Once It Begins


5 Welcome


Two hours later a black car rushes through the streets of Sunnydale. The passengers are both beautiful, both quiet and both suffering but their wounds are different ones.

Angel grits his teeth for the millionth time, teeth grinding noisily, it’s driving Cordy crazy but she doesn’t say anything anymore. She just stares out of the window, ignoring the vampire on edge.

Yeah, Angel is on several edges today.

He feels his true face emerging every so often and fights against it,

grinds his teeth to keep the human features in place.

He feels the bloodline’s call growing inside him,

hears his childe’s plea for help,

his other childe’s answer

and about fifty minions‘ subdued voices,

whispering their devotion and submissiveness to the head of the clan.

He hopes the minions won’t be too much of a problem. They only acknowledge and follow the head of the clan, they don’t know about the soul or Spike’s chip.

Dru’s insanity is no secret.

And Darla is long dead.

Three members of the bloodline and none of them as intact as they should be.

None of them a real vampire.

But a clan nevertheless.

A raging anger rips through him and again he has to fight back the game face,

too late to not cut his lower lip with his fangs

but fast enough to not get the attention from the disheveled girl on the passenger seat.

Angelus, his demon, his energy is roaring at him,

roaring at the soul to get lost –

he wants out to play, wants out to hunt, torture and kill the person

who made his childe call out for the clan, for him.

The image of a blond girl.

Buffy, Angel knows.

Slayer is everything Angelus needs to know.

“Where did it happen?” he growls and Cordy jumps a little.

“A-a-a cr-crypt.” she stutters out under the intense scrutiny of the blazing golden gaze.

“Spike’s crypt?” Angelus kicks the soul hard – hitting the already guilty spot again and again. His childe should never have to live in a fucking crypt.

Cordy starts to scream when Angel’s car reels around the corner and runs over the cemetery gate. Unimpressed Angel steers the car to Spike’s crypt, parks it with the driver’s door only two feet away from the half open crypt’s entry.

The smell of his childe’s blood, even through the closed car window, and the vibration in the bloodlink are overpowering Angel. He is out of the car and into the crypt without even a single thought about the blinding midday sun.

The picture that greets him lets him sink to his knees in pain.

Spike, his beautiful childe, without consciousness, lying on his belly, face sideways. So pale, cheekbones sticking out, eyes closed, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, twitching limply, desperately lapping on the long dried blood on the dirty tiles.

The body hurt enough to go by instinct only.

Crawling over to his childe, Angel starts a whimpering, keening sound, reassurance for his childe and information for his clan.

He crawls over to the blond, cradles him in his arms. He rocks Spike back and forth, murmuring sweet nothings like “my beautiful boy, my baby boy, my favorite childe...”

His wrist is firmly pressed to Spike’s lips, nearly bruising his mouth with the urgency Angel feels to have the fangs biting in his flesh and his childe to drink from him the existence spending liquid.

Relief floods the older vampire when the first tentative movement of his childe’s lips caress his wrist.

“Come on, my boy. Drink your fill.” he whispers encouragingly. Spike moans and whimpers when he lets the fangs sink into the offered veins, tastes the first precious blood. Greedily he gulps down long swallows of sire’s blood, he hasn’t tasted for so long, too long.

The blond vampire feels his wounds closing, his weakness fading and when he is restored enough to be able to think again, he is on his feet immediately, wildly looking around, a never ceasing repetition of one word escaping his mouth: “Childe?”

Angel watches with a frown marring the forever youthful face, fearing the chip and now the injury eventually have driven his baby boy into madness.

“Come here, childe. Everything is alright. I'm here now, your sire is here.”

Spike stops stunned, looking at the ensouled version of his beloved sire, eyebrow cocked, smirk in place.

“You finally gone round the bend, poof?”

Rage grips Angel so hard, he can’t stop himself even if he would attempt to.

One fast move, using all the enhanced speed he has and Spike is on the floor, Angel in full game face towering over him.

“Don’t you forget your place, boy!” he barks coldly.

Grimacing around his split lip, Spike says nothing.

After what feels like an eternity of staring each other down without anyone winning, Angel hauls Spike to his feet by his collar, patting him down, ordering his clothes.

