Authors Note: Thanks for reviewing this story. I have used elements from the animated series, but only certain parts (eg, the Drip Den, MJ in college, etc.). Peter will still be following the 'With great power comes great responsibility' teachings and a Peter/Buffy pairing may happen.
Chapter 3: Vampires?
By 3:00am, the, 'BLEED NECK DRY PRIVATE CLUB,' was nothing more than a demolition test site. The tables and chairs were just splinters and spikes of wood, strewn across the bar, which was torn in two. All the partying vampires, that had been dancing that night, had now become many heaps of ash slumped across the flooring. The largest vampire congregating spot in the big apple had become the chief dust producer in Eastern America. Leaning against the wall was a very bored looking Spike, staring longingly at a bottle of whisky, that he could not touch. Behind one table was a quivering Vlagre, covering his face with his upper limbs. Lights flickered and the room was darker than it had been all night. In the midst of the destruction stood Angel, holding a stake in each hand and panting heavily. His coat was ripped in several places and his shirt was torn across his torso. The dark hero had challenged every member of the club and destroyed each one. Some of the demons and vampires Angel had recognised from his regret filled decades as the murdering Angelus. He steadied his breath and placed his stakes on the inside of his coat. He turned on Vlagre.
"You… You said…" Vlagre pleaded desperately. Angel stood over the cowering vampire, his face filled with disgust.
"I said I wouldn't kill you." Angel informed. "I said nothing about not killing the other vamps." He hardly moved, Vlagre started to whimper behind his arms. "When did Vlagre the viscous go from one of the most renowned and cruel demons of this world, to an insignificant maggot, living on the streets, trying to get by in an ever growing pitiless society?"
"Now where have I heard that story." Spike interrupted from the back of the room. Angel did not let this distract him, he just stared at Vlagre. He knelt down to Vlagre's level and mercilessly glared in to Vlagre's pupils.
"I've heard the rumours Vlagre." Angel whispered. "I know what that slayer did to you in the thirties." His voice raised suddenly. Angel could see tears of shame starting to flow from Vlagre's baggy eyes. "And if what I remember from my life as Angelus is correct…" He started, rising to his feet, "… You deserved it! Happy Halloween." Angel spun on his feet and stormed out, up the stairs and slammed the metal double doors behind him, his dark coat following, gracefully behind. Several lumps of ash, which were once vampires fell from the upper level of the club as a result of Angel's slamming of the doors.
Vlagre still cowered in his small dark part of the club, trying to stop himself from crying. He removed his hands from his face and his eyes moved over everything in the bar until they finally stopped on Spike. Spike had returned his attentions to the whiskey bottle again. When he noticed that Vlagre was watching him, he lifted his head and stared right in to Vlagre's old face.
"What's the point in still being on this Earth if you can't get pissed?" He asked. Vlagre couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. Spike then slowly stood up and walked after Angel. "Not that I could get pissed when I was bloodsucking," Spike murmured to himself, "but at least I could touch the sodding bottle." Just before he got to the door he turned back to look at Vlagre. "I mean what is the bloody point?"
"Okay, I'm sorry." A confused Peter Parker said. "You want me to believe in vampires?"
"Yes." Rupert Giles confirmed. "Like the ones you saw earlier tonight." Peter sat in his chair, silent. His apartment had a tense atmosphere. Sitting in front of Peter were Buffy, Giles and Willow, who were trying desperately to make him believe in vampires. Faith, Kennedy and Tracey were over in Peter's kitchen, discussing something that Peter couldn't hear. Xander had gone to get Dawn, because Buffy had realised that the whole day had gone by and she had left her sister in their hotel room. Buffy started to look around, noticing the stairs, the giant TV, the dining table and all the furniture. She then remembered that Peter was only a newspaper photographer and a student.
"Does someone else live here?" She asked Peter, who looked up with interest.
"Yeah." He answered, "My roommate, Harry."
"Well it's nearly the morning." Buffy informed. "Don't you think he would be here by now?" Peter took his stare off Buffy and continued to look down at his chest.
"No." He told her, "I got a message off him while I was in the hospital. He's staying in his family house for a few days." Willow was staring at a framed photograph of a stunning mansion on the wall.
"Nice house." She said, nodding at the photo.
"Yeah." Peter agreed, "That's Harry's family mansion." Buffy and Giles looked up to photo and stared at it in amazement.
"This, 'Harry…'" Willow started, "… is it Harry Osborn?"
