Three:
Andrew walks toward the other vampire in the alley. "Hey, I'm, like,
new in town? And? A vampire? Like you."
The vampire eyes him. "Hey--Andrew? Andrew Wells? Weren't you in my
English class?"
"Christian? Wow. I didn't recognize you with the face on." Andrew
shifts to his own demon face and gestures.
Christian grins, showing off his fangs. "Oh, man. This is so much
better than being a high school loser. We get to stay up all night and
hunt and kill and hey!" He points at Andrew and Andrew puts on his
listening face. "Did you know the Slayer is out of town? I just heard.
Some guys are talking about, you know, taking over the place."
"Really? I might like to meet them," Andrew says. He stuffs his hands
into his pockets and tries not to bounce up and down with excitement.
"I don't know... they're tough, you know? You're kind of little."
Christian looks Andrew up and down. "Maybe if you bring them something
to eat? I think I hear some kids around the corner."
Andrew glances back at the mouth of the alley nervously. "Well,
maybe--um--GUYS!"
Oz and Xander block the mouth of the alley. Willow and Cordelia pop up
on the rooftops and peg Christian with a crossbow. "Oh, uncool,"
Christian groans as he dusts.
"Was I okay? This was my first time being a double agent," Andrew
says to Xander. "Did I do all right? Was I convincing?"
Xander pats his shoulder. "Right up to the part where you didn't go
kill innocent people--and that verisimilitude we can do without."
"You could work on the motivation," Oz says. "Try some Method acting.
Role-play."
"No! No, no method. Fangs out of the neck," Xander says.
Andrew nods. "No fangs in neck. Check."
"I hit him! With my crossbow! Did you see?" Willow shouts from the roof.
"No, that was totally my bolt," Cordelia says.
"Was not!"
"I marked it with my nail polish, 'White Witch'!"
Willow gasps. "You can't make fun of my code name! It's official Slayer
code!"
"Okay! Guys!" Xander calls up. "Let's try the Bronze!"
"I'll work on my double agent act," Andrew says. "I think I can do it
better." He nods to himself.
"Human-lover!" the other vamp snarls at him. "You rent yourself out?
They give you a nice piece of neck?"
Andrew wrestles the vampire frantically. He looks over at Xander, but
Xander is fighting a vampire of his own and the others had to go around
when the vamps shut the gate. The vampires have them pinned down and
they're so going to die and that makes twice in one year for Andrew.
Andrew growls and kicks the vamp in the knee, making him yelp, then he
throws the vamp into the Dumpster and pulls the stake from his belt and
dusts the vampire attacking Xander.
"Behind you!" Xander says as the first vamp jumps on Andrew's back.
"Traitor! Uncle Tom! Pussy!" The vampire claws at Andrew's face as
Andrew tries to shake him off. Then the vampire lets go--but he grabs
Andrew's left arm and twists it up behind him so hard a bone in his
forearm snaps.
Andrew screams and falls to his knees. It hurts, it really really
hurts, oh man does it hurt...
"Hey!" He sees Willow, Oz and Cordelia run into the alley, straight
into a girl vampire, and Xander squares off with the vamp that hurt
Andrew.
Then someone somersaults over the gate. One vampire dusts, then the
other.
"Hey, guys," Buffy says.
Andrew squeezes his eyes shut against the pain. There's bone sticking
through his skin--he can smell the blood oozing through his sleeve. It
hurts so much he wants to puke.
"Buffy!" The others gather around her, except Xander, who gives Andrew
a hand up. "You're back! You're not dead!" Willow squeaks.
"Of course I'm not dead," Buffy says.
"But you were gone so long--oof!" Willow makes tiny breathy noises as
Buffy hugs her.
Andrew leans against Xander. "You going to pass out?" Xander asks.
"Maybe," Andrew whispers.
"Xander? Hi!" Buffy says. "And Andrew... Xander, back away."
"What?" Xander says.
"Xander, they got him. Back away!" Buffy raises her fists; Andrew
tenses to run away.
Xander puts his arm around Andrew's shoulders and helps him down the
alley. Andrew looks at the ground. "No, actually, Angel got him."
"...What?"
"Angel got him. Three months ago." And Xander walks Andrew right
past Buffy and down the street a little.
"It's the Slayer's prerogative to stake vampires," Andrew says to
Xander.
"Given that she dated the guy who turned you, I don't think Buffy can
be real righteous about this one and holy moly, is that blood?"
Xander touches his arm and Andrew yelps. "Okay," Xander says. "Stay
here."
Andrew stays put as Xander fishes change out of his pockets. He wonders
what would happen if he bled out all the blood in his body.
"Hey!" Buffy says as she marches out of the alley. "What are you
talking about?"
Xander looks at her. The others lag behind in the alley and watch.
"Angel turned Andrew into a vampire! It's just one of the many things
you don't know because you ran away and left us to deal with
everything, okay?" Xander's mouth twists up and he jerks the handset of
the pay phone off the bracket.
Buffy's mouth is open but she's not talking.
"We're all glad to see you!" Willow says.
"Yeah, we're thrilled," Xander says, and dials. "Mr. Giles? We need you
to come get us. A vampire broke Andrew's arm really bad. We're right
near the Bronze, on Third."
Xander hangs up. He nudges Andrew and they sit on the curb.
"So what does he eat?" Buffy says. "Vampire chow?"
"Pig blood from Brodnor's Butcher Shop and Sausage Emporium."
"He makes an otter blend that's really good," Andrew whispers. Xander
puts his arm around Andrew's shoulders again and Andrew holds his elbow
and stares at the road.
Buffy stands over them, behind Andrew's back. "What happened to faster
Angel, kill, kill?"
Xander jerks. "What happened? Angel made Giles his punching bag and
Andrew is the one who helped me rescue him before he died. So there's
good vampires and then, in the other corner, there's your boyfriend!"
"Xander!" Willow shouts.
Andrew hears running steps. "Now she's gone again!" Willow says.
"So what?" Xander says.
"Come on," Oz says softly, and the rest all follow Buffy.
Xander sits with Andrew as the others leave and Mr. Giles pulls up.
"Can you get him in the car, Xander?" Mr. Giles asks. He's still on
crutches.
