Honorable
Sons: 1
by Josie_h
Notes
“Spike!”
*Bloody Hell - what now!*
A low, growled “You little bastard!”
Then another yell – but this one with a groan of pain, “Spike! Get *in* here.” And finally a rather petulant “Please?!”
The blonde sauntered through the bedroom door to find his Sire sprawled on the floor *again*.
“Oh G… Bloody Hell!! Will you *stop* trying to get up… you git!” the last few words cut off with a slight “umphh” as he lifted his companion back onto the bed. The harsh tone belied his concern, but the gentle touch and quiet caress of the forehead once his charge was resettled, did everything to express his true sentiment.
He hated seeing anyone like this, and knew first hand what lack of mobility and helplessness could do to a person…
Spike dropped into true face, opened his wrist and presented it, “Drink, Sire, please drink.”
The elder vampire took the proffered wrist reverently with a nod of thanks, then closed his eyes and began to take in the rich blood of his Childe, his partner, his savior and now, his nurse.
All too soon the wrist was released, and Spike realized that his patient had returned to unconsciousness. He stayed for a time, petting the silky dark locks, now almost as long as he remembered them from Italy when they were there… the first time. It was to be expected, remaining uncut for nearly eight months. Eight months of hiding; eight months of pain and frustration; eight months of Angel the invalid; but eight months that had also reestablished a deep friendship and intimacy that they had both missed for over a century…
It was fortunate that the dragon had only been able to take one swipe with its talons before it fell to the vampire’s sword. It was unfortunate that the talons had found their mark.
Spike had watched his Sire fall, unable to reach him in time as he fought for his own survival (or to ‘take as many with him’ as he could, he was not quite sure at the time). Mere seconds later a white blast of energy had thrown him to a far wall of the alley and all had gone black. When he awoke, the demon army was gone, as was Illyria. Why or where they went, he never questioned. All he knew was that there were dead demon remains scattered around the area, oozing various putrid fluids and assaulting his senses.
Spike had known at the time that his right arm, several ribs and his left knee, had all been shattered in the collision with the wall. He also had several deep stab wounds – origin unknown – in his side. Yet he had instinctively crawled toward a muffled groan coming from somewhere around the carcass of the dragon.
To his joy he had discovered his Sire! Not the dust he’d anticipated, but a semiconscious, badly injured vampire, pinned under the abdomen of the beast with only his torso visible. Spike had crawled over, taken his Sire’s arms and levered the beast, with his good leg for just long enough to pull his comrade free, then dragged him to the safety of a manhole. He had eased the by now unconscious Angel through as best he could, and retreated to the sunless safety of the sewers.
Present day>>>>>>>>>
Angel was awake and ‘pissed off’ “You need to make a call Spike – just f’ing call them”
Spike could no longer hold his tongue…“So let me get this straight…. You f@#$ing told me early on that you were in *no way* goin’ to access them… months ago… when this first happened! … I suggested it *remember*!!.... *I* suggested it and you told me *no*. So I’m sorry Sire,… but I’ve been a bit too busy ‘alf ‘inchin’ on our behalf, to notice that you, ‘lord and master of the tormented soul’, are finally realizing the merit in usin’ those accounts!! For *God sake*, we nicked half of it from the aristocracy, *legit* payment for ‘services rendered’ an’ all that, I seem to recall you sayin’! And I’m *not* goin’ to apologize for nickin’ bloody Goering’s gold – I mean geez Angel! Not even the Master could have matched him in the ‘soulless prick of the year’ competition! (except in the ‘prick part ‘course!)” A wiggled eyebrow signaled the end of the ‘rant’.
Angel knew him to be right on all counts, however he also knew that for the first part of their ‘flight’, the main concern had been total anonymity. Without knowing the status of the senior partners or their earthly representatives, it was nigh on impossible to determine who was friend or foe. Spike had remembered being hungry before, but he had not been trying to feed his wounded Sire at the time. Now he often felt the screaming pain of starvation gnawing at him.
With no money, he had on occasion during their travels, defied his soul and gone hunting, trying to pick on those in the cities who ‘deserved to be bitten’. With Angel in his current state, moving cities was also a challenge, but one Spike had risen to, managing to traverse the country in a wide circle during the eight long months.