Peter nodded.
"The son of Norman Osborn?" She further questioned.
Peter twitched at the mention of the name. Buffy grabbed his arm.
"Are you okay?" She asked him, easing her grip. He replied with a simple nod. "Does Harry know about your…" Peter knew what she was going to say and answered her before she finished her question.
"I can't ever tell him." Peter said, looking very depressed. The slayers in the kitchen had stopped talking and were walking over to the others, to see what was going on.
"Why?" Buffy asked.
"Because he thinks Spider-man killed his father." Peter continued sadly. He got up from his chair and walked to the French windows. He leaned against the right side of the window frame. The memories of the worst night of his life burned in his brain. His forehead felt scalded. He saw the image of his best friend's father's stomach being pierced by the gigantic blade at the front of his glider.
"Did you?" Buffy enquired further, starting to worry if she was talking to a super-powered murderer.
"It's more complicated than that." Peter said, trying to avoid the story he had hoped never to tell again. "All I can say is that Harry's dad, Norman, was not well. He was a violent criminal with a mental problem who was called the Green Goblin by all the papers." It took Peter a few seconds to breathe between each word. "But you know what the worst part about it was…" Peter turned back to face the scoobies, "… The worst part is that the last thing Norman said was, 'Peter… Don't tell Harry.'" Peter's memory kept seeing a picture of Norman Osborn blood-filled mouth uttering the same words. The phone rang, Peter broke off and walked in to his kitchen. He returned, with the phone in his hand and walked to his stairs. "Excuse me, for a minute." He said climbing up the flight of steps.
The scoobies sat in Peter's living room, none of them knew what to say or do. The silence was tense, growing tenser and tenser every second.
Earlier that night, after Angel had left the, 'BLEED NECK DRY PRIVATE CLUB,' He and Spike had gone straight to NYPD HQ, (New York Police Department Headquarters). After entering through a window, or walking through the walls as Spike did, the two of them made their way to the police files office. On the way to the files room Angel tugged at his new replacement clothes he had received from the New York Wolfram and Hart offices.
"This new shirt and jacket are the best clothes I've ever worn." Angel told Spike.
"Alright, alright." Spike agreed, exhausted.
Angel had to break off the lock to gain access but once inside, started to search the files he needed via computer.
"So what are we looking for?" Spike broke the record breaking silence between the two of them.
"Vlagre gave me a date to search for." Angel pressed the keys of the computer's keyboard. "He said that our new demon is linked to that date." The data the warrior had entered was processing loudly through all the servers in the room.
"So how long do think it'll take to find the bloody thing." Spike asked, trying to find an excuse to swear.
Angel smirked back at him. Spike took in the sight of his sire, it filled him loathing.
'Pompous prick.' Spike thought to himself.
"Huh?" Angel said in surprise, "It's not here."
"What?"
"The file, it's been deleted."
"How?"
"I don't know." Angel checked again, still nothing. "Wait, here's something." On the screen Angel found a name written in a blood like font.
'Peter Parker.'
"Come on, we'd better get out of here." Angel lifted himself, after writing the name and the date Vlagre had given him on a piece of paper, from the chair and headed for the door. Spike followed and in the building's corridor, found themselves being aimed at by two security guards.
"Hands on heads!" One of the guards ordered. Angel slowly raised his hands to avoid a fight with the innocent humans. Spike just looked smugly at them. "I said…" The guard bellowed , pointing his gun straight at Spike, "… Hands on heads!" When Spike continued to disobey the guard's commands, the guard's gun went off. BANG!
The two guards dropped their guns and stared blankly at Spike. The bullets had gone straight through him.
"We don't want trouble." Angel told the guards, lowering his arms peacefully.
"Mr. Angel?" The other guard asked. "So sorry sir." He apologised.
"What?" Angel asked him back, a definite tone of confusion in his voice.
"The NYPD has been owned by Wolfram and Hart ever since you took over the company sir." The first guard explained.
"Figures." Angel and Spike both commented.
"Wow." Faith gasped.
"Yeah." Willow agreed, "I never thought that Norman Osborn was a criminal. True I found his death suspicious, but…"
The room fell silent. No one dared to move or talk. The room was as cold and lifeless as the dark side of the moon. Buffy breathed heavily and Tracey breathed quickly. They were shocked that Spider-man's life was like that. KNOCK, KNOCK. Someone was tapping on Peter's door. Buffy stood to answer it. She opened the door.
