Welcome to the Hellmouth

Author's Notes: Don't worry, Dru and Angel will go away soon, I'm just laying groundwork, here.


Bonding


William was beyond exhausted, and his father-slash-watcher certainly wasn’t helping matters. Currently, the Englishman was carrying on about the evils of computers and how they should be abolished, and the slayer longed for a good fight. The nest he had uncovered two weeks prior had been flattened with Drusilla’s aide, and since then, he had dealt with several run-of-the-mill vampires and a demon that had been scanned into the computers and made the grave mistake of trying to kill Willow, or Red, as he affectionately called her.

On the bright side, Jenny Calendar had proven herself a useful ally during the demon mess, and William couldn’t help but notice that half of his father’s comments were about ‘that insufferable technopagan.’ What-the fuck-ever, he just wanted to go kill some vamps and spend time with Dru. Dru… “You trusted Dru once you realized who she was,” he interrupted. “Why?”

“I, um, I take it she never explained that to you…”

“No, half the time she just calls me ‘young William’ and acts cryptic, which can be very bloody annoying, I’ll tell you that, and the rest of the time, we just… I don’t know, talk.”

“A-about anything in particular?” the watcher queried.

“Just answer the soddin’ question.”

“Right, then… No, not right. You will learn to show me proper respect, if not because I am your father, then because I am your watcher,” said Giles forcefully.

“All right, I’m sorry! Jesus, will you just answer the question already?” At his father’s piercing gaze, William added, “Please.”

“She saved your mother’s life.”

Scarred eyebrow lifting in surprise, he asked inarticulately, “Uh… huh?”

“I was… was in England at the time of your birth… attending a meeting with the other watchers and, ah, your mother was attacked on her way to the hospital. Two vampires, and, um, and Drusilla came out of nowhere and killed them both. She then carried your mother to the hospital. I never met her until, um, until a few weeks ago. I recognized her from your mother’s description and the photograph in the Watchers’ Diaries,” explained Giles, scrubbing at his glasses frantically as he spoke.

“D-did she know my mother was the slayer?”

“Apparently not,” the watcher replied, “and if she did, she, um, gave no indication of it. She merely told your mother her name and vanished into the night.”

“She’s got a habit of doin’ that,” the slayer muttered ruefully.

“You care for her.” It wasn’t a question.

“I… Well, yeah.”

“William, I should hope that it isn’t necessary for me to list all the reasons –”

“It would never work?” he finished. “Yeah, I’ve heard them all a million times from Dru. She’s older than me, she’s done things she doesn’t want me knowin’ about, blah, blah, blah.”

“P-perhaps it would be, um, beneficial to the both of you did you know the things to which she refers.” As he spoke, the Englishman placed a large tome in front of his son, opening it to the appropriate page. “I’ll, ah, leave you to your reading.”

“Thanks… Dad,” William muttered under his breath without looking up from the book. He could almost hear his father’s jaw drop.

“R-right… I’ll, uh…” Giles stammered as he retreated into his office. Something told him not to make a big deal out of it in front of William. Once he was alone, however, a broad grin curved his lips, and he was tempted to start dancing. He had a son, a son who acknowledged him as his father. Life, even a life lived on a Hellmouth, was good.

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Patrol was turning out to be a bust tonight. After dusting three newly made vamps in the graveyard, Drusilla had suggested they check the abandoned railway, and now William remained deathly silent as he walked at her side along the train tracks. Lighting one of his illegally obtained cigarettes, he glanced up at the stars, studied the trees, and finally looked back to the ground; he looked everywhere but at her.

“I take it you read the Watcher’s Diaries,” she commented knowingly. “If you would rather be alone…”

“You did all those things,” he said sullenly, “but you still saved my mother’s life, and that count’s for something.”

“It evidently doesn’t count for much. She died a year later,” the vampire replied darkly.

“You saved my life.”

“You would have survived. I knew the moment I first saw your mother that you would be special, different.”

William laughed bitterly, his mind still reeling from his discovery. “I’ll give you different. Whether or not I’m special remains to be seen.”

“I’ve watched out for you since before you were born, William.”

“That’s… sweet, or taken literally, it makes you sound like a pedophile,” he said coldly.

Halting her steps, the raven-haired vampire settled her hand on the slayer’s arm to urge him to look at her. “Do you care about me?”

