Chapter Twenty – Waiting for Heroes
Lawson became aware of his sire only seconds before the door opened. He sat up and stretched, scowling as he looked at the clock, wishing for a few more hours of shut eye. Being so close to his sire again was an odd sensation that Lawson wasn't sure he understood, but it was... He mulled it over trying to find the right word. Enjoyable? Noticeable? He decided it was soothing on a primal level though he'd never admit it. He wondered if the others felt this sort of connection to Angelus because the few short and hazy hours that he had spent with his sire in the sub hadn't effected him as strongly. Lawson didn't need to see his face to sense the other vampire's unusual mood. He put on his happy face as he threw on some socks.
Angelus knocked on the open door, a mocking smile on his lips, before leaning against the threshold. "Morning, sleepyhead."
"Morning," Lawson murmured, grateful that the other vampire didn't turn on the lights. Angelus had written him letters of introduction to Sebastian and Matilda, two powerful vampires who had branched away from the Master to create their own conclaves long ago, and that required seeming obedience in return. It was one of the highlights of this disappointing visit. Lawson had hoped that meeting the evil alter ego of his sire would have been a rush or enlighten him somehow about his nature. It had been entertaining, a tad soothing, but hardly illuminating. "Its early. Whats going on?" Lawson asked.
"Someone didn't do their job." Angelus announced, submerged in the shadows of the dark hallway, a hint of menace in his low tone.
Lawson pulled on yesterday's shirt from off of the floor. This morning he had gotten to bed after dawn and collapsed without taking off his jeans. Tailing Spike in death defying high speed chases down the back roads and highways of southern California before weaving through traffic in Los Angeles after the son of a bitch was as exhausting as it seemed. That might have been why he felt more dead than usual. "Is it Spike?"
Angel nodded, disappointment in his eyes, and said, "I heard word that he was spotted in town. Close by."
Lawson shrugged as he slipped on sneakers. "Well, he did yell curses, swear revenge, and chuck an empty bottle of Jack at my car." He searched for the right words to weasel out of trouble at least until he woke up more or had coffee. The bed beneath him seemed as seductive as any gal's throat at that moment. "After we finally got him to stop by Venice beach, he was belligerent until he passed out and we tossed him in his car." He scratched his scalp as he fought a yawn. "I can't believe he's up right now for a suicide mission."
Angelus stared at him with unfathomable eyes and the silence stretched on between them for a few long seconds. "And yet he is." Angelus shook his head. "Fail me again, Sammy boy, and I will take the skin off your back."
Lawson nodded, lowering his eyes, and played meek as he hid a yawn. He knew Angelus would flay him for kicks, but he needed a cup of joe, a pint of blood, and maybe two more hours of sleep before he could care more. Besides, his insolence would be forgotten once Spike started up his shenanigans.
"Come on. Round Two of kicking Spike into submission begins." Angelus turned into the hallway.
Lawson followed him down the hall and onto the top of the stairs, wondering about the repercussions for his failure to realize that Spike was utterly retarded before deciding either way, he'd teach Spike for ruining his morning. The sound of fighting drifted up from the basement. "Sounds like your boy came though the sewer."
"Does it now?" Angelus asked, a look in his eyes that Lawson hadn't seen in decades. Familiar, it brought up memories of wet dark places and blistering sunlight. Lawson struggled to remember until it hit him like the chilly waters of the North Atlantic. "Oh, shit." He had seen that look right before Angel had killed him the first time. Lawson was awake now.
Angel punched him on the nose.
Lawson fell back against the ironwork railing before he swung himself over it into the antechamber. "I'll be damned." He laughed when he landed, but his chuckles died when he saw a small blonde girl walk out of the basement door with a dusty ax in hand. The slayer. Lawson shook his head, wondering why he hadn't noticed the soul before, that's what felt off about Angelus, he realized. "This is one hell of a morning." He backed away, towards the opposite wall away from Angel and his slayer, angling himself for a clear path to the open basement door. The vast tunnel network under Sunnydale and the smells therein would give him a chance to escape any trackers. A spark of excitement rose in him like he hadn't felt in years. Literally and metaphorically, his back was up against the wall; this might just be the end for him.
