Previously: Xander put aside his dislike of Spike long enough to assist in Cordelia’s rescue; Angelus and Drusilla have yet to return to the mansion and discover their captive is gone. This picks up where we left everyone.
Book Two. Chapter 31. Things of bestial shape
As a child, my heart bleeds for him.
Someone took a little boy and turned him into a monster.
But as an adult... as an adult, he's irredeemable.
He butchers whole families to fulfill some sick fantasy.
As an adult, I think someone should blow the sick fuck out of his socks.
Manhunter, 1987
Art, like Nature, has her monsters, things of bestial shape and with hideous voices.
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray
Once the “all clear” signal came through from Giles, Dawn smiled sleepily at the former demon keeping her company, yawned widely and said, “okay, I’m heading for bed.”
“Wait! We don’t know how soon they’re coming back.” Anya held her back, hoping the teen would keep her company.
Dawn shifted on the couch, moving away from Anya. “Look, they’ll be back soon, because, well, just because, but I so need sleep.” Putting her head down, Dawn closed her eyes. “I’m gonna stay right here, but I’m going to sleep.”
Anya huffed a bit, but settled down when it was obvious Dawn wasn’t going anywhere. The two girls were quiet, the television on, an infomercial airing that neither girl was paying the least bit of attention to, as they waited. Dawn’s eyes drifted closed and Anya, finally relaxing enough to get comfortable, also succumbed to the sandman’s lure.
“Fuck.” Spike’s one word epithet rang through the Jeep, low voiced and menacing. “You sure?”
“I believe it was them, yes.” Giles spoke just as quietly, his eyes on the side streets as they continued through the still dark streets of Sunnydale.
Spike was quiet for a moment, then said, “need to warn Oxford.” Turning the corner from Main onto Revello, only two blocks from the house, the vampire added, “too close to sunrise. Doubt they’ll risk getting involved in much of anything an’ they both know they can’t get into the house. They’ll probably cruise by then head right for the mansion.”
“You hope.” Xander’s voice was terse, his nerves stretching thin again.
“An educated guess. ‘S what I would do. Can’t risk getting caught. Sunlight isn’t forgiving. ‘Sides, the house is too heavily warded against vamps.” Spike pulled into the driveway, reaching over to gently shake Buffy awake. He was beginning to get concerned about her, she usually wasn’t this tired or this willing to appear less than her best in front of anyone but him, especially lately.
“Except one.” Xander bit out the snide comment before his brain could override his mouth and Spike whirled around as he got out of the car, pinning him with a hard glare.
“‘S right. I live here. This is m’house, whelp, an’ sooner you adjust better off you’ll be.”
Giles grumbled from his side of the vehicle. “Must you two always do this? The territorial male posturing is so very tiring. Most especially at,” and he glanced tiredly down at his watch, “five thirty-six in the morning.”
Xander sputtered out something else, but Spike ignored him to circle the car and get Buffy. Giles passed the dark haired young man, his brow raised pointedly and strode into the quiet house.
With Buffy lurching sleepily at his side, Spike headed for the house, tossing out over his shoulder, “don’t wanna be caught outside, Harris, better get a move on.”
And just like that he deflated any arguments or nasty comments Xander might have thrown at him, at least for the moment.
She was so still, her chest barely moving, the machines doing the majority of the work for her bruised and battered body.
Oxygen and fluids were being forced into her dehydrated cells, lending a false color to her cheeks. Cordelia looks so peaceful lying there, Wesley thought, as long as I don’t look at her arms.
White gauze bandages covered most of her arms, the IVs stuck into the only veins strong enough to sustain the influx of necessary fluids, at both sides of her neck. Most of the smaller cuts hadn’t even been bandaged, the surgeons using crazy glue instead, mainly to cut down on the number of scars. She was going to have more than enough of those as it stood; not all of them would ever show The surgeon had told him it had been necessary because of the severity of her injuries to induce a coma. He’d also told Wesley that the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours were the most crucial. If any one of her blood vessels burst, there was a real possibility they would lose her. The internal damage was that great.
Angelus had done his work well.
