Family Ties

By Subtleshadeofgrey

A Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanfic

No pairing as yet but options are kept open in case the story or the reader takes me in that direction - any suggestions welcome be they het or slash (but no Spike /Angel because that wouldn’t work in this fic or Dawn/Spike because she‘s too young)

Summary: When Angel returns to the hell mouth, and Buffy, to stay, Spike’s unlife goes from bad to worse. But he’s declared the scoobies to be his family, even if they didn’t know it, and Spike protects his family. When the whole, expanded, team travel to England to prevent a possibly apocalyptic event the Scoobs get a lesson in love and loyalty that they never expected and William’s family get to meet their favourite black sheep.

A/N A long summary I know but I do tend to waffle:D This story is kind of based on a challenge but I can’t remember where I saw it. It wanted Spike’s family to support him and teach Buffy a lesson or something like that. Anyway that’s where I got the idea from.

A/N2 I reserve the right to muck about with Canon something rotten and reinstate characters at my whim so consider this totally AU even though some events did occur - like Glory. But no Wolfram & Hart etc. Also no Gunn or Connor. Please note that although Spike isn’t perfect you’d be hard pressed to tell from my depiction….I refuse to apologise…..Sorry. ( I’m not really, but I am polite:D)

Warning: Angel bashing ahoy! Also mentions of past abuse, maybe non con m/m. Lots of smarm; lots of angst.

Disclaimer: J.W. is all powerful and owns the universe - well BTVS anyway. I on the other hand…don’t.

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“I would have thought my answer would be obvious.”

“Would ‘ave thought so Watcher but then there’s a lot going on lately that goes against the obvious.”

“Indeed.” Rupert Giles couldn’t help but agree with Spike. Even before Angel’s alter ego, Angelus, had killed the lady he was beginning to love he had never liked the ensouled vampire. The thought of a 240 year old demon attracted to a 16 year old Buffy had been extremely distasteful. But they had been saddled with him at the sanction of the Powers That Be, so that was pretty much that. Didn’t mean to say he had to like the cretin.

“Giles?” Willow had forgotten how the two Englishmen sometimes communicated in single words or gestures, some of which she wasn’t even sure made sense to anybody but another Brit. And Spike seemed to think that the question of Giles' intentions had been answered but it hadn’t…had it?

Giles didn’t have the foggiest idea what was going on despite his listening at the door. Surely Wesley couldn’t have made such an important mistake? Yet Spike seemed so sure and Giles had begun to suspect that there was a lot more in that 130 year old brain than just peroxide fumes. If, indeed, the vampire had found a cure he would, of course, do everything in his power to help. Nobody, well nobody with an ounce of compassion, could do less. The thought that the supposedly soulless vampire standing in front of him was prepared to do a lot more than the one back home with the shiny soul sent a chill down his spine. But, one thing at a time.

“Think that was a yes Luv” supplied Spike.

“Quite” replied Giles and Willow relaxed slightly only to tense up again as he continued. “And just what have I offered to help with Spike? What do you know that Wesley doesn’t, or won’t admit to?”

Spike gestured for the Watcher to take his chair by the bed and he nodded his thanks as he sat opposite the re-seated Willow. He gently brushed a stray lock of hair from the seemingly sleeping yet comatose Wiccan. Spike, on the other hand, had found himself unable to remain still; his William was always a nervous pacer and his demon just wanted to get on with it. But he owed both humans an explanation.

“Okay, it’s like this” he made sure he had their attention. He could see the Watcher’s fingers twitch and motioned for him to take out his ever present notebook and pen. Giles rapidly complied, his puppy like eagerness almost lightening the sombre atmosphere. And, besides, he knew how the Watcher felt. His poetry may have been lousy but he had never stopped writing; turning his attention to journals instead. He almost smirked at what the academic would make of his personal record of over one hundred years of history. Maybe one day he would feel able to trust someone with his work again; the laughter and ridicule of that night he was turned still echoed in his ears, and his unbeating heart.

