Chapter Text
“Bloody hell,” Spike swore, dodging into the shade, away from the scorching light of day. The blanket he had pulled over him was smoking, and Spike couldn’t hurry into the Hyperion fast enough. Technically he didn’t need an invite, and that was just as well, as Spike knew that a minute later the hole burning through the blanket would have torn, exposing him to the harsh rays of the sun.
As soon as he was inside, however, he sagged to the floor, bracing himself against the wall as his body betrayed him, and his current state of weakness and starvation once more reared its head. Luckily the lobby seemed abandoned, so nobody was there to witness his current state.
Bloody hell, he thought again, leaning against the wall and letting out a long, unneeded sigh. He was just glad not to be a pile of dust. Closing his eyes, Spike grimaced at the situation he found himself in. Fucking Initiative. Bloody soldier boys, playing at being the slayer. Then again, even the slayer wouldn’t have done to him what they did. Couldn’t bite, couldn’t eat. Couldn’t even bloody fight! He was, dare he admit it, helpless. And he was damn hungry.
“Argh!” he yelled in frustration, banging a weak fist against the wall, barely denting it and hurting his hand. “Bugger,” he breathed, looking up in alarm as he heard footsteps approaching at the noise. Angel. Well, that or one of his humans was getting nearer. And by the scent of things, it was human. His stomach let out a cry of protest.
Biting his lip in frustration, Spike used his arm to help propel him into a half-standing half-leaning position, bracing himself for the upcoming confrontation. He didn’t fancy being here, but it was the first place his mind went when he finally escaped. Blood called to blood, after all. And even if Angel was all soulful now, he was still his Sire. He had to help, right?
“Um, hello. Oh my god, can I help you?” a mousy-haired girl with a Texan accent asked him, sounding concerned as she entered the room and saw him. Well, that definitely hadn’t been what he expected. And did he really look that bad? According to the girl's expression, he must have looked worse.
Spike stared at her, fascinated as she came closer. His mind was in a daze as he could hear her heartbeat, even now. Thuh-thump, thuh-thump, thuh-thump. Spike’s mouth watered as he eyed her neck, too starved to notice anything else as she slowly began backing away. “Wesley?!” The girl shouted out, a tremor of fear in her voice. Yeah, that's right, fear him. He was a vampire, she should be afraid.
Growling and forgetting everything, Spike changed into demon face and lunged, just as the Watcher rushed in with a cross in his hand. It was unneeded of course, for as soon as Spike tried to attack, he was grabbing his head and howling.
“What the hell is going on in here?!” the unmistakable voice of his Sire yelled, sounding so much like Angelus in a rage that it nearly made Spike flinch. “Spike?” Angel breathed in surprise, as soon as he saw his wayward Childe.
“‘Lo,” he replied, receiving a frown from Angel. Spike didn’t know what he had expected when he came here, but the look of pure anger that Angelus was shooting his way made him think twice. Why had he thought this would be a good idea?
“What the hell are you doing here, Spike?” Angel hissed out, looking him over with contempt.
Inside his mind, however, Angel was frowning. Spike looked like hell, and it made his demon uneasy. He didn’t look good, in fact, he looked like nothing but skin, bones, and leather. He’d even allowed his roots to show, and even though the last time Angel saw Spike he’d been sticking hot pokers in his side - Angel still found himself concerned.
“He... he tried to attack me,” the girl, Fred, replied quietly in response to Angel’s question.
Well fuck, that definitely made Angelus mad. Bounding over to Spike, Angel grabbed him by his coat's collar, heaving him off the ground in a threatening position.
“I’ll say it again, Spike, what are you doing here?” Angel hissed, absentmindedly wondering why his childe wasn’t fighting back. Just like he wondered why he looked like he’d been starved for several months.
“No reason, in particular. Kinda just felt like pissin’ you off,” Spike slurred, pretending to be unfazed by the strong grip near his throat.
Angel wasn’t buying it, however, and glared at Spike in suspicion. Why was Spike here? And if what Fred said about Spike attacking her was true, then why wasn’t she dead? A measly cross would have never stopped Spike before. Narrowing his eyes, Angel lets go of his grip, letting Spike fall to the floor. When he tried to get up, stumbling to stand and nearly falling over again, Angel knew something was wrong.
“Why are you here, Spike? I’m not going to repeat myself again,” Angel whispered, folding his arms over his chest.
Gritting his teeth, Spike contemplated another quip, but a sudden bout of lightheadedness stopped him. The recent exertion had drained him, and Spike didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up.
“I need your help,” Spike confessed, hating himself for even uttering those words. Once again Spike cursed the Initiative for even putting him in this situation.
Eyes widening in surprise, Angel realized Spike must be in serious trouble if he was coming to him. It wasn’t like the boy, admitting weakness. Angelus had beaten that out of him long ago.
“Why come to me?” Angel wondered softly, truly curious as to his answer.
Spike glared, however, still huddled on the floor, as his eyes wandered over to the still present Wesley and Fred. “This isn’t a free show, ya know,” Spike gritted out, annoyed at their blatant staring.
Sighing, Angel turned to them, knowing that Spike wouldn’t say anything else with them around. “Guys, could you maybe, you know?” Angel prodded, willing them to leave them be.
“Angel, are you sure you want us to go? It’s Spike -” Wesley began, but was interrupted,
“I can handle him. But I can’t deal with him with you guys hovering,” Angel pointed out, “Sorry. I’ll be fine, it’s okay,” he added, urging them to go.
Wesley eventually took Fred by the arm, sparing one last glance their way before heading out. Once they were gone, Angel turned back to spike.
“What’s wrong?” Angel asked, watching as Spike pulled himself up onto a nearby couch, hand inside his coat, probably clutching his stomach. His boy was clearly in pain, even if he was too proud to admit it or try to show it.
“Nothing, you poof. I’m fine,” Spike growled out, annoyed and just wanting to rest.
“Look, I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong,” Angel pointed out, already exasperated by Spike’s presence.
“Why’d you wanna help, anyway?” Spike murmured, so softly that if Angel wasn’t a vampire, his ears might not have picked it up.
It was a good question, too. Why did he find himself willing to help Spike? It wasn’t like he had any true obligation to him. He was Dru’s childe technically, even if Angelus had always played the role of Sire. There was no true Sire-bond between them, and by all rights, Angel should just be throwing him out on the street after what Spike had done.
But he couldn’t. Even after everything, after all they had been through, Angel still found himself caring for Spike. He had always been his favorite, after all.
Also, he felt guilty. Guilty of his past sins, and what he had turned Will into. Spike was his responsibility. And Angel would be damned if he didn’t at least try to help.
“Get up, boy,” Angel sighed, watching as Spike eyed him warily. “Let me have a look at you,” Angel added. He needed to know the extent of his injuries, especially since Spike would never outright tell him.
Giving Angel another distrustful look, Spike finally relented and pulled himself up into a sitting position. As he tried to stand up, however, Spike was hit with a wave of nausea and crumpled to the ground in an unconscious heap.
Frowning, Angel rushed over to him, checking him over. Up close Spike looked even worse, face gaunt and pale. There were thin translucent scars marring his face and neck, and as Angel pulled aside his jacket he could see Spike’s ribs through his shirt. Eyes widening in horror, Angel lifted the black garment to reveal the bruised and battered flesh underneath. “My god, what happened to you, Will?” Angel breathed.