Be warned there is character death - well actually not too sad which one bites the dust here in my book *g* and there is some graphic descriptions of wounds!

HUGE HUGS to all of you who have reviewed - thank you so much!

Italics - thoughts

Hugs to megan_peta for her betaing magick!


She watched from the shadows, hating them all. She was sick and tired of being on the hunt for them and finding only him. Darla had better things to do than stalk a bunch of teenagers and some old tweedy man. But no, here she was lurking behind a dumpster, searching for the children who were due to die a slow and bloody death.

Her hunt so far had led only to him – the others seemed to be less inclined to come out at night. Especially the one who’d dared to challenge them, the rotten slayerwannabe who had burnt them, scarring her face so badly that she doubted that even her sire’s grudgingly offered blood would heal it all up quickly. Her vanity was slowly chipping away at her confidence; even turning that hairdresser hadn’t helped. Most of her hair was gone and the damage to the tender skin of her scalp was extreme and would take a long time to heal.

Darla’s fingers went to the wig she’d been forced to adopt to cover the ruination of her scalp. Instead they were drawn to the raised scars on her face. She gingerly touched them, running her fingertips over and over. Her looks were gone—burned off by that shaven headed slut, the same slut who would die slowly and screaming for relief. Darla sighed happily at the thought of what she planned for the brunette. Paybacks a bitch indeed, Darla snorted and amber chased through her eyes. Well once they finally managed to get a hold of the elusive teenager, the girl would learn only too well what Darla could do in recompense for the damage done to her and her childe.

Darla’s mouth opened with a snarl, the action causing some of the less healed wounds to reopen and seep blood into her mouth. She was tired and ached all over, feeling faint from the loss the blood she had been feeding to her darling boy to heal him. Her Angel-faced Liam was in a far worse state than she was. He’d taken the brunt of the petrol burning. It had only been through her swift actions and knocking him into the commemorative fountain in the graveyard that had saved them both from dusting. It’d been close, but she’d saved them both. It had taken hours for them to crawl back to the Master’s lair, each supporting the other. The muted screams from Angelus still chilled her stolen blood; he’d been unrecognisable. His face was burned to a crisp, hair gone, scorched off in an instant. His looks destroyed by the flick of a flame.

“I want him alive,” she growled at the insipid minion next to her. The small blonde licked her lips, trying to stop the blood from falling onto her chest. She was tired and in pain and wanted to go back to the lair. All she wanted to do was curl up around Angelus and sleep. But revenge was needed, especially if she was to regain any respect in the eyes of her family and The Master. ‘Bested by a little girl’, still echoed through her head as her sire had reluctantly fed her his blood.

“Mistress? What do you want me to do then?”

“Watch and learn,” Darla growled and then winced as one of her blisters burst on her cheek, puss oozing down her scarred face. “Give me a tissue!” She snapped her fingers impatiently. The minion handed her a slightly grubby handkerchief and bobbed her head, disgusted at the melted face of her sire but acutely aware that to say anything or even look repulsed would lead to a quick dusting. Darla dabbed carefully at the wound and with a hissed curse, tossed the stained scrap of fabric away. She hated the fact that Spike would bear witness to her fall from grace and power.

“Mistress, maybe some aloe Vera for the wounds?” Before the minion could blink, her dust was settling on the ground.

“Idiot! Why am I surrounded by idiots,” Darla snarled and then winced as another of the ridged wounds split open. She angrily wiped her sleeve across her mouth—smearing puss and blood over her face and clothes—and turned her attention back to Spike. The upstart idiot boy had been wrong from the moment Dru had sunk her insane fangs into his insipid neck. Darla melted back into the shadows as a random car pulled into the forecourt of the supermarket and managed to refrain from hissing at the peroxide menace.

He would pay in blood and pain for associating himself with the Slayer and her minions. Darla was no fool; she had recognised the moves Cordelia had used – they were Spike’s and he was going to bleed for the insult he had given his family.

