Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Slayer, in spite of her reputation, could be incredibly naive.

Sure, Spike couldn’t lay a hand on her or the rest of her so-called friends anymore. But he still had an open invitation inside her residence. It would have been insulting to let that little slip go to waste. When the cat’s away, the mice must play, after all, and with all the hospital drama going on, Spike wouldn’t be interrupted anytime soon.

A thick blanket was enough protection from the sun and he tossed it aside as soon as he felt safe in the house. It was a nice house, all things considered. Joyce had decent decor and furniture, nothing too outrageous for a single mother running an art gallery. Some of the things looked handmade. None of it really matter, though. He left all rooms virtually untouched except for his target, her bedroom.

Spike could barely hold his excitement as he marched into the Slayer’s boudoir and went straight for the drawers. The blouse felt like silk against his hands. Best of all, her scent was there, like some exotic flower. Spike inhaled deep and moaned. Spike imagined she was wearing it, her arms wrapped around him, trapping him in her tight embrace.

“Slayer…” he hissed, pressing his face against the blouse again. Underneath the laundry detergent and deodorant, Spike could smell her natural scent

“Spike,” she moaned, her mouth hungry as he explored her neck. It was perfect; white and smooth of any blemishes. No scars or bite marks, nothing that indicated she belonged to someone else. “I can’t help myself. You’re so evil, but so sexy, Spike.”

“I know, pet,” he whispered, breathing it all in. His sharp nose picked up a new, musky scent and he smirked. “Girls love that in a man like me. Even you.”

Buffy gasped as his hand trailed down her spine. “Don’t tease me, Spike. I can’t stand it!”

Spike chuckled, leaning back so he could look at her perfect lips, ripe and apple-red. He groaned, inches away, his tongue poking out. “Bullocks. You know you love it. Don’t lie to me.”

Her eyes welled up, ready to spill over, struggling to capture his lips against hers while he laughed. “I hate you. I want you. I—”

His little make-believe came to an end when he heard the static, the air itself rippling, and caught a sharp whiff of sulfur. Every hair stood on end and Spike felt a surge of memories flooding through his mind; Angelus and Darla swirling all around him like a vortex. And then something crashing, chunks of earth sent flying everywhere, crashing through the window and hitting Spike at the back of his neck.

Spike cursed under his breath and tossed the blouse aside, rage coursing through his body, and hoping that there was something out there he could vent his anger out on. He picked up a new scent; he registered blood that somehow reminded him of Drusilla. It was close, so incredibly close, he almost thought that she came back to him, wanting to start over. Spike bolted downstairs, willing that dream to life, so he could forget about the Slayer, about Harmony, about everything that he’d been through for the last three years. But when Spike opened the door, Drusilla wasn’t standing out with her arms outstretched.

“Damn kids,” he grumbled, ready to slam the door shut and return to his fantasies.

Then, he heard a sniffle.

“Eh?” Spike peered out, grabbing his blanket before venturing out onto the sun-lit porch. The road ahead was scorched in places, like something had been skidding against the pavement. For a moment, Spike thought there was fire across the path, except fire didn’t glisten and sparkle where the trail of destruction followed. Spike’s sharp eyes noticed they were some kind of crystal or geode. He sniffed at the air, and caught a whiff of blood mixed with tears. It was close, inches away, but Spike couldn’t see anything. He heard another sniffle, against the side of the house. Spike tugged the blanket tighter against his body and peered out where the noise came from. Some animal had curled itself up in a tight, red ball, shivering. Except it wasn’t an animal, it was a boy in animal skins.

Of all the…! “Oi!” Spike said sharply. “You got yourself a boo-boo? Need Mummy to kiss it, make it all better?”

The boy looked up, showing his tear-streaked face. Spike stumbled against the railing, blinking rapidly. That was Darla’s chin.

And Angel’s stupid puppy-eyes.

Her lanky hair.

His hair color.

Her pointy nose.

His gender.

What was going on?!

The boy stared, fearful. Spike hauled himself over the porch railing, careful to keep the blanket secured, his feet crunching against something. When he peered at his boot, it was the same crystal-like substance littering the street.

“Who are you?” The boy croaked out.