Oh Cordelia, I am so very sorry. I should have voiced my concerns sooner, not allowed this. . Not left you in his hands so very long. Wesley bowed his head, fighting angry tears. All this because Angel had feelings for her. It was outrageous. It was disgusting. It was. . . . Wesley couldn’t find words to describe how violently disgusted and disturbed he was by Angel’s actions.
To have. . . to be violated by someone who were the face of a friend was beyond betrayal. He’d raped her repeatedly, sodomized her as well. Battered and beaten her until she was nearly dead. Drained of her blood and starved her. The list of her injuries was chilling.
It would be nothing short of a miracle if Cordelia survived.
Wesley sat down in the chair next to her bed, praying harder than he could ever remember doing.
Angel watched from the shadows shrouding the house across the street from 1630 Revello Drive, Drusilla by his side, as her errant childe arrived at his human’s home. A sneer crossed his features and he spat on the ground. “Drusilla, we need to do something about that.”
“Too late Daddy. . . . so very late.” She crooned softly, a sad smile on her face. “My prince is long gone, lost in sunshine and baby strawberries, smelling roses and dancing with tea cozies.”
“Dru, maybe we should just. . .” Angel stopped talking when he saw Spike stop, his back stiffening as he sensed the presence of both master vampires.
Halfway between the car and the front door, Spike hesitated a moment, then he said in a whisper, “Xander, get in the house.”
Xander Harris froze. He could probably count on one hand the number of times Spike had ever used his first name. His use of it right now could only mean something very bad was about to happen or something very scary was nearby. Recovering by deftly tripping over his own feet, Xander ambled his way to the front door.
Buffy looked up at Spike when he’d spoken and his meaning came through silently yet all too clearly. “Across the street sunshine. Watching us both.”
“Wards?”
“Up and operational, including the new one tied to the electric.”
“Kay. Tired now.” And to prove her unspoken point, Buffy yawned and stumbled into his side.
Wrapping his arm around her and steadying her, Spike walked them up the steps and into the house, firmly closing the door behind him.
Take that you Irish fucker, Spike fumed as he locked the door.
“That piss ass feckin”. . . . Angelus muttered expletives under his unneeded breath, cursing Drusilla’s insolent get. Bastard should’ve learned by now not to try and play with his elders. He’ll always lose.
Striding off back toward the mansion, Angel didn’t realize Drusilla wasn’t following him until he was half a block away. “Drusilla. Time to go now.”
But she wasn’t listening to him, she was listening to the mournful pixies that were singing in her head. Who they were singing for, Drusilla didn’t know, but for the repetition of one phrase. “Bell tolls. . . bell tolls. Daddy?”
Angel had returned for his own madwoman, his tone for once gentle. “They’re talking to you, are they?”
“Uuuuhhhh.” Dru swayed a bit, lost to a vision, unable to speak clearly. Angel watched her babble and sway for another long minute, then feeling the twinges that signaled daybreak, he scooped her up and strode off into the waning night.
“Right then. ‘Fore everyone toddles off for shut-eye, need to talk.” Spike said as he almost kicked the front door shut. “Angelus was outside jus’ now, watchin’ the house.” He paused, making sure he had everyone’s attention. “No one’s out after dark. He doesn’t know yet that we’ve taken the cheerleader back. He’s gonna try and hurt us now. Every one has to be careful. Don’t fancy any more rescue ops.”
No one contradicted him, not even Dawn. For once, they all understood exactly what price carelessness would extract.
“Whelp you an’ your bird can sleep in Joyce’s old room. Air mattresses are all set up. Watcher?” At Giles’ raised eyebrow, Spike snorted. “Sleepin’ on the couch again. Gonna start chargin’ you rent.”
Buffy laughed tiredly, remarking, “you could write it off as a counsel expense.” When no one but her thought it was funny, Buffy grumbled a bit, “must be exhausted. I’m too tired to pun.”
Spike pulled her to her feet from her seat on the stairs, saying, “g’night all.”
Wesley had pulled his chair close to the bed, enough so that he could touch Cordelia and stay seated. Not overly religious, Wesley had spent most of his life serving good, almost serving a higher power, and at this moment he couldn’t come up with much of a reason why he’d done so.
