TITLE: Guardian Angel - Chapter 2
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: Nowhere at the moment, but I would be honoured if anyone
requested it. Feel free to do so.
PAIRING: Spike/Angel plus some extra minor pairings.
NOTES: Answer to April Challenge and plot bunny on 'Our Armageddon':
http://www.shibbybitch.net/ourarmageddon/plotbunnies.html "Angel
stayed human in I Will Remember You, but he and Buffy doesn't work
out somehow, and he flees the country with Wesley in tow. In the
meantime, Spike escapes The Initiative, and leaves Sunnydale,
embarrassed by his disability to kill and maim. The two meets up in
some strange country... From there on... *shrug* - ???"

CHRONOLOGY

NOVEMBER 1999 – Angel becomes human through the regenerative blood of
a demon. Buffy and Angel resume their romance. Spike is chipped.
MAY 2000 – The Initiative is destroyed. Buffy moves to LA with Angel.
Spike disappears.
2004 PRESENT DAY – Buffy leaves Angel, Angel moves to Europe.

CHAPTER 2

A MOTORWAY SOMWHERE IN EUROPE

The trans-continental coach had air conditioning, built-in personal
radios and all the other mod cons. However none of them worked
because the electrics had packed up. The sun was now free to beat
down on the occupants of the stuffy, baking bus, bestowing golden
rays of light upon it as was a sun's duty to do. It truly was a
beautiful summer's day.

And Angel hated it.

Hiss head lolled against the headrest as he squinted out of the
window at the scorching sunlight. To think he had once craved the
feeling of the sun on his skin! Now he just wanted it to go away.

Gasping for breath in the heat, he reached up and grasped the cord to
pull the blind down. The cord broke and the blind stayed put,
rattling slightly. Angel groaned and closed his eyes.

"Would you like to borrow a book to take your mind off the heat?"
Wesley asked politely, bringing his nose up from the copy of the
European Tourism Guide he was reading.

"No," Angel muttered, snatching up his hand-luggage from the floor
and searching through the bag for the sunglasses that he already knew
weren't there, but one more time couldn't hurt. "I don't know how you
can read on this thing, Wes. Don't you get sick?"

Wesley shrugged. "I never really thought about it. I just get caught
up in whatever I'm reading."

"Read to me then," Angel requested, throwing the bag to the floor and
turning his back on the window.

With a nod, Wesley went back to his book.

"Well according to this, we can expect this type of weather through-
out this area for much of the summer, perfect for sunbathing, coastal
visits..."

Angel made a noise that made it clear this wasn't what he wanted to
here, and Wesley put the book down again with a small chuckle.

"Where are we anyway?" Angel asked, suddenly realising that he had
been so frustrated with the heat for the last four hours that he
hadn't kept track of where they had got to.

Wesley paused for a moment then stared out of the window in search of
a sign. "I don't know. We left Belgium a little while ago but I don't
know whereabouts we are exactly."

"Well right now I don't really care," Angel sighed, wiping his brow
on the back of his hand. "I don't know about you, but I want off this
God-forsaken bus. Can we do that?"

"I don't see why not," Wesley agreed. "I for one would be grateful
for a shady room and a bath. Where were you thinking of getting off?
The guide lists several cities around here..."

"Next stop," Angel replied flatly. "Whatever the next stop is, we get
off there."

Wesley nodded and closed his guidebook.

*       *       *

AMSTERDAM, THE NETHERLANDS

Rain.

If there was one thing worse than the blistering sun during the
journey it was the rain that followed. It was the kind of warm, humid
rain that made everything wet without cooling it down, and left
everyone wanting to keep dry but not wanting to don coats or
waterproofs due to the heat.

By now, though, Angel was too drunk and miserable to care. Wesley had
located a cheap two-bedroom flat almost as soon as they had left the
bus, and having dumped his cases the first thing Angel had wanted to
do was go out and find a bar. His exhausted travelling companion had
agreed without hesitation as he needed his rest, and so Angel had
gone out on the piss. And it had started to rain soon after.

