Past Insanities

The Adventures of Captain Peroxide and Deadboy

The Angel/Spike Zone of the BtVS Writer's Guild

Title: Past Insanities

Pairing: Spike/Angel

Feedback: Yes please. [email protected]

Archive: www.coffee-at-midnight.net/soulless/index.htm

Distribution: SU, Soulmates, Soulless, anyone who's hosted my fics before. Anyone else, please let me know. Thank you.

Summary: Angel returns to Sunnydale to help the other vampire with a soul.

Author’s Notes: This is set in BtVS early s7.

Thanks to Lisa and Helen for betaing, you are both stars.

___________________________________________________________________________

Angel pulled over to the side of the street and looked. There it was. Her house. It seemed so long ago that he had last seen it.

It was not late. Lights shone from the Summers’ windows and if he listened hard enough, he could hear voices. Willow, Dawn, Xander, Buffy. Her voice no longer rippled through his skin. He almost missed it.

He opened the car door and stepped out. He felt new, too different now to be here again. The air smelled of freshly mown grass and well-tended flower beds. It felt slightly colder here than in LA. He put his keys in the pocket of his leather coat and walked to the door. He knocked gingerly, almost as if he was afraid to disturb those within. But soon she came. Smaller than he remembered. Thinner. Tougher.

The door was open and light spilled onto the porch. It was warm light, home light.

“Hi. How are you? Thanks for coming.”

Her words tumbled out. He could smell nervousness in the air. He shook his head a little.

“I’m good,” he smiled, trying to put her at her ease.

“Sorry!” she said, suddenly stepping back from the door. “Come on in.”

“It’s been so long I can’t remember if I have an invitation or not.” Angel laughed a little as he stepped over the threshold. Buffy looked surprised.

“You know you always do,” she said tenderly.

“Thanks,” he said quietly in reply.

She gestured to the living room, showing him in. He found three faces trying not to stare.

“Xander, Dawn, Willow,” he said, nodding slightly. Xander and Dawn merely nodded in reply.

“Angel!” said Willow. Angel smiled.

“Willow,” he said again. “I came as soon as I got your call.”

“Thanks,” she said. She looked fragile. He had heard why. “Do you think you can do anything?”

“I don’t know. One way to find out.” He turned to look at Buffy.

“You guys stay here,” she said, taking her jacket from the rail by the door.

“Sure thing, Buff,” said Xander. “Be careful.”

Angel scowled, though out of sight. He followed Buffy out the door, back into the cool night.

Conversation was easier than he expected as they drove to the school. He had learned the art to some extent, he supposed. She seemed to relax as they drove. But she was also worried.

She led the way into the school and to the basement. It was dark and labyrinthine. It smelled of sharp earth, and also of something else. Something he knew. Something that made him angry.

Spike was terrified.

They found him in his habitual position, still as the stone around him. His eyes barely flickered at their entrance.

“Two of them now,” he murmured. “Never two before.”

Angel looked to Buffy.

“He’s always like this,” she replied. “If you can make sense of it, great. But we need to get him out of here.”

Angel nodded. He gestured to her to stay back, and slowly approached Spike. He crouched down in front of him.

“Spike,” he whispered. “Spike.”

Those manic eyes eventually rested on his own.

“Oh, it’s you now, is it?” said Spike bitterly. “That’s novel. Never been you before.”

“Spike, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Angel came a little closer.

“Well,” sighed Spike. “Now that’s not novel.”

Angel laughed a little. His eyes crinkled. Spike tilted his head, a frown suggesting itself on his forehead.

“Not really,” said Angel. He came closer still.

“Dru was here.” Spike looked away. “I was wondering when you would come.”

“Dru was here?” Angel looked around, his nostrils slightly dilated. “No, Spike, I don’t think so.”

“Is that so?” laughed Spike, looking at him again.

“When was she here, Spike?”

