Rating: R
Summary: They needed a warrior for their cause. They picked Xander Harris. One magical rune later, there's ex-girlfriends, Chaos mages, sex, alchohol, seduction, and doubles exploding everywhere. This wasn't what quite the Powers that Be had in mind.
Notes: Because I rewatched Season Two, and missed Whistler.
Becoming
by
Sorrel
Part One
Perchance to Dream
“To sleep, perchance to dream-
ay, there's the rub." --Hamlet (Act III, Scene 1)
"Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them". – Twelth Night, Act II, Scene V.
Xander knew he was dreaming. Even in his life, only a dream could be this strange.
He is standing on the dance floor of the Bronze, looking up at the stage. Giles is perched on a stool, strumming his guitar and leaning forward as he croons the lyrics into the microphone. A few feet away, Faith and Buffy are dancing, arms wrapped loosely around each other’s waists and gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. “Two Slayers,” Faith says, and they both turn to face him, leaning cheek to cheek as they smile and Buffy adds, “No waiting,” and they lunge for his throat, fangs bared.
He’s firing out the door, the crack of the rifle familiar to his ears as the carefully aimed bullets plough into the pavement at the feet of the approaching demons. They yelp in surprise and start to back off, all except one of them, a black-haired woman in a black and red velvet dress with shiny red shoes. Drusilla turns to him and smiles her vacant smile, swaying back and forth as she says in a sing-song voice, “I’m naming all the stars,” and behind him he hears Buffy say, “Xander, what do you think you are doing?”
He turns to face her and the gun is gone, replaced by an axe that he holds just as easily, and he smiles at her. She’s wearing a simple tank top and loose pants with her hair bound back- Slaying gear, not the Princess getup he vaguely remembers her wearing at the time. “But Buffy,” he says, a goofy smile on his face, “I clocked field time!”
In Buffy’s basement, now, and looking up into Cordelia’s eyes as she whispers, “That spell was for me?”
“Of course,” Anya says from behind her, and the light from her pendant glows in the darkness, highlighting her demonic features and throwing shadows where shadows have no right to be. “But now that I’ve got my powers back, I can do it right this time!”
A snarl in the darkness, and a shadow detaches itself from the other shadows among the trees, revealing itself to be Angel. No, Angelus, Xander corrects himself frantically, seeing the cold sneer, but a growl from behind him halts the approaching vampire in his tracks and brings his focus to Spike, standing behind him with a hand on his shoulder. “Sire,” the younger vampire snaps, and Angelus blinks, slowly, before shaking his head. When he looks up again his eyes are dark and soft with the weight of the centuries, and he whispers, “I didn’t mean to hurt them. Did I hurt you too?”
In the Bronze again, his heart thudding against his chest and dust drifting to the floor with the echo of “I’m a new man!” resounding in his ears. Then it stops. The noise, the press of bodies and smell of panic on the air- it all halts, then quickly rewinds. The dust reforms into Jessie, smirking at him with a stake pressed against his heart, but then Jessie shakes his head and stops back, frowning down at his chest. Before Xander can move or react, he grabs a zipper on his collarbone and pulls it down.
A smaller man steps out of Jessie’s skin and looks around with interest. His clothes are terrifyingly loud, putting even his own to shame, but when their gazes meet his eyes are dark and perceptive. “I want to learn from you,” Xander says, knowing that the words aren’t his but not knowing where they come from, “but I don’t want to dress like you.”
“We’re lucky we need you on our side,” the man says, his voice accented with the streets of New York, but then he shakes his head. “Ah, but we’re not here to repeat the past, are we?”
“Why are we here?” Xander wants to know, and the man smiles sadly.
“Because this is your nightmare,” he says. “Only place I could get in, really.” Xander says nothing. “I’m Whistler,” the man says after a moment. “Immortal demon sent down to even the score,” and Xander thinks he’s quoting from a memory, judging by the small, private smile on his face.
“It’s like this, Xander Harris. The Hellmouth lost a guardian, and the world lost a Slayer. Another will be called, of course, but not yet. Faith interfered with the natural order of things, and the world takes time to right itself.” Silence for a moment. “If it were up to me I wouldn’t do this, but it’s never up to me. The world keeps turning and the evil keeps coming and it doesn’t stop. It never stops.”