“Why did you call the bloodline?” No rage, no mocking, no emotion at all and Spike wonders who this is he is talking to. Not his sire, but close, not the crazy parody of Angelus from a few years ago, not the weak poof but souled nevertheless.

“Childe.” Spike gritts out.

“I’m your sire, dammit!”

Glaring, having no patience to deal with a slow minded, stupid Angel.

My childe!”

“Stop it, Spike! You don’t have a childe...” Eyes growing wide in realization.

“He has still to rise.” Spike says and fixes his eyes on the floor not willing to get disapproval from the head of the clan this soon, even before his childe has a chance to proof his worth.

“Where is he?”

Spike shakes his head sadly, shrugs. “Dunno.”

“Why don’t you know where your childe is?” Yelling. “He will rise by sunset and he should not be without his sire! Don’t you remember how I stayed with you, only you, the first weeks...”

“Slayer took him away.” Spike interrupts harshly and shields himself as well as he can against the memories his sire’s words bring up. He doesn’t want to think about the only time in his existence, alive and undead, he felt safe. Three and a half weeks of pure bliss aren’t even a good memory anymore, the bitter taste of lost and left they leave is too overwhelming to be ignored.

“Why would the slayer...” Angel trails of when realization sets in. “HARRIS? You turned Harris?” Wide wide eyes, golden ringed, barely caged mockery and awe.

He doesn’t see it, he keeps his gaze fixed on Angel’s shoes, waits for the blows, the outraged screaming of disapproval.

He is surprised, when the broad hand tenderly grabs his chin and lifts his head. He looks into brown soulful eyes, contradicted by the dancing golden flakes.

“Damn good choice, boy.”

6 Blind & Blood

Magic Box

Giles suppresses a groan when the doorbell jingles for the thousandth time. And it’s just early afternoon. He stands up like a man twice his age, feels older now than ever before. Maybe he should have accepted Anya’s offer to help him, but he was never someone who could admit needing help or even take it. He knows he could have avoided a lot of problems in his past if he had asked for advice but…

Confused, he takes in the three people at the entry. There is Buffy, his precious slayer, clutching so hard on Willow’s arm that the redhead’s face is contorted in discomfort, maybe even pain. Red, he calls her in his head. Not because he heard his countryman say it as an endearment but because he has to keep her ‘nameless’ sometimes so emotions won’t distract him in his judgment. Red has to be kept under close scrutiny, he can feel the power vibrating from her core and sometimes that power makes his skin crawl because it is not an entirely ‘white’ feeling he gets.

In contrast to the other witch, Tara, who is so bright red in her face that it nearly matches her girlfriend’s hair. Tara is in full control of her current abilities and the developing new ones. Her mother taught her well and Giles feel sorry that the male part of her family made the girl so insecure of herself.

“GILES!” Buffy screams at the top of her lungs and he jumps. Why should she cry out like that for him when he’s only a few paces… Oh my. Frantically he grabs his glasses and starts to roughly polish them in an attempt to calm himself. She's blind! The Slayer is blind! His mind runs through the routines the Watcher's council established for hurt or incapable slayers. Sure, he had abandoned the council but in this case the rules were clear and reasonable. The world, the hellmouth needs a fully functional Slayer.

“I’m here.” he chokes out, not able to look directly at the unseeing eyes of the girl whose death he's just planned.

“Gi-iles. I’m bli-ind!” she whines and he finds himself faking surprise. “Oh really?”

“She did it!” Buffy spits out, pulls on Willow’s arm and shoves her in Giles’ general direction. The pale girl stumbles but catches herself before colliding with the older man.

Giles perks up, sensing hope. Maybe the spell can be broken and nothing is lost so far. Not his slayer, not his dreams of a glorified future for himself


“How…” he begins a question but is rudely interrupted by the bottle blonde.

“Tara was eating her out when…”

“Buffy!” he exclaims harshly, not used to the blunt phrasing out of her tiny mouth. He feels an uncomfortable tugging in his groin. Well, maybe not really uncomfortable…

“…when I came home! Into my home! I find them eating pussy in my mother’s bedroom! My dead mother’s bedroom!” Buffy screams again, she is upset, terrified by the darkness surrounding her and he understands. All too clearly he remembers the accident when Red’s ‘my will’ spell went wrong. How his ability to see faded more and more, how first text was unreadable, how objects got fuzzy and lost focus, how the impenetrable grey matter grew and got darker… He starts to polish his glasses again. It was a rather unpleasant experience.