Cordelia had been butchered.
Savaged.
Brutalized.
By the face and hands of a . . . not a man. . .but a being who claimed to value her position in his life. Wesley was sickened by it. Disgusted and despaired for Cordelia’s spirit. As an Englishman of a certain station, Wesley was supposed to maintain a stalwart mein in dire circumstances. As a former Watcher, he was supposed to make that rise to another level. He wasn’t supposed to ache with suppressed rage; to shake with suppressed despair and weep with profound sorrow.
Nor was he supposed to pray.
But Wesley did all that, sitting beside the broken, battered and barely alive form of Cordelia Chase.
Dropping his head down onto the bed, Wesley prayed to any god for compassion and strength.
Anya trooped up the stairs behind Buffy and Spike, who was prodding the very tired slayer up the steps, murmuring so soft and low that none of his words filtered through to her. Dawn was just ahead of Buffy, mumbling something about school and holidays that Anya didn’t quite understand. Xander was the last one up the stairs, watching the sleepy parade, his eyes watching the interaction between the two blonds. There was a general closing of doors and muttered goodnights as he finally took the stairs, the fatigue and the emotional turmoil of Cordelia’s rescue finally catching up with him.
Pushing his way into Joyce’s old room, Xander was surprised to see boxes piled up in one corner and swatches of paint on the walls, as if someone couldn’t decide what color scheme to use. All of Joyce’s old bedroom furniture was gone, the only evidence of her occupation of the room the dark curtains and the boxes with her name on them. It saddened him, to see her things put away in boxes, when he looked closer, some of those boxes had Willow’s name on them. Xander sighed, wondering what his oldest friend was up to, and hoping that things weren’t so broken between everyone that they couldn’t be fixed.
Anya was already under the sheets, her head down on a borrowed pillow and she drowsily said, “come to bed Xander, its late.”
Spike pushed the door to their room open, at the same time pushing Buffy over the threshold. “C’mon sunshine, into bed.”
Quickly divesting her of her clothes, Spike tossed her one of his tee-shirts and moved to get his boots off when Connor started fussing in the crib. Getting up quickly to head off the howling that was threatening, Spike lifted the squirming bundle into his arms.
“Where are you going?” Buffy managed to mumble as her head hit the pillow.
“Gonna get sprog a bottle. Be right back.”
He headed downstairs before she could voice a protest and Buffy dropped her head down onto the pillows. “Stupid vampire.”
Drusilla kept up her litany of nonsensical phrases the entire trip back to the mansion. Angel was trying to figure out what some of what she was saying meant and track his progress at the same time. Sunlight was coming up fast now, and they had only a few more minutes to get to safety.
Arriving at the mansion, Angel strode through the front door, dropping Drusilla to her feet. The scent of humans was all over, the signatures clear to his keenly honed sense of smell. What the fuck is. . . . Growling ominously, Angel moved from room to room, finding nothing more than small piles of dust and the more than occasional blood splatter on the walls and floors. Spike’s scent was strongest in the outer rooms, and there should have been an equally strong smell of Buffy, but strangely enough there wasn’t. Not as strong as there should have been.
His stride through the rooms was quick, a blurred fast pace, trying to get a sense of what had occurred within the walls of his mansion, before completely losing his temper. Here and there, scattered about the rooms, were a few badly injured minions, but the majority of them appeared to be gone, dusted by the hand of William the Bloody and his bitch. Kicking one of them to consciousness, Angel leaned over the bleeding vampire, hauling him up to his feet. “What happened here?”
“Dunno. Last thing I remember was fighting the Slayer and then nothing til now.” The vampire grimaced in pain, letting out a deep yelp when Angel dumped him back on the floor.
“Get yourself someone to eat.”
Knowing somehow that he’d just escaped the final death, the vampire, a fledgling of Drusilla’s, scurried as best he could for the sewers.
Angel continued stalking through the rooms, his growls of disgusted anger getting louder and louder as he progressed through the rooms. Drusilla’s pet, the girl they’d both taken blood from was gone, her chains empty. Swearing furiously, Angel stomped into the bedroom where he’d kept Cordelia. He wasn’t surprised to find her gone. Not at all.