No one turned on their own – well, no one but her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~

It hadn’t been a fun filled last two days, not since the discovery of the prophecy and Buffy’s so-called impending doom. Spike snorted derisively and lit a cigarette, as if he was going to let that happen. He’d informed her in no uncertain words that it was not written in stone and that if he could it’d be a prophecy that would be avoided come hell or high water. Her initial reaction, her forced laugh, had chilled him to the marrow and added to his determination that she would live. Sod the poofs who sat up in the clouds and dreamt up these prophecies – he was William the Bloody and she was his. Nothing was going to separate them – not if he had anything to do with it.

He kicked his heels against the side of the car and as he lay back on the hood of his battered Desoto he stared up at the glimmering stars. One hand resting laxly on his muscled stomach, the other holding the burning cigarette that he was savouring with each long puff, his stomach growled at the scent of food wafting out of the open doors, plaguing him. He was on watch and bored to tears. He’d rather be with the Slayer fighting and having fun. Instead he was perched on the hood of his motor waiting for Buffy’s mum to finish her shopping. Spike grunted and sat up briefly; a smile curled his lips. He was proud as hell that Cordelia had managed to pre-empt Peaches and Grandmum, and burn them, but now all of them were targets – more so than before. At the moment all of them were on high alert, working in teams and never alone. It was the only way he and the Watcher could be sure that there wouldn’t be a sneak revenge attack. So far nothing had happened. He’d been asking around about the two crispy vampires and no one and not even the demonic elements of Sunnyhell had heard a peep about them. Spike figured they were licking each other’s wounds somewhere and that when they were ready, all hell would break loose.

A blonde head appeared at the cash registers; ‘there she is’. Spike’s blue eyes narrowed as he watched Joyce unloading her purchases onto the conveyor belt. His shoulders twitched for a moment and then he scanned the surrounding area, family near or so he’d thought, it’d been only for a second so he wasn’t sure. It could’ve been one of Darla’s toys that she’d turned to replace Peaches, before he’d run back to mummy.

He could pick up nothing, so he relaxed slightly. Whatever it was had gone and he refocused his attention on the pretty middle-aged woman he had been assigned to protect. It’d only taken one begging look from his slayer’s cute eyes and he’d agreed.

He’d been shadowing the eldest Summers for about two hours, wondering if he should go and introduce himself. Somehow ‘hullo, my names Spike and I am your young daughter’s not so youthful admirer – boyfriend, you say? Why yes indeed’, didn’t sound quite right. He had mental images of being brained with an axe and kicked from one end of the street to the other by an over zealously protective mother.
From the fragments of conversation he’d accidentally on purpose eavesdropped on, Buffy and her mum were good mates, as well as being family. Both of them sharing a lot, the divorce had bonded them closer together, but still the Slayer hadn’t come out to her mum, yet. He was determined that the two of them were going to have a nice natter about things that go bump in the night fairly soon, probably tonight if he got his way.

It was too dangerous. Joyce was at a risk, carrying on oblivious when there were malevolent demons out their like his family—and all gunning for the Slayer, her relatives and friends. As proud of the cheerleader as he was for burning them, Spike wished she’d finished the job. This uneasy waiting for revenge was starting to make his fangs itch; he’d searched one end of the town to the other and found no evidence of the duo. Not a whiff of either of them and that was worrying.

Spike puffed thoughtfully on his cigarette and then sat back up. Eyes closed and with a smirk on his lips, he scented the air, tilting his head in thought. There was a familiar fragrance and it made his cock twitch and wake up. It was her.

His girl.

The one and only.

“Slayer.” He grinned impishly at the diminutive blonde who was standing between his legs, arms crossed and peering at him through her lashes. The tantalising fragrance of her incipient arousal made his mouth water and his pupils dilate. “Hullo, cutie.”

“You were supposed to be watching my mom while Giles and I patrolled.” She pouted at him. She let her hands rest on his stomach, absently scratching her nails over the firm muscles and smirking at the growls of happiness that erupted from her vampire. ‘He was so cute when he went all grrrr from the strokage.’ Buffy blinked at her thoughts and whipped her hands away, tucking them behind her back with a blush. Spike huffed at the loss of contact but shuffled closer, one hand snagging hold of her and pulling her closer to him. Her warmth seeped into his body as she leant against him with a contented sigh.

