Title: Dear Boy
Writer: Azure K Mello
Part: (2/?)
Challenge/plot bunny by Angela, who wanted chipped Spike interacting with human Darla and for Angel to swoop in playing our golden boy's brooding night!
Setting: After Angel's Untouched and set during Buffy's Crush which has been moved up in the time line as Dru went straight to Sunnydale and was never in LA.
Rated R
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After two more days, two more attempts, and two more failures, Darla decided to take leave of her childe. She hated having her golden childe so close to her while he was farther away than ever. After the last dream she watched she knew that she would never have her dear boy, not the way she wanted him. He was well and truly broken and it was the fool childe's fault.
She had thought to go back to the night Angel received his soul. She wanted to replace the memory of her screaming, beating him, and throwing him out, with one of comfort and gentleness. Vampires have odd memories. After two hundred and fifty years you don't really care what you ate for breakfast one day in April of the year dot. Slowly memories become sorted and then conveniently lost. Only the important events stay with you. While aware that you did eat on that day in April you don't remember it. Darla sorted through the filing cabinets of Angel's mind. She came to the night in question and paused. She looked over the short hand minutes of the night. 1) eat gypsy. 2) hunt with Will. 3) get cursed. 4) minutia. 5) pain.
The unaccountable time was most likely spent moping or used in some other equally dull manner. Looking in the file she saw a transcript of events but wasn't particularly interested. Behind the summery was videotape. How typically Angel to have not invested in a DVD player. As she watched on her screen she fast forward to get to scene five: the pain. She knew that she had destroyed her boy that night, she saw it in his eyes on the night he killed her. When he plunged that wood into her she saw that he wasn't protecting the slayer but getting some form of restitution.
She stopped the film when she had reached scene four, the scene Angel's mind had titled minutia. She saw a slightly blurred and distorted version of herself standing over her cowering childe. The fuzziness of the picture suggested that it had faded and that it would soon be nothing more than a whisper. But if that, if *she* was the minutia what merited the title of pain? Desperately she fast-forwarded not knowing what she would find. And when she finally came to the memory she accepted once and for all that she couldn't fix her boy: he was well and truly broken.
She stepped through the screen like so many times before. This time, however, she had not intention of interacting with the events. She was simply there to watch. He was standing out side in the shadows. Covered in his own blood he was weeping. It wasn't the tears of a physical wound. She peered over his shoulder to see what he was looking at. Framed in the window there she was, kicking Spike in the side. He was lying in a pool of his own blood and sobbing, begging. He had been turned twenty years prior, the only marks on him should have been possessive, familial scars. Marks of love and pride. But instead he was covered in battle wounds inflicted by the people who were meant to protect him. And yet he still believed blindly that Darla wouldn't *really* hurt him. He thought she loved him deep down. The only thing that had saved him that night was Darla's exhaust.
Angel was sobbing and she could feel the pain, anger, and self- loathing roll off of him. He should have been in there. Fuck his fears, he should have been protecting Spike. One's childer come before personal safety. But there he stayed watching as his god beat his Angel. At the sound of her own voice she looked back to the scene. "You're the reason! It's your fault! Yours!"
"Darla, please, Sire! I. . . the gypsies! Not me! Please!" William's words were labored as though broken bone was pushing into his lungs. So young, he still believed he needed to breath. "Please!"
"You drove him away!"
"You beat the shite out of him!" replied Will, perhaps it was not wise to anger the strong woman in stilettos.
"You made him weak! He had *affection* for you!"
"It's not true!!" he sobbed, hurt by his words and her actions.
"You lie, boy!" she was kicking him so hard she left dents in his body in the shape of pointed shoes.
"No! Honestly!" His posh voice had come to the forefront in his fear and pain, the affected drawl long gone. "He told me! I asked him, begged him to love me. He told me I was his childe and nothing more. That I was his but that he was not mine! I was nothing to him!"
Angelus collapsed to his knees as he keened into the night. The people inside did not here him, too caught up in their own pain. Darla watched over him dispassionately and turned back to the window. She watched as the Dream Darla shook her head and left the room after breaking the heel of her shoe off in an open wound on Spike's side. Drusilla came in and nursed her "Sweet William" in much the same manner as she doctored her dolls, Darla was shocked the boy lived through it.