Spike stared at him, sneering. He couldn’t do anything, thanks to the chip, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get a little fun at the brat for ruining his afternoon.

“Who am I?” Spike watched the boy’s eyes widen as his game face appeared. “I’m the thing where nightmares come from, little boy.”

He expected the kid to bolt in terror, screaming bloody murder. That was half the fun for a vampire, the fear that spiced the blood from your prey. The boy scampered to his feet, holding a wrist against his chest. He looked an awful mess, too; knees chafed raw where the pants were torn, covered head to toe with dirt, blood trickling down one side of his head. But his posture shifted, and he bared out his teeth, a weak growl rumbling at his throat.

Spike pretended to gasp. “Oh, does the widdle boy wanna fight the Big Bad Vampire? Ooooh, someone save me from the Tiny Terror, he’s gonna kill —”

Then the boy dashed, quick as a bullet, almost too fast for Spike’s eyes to follow if he wasn’t a vampire. His good hand curled back into a fist and threw a sloppy punch into Spike’s abdomen. Spike hoped the brat would have broken his other hand doing that, and was surprised when he found himself keeling over in pain.

“Interesting,” said the boy, his voice cool. Spike could hear his heart hammering like a drum. “What’s a vampire doing out in the sunlight?”

Spike hissed as the blanket gave way a little, exposing his skin. He quickly covered it back up and started backpedaling. “Oh, you know,” he winced. “Getting some fresh air, Vitamin C, out on a milk run, whatever we don’t do in the shadows, I guess.”

The boy advanced against and this time, kicked up at Spike’s face. It clipped Spike’s chin and the momentum of the blow sent Spike back. His eyes flickered towards the house and he headed for the porch. The boy was close behind, snarling.

Gotta get inside. Spike thought, panicked. Gotta get inside and changed the arena.

Spike reached out for the door, hand inches away from the handle, when he felt a sharp tug at the blanket. The boy was grabbing at the hem with a wicked grin.

“What’s wrong, demon?” He yanked hard. Spike didn’t budge. “You’re not scared of a little sunlight, are you?”

Spike tugged hard and slammed into the door, knocking the whole thing off its hinges. He clambered to his feet just in time for the boy to pounce at him. They tumbled across the floor, Spike forced to shield himself from the blows — the powerful, no-kid-this-young-should-be-able-to-throw punches — until he shifted into his game face again and bared his teeth.

Frightened, the boy jumped off his chest. Spike stood up and pulled the blanket off his body, holding it aloft.

“Torro, torro,” he smirked, shaking it twice. The fear gave way to feral anger as the boy charged. Spike laughed as he trapped him under the thick confines of the blanket. The boy kicked punching and kicking, but Spike was one-hundred and eighty pounds of literal dead weight and he pressed all of it on the brat.

“What the hell are you doing, Spike?”

Distracted by the arrival of one Riley Finn, Spike didn’t notice the kid had escaped until he wrapped one small hand around his throat. Reacting on instinct, Spike grabbed at the other hand and yanked it hard. The boy recoiled and cried out in pain.

But the chip didn’t go off. Spike didn’t feel that sharp jab of pain, that little reminder that he couldn’t hurt humans anymore. It was blessedly, utterly absent.

What was this kid?

Finn was reaching out to the lad — the thing — who had started retreating into the kitchen, speaking softly like he was some frightened animal instead of something not-human.

“It’s okay, I won’t let him hurt you. You’re safe. You’re safe.” Finn held out his arms, shooting a dirty look at Spike as if was his fault the boy was such a bleeding mess. The boy hesitated, looking back at Spike, who stared at him, seeing him for the first time for what he was.

Then, he bolted out into the sunlight.

“Kid? Kid!” Riley called out, chasing after him. “Come back! Wait!”

Spike stayed where he was, dumbfounded. Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore…

Chapter Text

Steven pelted out into the light, heart pounding at his throat, his wrist throbbing, every part of his body sent shock waves of pain with every step. His vision became blurry with tears, he scrubbed furiously as his eyes and almost didn’t see the large, metallic demon as it slid in his path. He hurdled over it and heard someone crying out in shock, but he didn’t look back. He couldn’t look back, or else the vampire would be on him again. Father would be so disappointed if he saw his son like this; running from the enemy. He shouldn’t have run off after the Sluks, he knew where they were heading, he saw the cracks and jumped right in after them.