He closes his eyes, and then with glowing fingertips sketches a rune of fire in the air. His eyes snap open and he says, “Xander Harris, you’re going to have to Become.”
“I’m going to have to become what?” Xander asks, but then the rune shifts forward at a flick of Whistler’s fingers and begins to burn into his chest, and he hears Whistler’s reply only distantly through a haze of pain.
“That’s up to you,” he says, and then disappears.
Xander woke up all at once, his eyes snapping open to stare into the smothering darkness over his head. Only gradually did he become aware of his breathing, and the hum of the refrigerator, and the comforting weight of another body where Spike lay against his side.
Slowly, he went back to sleep.
He stood utterly unmoving in front of the bathroom mirror, only distantly aware of Spike’s yelled complaints about inconsiderate humans who hogged the bathroom. Holding his discarded shirt in one hand he turned back and forth, as if by looking at it he could force the symbol burned into his chest, just above his solar plexus, to go away. So far, it wasn’t working.
“That’s it, I’m coming in,” Spike growled from where he was pacing on the other side of the door, and then slammed it open before Xander could stop him.
The vampire was at his side in a movement literally to fast for the human eye to see, hauling him around roughly by his arm and glaring at him accusingly. “You told me you didn’t get roughed up at all last night,” he said, pointing at the mark. “You said it was all, ‘walk in, kill thing while it’s asleep.’”
“I wasn’t hurt by the Helfnaar demon,” Xander said honestly, then held up a hand to forestall Spike’s vociferous disagreement. “I had a dream last night, okay? Some demon guy named Whistler told me I had to Become, and burned this into my chest before disappearing and neglecting to tell me what the hell I’m supposed to become, anyway.”
Spike didn’t relax much at his explanation, but it was enough that Xander could see it. “Whistler? Little bloke, scary clothes, New York accent?” Xander nodded. “He’s a player for the Powers that Be, then. Not actively evil, but not always makin’ the best decisions for you lot.”
“What do you mean? And don’t start with the ‘you lot’ mess again, Mr. I’m-just-killing-demons-for-the-fun-of-i
“Hey, it is fun! Beat up a demon, get the adrenaline goin’ good, and I get to stare at your ass. What more can a self-respecting demon want, I ask you?” Xander pulled a truly horrible face at him. “Careful, your face might freeze like that. Now, as to what I meant about Whistler... Angel. Whistler’s the one who set ‘im on the path to Buffy. Meant for him to be fightin’ Acathla, though, not raisin’ him.”
“Gotcha,” Xander said, and fell silent.
“He did say that it wasn’t his choice,” he added thoughtfully after a moment. “That he wouldn’t do it if it were up to him. Implies that he’s more of a messenger boy or delivery boy or whatever than the one making the decisions.”
“I want to know what he did,” Spike growled, and hunched over to look at the mark. “I’ve no idea what in bleedin’ hell this is, so I can’t tell what it’s supposed to do. Hurt?” he asked, and arched an inquiring eyebrow at Xander.
“Do you want the macho version, or the truth?” Xander asked wryly.
“Truth’d be nice,” Spike said, amused.
“Like hell,” Xander said on an exhale. “There had to be a less painful way of doing this.”
“Maybe,” Spike said. He opened up the cabinet and began hunting through it for ointment and bandages. “An’ maybe not. Blood, flesh, pain- they’re all big parts of a lot of spells. Even non-evil ones,” he added, emerging with the supplies. “Those three things are such an essential part of life that it’s easy to tie a spell to ‘em. Plus it’s easier to hurt someone or drip some blood into a bowl than it is to make someone laugh enough for a spell to work. Budge up, then,” he said to Xander, and nodded to the counter behind him. “Sit. Don’t want it getting infected, do we?”
“No, we do not,” Xander said, and fell silent while Spike tended to the burn.
The vampire’s brows were furrowed with concentration, his eyes narrowed to slits and his jaw clenched. Xander could actually see the muscles standing out, and he itched to smooth his fingers over the skin and relax the corded muscles. But he kept his hands at his sides, knowing that he’d get scolded if he moved, even if it was to pet Spike.
