OoSooM-Ch.5

It roiled and pulsed within her, radiating from every nerve ending and narrowing her entire existence into nothing more than the urge to feed the hunger.

Opening her eyes, Dawn was startled by the clarity of her vision. She'd been told she had 20/20 vision by the school optometrist, but she'd never been able to distinguish each particular detail of everything as she could now.

She recognized the basement of her house, realizing that she was lying on the ground, staring at the subtle dings and dints in an old can of paint that had been left on the floor.

Sitting up, Dawn looked around, aware of things besides the hunger now. She could feel a subtle pull towards…something she couldn't quite identify. There was someone moving in the house above, and she couldn't hear their heartbeat. It seemed strange that she thought she should be able to, since she hadn't been before.

Whatever the pull was, it had gotten stronger upon recognizing that there was someone upstairs, and she decided to go see who it was. She felt strange.

It wasn't a bad feeling per se, but something was off. She didn't feel right.

Putting the nagging feeling out of her thoughts, Dawn traipsed up the stairs, hardly noticing the lithe agility that she hadn't had before.

That was something he hadn't expected. Then again, he'd never intended to turn anything more than a minion, so he hadn't asked what the differences were in turning a Childe.

There was a stake tucked into the back of his pants, and the blonde vampire had been pacing since sundown, hoping to whatever God would listen that he wouldn't have to use it.

There was a rumor that a Slayer that was turned kept their soul. Since Dawn had been made from Buffy's blood, Spike hoped the same held true for her.

If she displayed signs of being a mindless, savage beast…He didn't want to think about it.

Dawn came up the basement stairs and stared at him blankly for a long moment before her eyes cleared and she smiled slightly. “Spike.”

At least she recognized him. That was a fairly good sign. Spike had had plenty of minions that had attempted to attack him as soon as they woke, not recognizing their Sire from a human.

Dawn frowned slightly. “I'm not sure,” she said. “I feel…strange. Hungry. And I can see the threads in your shirt.”

That surprised a laugh from Spike. “You'll get used to it, luv,” he assured her. “C'mere.”

Curiosity flitting over her face, Dawn went to him, tilting her head back to look at him. “What?”

“Just wanted to hug you, Platelet,” Spike told her, drawing her into his arms and resting his chin atop her head lightly, hoping that her instincts would tell her what to do with another being this close while she was hungry.

Dawn turned her head and let out a soft sound of surprise a split second before Spike felt sharp fangs sink into his neck, pulling strongly on the vein.

Strangely, she withdrew without any prompting from him, licking her lips, realization in her eyes. “Sire.”

“Why can't I remember what happened before I woke up?” Dawn questioned, looking worried.

He blinked, realizing that while her fangs were visible, she had none of the ridges on her face that normally came with being turned. Her eyes were still aqua-green, albeit ringed with chartreuse-gold. But, those were the only changes.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” she questioned, going to the small mirrored clock on the wall and looking into it.

“Nibblet, you don't have a refle-“ he stopped cold, staring into the mirror at Dawn's reflection. It was hazy, like looking at a ghost, and you could almost see the kitchen through it, but it was there.

Dawn, having realized that she wasn't supposed to have a reflection, gaped. “Uh…Did you do something wrong, Spike?” she inquired.

“ `Course not,” Spike said, affronted. “Only way to muck up a turnin' is to not give enough blood. You do that, your intended doesn't wake up,” he informed her, sitting down at what was left of the kitchen table.

Dawn sighed. “Well, I know getting enough blood wasn't the problem. You let me nearly drain you,” she said, then brightened. “Hey, I remember!”

“Quicker than most, I think,” Spike commented, thinking back on his own turning. It had taken him several days to recover any sense of self.

Angelus had laughed at the horrified expression on Spike's face when he remembered who he had been. Wanker, Spike thought.

“You still hungry, pet?” Spike asked, concerned. He remembered being voraciously hungry when he woke. Surely, the small amount she'd taken from him couldn't have been enough to sate her.

“A little,” Dawn admitted. “But, it doesn't hurt anymore. It feels kinda like it used to when I just wanted a snack.”

Spike arched an eyebrow at that bit of information. Apparently, her appearance when feeding wasn't the only thing that differed from normal vampires.

Yawning, Dawn padded over to him and climbed into his lap, curling against his chest. “Why am I still tired? I slept all day, didn't I?”

“Yes. But, you had a lot of damage to heal while you slept,” Spike reminded her. “Takes a lot out of you, even if you weren't awake for it. Take a nap, Nibblet. We've got all the time in the world.”