"Peter Parke… Buffy?"
Buffy moved her head up and found herself staring in to Angel's face.
"Angel?"
"What are you doing here?" They both asked simultaneously. "I'm just… You first." Spike past Angel through the door, without actually walking through anything.
"Ahh, the articulate new world of slayers and vampires." He laughed. Buffy instantly saw him and jumped to hug her former vampire lover. Spike raised his hands to stop her.
"No, Buffy wait!"
SMASH!
Buffy fell through him and on to one of Peter's wooden chairs, which broke in to large pieces of wood. Angel helped up his ex-girlfriend. He looked around the room, and found the scoobies looking back.
"Did all of Sunnydale move to New York?" Spike said, noticing what Angel was looking at.
"Does Peter Parker live here?" Angel instantly became very serious.
"Yes." Giles answered him, "He's upstairs at the moment."
"Right. I need to talk to him. So…" Angel's head turned to Buffy, then the rest of the scoobies. All of their eyes were fixed on Spike. "Yes he is a ghost… spectre or… I don't know." He assured the scoobies that they weren't seeing things.
Buffy looked up at Spike, teary eyed.
"Are you coming back with us…" She asked the spectre, then whispered "… With me." She tried to grab his hand, but her hand went through his fist. Angel felt violently sick, the thought of Buffy actually wanting to be with Spike made his stomach clench.
"Sorry love." He regretfully rejected her, "My glorious return to this world comes at a price. Guess who they got me haunting." He nodded to his right, indicating Angel. Buffy clenched her eyes, holding back her tears. She reopened them and beamed at her past lovers, hiding the emotion.
"Right." She said, thinking of something else to say. She turned to Angel, "Why do you need to talk to Peter?"
"It's about…" Angel started to respond. He looked towards the huge window on the opposite wall. He saw the sunlight slowly creep up from behind the city's skyscrapers. "… Time to go!" He shouted, running out of the apartment. The inhabitants of the room watched after him.
"Umm… Who was that?" Tracey murmured to the others.
"If it helps," Kennedy turned to her, "I don't know who he was either."
"Well…" Spike cheered. "Time for me to say goodbye." Buffy shivered as she heard him say these words. He noticed this and glared in to her face. She tried to look away, but eventually returned his intent look. "I've got a feeling we'll be crossing paths again." Spike left Buffy standing in the New York dwelling, walking backwards through the door. Everyone stayed motionless, all eyes were on Buffy. After a moment of silence, Buffy sad face was cracked by a huge smirk.
Peter came rushing down the stairs, jumping over Buffy's head, he landed on both feet in front of his door. He grabbed his coat off a hook by the door.
"I gotta go." He said regretfully to Buffy. "I just got a call from my aunt. She wants to see if I'm alright after what happened the other day." He went to open the door, but turned back quickly. "Oh yeah, she doesn't know about my secret, okay? In fact, nobody does. So if anyone comes looking for me…" He again went for the door handle.
"Peter?" She asked, "Did you give any thought to what I told you about?" He turned back again with a sarcastic smirk.
"Sorry, but nothing you can ever say will make me believe in the supernatural." And with that, Spike returned through the door and walked straight through Peter's back. He stood in front of the photographer. Peter dropped his coat.
"Just wanted to say…" Spike turned to face Peter, "Are you okay mate?" Peter's eyes were wide and blinking fast, slowly looking up to the ceiling, his eyes finally fell shut. The next thing anyone knew, he was unconscious on the floor.
Peter Parker's subconscious imagination conquered his, dead to the world, brain. Dark colours, that shone in his mind, dodged through the vigilante's thinking field galloped and twirled, leaving Peter to stare at them in awe. He saw his reflection appear before him in some sort of mirror. He looked intently at his mousy hair and average looks, recognising that he was dreaming. He was calm and relaxed, comfortable with his own two eyes and features staring steadily back at him. Slowly the likeness faded away in the mirror. Peter felt worried. He panicked and tried to grab his reflection and stop it from disappearing. The likeness seemed to be unchanged from the calmness it had been before.
"Wait!" Peter yelled after the image of himself. "No!"
Peter continued to mentally chase himself and suddenly clenched his heart. It had stopped beating, his body felt cold and lifeless. He felt his face, cutting his finger on a fang in his upper jaw. He felt further up his face and felt that his skin had wrinkled, causing his face to appear demonic, like the men he had killed before. He fell back behind him and in to an old wooden chair. He closed his eyes and opened them again.