“Yeah and I am,” he drawled lazily as he gestured to the grocery store with his free hand. Point made, he then let it fall to her hip and pulled her even closer. “See, there she is, all nice and safe and paying her bill.”

“Hmmm.” Buffy frowned at him, then relented under the sheer charisma of her vampire and gave him a sweet chocolate flavoured kiss. Her hands slid up his shoulders to caress his hair and loosen the curls she so adored.

“Reeces, again? Better stock up, hadn’t I?” Spike dipped his head and licked her lips before slipping his tongue between them again. Pulling back for an unnecessary breath of air, he smirked at the glazed expression on his girl’s face. “See the Watcher’s still trying to bribe his way back into your good books.”

“Well yeah, he sooooo owes me chocolately peanut goodness for the ‘ohhh, lets not tell Buffy about the mouldy old prophecy of doom.’” Buffy leant over and pecked Spike on the nose.

“Doom? Buffy, I think you’re too young to be talking about doom,” Joyce’s voice interrupted the two blonds, who shot apart in surprise. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend, honey?”

Buffy winced at the sugary sweet tone of her mother’s voice; it usually led to grounding and a conspicuous lack of pocket money. She turned on her heel and waved half heartedly. “Hi, mom.” Her face radiated worry; she so wanted her mom to like Spike.

Spike’s hands dropped from Buffy’s waist and under the gimlet glare of her mother, he gently pushed the mute teen forward and slid off the hood of his car. Spike smoothly steered Buffy to his side and extended a hand to Joyce. Joyce eyed his hand suspiciously, and then hesitantly took it and gave it a firm shake.

“Joyce Summers. And you are?” Her voice was arched and brooked no dispute.

“William. William the…uhhh…” He could feel himself quail under the ‘don’t-mess-with-my-teenage-daughter-you-massive-perv’ look he was receiving from the older Summers. Part of him was wryly wondering where on earth his machismo had gone and whether or not he would ever recover his reputation after this humiliating incident of meeting the mother of your intended. His mind blanked for a moment. Intended was about right but he was a long way from tuxedos and posies, gods help him! He was once a feared master vampire and now he was sweating over first impressions? Gone were the days when he’d have solved this with a nice chomp to the neck and a riotous shag for pudding. Sodding manipulative vengeance demons and their so-called curses. Just because the same curse had been exactly what he had wanted all along – even if he hadn’t realised it at the time. He smirked, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Anya next time she appeared to check in on his progress.

“Yes, William – do tell the nice lady you’re surname.” Darla’s saccharine voice broke the silence. “I’m sure she’ll be delighted to find out all about you, seeing as how you’re courting that.” A scarred hand appeared out of the shadows behind Joyce and pointed at Buffy with a dismissive flick before dropping on Joyce’s shoulder. Fingers dug in hard and bruised the woman. She winced and twisted under the hard grip trying to free herself.

“Hi there, Mommy. Ready for a bite?” Spike growled at the sound of her voice and managed not to vamp out in front of Buffy’s mother. He didn’t think the Slayer would appreciate it if he frightened her mother into her grave with the flashing of his lumpies and fangs. He moved swiftly past Buffy, ready to defend her mother against the hell bitch.

“Jesus!” Joyce dropped her bags of groceries and before anyone could blink she’d whirled and grabbed Darla and thrown her over her shoulder and into a pile of crates by the dumpster where the vampire had earlier been hiding.

“Mom!” Buffy leapt forward to help shocked at the way her mother had moved so fast and managed to grasp and toss the skank in such a smooth move. Joyce turned back to face her daughter, her chest heaving with the effort of tossing Darla, and reached for her daughter.

“Are you okay?” They both echoed each other. Neither noticed the comical death of one quarter of the Scourge of Europe. They wrapped their arms around each other, Buffy relying on Spike to stand guard while she checked her mom was okay.

