Extra attentions to the warnings - nasty chapter!

TITLE: Guardian Angel
AUTHOR: Lysia
EMAIL: lysias_fanfic@yahoo.co.uk
RATING: 18/NC-17 depending where you live.
WARNING: NASTY/ANGST FIC! Contains torture, prostitution, rape,
slavery and very very hurt Spike. Bless!
DISCLAIMER: They're not mine. Characters are property of Joss Whedon.
SPOILERS: Starts off in B:TVS S4 'Pangs' and A:TS S1 'I Will Remember
You', skips through to 'Primeval' on much the same lines, then goes
off on a huge tangent into the murky realms of AU. (see chronology)
ARCHIVING: http://www.the-crypt.net under 'Lysia'. If anyone else
wants it just ask.
PAIRING: Spike/Angel plus some extra minor pairings.
NOTES: Answer to April 'Whore-fic' Challenge on 'Spike-coddling'

CHAPTER 19

AMSTERDAM, PRESENT DAY 2004

Two weeks went by and the two humans and the vampire got used to
their strange living arrangement. Both Angel and Wesley had taken
jobs in the area to fund the rent for the flat. Wesley worked at the
British embassy as a receptionist, office assistant and general
helper, while Angel – whose skill at the lingo was not as good as he
had never visited the Netherlands before, became a security guard at
a local shopping centre. Whether you understood what they were saying
or not, a kid smuggling goods out under his coat was easily
identifiable as a thief no matter what country he was in.

The money was tight, but it kept them in the flat safely. Ideally
they needed somewhere bigger now that Spike was staying with them,
but their wages couldn't stretch that far.

The little apartment sported just the two bedrooms – although they
were doubles, and spacious enough with it – along with the main room,
which served as reception room, lounge and kitchen, and the tiny
bathroom. The kitchen was awful – a narrow horseshoe of white units
and appliances surrounding a tiny aisle of sticky turquoise lino. It
only took up one corner of the reception room but was an unpleasant
brightly coloured eyesore on the already unpleasant drab brown of the
living room. And it wasn't even functional – it was only just big
enough for one person and if someone else wanted to use it at the
same time then there were usually injuries sustained. It was usually
Angel and Wes, as Spike rarely ventured into the kitchen and
preferred to sit and laugh as the two humans fought for supremacy of
the fridge.

Both Angel and Wesley had grown used to Spike's presence, and the
problems that occurred due to their cramped accommodation were
generally turned into light-hearted jokes.

Spike still slept in Angel's bed, adjusting his sleep patterns around
his Sire's work schedule so that they could curl up and share a
comforting hug and a chat. Spike shared his feelings and experiences,
gradually opening up a little more, occasional sparks of emotion
breaking through. Angel, in turn, told him what had happened with
Buffy, and Spike had listened intently, offering his sympathy and
support as if they had been friends for years.

But tonight Spike's usual story telling prompted an even more
dramatic reaction that managed to break Angel's heart and make it
leap in joy at the same time.

Spike was curled up at Angel's side, his head resting on his Sire's
chest, listening to his heartbeat as another tale released itself
from his gut like poison being purged from his body. The
recollections were starting to hurt a little now, as his mind began
to associate the memories with the emotions of the experience, but
Angel insisted that this was all part of the healing process and he
had to face his fears. Unfortunately for both him and Angel, the fear
reaction wasn't pleasant. Spike had become snappy and aggressive at
times, spitting venom at Angel as he had done when he had turned up
at the brothel for the first time. Consciously he knew his Sire only
wanted to help, but sometimes when the feelings surfaced his first
instinct was to fight. Then the anger would fade and he would be left
with a brief face of uncontrollable anguish that would engulf him and
turn him into a weeping, shivering wreck.

It wasn't so scary when he got cuddles though, which was why he was
currently wrapped up in Angel's arms, relaying what he knew would be
one of the most harrowing stories he would ever tell.

"The move to Amsterdam happened late in February 2001," he was
saying, beginning, as always, with little feeling but waiting for the
emotion to flood back. "Sounds dumb now, but I actually chose to go
there myself. I knew the brothel existed for some time and Stannler
had been muttering about taking me over there, but I'd asked him if I
could stay in Sunnydale. Figured I was more likely to run into a
demon I knew who I could maybe pay to defend me, if I could keep hold
of my cash for long enough.

"Luckily for me, Clive was feeling generous one night. I'd gone out
to meet some bloke who Stannler wanted me to see, and while I was
expecting to go home with him, it turned out he wanted to shag in an
alley. I dunno why – maybe he'd seen it in a vampire movie. So I did
it – and all the while I kept feeling like I was being watched. I put
it down to one of Stannler's guards keeping an eye on me.