"Drusilla," he panted, "We must leave. Darla doesn't want me here. You do, pet, right? Take me somewhere else? Somewhere safe?" he begged her knowing full well that he couldn't walk unaided and he needed to leave before Darla came back for round two.
"But, Daddy?" she asked with a confused light in her eyes.
"He's left us, love. The git left us." The pair disappeared for a few minutes as Dru dressed her ward in clean clothes and packed her finery away. And then they were back in the window and coming out the door.
Angel lurched to his feet, "Will," his words were faint and whipped away with the wind. Yet still Spike turned instantly, if slowly back to Angel. His face was an unreadable mask of pain, "I love you."
Spike stared at his for a moment, "Fuck off." He turned away and hobbled off with Dru half carrying him.
"Who was that?" Drusilla asked, not recognizing the aura around her sire.
"No one, pet." Spike glanced back and looked Angel in the eye. "No one."
She felt a force, like a bad comedian being pulled from the stage. Suddenly she was back in front of the filing cabinet and even more suddenly back in her own body on Angel's bad. Her body had gotten acclimated to the effects of the spell but tonight something was different; Angel was awake and looking at her. "Last few nights, e've bin havin weird dreams. Care to esplain, *Sire*?" His heavy Irish drawl was present in his anger and fear laced voice. "Din't e kill ye?"
"Goodbye, dear boy. You wont be seeing me again."
She got up to leave but Angel grabbed her arm and spoke into her face, "Is there a reason fer yer bein' human?" She shook him off and stared at him, defying him to cross her. "Ye may be human. But the next time e see ye? Em killin' ye."
And now here she was, standing alone in the apartment Lindsey had gotten her. He had scouted down Drusilla for her, sweet boy. She wouldn't torture him when she finally ate him. She was headed to Sunnydale, the place she died. She was headed into hell to be sired by a halfwit. Life, for Darla, could get no worse.
Writer: Azure K Mello
Part: (2/?)
Challenge/plot bunny by Angela, who wanted chipped Spike interacting with human Darla and for Angel to swoop in playing our golden boy's brooding night!
Setting: After Angel's Untouched and set during Buffy's Crush which has been moved up in the time line as Dru went straight to Sunnydale and was never in LA.
Rated R
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After two more days, two more attempts, and two more failures, Darla decided to take leave of her childe. She hated having her golden childe so close to her while he was farther away than ever. After the last dream she watched she knew that she would never have her dear boy, not the way she wanted him. He was well and truly broken and it was the fool childe's fault.
She had thought to go back to the night Angel received his soul. She wanted to replace the memory of her screaming, beating him, and throwing him out, with one of comfort and gentleness. Vampires have odd memories. After two hundred and fifty years you don't really care what you ate for breakfast one day in April of the year dot. Slowly memories become sorted and then conveniently lost. Only the important events stay with you. While aware that you did eat on that day in April you don't remember it. Darla sorted through the filing cabinets of Angel's mind. She came to the night in question and paused. She looked over the short hand minutes of the night. 1) eat gypsy. 2) hunt with Will. 3) get cursed. 4) minutia. 5) pain.
The unaccountable time was most likely spent moping or used in some other equally dull manner. Looking in the file she saw a transcript of events but wasn't particularly interested. Behind the summery was videotape. How typically Angel to have not invested in a DVD player. As she watched on her screen she fast forward to get to scene five: the pain. She knew that she had destroyed her boy that night, she saw it in his eyes on the night he killed her. When he plunged that wood into her she saw that he wasn't protecting the slayer but getting some form of restitution.
She stopped the film when she had reached scene four, the scene Angel's mind had titled minutia. She saw a slightly blurred and distorted version of herself standing over her cowering childe. The fuzziness of the picture suggested that it had faded and that it would soon be nothing more than a whisper. But if that, if *she* was the minutia what merited the title of pain? Desperately she fast-forwarded not knowing what she would find. And when she finally came to the memory she accepted once and for all that she couldn't fix her boy: he was well and truly broken.