Angel jumped over the edge, landing in a crouch, before he stalked towards him. Sadness, rather than sadism, shone in his features. He pulled a hidden stake out from his long silk sleeve.
"Time to wake up and smell the dust, honey." The slayer said, chin up, glossy pink lips grinning. "Don't want to be late for your first day in hell."
"What's up with you trying to kill me every time I see you? Making me swim for shore was one thing, but waking me up to a slayer?" He laughed. "That's just cold."
The slayer and Angel rushed him.
Lawson fell back on his hands to swipe Angel's legs out from under him. Backed into a corner, he hopped up and cold clocked the slayer. "Little girl, I fought Nazis."
Angel leaped to his feet.
"Yeah, yeah, greatest generation, blah, blah." She swung her ax, aiming for his neck, but only grazing his arm as he threw himself to the side. The Slayer rolled her eyes. "I bet you walked a mile, up a hill, both ways to get to school too." She caught him upside the head with the blunt end of the axe.
Lawson dropped, head swimming, as Angel came towards him with a stake. He wondered what would meet him on the other side, he bowed his head, expecting Angel to finish the job he started so many decades ago.
Spike, whiskey-scented with a ratty, wet blanket over his head, crashed through the unlocked door. It slammed into the wall with a crack. He tossed the blanket aside. The swelling had gone down, but the blond vampire still looked like he had gotten the tar beaten out of him. Jutting out his chin, he smirked at them as he shifted into his vampiric face. "Hope you don't mind crashers at this little shindig." His eyes darted from Angel to the slayer, taking in the whole scene before he snorted. "Ah, balls."
0000
Penn stepped inside the mansion after breaking in through the back door. He frowned, hearing the crack and Spike's voice, as he walked through the kitchen to the door leading to the antechamber, sticking to the shadows. Sneaking closer, he saw, in the far corner, his sire posed over Sam Lawson with a stake and the slayer by his side. He didn't need Spike's announcement to know what that the sick tableau meant. He backed away, fists clenched, shaking his head, feeling like he might just throw up for the first time in over two centuries.
Looking around, he scoped out the empty kitchen where only the fruit bowl of apples betrayed the fact that there was a human in the house. He ducked out of the line of sight from the antechamber, closer to the doorless threshold of the pantry lined with mismatched bare shelves.
Time to change the plan fast, he thought, time to not be Predictable Penn.
He noticed that the sides of the pantry had shelves that looked original to the house while the ones of the back seemed newer. Leaning his head, he focused on the odd away the wallpaper pouched behind the shelves. This house was from the 1920s, Angelus had told him, and most mansions built then still had servant quarters and hallways to keep the help out of sight. On a hunch, he knelt down and smiled when he saw the small door knob tucked under a shelf. He wrenched off the cheap particle board shelves and put them on the other shelves as quiet as possible before he jerked plain metal knob and broke the lock. Penn cut the wallpaper, in the outline of the door with a claw, and opened the door carefully on its squeaky hinges. Dust billowed up in the long unused area. Penn stepped inside and saw it was a staircase. He couldn't help the low chuckle that escaped his throat as he closed the door behind him.
As Penn ran up the hidden servant's staircase, he didn't feel predictable at all. Sure, he might be sire-struck, but this time he'd get his sire, make sure that he lost that soul, and force him to finally fucking listen for once. He might not be able to bind him with kisses, but chains would do.
0000
"I thought he was gone," Buffy said, sighing. It took all her strength to stay calm so close to Angel. She just wanted to take Willow home then avoid those brooding brown eyes until her brain stopped being a confusing and inappropriately erotic or violent place. There was one thing that was for certain- she stopped trusting him or her feelings for him. It was hard to love someone after they boarded the train to psychotown and then became mayor on a homicide-based platform. She could go against her calling and she didn't care that he was a cradle-robbing creature of the night, but people had died and people had been hurt.
"I had hoped so." Angel shook his head, frowning. "I was lying to Lawson earlier."
"Just like old times again." Spike smirked and clapped his hands. "Well, kiddies, I'll be taking Drusilla and going on my bloody merry way."