"Anyway, the guy tips me and I head for home, looking a bit of a
state cos the git had wanted to play it a little rough. Got me a nice
couple of bruises, but who was I to complain? Stannler sees this and
he's so impressed with me for being 'such a brave boy' that he lets
me keep my tip and tells me to go and have a good time. Turned out he
was in a holiday mood." Spike chuckled bitterly. "It was Valentine's
Day.

"I didn't waste my time. Took all my saved earnings – just under a
hundred – and sought out a demon bar where I hadn't already been
beaten up. Plan was get some demon to be my bodyguard – just as far
as the station – and then I could leave the whole messy business
behind me.

"So I'm sitting there, looking around at the other demons in there,
and this big vamp comes up to me, plonks his hand on my shoulder and
practically drags me off my seat.

"Now he's a big bloke, and so while my first reaction is to deck him
one, I hold back. He's got three of his biggest mates with him and
none of 'em look happy with me. So I stand there quietly, resisting
the urge to fight, and the git starts mouthing off at me, yelling
about me disgracing the vampire name and how I had no right to show
up at a demon bar.

"I couldn't help myself but shout back after that. Figured he'd heard
what everyone else ad heard – Spike's a traitor who fights demons and
helps the Slayer. Told him to mind his own business and claimed I'd
been blackmailed but didn't help Buffy any more, and he'd better get
his facts straight before accusing a master vampire of treachery."

Angel felt a shudder of fear go through the vampire, and he
instinctively held him closer. Spike's emotional outbursts had become
more and more frequent and Angel knew it was just a matter of time
until the vampire finally released all the anger and hurt that had
built up in his heart.

Spike swallowed and carried on.

"And he... he said he wasn't talking about the fightin'. I... I froze. He
must have known from my face that I knew exactly what he meant now.
An' I knew right then that he was the one watching me in that alley."

The blonde sniffed back a sob and shook his head despairingly. "Oh
God... the shame of it was unbearable. I'd always tried not to think
about what I was doing, but to actually have another vampire find
out – it just brought it all home. I stood there, speechless. Didn't
know what to say. And then... and then he started yelling out to the
rest of the demons, tellin' 'em all what he saw, sayin' I was
worthless and a good-for-nothing whore and they shouldn't let me
anywhere near demon haunts cos I was lower than the humans I worked
for."

Spike was actually sobbing now, choking on his words as he uttered
them. Angel ran a soothing hand over his Childe's shoulder, feeling
him shake. "Will, I'm here..."

"And then they all started laughing at me!" Spike wailed, emotion
finally splitting the wall of indifference completely, smashing
through leaving Spike open to the torrent of agony, shame,
humiliation and self-loathing that struck him. He clung to Angel as
he wept, spilling bitter, hate-filled words with his tears.

"They called me a disgrace! Every one of 'em in the place was just
laughing at me, saying... saying I had it coming to me after helping
the Slayer. Some of 'em started... touching me, trying to kiss me. They
threw notes at me and asked how much I charged by the hour. I told
them all to fuck off and die – didn't know what else to say. And the
big brute... he grabbed me so I couldn't fight back. I tried but I was
so... so starved and weak... I had no strength. I couldn't stop it. I
couldn't do anything. They were just... on me, like dogs. I think I
screamed. I screamed for someone to help me, and then when no-one did
I started... begging for them to stop. But they didn't, and that's when
I gave up on words altogether. Just screamed – like a fucking child."

By now the words were almost lost among the hacking sobs, which Spike
was desperately trying to hold back. Angel was crying silently as
well. He stretched his hand out and cupped Spike's face gently,
drawing him into a gentle embrace.

"Just let it all out," Angel whispered to him. "I'm here for you.
Just let it out."

Spike did so, surrendering to the long-repressed feelings that
surfaced. He began to wail in despair, scrambling closer to his Sire,
curling up in his lap and clinging to him, rocking gently as he wept.
His tears soaked Angel's chest as he continued to grieve, and Angel
just sat there, holding him and soothing him, for the best part of
ten minutes.

Eventually, the sobs ceased Angel felt Spike's head move up towards
his ear.

"After a while they knocked me out. Not on purpose – I think I fell
and hit my head on the bar. Woke up in the yard out the back of the
pub, my clothes in a heap on top of me. I don't remember much about
what they did to me, but it's probably for the best."

His voice was quieter, and his accent slipped away briefly, returning
to his original middle-class elocution. The he fell silent. Nothing
more needed to be said. The barrier was down.

Spike started to cry again, quieter this time, but still not fighting
his feelings. Angel held the trembling vampire, and, mixed up with
the painful sympathy he felt for Spike, he found this whole chain of
events something of a relief. The worst was over. The denial was gone
and now Spike could really start to heal.