“So you came into their room and found them in a … quite sexual position…”

“Quite sexual position?! Have you ever seen lesbians going at it?” Yes, Giles thinks, and his mind conjures up images from the latest porn he bought. “It’s disgusting!” Buffy murmurs eventually and Willow’s gasp is the only sound in the Magic Box’s eerie silence.

Tara, for the first time since entering, looks up, checking on her girlfriend’s reaction to the slayer’s admission. The blond witch, however, doesn’t seem surprised at all. Giles stores that fact away for later exploration.

“Buffy, I think you should try to calm down. Let me talk to Willow and I am sure I can solve the problem … with your eyesight.” Before Buffy can say another word, he grabs her wrist and drags her into the training room, makes her sit down on the old couch and tells her to wait until he comes back. Any protests are stopped by a little bit of Ripper blending in his voice. A voice that makes Buffy’s cheeks flush. Suppressing a “good girl” Giles goes back to the witches.

Spike’s crypt

Baffled, Spike looks up. “Sire?” he whispers, not able to believe his ears…

“Yes, m’ boy. I am here as the head of the clan because you called out for me. This is also me coming for you as your sire, m’ lad.” Angel sighs and cups the back of the blonde’s head.

“But you’re… and how…” Distracted by this tender touch from the other vampire, Spike’s voice fades away. Staring into whiskey brown depths, searching for truth or …something in Angel’s eyes to keep on to, to not lose his grip on the reality of nearly one hundred lonely years. There is nothing, just endless brown with dancing golden flakes like dust in a sunray. The big hand pulls softly, not rushing, not demanding and after some half-hearted resistance Spike leans against the broad chest, finds comfort and protection in his maker. Just for a moment, even feels safe.

“My boy…” Angel murmurs into dirty blond curls, not able to believe how he could go all this time without this, without his boy. His other arm comes around, hugging his childe to him so hard that Spike sobs against his neck from the pressure of the powerful embrace. Suddenly Angel remembers the gashing stake wound and lets off some. Spike whimpers, careful not to break the skin, he gnaws on the cool pale neck with blunt teeth, begging for the most healing, most tasteful blood in this dimension.

Angel makes odd rumbling noises, at first broken and short but soon growing to a full purring. Too long since he purred for anyone, even refusing this comfort to himself because the memories it brings back to the surface are too close to long gone reality in the hours of false dawn. The time they used for the history and lore lessons, sometimes for fairy tale telling. William, his boy an eager fledgling, snuggled up against him, always purring, so content with just being with him. Purring which soon changed to little delighted moans when he used his own mouth to kiss instead of to tell rules.

Breathing in his childe’s unique scent deeply, memorizing this moment forever, all too aware of the changes which too soon will happen. “Go on.” he whispers, and moments later he feels the sensation of fangs piercing his flesh, washing away a century of solitude and abandon.

Spike drinks hastily, driven by hunger and fear of not getting enough. The taste of sire’s blood, unique and pure… the only taste he can recall instantly, having done so nearly every day since he was left to fight for himself and weighed down with responsibility for Dru. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone or even himself. He knows he can go on til he feels sated. Sire’s blood is rich and for childer the best nourishment, only a third of the fill a human can provide is enough to be sated completely. His body hums happily, goosebumps are all over his body, he feels energized and his senses are hyped. The stake wound closed over, not healed totally but even a vamp needs recuperation time.

Gently Spike’s rough tongue closes the wound like he never even needed to be taught. He was always a giving person, focused on the needs of others, never his own until…

The cat like licks get tinier with every stroke and Angel shudders, knows that this will most likely be the last time he feels the oddly enough still familiar sensation. Spike’s way of saying thanks. The blond pulls back, and however tender and slowly he does it, Angel is left with a feeling of coldness, of loss, like he never had known before.

“My childe. I have to find my childe.” Spike says, voice now steady, determined and Angel nods.

“We have to get some blood first.”

“Human.” Spike says with a voice which tells you not to even try to negotiate.

“Of course, fresh…”

“Oh no, you will so not go out there hunting for the evil one!” Cordy squeaks and both vamps flinch at the interruption.