“All the time, I think. She makes me remember. She makes me see it all again.” He suddenly became conspiratorial. “If I sit still, then sometimes I can remember nothing. Was it the same for you, sire?”

“No,” he said. “I never sat still.”

“That’s right,” said Spike, distant again now. “That’s right. Bad Angelus. Wouldn’t kill anymore. Followed us all the way to the fire.”

“Spike,” he said. He was so close now his knuckles grazed against Spike’s knees.

“Spike,” repeated Spike. “You don’t call me that, not with that voice. It’s not you.” Defiance flared in his eyes.

Angel moved his hands now, covering Spike’s knees. Spike registered nothing.

“William,” he murmured. “My William.”

Spike’s eyes slowly made their way back to his. He looked unsure now, frightened. Suddenly he smiled.

“Oh, very good!” he said, his voice loud with false mirth. “You nearly had me there. Well done!”

“William!” Angel was more insistent now. He knelt on the ground in front of Spike. “It’s me. Trust me.”

Again Spike laughed.

“You’re very good,” he said, quietly now. “I can feel you. That’s novel.”

“Not really,” he said, his voice no more than a purr.

Spike’s eyes sparkled playfully.

“I wish you were here,” he said, looking far into Angel’s eyes. “I hate you. I wish you were here.”

“I am here.” Angel took his face in his large hands. “William, I am here. Would I leave you here?”

Spike looked alert. He searched Angel’s face.

“She left me here,” he said evenly.

“Not me,” said Angel. “Not me.”

“No,” whispered Spike. “Maybe not this time.” He sat up, his hands covering Angel’s. “I can smell you,” he said.

“I’m real, Spike.” Angel smiled again. Spike ran his hands down Angel’s strong arms.

“You are. Are you?”

“Yeah, William. I’m here.”

Their faces were so close now, their voices mere whispers in the whispering shadows.

“William, come with me now.” Angel slid his hands down to Spike’s shoulders, pulling him forward with the lightest touch. Spike held firm.

“No,” he said. Angel watched with alarm as his eyes began to glaze once more. “No no no,” continued Spike. “Must stay. Got to wait for her. The girl,” he said pointedly.

“Spike,” said Buffy. She stepped beside Angel. “I’m here. Come on, let’s go!”

“Buffy, wait,” said Angel softly. “William, this girl?”

Spike’s eyes flicked to Buffy and back.

“She’s not real,” he confided. “Not like you.” He melted into a smile at that. Angel could not help but smile in reply. Buffy stepped away.

“Will you come with me, William?” Angel moved his face closer to Spike again, blocking his view of anything else. Of Buffy.

“I always did. Always would have.”

“I know. I know, my boy.” Angel held his face again with one hand. “I’m sorry.”

“’Sall right,” whispered Spike. He half-closed his eyes, rubbing like a cat into Angel’s hand, their faces mere inches apart. “All right now.”

“That’s right,” purred Angel in reply. “All right now. I’m here.” With these words Angel closed the remaining distance between them and kissed Spike tenderly, his mouth barely brushing against his boy’s full lips at first, until Spike began to kiss him in return. Angel tasted the sadness in his mouth.

He pulled back slowly, eyes searching Spike’s face. Spike smiled. Angel felt a wash of relief. There was no mania in that smile, no madness. Just Spike.

And yet Angel felt weak. He had come to take his boy away from whatever madness afflicted him in this cursed place, and yet he felt as though he were drawn into that madness at the sight of his William so sad. Anger rose in his silent blood. She had brought him to this. The girl.

“Come on,” whispered Angel. He put his arms around Spike and lifted him up to his feet. “I’m taking you out of here.”

“Okay,” replied Spike, one arm remaining draped around Angel’s shoulders. Angel held him up. He was weak.

Angel turned to Buffy, though without looking her in the eyes.

“Have you been feeding him?” he asked, his voice toneless.

“No,” said Buffy, shaking her head. Angel could smell her confusion. He did not care.

