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BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
13
Views:
3,303
Reviews:
30
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
13
Views:
3,303
Reviews:
30
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Bring Him Home
Author's Notes: Yup, this story has been done before, but I always add a twist, just stick with me!
Bring Him Home
William sighed with relief when an empty house greeted him. The rest of the day had been without incident; he had seen the body in the locker room, reassured himself and Giles that the boy would not rise, and then he had been invited to the Bronze by Willow and Xander, who looked at him strangely and with something akin to awe. He assumed they must have heard that he’d burned down the gym at his last school and respected him for it.
Grabbing a sandwich his mother – his adoptive mother – had left in the fridge for him, he took the stairs two at a time and retreated to the sanctuary of his room. Mindless of the boxes cluttering the area, he dropped his backpack on the floor and carefully settled the duffle on his bed. He sat down and traced the zipper for long moments before finding the courage to open it. The scent of smoke, patchouli, and dust wafted through the air, and he inhaled deeply. This must have been what his mother had smelled like, minus the dirt. He wondered if she had smoked the same brand of cigarettes he preferred.
He gasped when he carefully drew out the first item, the ankle-length black leather duster from which the scent came. He pressed it against his face to familiarize himself with the worn material that carried his mother’s smell, and he smiled contentedly when he found a curly blonde hair caught in the tag. His mother had been a natural blonde, and he now knew that he had her to blame for his unruly locks, though he’d obviously gotten his coloring from his father.
After drawing the duster on, William turned his attention to the rest of the bag’s contents: a collection of daggers, stakes, holy water, Eucharist wafers, a crossbow, and darts. The last item was a bulky tape recorder with a small note taped to the lid – for William, it read. Drawing in a heavy breath, he pushed the play button, and for a moment, he thought the machine didn’t work, but then he heard the telltale click of a lighter and a woman clearing her throat.
“Hey, Will, it’s me. If you’re listening to this, that means I’m dead and Rupert’s decided you’re old enough to hear everything I’m going to say. Hopefully, you already know about slayers, but if not, here’s the deal. In every generation, there is a chosen one, one girl in all the world who has the power to fight vampires, forces of darkness, and general wackiness. God, I sound like Rupert, don’t I? Except for that last part, at least. The point is, everything you’ve ever feared was under your bed and told yourself couldn’t be by the light of day – they’re all real, and I fight them.
“I have supernatural strength and healing abilities, I’m more agile than any damn gymnast you’ll ever see, and I’m pretty smart from what Rupert tells me. Slayers aren’t usually known for being thinkers, that’s why we have watchers. We follow our blood, mostly, and that doesn’t always flow in the direction of our brains. Anyway, I’m sure you want to know more about me instead of just the business. Rupert can explain that part, because I’ve never been much good at that sort of thing.
“Okay… let’s see… I was born Gloria Anne Mason on January nineteenth, nineteen-seventy. Right now, it’s February twenty-third, nineteen-ninety, your first birthday, which makes me twenty. Most slayers only live to be seventeen, so my watcher, your father, is a damn good one since he’s gotten me this far in one piece. Umm… I smoke. I know it’s bad, and considering my very short shelf-life, I know I shouldn’t, but we only live once. That is not permission to smoke, Will!”
William laughed in spite of himself. His mother had such a wonderful voice, not unlike Joyce’s.
“I love music,” the tape continued. “Before I found out that I was the slayer, I wanted to be in a band and do stuff like Blondie. I’m sure you have no idea who I’m talking about, so I’ll move on, but I do recommend that you give U2 and the Doors a chance, at least. Let’s see… I love cats. I have a bad temper, I talk too much, and I don’t know how to take no for an answer. I love spicy food and the color red, which is kind of ironic considering I see so much red in my line of work. I drive a DeSoto. I know, I know, everyone says they’re pieces of shit, but it’s like a tank! Nothing’s going to take me down when I’m in that baby.
“I never went to college because of the whole destiny thing, but Rupert’s taught me a whole lot, stuff I could never have learned from a book. He’s taught me about life and, well, about love, too. I know you’re probably pretty pissed off at him right now, and I know I would be, too, but he’s a good man. Give him a chance. Your father is one of the kindest, bravest, and most wonderful men alive. He’s generous and thoughtful, and he’s funny when he thinks no one’s looking. He makes me feel alive.
