Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Title: True Inversion

Rating: PG-13

Genre: General

Summary: The inner workings of a 'verse in which Buffy is a Master Vampire, while Spike is the Slayer, though never with a grand cause in mind—just a deep interest in the world's supply of onion flower, bad TV, etc., etc...

Notes: Completely ripped the title off a Fullmetal Alchemist community on livejournal. Will try to make this big, of course. Definitely doing a minor crossover in the foreground, which will probably grow into something large eventually—I suggest just keeping an eye on William's mom, all right? (He'll get the name "Spike" in due time. ) And, you know…just pay attention to the details, some may pan out into something else entirely. (Not that this entire story's set in stone…but I have the general idea, even if there will probably be plot upheavals later.) Pairings are…actually undecided. ; Big thing to remember: AU, AU, and AU...and right now, Spike will pretty much be the center. ;

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I just love Spike. And Buffy. And Drusilla. And Dawn. And...

Chapter 1

William didn't particularly care for his appearance, but he dealt with it by feigning apathy, or at least trying to.

He was unbearably short, ridiculously scrawny, and coupled with still very childish features—well, it was easy for many to confuse his age for something well under fourteen…who wouldn't be turning fifteen until late May which seemed terribly far away all the way from autumn. His hair was blonde, dirt and honey colored; other than tying it up in a small tail—it was a little too long—and trying to hide the poodle curls by keeping it exceptionally unkempt and wild, the boy didn't really manage his hair…if only because the concept hadn't really registered with him yet. His eyes were…well, they fell under the aforementioned category of being too childish: they were a bright blue and possessed a tendency to go very wide when the occasion called for it.

He had learned long ago to run, the fine art of dodging and hiding, and the occasional biting when it came to the obvious matter of bullies. Being endowed with Slayer strength made it so damn easy, so that was a definite perk.

&&&&&&

With his guardian as the librarian—random legal papers said he could call him "Dad", but it was a small thing he didn't pay attention to—William was at Sunnydale High early, in serious defiance against the way of first days at any school. And instead of spending a good amount of time milling about the halls aimlessly while resisting the temptation to bury himself in books, the boy was called up to the Principal to get that introductory…thing out of the way.

William found Flutie nice enough, became a little amused and embarrassed on his behalf once he came across the whole burning down the gym at his last school, never mind that it was all the way in England—god, he missed England. But the boy figured the feeling would pass, more likely gambling that it would. Such as it was, the Principal kept him in long enough so that when he was finally released—with a suitably numb brain—William found the school finally alive, and it was only then that it occurred to him how small it all was.

He didn't mingle, just watched the crowds, and his brain went all over the place, wondering if such observation was a warning of stalker-hood. Books all settled, locker check and ready for use, about ten more minutes before the bell rang, a bloody racket everywhere…and here William was, back in the Principal's office; actually, more like waiting to return. He had already gotten into a fight, and of course was the only one caught and sent to wait in the hall for some disciplinary crap; him, and a girl he hadn't even seen in the events leading up to the fight, so she must've gotten dragged in or something. The familiar, unwelcome feeling of guilt welled up inside.

"Don't sweat it, always love a good brawl," the girl said flippantly, waving off his stuttered apology as she flipped back her curly waves of dark hair, nestling more comfortably into bright plastic chairs; she reminded William of a feline, something he tried to curb, since he loved cats. Definitely older than him, hopefully not one that would at the very least twitch at his Freshman status; skin-tight tank top seemed to clash with her pale skin in its whiteness, her black leather pants were very shiny; she was seriously, freakin' tall and long.

"Name's Faith." The girl leaned back in the chair, arms folded behind her head, eyes looking down at him slyly. "You're new here, aren't you?" William just nodded, mumbling his name.

"So, any reason you picked a fight with Larry and his guys?" He was oblivious and unaware that under normal circumstances, Faith wouldn't show any sort of interest in him outside of his shortness, but the way he handled himself in the fight really caught her attention. (And his shyness gave her the exciting impression of something to dig out, so she was keen on interrogating.) "Or are you just on the list of suicidal statistics?" The thought flashed hazily: Faith found William looked rather cute when all offended, it was the way his eyes sparked.

"Do I look like the kinda guy who'd pick a fight?"

"Well, you'll definitely the kinda guy who enjoys it." William grudgingly smiled, finding Faith perceptive, but hoped she wasn't too perceptive…or more like he wouldn't be too obvious. ("It's imperative you keep this a secret, anyone else involved will be endangered by such knowledge...")

A lengthy silence, then: "So, British, huh?"

"Uh-huh. Boston?" Before the question could be answered, they were finally admitted in. For his part, William was apprehensive, though he tried to keep his face blank; he did appreciate Faith's holier-than-thou attitude, as if the whole thing was an inconvenience to her, yet a small joke nonetheless. (Definitely older than him.)

The Principal narrowed in on him completely, flustering over the fire that had been across the bloody planet, and the boy did not appreciate the way her eyes lit up at the news. (William had to resist the urge to go to the wall and bang his head repeatedly against it, as was his habit to do under unbearable stupidity, either internal or external.) He then went on about Faith, but not focusing on her per se, William was still front-and-center: Flutie labeled her as a "bad influence", one of the worst, the most vile, most wicked and wretched, blah blah blah—smoking, blah blah blah—run-ins with police—blah blah blah—no socializing zone, stay clear of her—blah blah blah.

The girl had a Cheshire cat smile all the while.

&&&&&&

"So, going to class after all?" William paused, finally realizing that his body had prepared itself for a mad dash; he turned back and rubbed his neck, abashed.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have just bolted on you like that—"

Faith just tilted her head, smiling. "Relax; it's not like we're married or anything." She caught off her laugh with a hand to her mouth and an averted head as the boy blushed deeply. Another hazy thought flashing: Will was too much of a little kid, could only be Freshman, maybe even someone skipping grades—he looked like a brain.

"You ditch often?" He walked step for step with the girl, looking over his class program again.

"Pretty much." She looked down at him from the corner of her eye, giving him another sly look. "Don't feel like today though." Her eyes became more calculating, reading William's schedule over his shoulder; he looked up at Faith as she stabbed a finger at the sickeningly bright yellow paper, giving him directions to his first class, at least. "When school breaks, meet me inside the girls' bathroom." Faith just waved off his narrowed eyes as she left him alone in the hall.

&&&&&&

Rupert Giles glared at the obnoxious pink paper for the hundredth time, then settled back to work. He still paid more than half a mind to it as he attended to his librarian and Watcher duties. (Cataloguing science texts, researching the Hellmouth.)

Why bloody notify him of his charge's fight and not drag him over for…well, scolding, what else would he do? (He was close enough.) Yet Giles was one for rationalizing; the Principal wants him to concentrate on his first day on the job, there was some inane policy instituted—he could only be satisfied by the fact that this matter would not be closed with William.

Then he cursed when he realized that the current portentous signs of a sinister nature occurring here on the Hellmouth could effectively overshadow the boy's transgression. It is simply logic; wouldn't one forget his charge's slip-up in the face of lethal danger? Never mind that said charge was in trouble for fighting when his very nature is built for such violent tendencies but that doesn't give him a free reign and—Giles would just wait and see.

The man flipped a bulky tome shut, sighing. He took off his glasses, held them up, analyzing; then took out a kerchief, began wiping off dust. Unbidden, his eyes slipped toward some of William's transcription papers, those he hadn't gotten around to filing away.

"Mother: Julia Thorne (deceased)"

Everything was a mess.