This is a Spike/Xander fic but the boys are also paired with Angel. For wicked fun I threw a surprise character into the mix. Violence in general, it has bad language, some bashing, bloodplay and contains explicit descriptions of sexual actions between men. It's mostly R, but NC-17 in some parts. There will be no specific warnings or ratings, so keep away if you are not old enough or don't like this kind of fic. It's Buffy Season 6-ish without the Spuffy plotline and Angel Season 5-ish without the Wolfram & Hart plot.

Joolz is so fabulous, she beta'ed this for me and motivates me when I don't know how to continue. I thank her for all the patience she has with me and apologise for being stubborn about some stuff. All mistakes are mine.

Once It Begins


1 Deadly Serious

Spike’s crypt

Spike leaps to his feet out of a peaceful slumber by the bursting of the door. What the hell? His nostrils flare and his demon rattles on the bars of the cage the soldiers put it into when his senses are overflowed. He smells blood, so much fear of losing and being lost, grief, sorrow, panic and helplessness.

Two heartbeats reach his ears like a long missed song; one drumming wildly and the other is weak and slowly. Fading.

He turns around and stills in shock. Just for a second. With golden eyes he takes in the picture which fate painted for him tonight.

A nearly crying slayer is holding one of her sidekicks, the whelp; they’re both smeared with his blood which is flowing freely out of a… well, that’s how it looks like when you rip away a vampire from his prey in mid bite …deep gash in his throat.

They stumble towards him and he needs all his self-control to not give into his hunger and blood lust.

The blond woman puts the boy on a stone coffin and turns to Spike.

“Spike!” A plea for help. There is nothing to do for him anymore.

Thumbthumb… thumpthump… thump… thumpthumthump… …

“How thoughtful of you, slayer, to bring along a meal…” The vampire tries to sound indifferent but fails. Longing makes his voice rough.

The next moment his nose is bleeding from the fierce blow her fist gave to his nose.

You can make him okay, Spike! Do it!” The slayer screams in tears.

“I'm not a fucking doctor!” he replies and wants to sound nonchalant again but sounds helpless. “He's dying. It’s too late anyway.”

The slayer sobs loudly. “No! Not for you!” She grabs the bleached blond man’s black shirt and pulls him to her chest. Narrowing her eyes she hisses: “Turn him!”

Spike tries to back away from her, terrified by the craziness he can see in her eyes. “You’re completely nuts!” he whispers, turning his face away.

“Spike, do it! You have to do it! I can’t loose him! Do it NOW!” she screams.

“No, you stupid bint! He never would want to be a vampire! He hates them – me – Angel. I won’t do this.”

“What are you now? Mr. Morality?” she yells outraged and starts in a low flat tone to talk to herself: “Oh god, oh god. Why did I go in the shop? Why did I leave him alone? It’s all my fault. Just because they looked so pretty. Pretty pretty shoes. Lost them in the fight. Lost him. I can’t loose him. I can’t. I make it right again, Xander.” she suddenly states deadly serious and determined.

Spike isn’t fast enough to escape her iron grip. She hauls him over to Xander. Spike struggles but can’t get away. With the strength of desperation she holds him in place. A knife comes out of nowhere. Spike gasps and wriggles around but his chip sends blue lighted warnings through his brain. No, he doesn’t want to hurt, but the chip misinterprets the scent of fear to die pouring off in waves from Xander and the presence of Spike’s demon so close to the surface. Nice thing the soldiers build, now working against them in a way. Bloody fucking hell – she is totally off the rocker.

The slayer, saviour of mankind, cuts deep in Spike’s wrist, down to the bone.

He tries to pull away but the chip and her working together are stronger.

“No! Don’t do that to him! Don’t fucking do that! You don’t have a bleeding idea what you’re starting! You bitch, you un-fucking-believable dumb bitch!”

Spike curses on and on but the slayer isn’t reacting in anyway. All that matters for her is ‘saving’ Xander.

The blood pours out of Spike’s wound and she presses the wound to Xander’s mouth. Spike hopes it’s too late. That the last heartbeat is gone along time but knows – hears the truth. The slayer is begging Xander to drink, to come back, not to die – which doesn’t make any sense at all. He is concentrated now on the inevitable task he has to perform. His only concern is the next offspring of his bloodline. The Aurelius Line. He just has to wait. You can’t withstand the ruby fluid – nobody can.