“It’s forbidden for watchers and slayers to become romantically involved because watchers are supposed to be impartial and scholarly, all that bullshit. Don’t blame your father, okay, Will? I… okay, I know you don’t want to hear this about your parents, but I pressured him into sleeping with me. He just… he could never say no to me, and we love each other. He knows I’m going to die, that it’s only a matter of time, and he’s so strong. I hope you have his strength, Will, I really do…”
He listened as his mother’s voice broke, and he closed his eyes tightly at the most crippling sound he had ever heard – the sound of his mother in pain.
“Sorry about that. Okay, that’s pretty much everything I can think of to say about us, so… Joyce and Hank. Joyce is a wonderful, sweet woman, and Hank is a great guy. They can’t have kids of their own, and she loves you dearly. She always watches out for you while I work, and I know they’ll take good care of you. Rupert and I talked about it, and we both think it’s a good idea for you to grow up away from the whole slayer-watcher mess, at least until you’re old enough to understand.
“I don’t want you to give them any grief when you hear this, you got it? Rupert and I are your birth parents, but if you’re hearing this, then Joyce and Hank have raised you. They love you, and they love me. That’s… that’s pretty much it. I love you, Will, no matter where I am. Close your eyes. No, don’t look at the stupid machine, just lie back and close them.”
William’s scarred eyebrow lifted in amusement when he realized that he was staring at the tape recorder as his mother had asked him not to. With a soft sigh, he leaned back against the bed and obediently closed his eyes. At first, he heard nothing, and then the soft strumming of a guitar filled the room, accompanied by his mother’s voice.
God on high, hear my prayer
In my need, you have always been there
He is young, he’s afraid
Let him rest, heaven blessed
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home
He’s like the son I might have known
If God had granted me a son
The summers die one by one
How soon they fly on and on
And I am old and will be gone
Bring him peace, bring him joy
He is young, he is only a boy
You can take, you can give
Let him be, let him live
If I die, let me die
Let him live
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home…
The last note was drawn out hauntingly, and then a soft click announced the end of the tape. William dragged a hand over his face, rewound the tape, and hit play for the second time.
Bring Him Home
William sighed with relief when an empty house greeted him. The rest of the day had been without incident; he had seen the body in the locker room, reassured himself and Giles that the boy would not rise, and then he had been invited to the Bronze by Willow and Xander, who looked at him strangely and with something akin to awe. He assumed they must have heard that he’d burned down the gym at his last school and respected him for it.
Grabbing a sandwich his mother – his adoptive mother – had left in the fridge for him, he took the stairs two at a time and retreated to the sanctuary of his room. Mindless of the boxes cluttering the area, he dropped his backpack on the floor and carefully settled the duffle on his bed. He sat down and traced the zipper for long moments before finding the courage to open it. The scent of smoke, patchouli, and dust wafted through the air, and he inhaled deeply. This must have been what his mother had smelled like, minus the dirt. He wondered if she had smoked the same brand of cigarettes he preferred.
He gasped when he carefully drew out the first item, the ankle-length black leather duster from which the scent came. He pressed it against his face to familiarize himself with the worn material that carried his mother’s smell, and he smiled contentedly when he found a curly blonde hair caught in the tag. His mother had been a natural blonde, and he now knew that he had her to blame for his unruly locks, though he’d obviously gotten his coloring from his father.
After drawing the duster on, William turned his attention to the rest of the bag’s contents: a collection of daggers, stakes, holy water, Eucharist wafers, a crossbow, and darts. The last item was a bulky tape recorder with a small note taped to the lid – for William, it read. Drawing in a heavy breath, he pushed the play button, and for a moment, he thought the machine didn’t work, but then he heard the telltale click of a lighter and a woman clearing her throat.
“Hey, Will, it’s me. If you’re listening to this, that means I’m dead and Rupert’s decided you’re old enough to hear everything I’m going to say. Hopefully, you already know about slayers, but if not, here’s the deal. In every generation, there is a chosen one, one girl in all the world who has the power to fight vampires, forces of darkness, and general wackiness. God, I sound like Rupert, don’t I? Except for that last part, at least. The point is, everything you’ve ever feared was under your bed and told yourself couldn’t be by the light of day – they’re all real, and I fight them.