Spike’s hands were rock-steady as he smoothed the ointment over the burn, but Xander could see a tiny flinch around his lover’s pale blue eyes whenever he touched the charred flesh, and he knew that Spike was much more worried about hurting him than the injury warranted.
“It hurts, but it’s not fatal,” Xander said into the silence.
“Jus’ wanna be careful is all,” Spike muttered, not looking up from the burn two inches away from his nose. Xander took the risk of a scolding and laid his hand on top of Spike’s head, running his fingers gently through the bleached and currently ungelled locks until Spike looked up at him.
“I’m not gonna break, Spike,” he said.
“You always say that,” Spike muttered, but his touch was more firm as he finished smoothing on the ointment.
“And yet it’s still true,” Xander retorted. “Haven’t yet, have I?”
“’Cept your arm, of course,” Spike mocked, nodding to the arm still in a cast. Xander made a face at him and waited till the bandage was on before retorting.
“That was different! That was a troll!”
“An’ how, exactly, is a troll different from most of the nasties we’ve been running into on a daily basis?”
“Trolls are bigger?” Xander guessed, and Spike snorted as he stepped back to admire his handiwork.
“Remember, I’ve been on patrol with you lot for a couple weeks now. The size of some of the beasties you’ve run into is enough to make me back off a little.”
“Alright, so I can break. But that only applies to bad guys. Never you.”
Spike’s eyes widened and Xander saw him suck in a totally unneeded breath. “You sure about that, luv?” Spike asked softly. “I’m the Big Bad, I am.”
Xander just smiled and leaned forward to brush a kiss on Spike’s lips before hopping off the counter. He promptly hissed in pain as the movement inadvertently strained the burn, and Spike was at his side in a flash, steadying him before scooping him up and hauling him into the bedroom, protesting all the way.
“I hate it when you do that,” Xander muttered after he had been deposited on the bed. “Except when you follow it up with sex. Are we gonna have sex?” he asked, suddenly hopeful.
“Later,” Spike said firmly. “First we’re gonna talk a bit, pet. I’ve got a few questions left.”
“Great,” Xander said, fixing his gaze on the ceiling. “Just great. I suddenly look so pitiful that my evil, undead lover would rather talk than have sex with me.”
“I want to have sex,” Spike said. “Just not until you tell me about the rest of the dream.”
“Fine,” Xander sighed, staring mournfully upwards. “I understand. You don’t want me anymore. I’m not enough to satisfy you in bed.”
“Xan-der,” Spike warned.
“I mean, it’s not like I haven’t gone along with everything you’ve suggested,” Xander continued, as if he hadn’t heard the vampire. “Done everything you’ve asked. There was that time you wanted me to give you a blowjob blindfolded... or the time I was blindfolded and chained to the bed while you fucked me... the chocolate syrup, the feathers, the toys, the costumes...”
Spike’s eyes had been starting to glaze over at the recitation, but at the last they snapped into focus again as he glared at Xander.
“Oi, we haven’t done costumes!”
“Yet,” Xander said persuasively, but Spike refused to let himself be further sidetracked.
“Dream,” he said, and Xander sighed in defeat.
“Started in the Bronze. Giles was singing, Faith and Buffy were dancing. They said, ‘Two Slayers, no waiting,’ and then tried to rip my throat out.” He paused. “Why do you want to know this, anyhow?”
“Because, pet,” and Spike’s voice was overly patient, “with the way the dream ended, it’s more than likely that the rest of it might just have been a wee bit important too. So if you’ll stop bitching and just tell me the rest of the dream, maybe we could figure out what the hell the whole thing means!”
“Grumpy vampire,” Xander muttered, but at Spike’s warning glare he continued more-or-less meekly. “Halloween, the night Ethan Rayne let loose on Sunnydale and I turned into soldier-boy.”
“Speaking of costumes,” Spike said, but then held up a hand when Xander showed evidence of letting himself get sidetracked. “No, no, finish you dream, pet. My fault.”