Buffy laughed. "By all means, oh wait, how about no?"
"If you insist." He mock bowed before stepping into a fighting stance.
"I think I am." She jumped forward, dropping her ax, before spin kicking Spike in the chest. Buffy shouldn't have been surprised. The blond vampire wouldn't have left Drusilla behind no matter how what Angel had done... Buffy sneaked at a look at her ex-boyfriend, who was fighting Lawson, so she didn't see Spike's fist, but she felt it hit her stomach. Wake up, Summers, she told herself, there was no time to think about him. She grabbed Spike by the ears and slammed his face against her knee before raising him up and punching him. Buffy had to stop letting Angel be her weakness.
His head whipped back, he staggered, before he threw a right hook. They traded blows. "Feel that?" Spike asked, looking at Angel, smirk on his pale face. He shot Buffy a sly look before he gestured 'time out', hands making a T, and backed away. He said to Angel, "Hear it, mate?"
Yells, from two different women, filtered downstairs. Drusilla rattled her chains like Marley's ghost upstairs.
Buffy glanced up before looking at Angel, thinking, he should have staked her first since he already had her tied down. He had said he had his vampires under control, she thought, squaring her jaw and preparing for a fight.
Xander's words came next to her mind, "How do we know he's really ensouled? He's fooled us before." He had hated this plan from the start and argued against it as vigorously as anyone could at six in the morning with a bite of jelly donut in their mouth. "He shouldn't be your kryptonite, Buffy," Xander had said later, pulling her aside into Giles's cramped bachelor's kitchen, right before she left this afternoon.
She inched away from the blond vampire.
"Well, fuck a duck, take a gander at you, evil to good, then back to evil, and now, what, you've dusted off your white hat again?" Spike snorted.
Angel blocked Lawson with a punch. The vein twitching on his forehead was his only reaction to the blond vampire's words.
Lawson reeled, feinting, then elbowed him in the face before pushing past Angel to get behind Spike.
Buffy angled herself to keep both of them in sight. Now she was the one in the corner. Great job, Summers, she thought. She shook her head and began to weight her chances of getting up the stairs through the two male vampires and then Drusilla. She didn't even want to know what was going on between Angel and Spike. What was happening upstairs with Willow, she asked herself. Looking over the scene, she frowned. There were times in a slayer's life when she had to re-evaluate it. Buffy knew this was one of those times -- after she kicked some vampire ass, of course.
Lawson grinned as he pointed up. "Seems like the lady of the house is waking up."
"She's sick of waiting for me to rescue her." Spike remarked. He caught Buffy's arm, tilted his head, looking her up and down. His brow furrowed and his gaze was dismissive. "Sad to see you fighting with the wanker who fed on that lil' redheaded chit. Your best bosom buddy, wasn't she?"
"You don't know anything about it." She punched him across the face. That was the trouble with Spike, he couldn't just fight, he always had to make bitingly insightful banter.
Spike didn't let go of either her arm or the subject. "Don't I? Seems like I'm the one who has seen more of the bird lately. Saw the bite marks on her pretty little throat myself, I did. Hell, I saw tall, dark, and homicidal carry her in, all unconscious in her nightie, salivating over her jugular." He pushed her back. "And, now, here you are fighting side by side with the man who spent the last few weeks ravaging your tiny 'berg."
Buffy stumbled, but kept her balance. She narrowed her eyes . Wishing he wasn't right in twisted vampire logic, she then conceded, he was right in regular human logic. too She had tried so hard to be a girl and a slayer, but maybe this was the reason that Slayer didn't date. She probably should have learned that lesson after Owen and their magical night at the funeral home. Buffy figured that the next edition of the slayer manual will feature a section called "Don't Do What Buffy Does." In hindsight, she also probably should have read the manual too.
"Not all that Slayer-like, innit?" He nodded at the lack of reply. "That's what I thought, luv."
"Spike," Drusilla called from the top of the stairs, dark circles ringed her wide eyes, and her hair hung in wild tangles. "Penn has our vicious darling and broken all of my dolls. Hurt him, oh someone hurt him with fire. Pretty please." She stomped her foot dainty as a debutante.