Xander’s lips move, he opens his mouth to take in the powerful blood, swallows, sucks and swallows, again and again.

The slayer cries out in relief and triumph and Spike is reminded about the old black and white flick “Frankenstein”. For her it’ll be creating a monster, something to kill when she realizes what she made Spike do. Perhaps it’s really about resurrecting a friend. An acquaintance she treated like a useless burden as long as he was alive and is now sorry about.

For Spike it’s creating (un)life, father a child and just like now building a family sense - stronger than any human could ever have - for eternity. …unless you happen to piss off a gipsy clan but still…

“Stop! It’s enough!” she barks feeling her control of the situation slip, feeling left out. She pulls on Spike’s wrist. He snarls at her and doesn’t move an inch.

“Stop now or I dust you!” she threatens checking her pockets mentally for a stake.

“It’s not enough, you bimbo!” Spike yells in game face. “You want him to be a fucking minion? Existing to serve you? Following your every command out of fear?” He growls loudly to show his disagreement.

She doesn’t get to answer when a group of six vampires rush through the broken door. She mustn’t. Spike saw the flicker of temptation in her eyes.

“Slayer! We’ll take you down!” The leader of the vampire announces. She instinctively starts to fight them; everything around forgotten.

Spike thanks whoever bought him this time window. The first time in all his years he is thankfull for a horde of vampires stomping into his living room. He isn’t hesitating; he makes a run for the lower level of his crypt, never removing his wrist from the suckling mouth.

The vampire is sure the slayer can handle them on her own – if not he can escape through the sewers.

Eventually he is downstairs, cradling the male body in his arms. The warmth the whelp once possessed is fading quickly. The sucking slows and stops like his sire once told him would happen if you create family and not just minions. Gently Spike takes his arm away, spreads blood on the big gash on the boy’s throat to close it, not wanting it to scar.

He listens closely to the whelp’s physical signals, waiting for the right moment to make him truly his.

The moment is near and he leans forward, praying he won’t be interrupted. His lips grace the delicate lukewarm skin on their way to the right spot. He’ll set his mark between the end of the shoulder and the beginning of the neck, where you can hide it if necessary even under the collar of a t-shirt or show it proudly by wearing an open button-up. Just where I got mine.

He finds the perfect place, feels the last heartbeat against his lips and sinks his fangs in with the greatest care. Spike sucks one time only, taking not nearly half a mouthful of blood that’s not already tainted with the demon. He wants to know how Xander Harris tasted, wants to remember now and then the pureness and the sunshine that was him.

2 Calling

Spike's crypt

After Buffy dusted the vamps as quickly as possible, she rushes down the ladder to the lower level of the crypt. Her eyes narrow when she takes in the two figures huddled in a dark corner. Xander sits with his back to Spike’s chest. The vampire is wrapped tightly around the brunette’s body, his mouth still nuzzling the fresh scar on his neck.


That bastard!

“Spike!” she grinds out through gritted teeth, barely able to hold her emotions in check.

“Hm? Wot?” Spike replies sleepily, contented purring making his voice slurp.

“Come on, Spike! I take care of him now.” A warm friendly tone bleeds into her voice effortlessly.

“No.” Dreamily whisper. “Mine.” Grinning to himself.

“Spike!” she whines. “Give him to me, please!”

“No!” Firmer now. His hand comes up, long pale fingers combing through dark silky curls. Carefully the whelp’s face is turned a bit and Spike’s mouth places soft kisses all over the brunette’s features. The fangs never ever touching the skin.

“Ewww!” The girl’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Spike! Stop that! Ewww!”

“MINE.” Adoration, devotion and pride. Still grinning, tightening his grip on the dead boy. “MINE!”

“No Spike! Not yours.”

She goes to stand directly in front of them.

The vampire growls, lips curled up, fangs bared.

She ignores him, grabs Xander’s shoulders and with a little effort she is able to pull the boy towards her, kicks the vampire hard in the ridged face. He falls back, but gets to his feet immediately. Exhaustion and blood loss making him sway unsteadily.

Out of the depth of Buffy’s sleeve

a stake

appears in the slayer’s hand

and she pushes it


A cruel grin dancing on her lips.