“Right,” Xander said, but he’d clearly marked the idea in his mind before he kept going. “Was firing out the door at some demons, and all of them ran away except Drusilla, who said that she was naming all the stars, and Buffy said, ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Turned around, and she was in slayer gear instead of the Princess getup, and I was carrying an axe. Told her I’d clocked field time, and I was in Buffy’s basement with Cordy, only Anya was there too and she’d gotten her powers back. In the graveyard, and Angelus is coming up, but you’re behind me and call him Sire, and suddenly he’s Angel again. Back in the Bronze again, then Whistler appears.”
“Hmmm,” Spike said, then fell silent again. Impatient, Xander poked him in the ribs.
“You’d think you have a tad more to say, al the years you spent with Dru.”
“I was thinkin’,” Spike defended himself, twitching away from Xander’s prodding finger.
“So? What do your thoughts tell you, O enlightened one?”
“Pretty simple, actually. Half of it was warning- Ethan Rayne, Anya, Drusilla, Angelus. None of them have reason to play nice with the others, especially not the demon bird, if she’s heard about you crawling into bed with me. Half of it was pointers- you had two Slayers, and so there’s still one left. Angel. Me. You, with all the time you’ve spent on the Hellmouth an’ all. Getting’ it yet?”
“No,” Xander said. “But I am eagerly waiting for you to tell me.”
“The Slayer’s dead,” Spike said bluntly, and the pain flinched over both their faces. “But there’s still people to fight the good fight. People like you.”
“Me?” Xander had his “huh-wha-huh” expression on his face, as if his brain had been caught napping, and was now frantically scrambling to catch up with the rest of the class. Spike’s mind added an amusing mental image of a teacher tapping her foot impatiently to his little metaphor, but he shook it away and answered the boy’s question.
“Sure, pet, like you. You’ve lived on the Hellmouth all your life, haven’t you?”
“Well, yeah.”
“And you were with the Slayer for... how long?”
“Five years,” and they both ignored the flash of pain that had gotten all-too-familiar in the handful of weeks since Buffy’s death.
“There you go. You have a hell of a lot more experience than most of the soddin’ Watcher’s counsel. You’ve got Giles for research, the witches for mojo, and me to hit things. What more do you need to hold the Hellmouth?”
“How about a brain, Spike?” Xander asked, “Since you clearly lost yours?”
But Spike didn’t hear him. A startled expression had crossed the vampire’s face, and he said, “Bleedin’ hell. I think that’s exactly what they want you to do. An’ he gave you a little present to make it easier.”
“Some present,” Xander muttered. “Why can’t I get the version with the shiny wrapper and little bows instead? And does that mean that you know what the hell it is now?”
“I’d have to check it, but... It’s a rune bound into you to attract Fate’s attention, basically.”
“What?!” Xander yelped. “What have I done to make them want me dead?”
“Idiot,” Spike said with little heat. “Wrong type of attention. ‘S not that simple. It’s a spell that draws her goodwill. Should get you powers or something. Again, have to check it out, but that’s the basics.”
“Great,” Xander said. “I’m gonna be a superhero. Does that mean that I have to wear tights?”
Part Two
City of Angels
Notes: Songs are “I was wrong” by Social Distortion and “Perfect” by Simple Plan.
Angel was having a bad day. No wait, that deserved capital letters. Angel was having a Bad Day.
Yeah, that was it. Because this day deserved the capital letters. Normally he reserved the capital letters for days when the world was going to end, but today, he felt that he could make an exception.
It wasn’t that today had really gone that wrong. It started out perfectly normally- waking up, wandering downstairs to get a cup of coffee that Cordy had brewed more for the caffeine kick than the taste, which was what he wanted anyway. Watching with interest as Wesley and Cordelia bickered again over something trivial, but then everyone knew they fought just for entertainment value, and didn’t take it seriously.
Except this time Cordy seemed to be truly pissed over whatever-the-hell-it-was, and when Wesley had tried to apologize she’d gone off into a corner to sulk, though she called it “researching.” Fred still wouldn’t come out of her room, and Gunn had disappeared off into the wild blue yonder as far as Angel could tell, so he wasn’t here to smooth things over between Cordelia and Wes like he could sometimes. Angel himself had taken one look at the two of them and had retreated downstairs to play with sharp objects- though he was calling it “exercising.”