“Right, well” Spike resumed. He first told them about how he had come to be in the hospital corridor that morning, and about why he had gotten an honest job because no-one else would touch a chipped demon killing vampire with the proverbial barge pole employment wise. He left out the short stint as a prostitute - no need for them to know just how low he had sunk - pardon the pun, he told himself.

“Wait!” Giles’ interruption made him sigh - bloody curiosity, it would take them hours if he started interrupting.

“What Rupes? I haven’t even reached the good stuff yet.”

Giles blushed at Spike’s exasperation. He couldn’t help it if he was naturally curious; besides he didn‘t want to dwell on the tale of how they mistreated Dawn’s loyal protector. “I just wondered how come you can do a day job…I mean sunshine and all that.”

Willow nodded her agreement. It had puzzled her too…and perhaps listening to the answer would distract her from the guilt at knowing that the vampire had been left to starve. She suspected that Giles had had a similar reaction, even though he had been in England when Angel had first returned and so at least had some excuse.

“Oh that was easy. I normally work nights, but when I occasionally do a day shift I always work from the mortuary, in the basement, and everyone here is under the impression that I have an allergy to sunlight so when I go to pick up a body they close the blinds. Hospitals are really good at accommodating people with ailments y’know - and it looks good on their records that they employ people with handicaps. Of course it helps that the recruitment department is headed by a Borlar demon.” He noted their astonishment and ploughed on, giving Giles barely enough time to note the details in a rather untidy shorthand.

“So, as I was saying, soon as I heard the type of demon involved I knew that the ‘Ritual of Blessing and Sacrifice’ would purge the poison from her blood.”

“That’s the ritual that Wesley mentioned” confirmed Giles with a frown, “But he said that it didn’t work with humans, and Tara is most definitely human; you proved that yourself when she had doubts.”

Spike smiled and stopped pacing to stare down at the serene girl that he had hit on the nose to prove, by the blinding pain he experienced when hitting humans, that her so called family were wrong to label her a demon just because she had magic abilities.

“Could be that he translated wrong…” Giles snorted in disbelief and Spike shrugged, Wesley was the language expert, or so he thought. “Or it could be that Angel is pulling his strings.” Giles and Spike shared a look of concern.

“So it can be done by humans?” Willow’s confusion was growing but so was her hope.

“Can’t be done BY humans but it can be done TO humans Pet. That’s why Angelus wants to avoid it. Takes a demon to perform it; a vampire demon to be precise - and we all know how helpful they like to be to humans.

“I can see why it would be difficult to find a vampire willing to put themselves out for a human but what exactly does the ritual entail? If I remember correctly the wording in the research material simply stated that ‘a creature of night must walk in the steps of the sun to purge that which haunts the blood’ or something close. It says nothing about humans being involved and with the references to the sun it becomes an impossibility anyway. Wesley and Angel concluded that it refers to the legend of the Daywalkers.” At Willows frown of confusion Giles clarified, “Daywalkers are a breed of vampire that can expose themselves to sunlight - they are thought to be an urban myth, or the garbled retelling of sightings of vampire’s who wore the now destroyed Gem of Amara.”

They both looked to Spike with expectant faces. Spike, for his part, tried not to let his disgust at the misinterpretation of the ritual show. He would have thought that Windbag-Price would have been more careful…but then perhaps he had more important things to do than save the life of one little witch; like play Renfield to Angel’s Dracula…no that wasn’t fair. Old Drac might owe him eleven guineas but he wasn’t bad enough to be compared to the Broody One.

“Don’t know about Daywalkers, never met one anyway, but the ritual makes sense if you change a couple of words. For a start the actual wording describes the poison as a tainter of blood. It’s a virus similar to the one that carries the demon to a turned human through a vampire’s bite. And it isn’t ‘the sun’…s-u-n, it’s ‘the Son’…S-o-n.”

“Good Lord!” Giles immediately set about polishing his glasses while Willow paled at the implications.

“Yeah” confirmed Spike with a wry smile. “Of course a lot of these old legends were written by monks and what not, so I don’t think that the ritual is actually gender specific. In Tara’s case we’re talking about The Great Goddess or Gaia or whatever you want to call her. The important part is that to perform the ritual the vampire has to ask the victim’s ruling deity for a blessing and protection - to act as a sort of protector during the transfer.”

