FAMILY

AUTHOR: Little Mouse (elf_night@hotmail.com)

DISCLAIMER: Once again, Joss', not mine. Still a lucky man.

WARNINGS: For explicit m/m stuff, and violence, and remembered abuse, and language, and lots of other stuff.

ARCHIVE: Please ask first.

SUMMARY: AU! Spike isn't in 'love' with Buffy, but has told Giles' the story of Drusilla turning him. He has the chip, but no soul. Angel's in LA. Anya doesn't exist. I moved forward the 'meltdown' of Spike's chip a bit.

STORY: Spike's little story of his turning isn't the exact truth... Angel loses his soul - or does he? and starts gathering his scattered family. Spike insists that isn't going to include him. He's so very, very wrong...

A/N: This chapter has the first small departure from Spike’s POV.

CHAPTER NINE

“Here,” Angelus turned and handed Spike a very large, very heavy book, completely unaware that his Childe was contemplating braining him with it.

Only the knowledge that he’d never get away if Angelus didn’t take the cuff off his ankle kept Spike from actually doing it. He accepted the book with a pained sigh, turning it up to gaze at the title on the spine.

“‘Truth of Vampyre’,” he read aloud. “Oh, yeah, tha’ sounds like my kinda book, Peaches. No, thanks.” He handed it back.

“William,” Angelus wasn’t smiling, “I want you to read it.”

“This the book Penn and Lu brought ya?” Spike wasn’t an idiot. He knew how to put two and two together even if the humans didn’t seem capable of it. “S’wot made that soul go bye-bye, ain’t it? M’not readin’ no magic book.”

“Wesley,” Angelus said, almost irrelevantly, “should keep his mouth shut.”

“Bloke’s a Watcher,” Spike reminded him. “Those wankers shoulda been named Talkers, instead. Never met one that could keep their mouth shut.”

“True enough,” Angelus actually smiled, which worried Spike. It wasn’t a killing smirk or a lustful leer or an I’m Better Than You and Now You Know It sneer. It was just a humourous little smile and Angelus didn’t do humorous little smiles.

And that made every bit of paranoia in Spike just snap to the surface.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded, backing away from his Sire.

The smile changed into a puzzled frown. “What do you mean?”

“You’re all - smiley and shit,” he pointed out, “and I bloody well disobeyed and ran from ya, and I’ve not seen the first whip or knife for it, an’ you’re feedin’ me Sire’s blood when I never had it but twice before, an’ Deb was bein’ nice ta me when she used ta not remember me name, an’ I’ve not heard the first word ‘bout sendin’ the world ta hell or me bein’ a sorry sorta demon, an’ I wanna know what the bloody hell is wrong with you?!” His voice had raised to a shout by the last word.

Angelus had started toward him during his rant, and Spike had continued to back away, eyes wild.

“William...” a big hand reached for him.

“Don’ touch me,” he said hoarsely, “just tell me what I wanna know.”

Angelus obeyed him, shockingly enough, taking a step back and holding his hands palm out in the universal ‘I won’t hurt you’ gesture. “If you’ll just read the book, William, all your questions will be answered.”

“Not touchin’ it,” Spike said again, his voice a little less certain. A foggy memory of voices from the night before was drifting through his head, something about a book and mental shields and not enough time... “You got some weird plan goin’ on and I ain’t about ta help ya out.”

“I promise that the book won’t hurt you, either,” his Sire tried to soothe him, “it’ll just clear up a lot of misconceptions that you have. That our entire clan had. I swear to you, William, I would never ask you to do something that might endanger you. Not ever again. You’re too important to me.”

“An’ there ya go with that shit again,” Spike groaned. “I dunno what kinda game this is, Peaches, but ya can drop the bloody act. ‘M not fallin’ for it.”

“This is going to take a while,” Angelus sighed, more to himself than his Childe. “William, please, calm down. I’m going to go and get Deborah and Tomas - they can explain what’s going on better than I can. Just - just take the book, and go in the other room. You don’t have to read it yet if you don’t want to.” He moved back to the desk and picked up the large leather-bound tome, holding it out hopefully.

Spike didn’t budge from the corner he’d retreated to. “What other room? Ya want me to sit on the tub an’ hold the thing?”

Angelus looked puzzled, then glanced at the wall with the window and smiled. “Oh, I haven’t shown that to you yet, have I?” He stalked over to the window and pushed the curtain aside, causing his Childe to yelp and jump forward to stop him - because Deb had woken him late in the night and it was now an hour after dawn.