She stepped through the screen like so many times before. This time, however, she had not intention of interacting with the events. She was simply there to watch. He was standing out side in the shadows. Covered in his own blood he was weeping. It wasn't the tears of a physical wound. She peered over his shoulder to see what he was looking at. Framed in the window there she was, kicking Spike in the side. He was lying in a pool of his own blood and sobbing, begging. He had been turned twenty years prior, the only marks on him should have been possessive, familial scars. Marks of love and pride. But instead he was covered in battle wounds inflicted by the people who were meant to protect him. And yet he still believed blindly that Darla wouldn't *really* hurt him. He thought she loved him deep down. The only thing that had saved him that night was Darla's exhaust.
Angel was sobbing and she could feel the pain, anger, and self- loathing roll off of him. He should have been in there. Fuck his fears, he should have been protecting Spike. One's childer come before personal safety. But there he stayed watching as his god beat his Angel. At the sound of her own voice she looked back to the scene. "You're the reason! It's your fault! Yours!"
"Darla, please, Sire! I. . . the gypsies! Not me! Please!" William's words were labored as though broken bone was pushing into his lungs. So young, he still believed he needed to breath. "Please!"
"You drove him away!"
"You beat the shite out of him!" replied Will, perhaps it was not wise to anger the strong woman in stilettos.
"You made him weak! He had *affection* for you!"
"It's not true!!" he sobbed, hurt by his words and her actions.
"You lie, boy!" she was kicking him so hard she left dents in his body in the shape of pointed shoes.
"No! Honestly!" His posh voice had come to the forefront in his fear and pain, the affected drawl long gone. "He told me! I asked him, begged him to love me. He told me I was his childe and nothing more. That I was his but that he was not mine! I was nothing to him!"
Angelus collapsed to his knees as he keened into the night. The people inside did not here him, too caught up in their own pain. Darla watched over him dispassionately and turned back to the window. She watched as the Dream Darla shook her head and left the room after breaking the heel of her shoe off in an open wound on Spike's side. Drusilla came in and nursed her "Sweet William" in much the same manner as she doctored her dolls, Darla was shocked the boy lived through it.
"Drusilla," he panted, "We must leave. Darla doesn't want me here. You do, pet, right? Take me somewhere else? Somewhere safe?" he begged her knowing full well that he couldn't walk unaided and he needed to leave before Darla came back for round two.
"But, Daddy?" she asked with a confused light in her eyes.
"He's left us, love. The git left us." The pair disappeared for a few minutes as Dru dressed her ward in clean clothes and packed her finery away. And then they were back in the window and coming out the door.
Angel lurched to his feet, "Will," his words were faint and whipped away with the wind. Yet still Spike turned instantly, if slowly back to Angel. His face was an unreadable mask of pain, "I love you."
Spike stared at his for a moment, "Fuck off." He turned away and hobbled off with Dru half carrying him.
"Who was that?" Drusilla asked, not recognizing the aura around her sire.
"No one, pet." Spike glanced back and looked Angel in the eye. "No one."
She felt a force, like a bad comedian being pulled from the stage. Suddenly she was back in front of the filing cabinet and even more suddenly back in her own body on Angel's bad. Her body had gotten acclimated to the effects of the spell but tonight something was different; Angel was awake and looking at her. "Last few nights, e've bin havin weird dreams. Care to esplain, *Sire*?" His heavy Irish drawl was present in his anger and fear laced voice. "Din't e kill ye?"
"Goodbye, dear boy. You wont be seeing me again."
She got up to leave but Angel grabbed her arm and spoke into her face, "Is there a reason fer yer bein' human?" She shook him off and stared at him, defying him to cross her. "Ye may be human. But the next time e see ye? Em killin' ye."
And now here she was, standing alone in the apartment Lindsey had gotten her. He had scouted down Drusilla for her, sweet boy. She wouldn't torture him when she finally ate him. She was headed to Sunnydale, the place she died. She was headed into hell to be sired by a halfwit. Life, for Darla, could get no worse.