"Where?" He murmured, feeling perplexed. He was sitting at a desk in the Daily Bugle, with an array of photos of Buffy in front of him. "Buffy." He moaned softly to himself as he ran a finger along the picture. Before him he saw a postal worker's hands hold a thick book over the desk and violently drop it. Peter protected his face as dust was sent flying around the air. After the dirt settled, Peter looked closely at the strange, mysterious book. The book was an old leather bound volume, with the word, 'Vampyr,' written, in gold, across the cover. He opened the cover cautiously, afraid of what may be contained within the volume.
Peter was amazed at what he could see. He saw Buffy and hundreds of other girls, of different races and appearances, fighting hideous demons and monsters. This book was showing all the slayers from history, fighting their continuous battle against evil.
Peter peered closely at the page of the book and gradually became part of it. When he realised where his imaginative self was he looked around panicky. He looked blankly forward just to see Buffy cut the head off a demon, with a rusty looking axe, and sprint toward him. She twirled the axe in her hands and turned it so that a pointed wooden spike on the opposite side was heading for Peter's chest. He saw himself turn to dust as he fell, feeling burnt, but saved at the same time.
Peter awoke on his bed upstairs. He could smell a strong scent in front of him. He looked forward and found a familiar hand holding a small brown bottle under his nose. He looked up to his left and saw Buffy beaming back at him. The room was dark, the lights were off and his window was obscured by blinds.
"Buffy?" He said drowsily.
"You were saying?" Buffy mocked him as he clenched his eyes. "His name is Spike."
"Who?" Peter looked up at her.
"The guy who walked through you." She laughed.
"So you saw it too?" Peter asked, "I guess that rules out the possibility of me being drugged… Unless you were the one who drugged me." Buffy's eyes widened at these words. "But that's not possible." He confirmed himself. Her eyes became keen with interest.
"Not that I'm saying you're wrong but… why?" Buffy slowly asked. "Come to think of it, if you don't believe in vampires, when I killed that one on that roof you must've thought I had killed a man. How come you didn't freak?"
"One of my powers includes a sense I feel when danger's near." He explained. She stared at him, interested. "It's all to do with spider's being able to feel vibrations in the earth and air. That's why I trust you. If you were any kind of threat, I would have known about it the second I saw you." He examined his room from his bed, his eyes widened with horror as he stared at the phone. "Aunt May?" He panicked, trying to jump from his bed, but was stopped by Buffy.
"It's okay." She assured him. "She called earlier, we let the machine get it. She said she couldn't stay to see you, she was going over to Mrs. something or other's house."
"Watson?" Peter nodded. She replied with a nod. Peter looked down gloomily.
"What's the matter?" Buffy asked, with a put on smile.
"Anna Watson's probably the second in command of the, 'I hate Spidey/Peter Parker,' fan club." Peter explained as he rose from his bed. He moved over to his window, the light was blocked by his blinds. He peered through one and squinted when the light hit his eye.
"Who's first?" Buffy asked jokingly, still beaming. Peter grinned back at her and pulled on his blinds, opening them and revealing the view of the opposite buildings.
"Him." He said, indicating a billboard across the street. On it was a gigantic picture of J. Jonah. Jameson, smiling and holding a copy of the Daily Bugle. On the cover of the paper read, 'SPIDER-MAN: HERO OR MENACE?' Buffy's eyes took a moment to adjust to the new level of radiance. She saw the poster and looked back at Peter.
"Who is that?" She asked, intrigued.
"J. Jonah. Jameson." Peter stated, "The reincarnated Adolf Hitler, only in this life he has a weirder hairstyle." He sniggered, looked back and saw that Buffy was also giggling. "The worst part is he's my boss." Peter laughed outrageously. He walked back to his bed and practically fell on it. He stretched and sat back up and looked over his shoulder to Buffy. "What kind of a name is, 'Spike?'" He asked her curiously.
"It's short for William." Buffy replied. "Have you ever heard of, 'William the Bloody?'" Peter stared at her as her lips moved and the impossible words were being spoken.
"I've read things." Peter answered, "I've read stories about famous monsters and vampires. I thought they were just stories though. You know horror books?"
"You are very much mistaken." Buffy told him.
"If vampires are real…" Peter began, "… How come he was standing in sunlight?"