His Sire caught him and smiled. “Trying to protect me, William?”

“No, tryin’ ta protect me,” Spike growled, lying through his teeth while he tried not to shake. What was the bloody idiot doing, opening curtains while standing in front of a bloody window?! Did he want to be dust on the floor?! Spike hadn’t been so frightened in years, not since the day Darla had coldly informed he and Drusilla that their Sire was never coming home.

“Ah, I see.” Angelus’ voice was mildly amused. “It’s not a window, Childe. See?”

Spike looked and saw that the curtains, partly pulled back, showed an arched entrance into another room, not panes of glass with deadly sunlight pouring through.

He pulled out of his Sire’s embrace, curiosity, as usual, automatically overwhelming him. He stepped through the archway and looked around the room.

And stared.

“Do you like it?” Angelus voice rumbled as the big arms folded around him yet again. “I tried to get the things I thought you would like...”

Spike’s face showed a sudden, wolfish grin, blue eyes glowing with unholy glee as he stared at the wide-screen telly, the huge stereo system, the DVD player, the satellite receiver, the three different game boxes on the low coffee table in front of a black leather couch. There were stacks of CDs on one side table, with the Sex Pistols lying fetchingly on top, and another stack of DVDs - gory action movies, from what he could tell - piled on another table. There was a small refrigerator with a microwave sitting on top, and a rack that held proper, room-temperature bottles of good English beer.

Angelus laughed at his expression. “I would guess that smile means you do like it. You look like a kid in a candy store.”

“And I’m ‘bout ta rob the joint,” Spike nodded, still grinning, then pulled out of his Sire’s arms and pounced on the satellite receiver’s remote. “This thing get proper football?”

“I made sure,” Angelus said solemnly, nodding and fighting a matching grin.

Spike frowned at him. “Ya did? How’d ya know I watch it, then?”

“I asked Xander.”

Spike goggled. “Ya did what?! Thought ya couldn’t stand the Whelp! Know he can’t stand you!”

“Ah, but we’ve reached an agreement, Alexander Harris and I. I don’t eat him, and he tells me what I want to know about you.”

“Traitor!” Spike promptly wailed, mentally plotting revenge.

“It got you your ‘football’, didn’t it?” Angelus teased.

Spike frowned. “Yeah - so, guess I won’t kill ‘im. Just torture ‘im a bit.”

Angelus laughed again. “We’ll see. Here’s the book,” he reminded gently, laying it beside his Childe, who’d taken a seat on the couch. “Enjoy your television and things; I’ll be back with Deborah in a little while.”

“Hey,” Spike called after him as he turned, “can’t I have at least boxers, mate? Don’t fancy sittin’ round in me skin in front of everybody.” He didn’t need to add one single bit of vulnerability to the picture he was already going to have to present for his Sire’s older Childer.

“No,” Angelus said firmly, “but there’s a throw on the shelf over there; you can put that over you if you like.”

Spike gave him a definite pout and turned back to the telly, snatching up the remotes again and turning it and the satellite on. The channels started flicking by almost too fast for Angelus’ vampiric sight to follow, and he grinned.

He owed Xander Harris a favor - seeing his Childe so pleased after all he’d gotten before was rebellion, fear and anger, made the Elder Vampire feel extraordinarily happy.

He left the room, and Spike, who had really been paying more attention to him than the tv screen, dropped the remotes and jumped up, exploring his new candy store.

Nice. Everything he could have wanted, including one of the Blooming Onions from the Bronze, sitting in the ‘fridge, just waiting to be heated up.

Two minutes later and he was curled up on the couch, throw tucked over his lap, mouth full of onion, ‘Anarchy in the UK’ blaring from the speakers while a soccer game played on the telly.

Bliss.

Except his eyes kept straying back to the book.

Damn his curiosity... hadn’t he gotten in enough trouble in his long unlife because he couldn’t keep it under control? Had to know what was going on, had to figure out what the plots and plans were about, had to know what Angelus and Darla were up to, had to spy on Tomas’ research, had to peek into Daniel’s weapons box.

Had to know what was in this bloody book.

He sighed and picked it up, lay it in his lap and shifted the plate of onions to the arm of the couch. He continued to nibble his treat as he opened the cover, and read the inscription.

.For those who seek the Truth of our existence.

Oh, peachy. Like he cared about that.

Still, he turned the first page, and a flash of light blinded him and the room disappeared.