Spike felt bad for saying that when Buffy and the others had so obviously failed to prevent the End of Days. It was an outright lie, and he'd never done that to Dawn before. But, she'd be better off facing her sister's death or imprisonment if she was well rested than if she was tired.

Dawn slept in his lap for the better part of an hour, surprising Spike with his lack of impatience. Normally, he couldn't sit still for more than fifteen minutes at a time. He had too much latent energy.

It was one of the reasons he could play guitar and piano, sing, dance, and speak a multitude of foreign and demonic languages. While other vampires were still sleeping, Spike was awake, and bored out of his mind. So, he found ways to keep himself entertained. Usually, by tormenting Angelus nearly to the point of staking him, or maybe himself.

There was a resounding crash from outside the house, and Dawn woke instantly, alertness shining from her aqua-green eyes as she glanced in the direction of the noise. “What was that?” she asked, apparently comfortable still being in Spike's lap.

“No idea, luv,” Spike told her, then stood, setting her back on her feet. “Let's go check it out…probably just demons lootin', but you never know.”

Dawn didn't argue as she followed him to the front of the house, watching as Spike pulled the curtain aside to look outside.

Whatever he'd seen must've disturbed him, because he growled low in his throat and turned on his heel, grabbing Dawn's arm and half-leading, half-dragging her back into the kitchen.

“Get back in the basement, and don't come out, no matter what you hear,” he snapped quietly.

Dawn, startled, immediately started to argue. “I'm not a baby, Spike. I'm dead, even. I can fight.”

Another growl, this one directed at her. “Do as I say, Childe,” he snarled.

At his harsh words, something in Dawn recoiled, automatically feeling that she should obey without question.

Dawn was halfway down the stairs into the basement before she realized she should've argued more. It was unlike her to just give in so easily.

But, Spike had already closed and locked the basement door, and unless Dawn wanted to break it down, she was stuck. Then again, there was the window…If she could reach it.

After having secured Dawn in the basement, Spike went back into the living room, stalking to the door and flinging it open angrily to glare at the demons that had assembled in the front yard of the Summers' home.

“What the bloody fuck do you think you're doin' here?” he demanded.

A demon with black skin splotched with white spots stood, towering over eight feet tall, and stepped forward, presumably the leader. “Waiting for you to come outside, traitor.”

This is gonna hurt, Spike thought, watching as the rest of the assembled demons moved to flank their leader.

“You try havin' a soddin' microchip in your skull that won't even let you feed, wanker,” Spike growled. “Had to do somethin', or I'd have lost my effin' mind.”

“Fighting demons, we could understand. You are well known for picking fights with demons for fun, even when you were with Angelus,” the hulking monster said. “But you allied yourself with the Slayer, proclaimed to love her. That is unforgivable.”

“Y'know, for the best demons in Hell, you're not too bright,” Spike scoffed. “I've killed two Slayers,” he reminded the mammoth demon. “Chip wouldn't let me touch Buffy. But I wasn't plannin' on keepin' the bloody thing forever. Ever hear of Kampala, Africa?” he questioned.

“Good. Then you should know that I just came back from there, without the bleedin' chip,” Spike said, smirking. Then, he scowled. “Though, by all the rumblin' that went on last night, I'm guessin' one of you pillocks got the Slayer `afore I could.”

The large demon smiled, revealing yellowed, sharp teeth. “I had that honor.”

Spike snorted. “Just great. The one effin' time I decide to pull an Angelus an' mind-fuck the chit, an' some bog-trottin', rat-faced, poncy bugger gets there first. Knew there was a reason I didn't fuck around 'afore.”

“You had sex with her,” the demon said. “That is hardly on par with your reputation.”

Spike gave him a lecherous grin. “C'mon, mate. You ever seen a Slayer in action? They're all fire, light, an' barely restrained power. Fightin' one is like soddin' foreplay,” he said. “Shaggin' one…There's nothin' like it. Slayers have got muscles you've never dreamed of.”

The demon regarded him silently for a moment, then looked over his shoulder, waving another demon forward.

The mind reader shook his head. “He tells a partial truth. When he went to the Trials, he intended to come back and kill the Slayer. But, he was not rewarded with what he asked for. The chip is gone, but the Host of the Trial also returned his soul.”

Well, that's just bleedin' perfect, innit? Spike thought sarcastically.

“So? What of it?” Spike snarked. “None of you idjits knew me when I was human. There was a reason they called me William the Bloody.”