“I thought about…”

“NO! Do you hear me! No. You will not support this…”

“If you don’t shut up right now, I will feed you to him by myself.” Angel growls, face flashing into his demon visage and back. Cordy jumps and tries to retreat, catching her heel in a crack in the tiles, she slumps to the ground sobbing helplessly. Without another look the two vampires leave the crypt and the sound of a car driving away is deafening to Cordy’s ears.

7 Returns

L. A., Hyperion

“Hey Wes, yo man!” Gunn calls out while he jumps down the few steps in the hotel’s lobby. Wes seems to be bowed down over someone on the sofa. He doesn’t react, doesn’t acknowledge Gunn at all. The black man felt a familiar tingle in his neck, that one he always felt when something was not quite right.

“Wes? You wanna introduce me to someone?” he says, forcing his tone to stay light and friendly while he slowly made his way over to the sofa. One hand behind his back, already grabbing the stake he kept in the waistband of his pants, body tense and pumped with adrenaline.

“Wes?” he again calls to to his unresponsive friend. No reaction. His hand comes up, nearly touching the smaller man’s shoulder when Wes suddenly spins around.

“GUNN!” The ex-watcher exclaims, face overly cheerful and eyes bright. Surprised, Gunn jumps back with a not very manly squeal. Wesley laughs and winks at him. Gunn’s eyebrows shoot up almost to his non-existent hairline, dark eyes open wide from shock to see a totally joyful, chipper man instead of the lately often depressed and usually closed up man.

God he's stoned. is Gunn’s next thought which quickly dissipates when Wes steps aside to reveal a woman. Long black hair frames her pale face; she wears a wide black satin and velvet dress. Gunn ogles the lady up and down appraisingly, realising himself to be the complete opposite of her. She fixes her eyes to his and a smug grin comes to his face. The kind of grin that says ‘Come and get me’.

Suddenly Wesley’s elbow nudges the taller man hard in his side; Gunn looks at him as he blushes and bows down to the dark lady.

“Princess,…” he murmurs, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“Oh, my beautiful little ape.” she drawls soothingly, a gloved hand tangles in Wes’ dark hair.

“Ape?!” Gunn squeaks, suppressing laughter.

“Shh, shhh!” she hushed, a finger coming to her lips in a universal gesture.

Gunn feels her gaze intensify, feels the dark unlimited deep pools burn into him as if searching for something, as if she waits for something to happen. Gunn stares back with equally dark eyes, not backing down from the battle of wills he seems to participate in. Dru stares harder and Gunn cocks an eyebrow expectantly. She looks confused now and unbelieving for a moment then her eyes flash and her dark red lips curl up in a delighted smile.

“You’re the rock!” she shrieks and claps her hands together which makes Wes jump.

“Thanks. You weren’t that bad either.” he flips back. “And actually it’s ‘You rock!’ nowadays.” Gunn informs her and the Princess’ face scrunches up in a chaotic mix of emotions. She cocks her head to the side, grabs Wes’ hair hard and makes him look up in her face. Wes moans and arches his back, bares his throat. Gunn shifts - uncomfortably - affected by that image.

“You rock?” she asks him, disbelief clearly in her eyes. “When did they get rid of verbs and articles? Who killed them?” Her face blooms in delight. Giggling she sways back and forth, her eyes and fingers pointing at Gunn, Wes and herself in turns.

“You rock! … You little ape! … Me…” Her hands come up to her head, she holds her temples as if trying to keep her brain from exploding but her face is beautiful with pleasure. “Daddy… shhh, shhh, won’t tell…y toy to… We have to go to Daddy… Oh!” She jumps up, not caring when her knee makes -for him- painful contact with Wesley’s chin. She spins around herself several times, screeching and laughing and singing at first incoherent words.

“rbosbaknfamilyourbosnfamilourboysbak…” She comes to a sudden stop, grabbing Gunn’s collar from where he kneels over Wesley and pulls him up with little difficulty.

“You drive. Me carry. We Daddy. Boy back! Kitten Vamp.”


“Don’t you know it’s dangerous to hitchhike?” The elderly woman asks; her voice barely audible through the little open slot of the driver’s window. The young man with the unruly dark hair nods. “But I have to get to… a friend, I think…he needs… help.” he says and his eyes beg the woman to understand. She winds down the window a little more and looks intently at him.