"That's simple." Buffy smirked, "He died a few weeks ago in California." Buffy's smirk slowly disappeared as she stared down at the wooden flooring. Two tears leaked from each eye. Peter saw this, he placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, are you okay?" He asked cautiously, knowing that his past with comforting women was not good. She sniffed and threw her head back. Her face lit up again as she looked in his direction.
"Yeah." She grinned. She stood up and tried to leave the conversation, but before she could grab the door handle, a web shot from behind her and covered the timber obstacle. She jumped back in shock and gaped at Peter, whose middle fingers were still pressed against his palm.
"Now don't give me that." He ordered friendlily. "Talk to me." She groaned as she turned back to Peter, she did not want to talk. She slowly strolled back to the bed-sit.
"I don't think we need to go in to that." Buffy casually pleaded. Peter gently rose from the bed.
"Okay." He practically whispered. He strode to the door and began removing his web. Buffy knelt back down on to Peter's bed behind him. Peter roughly scraped the webbing from the door. Buffy rubbed the tears from her eyes and slightly sniffed, Peter felt a little frustrated at the noise of her snuffle. He went to open the exit, but instead slammed it shut again. "Okay, something is definitely wrong!" He exclaimed.
Buffy jumped, startled by Peter's sudden outburst. By the time she had recovered from the shock Peter was standing before her looking down expectantly.
"What?" She murmured.
"Why is it that you're sniffing or crying when no one's around?"
Buffy looked away.
"I don't know what you mean." She confirmed anxiously.
"Is it something to do with this, 'Spike,' guy?" Peter demanded. Buffy's eyes welled up, looking slowly away from her stare and moved her head down to face the wooden floor. Peter watched as patches of tears dampened his floor. "Buffy?" He knelt down, placing his hand on her left shoulder. "What is it?" She continued to sniff as she cupped her hands over her face. After one extremely large sniff she removed her hands. She looked to his face and saw an inquisitive look.
"It's Spike." She gave in to his question, "When we were fighting this evil in California…" She found it hard to get out the sentence. "… I told him that I loved him." She gazed up at the ceiling as Peter sat next to her on the bed. "He told me that I didn't, you know, love him." She looked over to Peter, who stared back, not knowing how to feel. "Then he died." She concluded, "Killed by the sun and the collapse of the Hell Mouth."
"The collapse of the Hell Mouth?" Peter seemed suddenly very interested. "Do you mean that Californian town that disappeared last year?" Buffy continued to stare at him.
"How did you find out about Sunnydale?" She asked.
"I work at a daily newspaper. A town vanishes off the face of the Earth, I think people would notice." He smirked again, as did Buffy. They shared a moment of silence as Peter pondered the conversation. "So if he died last year… How come he was standing in my apartment?"
"I don't know how he came back, but I know that he can't seem to touch anything now."
"What… A ghost?" Peter enquired. She nodded. "Oh great. First vampires and now ghosts!" He laughed.
"What do you mean she wouldn't?" The blonde spectre followed the tall soulful vampire. The two strolled through the night time streets of New York, Angel watched the cars and bikes speed past them. It was a deserted street with six people at most.
"I'm just saying that Buffy wouldn't want to make it with a ghost." Angel explained with a frustrated attitude. The sky was black but there was a definite glow coming off the skyscraper's lights.
"Oh bloody hell!" Spike yelled looking forward down the street.
"What?" Angel yelled back. Spike pointed to what had caught his attention. A girl at the end of the road had chased her puppy on to the road. A car screeched out of control behind her. The two undead adventurers could just hear the girl's screams as they could see her shield her dog from the car. "Shit!" Angel ran as fast as his legs would allow.
Spike stood stock still, just staring after Angel.
"Yeah that's it!" He called to the vamp, "Go for it mate!" Angel jumped and glided over the road and in to the vehicle's path. He grabbed the girl, who still clutched her dog, and held her against his stomach, turning his back to the car. CRASH! The impact sent Angel soaring down the street. Still seizing the tiny girl and her pet, Angel spun around so that his back hit the ground first. THUD! His spine scraped across the street. He felt the pain but did not feel ready to black out. He squinted as he looked up. All he saw above him was a car's licence plate, it read, 'J JONAH 1.' "Why the Hell did I cheer him then?" Spike asked himself.
"Jeez." Angel groaned as he lifted the youngster, "I can't remember the last time I was hit by a car." He placed the girl in front of him, she gaped at him as her dog attempted to escape her grip. He leaned forward and groaned as he held himself up on his knees.