“T…transfer?” Willow couldn’t believe what Spike was willing to attempt…to enter into direct communion with the holiest of beings. His reply had both her and an equally stunned and amazed Giles paling anew.

“Blood Pet…it’s always about the blood.”

“But you said that you wouldn’t turn her.” Spike was surprised to see only sadness and puzzlement, not anger, in the witch’s reply. He smiled at her reassuringly and then gave a nod to Giles as he figured it out.

“The Goddess! You pray to the Goddess to protect her from the turning and….” he faltered but was surprised to feel a little pride at the vampire’s approving glance. He had been made to feel like a dimwit third wheel since Angel and his entourage had hit town. And what was worse was that he was beginning to believe it.

Spike finished for the astute Watcher. “ I call on the Goddess and She acts as a buffer when I take a little of Tara’s infected blood…it’s not lethal to other demons; annoying but not lethal.” Giles and Willow both looked concerned at that less than comforting inference, not quite lethal didn’t mean harmless, but they let it slide for now and Spike carried on and pretended that he hadn’t noticed their concern or that his demon was getting one of those warm fuzzy feelings that it so hated. “Anyway then the infected blood is killed by my demon blood - the two are incompatible…..”

“Your blood creates antibodies!” Giles suddenly realised that underneath all the ritualistic language a simple yet profound scientific process was taking place. “An antidote.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is” the vampire confirmed. “Anyway I pass some of my blood back to Glinda, and that’s where we need the protection of Gaia, Tara being too close to death for my liking; then the blood, like you say, triggers the destruction of the virus and she should be back on her feet in a few days none the worse for wear…..course there might be the odd side effect, the ritual isn’t too clear on that but nothing alarming or dangerous. It’s a ritual of healing after all.

Willow nodded. Unknown side effects were a concern but when being dead was the alternative…she could deal and she would be there for Tara, and Spike, whatever the result. She felt a momentary surprise at the sudden rush of affection for the vampire. It was the antithesis of what she felt for the other vampire in their lives. In fact if Tara was to turn out like Spike she could even live with a vampiric lover. But she trusted Spike not to break his word.

“And what about you Spike?” asked Giles. The ritual seemed straightforward enough. If only Angel had had the guts to go through with it both Willow and Tara would have been spared days of suffering. But it sat uneasily with him that Spike would be putting himself in danger. He really wanted to give himself a good slap for developing protective feelings for one quarter of the Scourge of Europe but what was done was done and he didn’t want to see the annoying twit damage himself. Unfortunately there didn’t seem to be much choice.

“’m a demon Rupes. There isn’t much that can damage me on a permanent basis. ‘Sides we don’t have a choice.” The look he gave the Watcher and the witch was a statement…that the time for talk was over.

“What do you need to complete the ritual?” Giles could hardly argue and looking at the pale figure in the bed and the red rimmed eyes of the girl holding the almost lifeless hand he found that he didn’t want to.

“Already set everything up at the old Crawford Mansion”, he noticed the Watcher wince. It was there that Angelus had tortured him and Drusilla had put him under her thrall. “Sorry Giles but it was the only place isolated enough…No good memories for me either.”

Giles nodded his understanding. Angelus and Drusilla had kept the then crippled vampire there, starved and humiliated in his wheelchair.

“I’ll go get a trolley and we’ll get Glinda out of here. Rupes, you keep the staff at bay yeah?”

B*T*V*S

Dawn sat in her usual place at the library. She felt it was some kind of testament to her lack of a life that she could lay claim to having a usual place. But it was at least demon and Angel free, and that was what counted….well she had her suspicions about Mrs Frost, the head librarian, but Spike had assured her that the only thing demonic about the hatchet faced woman who looked suspiciously like the wicked witch from the Wizard of Oz was her ferocious glare if you accidentally put a book back out of place.

She sighed and doodled another pentagram on her history notebook; homework sucked without Spike to bring it to life - who would have thought that demons had put out a contract on Hitler because he gave evil a bad name; it certainly put the bunker scene in a whole new light.