“My name is Mrs. Peters. Who are you, young man?”

“Stephen Katwright.” He scrambles to get out his wallet, shows his identification card to the grey haired lady with the cautious eyes.

“Alright.” She makes a gesture that indicates he can get in the car. The sound of the central locking coming undone emphasises this.

When he sits on the passenger seat, staring out the window, trying to not show how anxious and nervous he is; she asks him: “Im going to Sunnydale. Stephen, where is your friend?”

“Don’t know, I’ve just have this feeling… I'm needed somewhere in this direction…” He points forward with long index and middle finger and shrugs.

Sunnydale, Angel’s car

There is a not quite uncomfortable silence between the two vamps in the car. This situation feels strange but at the same time familiar, the patterns of a ‘family life’ one hundred years ago feel reassuring to both of them and Spike needs this support right now. Angel drives, eyes flickering every so often over to his long lost childe. Shoulders slumped he already dreads the moment the new offspring of his bloodline awakes. If he had had a chance to get his boy back… he loses it the moment his childe opens his eyes. Xander will instantly fall in love with his maker, demon recognizing demon, a unity for eternity.

Then the witches will rush to ‘help’, maybe even Giles, and ensoul the poor boy, trap him forever between oversized morals and demanding instincts. Staking him would be even gentler, let him have one or two kills, enjoy the hunt, the bite and the last heartbeat of a victim, and then dust him…

Either way Spike will lose the only person that loved him completely without…


Angel swallows hard and suppresses the urge to reach over, stroke the delicious taut inner thigh. Once, one hundred years ago, they didn’t need words. Their link was so strong, feelings and thoughts were laid open. Body contact was established whenever possible. Now he feels numb, like he did when he was human that one day. In spite of what everyone might have thought, it wasn’t the return to his vampiric nature which had started the extended broodsionsion. It was the numbness and disconnected feeling he’d had towards his family whilst he had been human that had frightened him, and brought to the surface that which he feared most: being alone.

“Chi-Spike?” He grabs the steering wheel a little harder, knuckles turn white.

“We’re not going to hunt some human down, are we? Xan wouldn’t like that…” Spike’s head suddenly flies around, blue eyes wide with realization; he stares openly at the darker vamp. Angel uses all his will power to not look at his boy, to not reach out to him.

“Bloody hell. He would like that, he would go hunt and drink down whatever he can get…” Spike’s voice drifts off when he loses himself in plans of how he could take advantage of having an unsouled, unchipped childe. At least, that’s what Angel presumes. If he too had drunk from his childe to establish the link between them, he would see the pictures in Spike’s mind and the feelings of sadness and regret accompanying them.

Dawn –

throat ripped open,

blood all over her,

big blue eyes staring focus-less to the ceiling.

Her blood too powerful for a fledge to withstand.

Red –

turned into something between a minion and a zombie,

Xan much too young to do it properly.

Glinda -

innocence destroyechaichained to a bed,

body exhausted and blood crusted from torture and rape.

The Watcher -

eyes wide with fear and sudden insight,

glasses rammed down his throat,

fingers broken and words from years of pent up frustration carved into his chest.

“Who can read and write and quote better now?”

Buffy - Angel’s voice rips the younger vamp away from the only one of his thoughts he had really loved to imagine.

“Spike, we’re here.” Spike looks up, Willy’s bar. Of course.

Side by side, the Master Vampires enter the bar which goes eerily silent immediately. Demons scramble away or try to make themselves invisible. No-one is dumb enough to challenge these two in any way – Angelus and his favourite childe William the Bloody, united again.

Willy is hiding behind the bar. He should know better, Angel thinks, his heart is beating so loud and fast even someone without supernatural senses should be able hear it.

“Your entire supply of human blood, now.” Angel purrs and Spike grins delighted. He knows what this tone of voice means, knows Angel is short tempered when he maintains this calm unthreatening facade.

To Spike’s disappointment, Willy and the rest of the customers seem to know it too. The human gets to his feet and runs in the backroom, only a few seconds later he appears again and a big cool box of blood is pushed over the bar directly into Spike's hands. “Thanks mate!” The blond purrs in the same tone his sire used which earns him a frown from Willy and a choked off chuckle from Angel. The blond glares at Willy, eyes flashing golden for a second, then grins, delighted by the bar owner’s scent of fear at the dark vampire.