The alcohol in his empty stomach was having no pleasant effect as
Angel wandered miserably down the street in the drizzling rain with a
half-empty bottle of lager in one hand and an unopened can in his
jacket pocket. The drugs sold to him by a dealer in a nightclub had
done nothing except make his head hurt and, despite his drunkenness,
his sense of irony was finding his current predicament highly amusing.

He had pretty much gone full circle now. That realisation managed to
bring a smile to his face, despite his pain. He had started off as a
useless drunken bastard, but had since found dignity (albeit as a
vampire), love in the arms of a wonderful lady, a purpose in fighting
the forces of evil, and now he was right back where he started,
staggering around alleyways in a European country, swigging booze and
generally being a useless drunk once again.

Only the first time around, Angel thought with a little bitterness,
he had been a lot better at it and found it much more enjoyable.
After centuries of being a vampire and a few years of being a very
sensible human, he had lost all but a little resistance to the
effects of alcohol, and had discovered that now, instead of making
him happy-go-lucky and forgetful of his woes, lager made him head-
achy, woozy and depressed. Similarly, as a fearless young man, women
were nothing except pretty creatures to be hunted for 'sport', but
having experienced true love, Angel found that almost every single
one of the Amsterdam whores simply reminded him of how empty he felt
without Buffy. No consolation could be found in the arms of these
women when the warm beds they offered were accompanied by a cold
heart.

His drunken meandering reached an end in the gutter by a dingy, dark
alley between two strip clubs labelled 'Pole Position' and 'the
Golden Globes'. As he ground to a halt, a skinny blonde in a red
basque and a blue feather boa tottered towards him in her stilettos,
but he shook his head at her and she shrugged and strutted off again.
He drained his bottle, choking down the wave of nausea its bitter
taste brought forth, and then threw it to the ground with a
satisfying smash. A sob escaped him.

Odds were, he would have collapsed into a heap in the gutter at that
very moment, probably to have been robbed, beaten to death and left
to rot by some of the local yobs, had it not been for the sudden
sound of a familiar voice yanking his attention back from the abyss
of misery it was attempting to drag Angel into.

"You just learn a bit of sodding patience, mate. I'm the bloody
expert here, not you."

Angel stared, wide-eyed, down the dark alley-way in front of him, and
when he saw Spike emerge from the shadows, his eyes nearly fell out
of his head.

The blonde vampire hadn't changed one bit in the four years since he
had seen him. The hair was still bleached; the eyes were still
surrounded with dark punk style makeup; the cheekbones were as gaunt
and sharp as ever.

He watched as Spike glanced around him, squinting with distaste into
the bright blue-white light of the neon sign above the building next
to him before plucking a cigarette from his pocket and placing it in
his mouth. He lit it with a cheap plastic disposable lighter – not,
Angel observed with curiosity, the nice silver one he had owned for
many years – and took a long drag before removing the cigarette from
his mouth and exhaling slowly. The smoke seemed to glow in the neon
light.

Spike eyed his cigarette, almost studying it, before striding out of
the alley and slouching against the wall of one of the strip clubs,
scowling at the raindrops that fell on him and the larger drops from
the drainpipes of the building above.

He still didn't seem to notice Angel, who was observing him with some
curiosity from the roadside only a few feet away. 'Perhaps,' Angel
thought with a tiny speck of amusement, 'he doesn't recognise me with
my hair soaked flat like this.'

There was something about Spike that concerned Angel, however. His
long coat was gone. He was wearing black jeans and a black shirt,
which was already soaked through, not to mention open to the waist.
He must be absolutely freezing.

But there was something even more worrying than the cold. Through
Spike's gaping shirt, Angel could see that the muscles that his
Childe had once sported had gone, and he was now a skeleton of his
former self, thin and pale – pale even for a vampire. And worse than
that, Angel could see ugly red scarring on his skin, covering his
chest and neck, along with a nasty mark across his face.