"Wow, you got hit by that car and just got back up." The very impressed lass sweetly told Angel. "When I grow up I want to be like you."
"No you don't." Angel murmured. "Now run along." The girl obeyed and ran back down the street. Angel was just about to walk back on his way when the driver side door opened. Angel felt deafened by the volume of the voice that reached his ears.
"What in God's name!" The fuming tone of voice bellowed. "All I need now is for someone to sue me!" Out of the car came the editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle, J. Jonah Jameson.
"Relax." Angel ordered calmly, "I'm not going to sue."
"Good!" Jonah bellowed, "Because if you did sue me I would hire the best lawyers Wolfram and Hart has to offer to take you to the cleaners!"
"If you did they'd be fired." Angel answered back.
"What do you mean?" Jonah enquired, still enraged from the crash.
"Angel." Angel introduced himself. "CEO of Wolfram and Hart in LA." Angel extended his hand, but was refused by the loud editor. "Okay." He continued, retracting his arm.
"What the Hell is the owner of a global legal company doing jumping out in front of cars?" JJ continued to shout.
"I was trying to save that girl who ran out there to catch her dog." Angel became angry. Jonah began to think about the statement just said.
"A hero aye?" Jonah beamed at Angel, "Well we sure need your kind around here. Not like that Spider-menace!" His attitude drastically changed. Angel seamed intrigued by the term, 'Spider-menace.'
"Who?" Angel asked.
"Spider-man! He's a plague upon this city!" Jonah exclaimed. Angel pondered the problem. "J. Jonah Jameson, editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle." JJ offered his hand to Angel. The vampire accepted.
"You know I used to be a PI. Maybe I could help." Angel offered in a low voice.
"A private investigator?" Jonah enquired. "I'm the editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle. If you could capture Spider-man and bring him to justice I'm sure the people of New York would be very grateful to you, and there is a reward for the web-slinger at my paper." Jonah, sinisterly, tried to influence the vampire.
"What would I need a reward for? I'm head of a global law company." Angel stated.
"I don't know, give it to some charity." Jonah suggested, "That's what heroes do aye? What do you say?"
"Sure." Angel agreed, nodding his head and sticking his hands in to his pockets. "When do I start?"
"Immediately!" Jonah yelled triumphantly, yanking the car door open and slamming it shut again once inside. The vehicle sped away in to the flow of traffic once more. Angel turned back to watch Spike walk towards him, through several lampposts.
"What the Hell are all these people looking at?" Spike groaned boringly. "It's like they've never seen the dead walk the Earth before." Spike kicked his foot around, still bored. "Are we going to try to talk to that Peter Parker guy again?"
"No" Angel answered. "Forget Peter Parker for the while, we have to find Spider-man."
The concrete paths that flowed through the Central Park were host to numerous people at the early times, just before dawn for example many strolled the largest natural piece of land in the gigantic concrete city. Many of the people that walked here were couples of young lovers, out for romantic morning walks, some were elderly and stayed near the ponds, feeding some hungry ducks. A few of the occupants of the park were mothers playing with their infants, others were business men on the way to work and one was a lost man. This man was lost because he had died, in his opinion he had died unjustly. His death had taken place not too long ago and was the result of another man's pursuit of him. He had been where no God-fearing person should ever go, Hell. He had been to the lowest place in existence and had seen everything that happened since his death flash past him as he had been tortured by the fiery tyrant from below. The other who had chased him to his death was the one thing that kept this man sane over his time in the nightmarish place. The thought of vengeance and payback had given him the strength to return to God's blue and green Earth. The man stood in the shadow of a stumpy looking oak tree, next to a playground where several parents and children were congregating and having fun. He stared as the happy faces of the children kindled something within his dead heart, but then the darkness took over once more. He was filled with hate as he saw the other people looking so happy.
One of the children that was playing with their parents jumped from the swings that she was sitting on and ran around the corner of a hedge yelling that her father should chase her excitedly.
What had made this man so lost was that he was now empty inside. His soul was gone, meaning all form of humanity in his life was gone forever.
A scream came from behind the hedge, the little girl's father, who had begun to chase her, now sprinted to her aid. Many of the people that were enjoying their walks or playing with their children came running around the same hedge to see what had caused the scream. Many new screams could be heard as the lurking man made his way to join the other observers. The sun crept over the tree tops and illuminated the area. The parents quickly covered their children's eyes from the horrific site before them. The sunlight fell over the body of a girl, covered in blood on the muddy ground.