"Oh, Slayer, looks like Soul Boy let your mate get nabbed. Penn's not gentle with pets either." Spike held up his hands as he stepped closer to the foot of the stairs. "Where'd he go, Dru?"
"Out the back. Ghosts of maids long since dismissed follow him into the garden." She put her bands around her neck, her smile widening, as she closed her eyes and swayed. "He wants to pop her head off like a dandelion." She ran a hand down her chest.
From the back yard, Buffy heard Willow scream for her.
"I can feel her anger, forge bright and powerful." Drusilla shivered, opened her eyes and smiled, showing too much teeth. She went all space cadet, staring into the distance, as she said, "What a good girl."
Buffy edged towards the door leading to the kitchen and the backyard. She didn't know how Penn had gotten upstairs; they had gone over the details of the mansion's design; and there was only supposed to be one way up. This plan of Angel's had gone to hell and she just wanted to get Willow out. Angel could deal with his spawn by himself until she got Willow somewhere safe.
"Well, you heard the seer, kill us or save her." Spike pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one.
Buffy didn't hesitate or look at Angel, she bolted for the back before Spike finished speaking. She could only run and hope to make it to her friend in time.
000
Willow paced in front of the bed. Ever since Angel left, she had stalked the room thinking of home while trying to push all thoughts of feeding off him out of her mind. What she felt feeding off Angel was so much more than her timid and awkward fumbling under the covers at night or daydreams about Xander could have prepared her for. It made her uncomfortable and made home seem farther away somehow. Willow jumped at the sound of a distant thump then there was a crash. She really wished she had a weapon.
The knob jiggled before the door whipped open.
"How did you get in?" She demanded as she whirled around.
Penn smiled, pushing glasses up, and ignored her question. Grabbing her, lightening fast, he pinched her cheek. "We're going to take a trip, tiny human." He forced her out of the room, dragging her across an upstairs living room then through an closet with an open hole in the back wall and a door on its floor.
She walked over the door, faded wallpaper clinging to it in curls, to a bare set of stairs. It was musty in the secret chamber. She could see Penn's footsteps in the dust.
He pushed her onto the top of the rickety stairs. "I left the house without getting his full attention and now he's the slayer's fucking boy toy again."
Willow grimaced, anger filling her as she fought her fear. A chill ran down her arms; she tried to focus on the rage; anger was more useful than fear. It would be an understatement to say she was darn tired of being kidnapped. Just like Spike, it was all about Angel and she was just a helpless pawn in their game with no control and definitely no instruction manual. That was going to end today, she told herself hoping it was the truth.
"He won't disappear for a hundred years this time." Penn threw her over his shoulder. "I know with you in horrible danger that he'll come."
Drusilla's shrieks echoed down the stairs.
Yelling, she pummeled his back. Willow refused to be hauled around like a sack of potatoes. She twisted, reaching up to dig her nails into the soft flesh around his ear, and scratched at his neck. Willow didn't think in those slow seconds as she struggled. Instinct drove her and her heartbeat thumped in her ears.
He shook her, cursing. Tossing her against the water stained wall, he then touched his bleeding ear.
Willow fell, covered her face with her arms, pain blossoming quick and sudden on the back of her head, before she tumbled down the gritty stairs. The room was a dark blur. Her head spun, but she stumbled to her feet towards the light she saw streaming out of the crack under a door. She hoped it was daylight. Despite her nausea and possible faintage, she still remembered the first lesson she ever learned about vampires after 'don't go out for ice cream with them' -- they didn't have much fun in the sun.
Penn caught her by the back of her dress before hauling her up and grabbing her upper arms.
She threw her head back, thumping his nose, before yelling for Buffy. Fear was overshadowed by a manic rage that bordered on hysteria. She wanted that door open with all her heart. Speaking low, she said the words of the spell. Willow needed the sun on her face. Willow wasn't going to hold back anymore.
The door opened, slamming against the wall, dust billowing up from the dusty floor, to reveal a kitchen with dark overcast sky outside its open door.