Amid the sympathy for Spike and the anger towards his attackers,
Angel felt an awful pang of guilt. He felt responsible for Spike's
predicament. He thought back over his actions the last time they had
met and every time he reached to terrifying conclusion that he could
have prevented this.

He had walked away from Spike and abandoned him in favour of a life
of humanity with Buffy. He had known his Childe was defenceless and
yet he left anyway. He had told Spike to stay away from Buffy's
friends – the only people in Sunnydale who had actually offered him
any help, albeit begrudgingly. Either some tiny amount of respect
Spike still had for him or fear of how he would be punished if he
disobeyed had compelled Spike to do as he was told, leaving himself
vulnerable.

And Valentine's Day...

Spike's harrowing tale had been made all the more traumatic by the
associations of that day.

On Valentine's Day of 2001 Angel had taken Buffy to a restaurant.
He'd treated her to a three-course meal. She'd had sushi. Buffy
always loved sushi. He had given her a necklace – white gold with a
tiny charm bearing three diamonds. It had cost a fortune. She had
squealed when she opened the box and everyone in the restaurant
stared. She had bought him a designer silk shirt – something she
could barely afford on her wages and had saved for. He had changed
into it immediately and loved the feel against his skin. It reminded
him of her touch.

Afterwards they had driven out to the coast and sat watching the
stars, curled up on a soft blanket on a hill overlooking the sea.
They had made love under the night sky, slept wrapped in each others'
arms and woken early enough to watch the sun rise.

And Angel had never once spared a thought for Spike. To suddenly
learn what had been happening to his Childe not two hours' drive away
while Angel had enjoyed one of the best nights of his life tore the
former vampire to pieces. Why did he have to push Spike away like
that? How could he leave him to suffer? And furthermore, how had
Spike coped with all this, alone, lost and terrified?

He gazed down at the vampire who was curled up in his lap, his head
reading on his shoulder, tears flowing like a river. Spike was the
bravest creature he had ever known.

SUNNYDALE, FEBRUARY 2001

Water wasn't enough. Soap wasn't enough.

Even the bottle of disinfectant that stung the lacerations on his
skin, smelt like shit and made his eyes water couldn't scrub away the
filth. This felt worse than the first time, worse than the aftermath
of every other repulsive encounter he had been dragged into.

Spike threw the empty bottle of Dettol across the bathroom, watching
as in knocked a collection of bottles and an ornamental vase off a
shelf and onto the floor. The vase smashed with a refreshing noise
and Spike stared at the pieces that lay on the floor. 'Like my life.'
The thought made him laugh hysterically for a moment, then he just
burst into tears again.

He was curled up in the bath in his apartment having managed to half-
dress himself and crawl home from the alleyway where they had left
him, dumped outside with the dustbins like scrap, used and unwanted.
He had barely made it home before the sun rose. He had laid on the
floor in the apartment, not moving, for the better part of an hour
before gathering up enough strength to move through to the bathroom
to try and clean himself off and tend to his wounds.

But nothing had worked.

So now he just sat in the tub, the shower pouring water down on top
of him, freezing cold as the hot water tank had long been used up. He
was shivering with cold and his stomach hurt from hunger, but he
couldn't bring himself to move out from under the spray and he
doubted he could eat anything even if he made it to the fridge.

That vampire's words kept ringing in his head. 'Worthless.' Perhaps
he was. He was nothing but a whore to humans. That was a fate he had
chosen as a better alternative to death, but he had always tried to
tell himself that he was superior to his clients because he was a
vampire. He would live forever, and in a century or so he would look
back on these last few months and laugh, because he would be a true
master again and every one of those petty little perverts would be
dead, rotting and insignificant.

But to be treated the same by his own race was unbearable. Fellow
demons had once respected him, even feared him. But now... he wasn't
even a whore to them. He was lower than that – they hadn't even paid
him, stealing what little money he already had and leaving him to die.

He sniffed and hugged his knees to his chest, wincing as a vast
bruise on his stomach was pressed inward. His fingers traced the
wounds on his face. His lip was split, his left cheekbone broken, his
left eye swollen and bruised, and just above his temple, hidden under
his hairline, there was an ugly gaping cut where his head had struck
the bar. It stung when he touched it and his fingers came away bloody.

He barely even noticed when Stannler walked into the room. The major
had stopped respecting what little privacy he had a long time ago and
Spike had simply accepted this as part of his new role in life. His
employer didn't give a toss about him, not even enough to care that
the vampire was curled up naked in the bath, covered with bloody
wounds and ugly yellow bruises.