Satisfied she shoulders the limb body and heads out of the crypt into the false light of dawn. She goes straight to the mansion because she knows the things she needs are there: chains, manacles, rings and columns to fasten them on.

Groaning, the heap of limbs on the crypt’s floor twitches back to consciousness. Spike tries to stifle a cry of pain when the pressure on the stake shifts and it embeds itself even deeper in his chest. Bleary eyes open, a tremor of panic rocks the vampire’s body.



Spike instigates a loud keening sound,

something between

hopeless sobbing


helpless screaming.

Calling for a childe he knows is not even awoken yet.

He tries to stand but can’t make it to hands and knees, hovers between lying and kneeling. Shoulder and one cheek scraping on hard stony floor. He is so weak from the blood loss. Firstly from feeding his soon to be childe and secondly from the stake still inserted in his middle.

Even if he would be on the peak of his strength, what could he do against a slayer, against humans? He's not able to take his childe back, to protect it, save it from the food. chipchipchipchipchipchipchip…

Weak, unable to protect himself or his childe, he does the only thing he swore to himself some time around 1900 he would never do.

Mustering the last reserves of strength he possesses he grabs the stake hard, demon face exploding in pain as he howls while he drags it out





He opens himself up,

lays his inner self bare,

shows all his weakness,

his fear for his childe,

his frustration with his own helpless state

and lets it

race through the link,

pushes it to his family,

calls for help,

demands protection,

orders his bloodline to come to him.

3 Links

L. A., Hyperion

“Cordy, do you now a better dry cleaning service than George’s?” Angel holds his light green button shirt against the light of a lamp. “The Gnor’kl’s blood has still left a light purple…” His eyes fly open wide. Shock and surprise making them bulge. Hands moving to his heart on their own account. Looking like a old man having a stroke, Angel goes down.

Thunk as his knee hits the floor hard and he starts to whimper.

Thunk as his fist slams into the wooden floor, destroying a tile while the whimper turns into growling.

Wuumbwuumm when Cordelia’s knees hits the floor, little cries accompanying the waves of the vision ploughing through her brain. She quakes in pain, her hands clutching her head. Tears streaking down her face distorted by grief.

Seeing Cordelia cringing, hurting, Angel pulls himself together and crawls towards her, cradles the sobbing girl to his chest.

“Oh God, oh God, ohgod ohgodohgodohgod… he's…” she sobs.

“He will be okay. He gets through it. We just have to get to him. Fast!” Angel wonders if visions now come with a portion pity for the hurt person.

“He's dead! DEAD!” she screams only inches away from Angels sensible ears.

He flinches away. “Well, yes. More than a century, actually.”

“Huh?“ Big brown eyes staring up confused.

“Well, turned him 1880, makes it about one hundred and…”

“Huh?” she interrupts.

“Spike? My childe?” Raised eyebrown. Brown eyes urging her to understand.


“Because he… erm, your vision wasn't about Spike, was it?” Biting his lower lip, trying to figure out, how he gets her to hurry so he can get to his childe.

“He was in the vision, not the mainplayer though and Buffy took care of him… finally.”

“Took care of him how?” Angel surpresses growling.

“Staked him.” Shrugging.


“Well I saw her ramming the long wooden thing deep into his chest…” trailing off when Angel growls loudly.

“He is not gone.” Angel says, tries to puzzle out the whole picture.

“If you say so.” A neatly shaped eyebrow rising, silently questioning Angels sanity.

“What else did you see?!” Angel hurries her and gets a weeping Cordy in his arms again instead of information. Brushing away the words of compassion his soul whispers, he grabs her shoulders and shakes her. “Tell me what you saw. NOW!” Eyes flashing yellow.

“He's DEAD!” she eventually cries.

“He's not dead.”

“You haven’t seen him! He IS dead!”

“I would feel it if he were dead. Believe me, he's not dead!“ Losing patience.

“Why would you feel it when Xander was dead?” Earnest puzzlement now.

“What? You're talking about the stupid boy again?” Groaning and biting his lip, trying not to slap her. “Fuck Harris! I care about Spike!” Wide brown eyes, surprised by his own words. Angel hears them echoing in his head, lingering like cigarette smoke.

Cordy struggles to her feet, wiping furiously on the tears still spilling from her eyes.