Another demon stepped into view, skin the color of spring grass and eyes two burning saffron orbs in a heavily ridged face.

Spike raised an eyebrow, looking the demon over, searching for the recognition. “I know you, mate?”

The demon laughed. “I should say so, considering that I'm the one that made you.”

Spike's eyes widened slightly. “Angelus? I'll be damned…Thought you were in LA, playin' Batman, helpin' the helpless or whatever. Though, come to think of it, last time I saw you, you had hot pokers stickin' outta you, and you weren't nearly this green.”

Angelus laughed. “The Soul is in LA. Entombed under the ocean by his own son, ironically. When the Hellmouth opened, the energy ripped me from him. Good thing, too. If I had to listen to his whining for one more second, I was going to go mad. I'd love to hunt him down and kill him, but…well, eternity stuck under miles of ocean just sounds...neat.”

Spike smirked, unable to quash the feeling of `nyah, nyah' he felt at the knowledge that Angel was trapped for the rest of time under thousands of tons of water.

“But, that's off the subject, William,” Angelus said. “Whatever your reasons, you're still a traitor, and it's been a long time since I've tortured someone…So, there's just not reason enough to keep me from making you wish I'd killed you.”

Spike sighed. “Angelus, you couldn't best me when you were loose last time. What makes you think you can take me now?”

Angelus smirked. “Well, it could be the thirty demons behind me…” he said sarcastically, waving them forward.

Not about to go without a fight, Spike let his demonic visage come forward and flung himself into the fight with a snarl, paying no attention to the blows that found him as he ripped and tore flesh with his teeth and hands.

Despite his rage, Spike was immobilized fairly quickly, overwhelmed by sheer numbers as the demons beat him to the ground and kept beating him every time he tried to rise.

Angelus stood over him, tsking in disapproval. “William, William, William…When are you going to learn that fighting me just makes things worse?”

Angelus laughed. “Oh, no…The fun's just getting started,” he said, patting Spike on the head like he was a puppy that had just done a cute trick.