But then Cordelia had had a vision, and he was all set to ride out to the rescue (by way of the sewers, since the sun was up) when Cordy had told him who, exactly, the vision was of. And then the day took an abrupt nosedive, culminating in the smirking bleach-blonde currently standing in his doorway with blanket in his hand and wisps of smoke still curling up from his hair.
“What did you do with Xander?” Cordelia immediately demanded, and Spike turned a truly puzzled glance in her direction.
“Last I checked he was home in bed, but I’m sure he’s at work by now,” he said slowly. “Seein’ as it’s a weekday an’ all.”
She said something nasty and most likely extremely witty in return but he didn’t hear her, couldn’t quite let her words filter through the fog that was stealing over his brain. Spike. In his hotel. The vampire that was almost but not quite his Childe was standing in the foyer of his home, wearing the same duster and the same smile that it seemed like he always had, mouth curled up a little at the corners as if he was mocking the world. And he was so damned beautiful that Angel felt his unbeating heart constrict in his chest, no matter how much he tried to prevent it.
Spike was everything that reminded him of things he wanted to forget. Bloodsoaked years prowling through Europe, leaving a swathe of destruction in their wake, the first real family he’d had and lost when he gained his soul, six months in an abandoned factory while Spike watched him with those blinding eyes from a wheelchair, and hot pokers through his side while his Childe watched and reveled in his pain.
Just... Spike.
Spike was responding to whatever Cordelia said- some threat about what he would go through if he’d hurt Xander and how she would protect Xander blah blah blah- but Spike’s usual soft drawling sarcasm was replaced by white-hot anger, and he was snarling in her face before Angel could move to protect her. “You don’t go near him, Princess,” Angel heard as he crossed the room. “You don’t touch him. Fucking broke his heart and you don’t get another chance. And you can just back the fuck off,” Spike snarled through a mouthful of fangs to Angel, who by this point had gripped his shoulder and yanked him forcibly away from Cordy. “’S not like I want you around, either.”
Angel was slamming him up against a wall now, and suddenly the anger was gone and Spike was laughing, in human face again, leaning against the wall with his muscles relaxed as if Angel didn’t have a grip around his throat. “Oh, this is perfect. Told the boy you’d have me against the wall before I could tell you why I came, didn’t I, and ‘e didn’t bleedin’ believe me. And now I won the bet, so I get my present. Well, I would if you would ever get off me,” he snarked to Angel, who still had him pinned against the wall. “Do you mind? I actually have a message to deliver.”
Angel slowly stepped back as his senses told him what they should have before. The scent of sex clung to Spike like a second skin, mixed in with the scent of a human’s sweat and Xander’s own particular spicy smell, which Angel liked to pretend that he didn’t remember and had never noticed in the first place no matter how untrue it might be. There was also no scent of human blood, or fear, or pain- just the pig’s blood on Spike’s breath that had apparently been his breakfast.
“Angel, what the hell is he talking about?” Cordelia demanded from behind him, but he held up a hand to silence her and kept his attention focused entirely on the person in front of him.
“What message?” he asked, and even to his ears his voice sounded strange. Spike noticed- he always noticed, didn’t he?- but either he didn’t care or his message was more important, because he answered the question instead of making some mocking comment.
“Xander’s working directly for the Powers now,” Spike said. “Whistler- you might remember him? He branded Xander with a rune for Becoming. Bloody bastards are trying to make him into the freakin’ Slayer, and damned if they aren’t gonna pull it off. I’m here to collect you,” and he nodded at Angel, “and to check around to see exactly what’s going to happen to ‘im. And I’d like to do it fast because he’s unprotected in Sunnyhell if I’m here, so could we quit with the third degree and let me get on with it?”
“I don’t believe you,” Cordelia said bluntly, moving into Angel’s line of vision as she came up to stand next to him. “I just got a lovely pain-filled vision from the Powers with Xander in it. And you. And something large and slimy. Not really trusting your word when you’re a danger to him.”
“Blue slime?” Spike asked, and when Cordelia nodded, Spike said, “Right, that was the beastie we fought a couple nights ago. Helfnaar demon. Got a mate, probably, but seein’ as they’re not much for daylight I have till the sun sets. Which is when I plan to be on my way back to flippin’ Sunnyhell anyway, so if you don’t mind can we get on with it?”