But he wasn’t ready.

A few more lessons, a few more years, and Steven would have been able to make the choice without fear in his heart. But wasn’t it fear that drove him to enter the rift and leave behind his home? Wasn’t it fear that push him into this strange world filled with new noises and new dangers? Wasn’t he afraid that the opportunity would never come again in his lifetime?

I’m so sorry, father. Steven thought. I promise, I’ll come back soon. Once I kill him.

He ran across the asphalt path, wincing as something poked through his boot, thinking though all the lessons that his father had taught him if they were separated. Find shelter, he thought. Find shelter and wait until it’s safe. Steven couldn’t risk entering the strange structures, there were too many people around, and the vampire might try to find him.

Steven heard a loud, rumbling noise coming from behind and panicked. He tried running faster, but his foot caught on something and he tumbled painfully to the ground. Steven curled up into a ball and slowed his breath; playing dead worked sometimes back on Quor’toth. He waited for the rumbling demon to leave and find different prey. But then, the rumbling noise stopped and someone called out to him moments later.

“Kid, are you alright?”

Steven looked up, but the sun was too bright, casting the tall figure in silhouette. Then, they knelt down, reaching out with a large hand. Steven looked suspiciously at it, and then at the figure. He blinked and realized it was the man who yelled at the vampire.

“Nasty spill you took, huh?”

Steven nodded numbly, letting the man pull him to his feet. His grip was strong and warm, like his father’s. His voice was rough like his father’s too, but not raspy. There was a kind edge to it that his father’s lacked. The man gently wiped away at his tears, speaking softly. Steven leaned into the touch; it felt nice.

The man knelt down and Steven noticed his brown hair and blue eyes. Eyes like mine. The man’s eyes flickered to Steven’s injured wrist and he frowned. “Did Spike do that to you?”

“Spike…?” Steven bit his lip, confused.

“Bleached hair, British, wears black. He attacked you earlier.”

“The vampire!” Steven snarled, his fear forgotten. “We have to go back and kill it! It hates sunlight and —”

“—stake in the heart, fire, holy water, all the good stuff.” The man nodded seriously. “You don’t have to worry about that freak.” He paused and tentatively pointed to one of the gashes on Steven’s knee. “Unless he…”

“He didn’t,” said Steven firmly. “I…I fell.”

The man blinked. “You fell.”

Steven nodded sharply.

“And the rocks and the…flame-y crystal rocks…?”

“I followed the Sluks here,” Steven explained. The man gave him a funny look, like his father would if Steven said something particularly stupid. “The Sluks?” He repeated. “You know….small, glows in the dark, Sluks?”

The man shook his head, smiling. “I don’t think we have those here, buddy.” Then, his eyes widened. “Wait, how do you know about vampires?”

“My father told me.”

“Where is he?” The man asked.

Steven swallowed hard, his eyes welling up with tears again. “I don’t know,” he choked out, and started to cry.

He knew his father would be so disappointed in him right now; running off without him, failing to kill a vampire, and worst of all, crying. Men were made of sterner stuff than that, he wouldn’t be surprised if Holtz thought a lesson was in order. But the man wrapped his arms around Steven and pulled him close to his chest. He lifted the boy up and started rocking him gently.

“Shhhh, shhhh, it’s okay buddy, you’re safe. You’re safe,” he whispered. Steven cried harder and the man’s grip tightened around him, keeping him anchored. It had been a long time since Holtz held him like this.

It took a few minutes before Steven could calm down, but the man didn’t seem to mind. He took out a handkerchief when Steven was done and used it to wipe his face.

“Come on,” the man carried Steven towards the metallic demon he was riding. “Let’s get someone to look at you, take care of that wrist.”

Steven froze. “What if it eats us?”

“Huh?”

“The demon.” Steven pointed.

The man stared for a moment before he chuckled. “It’s not a demon, kid. It’s a car.”

“Car?”

“It helps you get places faster.” The man opened one of the doors and gently placed Steven down on the seat. He pulled out a strange strap and clicked it on. “This is a seatbelt. If there’s an accident, it’ll keep you from flying out of your seat.”

