. I mean, why not, if nobody is reading the story?-
--The subtitle was Time to Pray, which is a song by Reverend Horton Heat, mostly because after that whole WWJD comment I feel like I better.--
I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series. Alas... I don't own any of the characters or their extremely cool wardrobes. I am a schmuck on most accounts and Joss is merely a schlimazel. So, there ya' go... Now, I would like to take this opportunity to thank everybody who ever reviewed for me and whoever will review in the future and I would also like to get...
On with the show.
::Stuff and Nonsense- Time To Pray::
"Do you smell the kid, yet?" Spike bent over and brushed some dirt off the toe of his boot. "All I smell is crack cocaine and some frump, down the road scoring a John."
Doyle scoffed and shook his head. "Wow, I just want to thank you for that mental image. I really appreciate that little piece of skank."
Spike leaned up and gave his sire a disgruntled look. "Why did we bring him? Can he make things explode with his mind, or serve any other helpful purpose?"
Angel held back a smirk and shrugged. "He serves as a good shield."
Doyle chuckled and punched Angel on the shoulder. "Hey! I resemble that remark, thank you very much."
Spike poked out his bottom lip and sniffed. "I could use a shield and maybe a cape, for good measure." Spike quirked a brow at the Irishman and grinned. "Can you sew?"
"Perhaps." Doyle scowled. "Can you... bite my ass?"
Spike flashed his fangs and growled. "Perhaps."
Angel stopped walking and turned back toward the two men. He almost let out a laugh, when he realized both were in their demonic visages. "Let me ask one question. Is this saving my son?"
Spike fell out of game face and shrugged, before turning and walking past his sire. "You're lucky I love that kid, ya' bleedin' Mick."
Angel watched Doyle's features smooth out and smiled. "He's temperamental, but..." Angel made a fist and patted his chest with it. "...he's got a good heart." Angel glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Spike picking up an alley cat, by the scruff of the neck, and tossing it in a dumpster, before stomping out of the alley. "At least, he tries... sometimes."
"I dunno' why you keep him around. He's just a immortal teenager." Doyle grunted. "With damaged hair and an attitude problem."
Angel scrunched up his nose and shrugged. "He kind of makes me feel young again... without the whoring and drinking."
Doyle rolled his eyes and shook his head. "So, you keep him around because he makes you feel young?"
Angel scowled. "He's my childe. I keep him around because he is family. Plus, like he said, he loves Connor. Why are you so against him?"
Doyle shrugged and changed the subject. "Let's find your son."
Angel and Doyle walked in silence, in the direction Spike had taken. They turned the corner and found something unexpected. "Spike!"
Spike had Tim pinned against the wall of the building and was sniffing him, thoroughly, while growling low in his throat.
Doyle scrunched up his nose. "That's kind of an odd picture."
Angel dropped his head back and sniffed the air. He knew what Spike smelled and it made his dead blood boil. He flashed demon eyes at the boy and growled. "Where is my son?" He stomped toward the boy and pushed Spike back a half a step. His childe refused to let his prey go, without a fight.
"Why is his blood all over you? You reek of Connor's blood!" Spike all but howled.
Tim eyes were drooping and he gasped a little bit. "Michael wanted to start a... riot." Tim's eyes shut and he wheezed. Spike cinched the boy's shirt tighter in his palm and growled, once more. Tim gasped and grabbed at his throat. "My lungs..." He gargled and trembled in Spike's grip.
Spike looked the boy over and sniffed again. There was no other blood. He dropped the boy to his feet and lifted his shirt. The boy was sweat slick and trembled fiercely, but otherwise he seemed to be unharmed. "Your lungs are bloody fine."
Tim shook his head, emphatically, as he gasped. "Michael... the link... shot in... chest." Tim choked and coughed up some mucous filled blood. "He's... in pain, therefore I'm in pain."
Doyle scoffed. "He's in all this pain, and he still uses words like therefore?"
Spike ignored the stupid comment, that Doyle just had to make, and asked a question of his own. "And that's bad why?" Spike grunted, as he watched the boy fall to his knees. If this was all true, and it wasn't Tim's fault Connor was gone, then it was very inhumane to leave him out in the cold. Spike leaned down and offered the boy a hand.
