Author: Meltha
Rating: R
Feedback: Yes, thank you. Meltha
Spoilers: Through BtVS season 5 and AtS season 2
Distribution: Fanfiction.net and the Bunny Warren. If you're interested, please let me know.
Summary: After “Crush,” Spike has a change of heart and goes to L.A. to rejoin his old family.
Disclaimer: All characters are owned by Mutant Enemy (Joss Whedon), a wonderfully creative company whose characters I have borrowed for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
Author's Note: Written for the Spike What If Ficathon. Lillianmorgan wanted to know what would have happened if Drusilla’s desire to get the family back together again in “Crush” had led to Spike leaving Sunnydale for L.A. and seeking the rest of the family out. She wanted Spike/Drusilla, Spike/Darla, Spike/Angel, or Spike solo, as well as the De Soto, an invitation, and bloody minions, but no rape or main character death and left the rating up to me.
Part 9
When Spike woke up the following evening, Darla’s foot was in his face. He recognized the red nail polish. He stared at it in confusion for a moment, then remembered the previous night and began to laugh, annoying everyone else in the bed by waking them far too early. As Angel groaned loudly, the other three vampires glanced at one another, intensely curious.
“So… what’s the verdict?” Spike asked.
Angel yawned, attempted getting out of bed, and tripped over Drusilla in the process. The result was a loud crash and a plethora of curses in various languages, not all of them human.
“Angel!” Darla finally fairly screamed. “Are you evil or not!”
He attempted blinking away the early evening bleariness from his eyes, yawned again, and then said, “Did I wake up screaming blue murder last night?”
“No,” Spike said cautiously.
“Then I still have a soul,” Angel said.
Darla’s face fell. “You’ve got to be kidding me! There was nothing about last night anything less than perfect!”
“Not completely perfect,” Angel told her.
“Did you suddenly turn gay?” Darla asked, dead serious and deeply puzzled. “Even if you did, that still should have worked.”
“Would you mind defining ‘completely perfect’ then,” Spike said in exasperation, “because something is obviously missing in our understanding of the term.”
“I’d say ‘completely perfect’ would include getting out of this dump, telling the Powers That Be they can get a knew lackey, blowing up Wolfram and Hart’s headquarters, killing a couple of Las Vegas gangsters, and taking over their penthouse for a few weeks,” Angel said, pulling on a pair of black pants. “Anybody else feel like turning this into a completely perfect night?”
Spike blinked. Darla blinked. Drusilla blinked. The nearly ravaged lamp’s bulb dimmed for a moment then went back on.
“So… you’re evil?” Spike asked.
“Not exactly. I still have my soul; I can feel it. I still have guilt, and I’m not going to wander around killing innocents and trying to bring on the end of the world. But I’m through denying that I’m a vampire. Darla, as I understand it, I’m now the head of this clan,” he said.
“Technically, yes,” Darla agreed.
“Fine. We’re playing by my rules from here on in. No more pointless slaughters. We feed on the worst of the worst, and that’s it. I’m not launching any more crusades on behalf of the helpless, though. The helpless can go help themselves,” he said, throwing on the rest of his clothes. “I’m through with being fate’s favorite punching bag.”
The three soulless occupants of the room appeared to be considering this.
“I think I can deal with that,” Spike said slowly.
Drusilla nodded in agreement almost immediately. Darla looked deeply preturbed, but eventually nodded in assent as well.
“Fine,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
A few days later, Cordelia, Wesley, and Gunn arrived at the Hyperion to investigate whether Angel had anything to do with the sudden destruction of Wolfram and Hart. They found nothing there. Angel’s clothes were gone, his car was missing, and the hotel had the empty feeling a place gets after being unoccupied for a while. On the check-in desk, though, was a note. It read simply “I’ve gone home. Don’t bother looking.” They never did, and that was perhaps the greatest difference between Angel’s human friends and his demon family.
As Angel’s car sped through the Las Vegas night, Spike and Drusilla sat in the back seat. He languidly played with her hair as she hummed to herself.
“Happy now, pet?” he asked.
She giggled before saying contentedly, “The king and the queen and the princess and the knight all lived happily ever after.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Spike agreed and smiled, feeling better than he had in a very long time.
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