	Sunnydale, California 2003 the night after the End of Days The first thing Dawn was aware of was hunger. It roiled and pulsed within her, radiating from every nerve ending and narrowing her entire existence into nothing more than the urge to feed the hunger. Opening her eyes, Dawn was startled by the clarity of her vision. She'd been told she had 20/20 vision by the school optometrist, but she'd never been able to distinguish each particular detail of everything as she could now. She recognized the basement of her house, realizing that she was lying on the ground, staring at the subtle dings and dints in an old can of paint that had been left on the floor. Sitting up, Dawn looked around, aware of things besides the hunger now. She could feel a subtle pull towards…something she couldn't quite identify. There was someone moving in the house above, and she couldn't hear their heartbeat. It seemed strange that she thought she should be able to, since she hadn't been before. Whatever the pull was, it had gotten stronger upon recognizing that there was someone upstairs, and she decided to go see who it was. She felt strange. It wasn't a bad feeling per se, but something was off. She didn't feel right. Putting the nagging feeling out of her thoughts, Dawn traipsed up the stairs, hardly noticing the lithe agility that she hadn't had before. Spike felt it when Dawn woke. That was something he hadn't expected. Then again, he'd never intended to turn anything more than a minion, so he hadn't asked what the differences were in turning a Childe. There was a stake tucked into the back of his pants, and the blonde vampire had been pacing since sundown, hoping to whatever God would listen that he wouldn't have to use it. There was a rumor that a Slayer that was turned kept their soul. Since Dawn had been made from Buffy's blood, Spike hoped the same held true for her. If she displayed signs of being a mindless, savage beast…He didn't want to think about it. Dawn came up the basement stairs and stared at him blankly for a long moment before her eyes cleared and she smiled slightly. “Spike.” At least she recognized him. That was a fairly good sign. Spike had had plenty of minions that had attempted to attack him as soon as they woke, not recognizing their Sire from a human. “How you feelin', Nibblet?” Spike asked, watching her face. Dawn frowned slightly. “I'm not sure,” she said. “I feel…strange. Hungry. And I can see the threads in your shirt.” That surprised a laugh from Spike. “You'll get used to it, luv,” he assured her. “C'mere.” Curiosity flitting over her face, Dawn went to him, tilting her head back to look at him. “What?” “Just wanted to hug you, Platelet,” Spike told her, drawing her into his arms and resting his chin atop her head lightly, hoping that her instincts would tell her what to do with another being this close while she was hungry. He wasn't disappointed. Dawn turned her head and let out a soft sound of surprise a split second before Spike felt sharp fangs sink into his neck, pulling strongly on the vein. Strangely, she withdrew without any prompting from him, licking her lips, realization in her eyes. “Sire.” Spike nodded. “Yeah, luv.” “Why can't I remember what happened before I woke up?” Dawn questioned, looking worried. “You will. It just takes a bit of time, luv,” Spike assured her. He blinked, realizing that while her fangs were visible, she had none of the ridges on her face that normally came with being turned. Her eyes were still aqua-green, albeit ringed with chartreuse-gold. But, those were the only changes. “What? Do I have something on my face?” she questioned, going to the small mirrored clock on the wall and looking into it. “Nibblet, you don't have a refle-“ he stopped cold, staring into the mirror at Dawn's reflection. It was hazy, like looking at a ghost, and you could almost see the kitchen through it, but it was there. “Cor…” Spike breathed, shocked. Dawn, having realized that she wasn't supposed to have a reflection, gaped. “Uh…Did you do something wrong, Spike?” she inquired. “ `Course not,” Spike said, affronted. “Only way to muck up a turnin' is to not give enough blood. You do that, your intended doesn't wake up,” he informed her, sitting down at what was left of the kitchen table. Dawn sighed. “Well, I know getting enough blood wasn't the problem. You let me nearly drain you,” she said, then brightened. “Hey, I remember!” “Quicker than most, I think,” Spike commented, thinking back on his own turning. It had taken him several days to recover any sense of self. Angelus had laughed at the horrified expression on Spike's face when he remembered who he had been. Wanker, Spike thought. “You still hungry, pet?” Spike asked, concerned. He remembered being voraciously hungry when he woke. Surely, the small amount she'd taken from him couldn't have been enough to sate her. “A little,” Dawn admitted. “But, it doesn't hurt anymore. It feels kinda like it used to when I just wanted a snack.” Spike arched an eyebrow at that bit of information. Apparently, her appearance when feeding wasn't the only thing that differed from normal vampires. Yawning, Dawn padded over to him and climbed into his lap, curling against his chest. “Why am I still tired? I slept all day, didn't I?” “Yes. But, you had a lot of damage to heal while you slept,” Spike reminded her. “Takes a lot out of you, even if you weren't awake for it. Take a nap, Nibblet. We've got all the time in the world.” Spike felt bad for saying that when Buffy and the others had so obviously failed to prevent the End of Days. It was an outright lie, and he'd never done that to Dawn before. But, she'd be better off facing her sister's death or imprisonment if she was well rested than if she was tired. Dawn slept in his lap for the better part of an hour, surprising Spike with his lack of impatience. Normally, he couldn't sit still for more than fifteen minutes at a time. He had too much latent energy. It was one of the reasons he could play guitar and piano, sing, dance, and speak a multitude of foreign and demonic languages. While other vampires were still sleeping, Spike was awake, and bored out of his mind. So, he found ways to keep himself entertained. Usually, by tormenting Angelus nearly to the point of staking him, or maybe himself. There was a resounding crash from outside the house, and Dawn woke instantly, alertness shining from her aqua-green eyes as she glanced in the direction of