Tim took the hand and sighed, before passing out cold. He fell sideways and hit the ground, with a thunk. Spike took a step back, in shock. The kid looked pretty dead to him, and Spike knew what dead looked like.
Angel shook his head and sighed. The boy was a victim, not a criminal. He leaned down and picked the boy up, draping him over his shoulder and walking toward the nearest place that was open this late at night. He stepped inside the smoked filled bar and called out for some help. A man with a rifle took a step out of the back room and grunted. "My friend needs some help. I need to use your phone." Angel laid the boy down on the bar and walked toward the man.
The man scowled and shook his head. "I know that kid and he ain't welcome in my bar. He's responsible for bringing that murderer in here."
Spike smirked at the bartender and answered snarkily. "Well, looks like he's on a roll, cause he's just brought three more murderin' types into your lovely establishment, and he isn't even awake to realize it." Spike vamped out and hissed at the man.
The man shrugged. "I have demons come in here all the time. 's not like it's anything new to me. Now, get the kid offa' my bar and outta' here."
Spike shook his head in feigned sadness and bit his lip, with sharpened canines. "Was that a command? Cause if it was, I just want you to know that my friend here..." Spike pointed a thumb at Doyle. "...he doesn't react well to commands."
The man crossed his meaty arms across his chest and grunted. "He doesn't, does he? What's he gonna do about it?"
Doyle leaned into Spike's side and whispered harshly. "Yeah Spike, what am I going to do about it?"
Spike grinned at the confused Irishman. "You'd be surprised what he can do about it. Doesn't look like much now, but I'll tell you what... He's something to behold when he vamps out!"
"Vampires don't scare me none." The man took a few steps toward the men and sniffed.
While the bartender was establishing his power and manhood, Angel had slipped into the back room and found a phone. He dialed a familiar number and sighed when the other line was picked up. "I'm at MLK and fifth. I need you down here, now!" He hung up the phone and walked back into the room, where he found the bartender retching into a bucket behind the counter.
The man wiped his mouth with the back of a beefy palm. "He does got a disease! Get him out of here or I'm calling the cops! Or maybe a priest!"
Doyle frowned and shifted back into his human face. "I'm gonna' hurt you for that." He muttered, as they walked back outside and onto the street.
"We gave Angel enough time and a good enough distraction to get him to the phone and not get anyone killed. Plus, I got to poke fun at your horny face. All in all, I say that we did quite well." Spike grinned at the Irishman. "Horny face..." He chuckled, in a juvenile fashion and shook his head. "I crack meself up."
Doyle rolled his eyes and gave into the laughter. He looked back at the older vampire and the boy, who was draped nonchalantly over in his arms. The kid looked like a rag doll. "Did you get to the phone?"
Angel nodded and looked down the road. "We'll have help soon." He looked at the pallid face that lay against his shoulder and sighed. "Hopefully it will be soon enough."
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Michael grunted in pain and grasped at the bed sheet, he was laying on. The white linens where slowly turning red and then brown.
"Now, why would you go and do a thing like that, back at the bar?" The voice was lilting, but there was no accent to speak of. It was musical, but it burned his ears.
"I wanted to have a fun night out with a friend. What's so wrong about that?" Michael grabbed his chest and almost heaved.
"Quit touching your chest. I have it healing, but I decided to do it slowly, so you can learn a lesson from all of this nastiness."
"Very few out there that can heal a punctured lung. Who are you?"
The man laughed and shook his head. "I thought you had an idea of who I was. When you threw that broken bottle into my windpipe, I was positive you knew." There was a sigh in the voice. "You always were a bastard, even without a body. If not for you, the Druids would still be around."
"And that's good?" Michael groaned, when he tried to sit up and look at the man."
"Not necessarily. They worshipped you and you betrayed them, that is all." The voice was thoughtful.
"They sacrificed children to me." Michael laughed and then gasped. "Damn it."
"You are pulling more human characteristics out of these people. You will soon be human enough to feel remorse, if you don't watch it."