“He’s starving. I’ve got some blood in the car. I hope it’s enough.” He led the way, finding his path by scenting the air. Spike stumbled beside him, holding on to him as if to life itself.

The car journey home was tense. Spike sat slumped in the passenger seat as Angel drove, tired now and drowsy. Buffy sat wordlessly in the back, her eyes flicking from one vampire to the other. The hair tingled on the back of Angel’s neck. She would have questions. The question he asked himself was, would he answer them? He looked to Spike at his side, touching his arm or face or leg gently now and again, just to remind him that he was no longer alone. His heart warmed when he saw a faint smile flicker on Spike’s lips.

They reached Buffy’s house in silence and Angel quickly swept out of the car. He went to the other side and helped Spike to his feet. He reached into the glove compartment and took out three bags of blood.

Buffy opened the door and showed them both again inside.

“Here,” she said, as Angel carried Spike into the living room. She held her hand out for the bags of blood. Angel passed them over and watched her go into the kitchen.

He sighed in relief that Xander, Dawn and Willow had disappeared. He liked Willow, but now, even her questions would seem too much. He could sense no one else in the house.

He sat Spike on the couch and took off his own coat. Then he sat down beside him and drew him close. He was cold, colder than he should be, shivering slightly. He was pale, too. Angel sighed, rubbing his hands over Spike’s arms, trying to warm him up. There was no blood to carry the warmth.

Soon Buffy returned, a mug of blood in her hand. She handed it to Spike. Angel sat back and gave him space to drink.

“So,” said Buffy, shrugging slightly. Angel tore his eyes from Spike to look at her.

“Buffy,” he said. “Willow told me what happened. You left him there?”

“He wouldn’t come with me.” she said. She sat in the armchair and curled her legs up around her. The defensive posture was not lost on Angel.

“How hard did you try?”

The menace in Angel’s voice shocked her, and he knew it. Willow had tempered her description of the past year between Spike and Buffy with loyalty to her friend, but Angel could read between the lines.

“Forget it,” he said. “How long has he been there?”

“I don’t know,” said Buffy quietly. “He went away, then he came back. I don’t know when.”

“Willow told me what he tried to do.”

“Yeah,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” said Angel.

Spike slurped the end of the blood noisily.

“Hey!” said Angel, his attention returned to Spike. “Is that better? You look better.”

Spike turned to him, licking traces of red from his lips.

“Yeah,” he said. “Bit better. There more?”

“In a while. Let that settle,” replied Angel. “Buffy, do you have a blanket?”

“Sure,” she said, standing up to get one.

“Sire,” said Spike, uncertainly. “My head. Full of fog.”

“It’s okay. It will be okay.”

“Like Grosvenor Square on a cold night.” Spike laughed. “You liked it there, I remember. Said they tasted better in the better parts of town.”

“Hush, Spike,” said Angel softly, his face flickering shadow. “That’s over now. Come here, my boy.”

Spike shivered again, the blood taking its time to spread sluggishly through atrophied vessels. He held his head.

“Come here,” said Angel again.

Spike groaned, his eyes unseeing. He lay down slowly, as if no longer able to hold himself up. Angel brought his head to his lap. He ran his fingers through Spike’s coarse hair, the tips dried through and through with potent bleach. He remembered when it was all as soft as the dark roots were now.

Buffy returned with a large blanket. Angel watched her conceal her surprise at the sight of Spike curled up on the couch, Angel cradling him in his fitful rest. She spread the blanket over him, her hands merely cursory in their attention. She retreated to the armchair.

“I’ve never seen you care for him like that before,” she said nervously.

Angel glowered, though not at her. He kept his eyes on Spike.

“Of course you haven’t,” he said quietly. “I made sure you never did.”

“Excuse me?” she said. Angel heard a sharpness in her tone that caused him to look up at her.

“I said, I made sure you never did. I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have kept it from you.” He looked away again, back to Spike. “But you wouldn’t have understood.”