"Yeah, I've got him. Come on," Xander says, helping Andrew into the
car. Andrew makes a face and tries to be brave like Mr. Giles.
Andrew slurps hot blood through a straw. Getting his arm fixed was
easy--he passed out when they brought him inside and woke up
afterwards, nice and dreamy on pain pills. He loooooves pain pills. He
got them after his fingers were bitten off too.
Xander sits at the table at the front window with his head on his arms;
Andrew thought maybe he heard him crying, but he must have been
mistaken.
Mr. Giles is writing everything down in his little book. He's keeping
notes on Andrew for the edification of future Watchers and Slayers.
Xander still hasn't told Mr. Giles that Buffy is back. Andrew wonders
why.
There's a knock on the door. Xander jumps up and answers it. "Willow!
Tell Buffy that I didn't mean it, okay?"
Mr. Giles drops his pen. "Buffy?"
"But you did mean it," Willow says.
"But just in the run-at-the-mouthy way, not the go-away-Buffy way!"
"Buffy?" Mr. Giles repeats, a little louder.
Andrew cranes his neck and sees Willow step into the house. "Buffy!"
Xander says. "Me! Dumb! Mouth go zoom! Too much missing Buffy makes
Xander stupid in the head."
Buffy comes in, smelling salty like tears, and they hug. Mr. Giles
grabs his crutch and gets to his feet and Buffy runs over and everyone
hugs and cries and stuff.
Andrew finishes his blood and wonders if he should cry too.
Oz sits next to him on the couch. "Your blood smells like bacon," he
says. "I never noticed that before."
"It's the pig," Andrew says.
"It's appetizing in a distressing way." Oz picks up the empty mug,
sniffs it and licks at the residue on the inside.
"Ew," Cordelia says.
Oz puts the mug down. "I think that's a habit I don't want to pick up."
He looks at Mr. Giles and the others, who are still hugging and bonding
and saying tearful half-sentencey things.
"Do they have low-calorie blood for girl vamps watching their weight?"
Cordelia asks.
"You don't change at all from the time you're turned," Andrew says.
"Except, um, your skin clears up." He was really really really grateful
for that one.
"Seriously? So if you're at your ideal weight you stay there until the
end of time?"
Andrew nods.
"But no reflection," Cordelia says. "Though I guess you could hire
someone to do your hair..."
"Tanning would be an issue," Oz says.
"Oh, you're right. Andrew can do the pale thing, because he's blond?
But for me self-tanners just will not do." She crosses her hands
decisively.
Oz looks at Andrew. "And the rise of Master Cordelius is prevented by
the inadequacy of cosmetics."
"Hm?" Willow sits in Oz's lap. She rests her streaky face on his
shoulder.
Xander hugs Cordelia. She frowns and fiddles with his hair.
"I'll put some tea on," Mr. Giles says. He limps toward the kitchen.
"I'll help!" Buffy says, and follows him into the kitchen. Andrew
watches her, but she doesn't look at him.
His arm itches on the inside. Andrew rubs his upper arm and tries to
will the feeling down the bones to the healing break.
There's a knock on the basement door, so Andrew goes upstairs and it's
Dawn, standing there in a pink shirt looking mad. "You didn't run
away!" she says.
"No?"
She kicks him in the shins. He barely feels it. "You're a vampire!" she
says.
"Yeah."
"You missed my birthday!"
"Well, you missed mine!" Andrew says.
Dawn looks from side to side and cups her hands around her mouth. "Have
you killed anyone yet?" she whispers.
Andrew shakes his head. "I'm a good vampire, dedicated to the crusade
against evil."
"Oh." She looks a little disappointed. "Do you want to watch some MTV?"
"Sure."
Dawn gets them both Cokes from the fridge and they lay down on the
carpet and watch a rockumentary on Sting.
Later, Dawn paints Andrew's nails purple and writes her name on his
bandages with the polish. She's trying to talk him into painting his
toenails when Buffy and Mr. Giles show up.
"Dawn! Where have you been?"
"Here, with Andrew, like a million times before!"
Buffy glances at Andrew. "Well, the other million times you didn't
have to walk a mile in the dark and you told Mom so she didn't freak
out!"
"It's eight blocks! And I told Mom! I said I was going out," Dawn
protests.
"Mom said no you are not going out and thought you heard her. Come
on, we're going." Buffy grabs Dawn and pulls her to her feet.
Dawn looks back at Andrew. "Come over soon!"
"Maybe when my arm feels better," Andrew says.
"Dawn!" Buffy hisses, too low for a human to overhear. "That's an
invitation. He's a vampire!"
"You're always invited to our place!" Dawn yells as Buffy pulls her out
the door.
"Dawn!"
Mr. Giles raises his eyebrows at Andrew. "You're very colorful tonight."
"Oz paints his nails. It's a cool-guy thing."
"I suppose. Let me see how your arm is doing." Mr. Giles limps over the
couch; he just stopped using the crutches.
Andrew puts his arm in Mr. Giles's lap. "It itches like crazy."
"That'll be the healing process. Don't scratch."
"I can't scratch--the bandages are too tight and it hurts whenever I
move them."
"Yes, so don't move them," Mr. Giles says. He unwraps the bandage from
Andrew's arm slowly. There are small smears of blood on the cloth.
The skin is pink from the healing scar and his arm feels delicate,
still, but it's way better than it was. "Two more days, I think.
Remarkable," Mr. Giles says. He looks at the bandage. "Dawn was aware
this wasn't a cast, wasn't she?"
Andrew shrugs.
"I want you to try something. Do you know the Bonewives' cleaning
incantation?"
Andrew nods and holds the bandage. "Return to the original, the, uh,
basal state, equal and serene--equal and serene--equal and serene."
Nothing happens.
"Hm. Now try Haworth's cleanser."
"Is that blood magic?"
"Yes."
"My body burns you clean," Andrew says, and the blood on the bandage
ignites.
"Quietus!" Mr. Giles says. The bandage douses itself again. "Well.
Andrew, you must never use this magic but for the direst need. It's
immensely powerful; blood magic taps into the most primal chaos. You
must be very careful."