When he was finished, the man entered the ‘car’ from the other side and held up a silver key. Steven watched as he explained how to start up the ‘engine’ and then get the ‘car’ moving. And then, Steven stared incredulous, as they started moving. He knew he was fast, but in the car, everything they went past was blurs of color. He pressed his face against the glass pane in wonder, his pain forgotten. The man cleared his throat and Steven sat back down, facing the front.

“So,” the man began, “what’s your name, buddy?”

Steven answered, “I’m Steven Franklin Thomas Holtz.”

“Steven Frankl — what?” The man let out a low whistle. “Try saying that three times fast.”

“StevenFranklinThom —” Steven stopped when the man started laughing. He clenched his good fist in his lap and looked away, scowling.

The man must have noticed the change in his demeanor because he stopped laughing. “It’s an expression,” he explained gently, almost apologetic. “I wasn’t, erm…it’s just a long name.”

“You can call me Steven,” Steven suggested.

The man nodded. “Deal.”

“What’s your name?” Steven asked, before remembering his manners and adding, “Sir?”

“You don’t have to call me Sir,” the man said firmly. He wasn’t looking at Steven now, his attention was back on the road. “I’m Riley Finn.”

Steven frowned. “Finn?”

Riley caught his eye and smiled. “Like what fish have.”

Steven giggled and decided that he liked Riley very much.

Spike bolted into the Magic Shop, dropping the blanket as soon as he knew it was safe, and leaned against the frame of the counter top. If Finn or the brat came after him, this would be the last place either of them would think of looking. Spike couldn’t remember the last time Soldier Boy stepped into the Magic Shop. He had a suspicion that being surrounded by occult merchandise threatened Finn’s purity or whatever.

Xander looked up from his reading. “Spike, you know there’s a No Smoking sign outside the shop for a reason, right?”

Spike noticed the smoky trail and batted at his shoulders in a panic. “Ha, ha, ha,” he drawled when he was finished. “You’re killing me, Harris.”

The door chimed open again, but Spike paid no mind to the woman walking in. High class, from the way she dressed herself. Crazy curls, too. If only she could twirl a stake or have fun quips, then he’d consider hiring her for an hour or two.

Giles gave Spike a hard look. “What exactly do you want, Spike?”

Spike clapped his hands, smirking. “Fancy a little light reading. Got anything in your Cave of Wonders for a chap like me?”

“Probably not,” Tara muttered. She was sitting next to Willow, hunched over a particularly large tome. Then, she smirked and added, “You could try Box Stew, in the romance section. New bodice rippers came in last week.” She faltered when she realized that the others were staring and buried her nose into the dense book. Spike noticed her face turned a lovely shade of red to go with Willow’s hair. “I-I mean, that’s what I heard.”

“No worries, Glinda,” Spike smirked. “Your secret’s safe with us. Not what I’m here for, anyways.” He gave a sharp nod towards the table. “Anything in there on unusual demons? Things that could possibly pass for human?”

Giles rolled his eyes. “In the back.” He made to turn, but the woman was right in front of him, holding a few things in her hand. “Oh! I-I beg your —”

“Uh huh,” the woman said abruptly. She held up her items; an amulet and some sort of bloodstone. “I’d like to buy these.”

“Of course — Anya, show Spike the, erm, the b-books.”

Spike followed Anya to the back of the shop and watched as she perused titles.

“Pastry Enchantments for the Household Cook….Persian Vampires and their Bloodlines…” Anya shook her head. “I’m very disappointed, Giles, this is really unorganized…Aha! Passing as Humans: Demonology Guide for Beginners.”

“Smashing.” Spike made to grab for the book, but Anya held it out of reach.

“We’re a business, not a library,” she said firmly. “That’ll be forty-four, ninety-nine.”

“Wasn’t looking to buy the damn thing —” Spike tried again, but this only irritated Anya into keeping it further away. “—Come on! You’re not making them pay for the bloody books!” He gestured to Willow, Xander, and Tara at the table. The door chimed, and the high-class woman was gone.