There’d been some niggling thought in the back of his head that Cordelia had been the reason for the unprovoked assault on his lair. And now he knew.
That knowledge did nothing to calm his temper. In fact, it just put match to a heated tinderbox and set it off.
Growling low in his throat, Angelus turned round to the remaining minions. Before any of them had time to react, his fists were completing the damage started by Spike and Buffy.
Ripping the leather ties from the head and foot boards, along with one of the corners of the bed, Angel flayed the first minion in the line, another one of the ones sired by Drusilla. Bloody splatters hit the walls and the ceiling, pieces of flesh adhering in various spots. Groans and cries of pain split the air, coupled with the harsh breathing of the other minions. Drusilla growled from the doorway, which changed to a high-pitched whine when Angel dropped the makeshift whip and pushed his hand through the minion’s chest. The others watched helplessly as the dust settled.
“I want to know who was supposed to be guarding the captives?”
None of them spoke. None dared.
Throwing cautious looks sideways, they all cowered before the raging master vampire, the legendary leader of the Scourge of Europe, waiting for the punishment that was sure to come. Angelus stood glaring at them all, his features rippling and changing into his vampiric guise, looming over them.
“I left some of you idiots here, so that I would have something to come back to. And now they’re gone. Both of them. Any idea who took them? Any?” The last words rose to the level of a shout, and Angelus hauled one of them forward by his shirt collar, bringing him close to his face. “You better find out how they got out of here. Now. Don’t come back until you do.”
He pushed the brown-haired minion away, selecting another to go with him. They ran from the room, despite knowing that sunrise was only minutes away. Turning to another minion, this one remarkably well kept and curiously unmarked in the aftermath of battle, Angelus grinned with the prospect of more violence. “Tell me,” he waited patiently for a name, which came on a whisper, “Ray. Tell me, Ray, how you managed not to get hurt?” Angelus brushed an imaginary piece of lint off Ray’s shoulder, leaning into him.
“Wasn’t here.”
“Really? When did you leave the mansion?” Angelus circled round him, sniffing him for evidence of lies or nervousness. There was none.
“Earlier. Went hunting.”
Which was, unfortunately, no less than the truth. Angelus stared into Ray’s grey eyes, daring him to back down. When the fledge didn’t cower like the others, he smiled appreciatively. “Got balls, Ray. Makes me happy to see that. Did you hunt well?”
“Yeah. Got two. Took one,” he paused for dramatic effect, “brought the other back.”
“Did you now? And where is the other one?” Angelus watched the effect his proximity had on Ray, gauging how strong he was. “Who sired you? You don’t smell like Aurelius.”
“Was sired in Los Angeles. Some blond bitch. Never did really get her name.”
“Doesn’t matter now. Got a job for you Ray, after I take your offering. You want it?” Angel motioned for Drusilla to come forward, running his sharp nails down her arm, slicing a thin cut that bleed freely. “Dru, feed the nice minion, make him one of us.”
She smiled, running her arm across his lips, then circled behind him to sink her fangs into his jugular. Ray’s knees buckled a little, but he quickly regained his courage and sunk his own fangs into Drusilla’s arm, at the crux of her elbow.
Abruptly, Angelus turned to face the rest of the bunch, his own fangs glinting. “Didn’t think I’d forget you pathetic fuckers, now did you? Anyone remember who was supposed to be watching the girls?”
One of the females tilted her head, then said, “it was Jake and Buddy. Dunno what happened to them.”
“Ahhhhhh. . . . thank you. So glad someone remembered.” Gripping her by the throat, Angel squeezed, and squeezed harder, lifting her high in the air. Then, when it appeared as if he was going to just let her head pop off, he let go, snickering as she dropped to the floor, her face a mask of pained relief.
Whirling on the others, Angel grabbed the broken piece of the bed frame and pounded into one of the minions, a vampire that looked no older than Buffy. The vampire cowered in fear, trying to fend off the enraged master vampire. The fear wafting from the vampire just incited Angelus more and the beating quickly turned savage. Bones cracked, teeth were knocked out and still Angelus kept on slamming his fist into the smaller fledgling.
