Sweet William

AUTHOR: Little Mouse (elf_night@hotmail.com)

WARNINGS: For violence and language and explicit, vampiric, m/m yummy bits.

ARCHIVE: Please ask first.

SUMMARY: Drusilla, in an effort to return Spike to being her 'dark prince', tries to change him back to the way he was when he was called William the Bloody. It doesn't work out quite the way she expected. This story is slightly AU as per vampire lore, and Angel is Spike's Sire.

CHAPTER  THREE

"We've got a what?" Buffy asked blankly.

"A Childe. An un-Claimed Childe of a Master. Do you have any idea how rare that is?"

"Masters don't leave their Childer unclaimed," Giles and Wesley said at the exact same time.

"That's what I mean by rare," the vampire said, nodding, "no Master leaves a Childe without a Claiming mark. Not unless they die before they can claim them. Have you dusted a Master vampire lately?" The last question was directed at Buffy.

She shook her head. "No, nothing but fledges. We haven't heard any rumors, either. I've asked around. Willy, you know?"

Angel nodded. "What about Spike? Does he know anything?"

"We haven't seen Spike in a few days." Buffy sat up sharply, eyes flying wide open. "You don't think he's the one who turned him?!"

"How?" Angel asked calmly.

"Oh - right. Chip." Buffy relaxed back into her seat.

"That's not to say he won't know who turned this Childe, or who the Childe is. And, more importantly, where he is."

"What does it matter?" Xander asked. "I mean, if all these Masters are showing up for this guy, why not just let them take him? Then they leave, and all our troubles are over until next week's crises."

"It's not that easy," Angel said, shaking his head. "The last time there was a Childe like this, un-Claimed... Giles, Wesley, you know about the Vampire Wars in Italy in 1764?"

Wesley nodded. "They lasted for almost sixty years. One of the bloodiest moments in history, even if it's not listed in the 'real' history books. Hundreds of thousands of vampires and people died... Oh, goodness, are you saying it was all over an un-Claimed Childe?"

"Yes. Her name was Marka; she was turned by one of the Tepes Masters, but he was staked by a rival while he waited for her to rise. He'd hidden her in an abandoned monastery - when she woke, she started feeding from people like this Childe is. Just sipping from a few different children every night."

"Why didn't she drain them? Why isn't he draining them?" Giles asked.

Angel sighed. "It's amazing how little Watchers actually know about Childer. Newborns - and they're counted as newborns for, at the very least, five years - feed almost exclusively on Sire's blood. If they can't get that, they 'sip' from different sources, because more than a few mouthfuls of blood from the same source makes them extremely ill. Besides, unlike Minions, when Childer first rise, they aren't - they aren't vicious." He paused at the disbelieving looks, then shrugged.

"Believe me or don't believe me. It's the Sire who teaches them viciousness. They have a sort of bloodlust, true, but its easily satisfied. Anyway, like Wesley said, the wars lasted for nearly sixty years. Marka was forced to drink human blood all through it; by the time a Master finally won the right to claim her and feed her Sire's blood, it was too late. She was crazier than Drusilla could ever hope to be, and all the Sire's blood they could feed her didn't change that. Vampires need the connection with their Sire. Otherwise, the demon goes insane."

Wesley and Giles both opened their mouths when Angel paused, but Xander beat them to asking a question. "Why do the Masters want him? What's so special about some other Master's Childe?"

"Power."

"Come again?" Gunn asked his first question.

"Power. It takes a lot out of a Sire, making a Childe. Minions, they're easy. Give them a little blood, and walk away. Childer - they take magic. Don't ask me exactly how it works; I can't and won't tell you. But a Sire has to have some real power stored up inside to make a true Childe. They really give a piece of themselves to make a Childe - to change their bodies yet keep their memories and personalities intact. That's the basis for a normal Sire-Childe bond; it's also why it takes Childer longer to rise. They go through more changes. Anyway, if a Master can claim another Master's Childe, they steal that power, that 'piece' from them. Also, since a vampire won't waste time on turning just anyone into their Childe, they also end up with a beautiful plaything. Marka was stunning, and I'm sure this Childe is nothing to cringe over."

"He's gorgeous," Willow giggled, sharing a look with Buffy.

"Yeah, I gotta admit, he's hot stuff. But we can just stake him, right? I mean, pretty and all, he's still a vamp. And if he's dust, all the Masters'll go away, right?"

"Yes," Angel said reluctantly. "If he's gone, they'll leave. They might have a fight over the Hellmouth first, just to make up for the trouble of coming here, but it won't last long. Especially if we tell them 'Angelus' is here, too."

"Good!" Buffy smiled at the whole table. "Then the only problem is finding him. Riley's helping. We're looking. Angel's here. Let's go get Spike, and make him spill his guts."