“Right then, Sire.” Angel nods to him, amused like a human dad over his offspring’s behaviour and follows him out the door. Whilst the customers and Willy are letting out a sigh of relief, he sticks his head back in through the door and mouths: “I’m back!”

8 Closer

Magic Box

Giles comes back into the main room of the Magic Box, eagerly scrubbing on his glasses. This is all a bit strange, even for him as a hellmouth approved watcher. Willow is crying, her head buried into Tara’s shoulder. The blond witch rubs comforting circles on Willow’s back and whispers reassuring nonsense. As if anything could be good on the hellmouth. Giles suppresses rolling his eyes.

“So what happened?” he asks, trying not to sound too clinical but failing as always when he has to deal with the lesbian witches. He is never sure how to treat them, feeling neither a father figure nor a comforting strong man in their presence.

Willow turns around and looks up at him, eyes red from crying. “Did you know she was thinking like that about us?” she sobs and Giles takes a deep breath. He really doesn’t want to deal with those kinds of questions and answers. He falls back into the half-lie he used before.

“Willow, I am quite sure Buffy is only a bit angry and afraid. People sometimes say bad things when they are under pressure and full of fear.” Giles notices the look Tara gives him, a kind of disappointed understanding.

“Sweetie, why don’t we try to work this out… What spell do you think you used?” She lets her blond hair fall in front of her face when Giles nods reassuringly.

“I…I don’t know, everything happened so fast… I just wanted her to not see more than she already had…” Big green eyes lock with Giles, begging guidance and forgiveness.

“We’ll work it out, sweetie, don’t worry.” Tara says and sounds sure but Giles knows that it’s a façade. “Right, Mr. Giles?”

Suppressing a groan, Giles averts his eyes and nods… “Of course. There will be something in the books, maybe intuitive magic or wishes or just plain blinding spells…” He turns away and goes directly into his office where, shielded from the eyes of the two witches, he takes a few deep swallows of the bourbon he has hidden there. Taking a look at the nearly empty bottle and the empty donut wrapper on his desk he wonders: “Where the hell is Xander?”

Sunnydale, city limits

“SunnydaleHELL” read the sign the car passed just after sunset and Stephen shudders. The lady looks at him strangely but doesn’t comment on it. The whole drive was very quiet. The young man was dozing on and off, switching between sleep and exhausted wakefulness while the lady drove, evenly humming to the soft classical music on the radio. Now Stephen is fully awake. A sense of foreboding settles deep in his bones and he feels prickles of a thousand eyes on him. But that’s nonsense. It’s dark outside, though it never frightened him. He could see clearly at night. There was nothing outside frightening him.

Somewhere between L. A. and Sunnydale

“Hey Wes, I really don’t think that this is a good idea… and what are you… Wes, fuck!” Gunn’s truck jerks to a halt and the black man jumps out and runs to the passenger door. Ripping it open, he tries to drag Wes away from the woman nurturing herself from his wrist. Wes moans and struggles, but not to get away from her. “Fuck, Wes, man!” Gunn yells helplessly and the vamp stares at him with laughing eyes, her fangs still deeply embedded in Wes’ flesh. Finally she lets go of him, obscenely licking her lips and even letting out a little burp. Gunn cocks an eyebrow at this, the expression on his face somewhere between disgust and amusement. The vamp starts to giggle, rubbing her belly contentedly.

Eventually Gunn is able to gather up Wesley and he carries him to the back of the truck, seating him on the loading platform. He snaps his fingers in front of Wes’ pale face until the man locks his glazed eyes on him. Grinning manically Wes exclaims: “I was bitten!” and Gunn rolls his eyes. “Glad you noticed, man!” He reaches for the first aid kid which is secured to the back of the driver’s cab. “What’s going on Wes? Come on man, talk to me!”

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Wes murmurs and closes his eyes, sighing deeply.

“Yeah, sure she’s not bad, but Wes, she's a vamp!” Gunn throws his head back in frustration. “One of the things we fight, you remember?” He gets out a bandage and scissors, then reaches for the other man’s injured arm.