A sense of cold dread filled Angel's guts, and for once it was dread
not for himself, but for another person – okay, vampire, not person.
It felt somehow good to be concerned for someone else.  Perhaps there
was something left of his former altruistic 'help the hopeless' self.

Steeling himself for the potentially rocky reunion and likely abuse
he would be subject to from the bleached vampire, Angel strode up
onto the pavement, keeping his legs as firm as he could with the
effects of the drink still liquefying his nervous system. His gait
was wobbly and his balance was by no means perfect.

He was already almost right next to Spike before he was even noticed.

"Spike?"

The vampire's head jerked up at the sound of his name. "That's me,
mate," he replied casually. "You know me, do you? Anything I can help
you with?"

Spike's friendly tone surprised Angel. This was not the reaction he
expected. The things he wanted to say vanished from his head and he
just stared for a moment.

"Spike..." He repeated himself, searching for a reply to Spike's odd
request. "Spike, it's me. What are you talking about? Don't you
remember me?"

Spike took a short drag on his cigarette and leaned closer to inspect
the face of the drenched man who had approached him. When he managed
to see past the reddened eyes and the rain-soaked hair his jaw
dropped and the fag slipped from his fingers onto the muddy pavement.

"Fuck. Peaches?"

Relief flooded Angel's mind. At least Spike remembered who he was. He
didn't even care about the silly nickname. He was far too worried
about his Childe's health. Now he was closer, he could see the scars
far more clearly. As well as the hideous red marks, tiny fine lines
were also visible. Some were older and almost faded, others more
prominent and probably recent. What could have caused injuries like
this? Questions flooded Angel's mind and he suddenly felt and intense
urge to grab Spike in a protective embrace and take him away from
this place.

"Yeah, it's me. Spike, what's happened to you? You're skin and bones;
you look like you haven't eaten in days.  And how did you get these
wounds? Why are you here?"

He reached out to grasp Spike's arm but the vampire flinched away,
almost falling over a stack of empty crates and a dustbin that were
leaning against the wall beside him. He seemed agitated, not only by
the presence of his Sire but by something else. His eyes darted
around the street, as if looking for something.

"Look, Angel, you shouldn't be here," he insisted, his voice quieter
than normal conversational volume but more urgent than a whisper. "I
can't talk to you. Just leave me alone."

But Spike's warning just ignited more worry, and Angel made another
grab for him, succeeding this time and pulling him back to face him.

"Don't give me this crap, Spike," Angel hissed, finding himself
slipping so easily back into his role as Sire over this oh-so-
familiar demon. He may have a human body now, but certain amounts of
instinct still remained in his mind that reminded him of the blood
bond between himself and this tiny, chipped, harmless vampire – and
instinct told him to find out what Spike was frightened of and
protect him from it. "Now tell me," he continued through clenched
teeth, "what's going on here?"

Spike looked away, staring at the ground. "Just go away," he mumbled,
miserable but still refusing to co-operate. "Please, don't do this.
You can't help me. I don't want you here. I don't want you to..."

"SEVENTEEN!"

The harsh bellow exploded from the alleyway beside them and both
Spike and Angel's gazes shot up to see who had spoken.

A big man swaggered cockily out of the alley. He was dressed in black
combat trousers and a black sweater and jacket. A red military beret
was perched on the side of his head, and his jaw was the kind of
square, solid protruding structure that just dared you to hit it, yet
at the same time communicated the feeling that to do so would result
in broken knuckles.

"Okay, Seventeen, what's going on here? Are you being awkward again
or is this guy causing you trouble? I wanna know who started this."

He spoke with a gruff voice one would expect from a military
background, but an American accent. This man was clearly not born in
the Netherlands and Angel got the impression that he and Spike had
been imported for reasons not entirely unrelated to each other.