“He’s telling the truth,” Angel said heavily. Cordelia pinned him with a disbelieving glare, and he shrugged. “I’d know.”
“How the hell would you know whether he was lying or not?” Cordelia demanded, and Spike let out a bitter crack of laughter.
“He just would. Always did, sodding Irish bastard. Are we done now? Can I collect the info and the Pouf and get the hell out of here?”
And here Wesley stepped into the breach. Thank you Wesley, you are a god among men.
“I can perhaps look up the rune, if you’d like,” Wes said mildly. Even Angel was surprised at the steadiness of his tone in the face of vampire minus the soul, or was it just that after dealing with Cordy everything else seemed to have fluffy bunny qualities?
“’Preciate it,” Spike said amiably. “Won’t take too long, though, will it? Wanna be out of here when the sun’s setting.”
“Shouldn’t, no,” Wes replied. “It would, of course, go faster if you’d assist me?”
Spike shook his head disgustedly, but relented and wandered into Wesley’s office, hands tucked into his pockets. Cordelia rounded on Angel as soon as the door shut and demanded in a furious whisper to know what the hell was going on.
Too tired from the few minutes he’d spent in his Childe’s presence, Angel answered her with a distinct lack of tact. “Xander is getting superpowers because the Powers want him as a playtoy. Spike is sleeping with Xander, which is why he’s psychotically protective. And apparently Whistler didn’t have enough fun with me the first time and wants me to help Xander this time.”
Cordelia, being Cordelia, immediately fixed on the more important part of the little speech. “Spike and Xander are sleeping together? That’s just... disturbing. I think I want to go throw up now.”
“And you don’t even know Spike all that well. Just think what it’s like for me.”
“Not giving me happier thoughts here, Angel. So, other than the incredibly gross thought of Xander and Spike having sex, what did you mean by the rest of it?”
Angel sighed and leaned back against the wall. “The Powers that Be apparently decided that Xander would make a good warrior. And the fact that he’s barely even decent as a fighter makes no difference to them. When the subject isn’t good enough, forget finding one that is- just go ahead and improve the one you’ve got till it’s up to standard. Whistler is the one who set me on the path of the Powers, and apparently he’s back for seconds since Spike said something about taking me back with him.”
“Well, he can just think again,” Cordelia snapped. “You don’t belong to the Hellmouth; you belong to LA. Get it straight, morons,” she growled at the ceiling, and then turned her glowering look back on Angel. “He can get his answers and go the hell back to Sunnydale- without you!”
Angel tried really, really hard not to let a little glow of pleasure spread through him at her words, but he wasn’t particularly successful. She really wanted him to stay here? “Cordy-“ he started, but, as usual, Spike got in the way.
“Buggerfuck!” he heard from inside the office, and with a sigh he turned away from the woman in front of him to deal with his Childe.
Spike was well on his way to working himself into a fine rage, pacing around Wesley’s office, which was not designed for pacing in, and waving his arms around as he snarled under his breath. Seeing that he wasn’t going to get much off Spike, Angel turned to Wesley.
“What set him off?” he asked.
“This,” Wes said, pointing to a section of the text. “Literally translated it’s essentially gibberish, but what it means is this: he who is branded will Become all that he is and ever has been. Or, simplified, all of the qualities he has ever had will manifest themselves.”
“Stupid buggering fucks are trying to get him killed!” Spike snarled. “Boy’s lived on the Hellmouth. If all the things he’s ever been fucking manifest themselves, then it’s gonna be the War for the Worlds in ‘is head. Sophomore he was possessed by a hyena. Junior year it was some soldier. Senior year he was a vampire in an alternate dimension. Last year he was a demon magnet. This year he had his personality split into two bodies. Are you friggin’ getting’ it now? He becomes all these things at once then sure, he’ll be a soddin’ superhero an’ all, probably more powerful than the Slayer, but the likelihood that he remains sane is about nil.”
