Not Forgotten

I do not claim to own any of the characters; I just like to play with them. I am but a poor office clerk without two pennies to rub together and I make NO money from writing any fanfic. So, suing me would be pretty pointless and I would cry.


Chapter 1


He’d never thought about doing it before and he had no idea why he did it now. Childer were not to be taken lightly. Maybe it was easier because the job was already half done.

Spike had heard the screams from a block away, his keen senses picking up the distress of a not-quite friend.

He’d run all the way, pushing people from his path, jumping over dogs and instigating a five car pile-up. Why did he care? Caring didn’t come into it, not at that moment. He was running on pure instinct.

He’d crashed down into the dank basement, his once enforced home, and ripped apart the demon that held the boy so viciously.

Vampire.

When the demon joined the particles in the air, Spike had stared down at the damage. Blood? Not much. Why would there be? Xander’s blood had been taken, by a fledge, no less. A stupid, idiotic fledge that had tried its hand at making a Childe.

Spike had interrupted just as the fledgling had been feeding a near-dead Xander its blood. He had no idea how much the idiot had given him, but he knew that it could never have been enough.

Xander was as good as dead. No doctors or fancy science would have been able to save him. And with the fledgling’s blood pulsing through him, he would turn; there was no doubt about that. But what he would turn into, that was another question.

Vampire rules: Fledges cannot make Childer. They can’t even make other fledges. Any attempts that had been made had only resulted in mutations, creatures that were not quite human and not quite vampire, weak shadows with no soul, no heart, no lust and no thoughts. They were vampire abominations. And the kindest thing was to put them out of their misery.

A part of Spike had told him that was what he should do, end Xander’s suffering before it began. Xander was caught between life and death. Mortality and eternal night. His heart hadn’t even stopped beating yet.

Spike had the power to end things before they started. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He’d stared into frightened, unseeing eyes and just couldn’t.

Spike gathered Xander into his arms and pulled a blade from his boot. He made a small incision on his own neck and held Xander’s head so that his lips were pressed against the cut.

The sound of Xander’s slowly beating heart was all that Spike could hear. Long minutes passed and the heartbeat slowed to an almost stop. Spike rocked the dying human and ran shaking hands through his hair, willing him to drink. If Xander wouldn’t take his blood, then he would have no choice but to finish him. He found that it was last thing he wanted to do.

When at last Xander started to lap at the blood and drink it down, Spike couldn’t help but smile with relief. He held Xander’s body tighter and whispered soothing words of encouragement. It would be okay. It had to be okay.

Xander’s heart thumped weakly one last time and his eyes slipped shut as his soul ebbed away.

He was dead.

**

Spike placed Xander’s lifeless body on the bed and pulled the covers around him. He would be cold when he woke up. Spike sat on the end of the bed and lit up a cigarette. This was big. So big. Too big. Spike had never made a Childe before. He had never felt the need. He was his own man and he didn’t need all the responsibilities that came with a Childe. Teaching, training, loving; it just wasn’t his thing. He could just call up the Watcher, tell him what had happened and leave the Scoobies to clear up the mess that was now Xander’s unlife. It would be that easy. But that wasn’t Spike, either. He may not like the responsibilities, but that didn’t mean that he would shirk them. And besides, he would probably end up on the receiving end of a stake.

Spike crushed the butt of his cigarette under his foot and lit up another one. He would stay. He’d taken the decision to turn Xander. It had been his decision alone. Xander hadn’t gotten a say. Therefore, it was his job to stay and help the human… That was weird, since Xander was no longer a human. Vampire now. Creature of darkness. Minion of eternal…oh, hell, forget that. Xander Harris, evil, un-dead creature of the night? No fucking way. No. Fucking. Way. Spike chuckled to himself. It wasn’t funny, not in the slightest, but he felt a little hysterical. Spike, Master Vampire, had made a Childe out of doughnut-boy Harris. What were the odds? The chuckle abruptly ended and it was replaced with a frown. Technically, Xander had two Sires. How the hell was that going to work out? When a Childe wakes he has an immediate bond with the one that made him. Was Xander going to feel that bond? Did *he* feel that bond? Spike glanced over at his Childe to check. Nope, nothing happening. Shit.

Spike started to pace. No bond? He was sure there was supposed to be a bond. Why was there no bond? How was he going to take care of a Childe with no bond? Spike remembered the feelings he’d had when he first awoke to death. He was frightened, confused and so very cold, but there had been one thing he had been sure of. Dru. He had woken in her arms, knowing that this was his Sire, his maker. He’d trusted her fully and she’d taught him everything and more. Without her, he would have been empty. He shuddered at the thought and looked back at Xander. He didn’t want him to feel that awful void. He deserved more. He deserved to wake feeling safe and loved.