"Back off, Lance, I'm dealing with this," Spike muttered, waving the
soldier away.
"Who are you?" Angel demanded, sensing something untoward. "And why
did you call Spike 'Seventeen'? That was his number at the
Initiative. What's going on here?"

 The solider scowled at him menacingly. "That's none of your concern,
pal," he spat. "Now are you just here to ask questions or are you a
genuine paying customer who just happens to be a little curious, 'cos
if you're not gonna hand over some cash now I'm gonna have to ask you
to take your hands off the goods."

Angel's brow furrowed and he eyed the soldier in puzzlement. "Goods?"
he asked.

Lance's eyes moved towards Spike, and Angel felt a cold dread
overwhelm his senses. He suddenly became painfully aware of Spike's
arm shaking in his grasp. Trembling, Angel looked round at Spike. The
vampire was still staring at the floor.

"Spike?"

At the sound of his voice, Spike jerked his head away even further
and closed his eyes, hissing slightly as if he's been burned by Angel
talking to him.

Angel shook his head in despair. He couldn't believe what he was
seeing. Spike was 'goods'. He was a 'customer'. And this military
lout was... This just didn't bear thinking about. "Spike, no... This
can't be..." The words came out as little more than a whisper.

Spike sniffed forced himself to look up at his Sire. "Just go,
Angel," he instructed.

So Angel went. He didn't know what else he could do. Drunk and
depressed – not to mention human – as he was, he was no match for the
brute who was guarding – no, pimping – Spike, and Spike clearly
didn't want him attempting to interfere. He couldn't even begin to
imagine the shame the once-proud vampire must be feeling. And he
could do nothing. As a vampire he could have flattened the soldier in
a heartbeat and taken Spike to safety, but now he was useless.

He trudged slowly down the street, trying desperately not to dwell on
the horror of Spike's fate. After a few yards, he turned and glanced
up towards the alley again. He could see Spike and his 'guard'
silhouetted in the light of the neon sign. He could see them
gesturing animatedly, clearly arguing, the soldier probably wanting
to know who Angel was and Spike undoubtedly telling him to mind his
own business. Then Angel flinched as the soldier back-handed Spike
across the face, grabbed his hair, pulling him downward, and then
struck him on the back of the neck with his elbow.

Anger flared up in Angel's heart as he watched the soldier haul Spike
back down the alleyway. The strength of the Sire/Childe bond was
overwhelming his human senses. Angel hadn't expected such a powerful
bond could exist now he was human, but the feelings that compelled
him to protect Spike were still strong. Clearly they were more
psychological than blood-based, and he hadn't expected such feelings.
Human or not, Spike was still important to him...

'Must be,' he thought to himself, as he began striding back up the
road after his Childe, his fists clenched at his sides. 'Why else
would I be risking life and limb against a trained-to-kill military
goon to save a vampire I once despised?'

He began to run, almost slipping as he turned into the alley. Puddles
of muddy water soaked the legs of his trousers as he slalomed around
bins, crates and other piles of rubbish. The alley was dark,
illuminated only by occasional dim lights mounted on the walls. Angel
slowed down as he realised Spike and his keeper were gone. Glancing
around, Angel saw a number of doors leading into neighbouring strip-
clubs, bars and brothels and realised that Spike must have
disappeared through one of them. But which one? Panic gripped him and
he began hammering on doors, desperately trying to find the captive
vampire. Nobody answered, and so Angel attempted to kick his way into
one of the buildings. He flung himself at one of the doors with all
his might, but only succeeded in bruising his shoulder.

With a howl of despair, he slumped against the wall, looking up
towards the sky as the rain fell upon his face. Spike had vanished.
He felt his heart sink, but ruthless determinations still raged
inside him. He would find Spike, and he would get him out of this
place.

TBC...

Thanks to everyone who wrote to me! I'm a happy little writer now!