Finally, the vampire dropped to his knees, skull bashed in, arms, legs, and ribs all broken, splintered. Gore covered Angelus and those nearest, blood spreading over the floor, the remaining minions, those few left to him, watched as the master vampire threw the destroyed wood down on top of the pulpy mass on the floor.
“Toss him into the sun.”
Angel moved away from the mass of tissue and bone while the others cleaned up, his eyes focusing on his now chief minion, newly infused with Aurelian blood. “Prove yourself boy, and you might get more,’ he said as he indicated Drusilla.
Moving toward the outer rooms, Angel stopped as a shadow detached from the doorway, eyes trying to discern the shape of the intruder.
A long unheard voice sounded in the chambers, capturing everyone’s attention. “Hello Chief. Heard your call. Looks like you could use some assistance.”
Xander couldn’t settle down, couldn’t stop the buzzing that was filling his bones and racing through his bloodstream. He could hear the muted noises of everyone else settling in, the murmur of Spike’s voice as he, apparently, headed downstairs for something, the closing of a bedroom door, the tread of his feet on the stairs. Mere moments passed and then another door opened, soft footsteps sounded, then another door creaked open. A few minutes went by, then the heavy tread of Spike’s feet, or what he figured was Spike’s feet hit the stairs and bounded up, accompanied by the fretting of a hungry baby. Thankfully, the mewls were just that, and not the full howls the infant was known for. Curiosity aroused, Xander glanced down at Anya’s closed eyes and got to his feet.
He tugged open the door just a crack in time to see Spike hesitate at the bathroom door, knock once and ask, “you all right in there?”
Dawn’s voice came through, muffled to his ears, but clearly to Spike’s because he responded, “jus’ checkin’ is all. No need to get huffy.”
The response this time was a deep chuckle, and then Dawn opened the door. “You know, you could be less over-protective sometimes. Not like I’m sneaking out, just going to the bathroom.”
Her tone was a bit snappish, and Xander fully expected Spike to get nasty back, but the vampire merely said, “only makin’ sure my girl’s okay, all right? No need to get all waspish on me.”
“Whatever.” Dawn faced off against Spike for a few minutes, then caved. Her face lifted to his and her belligerent stance softened. “I get worried too you know. Can’t just keep going off and being the hero for everyone.”
“Me? ‘M no hero. Jus’ doin’ what I can to keep you an’ your sis. . . all right,” he paused, getting a look at the expression on her face. “Buffy safe. Can’t let anything happen to either of m’girls.”
Dawn sighed, then stepped closer to him, her arms attempting to circle him and the squirming bundle in his arms. “Still, you’re a hero. But don’t tell anyone I said that.”
He dropped a kiss on her forehead, hugging her back. “Not bloody likely. Jus’ as soon keep that between us.”
“Okay Dad.” She put a twist on that last word that Xander couldn’t decipher, then kissed him back. She whispered in his ear and Spike threw back his head and laughed. He sobered quickly as the baby began to whimper louder, shifted his hold on the boy and shoved the bottle of formula into his mouth in a move that Xander goggled at.
“G’on to bed now. Gonna need you to take the sprog in a couple of hours, so’s I can get some kip, yeah?”
He could see by her facial expression that Dawn wasn’t happy with this request, and Spike must’ve given her some look in return, because she quickly backed down again. “So not fair that you can get me to do stuff I don’t wanna.”
“Parental privileges, pet.” He motioned toward her room, saying, “get now. Need to get some sleep.”
“Yes Dad.” She leaned up to hug him one more time then slipped around him to head toward her room. “Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
“Never, sweets, ‘ll just bite ‘em back.” Spike quipped as he headed toward the room he shared with Buffy.
Xander stood staring into the hallway, trying to make sense of the scene between Spike and Dawn. What’s with the dad thing? And the hugging? And the listening to evil dead? What the hell is going on in this house? Maybe Giles knows. Gotta remember to ask him in the morning. . . . er, later on.
Quietly, he closed the door behind him, never once realizing Spike didn’t close the door to their room until after he did.
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