She sagged in his grip from disappointment. The sun filtered through the clouds seemed to have no effect on him.
He pushed her through the kitchen, with a hand over her mouth, outside to the backyard. Rain fell in fat drops on the overgrown garden.
Willow cried a few tears before she remembered she needed to be angry.
"The sun isn't going to save you now, little girl. Neither is Angel. He's too busy with Spike and Sammy boy." Penn huffed, gripping her arm, and shoving her out into the neglected garden. The rain pelted them. "Nice trick, I gotta say. I guess someone is going to be bound, gagged, and unconscious for the ride to my cabin."
The slick bricks scratched at her bare feet as she tried to get her bearings. She looked around trying to find any kind of weapon. Twigs and sticks lay around the trees and the ivy covered walls. "You know that he'll stake you, right?" She asked, stumbling to her feet. "He won't hear you out."
"Shut up." Penn backhanded her. "What do you know of it? He made me first. Besides, he lost that soul once and he can lose it again."
Willow steeled herself, willing her inner-Cordelia to come out. "Where were you then all those times when he was with me or Spike or Drusilla? I mean, he never even mentioned you. Maybe you ought to stop being so creepy and clingy..." Willow struggled for another insult. "And, a big dumb guy." She yelled for Angel and then Buffy as she slapped him. Note to self, she thought, work on my Cordelia impression. Throwing herself back, she slipped from his grip. She backed away, looking for a sturdy twig, wondering how she'd get past him.
"I'll take you apart, piece by piece, and drop you like bread crumbs to lead him to me if he proves stubborn." Penn grabbed her by the neck before tugging a wet lock of hair by her ear. "They'll be mailing bits of you to the morgue for weeks. Your mother won't be able to recognize you. It might take weeks to get to that point however." His icy grip squeezed and she gasped, spots appearing in her vision. "He taught me to be patient."
If Penn had threatened her weeks ago, or even days ago, she would have crumbled, but not now. She had one weapon and one chance; she was going to use both. She knew that the ride to Penn's horror shack would be one way and that he'd do all the horrible things that Angelus didn't have the time to do and then some. Willow had waited for the heroes to come get her, but she was about to be tied to the metaphorical train tracks without a Dudly Do-Right in sight, there was no time for little Miss Nice Willow. Her voice was hoarse from being choked. "Wanna know why Angel won't hear you out?" Magical energy tensed her shoulders and make her fingertips tingle as she felt it channel through her. The stick rose. A smile tugged at her lips.
Penn forced her towards the back gate. "Jesus, you're a little know-it-all."
"Think of Angelus," she murmured, more rasp than words, as she concentrated on striking the heart.
Penn grunted, eyes boring into hers, as he turned to dust, squeezing her until the end.
Willow slapped her hand over her mouth, coughing, adrenaline making her tremble, as she backed away from the dust. She could still feel Penn's hands turn to dust on her skin. Willow thought she was going to hyperventilate if she stayed at this prison. Already the walls seemed to close in on her and she heard footsteps. She wasn't going to be caught again. She wouldn't be tied down or ripped up like bread crumbs. Her thoughts kept churning faster until there was nothing. She made the decision on instinct.
Spinning around, she bolted out of the garden. She couldn't think, she just knew that she needed to get home. The wet wind whipped her hair behind her as she sprinted barely even noticing the rough ground or cold puddles on her bare feet. The thought of home spurred her forward. Looking up at the street signs, she almost fell from the shock of realizing she had only been a little under a dozen blocks from home. She paused; her knees shook. It was like a slap to the face so she kept running because she knew that if she stopped that she might not be able to start again. She had to be strong still. She could fall to pieces in seven more streets, she told herself. Then in five. Blocking the terrorfearreliefworryagonyjoy that made her chest tight and knees weak, she focused on running. Blotches marred her vision; her head felt light. Willow ran faster through the rain as she turned onto her street. Running up her walkway and to house's door, she banged on the door with both hands frantically.
"Mama!" she yelled as loud as she could, throat burning, body freezing, as she dropped to her knees on the scratchy welcome mat. "Dad! Please open the door."