“Well,” Willow said promptly, “none of these books are for sale, you see? And, uh, we’re just looking up something on that case Buffy was working on. With the extra-strong woman and the Dagon Sphere.”

“Plus, you never want to help with research,” Tara added.

Xander smirked. “Plus, we don’t like you.”

Spike ignored the idiot and looked to Willow. “Extra-strong woman?”

Tara answered for her, “Well, Buffy fought someone awhile ago and she wasn’t exactly t-the normal threat she faces. Sh-she barely made it out of it alive.”

“And to think I was that close to dancing on the Slayer’s grave,” said Spike, unamused. But he couldn’t help but feel relieved. Buffy was his…

‘Spike…I need you, Spike…Spi~~ke!’

…to kill! The Slayer was his to kill! That’s why he was relieved. Nothing more. Whoever this thing was, it was next on his list. He wasn’t going to have competition in this backwater Hellmouth.

To cover for his silence, Spike rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she and the runt were connected.”

“Uh…runt?” Xander asked, looking faintly curious.

“Yeah!” Spike nodded eagerly, anxious to tell what happened. “So there I was, minding me own business, when there’s this crashing outside the Slayer’s house and —”

Giles cut in sharply. “What exactly were you doing near Buffy’s house?”

Spike blinked innocently. “Er, nothing.” No one was convinced. Spike continued, nonplussed. “So, I hear this crashing and there’s rocks flying everywhere and breaking windows and some sniveling brat’s crouched against the house. I come over, and then the kid starts flailing about. I’m talking punching, kicking, insulting me—”

Xander cackled in amusement. “I like him already.”

“He does seem likable.” Anya nodded in agreement. “In the sense that we despise you and he also despises you, which therefore provides common ground.”

Giles leaned against the counter top, unamused. “And I suppose that this was, erm…completely unprovoked on your part?”

Spike was ready to lie, but one look told him that his audience wasn’t likely to believe him if he did. “Alright, maybe I tried scaring him for the fun of it,” he begrudgingly admitted. “Wasn’t planning on hurting the brat…”

“Hang on a minute!” Willow jerked out of her seat. “You hurt a little kid?!”

“No.” Spike glared. “He was already banged up when I saw him.”

Xander stood up, too, looking like he was trying to throw daggers with his eyeballs, for all the good it did. Spike supposed he couldn’t fault the idiot for not believing him; he heard plenty of fighting back at his parents’ place, after all.

“What does this have to do with the book?” Tara asked not unkindly, though that was quite possible to change at any given moment.

“The punching and kicking part? It hurt like hell. Got me in the chin, too.” Spike gestured to the bruised area. “And he’s was fast. Faster than me, I reckon.”

“Sooo, you weren’t snooping around at Buffy’s house, doing your own thing, and then got pummeled by a little kid?” Xander snorted. “I think you’ve officially reached rock bottom, man.”

Giles frowned. “What makes you think he’s n-not human?”

“Grabbed his wrist and yanked it.” Spike tapped at his head. “Chip didn’t go off.”

“You hurt his wrist?” Willow’s hair stood out like static and Spike felt the air crackle a little. Tara looked to her girlfriend in alarm, took her hand and started rubbing down the knuckles. All at once, Willow deflated, but she wasn’t happy.

“It was already hurt!” Spike protested, but no one looked appeased. How did the Slayer handle dealing with these bozos every waking second of the day?

“We’re talking about a kid, right?” Xander asked, sounding skeptical. “Not the love child of Scrappy Doo and Speedy Gonzalez?”

Spike grabbed at his hair, ready to scream. “I’m telling you, this kid. Isn’t. Human.”

Giles removed his glasses, his patience at an end. “Thank you for telling us this, Spike. We’ll…we’ll keep you posted." Spike knew that was a lie. "Now leave.”

Spike huffed, looking at Anya and the book one last time before stomping his way to the door. He turned back and glowered. “One more thing I should mention. Whatever this kid is, he looks a bit like Dead Boy.” He picked up his blanket and wrapped it tight around his body. “Do with that what you will, I don’t care. Ciao!”

He scampered out into the light, eager to unwind with his TV and the panties he snagged from Buffy’s drawers. She ruined her wardrobe with all the slaying she does, she wouldn’t miss a pair.