"Ah, there you are," Stannler commented, barely glancing at Spike as
he retrieved a piece of paper from his pocket. ""I have your schedule
sorted for tonight. At nine you are to go to the Park View hotel and
meet a man called Sherwood Reeves. He's just graduated from law
school and is a close friend of Mr McDonald, so be on your best
behaviour. There's a suit on your bed that he's sent over for you to
wear. At eleven you're booked with one Terrence Carter. You have a
key to his room at the Sunnydale Inn holiday apartment block – room
235 – and your instructions are to let yourself in, put on the
blindfold you'll find there and wait for him..."

Spike blanked out the rest of the instructions. He'd had just about
enough humiliation and the indignity of being ordered about on top
off all this was just too much to handle. His hand went up to the
wound on his head again.

"You're not even gonna ask me what happened, are you?" he mumbled,
smearing the blood on his fingers across his palm.

Stannler glared at the soaked and battered vampire in distaste. He
knew it was a mistake to let it roam around free. It was such an
inconvenience when it got damaged. "Let me guess," he muttered,
folding Spike's schedule neatly and running his nails along the
folds. "You went to a demon bar and your fellow vampires didn't take
kindly to the damage you've done to the reputation of your species
and decided to teach you a lesson. Or demand a freebie. Or both. I
don't much care. I'll order extra blood for you. Drink it. I want you
healed by sundown. Can't send you out looking like that."

Spike felt his chest tighten in shame and frustration. How could a
human speak to him like that? How had he allowed himself to get so
low?

He scrambled out of the bath and wrapped himself in a towel,
stumbling after Stannler as the human walked out of the bathroom and
headed for the door.

"This is all I am to you people, isn't it?" Spike raged, shaking from
the cold, the pain that seemed to envelope his entire being and the
intense anger he felt at Stannler, his stuck-up clients, the vampires
who had attacked him, and above all himself. "I'm just some fucking
resource you can ship out to your customers. I'm just a body – just
some... TOY to be supplied, played with and charged for."

Stannler gave him a look of contempt and rolled his eyes. "Well what
do you expect? You want me to treat you as a person? Hah! Here's a
wake-up call for you, Spike – you're not a person, so don't expect to
be treated like one. Did you treat your meals like people? No. So
don't expect me to extend the same courtesy to you. You chose to be
here. You're well fed, you have a roof over your head and you're
protected from anyone who tries to kill you – provided you don't go
wandering off into demon nests like you did last night. Not a wise
action, Spike, although one which I was expecting from you without a
doubt."

Spike frowned and looked away. Stannler had KNOWN what he would do.
And he must have known what would have happened. And so he'd just let
him walk right into the trap...

"You're one spoilt vampire, Spike," Stannler reminded him. "You've
got it all. So don't start complaining that I don't act all concerned
when you get yourself attacked or kiss you better if you fall and
hurt your knee. You're not here to be coddled. You're here to work."
He scowled and threw the neatly folded paper at the miserable
vampire. "Now do your job. And put something on that head wound."

The door slammed and Stannler was gone. Spike picked up the list of
names and addresses and read through them, dazed. He knew most of the
places, and one or two of the names were familiar. Some of the acts
described in his instructions made his stomach turn, but there was
nothing he hadn't done before.

He dropped the piece of paper, dabbed at his wound with his towel and
headed over to the bathroom. The shower was still running and the
bath was now overflowing, dripping onto the lino, the water tinged
with blood. Spike ignored it. He opened a cabinet and searched the
contents for the packet of disinfectant wipes he knew had been put
there to tend to any injuries he received. He found them, removed one
from the packet and pressed it to his head. It stung like hell, and
Spike turned so giddy he collapsed onto the floor, his knees buckling
beneath him.

He leaned against the bathtub, the cold edge bruising his neck, but
he didn't care.

He couldn't believe how he'd got himself into this. Stannler was
right – he had chosen this. He was given the choice of being hunted
down and killed, probably in a very painful way, or living a life of
degradation and humiliation. He had chosen the latter – and why? Not
because it was a better option, but because he had been weak and
cowardly. He didn't want to suffer whatever horrors Stannler would
rain down upon him if he left; he didn't want to risk running away;
and he didn't have the nerve to stake himself.

And so he stayed. That was why he felt so worthless. It wasn't the
fact that he was prostituting himself in exchange for blood and a
place to stay – it was the fact that he had chosen to do as an
alternative to a dignified and final death. He had given in. The
other vampires were right – he was worthless. He was nothing.

The realisation was unbearable, and Spike simply curled up on the
floor, huddled in his towel, lying in a puddle of water mixed with
his blood. He didn't want to stay here. This town held too many
memories. Where else could he possibly go?

TO BE CONTINUED...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Write to me. Bite me. Hug me. Shag me. All would cheer me up.