She had made an effort with Angel, really she had…well she had tried for Buffy’s sake because as much as her big sister got on her nerves she was just so sad all the time that if anything would bring back the happy and take away the cold empty anger that seemed to hover like a cloud, well then she would do it. But please…Angel! Talk about control freak! Every time he gave her an order she was reminded how Spike managed to make you think that what he wanted you to do was your own suggestion in the first place, and by the time you figured out you’d been duped you’d realised that he was right. And silly though it was, because Captain Forehead had a soul and was a white hat, he scared her…just a little. Spike never scared her.

God! She missed him. And she couldn’t even sneak behind her sister’s back because HE was there, sniffing for unwanted or suspicious scents like a pig hunting truffles; she’d tried washing with Buffy’s shower gel to throw him off and even burned incense, but the vampire had a nose like a bloodhound. And he wasn’t even subtle about it. Spike smelled things too, all the time. He’d explained that it was a part of what vampire’s did; but he was subtle, a slight flaring of the nostrils and a concentrating tilt of the head, whereas Angel sounded like he had sinus problems …probably did, what with the weight of that brow bearing down on his nose. She snorted at the thought and smiled prettily at the scowl she received from Mrs Frost. Even when he wasn’t here Spike managed to cheer her up. And with Tara so ill she certainly needed cheering. Nobody was telling her anything but the worried glances and hushed conversations didn’t bode well. She just hoped that somebody had been able to get word to Spike. He deserved to know. Before it was too late. She put her books away; how could she study when the woman who had become like family to her might be dying. Tara needed her and Spike and so did Willow, but she was deemed too young to go to the hospital for any length of time and when she was there she suspected that the others were putting on a false front, with overly bright optimistic smiles; but she let it go because any sort of visit was better than none at all, which was what Angel had suggested. At least this way she got to show Willow that she cared; Spike wasn’t even being given that option, and even if he had been allowed to visit his best friends nobody had seen him around for weeks. She knew that he hadn’t left town because he would find a way to let her know, and his friend Clem, the friendly demon, had let slip that he’d played poker with him a few times. She sent a mental curse to the Powers that Be for landing them with Angel and tearing apart their family.

Two figures clad in sparkling white togas peered into the scrying bowl and watched the world, well a very small part of the world…located in California, play out it’s drama below them. They felt the anger of The Key and looked sheepishly at each other. Sometimes they wondered if choosing the ensouled vampire as a champion had been more trouble than it was worth. Their attention was suddenly redirected and eyebrows were raised in surprise. It seemed that events were taking a rather unusual course.

B*T*V*S

Everything, for once, went without a hitch and within the hour Glinda’s hospital bed had been swapped for an old fashioned four poster, although she was oblivious. The bed posts were wreathed in ivy and laurel and the smell of jasmine and roses filled the air. It was the antithesis of the sterile antiseptic room they had just left. As Willow tucked the handmade patchwork quilt around her lover she smiled sadly; even if this didn’t work she knew that the Wiccan would rather die here than there.

Giles and Willow set up the candles and drew the summoning circle at the foot of the bed while Spike went off to prepare himself. They could tell that the vampire was nervous which made them nervous in turn. Giles could not recall any instance of a demon born of hell willingly entering into communion with a deity of purest goodness. He hadn’t even conceived of the possibility. Everyone knew the result of holy water or a crucifix on a vampire; to endure the presence of a Goddess would be a demon’s idea of hell…and Spike had the willing cooperation of his. He shook his head in wonderment for the hundredth time that night, or so it seemed.

“Spike! Oh my gosh!”

Giles turned to see what had caused Willow’s shocked exclamation and his jaw dropped in surprise although the vampire’s glare prevented the humorous gleam in the Watcher’s eyes from spreading to his mouth.

Spike shuffled nervously. “Was William’s idea…the pillock. Wanted to look smart for the visit.”

It had taken Giles some time to get used to the way Spike had come to terms with his demon and human sides but over that terrible summer he had begun to rethink Council teachings. They taught that the human was obliterated in the turning but he had seen and heard William in so many different ways that he found it impossible to believe in such simplistic ideology as the council of wankers, as Spike had dubbed them, touted as truth.