The girl was young, possibly a teenager, her throat had been lashed and that seemed to be the source of the large puddle of blood that drenched the floor next to it. The girl was on her back with her eyes wide open and her face screaming a silent scream. Her limbs were limp and her flesh had been ripped and torn away in several places. Her hair was red, the on looking New Yorkers couldn't tell if this colour was natural or if the blood had caused it. She was wearing a pair of jeans, with one of the legs torn away and a jersey that had been ripped to pieces and each piece lay on her motionless body. Some of the individuals present thought there was a chance she could survive but these hopeful beliefs were diminished as the people continued to stare at the body.
The screams of the witnesses ended and the confused and frightened people started chattering amongst themselves. One voice yelled over the rest telling someone to call the police.
The shadowy figure looked uninterested by the bloodbath in front of him. He looked to the side of him and straight at the sun. It glistened in his eyes causing a slight smile to creep slowly across his face. He looked at a tree to his far right and could see, in the shadows, a man that was familiar to him, covering his torso with a new shirt and throwing an old torn one in a trash can nearby. The grin on his face grew slightly larger.
"Good dog." He mumbled.
Halloween had finally come and gone. Peter had spent Halloween night trick or treating the local mob bosses in his very own costume. It was now November and Peter Parker walked steadily through the unusually quiet streets of New York. He had expected a lot more people to be out in the equally unusually sunny day. They had just exited a cab that had brought them from Queens to the West side of Manhattan. Peter had been to see his Aunt May to tell her that he was fine. The others had been to get a feel of the big apple.
"Where is everyone?" Willow asked from behind the photographer. Peter looked back and saw the witch, her girlfriend Kennedy and Giles following him. Willow wore blue jeans and an old backpack.
"I don't know." Peter replied, "It's usually a lot more crowded than this, especially seeing as this is a party part of town and it's nearly sunset."
"Maybe it's got something to do with that." Kennedy pointed down the street, where several New York police officers were gathered around the street corner. The four adventurers looked above the huddle of cops. They saw a turned off sign which read, 'BLEED NECK DRY PRIVATE CLUB.' "Wonder what's up." Kennedy thought out loud.
"I've heard of that place." Giles announced. "It's supposed to be one of the largest vampire nightclubs in New York."
"Again with the vampires!" Peter sighed and stared down at his shoes.
"Still don't believe, huh?" Kennedy slapped him playfully across the back.
"What do you think?" Peter asked sarcastically, looking back up at the scoobies.
"Shall we take that as a no?" Giles' usual tired English voice uttered as he pushed past the other scoobies. The others followed him as he swiftly made his way down the street. They cried in protest as he suddenly halted, causing his companions to trip over each other and make a large human pile on the floor behind him.
"Giles!" Kennedy yelled at him, with no reaction from Rupert. "What the Hell do you think you're doing?" Giles held up his hand to Kennedy's face.
"Shh." He murmured, he turned his head towards an alleyway to his left. "There's something in there." He rapidly strode in to the alley in search of his target. The alley was a shadowy tunnel, with a mass of worn-out cloths, metal sheets and old car segments blocking out the light of the sun overhead. The others followed the watcher cautiously.
Peter was the last to enter. Feeling both curious and afraid, he practically forced himself to jump through the unsanitary entrance. He found himself in the blackness of what seemed to be some kind of porch, with an approximately six foot high, wooden door a few inches in front of him. The other persons had already walked through the door, leaving Peter behind. He took in a deep breath, noticing the strong stench that seemed to be coming from the other side of the door. Peter went to grab the handle of the door in front of him, when his spider-sense instantly shot a warning to his brain. He jumped back, narrowly missing the body that had been flung through the door.
The body that landed aside Peter's feet was an old, (No scratch that, ancient), mass of flaky skin, elderly features and wrinkled hands. He held his eyes shut as debris from the wall fell on him.
Peter watched with his jaw a few inches shorter than it should have been. He gaped as Kennedy followed the thrown individual, through the giant hole in the door. She grabbed his collar and slammed him back in to a wall. Giles and Willow accompanied them in the small, dark room.
"Vlagre," Giles greeted, "Long time no see." Vlagre began to twitch.
"Ripper, please you can't, I…"
"Shut it!" Kennedy ordered, still holding the whimpering vampire. Peter turned to face Giles.
"Ripper?"