Andrew nods solemnly. "I will be."
"Good man." Mr. Giles pats him on the shoulder. "Now fetch me another
bandage--this one's burnt."
...and a quarter:
Andrew is curled on the couch watching "The Prisoner," a copy of
Crislock's Compendium annotated by Ausleigh open in his lap. He was
looking up stuff about ancient vampires but he got distracted. It's the
one where Number Six campaigns for Number Two.
"Oh, the campaign," Mr. Giles says. "I quite like this one." He leans
his book on the back of the couch and watches for a few moments.
"What language is the girl speaking?"
"Well, she's--" Mr. Giles clears his throat. "No, we must remain
focused. Please turn it off for now."
Andrew sighs a little and turns off the television. "I haven't been
able to find anything." He's strictly in research now, not field
work--Buffy doesn't seem to want him out with her.
It's good that way. She has her friends and now the other Slayer.
Andrew likes being with Mr. Giles.
"No; Kakistos is mentioned primarily in Carysine, and--let's not worry
about Carysine."
Andrew looks down at his book, then up at Mr. Giles. "If I'm not going
to find anything in the books, why can't I watch TV?"
"Because it's unseemly to be enjoying ourselves while the Slayers are
risking their lives."
"Oh." It makes sense. Andrew starts reading again.
"Would you care for some tea?"
"Yes, please."
Mr. Giles is filling the kettle when there's a knock on the door.
Andrew starts to get up, but Mr. Giles waves him back down and gets it
himself.
"We killed Kakistos. We require diet soda," Buffy says.
Mr. Giles lets Buffy and another girl inside--obviously the new Slayer,
Faith. She looks tough. "I have tea on," Mr. Giles says.
Buffy makes a face. Faith eyes Andrew up and down, lingering on his
missing fingers. Andrew hugs the book to his chest.
"There's soda in the fridge," Mr. Giles says, "stop pouting at me. And
yes, I know Andrew is a vampire."
"Really," Faith says as Buffy and Mr. Giles go in the kitchen. She hops
up to sit on the back of the couch. "Vampire? Want me to slay him for
you?"
Andrew shrinks back into the couch cushions and hugs the book tighter.
Mr. Giles says, "Kindly don't. He's the best researcher of the group."
"Andrew's harmless. He lives in the basement. Sometimes he makes
cookies," Buffy says. She hands Faith a can of Diet Coke and opens one
herself.
"No grr?" Faith makes finger-fangs in front of her mouth.
"No, I don't bite people," Andrew says. Sitting so close to her makes
him want to hide under something--it's probably some ancestral reaction
from his vampire blood.
He can smell the dust of the other vampire on her skin. He can smell
her skin, too.
"You burn up in daylight and you don't get to chow down on the blood
of virgins? Sucks to be you."
Andrew digs his chin into the top of the book and looks down at his
shoes. He's having little flashes of Faith ripped into a million teeny
Slayer chunks--that must be the demon half of him that he mostly has
suppressed through not drinking human blood.
Being around Buffy isn't like this. It's very confusing. "I help in the
fight against evil. My special vampire abilities are very helpful when
I help," he whispers.
Mr. Giles comes out of the kitchen with a full tea tray. He looks at
Andrew and jerks his chin slightly toward the table; Andrew gets up and
runs over, book clamped to his chest like armor.
"Aw, you don't have to run, baby! I'm not going to hurt you," Faith
calls after him.
"It's the innate ancestral fear of my people for the Slayer," Andrew
says. He sits cross-legged on the chair and fights down the demon: he
is good, he isn't in danger, he doesn't have to fight. He doesn't
want to fight. He wants... some tea.
Andrew takes a deep breath, even though he doesn't need to.
Buffy sits on the couch with Faith; she sips her soda and looks at Mr.
Giles, not Andrew.
"Wow," Faith says, "Sunnydale is wackier than I thought. Your best
friend is dating a werewolf, your Watcher's got a pet vampire. What
next--is your little sis a demon?"
"Tell us of Kakistos," Mr. Giles breaks in. "How did you kill him?"
Buffy shrugs. Faith shrugs. "Big stake through the heart," Buffy says.
"He was big and he was ugly but vampires all go poof the same way,"
Faith says, looking at Andrew. "No offense."
Andrew shivers and drinks a big mouthful of tea. "None taken."
Andrew wanders upstairs a little after sunset, reading about
werewolves. It's almost time for Oz's change. It seems like he should
just be able to not change, though, like Andrew can not drink human
blood; it wouldn't be fair for Andrew to be free of his evil self and
Oz not, since Oz is all brilliant and musical and creative and
good-looking and cool.
"When the man becomes the wolf his better faculties are overcome and he
is entirely animal," Andrew reads out. He turns the corner into the
living room and drops the book, because Faith is standing right there,
pawing through Mr. Giles's box of amulets.
She looks up. "Hey," she says. "I was looking for you."
"Me?" It's kind of a squeak. He tries again in a more manly register:
"Me, Slayer?"
"Yeah, you." Faith straightens up and watches as Andrew picks his book
up off the floor. "Buffy said you guys spar sometimes."
"Sometimes I help her train. I use my vampire abilities for the cause
of good," Andrew says.
She coughs out a little laugh. "So let's go."
"Go what?"
"Go spar."
"I'm not supposed to do that without Mr. Giles."
"What?" Faith asks, ruffling his hair. "You think you're gonna hurt
me? Because you're not, baby."
He's not really sure why. It doesn't matter. "I'm not supposed to do
that without Mr. Giles," he repeats, because he's sure he's right. Mr.
Giles said not to use the training equipment alone.
"Come on! I'm the Slayer, make me better!" She throws a punch at his
head and he ducks.
Faith grins. She kicks at him and he catches her foot in midair,
hanging on to it long enough to throw her off-balance; Mr. Giles taught
him all these counter-moves for Buffy's training. Mr. Giles only has a
human strength and speed, so Andrew is more useful for real-life
training scenarios.
Buffy always beats him--she always shoves the foamy Nerf stake into
his heart. She's the Slayer. A Slayer. Sunnydale's Slayer, more
powerful than any of Sunnydale's vampires.