*

William sighed softly, pausing as he perched on a tombstone. He'd fed, though for the last two days, the blood of those humans was making his stomach ache. In an attempt to ignore that fact, he'd gone to the cemetery to play a game he and Drusilla had shared, back when he'd first been a fledge and she'd gotten over some of her jealousy at having to share Angelus' attention with him. They'd gone into cemeteries to play 'chase' on the tombstones, leaping from one monument to the next. He'd always been good at it, and it was fun to see how long he could keep his balance -

- but this wasn't as much fun as playing with his Sister. She may have been insane, may have hurt him terribly when he'd been Spike and he'd barely reacted to her death, but now he found himself missing her more and more. He didn't like being alone.

Voices startled him, and he immediately slipped down behind the tombstone, peering around it at the humans who had invaded his playground. His eyes narrowed, his head tilting to one side.

Words came through the air to him, in a voice that made him shudder and stare.

"Why are we in a cemetery? I thought Spike was staying with you, Giles?"

"He ...er, he stayed with me for a while, then with Xander. He... he decided he wanted his own place, and he chose an, er, crypt here."

"My Childe has been living in a crypt?!"

'Sire! That's Sire, my Sire...' William tightened his grip on the tombstone until he felt the granite crumbling under his fingers, trying to keep from just flinging himself at the huge vampire. His demon was shrieking with joy, but he knew he wouldn't get a happy welcome if he went flying over to the being who was supposed to mean safety and comfort to him. He'd probably get a stake.

"What do you care where Spike's living?" The Slayer asked casually, reaching his old crypt and calmly kicking the door open. "Spike! Where are you? Get your useless, undead ass out here!"

William frowned, puzzled, as a subsonic growl echoed the Slayer's words. He knew the humans couldn't hear it, but it was plain to him. Why was his Sire angry over what she had said? He'd proven over and over that he didn't care what happened to him.

He watched while one of the humans, a tall, dark man that he didn't know, flicked on a powerful flashlight and they all went into the crypt. He got up and moved a little closer, taking refuge behind a statue of the Virgin Mary, her flowing gown giving him effective cover. A rustle behind him made him glance over his shoulder.

A Minion was staring at him from about twenty yards away, eyes wide. William frowned, then looked away. He knew he was stronger than the other vampire, and it certainly wasn't acting threatening. He'd hear it if it moved closer; for now it was of no importance.

What was important was the inhuman howl of grief and rage that was echoing out of his crypt. It went on and on, causing the Minion to flee, causing some far-off demons and fledges to scatter. It caused William to wind his arms around the statue's waist and hang on tight, blue eyes huge.

His Sire was mourning.

Mourning him... or Drusilla?

His demon informed him that it didn't matter; his duty was to go to his Sire and offer comfort, even if comfort meant allowing Angelus to rip his throat out as he mourned. Terrified, but obeying overpowering instinct, he forced himself to let go of the statue and take a halting step toward his crypt.

He stopped when the humans came flying out the door, some brandishing weapons while others just cowered. Even the Slayer looked wide-eyed and frightened.

The reason was plain; the huge figure that followed them out was in full game-face, amber eyes glowing in the half-light of the moon. Angel wasn't howling any longer, but he was growling audibly, rage evident in every line of his body. Blood tears were streaming down his face.

Spike's duster was held tightly in one hand.

'He is crying for me...' William thought wonderingly, taking another tiny step forward.

A new voice made him pause.

"Angelus! Is that really you?" It was a slow, indifferent drawl.

William turned to see who was speaking, and his blue eyes narrowed. He knew that vampire - someone Spike had met? Yes, a git who called himself 'The Destroyer.' Harrovian clan, if his memories were correct. A pompous, stuffy, full-of-himself Master that he'd hated as soon as he'd met him.

Angel swung his head around, glowering at the intruder. He didn't speak.

"Are you here for the Childe?" What was his real name - Ian, right - Ian asked. "Where is he?"

There was no reply. Angel's amber eyes didn't waver.

"One of my Minions saw him here, so don't try to play dumb," Ian demanded. "I want him - you've a soul now, right? You have no use for him. Where have you hidden him? Give him to me."

More soft rustles distracted William; he turned to find himself surrounded by Minions.

"We mean you no harm," one whispered respectfully, "our Master offers you his protection."

"Is that Spike's coat?" Ian's sudden laugh stopped any reply William might have given. He turned back as Angel growled again.

"If it is?" the voice was heavy with Angelus' Irish brogue, but his Sire still had that faint, bittersweet scent of a soul clinging to him.

"If he's not wearing it, he must be dust," Ian laughed again. "My condolences - such a lovely Childe. Oh, dear, I forgot, you abandoned him. It was too bad he wore your Claim still, I would have loved to take him over."