“Wouldn’t have understood what? Angel, what are you talking about?”

He looked back at her and paused. He wondered how much she should hear. He wondered how much he wanted to share.

His eyes returned to his battered and vulnerable William.

“I don’t know if I can tell you even now,” he said. “Even though we…”

“What, broke up?” Buffy sounded exasperated. “Angel, I’m a big girl, been through a lot. I think I can take whatever you have to say. So spill.”

Angel nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. Remember when I first told you I was Dru’s sire?”

“Yeah,” said Buffy, still frowning.

“Well, I left a lot out. Things I don’t think you know even now, with all your experience.” He laughed at that, without amusement.

“What did you leave out?” she asked. She ignored his jibe. He felt her eyes on him, boring into him.

“What it means, to be a sire. What you feel for your… children. Even when you have a soul and they don’t.” He looked at her again.

“Angel.” Her tone was now demanding. “Just tell me. What are you trying to say?”

“What he’s trying to say, love,” mumbled Spike unexpectedly, “is that we might’ve spent the last six years at each other’s throats, but sometimes it was in a good way.” He laughed, muffled against Angel’s leg. Angel ran his hand over Spike’s body through the blanket.

“You’re getting warmer,” he said, smiling.

“You’re bringing back warm memories, sire,” said Spike. “It’s nice. Stops my head from being all foggy.”

“Yeah?” said Angel.

“Yeah,” said Spike, nodding his head. His eyes were closed all the while, but his expression had become more peaceful now.

“Maybe there are stories that need to be told,” said Angel, looking from Spike’s face to Buffy’s.

“Maybe,” said Buffy, barely able now to conceal her astonishment and annoyance.

“Alright,” said Angel. “I’ll tell you.”

He splashed into the water in the sewer, his back twinging. He could barely move, could not think how he might stand up. The sun had come too close. It had drained away his strength. He probably would not have felt his own explosion to dust, he was so weak. Now here he was, back in blessed darkness. He laughed inwardly at the word as his body cooled in the water. He wanted Buffy to come and find him and take him home. Where was she?

And then there was Spike. Angry and strong. Scathing eyes in the darkness as he lay there helpless. Smiling as only Spike did.

Angel felt his gut twist. This could not end well.

Spike had him dragged to the factory. Smells bombarded Angel’s senses as he was bound and gagged in the main room. He scented Drusilla, still weak and sad. But most of all the place was filled with Spike. It was Spike who made this place theirs. His strength that pulled them through, that had brought Drusilla from Prague to here with one purpose in mind. Angel knew what that purpose was. If only he could find the strength to fight.

Spike brought him in to Drusilla’s chamber. Lace like spider webs over her bed. She lay asleep, weak. If his heart could have bled, it would have. His girl.

“I brought you something. Your sire, my sweet.”

The gag made his throat contract. He ached when he saw them kiss. Nearly a century and the sight of them together could still overwhelm him. Everything he had lost.

“Spike, let me have him, hmm? Until the moon?” Drusilla pouted.

He could not see Spike’s face but saw his leather-clad shoulders tense.

“Alright,” he said, airily as he could. “You can play. But don’t kill him, he mustn’t die till the ritual.”

“Bring him to me.”

Spike stalked towards him, power wrapped in skin and leather. For the first time in a long time, Angel felt fear. Spike pulled him roughly towards the bed, holding him bare and vulnerable under the dark gaze of Drusilla. Her fingertips electric on his face and the sodden mass of silk in his mouth. He tried to pull away, but Spike held him too firmly. He felt no physical pain when she slapped him, but she tore him in two with her words.

Spike tied him with glee. Leather thongs to the bed posts. Drusilla clapped and giggled as Spike spread him like an offering to her. He removed the gag last of all.

He left in a sweep of leather, the smell pungent in the heavy air. Drusilla moved slowly, purposefully, removing the holy water from its box. Angel screamed as it burned. Yet as her face came near his, he felt a different burning, a yearning, a sorrow, a desire for his twisted little girl.