“Yes, yes… vamp, I know… but she's different… “ Wes starts to gesture while explaining what Gunn can’t begin to understand. Gunn’s hand follows Wes’ hand’s movement, fingers closing around thin air in an attempt to grab the errant limb. “She is a childe of him and we have to go to him… A prophecy about… I don’t really understand what about but… we have to find him. Daddy knows what to do.” Wesley rests both hands on his knees, not caring if blood drops from his injury on to his trousers.

“Daddy?” Gunn asks and uses the opportunity to grab Wes’ hand and pull it under his arm while turning his back to the sitting man. Wes’ chest and face is pressed against Gunn’s muscular back, his arm trapped between Gunn’s side and elbow. He struggles a few minutes before giving in and let’s his other arm go around his ‘nurse’. Raising an eyebrow at the slim hand now resting on the inside of his thigh, a bit too close to his groin than Gunn is comfortable with. Stoically he starts to bandage the wound on Wes’ wrist, ignoring the slight stirring of his cock.

“My Rock… my ape… we Daddy. Now!” A voice singsongs and Gunn hears himself reply, wondering why he follows this obviously demented vamp’s instructions. “Just a moment and we can go on!” Under his breath he murmurs: “Hellmouth here we come!”


Cordelia feels awkward on her way to the Magic Box. No, not because of the vamps or other creatures lurking in the dark shadows, waiting for the right moment to attack. The humans she may be confronted with are her main concern. She didn’t even have a mirror to check her looks, having left her purse in Angel’s car, but she is sure she looks terrible after all the crying she did in the crypt. Anyway, now she is on a mission. She has to go to the Magic Box as fast as she can to warn the others that Angelus is back and reunited with his favorite childe. And that they are out, hunting down humans to fill their bellies with hot, fresh blood and … ewwww. Flinching back from her own thoughts she increases her tempo, nearly jogging now to her destination.


Stephen watches row after row of houses go by through the window. The woman driving the car gets nervous. It’s time for him to get out of the car or he would end up at her house.

“Son,” she begins, sighs and slows down the car. “we are nearly at my house. I am terrible sorry but I can’t take you any further. You have to find another way to get to your friend now.”

Stephen nods, the longish strands of dark brown hair falling in front of his eyes. He is unsure and clueless in that moment. The ‘signal’ he got has faded away to almost nothing, leaving him without a proper direction. He knows, feels, he is almost there, wherever there is, but he can’t decide which way to choose now. The car stops and he looks at the Lady, thanking her and steps out of the car. “Take care! This is an awful place to be out after dark!” she shouts before pressing the button for the central locking once more.

Yeah, Stephen thinks to himself when the car rushes away, red lights fading in the distance, nice you left me here alone.

Magic Box

“You have to remember!” Giles yells frustrated, not able to aim his anger at the stupidity and carelessness with which the witch uses magic. Hours of research in books and phone calls to several affiliates had been without result. Everybody in the Magic Box is on edge. Giles wonders suddenly if the continual reddening of Tara’s face is unhealthy.

“I really don’t know! I just wanted her to not…!”

“Yes, yes! You said that about a thousand times now! That does not bring us any further!” The watcher slumps down on a chair, polishing his glasses with the edge of his blue shirt. He is glad Buffy fell asleep a while ago, her constant whining nearly got him to get one of his gags out and force her into silence. His mind now sends him images of a gagged slayer, eyes wide with lustful fear and forced submission… he swallows hard, tries to concentrate back on the important matter.

He looks over to the witches on the love seat, Tara has dragged Willow in a hug, comforting the guilty girl and soothing her with body contact. Giles mind runs again off to the naked version of this imagery and he shakes himself vigorously. Bloody hell!

The door suddenly flies open, the bell over it chirping annoyingly loud. Though it’s nothing in comparison to the squeaking cheerleader’s tirade that starts immediately with her dramatic entrance.

“Angel is back. I mean Angelus is with Spike. They are hunting! BLOOOOD! And they left me in the crypt. And can I say yuck! And my purse is in the car. Angel’s car! You sooo have to see what he did with it! Paint! And I am so sorry about Xander! I mean we were like …together some time back and did I mention that ANGEL is…”

“HERE.” The deep sonorous voice stops Cordy and all eyes turn to the back entrance where the two vampires stand side by side.

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