“I have supernatural strength and healing abilities, I’m more agile than any damn gymnast you’ll ever see, and I’m pretty smart from what Rupert tells me. Slayers aren’t usually known for being thinkers, that’s why we have watchers. We follow our blood, mostly, and that doesn’t always flow in the direction of our brains. Anyway, I’m sure you want to know more about me instead of just the business. Rupert can explain that part, because I’ve never been much good at that sort of thing.
“Okay… let’s see… I was born Gloria Anne Mason on January nineteenth, nineteen-seventy. Right now, it’s February twenty-third, nineteen-ninety, your first birthday, which makes me twenty. Most slayers only live to be seventeen, so my watcher, your father, is a damn good one since he’s gotten me this far in one piece. Umm… I smoke. I know it’s bad, and considering my very short shelf-life, I know I shouldn’t, but we only live once. That is not permission to smoke, Will!”
William laughed in spite of himself. His mother had such a wonderful voice, not unlike Joyce’s.
“I love music,” the tape continued. “Before I found out that I was the slayer, I wanted to be in a band and do stuff like Blondie. I’m sure you have no idea who I’m talking about, so I’ll move on, but I do recommend that you give U2 and the Doors a chance, at least. Let’s see… I love cats. I have a bad temper, I talk too much, and I don’t know how to take no for an answer. I love spicy food and the color red, which is kind of ironic considering I see so much red in my line of work. I drive a DeSoto. I know, I know, everyone says they’re pieces of shit, but it’s like a tank! Nothing’s going to take me down when I’m in that baby.
“I never went to college because of the whole destiny thing, but Rupert’s taught me a whole lot, stuff I could never have learned from a book. He’s taught me about life and, well, about love, too. I know you’re probably pretty pissed off at him right now, and I know I would be, too, but he’s a good man. Give him a chance. Your father is one of the kindest, bravest, and most wonderful men alive. He’s generous and thoughtful, and he’s funny when he thinks no one’s looking. He makes me feel alive.
“It’s forbidden for watchers and slayers to become romantically involved because watchers are supposed to be impartial and scholarly, all that bullshit. Don’t blame your father, okay, Will? I… okay, I know you don’t want to hear this about your parents, but I pressured him into sleeping with me. He just… he could never say no to me, and we love each other. He knows I’m going to die, that it’s only a matter of time, and he’s so strong. I hope you have his strength, Will, I really do…”
He listened as his mother’s voice broke, and he closed his eyes tightly at the most crippling sound he had ever heard – the sound of his mother in pain.
“Sorry about that. Okay, that’s pretty much everything I can think of to say about us, so… Joyce and Hank. Joyce is a wonderful, sweet woman, and Hank is a great guy. They can’t have kids of their own, and she loves you dearly. She always watches out for you while I work, and I know they’ll take good care of you. Rupert and I talked about it, and we both think it’s a good idea for you to grow up away from the whole slayer-watcher mess, at least until you’re old enough to understand.
“I don’t want you to give them any grief when you hear this, you got it? Rupert and I are your birth parents, but if you’re hearing this, then Joyce and Hank have raised you. They love you, and they love me. That’s… that’s pretty much it. I love you, Will, no matter where I am. Close your eyes. No, don’t look at the stupid machine, just lie back and close them.”
William’s scarred eyebrow lifted in amusement when he realized that he was staring at the tape recorder as his mother had asked him not to. With a soft sigh, he leaned back against the bed and obediently closed his eyes. At first, he heard nothing, and then the soft strumming of a guitar filled the room, accompanied by his mother’s voice.
God on high, hear my prayer
In my need, you have always been there
He is young, he’s afraid
Let him rest, heaven blessed
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home
He’s like the son I might have known
If God had granted me a son
The summers die one by one
How soon they fly on and on
And I am old and will be gone
Bring him peace, bring him joy
He is young, he is only a boy
You can take, you can give
Let him be, let him live
If I die, let me die
Let him live
Bring him home
Bring him home
Bring him home…
The last note was drawn out hauntingly, and then a soft click announced the end of the tape. William dragged a hand over his face, rewound the tape, and hit play for the second time.