Michael almost growled. "Better than being in the wind, the trees, and the water. It's nice to be able to make something happen, with your own two hands"
"With somebody else's two hands, you mean." The man's voice had gotten closer.
Michael briefly realized that he didn't hear any footsteps, when the man would walk, then he felt a searing pain within his mind and howled.
"He's trying to take the body back over, isn't he? You made a mistake in choosing this body. The Powers had some plans for this boy. You haven't ruined them, as of yet. The boy is strong, but you almost killed him." The man grabbed a hold of Michael's hair and yanked him up roughly. "We can't have that."
Michael winced and tried to shake the man off, but he was too weak, physically. He had obviously lost too much blood, when that gunshot had sailed clear through his chest. "I want to keep this body for a while longer. It has a hint of evil to it, without being overly done." Michael gasped when he opened his eyes, and saw empty eyes staring back at him. The eyes were there, but they weren't... holding anything. No soul, no spirit, no life...
"You are starting to understand? This body is just a vessel."
Michael took a moment to look the body over. The face was attractive from top lip to brow, but the bottom half of the face was covered in what seemed to be a veil of sorts. A mask, he concluded, masks were manlier. There was no mistaking the masculinity in this body, either. It had to have been a ninja in some other lifetime, or a big jungle cat. "What is this? What are you trying to prove?"
Slowly the eyes widened and took on a softer shape. The hair started to grow and became full and long. The body became smaller in form and rounded in all of the right places. The mask fell away and revealed a face that made Michael's heart catch. "I'm trying to offer you a gift, in exchange for the boy." The woman's voice was soft and convincing; in only the way a woman could make it. "This body is a shape shifter's. There are very few left in the world. Another additive is that, it won't age, because... Well, mostly because you are unaging and you are running it. It's vacant and we would like to give it to you, in exchange for..." The woman poked Michael's chest and tittered.
Michael scowled and bit his lip. "What's the catch?"
The woman giggled and shook her head. Her hair shook over her shoulders and almost seemed to glitter around her head. "Cynical too?" She gave Michael a smile, but something was off.
The eyes! Michael realized that the smile hadn't reached her eyes, and her eyes were still dead.
The woman smirked. "It's left to you to fill them up. Take this body as a gift, and all you have to do is... leave."
"Leave where?" Michael arched a brow and waited.
The woman started to morph once more. The hair became shorter and blonde and the face and body shaped into a familiar form.
Michael gasped and shook his head. It was Tim. In every way shape and form, it was Tim. All but the eyes.
The boy grinned, sweetly. "Leave Connor. Leave California. Leave the mass population, if you will. We have plans for this area." The young man draped himself over Michael, forcing the boy to lay back. His knees where on both sides of Michael's hips, pinning him in place and his hands rested on the boy's wrists, down at his sides. There faces were mere inches apart. "Do you want this body? You can have it, you know?" He moved just slightly, causing the boy under him to gasp.
Michael groaned and dropped his head back. "I thought temptation was the devil's work." He stated ruefully.
Tim's hand grabbed the back of Michael's head and pulled it forward, until their noses touched. "Well, let me ask you something. What would Jesus do?"
Michael arched a brow and grinned. This had to be a joke. "Turn you down."
The young man grinned and nodded, slowly. "True. I know something that helps, though. You sure as hell aren't Jesus."
Michael thought for a moment and looked the body over, as much as he could from his precariously prone position. "So, can this body do any more tricks?"
The man sat up a little and grinned, maliciously. He bounced up and down and chuckled when the boy beneath the onslaught, swatted at him. "Would you like to try it out?"
TBC
-Okay, lets not throw stones people, cause I'll feel inclined to haul 'em right back atcha'. I know what I'm doing... *looks unsure* Ahh... Please review. I need my ego stroked or I'll just kill 'em all. Not a threat, mind you. It would just be delightfully fun. I mean, why not, if nobody is reading the story?-
--The subtitle was Time to Pray, which is a song by Reverend Horton Heat, mostly because after that whole WWJD comment I feel like I better.--