the noise. “What was that?” she asked, apparently comfortable still being in Spike's lap. “No idea, luv,” Spike told her, then stood, setting her back on her feet. “Let's go check it out…probably just demons lootin', but you never know.” Dawn didn't argue as she followed him to the front of the house, watching as Spike pulled the curtain aside to look outside. Whatever he'd seen must've disturbed him, because he growled low in his throat and turned on his heel, grabbing Dawn's arm and half-leading, half-dragging her back into the kitchen. “Get back in the basement, and don't come out, no matter what you hear,” he snapped quietly. Dawn, startled, immediately started to argue. “I'm not a baby, Spike. I'm dead, even. I can fight.” Another growl, this one directed at her. “Do as I say, Childe,” he snarled. At his harsh words, something in Dawn recoiled, automatically feeling that she should obey without question. Dawn was halfway down the stairs into the basement before she realized she should've argued more. It was unlike her to just give in so easily. But, Spike had already closed and locked the basement door, and unless Dawn wanted to break it down, she was stuck. Then again, there was the window…If she could reach it. After having secured Dawn in the basement, Spike went back into the living room, stalking to the door and flinging it open angrily to glare at the demons that had assembled in the front yard of the Summers' home. “What the bloody fuck do you think you're doin' here?” he demanded. A demon with black skin splotched with white spots stood, towering over eight feet tall, and stepped forward, presumably the leader. “Waiting for you to come outside, traitor.” This is gonna hurt, Spike thought, watching as the rest of the assembled demons moved to flank their leader. “You try havin' a soddin' microchip in your skull that won't even let you feed, wanker,” Spike growled. “Had to do somethin', or I'd have lost my effin' mind.” “Fighting demons, we could understand. You are well known for picking fights with demons for fun, even when you were with Angelus,” the hulking monster said. “But you allied yourself with the Slayer, proclaimed to love her. That is unforgivable.” “Y'know, for the best demons in Hell, you're not too bright,” Spike scoffed. “I've killed two Slayers,” he reminded the mammoth demon. “Chip wouldn't let me touch Buffy. But I wasn't plannin' on keepin' the bloody thing forever. Ever hear of Kampala, Africa?” he questioned. “We know of the Trials held there,” the demon answered. “Good. Then you should know that I just came back from there, without the bleedin' chip,” Spike said, smirking. Then, he scowled. “Though, by all the rumblin' that went on last night, I'm guessin' one of you pillocks got the Slayer `afore I could.” The large demon smiled, revealing yellowed, sharp teeth. “I had that honor.” Spike snorted. “Just great. The one effin' time I decide to pull an Angelus an' mind-fuck the chit, an' some bog-trottin', rat-faced, poncy bugger gets there first. Knew there was a reason I didn't fuck around 'afore.” “You had sex with her,” the demon said. “That is hardly on par with your reputation.” Spike gave him a lecherous grin. “C'mon, mate. You ever seen a Slayer in action? They're all fire, light, an' barely restrained power. Fightin' one is like soddin' foreplay,” he said. “Shaggin' one…There's nothin' like it. Slayers have got muscles you've never dreamed of.” The demon regarded him silently for a moment, then looked over his shoulder, waving another demon forward. Spike cursed inwardly as the anagogic demon came into view. “Well?” The mind reader shook his head. “He tells a partial truth. When he went to the Trials, he intended to come back and kill the Slayer. But, he was not rewarded with what he asked for. The chip is gone, but the Host of the Trial also returned his soul.” Well, that's just bleedin' perfect, innit? Spike thought sarcastically. “So? What of it?” Spike snarked. “None of you idjits knew me when I was human. There was a reason they called me William the Bloody.” “Poetry, wasn't it, boy?” an oddly familiar voice called out. Another demon stepped into view, skin the color of spring grass and eyes two burning saffron orbs in a heavily ridged face. Spike raised an eyebrow, looking the demon over, searching for the recognition. “I know you, mate?” The demon laughed. “I should say so, considering that I'm the one that made you.” Spike's eyes widened slightly. “Angelus? I'll be damned…Thought you were in LA, playin' Batman, helpin' the helpless or whatever. Though, come to think of it, last time I saw you, you had hot pokers stickin' outta you, and you weren't nearly this green.” Angelus laughed. “The Soul is in LA. Entombed under the ocean by his own son, ironically. When the Hellmouth opened, the energy ripped me from him. Good thing, too. If I had to listen to his whining for one more second, I was going to go mad. I'd love to hunt him down and kill him, but…well, eternity stuck under miles of ocean just sounds...neat.” Spike smirked, unable to quash the feeling of `nyah, nyah' he felt at the knowledge that Angel was trapped for the rest of time under thousands of tons of water. “But, that's off the subject, William,” Angelus said. “Whatever your reasons, you're still a traitor, and it's been a long time since I've tortured someone…So, there's just not reason enough to keep me from making you wish I'd killed you.” Spike sighed. “Angelus, you couldn't best me when you were loose last time. What makes you think you can take me now?” Angelus smirked. “Well, it could be the thirty demons behind me…” he said sarcastically, waving them forward. Not about to go without a fight, Spike let his demonic visage come forward and flung himself into the fight with a snarl, paying no attention to the blows that found him as he ripped and tore flesh with his teeth and hands. Despite his rage, Spike was immobilized fairly quickly, overwhelmed by sheer numbers as the demons beat him to the ground and kept beating him every time he tried to rise. Angelus stood over him, tsking in disapproval. “William, William, William…When are you going to learn that fighting me just makes things worse?” Spike glared up at him. “Piss off, wanker.” Angelus laughed. “Oh, no…The fun's just getting started,” he said, patting Spike on the head like he was a puppy that had just done a cute trick. Stalking away, Angelus waved at the remaining demons. “Bring him.”