Darla had fallen awkwardly; landing on some broken pallets that the Supermarket had dumped for collection. A piece of wood had pierced her chest when she’d landed. She had looked down and giggled at the sight of the wood pushed through her chest. ‘Just missed the heart.’ Darla thought, thanking whatever deity watched over vampires. She glared over at the mother of the Slayer. “How dare you, don’t you know who I am?” Darla snarled and lunged forward. So intent on her prey as she pushed downwards that her hands slipped in the garbage and she fell backwards. Dusting herself.

And she died.

Her passing was completely unnoticed by the mortal who’d dusted her, the same one that was still unaware of the things that went bump in the night. The same human woman who had killed Darla so easily, it had been laughable, an ignominious end for a feral demoness who had once preyed on the weak in dark places such as this. Spike heard the faint shriek and the settling of dust and he peered over to where Darla had fallen and blinked in shock..

“Bloody hell,” he whispered under his breath and bent down to run a finger through the dust, all that remained of one of the most vicious vampires in recorded history. One was felled by a housewife in a dark smelly car park, in the middle of a small town in California. Hardly an auspicious end to the once favoured childe of the Master of the Aurelian clan; she certainly hadn’t gone out in a blaze of glory. His lips quirked into a smile, ‘death by rubbish…how fitting.’

“Where did she go?” Joyce had turned and was staring puzzled at the ground. Buffy had an arm wrapped around her mother’s waist and she was frowning down at Spike, her eyes filled with questions.

“She must’ve run off. Probably didn’t expect her mark to kick her arse like that.” Spike dusted his hands and stood. He extended his hand again. “As I was saying, my name is William. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Joyce took his hand and shook it, arching a brow at the vampire for his cursing – he ducked his head sheepishly and gave her an apologetic smile.

“Mom, where did you learn to do that?” Buffy asked in shock.

Joyce shrugged. “Oh that, honey. That was nothing.” She knelt down and began to pick up random grocery items that had been knocked out of the bags during the scuffle. Spike squatted down and began to help; he gave her a sheepish smile and ducked his head. Joyce tried to look cross but the inherent charm in the young man helping her won her over, despite the black outfit and what looked suspiciously like black nail polish on his fingernails. “Thank you.” She straightened as Spike took hold of her shopping and stood waiting.

“Moooom.” Buffy poked her mother in the side. “Make with the explainy.”

“Oh the self defence. Well it’s the strangest thing.” Joyce took Buffy’s hand and squeezed it. “Let me fill you in at home. You are coming, William?” Her tone brooked no objections as she headed for her Jeep. “You can follow us back, and William, don’t dawdle. There are two pints of ice cream in there.”

“Pish Food?” Spike asked hopefully. Buffy had introduced him to the flavour and he couldn’t get enough of it now. He couldn’t work out what was better, the chocolate fish or the marshmallow, all of it was even better when it was spoon fed to him by the blonde minx curled against her mum’s side. Spike shook his head, trying to refocus on less lusty thoughts. It wouldn’t bode well for his case if he presented a massive bulge in his jeans for the mother of his sweetheart to view. He shifted his hips to make sure that the duster covered him.

“There may be. But only once we’ve had a nice long talk.” She pinned him with an uncompromising look which only softened when Spike gave her a boyish smile.

With that the three of them left the car park and Darla’s dusty remains.