William snarled softly, ignoring the Minions as they stepped closer. That ponce, taking over for his beautiful Sire? The moron wore a cape, and his black hair was slicked back in a poor impression of Bela Lugosi's Dracula. He remembered laughing his head off the first time he'd seen him.

"You aren't good enough for him to wipe his feet on," Angel's answer made William blink. "My Boy was perfect; you've no right to even speak of him."

Ian stared, then seemed to realize the dangerous overtones to Angel's words and adroitly changed the subject. "This is beside the point," he said, waving a negligent hand. "I said I was here for the Childe. Where is he?"

Angel turned to Wesley, holding out the duster. "Keep this safe," he said softly, and Wesley nodded, taking the precious piece of leather from him.

Angel turned his attention back to Ian. "I will not allow you to take any Childe. You cannot even keep your own, if you manage to Turn them without them going insane."

"Milord," a Minion spoke almost next to William's elbow. "Milord, please, they will fight if they do not see you."

"Fight if they do," William whispered softly, but he didn't hesitate when he was urged forward. He was nearly overwhelmed with the desire to get to his Sire; his Sire who was defending him when he thought Angel hated him!

The two Master vampires had started circling each other, the humans moving until their backs were safely to the crypt, but everyone stilled when the Minions came into sight. All eyes were on the slight figure in the middle of the ring of lesser vampires.

William had instinctively bowed his head as he approached the Masters, showing that, for now, he was submissive. He was more than happy when his heavy mane of curls slipped forward to hide his face. Maybe if his Sire Claimed him before he realized just who he was, he would be allowed to stay?

All the others could see was that curtain of dark blond hair; a small, lithe form clad in jeans that were worn almost white, the material so thin at the knee - and some other more interesting spots - that they were sure they could see the soft gleam of pale skin. The waistband rode low on slim hips, the material clinging tightly to his long, lean thighs before flaring wider at the knees, the hems dragging the ground around his feet. Bare toes peeked from under the puddled denim. A silver chain belt did little to hold the jeans up. The Childe was also wearing a sleeveless mock-turtleneck made of dark grey suede. It clung lovingly to his torso, ending just above the tiny dimple of his bellybutton. The lean, strong muscles of his arms and chest were thrown into strong relief, along with washboard abs. Even if they couldn't see his face, it was easy to tell he was beautiful.

Angel frowned, lifted his head and scented the air. This lovely Childe smelled - familiar. He wondered suddenly if Drusilla might be the one responsible for Turning him. It would be just like her to make a Childe and then abandon him before he rose.

"Master," one of the Minions spoke respectfully to Ian. "We have found the Childe you seek."

Ian took a confident step forward but paused when Angel growled. His lips tightened at the unspoken threat, but he didn't try to move closer. "Childe," he spoke instead, "I am Ian the Destroyer, High Master of the Harrovian clan. I offer you my protection, and a place at my feet as an honored Childe of the Blood." He held out his hand. "Come to me, little Childe, and I will keep you safe."

William shifted restlessly, his hands sliding up to fold around his ribs in another comforting hug. He turned his head ever-so-slightly toward Angel.

The tall vampire immediately took his cue. "I am Angelus of Aurelius, Childe, and I offer you my protection." He ignored the gasps of surprise - and outrage - from the humans behind him.

"Will you choose one of us as your Sire, or shall we choose for you?" Ian pressed, callously ignoring the fact that the Childe was frightened. He wanted this pretty little one.

William shifted again, raising his head enough to show them the slightest glimpse of vivid blue eyes.

Angel pulled in a deep breath, memories beginning to stir in his head. He opened his mouth to speak -

- then the Minion standing to the Childe's left exploded in a cloud of dust.

Buffy, still holding the stake she'd used to kill it, lunged at the Childe.

Taken by surprise, it was only his years of experience - years a fledgling Childe shouldn't have had - that saved William. He moved just quickly enough for the stake to plunge through his shoulder instead of his heart. He screamed in pain, and both of the Masters cried out and moved forward.

Buffy yanked the stake out and lifted it for another blow.

The force of the strike had sent William to his knees, one slim hand clutching a bloody shoulder. He lifted his head, and for the first time they saw his face clearly. No shadows, no concealing hair, no dizzying, flashing dance-floor lights.

Just a young face, with huge blue eyes surrounded by thick, curling lashes, razor-sharp cheekbones, a soft and sensual mouth. The years he'd lived hadn't added lines to Spike's face, but they had given a hard expression that made him look older. That was gone now, leaving him very young and innocent.

"...Spike?" Buffy asked, confused.

"William..." Angel choked, staring at the boy wildly.

"What's going on here?" Ian snapped, and those were the words that shocked William out of his daze. He leapt to his feet, taking in the stunned, broken expression on Angel's face and instantly interpreting it as rejection. He made a choked, pained noise...

...then turned and ran.