“Actually,” Wesley interjected quietly, “that’s not entirely true. Yes, he’ll have all of those people inside him, but it’s not so much the personalities that assert themselves as the individual beneficial powers that go along with those different people. There’s a few references here,” and he hefted a huge book with the cover moldering with age, “about men and women branded with a similar mark. Few of them had quite as many experiences as Xander to draw on, but generally the mark is only given to those who have the potential to make full use of it. And those that were given it seemed to remain entirely sane and balanced in their own minds, though from what I remember of Xander the question of his sanity has long been in existence. The major point, however, is that Xander-the-normal-human is always in control, but can draw out varying pieces of all the other Xanders at will.”
“Hunting and need a brilliant sense of smell? Bring Hyena-Xander to the fore. Incredible strength and speed? No problem, he’s got his own personal vampire. All the demons are going to be coming to him, because he’s a demon magnet. Tactics and weapons.” Angel recited the litany of potential strengths dryly, trying to project calm onto Spike, who had halted his pacing and arm-waving to stare at him. Please don’t start again, Angel thought. Wes’ll kill me if you break anything in here.
“Christ, it’s brilliant,” Spike said wonderingly. “Boy’ll be unstoppable if he can ever adjust.” Angel nodded encouragingly, then wished he hadn’t as Spike fixed his laserlike gaze full-focus onto him. “Pack your stuff, peaches. You’re going on a road trip.”
“I doubt it,” Angel said, and sent a silent apology to Wes in case it happened to set off the younger vampire again.
But Spike just shook his head with an amused smile. “Not lettin’ you stay for more than a bit. Boy had some clues in that dream of his. One is you, so you’re coming back to Sunnydale until we know why. Understood? Good,” he said, not giving Angel a chance to actually answer, “because I want to be out of this hellhole as soon as the sun sets.”
Riding down the highway at- Angel glanced at the speedometer- almost ninety miles an hour, watching the cars that they passed, one by one. Like people, all the lives he’s passed in his own immortal lifetime. Like ants. Angel suppressed a semi-hysterical giggle and let his head loll back on the headrest.
Spike was humming as he guided the car with far more skill than most credited him with. Angel snorted. Boy’d been around through their entire conception and no one seemed to think that he could drive yet?
And the humming... that brought back memories. Spike had always hummed while he tortured, though he always broke it off to interject with some impossibly snarky comment that was tailor-made to make the pain even worse than his ceaseless humming had.
Or singing, soft crooning lullabies to ease Dru in the wake of one of her visions. Or belting out the lyrics to some horrendously painful song while he wheeled himself around the abandoned factory, still festooned with the decaying remnants of crimson flowers that Dru had wanted so much for her party.
Spike had always liked to sing.
“I got society’s blood running down my face/somebody help me get outta this place,” Spike sang under his breath, and then stopped with a frown. “Waitta minute. I know that line.”
“What?” Angel asked, trying to rouse himself from his semi-delirious stupor. He felt drugged, the good kind of drug that he, as a moral and conscious-endowed vampire, would have of course never tried. Of course.
“A line. From Xander’s dream. You said it- ‘I’m sorry I hurt them. Did I hurt you too?’ It’s a line from a song. Bastard’s been going through my CD’s again, no way that was on the radio.”
“What song?” Angel asked with mild curiosity, though somewhere he thought that maybe he should be paying more attention. Maybe. The night air was drugging him, though, like really good.... stuff that he’d never done. Uh-uh.
“I was wrong. Social Distortion.” He was silent for a moment. “It’s a bit of your story, here. When the Bitch came to town. Well, after.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah. Wanna hear it?”
“Yeah.”
And so he did. Flying down the highway to the Hellmouth, listening to Spike’s soft smoky voice wrapping around the lyrics over the sound of the tires on the pavement.
“I felt so alone
So insecure
I blamed you instead, made sure I was heard
And they tried to warn me
Of my evil ways
But I wouldn't hear what they had to say
I was wrong
Self destruction's got me again
I was wrong
I realize now that I was wrong...”