Unnoticed, and very much forgotten.

~~~~~~~~~

“Nooooo.” Nest sank to his knees as he clawed the rocky ground under him. “My Darla!” He felt her death keenly as the wood had pierced her heart and stolen her away from him for all eternity. One hand scrabbled at his heart as the bat-faced vampire rolled in the dust, howling out his anger and pain. He’d lost not one, but two of his favoured childer, and now all he had were minions and the burnt offering that was keening in the cave off to his left.

“Go and find out what happened now!” He pointed at the tallest of his minions and then dragged himself over to the wooden throne he’d adopted as his own. He sank into it with a moan, his shoulders heaving as he tried to contain his anger and pain.

“Master?”

“Why are you still here?”

“Where am I going? What happened?” the minion stuttered and swiftly moved out of range of the angry and grieving vampire. A grief-ravaged Nest roared at him to go and find out what had happened to Darla and to return with her ashes and not to come back until then.

“Darla!” Angelus staggered out of the cave he had been resting in. The others recoiled at the sight of his charred face, open sores covering every inch of visible skin. His lips were burned off and the skin around lined and pitted with weeping wounds. His hair was gone; all that remained was freshly healing skin, red and sore and shiny. The growling vampire was dressed in a loose fitting pair of sweat pants and nothing else. His shoulders and chest were too wounded to cope with the friction of cotton. He was coated in healing creams and not a pretty sight at all. Angelus had been close to dusting and it had only been because Darla had managed to knock them both into the algae filled fountain saving them both. But now he was alone-- she was gone.

“You!” The Master stormed over to the charred remains of Angelus. “It’s your fault, you twisted freak!” he spat angrily as he grabbed hold of Angelus by the throat and lifted him over his head. “From the moment she brought you into my home, I knew you were trouble. Your arrogance and lack of respect for the old ways – but she was too caught up in your looks and riding your cock. She chose you over me! Her sire! You insolent whelp.” All the while he shook Angelus like a terrier with a rat. The irony was lost on him when he’d called Angelus a twisted freak; he was too caught up in his ire and loss.

“Let me go,” Angelus wheezed, his hands scrabbling at the Master’s wrist. Weakened by his injuries and aching loss, he was much too weak to break free the implacable grip of the clawed hand of his Elder. The bald scarred vampire hung limply, his toes a good foot from the ground.

“Ohhh, I’ll let you go, you pathetic excuse for a vampire. If it wasn’t for your games with your victims, my Darla would still be here. But no, you always have to play with your food after fucking them. You disgust me.” The enraged Master shook Angelus again, taking pleasure in the groans of pain that escaped the lipless vampire.

Without another word, the Master stalked over to the storm drain that served as the entrance to his prison. A bluish light erupted in the underground prison, the ever-present barrier stopping him from going further. He hurled Angelus through the large circular opening.

“Get out and don’t come back. You are banished from the clan,” the Master sneered, the tone in his voice brooking no argument. He snarled and spat at Angelus all the while leaning against the mystical barrier that kept him imprisoned from the outside world. “No one will want you now – not once word spreads. Get out and never return.”

Angelus hit the brick wall and slithered down onto his knees. Disoriented he pulled himself up and stared at his tormentor in shock. He’d never been one for the family allegiance, probably something left over from his mortal life, but to be cast out? This new banishment hurt him on a level he had never expected. He was truly alone in the world, again. On top of losing his sire – it was too much and something snapped inside of him. He started to laugh manically as reason abandoned him, then his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

“Get him out of my sight; toss his useless backside onto the next train that is leaving town. I want him gone NOW!” The Master roared at his minions and then turned his back on the slumped form of a once proud master vampire – who currently looked more like a well done joint of meat. “Don’t dust him. I want him to suffer the humiliation of his banishment,” he added, perversely pleased with himself.

There was a rush of footsteps as two of the braver minions leapt to obey their imprisoned Master’s orders. Angelus was dragged off without another word.

“Bring me something to eat. I want something innocent, young and fresh.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Spike, come in,” Buffy whispered as she hustled her vampire into her home. She blushed, realising that this was the first time he’d ever come over to her place. They had spent most of their time at his apartment or patrolling. She felt bad and wondered if he had a complex about not being invited over. Spike was oblivious to her worries; instead he was enchanted with the homely quality of the place. Warmth filled him as he followed Joyce into the kitchen, carrying her bags. The whole place was filled with security and contentment. It was a home. Lovingly created by the impressive woman he was currently unpacking groceries for.