“I have to go to Sunnydale.” Angel says and sits on the heel of his feet, hands on his knees, thighs spread wide.

“Yeah, have to pack for the funeral. Did I ever wear the black shirt with the sweetheart neckline in Sunnydale or did I buy it here in L.A. already?”

Angel sighes. “Cordy. Cordy! CORDELIA!”

She whips around to Angel, takes in his formal looking stance. “Erm, Angel…”

“You’ve got two hours to get your stuff together. I'm going to Sunnydale and if you’re ready, you can come with me.” When Cordy opens her mouth to protest or to negotiate the time or whatever he cuts her short: “GO. NOW!”

The door slams shut loudly.

Alone at last, Angel is able to concentrate. Spike must be very desperate if he of all people calls the clan. Then Cordy’s vision of Buffy staking Spike after finding the annoying now dead youth. Something must have gone badly wrong. Some kind of misunderstanding maybe. Spike simply wasn’t able to hurt Xander, the chip was still in place as his childe told them with the call. Musing the possibilities around Angel realizes that he is just stalling. He had never given up the position of the clan’s head, so he had to deal now. And a demand of protection and help made by a childe was nothing that could be ignored, no. The lore of his clan simply said to follow the call and help and protect where it was needed.

Angel throws his head back, demon to the fore, he howls out his rage at the treatment of his childe and assures Spike that the head of the clan of the Aurelius blood line will follow the lore and come to him.


“Ooohh…” The darkhaired woman jumped up to a bench, her face to the sky, lips twisted in a semismile. “Miss Edith, can you hear him?” Twirling on one foot, the long skirt flowing around her pale legs. “He is calling for Daddy.” Laughing lightly to herself, jumping from the bench, cocking her head to her side, listening. “But we can hear him too! Can’t we, Miss Edith?” Turning in another direction, she stretches her hands out over her head to the sky screaming: “The sister can hear you! SHE CAN HEAR YOU!” Demon rippling to twist the pale face, glowing yellow eyes and sharp fangs. The head thrown back again, Drusilla starts a high pitched howling before she begins her journey to her little Spike to help him and meet Daddy again.

Somewhere else

Sitting at school, bored to death by the repeatedly performed Tell-about-your-holiday-plans-rite, the young man looks out of the window. There are some leaves of the old tree that the wind picks up time and time again. He shoves them around, lifts them and plays with them endlessly. Not really the best to pass the time but… groaning, clutching at his heart. Panic rushing into his body with each breath he takes. Panting now. Hot agony. In him. On him. Around him. Everywhere but… A scream torn from his throat. The faint echo of what he feels. He has to go. Now.

Shooting to his feets, the chair flying back, all eyes on him, he runs out of the class room. Desperate to run home but not able to deny his body when it runs in the opposite direction.

4 Blackend

Angel’s mansion

The mansion is like Buffy remembered it: dark, creepy and dead.

She shudders when she pulls the door shut. Finding a room with an iron framed bed, she lays Xander down.

Looking at her friend’s pale dead face, she forces herself to smile encouragingly.

“Didn’t lose you, did I? Saved you. Soon you’ll be our old Xand-man again, you’ll see. You just have to get back your strength.” Laughing at her own words. Xander and strength in one sentence. Her hand comes down to caress the still face, slides down, absently peeling off some of the flakes of dried blood.

“We don’t want you to be scared when you wake up. We don’t want you to have all this your blood on you, do we?” Her manicured fingers search for the first button, opening the next. And the next one. Until the shirt falls open, revealing a tanned muscled chest. The body of a construction worker, of a… no, not of a fighter…

Nevertheless, the muscles are built up by life, by doing hard work not superficially pumped up by mindless bodybuilding.

Fingertips trail along the slight curve of a pectoral, caressing a dark nibble.

Pinching it, wanting it to react, wanting Xander to be just sleeping, not… don’t think about it don’t think about it – have to get Willow have to get Willow

Fastening leathern restraints around Xander’s ankles and wrists with more urgency than care, she leaves to seek out Willow.

Spike’s crypt

Pain. Hunger. Reassurance.

The first three things Spike feels when the thick blackness around him fades to grey.