And it was right, somehow. Just... driving down the highway with Spike singing in his smoky sweet voice and relaxing back into the seat for what felt like the first time in months. Years, even. He’d left Buffy, and moved to LA, and just when he thought he had a friend in Doyle the half-demon had gone and gotten himself killed. And then he’d lost the only anchor he had left to him and had to take care of Wesley and Cordelia, because neither of them could have found their way out of a paper bag if someone had put them in there. Eventually they wised up a little, and Gunn was there too, and things were just starting to smooth over some when BAM Darla comes back to town and fucks it all to hell again. Then he’d lost his friends again even after Darla was gone, and then Buffy had died. No, not just died- Died. Some things just need capital letters, you know?
And he sounded drugged even to himself, but Buffy had Died and he’d tried to run off to... to Cambodia or something, but he couldn’t even make it to the docks before he turned around and came back because really, what was the point to running? He wasn’t going to find any peace in a monastery in wherever, because he couldn’t find peace anywhere. But he had here. In the passenger seat of Spike’s car, while his Childe drove ninety-three miles an hour down the highway and sang in his smoky sweet voice.
“We’re going to need to talk,” Spike said quietly, and it was only then that Angel realized that he had stopped singing a few minutes ago. “Now would be best, before we get back to th’ boy.”
“I.. can do that. Maybe.”
Spike waited for a full two minutes for him to say something more, and when he didn’t he shrugged and started talking himself. “Seems to me we’ve got a bit of history to clear away,” he said. “Otherwise we’re gonna be trippin’ over each other all the damn time, and Xander’ll have my skin if I’m kickin’ your ass every which way.”
“Yes, Spike,” Angel said sarcastically. “Because that’s what always happens, of course, whenever you and I fight. Instead of reality, where it’s the exact opposite.”
“Well, you’ve always had a bit of a habit o’ doin’ that, haven’t ya, Peaches? Whether it had a damn thing ta do with me or not. Blood on the floor? Torture Spike. Dru’s unhappy? Torture Spike. Stuck in a mineshaft? Torture Spike.”
“The last was most definitely your fault, Spike. And if there was blood on the floor, you were usually the one who spilled it. You always were the messiest damn eater I’ve had the misfortune to be with.”
“S’not my fault you were always all, ‘Wait, Spike. You can’t eat yet. You can’t eat until I say so.’ Y’always kept me from eating till I was fuckin’ starvin’ and expected me to keep it neat? Wanker.”
“You should’ve been grateful for someone to exert a little control over your life,” Angel said. “Because you sure as hell didn’t have any over your own.”
“Damn right,” Spike said. “’S boring any other way.”
“There’s something to be said for a little peace,” Angel argued. Spike just laughed at him.
Silence reigned in the vehicle again, but after a minute Spike started singing again, softly, mockingly.
“Hey dad look at me
Think back and talk to me
Did I grow up according to plan?
And do you think I'm wasting my time
doing things I wanna do?
But it hurts when you disapprove all along...”
Angel watched him with steady, unblinking eyes, and noticed that Spike’s voice had lost it’s mocking edge and now seemed deadly serious.
“And now I try hard to make it
I just want to make you proud
I'm never gonna be good enough for you
I can't pretend that I'm alright
And you can't change me...”
His hands were gripping the steering wheel more tightly now, black nails digging into the cheap plastic with all the tension that was showing in his jaw, now, making his voice harsher and darker, somehow.
“'Cuz we lost it all
Nothing lasts forever
I'm sorry I can't be perfect
Now it's just too late and
We can't go back
I'm sorry I can't be perfect...”
His voice was painful to listen to as he sang the chorus, and as he started singing the next verse he kept sneaking glances over at Angel, somehow managing to hold the car perfectly steady as he did so.
“Nothing's gonna change the things that you said
Nothing's gonna make this right again
Please don't turn your back
I can't believe it's hard
Just to talk to you
But you don't understand...”
“I understand better than you think, Spike,” Angel said quietly. “I just never know what to do with you. I don’t want to fight but how the hell else am I supposed to act around you? I’m not the same man who you knew back then, Spike. I’m not even close.”
“Well, neither am I, you wanker,” Spike growled back. “D’you think that the vamp you knew would be drivin’ down the road with his bloody ponce of a souled Sire sittin’ in the seat, lookin’ forward to a nice evening at home with Xander Harris? Not damn likely. So suck it up, Peaches. There’s gotta be some way we can interact without attempting to kill each other alla time.”
He paused, grimaced. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
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Index