Faith wobbles onto her hand and Andrew pulls her leg toward him. She
loses her balance completely, falling on her butt, and Andrew backs
away. "We shouldn't be fighting downstairs," Andrew says, "we might
break something."
"There's no rules in a fight," Faith says, and then she flips
herself back onto her feet. "I thought vampires had balls!"
Andrew backs away. "I've got, um, balls," he says. He not quite sure
what to do--stop fighting? Mr. Giles will be furious if they break
anything.
"Come on! Come at me!" Faith says. "I want to see what you've got!"
"I think this is wrong. There's a sparring area upstairs that we should
be using. We can go up there if you don't touch anything." Andrew
points behind her.
Faith kicks his hand to the side, sending a jolt of pain down his arm.
She knocked his finger out of joint on his bad hand, the stupid b--
He slaps his hand over his mouth as the pain brings his demon face out.
"Yeah," Faith says, "that's more like it!"
He cups his right hand in his left and pushes the finger back into
joint and snarls. Faith grins at him, bouncing on her toes, fists at
the ready.
She's ready high so he darts in low; she shifts to kick him again and
he hits her thigh with his shoulder, knocking her almost upside down
against the cabinets. She pivots on her hand and kicks him in the
stomach with her other foot, then rights herself as he staggers
backwards.
Faith charges him then and he tries to roll behind the couch to
escape it, but she's way ahead of him and he ends up with her sitting
on his chest pinning his crossed arms. He's got no leverage; he can't
move. "You win," Andrew says.
"Of course I win. I'm a Slayer." Faith grins.
She doesn't let him go. "Can I get up?" Andrew asks.
"What's the rush? Got your big exciting books to get back to?"
Andrew nods. "They're very important."
"Wow. I bet you want to be a librarian when you grow up, just like Mr.
Giles."
Andrew still has a pair of reading glasses by his bed. He's never
really needed them, but they make him look smarter. Like Mr. Giles.
"I don't get to grow up. I'm a vampire. I'm always going to be the same
age."
"How old?"
"Sixteen," Andrew says, fibbing only a little. He was fifteen when he
was turned so really he'll be fifteen forever, but his sixteenth
birthday was a few months ago.
"Me too," Faith says. She's still holding his hands down. "We've got a
lot in common," she says.
Andrew widens his eyes. "Do you think so? I think we have a destiny,
that there's a higher plan to me getting turned and stuff? Like I was
called like the Slayers were to be another fighter in the war
against--"
Faith kisses him. Her hands slip up to his shoulders as she sinks down
against him and his hands are still crossed over his chest, so he's
feeling her chest against his skin. She's kind of soft and squishy. He
didn't think Slayers would feel like that. "Sure, we have plenty in
common. Don't you just love a fight?" Faith says against his lips. She
bites his lower lip gently and kisses him again.
She pulls back and looks at him. She's starting to frown. "No?" Andrew
says. "I'm more cerebral--I prefer solving problems through words. But
I like kissing." He thinks he likes kissing. This is the first time.
"You're supposed to kiss back," Faith says.
"Sorry! I've never done this before." She keeps moving against him and
it's very distracting. Her chest is all squishy and her hips are all
hard and he doesn't know what he's supposed to do.
Faith sits up and scowls. "I know it's not me," she says. She moves
her hips against--over his hips. She's kind of--she's--Andrew's very
confused.
"Oh my God!" Faith breaks out in peals of laughter. "You're so gay!
Look at you!"
What? "What? I'm not gay!" He doesn't know what she means, what isn't
he doing?
"Little Jimmy isn't coming out to play," Faith half-growls,
half-laughs as she twists her hips against his for emphasis. Andrew can
feel himself blushing--it makes his head swim, and makes him want to
growl. He pushes backwards on his hands.
"I'm not gay! It's a bad time--I wasn't expecting that!" He feels hot
all over his body. It's not making him--getting him--she's not making
him excited. But that doesn't mean he's gay--he's just not.
Faith grins. "It's okay, baby! I'm down with that!"
Andrew loses his demon face in a hot rush of blood. He jumps to his
feet, grabs the book on werewolves from the floor, and runs down the
basement steps, slamming the door after him. He's not gay. He can't be
gay. This is all a huge misunderstanding.
Andrew tosses himself into bed and pulls the blanket over his head and
doesn't cry.
He thinks about girls. He thinks about kissing Faith.
He's so not gay. Faith is just mean. And a Slayer. So he can't like
her, it's against his nature.
Andrew hugs the pillow to his chest and scowls ferociously.
Mr. Giles frowns. "I do wish we didn't have to confine you here," he
says to Oz, "but the walls at the house are old plaster and won't hold
a bolt."
"Kennel?" Oz asks.
"Yes, I'm looking into it." Mr. Giles takes his glasses off and taps
them against his mouth. "Perhaps a zoo supply house... they must exist."
Technically Andrew isn't supposed to be on school property since he's
dead and therefore not a student, but he really doesn't want to be
alone at the house unless he knows for sure Faith won't be there. He
doesn't want to give her another chance to--be mean to him. He tagged
along under a blanket after school let out.
Oz sits in the chair next to Andrew and they both look at the cage. "I
wish you didn't need to be caged up," Andrew says.
"But I do," Oz says.
"But it's not fair."
"Maybe," Oz says.
"It wasn't your fault that you got bit. You shouldn't have to suffer."
"Everyone has to suffer," Oz says.
Andrew looks down at his hands.
"It's necessary," Oz says.
"I guess it's destiny," Andrew says.
Oz shrugs. "It's human." He checks his watch and walks into the cage.
Oz isn't human, though.
Andrew doesn't watch as Oz takes his clothes off and changes, but Mr.
Giles does, and Andrew watches him instead.
...and a half:
The first thing to do is get out of these fucking tweed trousers. He
doesn't know what he was thinking--he looks like an old man in those
things.
The second thing to do is pick up that sweet bird Joyce and see how far
she's willing to fly.
The third thing is to find his guitar. He's sure he has it somewhere.
He unlocks his front door, trying to remember if he even has any proper
clothes. What did he do with his leather jacket, anyway?
"Hi, Mr. Giles."