“Sire?” A faint whisper. Bloodloss making him so weak, immobilizing him. He strains to get up, to get to his childe. Not awoken yet. Will not awake for hours. Time. Still time. Time for “Sire?” to arrive. But sun’s up. Dangerous. Body jerking in pain. Exhaustion numbing him again. His vision’s darkening again, blackness swallowing his thoughts, the pain he feels. Unawareness embracing him again.

L. A., Cordy’s apartment

A loud car horn rips Cordy out of her lethargic slump on the dining room chair.

“Dennis? Everything packed?” Two suitcases and a smaller bag float through the air, stopping just in front of the door, landing with a dump noise.

A mirror, make up and a lipliner appear only inches from Cordy’s reddened face. She manages a wobbly smile.

“Thank you, but I don’t think it would be a good idea to freshen it up now.” The three things disappear in the smaller bag immediately and a family pack of tissues are thrust into Cordy’s hand.

“Thank you, Dennis.” Sobbing again.

The car horn is howling angry now.

“God! I'm coming! It’s not that it matters anymore. He's already dead. No one to be saved left!”

Grabbing her suitcases by the handles, pulling them after her out of the door while silently thanking whoever developed the little tires under them.

Coming to an abrupt halt shortly in front of the formerly beautiful car.

“Gross! What did you do to the car!” she squeaks, voice heavy with disgust.

“Get the fuck into the car!” Angel barks and lets the engine roar, signalling that he won’t wait for her.

Hurrying to get the luggage into the trunk and herself into the car, she forgets about it.

“Ewww…!” Looking down repulsed on the black sticky fluid on her hand.

Gritting his teeth, Angel gives a rag to her to clear off the paint. After wiping away some of the offending paint, she stops suddenly, holding the rag up in front of her gasping.

“That is your favorite shirt!”

“Was.” Angel comments coldly and stomps on the accelerator with barely restrained vampiric force.

“You looked gorgeous in it!” Angel growls now.

“At least you won’t combust while driving with all the black paint leaking down the windows on your car.”


“Yes, Angel?”

“SHUT UP!” The car jumps forward, the engine giving a tortured scream and the steering wheel creaks dangerously under the white knuckled grip.

Closing her mouth, Cordy turns her head away, stares outside with unseeing eyes. Lips quivering, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. The emotional weight of the last few hours too much for her to easily withstand a rejection from someone she loves.


Running home, Buffy’s brain races through the many possible explanations for her deeds. Willow has to be happy to keep her friend. She wouldn’t want Xander dead, would she? Willow would have done exactly the same, wouldn’t she? Xander is her first ~ no, that’s me ~ well, her second ~ no, that’s Tara ~, well third best friend and she loves him as much as ~ I do. In a sisterly duty, adopted puppy way. Nobody wants their pets to die. ~

Arriving at the house, rushing up the stairs, throwing open Willow’s bedroom door without knocking, she blushes deeply while watching the red haired witch riding out the last waves of an orgasm given to her by the blond head between her pale legs.

Only a second later Buffy finds herself blind.

Deep impenetrable darkness surrounding her.

“Buffy!” Willow squeals and both witches scramble to get on clothes. A deeply embarrassed Tara flees into the bathroom.

“Willow! Take it back!”


“I'm blind!”

“Oh my god Buffy! I am sorry! I… I… I just didn’t want you to see more than you already saw…”

Buffy cuts in. “It’s okay, I'm sorry, shouldn’t have busted in like that. But can you please take it back now?”

“Yeah, sure.” Resolve face. “I just have to remember which spell I used…” She scrunches up her face. Buffy begins to tap her foot impatiently. “Did I say anything when you came inside?” A helpless expression settles on the red head’s face.

“Wiiilllllooooow!” Buffy whines. Grinding her teeth together, making a scraping sound which makes the witch shudder.

“I will fix that! No problem. I can do it. I just need some books and… I will have the solution easily and in no time!” She turns away, whispers to herself. “And god, I have no idea where to start. I mean it was the heat of the moment, so to speak, literally. I was kinda distracted and not on the spell with my tongue, erm, thoughts, and I can’t…”

Louder again. “Maybe it would be the best, to save time and to be sure to get it right the first time, perhaps, it would be good to, I mean,… We should ask Giles!?!”

Fleeing from a blinded but not incapable slayer into the bathroom to her still purple faced girlfriend.

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