Author’s Notes: The one sort of fic I always said I wouldn’t write was vamp Buffy. I have nothing against the people who do write them, and there have been some very well done ones out there—it’s just never been something I’ve particularly liked. But then there I was, minding my own business, when this rabid plot bunny just jumped right up and bit me on the ankle, and damn it if the little bastard wouldn’t let go. So here it is…my version of vamp Buffy. *kicks fanged plot bunny*
WARNING: THIS IS A DARK FIC. It’s not like my lighter fare, and not even as light as my angstier stuff. There is rape (though not particularly graphic and not between Spike and Buffy), character death (and more than Buffy’s character undeath), graphic violence, and HEAVY angst. If any of this is a big problem for you, don’t read this fic. If you do anyway and you’re bothered by one of these things, it’s your own fault for not paying attention to the warnings, and I will not tolerate flames regarding these issues. Hopefully we’re all clear now.
“Evil is neither suffering nor sin; it is both at the same time, it is something common to them both. For they are linked together; sin makes us suffer and suffering makes us evil, and this indissoluble complex of suffering and sin is the evil in which we are submerged against our will, and to our horror.”
—Simone Weil, “Some Thoughts on the Love of God”
Where the clouds
Where the moon changes faces
In the quiet
Are you there? Are you there?
Shine on friend.
Why, then, the darkening of the light?
—Concrete Blonde, “The Darkening of the Light”
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It had taken days for the screaming to begin. She’d been so stoic, so strong, but eventually, he’d broken her.
He always broke them eventually…
The screams and cries were nearly constant now, her conscious mind finally retreating, unable to take the torture from a demon wearing the face of the man she loved.
The sound of them made Spike uneasy, made him shift uncomfortably in the chair she’d forced him to be confined in. He knew, being what he was, he should revel in those screams—or at least be able to deal with them better than he was. But he couldn’t. The sounds she made now twisted in him, made him feel sick in a way he hadn’t in over a century.
She was a Slayer—a warrior. She was meant for a better end than this.
Spike had fought his share of Slayers—killed two of them—but never had he even thought to torture one. It wasn’t how that fight should end. The battle between Slayer and vampire was something mythic, something sacred.
Or as sacred as a something damned could hold it.
Angelus’s defilement of the girl he had now was an insult to that. He hadn’t been able to best her in a battle, so instead he’d chained her down, broken her to the point where she was finally someone he could control. And eventually, he’d claim the life of a Slayer, get to tout that honor as if he’d earned it.
It made Spike sick.
Part of him, too, felt sorry for the girl, though that was the part of him he was loathed to admit existed. As much as a Slayer was meant to die in battle, she also deserved that final fight.
When Angelus finally decided to end her life, there would be no glory for her. And in the end, what did a Slayer really have except a glorious death?
“Why the sulking, my sweet Spike?”
Spike turned towards the sound of Drusilla’s voice, watching her as she danced naked in the pale moon light that filtered in through the mansion’s high windows. Her ivory skin was covered in blood—that of the Slayer’s—and it had a decidedly different effect on Spike than he was used to.
He turned away from her again.
Drusilla didn’t take the hint. For all her intuition, Spike noted she could be so blind to what he was feeling sometimes, though whether it was intentional or not, he couldn’t never figure out. She sauntered over to him, placing her hands firmly on his useless legs. “Do you feel left out, my darling? Too broken to play with the new dolly?”
She couldn’t be more wrong… Spike sighed. “Dru…”
Drusilla stroked his face, leaving a trail of the Slayer’s blood across his cheek. “You don’t have to fret, my sweet. Daddy is going to make it all right again soon. He’s going to make our family four again, they way it should be.”
Her words made Spike look up sharply. Drusilla couldn’t possibly mean what it sounded like she meant… “What’s Angelus going to do, luv?” he asked, dreading the answer as much as he needed his fears confirmed.
Drusilla jumped to her feet and spun around once, clapping as she did. “He’s going to make her like us! He’s going to make me a sister, and he promises me I can play with her all I like.”
The sick feeling inside of Spike grew. Drusilla was obviously blinded by the idea of a life-sized dolly to add to her collection, but Spike had a feeling things were not going to play out the way she and Angelus hoped. A turned Slayer… It just wasn’t done. It was wrong; it went against the natural order of things.
Vampire fights Slayer. Vampire kills Slayer. It was the way it went, and changing it could only lead to badness.
“Dru, I don’t think…”
She didn’t let him finish. This game was too fun for William to spoil it with his sour mood… “Come with me. I want to watch Daddy make her one of us.”
Spike couldn’t think of a thing he’d rather see less than that. He’d avoided Angelus’s bedroom not just because he hated to see the older vampire’s hands all over Drusilla, but because he didn’t want to watch as he defiled the Slayer. It didn’t thrill him, didn’t make the demon in him shout for joy.
It made the demon in him snarl in outrage.
But Drusilla missed the protest that started on his lips and moved behind the chair, wheeling him in front of her as she returned to Angelus’s side. Spike turned his head at his first glimpse of the Slayer since Angelus had taken her.
The chains hung unused now, the broken Slayer past the point of fighting what was happening to her. Instead, she stared off into the distance, her mind somewhere else as Angelus moved brutally on top of her, violating the body the rest of her seemed to want to vacate.
Drusilla jumped onto the bed, crawling over to the far side before kneeling beside the Slayer, her eyes wide with delight. “Do it now, Daddy.”
Angelus looked up at Dru and grinned before his face shifted, the demon emerging. Spike watched in horror, both man and demon inside of him for once in perfect agreement.
This was wrong…no good could come of this…
He didn’t know what compelled him, and didn’t fully realize he’d done it until it was too late, but Spike reached out from his wheelchair, his hand taking the Slayer’s as it hung limply from the bed.
She was just close enough to touch…
And as his hand closed over hers, her head turned, and what he saw in her eyes made his stomach lurch.
Part of the girl was still there, still knew what was happening to her.
Their eyes locked, and Spike mouthed what was only the second genuine apology he’d given anyone since he’d become a vampire.
The Slayer smiled softly at him, sadness in her eyes, yet understanding, too.
Then Angelus’s fangs entered her throat, and she bucked, her eyes rolling upwards as he fed from her one last time.
Spike tightened his grip on her hand and didn’t let it go until it fell away from him, lifeless.
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