And it's the little vampire, eye-bending in a bright green shirt and
yellow camouflage trousers, lying belly down with his bare feet in the
air watching telly. "Hello, Andrew."
"Buffy called looking for you. She didn't say what was going on. Is
something going on?"
"No, not at all," Ripper says.
"Oh. That's good." Andrew looks back at the telly.
The way the boy is lying there, knees spread open like an invitation...
he's a prat, but Ripper never says no.
Ripper kneels beside the boy and rests a hand on his thigh.
"Mr. Giles?"
"Call me Ripper."
He slides his hand up between Andrew's legs and cups his prick through
his trousers. He closes his hand, pressing his thumb into the boy's
arse, and Andrew's mouth rounds into an "oh."
There's a pretty bird waiting on Revello Drive, but boys don't take
long. Ripper smiles and pushes Andrew down with a hand on the back of
his neck. "Ripper?" Andrew asks.
"Yes?" as he presses the boy's balls between his fingers and rubs the
seam of his trousers deeper into his arse.
Andrew's knee slides out. Apart. "Are you sure this is okay?"
"Do you want this?" He replaces his hand with his mouth on the back of
Andrew's neck and sucks, half a bite, tasting Andrew's cool skin and
raising sluggish pig's blood to the surface. The boy's a vampire; if he
doesn't like it, he'll make Ripper stop. "Of course you want this."
"Yes," Andrew sighs. He takes Ripper's hand with force that makes a
demand, not a request, and brings his fingers to his mouth. He gives a
shiver and a cry as Ripper presses his stiffening prick--and those are
fangs rubbing against Ripper's knuckles.
Ripper kisses the back of Andrew's neck and whispers a charm into the
boy's skin. It sends a halo of fire over his flesh, taking him from
chill to fever in one breath.
"Mr. Giles!" Andrew jerks upwards, knocking him to one side. His eyes
are round and yellow and sharpened by the ridges of his demon face. He
breathes deeply, then grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over
his head with a sound of ripping cloth.
Ripper grins. "Strip off. And come here."
Andrew's barefoot already; he rips open the button-fly and stumbles out
of his trousers on his knees. Ripper sits up against the wall and tells
him: "Sit in my lap."
Ripper's still clothed. Andrew sits in his tweed-covered lap and
doesn't seem to mind the prickly wool against his skin; he's too intent
on his own prick. Ripper pinches each small pink nipple and Andrew
arches back over his knees.
A virgin, quite astonished at what his body can do in the hands of
another. Ripper pinches harder, watching Andrew's mouth gape open and
his lips pull back from his teeth. Vampires are creatures of the
mouth--what was he thinking when he denied this boy blood?
He must have been out of his fucking mind.
He's better now.
He slides his hands up over the boy's shoulders, down his hard biceps
and forearms hot from the magic, over his hands which he crosses under
his own knees. "Hold on to yourself. Keep your hands there," he says,
and Andrew is writhing, gnashing his fangs, and doesn't seem to hear,
but he clasps his hands together with a bone-crushing grip.
So Ripper takes a feel of the young vampire. Scratchy hair on his
thighs, none on his chest. Light sandpaper on his jaw and a tiny safety
pin shoved crookedly through his earlobe; that must be new. Lumpy bone
around his eyes but his lips are still soft and his breath is still
damp. Ripper runs his knuckles over the boy's hollow belly and he
gasps; Ripper strokes his prick and his hips buck up into Ripper's
hand.
"Good boy," Ripper says, enchanted.
Andrew whimpers in reply.
Ripper slides two fingers of his left hand over Andrew's lips into his
mouth. Always a little danger with a vampire: now he'll increase it. He
snags his middle finger on a fang and tugs.
Andrew thrashes but doesn't let go. His mouth clamps around Ripper's
fingers, sucking with all the power in his throat and tongue.
He knows what he wants from this boy. It's the same thing the boy wants
from him.
He forces a finger into his arse. It'll hurt--but vampires love the
pain. This isn't the first time he's fucked one. He pulls his other
hand free--Andrew cries out and follows with his tongue but doesn't
unclasp his hands--and unfastens his trousers at last.
He's hard enough to drive nails and Andrew is obedient and pliant as a
wax doll. Perfect. Brilliant. He pulls his hand free and pushes in his
prick.
Andrew stiffens and clamps his teeth together. Ripper can see the
shivers over his body and the sweat springing up in his throat; he rubs
the boy's arse encouragingly.
And Andrew pushes down, bit by bit. It's rough as hell--and God, he
hasn't felt that in a long time, and God, he's never traveled virgin
road, and God, rough is what's it's supposed to be like with a man.
He swipes his left hand up Andrew's body, leaving a stuttering stripe
of blood, and gives him his fingers to suck again.
To nurse, almost, tongue kneading between his fingers to draw more
blood. Eyes closed, sucking and shivering, Andrew moves in his lap.
"Such a fucking good boy--" Ripper says.
--and Andrew bites down, arches his back and climaxes, pumping up and
down on his prick. Ripper clutches his thigh as he finally breaks his
hands free and flings himself forward. He throws his arms around
Ripper's shoulders and buries his human face in Ripper's neck as Ripper
comes in his arse.
The boy's crying. He pulls at Ripper's shoulders while Ripper tries to
catch his breath. "I've never felt this," he babbles into Ripper's
neck, "it wasn't like this with her, it's never been like this, I've
never had this, I want this, I want it all the time!"
Should have known the boy would be so soggy. "You want something, you
have to go and get it," he says.
He straightens his legs with a creak and a pop, pulls out of the boy
with a shimmy. He got old--he'll have to stop that. He has enough
magic to turn back the years.
He'll do it as soon as he gets his guitar, that fine, foxy lady, and
some clothes he's not ashamed to be seen in. He ruffles his hand
through Andrew's sweaty hair and pries the boy's hands loose from his
shoulders. "Must be off."
Andrew lurches back in and grabs Ripper's shirt. "Can I have this? Is
it okay? Please, Mr. Giles?"
"Sure." Ripper kisses him. He tastes like blood; he's sweet as candy.
His skin is wet and fever-hot and he'll do whatever Ripper says.
He'll do. Shag, minion, all of that. Knows the magic, can back him up.