"Giles, is there any reason I shouldn't kill him?" Kennedy asked, raising her wooden stake. Giles pondered over his answer.
"Wait." Willow bid, "Maybe he knows why that club Giles knows is swarming with police." All their heads turned on Vlagre.
"I don't know anything! Please!" the vampire panicked.
"That's not what Mr. Pointy says." Kennedy mocked the vamp while waving the stake in his face.
"He said he wouldn't kill me!" Vlagre shouted irrationally.
"Who?" Peter enquired.
"Angelus!" He yelled back in fright. "He said that he wouldn't kill me!" A slight tone of triumph could be heard in his voice. The expressions on Giles' and Willow's face disappeared and were replaced with horrific shock. Peter noticed their appearances.
"Who's Angelus?" He asked hesitantly. They ignored him.
"Don't you mean Angel?" Kennedy asked Vlagre, who was still twitching.
"No he doesn't." Giles assured her. He pulled Vlagre out of Kennedy's grasp and stared at him threateningly. "Angelus is in back and killing?" Vlagre nodded in response. Giles threw him aside and marched out of the alley way.
"Giles, wait." Kennedy panted, trying to follow him back in to the streets. "Aren't we going to ask him about that club?"
"No." Giles answered, "We've got bigger things to worry about now. Everyone try to find Buffy, we need to tell her that Angelus is here." It was now night time and the police were getting in to their cruisers and leaving the club area.
"Who the Hell is Angelus?" Peter demanded angrily from behind, causing them all to stop and turn to face him.
"There's no time to explain," Willow said while rummaging through her bag. "If you see this man…" She said as she handed him a photo from her bag. "… come and tell Buffy." The watcher and slayer had already left and Peter only just saw Willow turn and run in the direction of her hotel. He stared down at the photo and studied it carefully. It was a picture of Buffy and some guy with gelled up hair, a hard face and dressed in black. Peter ran to the lamppost down the street to try and get a better look at the picture.
The photo had obviously been taken at night. The picture showed the man with his left arm around Buffy's shoulders and the two of them were smiling. Peter noticed that Buffy was smiling at him, this made him wonder, if this man was so dangerous then why was Buffy, some kind of superheroine from California, doing smiling at him in a photo that her best friend carries around with her.
"Why has my life suddenly become a lot more complicated?" He thought out loud to himself. He ran to darkness of the alley behind the lamppost and began to change in to his web-slinging alter ego.
He came out swinging in the red and blue spandex suit that he had worn since his first time superheroing, with his civilian clothes in his backpack. He began to swing towards his apartment when he saw a sign which made him think. He landed and crouched on a lamppost and continued to stare at the sign. It was the sign of the Daily Bugle which was pasted on the side of a newsstand. The stand's owner, an elderly man with a snow white moustache and a tattered jersey, was asleep in a chair inside the newsstand, so Peter shot a web and yanked up a copy of the Bugle. He threw a dollar coin back down to pay for the paper and began to read the broadsheet. What amazed Peter about this issue was that it did not have Spider-man's photo on the cover. Instead there was a picture of the man in Willow's photo. Peter took out the photo and compared the two. The headline read, 'OUR GUARDIAN ANGEL.' Spider-man sensed someone was watching him, thanks to his spider-sense.
"You a fan?" A deep, rough voice asked from in front of Spider-man. Peter threw aside the paper, without having time to read it and gazed forward. The same man from the photo and newspaper stood on top of the newsstand. He had his hands tucked loosely in to his coat pockets. He gave Spider-man a sinister smirk and, very slowly, walked forward. "Happy Halloween."
"What's your deal?" Spider-man asked, suddenly standing and looking down at the vampire.
"Do you believe in vampires?" Angel asked casually.
"Let me guess, you're some kind of vampire hunter?" Spider-man enquired, trying to keep Angel talking so that he could think of something to do. He saw the watch he was wearing, caught on his glove. It read the time as, '10:56,' causing the vigilante to realise that with the sky growing ever darker, the vampire, (If vampires were real), would be at the peak of his power. This thought made Peter slightly afraid under his costume.
"Yes and No." Angel answered. His face turned in to the demonic form of a vampire as he lunged at Spider-man. Spider-man jumped back and out of his way, causing him to drop his backpack and land on the sidewalk. Angel stomped back on to the ground several feet in front of Spider-man and growled fiercely at him.
"Oh great!" Spider-man murmured sarcastically.