Spike decided that he would try. He couldn’t feel the bond, didn’t feel connected to Xander at all. He just knew that he had to help him, had to keep him safe.

The sun was about to rise and Spike felt weak. He had given Xander a great deal of his blood, determined to make him as strong a Childe as possible, and now he was feeling the effects. After a small amount of debate, he climbed under the covers and wrapped himself around his Childe.

“Sleep tight, little pet.”

**

Forty eight hours came and went and Spike never noticed the rise and fall of the sun. He stayed coiled around his Childe, his body healing from the loss of blood. He would have slept for another forty eighty hours if it hadn’t been for a soft brush of hair over his neck and jaw. He opened bleary eyes and tried to register his surroundings.

Bed.

Basement.

Whimpering.

He looked down to find a dark head nudging and calling for attention.

Xander.

Spike reached out and tilted the whimpering head towards him.

“Harris?”

Large brown eyes watered and begged Spike for help.

“Xander, it's okay, pet.”

The eyes just stared, pleading for understanding.

“What is it? What do you need?”

Xander shivered.

“Cold, eh? I’ll get another blanket.”

Spike tried to leave the bed, but Xander reached for his arm and hung on tightly.

“Hey, not going anywhere, little pet. Just getting a blanket. Be right back.”

Xander pulled at Spike’s arm, refusing to let go and Spike found himself following back into the bed. He wrapped his arms back around his Childe and spoke softly into his hair.

“C’mon. What’s the matter? What can I do?”

Xander burrowed closer and sobbed into Spike’s t-shirt.

Spike rocked him and ran what he hoped were comforting hands over his body. He guessed that at least Xander felt some kind of bond. As the thought passed through his brain, he felt resistance. Xander was pulling away.

“S’okay, little pet. I’m here.”

Xander continued to resist him, his struggles becoming more frantic, his breath hitching between desperate sobs.

Spike let go, allowing his Childe to scrabble away.

Xander more or less fell off the side of the bed and clawed himself along the ground. He ran his hands over the floor and examined his palms. Dust.

Oh shit.

Spike cursed himself for not having thought to clear up the remains of Xander’s killer.

More tears coursed down Xander’s face, something inside him registering the death of someone he needed. His Sire? He looked angrily at the blond on the bed. He’d killed his Sire. The man that he’d just begged not to leave his side had killed what was his.

“Pet? It’s not what you think. I didn’t…”

Xander’s face turned from angry to hurt to confused to frightened. He couldn’t understand what was going on. What was this place? What was happening? Who was this man? Why did he somehow feel that he belonged to him? And gods, why did he also feel that he belonged to a pile of dust on the floor?

Spike’s heart melted. Xander looked so confused, so fragile, so alone. It was nothing like he had felt when he woke in Dru’s arms. He’d known instantly that he was hers and he had trusted her from the first second. Yes, he had been scared, but also excited. It had been like a wonderful door opening, a door to a land of plenty. Spike was pretty quick to catch on that Xander didn’t feel the same way. He got off the bed and cautiously approached.

“Xander, I know you’re confused, luv. Xander?”

Spike was concerned. Xander hadn’t once responded to his name. Spike hoped that it was just because Xander’s fear had overtaken and fogged his brain. He prayed that Xander knew who he was.

Xander clawed desperately at the hard floor, as if digging to find an answer, digging to find the one that he belonged to.

Spike could not watch anymore. His Childe’s sobs overflowed both the room and his head and it filled him with the desire to hold him and take his pain. He was Xander’s Sire, not this pile-of-dust fledgling. He needed to do something. He shot forward and snatched Xander up, ignoring his Childe’s struggles.

“Don’t do that, Xander. You’re hurting yourself,” he said, showing Xander his own bloody fingernails.

Xander tried to pull away, wanting and needing to return to his digging.

“NO! STOP IT, CHILDE!”

Xander froze, his befuddled brain acknowledging that a command had been given. He looked into yellow eyes and took in the ridges that now ran across Spike’s forehead. He ran a shaking, questioning finger over the ripples of skin and prodded the sharp edges of Spike’s cheeks. Xander’s lips trembled as he finally spoke.

“Sire?”

This time Xander came willingly when Spike pulled him in.

TBC...