Hah. He could rule fucking Sunnydale with this kid, Slayer or no.
But first he needs some better trousers, so he needs the kid to let go.
"Andrew. Go sleep it off. I have things I've got to do tonight."
And Andrew leans back, nodding, wiping at his face, smiling.
Giles wakes up on the living room couch with the midmorning sun
stabbing painfully into his eyes. Dear God, he feels awful. And why is
he downstairs?
He drags himself off the couch and into the kitchen, where the shades
are blessedly drawn. He pours a glass of orange juice and tries to
remember just what the hell is going on.
Something about--Ethan? Candy?
A police car?
Joyce?
The basement door cracks open. "Good morning, Mr. Giles," Andrew says
softly.
"Good morning, Andrew," he says. His voice is rough; he clears his
throat and tastes smoke.
Was he smoking last night?
He was smoking, he realizes, and it begins to come back. The candy.
Buffy's explanation. The--dear God. The hood of the police car, him and
Joyce--
His living room, him and Andrew--
Oh, no. No. no, he couldn't possibly have--
Twice in the space of an hour? He really must have been seventeen. He
laughs at himself silently. His knees buckle and he collapses into a
chair.
The basement door opens wider and Andrew creeps out, smiling, dressed
only in boyish blue underpants. "That was really amazing last night,"
he says.
Andrew's rumpled and bruised as if he's been through a windstorm. He
made the boy bleed last night and he calls it amazing?
Andrew curls up in the chair beside him, not quite touching. Giles
looks at those long, pale thighs and remembers touching them. He looks
at the boy's skinny chest and considers having himself arrested.
Joining a monastery. Flagellating himself daily for the rest of his
life.
There are words for men like him, and they aren't kind ones.
Andrew is still smiling. His left hand is raised halfway, about to land
on Giles's knee.
He twitches his leg away. "I'm so terribly sorry," he says. "I'm
so--I'm so very sorry."
"What?"
Andrew is still smiling. He trusts Giles. "I should never have
touched you," Giles says. "It was very wrong of me. I was wrong,
Andrew--I wasn't in my right mind, but that's no excuse."
Andrew's smile is fading. "I don't understand, Mr. Giles," he says.
"I was wrong. I was in error. I did a terrible thing, and I can't
imagine how I could ever atone to you for it." The boy was a virgin. He
will never have that back.
"But I wanted it, Mr. Giles, I want to do it again." Andrew takes his
knee in both hands and kneels before him.
"No! We can't, not ever." He removes Andrew's hands from his knee.
"Why?" Andrew asks. He sounds heartbroken and it turns Giles's stomach.
"There are rules against grown men interfering with sixteen-year-old
boys."
"But I'm not a boy. I'm a vampire." Andrew looks at him with a swift
flash of hunger in his eyes.
"A boy," Giles says.
Andrew stares at him for a long moment; he sheds his human face and
lets the demon show, but he says nothing.
"I am so very sorry," Giles says.
Andrew rubs his hands down his naked thighs and backs away, back down
into his basement.
Giles buries his head in his hands and wonders if it's too early to
become blinding drunk.
...and three quarters:
Andrew stands in the doorway and watches Mr. Giles sleep. Mr. Giles
smells drunk; Andrew knows that smell pretty well by now.
He gets sweaty when he's drunk. Sweat is salt, and blood is salty, so
it's a little...
He crouches over Mr. Giles and licks a stripe up his neck. He tastes
the salt and smells the blood and it's pretty close to the real thing
that he's not getting ever again ever as long as he lives because he'll
always be a little boy and Mr. Giles is only going to get older.
Andrew runs out of the room and nearly falls down the stairs. He bolts
out of the house and down the street.
He's ten blocks away before he realizes where he's going, and what he
needs.
Andrew watches Angel for ten minutes, at least, while Angel moves
through some kind of exercise.
Buffy says Angel is good again. Andrew is looking for the difference.
He feels like it should be something you can see, though Mr. Giles says
the change is all on the inside, that it only shows through your
actions. That doesn't seem right to Andrew.
Angel stills, looks around, sniffs the air, and calls out "Who is it?"
Andrew steps out of the shadows. "Me."
"You?" Angel doesn't recognize him--but then he suddenly does. "Oh.
You. Uh. You? Hi."
"My name's Andrew. I guess you weren't paying attention before, since
you were busy ending the world."
Angel rubs his head and nods. "Then after that I spent about a hundred
years in hell, and I've always been bad with names. But. Andrew. Sure."
"If Drusilla is my sire, does that make you my grandsire?"
"I don't like keeping things so formal." Angel crosses the room and
picks up his shirt without taking his eyes off Andrew. "Buffy didn't
mention you... are you... do you have a soul too?"
"I'm a good vampire without having a soul. Mr. Giles taught me how.
Buffy said you're not evil any more." Buffy said that, then Mr. Giles
came home and closed himself in the study and wouldn't even come out to
watch "Red Dwarf" with Andrew. And Andrew could smell alcohol. Lots of
it.
"No, I'm not evil," Angel says as he pulls his shirt on.
"You're only evil when you lose your soul?"
Angel nods. "The soul means I can feel the consequences of my actions."
Andrew thinks about that. "So you still want to eat people and torture
them for fun and turn them into your mindless vampire minions but you
don't because you'd feel bad about it because of the soul?"
"Um." Angel blinks at him. Andrew blinks back. "Kind of."
"And that makes you good. Okay." Andrew nods with understanding.
Angel stands with his hands in his pockets. "So, Andrew--what exactly
are you doing here?"
"Mr. Giles's bones hurt whenever it's cold or rainy and they had to
amputate the tip of his finger and one of his toes," Andrew says.
Angel's eyes are dark and cold. "I'm sorry about what I did. I'm so
sorry I don't even have the words for it. But I can't change
it--there's nothing I can do now."
"There's something," Andrew says.
Angel jerks and crosses his arms. "What?"
Andrew shoves his hands into his pockets and winds the strings of a
talismanic bundle around his left hand and palms the stake with his
right. He feels the strength flow from the talismans; he must look
different because Angel takes a step backwards.