“I must say Spike, that I have never seen you look so smart.”

“Wow!” was Willow’s contribution and Spike was grateful that vampires didn’t blush.

Spike pulled at the lacy cuffs that draped gracefully over his long and elegant fingers. In fact the whole effect was elegance personified…elegance circa 1880. The white, lace trimmed, shirt was topped with a black brocade waistcoat decorated with an intricate design in silver thread; the long frock coat complemented the black trousers and polished black boots with a low but noticeable heel, also edged in silver. Silver rings set with amethyst and lapis lazuli stones adorned his fingers and a single diamond stud earring glittered in the candlelight. The still peroxide hair should have looked out of place but it just set off the whole ensemble…and were those glorious curls natural!? Spike had to admit that he’d missed dressing up; maybe the Count had something after all. His ‘uniform’ of black jeans, tee and overshirt were practical and serviceable and made a statement that he wasn’t to be messed with but as a creature of the Victorian era he had a soft spot for good design…he’d stolen enough posh frocks for Dru in his time. Even ate a designer for Armani once.

His demon drew him out of his reverie with an internal growl and a mental swipe at William who was regretting his inability to admire himself in a mirror. With one final tug on the black Whitby jet and silver cufflinks he got down to business.

“Time to get this show on the road folks.”

B*T*V*S

Buffy sighed as Angel kept up the lecture on maintaining team discipline that he had begun when they had left the hospital. He was right of course, he was always right. Wesley said that he was right, and if the Powers that Be didn’t think that he was right they would surely have said something by now. Maybe a well placed lightening bolt….or was that Greek Gods? Maybe they would send the odd little man with the silly hat…Whittler, or whatever. Oops, Angel was staring at her…should really keep his eyes on the road…had she missed something? She took a chance and nodded….must have been ok she concluded as he smiled and turned his head away again.

She knew that he was right…. She had wanted to stay with Willow at the hospital but he had said that Willow probably didn’t want to be disturbed, probably wanted to spend these last hours alone with Tara. At that thought Buffy waited for tears to form. It was sad…when she was sad she cried…nothing. Never anything anymore. No joy, no grief…just anger. Anger at Willow for bringing her back and anger at herself for being angry at Willow, and anger at the world for being less than heaven.

Thank God Angel was here. He had taken over the decision making, leaving her to do what she did best…kill demons. She almost chuckled at the thought that she finally knew how the Buffybot felt. Yet a little part of her wondered why, if Angel’s return was such a good thing, did everything seem to be getting worse, or was it just her pessimistic imagination? More than anything else…more than a normal life or a lover or even heaven she wanted her mother back. That was when it had all began to fall apart. When fate had snatched her from them. Mom would know what to do, what to say to make everything right. But unlike her own return Mom was never going to come back and she just hoped that while she was caught up in this…what had Giles called it? Ennui, that was it; well until it went away or she left it behind she just hoped that Angel was making the right decisions on her behalf. But she had a sinking feeling that things were getting worse, not better at all.

B*T*V*S

Anya sat on their couch, in their apartment and watched their relationship slowly die. She had tried, God knew that she had tried to break through Xander’s obsession. But her boyfriend’s hatred of everything non human had grown by leaps and bounds since Buffy’s return. It was as though despite being ecstatic at the return of his crush, (and after over a thousand years on this planet nobody could accuse the ex vengeance demon of being dense…she knew how the man felt, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself, or her. In fact his words when she confronted him with the truth had been quite harsh) he had blamed the whole of the supernatural world for the fact that she didn’t come back perky. How could you die and go to heaven, and hadn’t that admission caused a furore, and come back like you’d been on vacation to Florida. Florida was where they had chosen to go for their honeymoon…she didn’t think it was likely now; not as she watched him pace their living room muttering about evil demons, and vampires, and Spike. Why he blamed one of the few who had done nothing but good throughout this whole affair she didn’t know, or perhaps that was it. That the supposedly evil vampire had been the one to hold it all together while Xander had avoided poor Dawnie and Willow, his supposed childhood friend. Anya frowned as she contemplated her husband to be. She had thought him the man of her dreams but he had turned out to be a sullen and petulant boy. Perhaps regular orgasms and that warm fuzzy feeling at being cared for by someone could be found elsewhere…she certainly hadn’t been feeling it much with Xander of late. And life was far too short to waste, especially when you were no longer immortal.