The pattern was always the same. In the dead of night, he would carefully lift and carry his Sire wrapped mummy-like in soft blankets, to a sewer exit, large duffel bag slung over the other shoulder. He would gingerly place his (hopefully by then, passed out with pain) Sire and their belongings on a dry surface, open a manhole and find a suitable van, generally an old delivery vehicle with no rear windows. He would then haul his Sire and the bag up, nestle the older vampire as comfortably as he could in the rear of the van, hotwire it, and drive as inconspicuously as possible until daylight threatened.
Another town, another small hotel (if they had money), or barn, or crypt, or (on bad days) even a sewer or cave until they reached the next ‘safe place’. Safe meant places with few demons; places where the vamps were all fledges and didn’t know the feel of a master close by; places where the remnants of the Wolf, Ram and Hart were least likely to search; places that held no harsh memories.
Sometimes the stolen item was driven for more than two nights, but after a brush with the law and the constant threat of running out of fuel due to lack of funds, Spike simply wouldn’t take the risk. On one unfortunate evening a Sheriff and his deputy had stopped them, apparently in search of a fugitive who had absconded from their small county jail. They were waved on their way after a cursory look, Spike having introduced his crippled brother. The law enforcers had not questioned the ownership of the vehicle or asked anything difficult, but the incident had rattled Spike.
It was during their last move that Spike had made the decision to stop running. They were only two or three hours from their goal, San Francisco, when the threat of sunshine forced yet another stop.
Fortunately the van they had been driving had contained a bonus. Under the seat, Spike had discovered a cigarette packet with nearly three hundred dollars inside, and a couple of suspicious little packs of white powder. He had thought for a moment before tossing the drugs and pocketing the cash.
He had pulled into a reasonable looking hotel “The Napa Marriott” and checked in, negotiating a twenty four hour stay, after the rather irksome night clerk who, though reasonably sympathetic, had still insisted on ‘seeing this sick brother’! Spike suddenly realized that he really must look like a vagrant with a wad of cash – unlikely to instill a whole lot of confidence as to his honesty in the hotelier.
Prior to ‘picking up the van’ they had been living *very* rough, hadn’t washed in days, weeks possibly. The blonde vampire had become ‘heroin thin’ over the past months of feeding his Sire when other blood was unavailable, often giving up the precious fluid when he had eaten barely enough to sustain himself.
He allowed the jumped up bellhop to watch while he carefully lifted his dear Sire. Angel had inhaled sharply and cried out in pain as Spike stepped from the van. Seeing they had an observer, who was wide eyed and obviously shocked at his emaciated condition, Angel was no longer able to hold back his humiliation and sobbed uncontrollably.
“Oh God, man. Do you need a doctor or something? There’s a great guy in Angwin. I know he could at least help with the pain. What’s wrong with him anyway?”
Spike who was striding toward the lift at the time, had barely contained his game face and turned to snarl, “He’s a fucking cripple and he’s getting worse and there’s nothing we can do….” It was followed by a hitched whisper, “There’s nothing *I* can do… There’s nothing *I* can do…”
He had ended up sliding down the wall next to the elevator, Angel still cradled in his arms, face buried in his beloved Sire’s long dark locks, rocking his charge and crying openly in front of the shocked human.
“C’mon man, I’m sorry if I upset you, c’mon… I’ll help you to your room yeah? And tell you what, you have an extra day free… c’mon man…’m sure the boss would agree, I’ll get your bag… yeah?”
He had then given Spike a rather embarrassed smile, carefully taken the bag and encouraged the vampire up to his room. Angel had still been in tears, keening quietly, no less consolable than when he first realized they were being watched.
The younger vampire had at that moment made the decision. Regardless of Angel’s reluctance to use the Aurelian fortune – guilt over its origins and fear of discovery too much until this point – Spike knew they had to change something and get his Sire well. The only way to do both would be to stop running, access the funds and settle somewhere, taking the risk of discovery…
The following day he had therefore been both stunned and relieved to discover his Sire had come to the same conclusion.