He flies at Angel with the stake in his hand. He has strength from the
magic, enough to shake off the blows Angel gives him and kick Angel's
legs out from under him. Enough to pin Angel to the floor and punch him
left-handed until he goes cross-eyed.
Not enough to fight off the Slayer when she kicks him in the head. She
punches him in the face and he drops his stake and bundle.
Then he's just Andrew on his knees.
"Get out!" she yells. "Now!"
"He hurt Mr. Giles bad," he says to the floor, "and I really love him,"
he whispers.
"Go," Buffy says. She's crying. She has his stake in her hand as she
kneels next to Angel and she's crying all over the both of them.
Andrew goes.
A few blocks away he collapses and shakes for an hour: magical rebound.
Every spell has a price.
Andrew moves furniture restlessly. He doesn't want to go out, but he's
tired of looking at the same four walls. Things will look different if
he moves things around a little.
Maybe he could paint.
The phone rings. Andrew sighs and climbs a bookshelf to reach his desk;
he lies on the top shelf on his stomach and says "Hello?"
"Andrew. You have a brother, right? Named Tucker?" It's Buffy. Calling
for him.
"Yeah?"
"He's unleashing a hellhound on prom. I need you to help me stop him.
Where would he keep it?"
Andrew opens and closes his mouth. "His room?"
"No, they're big, like, guy-sized."
"Well, I don't--" But then he remembers, he does know. "Oh! My dad
has a house we rent out--it was my grandmother's, it's usually empty
since housing in Sunnydale is always ample due to the death rate--"
"Where?"
"It's on Third near Grant."
"Meet me there."
"Now?" Andrew asks, but he's already getting a dial tone.
He guesses that means now.
Well. If the Slayer wants him to do something--he guesses he has to. He
still has his vow.
Andrew climbs off the bookshelf and finds his shoes.
It's nice out, a nice spring evening. There are fireflies and people on
bikes like he's in a song or something.
It makes him feel itchy and achy and weird. It makes him feel like he
wants to run around and jump off stuff at people and make them scream.
It must be--it's is demon instincts and he has to suppress them because
he's good and Mr. Giles and the Slayer believe in him, at least the
Slayer probably believes in him, or else she'd stake him, and--
"Hey." Buffy grabs his shoulder and Andrew yelps. "Nervous much?"
"Hi, Slayer," Andrew says.
"Come on." Buffy marches in the direction of Third and Andrew has to
run almost to keep up.
"Buffy? I hope there aren't any hard feelings?"
"About Angel? That's vampire stuff, try to kill your sire, traditional.
None of my business. Over it." She doesn't look at him.
"Okay." Andrew follows her, running every other step.
Buffy doesn't say anything else until they reach Third Street. "Which
one?" she asks.
"Down that way, the white one."
Buffy runs. She charges up the porch steps and kicks in the door. "I
might not be able to come in," Andrew says, running after her, "I need
an invitation--oh." He steps across the threshold.
Buffy looks back. "It must be the missing posters, a sort of written
invitation, or else my parents wished aloud that I would come
back--that's interesting," Andrew muses aloud.
"You're not invited into your own house? Your parents don't know what
happened?"
"I don't think so," Andrew says. It never really seemed important.
"You just--disappeared? You're here in Sunnydale and you never went
home?" Buffy sounds really shocked.
"I hear something downstairs," Andrew says, pointing to the basement
door in the back. "Like animals."
Buffy looks, then marches to the basement door and flings it open.
Tucker is right there, two steps down, and yelps. "Buffy! What are you
doing here?"
"Looking for you. And hey! There you are," Buffy says. Andrew glares
over Buffy's shoulder.
"Andrew! Where the hell have you been?" Tucker says. "You are in so
much trouble, you're going to be grounded until you're eighty!" He
laughs up at Andrew and Andrew--his blood just boils.
He leaps for Tucker, shifting into his demon face as they tumble down
the stairs and land next to the hellhound cage. "I hate you, you stupid
asshole, I hate you!" he growls, and Tucker is screaming and Andrew
has his neck in his hands and wow, Tucker is way more fragile now.
Andrew could break his arms and tear off his ears and smash all his
toys for a change--
But then Andrew is flying backwards via Buffy's hand on his shirt
collar and Buffy wraps her arms around him and pins him to her. "Hey!"
Buffy shouts. "Tucker!"
Tucker clutches the wall and whimpers. Andrew growls at the top of his
lungs and Buffy squeezes him tighter.
"Tucker! Kill the hellhound or I let him loose!" Buffy shouts.
Tucker's eyes are so wide Andrew sees the white all the way around. His
sweat smells like terror and it's great.
Tucker scrambles to his feet and grabs a gun from a shelf. His hands
are shaking so bad that he drops it once but he picks it up again,
loads it with a blue dart, walks over to the hellhound's cage and
shoots the demon in the side. "That's. Uh. Poison. I was going to. Get
rid of it after."
"There's more of them," Andrew snarls, "we're not stupid."
"Get them too," Buffy says.
Tucker walks backwards, eyes on Buffy and Andrew, and shoves aside a
curtain concealing three more cages. Andrew twitches when Tucker turns
his back and Buffy locks her arms around him. "Did you really think
this would work? That you could just ruin the happiest day of a
senior's life and nobody would stop you?"
Tucker shoots the other hellhounds and looks back at Buffy. His hands
shake so hard he drops the gun again. "I kind of--it worked, it--"
Andrew snaps his teeth at Tucker. "What happened to him?" Tucker asks.
"Little bro is a vampire. It's Sunnydale, it happens. We'll be going
now, but also, we'll be watching, so don't ever try something like this
again." Buffy walks backwards, dragging Andrew along with her. Andrew
doesn't fight her; he just watches Tucker's pale face until his head
clears the basement ceiling.
Buffy slams the door and slams Andrew up against it. "What was that?
I thought you were supposed to be on the side of not killing people?"
Killing Tucker? He wasn't going to kill Tucker--he's good. He was
doing something good, obviously... He opens his mouth before he knows
what to say and ends up saying: "It was good cop, bad cop!"
"Good cop, bad cop," Buffy repeats.
"It--worked, didn't it? Like--Law and Order," Andrew says.