“Xander, we need to talk.”

B*T*V*S

Cordelia Chase sat in her room and flicked aimlessly through a magazine. She hadn’t signed up for this; babysitting a rebellious fifteen year old and pandering to an increasingly difficult vampire. She had begun to entertain thoughts that maybe she and Angel…but then Buffy had come back, again! Honestly, what was it with that girl and resurrection? Tacky much! She had begun to carve out a life for herself in L.A. but then suddenly Doyle gets a headache and it’s pack your Gucci and let’s go. She wondered if it was time to contact her agent, see if she could get her movie career back on track.

Doyle studied his hand; it was a good one and Spike’s friend Clem was a lousy poker player but if he won then he was going to have to figure out what to do with twelve kittens. Of course if he lost then he had a fair idea what would happen to said furballs…he was half demon dammit, it shouldn’t matter to him if the mewling monsters were destined to be a late night snack. He didn’t even know why he had come, it wasn’t as though he had ever met the blond vampire; but come on, who could resist checking out something as bizarre as kitten poker, especially when it had been the only thing to bring a smile to the Slayer and her sister’s faces. He sighed and called the hand; just as he thought…now how many people could he find to offload his winnings onto. He really, really didn’t know why he’d come. And then the vision hit, and he knew. As the pain cleared slightly he saw the floppy eared demon staring at him with concern.

“Clem, we have to talk.”

B*T*V*S

Angel was happy; well as happy as he ever could be. Just because he knew that his soul was now anchored didn’t mean that he could instantly turn his way of thinking around.

And he had been thinking…a lot. He had thought of all he could do to improve the efficient running of the Slayer’s calling now that he, and not that inept excuse for a Watcher, was in charge. He also thought that Buffy would feel a lot better if she just gave into her obviously still strong feelings for him. They could make love now, except that she had given him no indication that she was interested in sex. He supposed that it was the lingering effects of her return. She would come around eventually. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t used to being patient. And some things had gone okay. Wesley was doing a good job of replacing the annoying older Watcher…it still gave him an odd sense of guilt every time he talked with the man that Angelus had tortured and whose lover he had killed. He didn’t see why he should feel guilty, it was Angelus that had performed the evil deed after all, not him. And at least his worthless, good for nothing, pathetic Grandchilde was out of the picture. He undermined his authority at every turn; kept calling him Angelus, reminding everyone of what he would rather they forget and reminding him of what he, himself, was. It brought back the memories of William’s first years with them. The overwhelming sense of pleasure as he broke the pathetically innocent boy, who had somehow managed to maintain part of his human self at his turning…Drusilla never could be trusted with her toys. He remembered how it had felt to cut and bite; to violate and claw at the tender fledgling’s body. At how tight….

Angel drew his thoughts back into line rapidly. That was somewhere he daren’t go. It was too much like the thoughts that Angelus would have, and they were not the same person, no matter what Spike claimed.

B*T*V*S

Giles and Willow stayed quiet as Spike mentally prepared himself for the ritual. There was nothing more they could do for Tara; it was all in Spike’s hands now. They just hoped that the Goddess would look kindly on the vampire and see how much he cared for her ‘child’.

Spike knew that this would work…should work, and that it would involve him using magic - he hated magic, it always had consequences; but this time the alternative consequences, of inaction, were far worse than anything that could happen to him. Even if he dusted he had had over one and a quarter centuries of ‘life’ while she hadn’t even made the quarter mark. So magic it was then. That would be the easy part; because what neither the witch nor the Watcher knew was that, like Tara, and thanks to that part of him that was William, he was a natural…a natural born Wiccan. And how that would affect the ritual, God…or rather Goddess…only knew.

TBC