She knelt between his legs, recounting his litany of destruction. His chest was raw, outside and in.

Finally, Spike returned. Off to church, he announced.

“We’ll see him die soon enough,” he said. “I’ve never been much for the preshow.”

“That’s too bad,” said Angel, sweat and acid in his mouth. “That’s what Drusilla likes best, as I recall.”

Spike stood over him as he taunted. That’s right, he thought. Come closer. Spike came within a hair’s breadth of staking him. Angel smiled.

Then Spike let it slip.

“Well, the lions are on to you, baby,” he said. Angel squirmed in his grasp, caught against the bed post. Baby. Call me that again.

He had to look away when they kissed.

Drusilla left. Satin fluttered around her. She could hear the moon. And yet, it was not quite at its peak. Angel could feel the night.

Spike smiled as she left.

“A girl’s got to have time to prepare,” he said, by way of explanation. He threw Angel down once more, and backhanded him against the bed. It was the work of a moment to retie the leather thongs. “She’s had her fun. Now I think it’s my turn.”

Angel smiled through his bleeding lip.

“Always jealous, boy,” he said.

Spike leaned in close.

“Not as jealous as you, I think, sire,” he said. “But let’s not discuss family. Let’s get straight to the preshow.” He laughed. “Because tonight I know that’s what you’re going to like best.”

Angel licked the blood from his lip.

“You’re going to miss me, William, my boy,” said Angel, his voice coming from deep in his chest.

“It’s not you I’ll miss,” said Spike, with a touch of venom. “It’s Angelus. Why don’t you let him out to play, one last time, eh?”

Angel laughed and shook his head.

“Now why would I do that?” he said. “I think it’s going to be so much more fun for me.”

“You’ve always enjoyed pain,” said Spike, backhanding him again. “Funny, me too.”

Angel felt the blow shooting up his nose into his skull. It thrummed in his head.

Spike stood between his knees now, undoing Angel’s pants and pulling them off. Angel sat, naked and splayed under Spike’s searching eyes. Spike threw off his own duster and shirt. Angel followed Spike’s taut lines under his black t-shirt. He had become leaner in the years. His eyes wandered down to the hardness already evident in Spike’s jeans.

“Well,” he said. “Haven’t got much time, have we?” He walked towards Angel, undoing his own fly. He pulled his jeans down just enough to let his erection spring free. “How about we start here?”

He stood in front of Angel, his hands resting on the bedposts, just where the thongs were tied. The tip of his penis was level with Angel’s face.

Angel could not help but lick it, quickly and roughly. He looked up coyly. Spike smiled down at him, domineering and sneering. Angel raised an eyebrow. He loved the game.

“Do it again,” said Spike evenly.

Angel leaned forward and licked again, this time more slowly, as he swirled his tongue around Spike’s ready head. Angel felt traces of precum spread over his tongue, the raw, bloody flavor tingling every taste bud. He pulled back and swallowed, his eyes closed.

“You like that, do you?” said Spike quietly. “Yeah, I know what you want.”

“Hmm,” said Angel, his voice husky and lusty. “And what about what you want? What you always want.”

Spike moved his hips and trailed the tip of his penis across Angel’s lips.

“What’s that?” His voice was thick with breath.

Angel opened his mouth, allowing his tongue to trail over the slit again.

“You’ve never changed, my boy,” he said before licking his lips. The taste was stronger now, seeping down to his empty belly. “Always trailing after me like a dog.” He laughed. “‘Chase me! Find me! Love me!’ Fuck you.”

Spike looked down, moving always against Angel’s pliant mouth. He allowed the entire head inside and Angel sucked hungrily at the taste.

“Like a dog,” repeated Spike, his eyes gleaming. “A dog you just love to bone.” His laughter turned suddenly to a gasp when Angel opened his mouth and took him in to the hilt.