“You have a lovely home, mum.” He ducked his head and began to fill the refrigerator with the food he held in his hands. Buffy leant against the doorframe, her mouth open in shock at the politeness that was her boyfriend and the way he was so chilled out being Mr Helpful to her mom.

“Thank you, William.” Joyce’s warm eyes twinkled at the cheekiness of his nickname for her, but she refrained from saying anything. She could feel the nerves and electricity sparking off the two of them; it reminded her of when she had been young and had met her first love. Joyce sighed, realising that nothing she said or did would change the path that Buffy had picked. All she could do was be there for her and help as best she could. This young man was different to her daughter’s other flirtations in LA and much better than the weird brunette she’d spotted following Buffy a few times since they’d moved.

Somehow Joyce knew that this boyfriend battle wouldn’t be won, and instinctively she realised that there was more to him that leather and nail varnish. Also Joyce could see how taken her daughter was with the slightly older man and he was just as smitten with Buffy. Part of her quailed at even considering trying to part them. She knew that she would be the one alone at the end of it – if that ever came to pass. Nope, Joyce was no fool and she chose to fight her battles one at a time. Buffy and William were something she doubted she could influence much, but she would do her best to protect her daughter and help her through whatever relationship she had chosen to follow with the handsome man now leaning against her counter. ‘But if he even thinks of sleeping with my baby until she is older and ready for that sort of commitment, I will cut it off with an axe.’

Spike gulped at the fierce look Joyce directed first at his eyes and then his crotch. ‘Message received.’ He cautiously thrust his hands in his duster pockets and closed it protectively over his vulnerable bits.

“So Mom, you were gonna tell us about the Xena moves. Spill already.”

Joyce hustled around the kitchen, pulling out bowls, scooping out ice cream and handing them out to the two blonds now sitting on the other side of her breakfast bar. “Well it was the oddest thing. About a day after we moved here, this very nice Englishman came into the gallery.” Joyce swallowed a spoon full of her frozen treat, ignoring the questioning looks from her daughter and her beau. “He stayed for a while, even bought this cute little bronze statue of Shiva I had in. We had a nice cup of tea and talked for ages. When he was leaving he said the oddest thing.”

“Yeah, what did he say?” Buffy leant forward, her eyes intent on her mother. Spike was equally intrigued but already suspected what Joyce was about to say. And if he were right then he owed the Watcher a bottle of Whiskey, an expensive one at that.

“He said, and honey it was so weird. He said that he hoped I would enjoy the town and that if I wanted to get on here safely and happily that I should go and join some clubs, meet people and learn to look after myself. With that he handed me a flyer for the self defence groups at the Y with the times circled and then gave me the fiercest look and said not to let myself or you down and left with his Shiva.”

“Huh!” Buffy sank back in her seat.

“So I figured, why not? I joined the book club and also the self-defence one as well. I must drop him a thank you note.” Joyce frowned. “I guess he saved my life, didn’t he?”

“Sounds like. Did you get the old sod’s name?” Spike asked.

“Yes, of course. R. Giles – I wonder if he was called Randy?” Joyce giggled and shook her head dismissively. “No, it was Rupert – that was it, such a handsome and nice man.”

“What?” Buffy squeaked.

‘Ewww to handsome and nice, cos Giles is waaaay to old and mom ick for the giggling. And go Giles with the Mom helping. I owe him big time. Damn, no more pouting over prophecy hidage...’

~~~~~~~~~~~~

His body hit the wooden wall and slid down as the two minions threw him into the train and slammed the door shut. Their cackles of laughter filling the night air, Angelus tried not to scream in pain but failed – instead a small whimper escaped his cracked and bleeding lips. He’d scream later, when the pain was just a dull roar.

Angelus rolled onto his back, his eyes opening slightly as consciousness tickled at the edges of his mind. Ignoring the pain in his body, he took a breath and gagged at the stench of stale cow urine. He rolled his head and his nose hit a fresh warm cow pat. He sighed, the bastards had thrown him into a cattle compartment.

“I’ll kill you all – all of you will burn and die for what you’ve done,” he whispered painfully before passing out.

The train powered up and began to move, heading South towards Mexico.