Taken aback, William could only stare blankly.

“Answer the question.”

“I care about you,” he answered quietly. “I don’t know if I trust you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t do either. I did a lot of unconscionable things when I became a vampire. Angelus was the worst. He was… an obsession of mine. He was pure, and sweet, and chaste.”

“You made him a vampire,” William stated plainly.

“First I made him insane. I killed everyone he loved, visited every mental torture on him I could devise. He eventually fled to a monastery, and on the day he was ordained as a priest, I made him into a demon,” she finished.

Shuddering inwardly, the slayer inquired, “And the woman I saw you with, your grand-childe?”

“Buffy is –”

“Demon,” the woman in question interrupted nonchalantly from her hiding place in the shadows. The slayer was clearly distracted if his senses weren’t tingly like mad; there was a large demon with clawed tentacles emerging from its head sneaking up behind him.

“Buffy is a demon, yeah, all vampires are, but… Oh.” Whirling in time with his vampire companion, William delivered a solid kick to the creature’s stomach while Drusilla slipped a knife from God only knew where and slashed at one of the tentacles.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Buffy commented.

The demon roared in fury, the tentacle Drusilla hadn’t severed knocking her back several feet. It then turned on the slayer, several mouths opening on its face as a horrible shrieking sound emitted from it.

“Bloody Hell!” William launched himself at the demon, thrusting a wooden stake toward the demon’s heart. To his dismay, the wood splintered and clattered to the ground, useless.

Grabbing the nearest item she could find, Buffy whistled to get the slayer’s attention. “Catch!”

Turning, William caught the metal object, inadvertently presenting the demon with the opportunity it needed. He released a violent string of colorful British euphemisms when he found himself suspended in mid-air with the clawed tentacle wrapped around his throat. Gasping for air, he plunged the metal through the demon’s ears, grunting when the creature dropped him and then toppled to the ground in a heap, a railroad spike protruding from its head. “What… the fuck… was that?!”

Dazed, Drusilla hauled herself to her feet, moving to inspect the damage. “I believe that used to be one of the elder chaos demons,” she replied, rubbing the back of her head.

“Nice job,” the blonde said with a smirk. “You might want to try paying attention to your surroundings the next time. Staring at Dru’s twins will only get you killed, although I guess I should be flattered that you were talking about me.”

“I wasn’t staring at her… um. Yeah, well, if you’re so bloody concerned, you could have helped,” he protested.

“I did… Spike,” she said lightly. William was a good name, she admitted, but it was also Angelus’ mortal name – or at least the anglicized version of it. Spike, she thought, was more fitting considering how he had killed the demon.

“What are you doing here, Elizabeth?” the brunette vampire demanded, more than a little disturbed by the roguish grin gracing William’s lips at his newly-acquired nickname.

“Spike,” he mused aloud. “‘S better than William, at any rate. What Dru said.”

Giving Spike a catlike smile, she replied, “I came to see the show. I just love watching him dance. Also, I came to give you this.” She drew an old book from the leather bag she had slung over her shoulder and offered it to Drusilla. “Give this to the watcher. There’s some very interesting things in there he should read, something about this Saturday.”

“What happens on Saturday?” the slayer inquired.

With a look that was almost sorrowful, Buffy answered, “You die.”

“W-what?” Drusilla asked worriedly, thumbing through the book frantically. As she scanned the passage in question, what little color she had drained from her face. Slamming the book closed, she settled a hand on William’s arm. “We have to go.”

“What do you mean I…” he halted his words when he realized that the blonde had disappeared. “Great, she did that thing where you look away for two seconds and then she’s gone. I bloody hate that!”

“William,” Drusilla interrupted, “we have to go. Your father has to see this at once. Perhaps there’s a way to –”

“Spike.”

“What?”

“It’s Spike now. I like it,” he said calmly. In spite of his outward façade of normalcy, his hands were shaking when he lit a cigarette, and his usually serene eyes were clouded with worry. It had been predicted that he would die. Damnit, when did he ever do what was expected of him? He wouldn’t die. He refused.

“William,” she insisted, “come now.”

“Bloody Hell,” he muttered, following Drusilla back toward the school where he knew his father still waited and worried. This time, he worried with good reason.