"So if I let you go, you're not going to go back down there and rip his
throat out?"
Andrew nods. Buffy lets go of his shirt. "Next time, tell me the plan
before jumping the bad guy," Buffy says. "I don't like to wing it
when there's growling and fangs."
Andrew nods eagerly. "Okay."
They leave together. "Though, if you want to go back and explain the
whole vampire thing to your brother or your mom or someone, that would
be okay. I could provide explanation and backup," Buffy says.
Andrew shakes his head. Tucker can look it up. Books on vampires aren't
very hard to find in Sunnydale. "We were never really very close."
"You and your brother? I got that," Buffy says.
"Me and my whole family." When he thinks about them, it's like they
were people he read about in a book. His mom, his dad, his brother...
they don't really have anything to do with him. He doesn't really
feel anything about them. Not now.
Buffy looks down, then looks him in the eye as they walk along. "When
I--left, you know? When I ran away? I kind of felt like that, like
everyone here was part of a different life that I didn't want to be in
any more. And living with Giles is a lot better than waitressing in
L.A., but they're still, you know, your family. And if you go home,
then--it can happen that your two lives aren't really two different
lives after all."
Buffy's life isn't anything like his life, though. She was running away
from being the Slayer, the chosen one, and Andrew for one thing
didn't run away and for another thing is on the right course of his
destiny. Mr. Giles said so. "I think I'm doing the right thing," he
says.
"You sure?" Buffy asks.
Andrew nods.
Andrew wonders if, when the town is eaten by the Mayor, he'll eat the
vampires too, or if vampires aren't tasty.
He tries licking his arm, but he's not really tasty to himself.
He starts reshelving his books. They go by subject and then
alphabetized within the subject but he's planning a different
configuration this time: demons and magic by the desk, sci-fi near the
bed. He's not sure where the book on gayness he got off the internet
should go. Right now it's on his desk, because he thinks he should read
up before he commits, because--he can't with Mr. Giles. Not ever again.
Ever.
So that means other people, and that's not really what he wants at all.
So he's researching the whole thing. He might just be confused.
His phone rings. That's twice in a week.
"Hello?"
"We need you for the attack on the Mayor," Buffy says.
"...Okay?"
"Meet us at the library."
"Sure."
He wonders if this means he's in the Slayer's good graces.
After the fight Andrew is covered in soot and smoke and vampire dust
and his ear is taped up with duct tape because they ran out of bandages
on the actual human people.
He's really pissed off--he had to hit people near Angel but didn't
actually get to hit Angel. Who he hates. A lot. And he's glad that
he's gone, ultra-super-glad. He stomps into Willy's and glares at
everyone.
"Uh, I don't know if you're old enough to be in here, kiddo," the
bartender says.
Andrew shifts into his demon face and snarls.
"Jeez! Okay, no need to get testy. What do you want?"
"Um." He hadn't thought that far. "Something strong! With blood in it!"
The bartender shrugs. "One rum and blood coming up."
Andrew leans on the bar and looks around while the bartender draws off
his blood. There are only a few people in--some vampires, two oozy
Lei-Ach demons, and a human with his head down on the table at a booth.
"Three bucks," the bartender says, sliding a short glass over to him.
Andrew fishes his money out, thinking that drinking is more expensive
than he expected. He tries the drink and it's really sweet and strong
at the same time--it's not his normal species of blood. It might be cow
blood.
Then he swallows and it burns him all the way down. That, wow. That's
probably the rum. Yikes.
He keeps from making embarrassing noises, though. It feels pretty nice
once it's sitting in his stomach.
"Hey. You're human," the one girl vampire says to the human at the
booth. She kicks his ankle.
"What? Get away!" the human says. And--oh, it's Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, the
other Watcher. Mr. Giles doesn't like him, but if he gets eaten in a
demon bar with Andrew around, the Slayer will want to know:
1. Why Andrew was there; and,
2. Why he didn't do anything.
And that would be bad. Andrew walks over. "I don't think you want to
taunt him," he says to the other vampire.
The vampire snorts and shoves Andrew. Andrew shoves her back and
whispers "burn" under his breath.
The blood from his split knuckles sets her shirt on fire. Andrew grins
as she screams and runs out; the three guy vampires run after her with
a pitcher of beer. "Countess Nightwind! Wait!"
Andrew is really good at the blood magic. He sits down across from Mr.
Wyndam-Pryce, who is blinking after the vampires. He smells really
drunk.
"Brilliant," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says. "Well done."
"Thanks." Andrew looks at his empty drink just as the bartender brings
another one out.
"Enough of that rough stuff," the bartender says.
Andrew is a guy who has to be warned about rough stuff in a bar. He
starts grinning but then turns it into a scowl fast. "Just as long as
nobody messes with me," he growls.
"Sure, kid."
"Really, that was very impressive," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says. He rests his
cheek on his hand and his glasses slide down his nose. "Mr. Giles must
find you invaluable."
Andrew makes a face and takes a tiny sip of his rum and blood. "I don't
know. I only get to help when it's, like, an emergency. I get called
after Cordelia even though I know way more stuff and why does
everyone like Cordelia anyway?"
"Oh, Cordelia," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce sighs.
"Seriously, what's so great about Cordelia?" Andrew mutters.
"Must be lovely to be useful--Lord knows I'm not... they sacked me,
they up and sacked me." Mr. Wyndam-Pryce droops and his glasses slide
off onto the table.
"I can do way better magic than Willow can. I bet I can make her friend
not be a rat any more, but I haven't because nobody asked me to help."
"My entire bloody life devoted to the Watchers and they just sacked
me."
"I think it's prejudice because I'm a vampire and kind of gay."
"They'll be sorry," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce says.
"They'll totally be sorry," Andrew says, and drinks again.
They both sit there for a minute.
"Oh, no they won't," Mr. Wyndam-Pryce sighs.
"Yeah. Probably not." Andrew sighs and slumps down with Mr.
Wyndam-Pryce.
Mr. Wyndam-Pryce looks over. "I don't suppose you know how to play
darts?"
To the next part.
All comments are welcome.
bas@yosa.com
www.ravenswing.com/~bas/slash
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