*

“Well?” was the first word out of everyone’s mouth when Angelus came into the Great Room.

He shook his head sadly. “He didn’t want anything to do with it. I should have known.”

“Can’t you just make him read it?” Daniel asked, though he already knew the answer.

“You know I can’t do that, Green Eyes,” Angelus said fondly, reaching out to stroke Daniel’s red hair. “He has to do it on his own.”

“I know; it was just wistful thinking, I guess,” Daniel sighed in reply, nearly purring under his Sire’s gentle touch.

“You’re silly,” Deborah informed him, leaning her head against her Brother’s shoulder.

Angelus smiled down at them, always pleased when this pretty pair of his Childer were together. They’d been a lot of trouble in the making. He’d Turned Deborah, at first, as a match for his Third Childe, Tomas. She’d been a sweet, innocent young lady met while hunting at a party, with an untapped potential for magic that he could practically smell on her.

He’d immediately lured her into the garden and drained her, feeding her his blood before she breathed her last and leaving her body to be discovered, mourned, and buried. Then he’d spent three nights in the cemetery, waiting for his newest Fledge to crawl from her grave and into his arms.

Tomas had waited with him, more eager for a student than a companion, though not entirely against the latter idea.

After Deborah rose, however, she wanted nothing to do with the Brother she’d been Turned to match. She’d wept, instead, for her own brother - her twin.

Daniel.

Her mournful longing for him had been so constant and consistent that Angelus had finally, exasperated, been forced to hunt him down, now a year older than the sister he thought dead. He’d started to just make a minion of him, hoping that would please the Childe whose magic, under Tomas’ careful tutelage, was already growing by leaps and bounds; yet when he finally found the boy, he’d sensed an equally strong gift - for mayhem, not for magic.

Intrigued, he’d Turned the boy as his Fifth Childe instead of the mindless weapon he’d planned on, and took him home to an ecstatic Deborah, watched their howling, joyful reunion with pleased eyes. Daniel had been fun to train; under his own tutelage and that of his visiting oldest Childe, Penn, he’d quickly made a place for himself in the Watchers’ Journals as Daniel the Ruthless.

A few years later, and Angelus had found Tomas’ true match; a pretty, pious young psychic named Drusilla, and their little family would never be the same again.

Drusilla brought them madness, tea parties, chattering stars, Miss Edith...

...and William.

A polite knock at the front door interrupted his reverie; he watched as one of their few Minions opened the door and stepped back warily as the Watcher and the Slayer came inside, trailed by Willow and Xander.

Angelus raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?” he asked coolly. They’d already had one stressful meeting with these people today, and one was enough.

Buffy gave him what she seemed to think was a seductive smile. He’d rapidly realized that once she’d found this version of Angelus to be sane, all the attraction she felt for Angel had promptly multiplied itself.

Yay.

“We were wondering if you could possibly assist us,” Giles began reluctantly.

Behind him, Xander and Willow shifted, uncomfortable under the gaze of the seven elegant vampires in the room. They were used to vampires who growled and attacked, rarely coming out of game face; Spike and Angel - and more remotely, Darla and Drusilla - had been the rare exceptions.

These vampires were dressed in formal, almost old-fashioned clothes, something Angelus’ little Family was fond of doing in the evenings, and were sitting on elegant antique chairs, reading or talking in low-pitched, educated voices. There was even a fragile china tea set on one small side table. It was like comparing the Bronze to the ballet.

“What could possibly bring you to ask for help from us?” Lucinda was the first to ask, flowing to her feet, pushing her waist-length blond hair - loose for once - over her shoulder. Her stance was belligerent; Lucy didn’t care for anyone who held the tiniest threat to her Family.

“Car’tharak demons,” Giles said. “Several have shown up in town. They feed on souls, you know, so we thought that perhaps you, being unsouled, could get rid of them for us. That way I wouldn’t have to take the children into danger.”

He frowned, puzzled, when all the vampires smiled.

“What,” Angelus asked, amusement heavy in his voice, “makes you so sure we are unsouled?”

*

‘Bloody hell,’ was Spike’s first thought, when his brain started working again, ‘I shoulda known better.’

He lifted his head - not an easy task, it felt like it weighed about sixty pounds - and stared around him.

“Bloody hell,” he said aloud, this time.

He was back in that blank nothingness that usually heralded one of Deborah’s nasty little dream-spells.

If this was her idea of joke, he really was gonna kill her, Sire or no Sire!

“Well,” said a voice behind him, “it took you long enough to get here. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you?”