RATING: PG
SETTING: A series of childhood memories, linking the Scooby gang together
for far longer than they ever expected.
DISCLAIMER: All characters are copyright Joss Whedon. May he forgive me for
the many sins I commit in their names.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: For Tracy - Because she's our favorite other Goddess. And
for the Willfic list, Willow's in here, you just sometimes have to look for
her. And the series doesn't make much sense without all the parts.
by: Laura Smith and Amy
Creeping over the fence that surrounded the abandoned house, he found himself on the outskirts of what had once been an amazing garden. It had, undoubtedly, once been a world rife with color and beauty, but all that remained were the husks of long dead bushes and trees, overgrown with weeds and grasses, clothing their skeletons in a brownish green cloak of decay.
Making his way into the labyrinth of the garden, he hid himself near the stump of a tree, surrounding himself with wild reeds that had sprung up around it. It was almost like being in the country, lost in the smell of heather and wild flowers. Although the only scents that reached his nose were decay and exhaust from the street outside.
Pulling the bottle from his pocket, he opened it and set it beside his leg. He came here to escape. He wasn't welcome on the playground anymore, since the fight he'd gotten into with the town bullies. It had been a stupid fight, defending his parents against the words of the townspeople, but it was a fight he'd had to take part in.
His father may be a drunk. His mother may be a whore. But it didn't mean he had to listen to everyone talk about it. Funny, his father hated the thought of moving away from the city. He said the city provided you with everything you could need. Booze, whores and fools.
He should know.
Lifting the bottle, he tossed back a swig of the vile smelling stuff. He'd grabbed a bottle from his father's not so hidden stash and brought it here. Here was the only place he'd ever felt safe. In the midst of death, he found peace and a life he could only imagine while he was here.
Here, in his own private playground, he could be anything he wished. He could be a scientist or a doctor. He could be an inventor or an actor. He could be anything. Anything other than the bastard child of the town whore.
He could be anyone other than Ethan Rayne.
Ethan took another drink, staring up at the sky as it faded from blue to purple to black, knowing that he should head home before it got too dark. There had been rumors that people from neighboring towns had been disappearing in the night. His mother hadn't come home last night, as a matter of fact, but neither Ethan nor his father had shown much concern. She disappeared often, when there was enough money involved.
Uncaring, knowing that no one was waiting for him, he placed the bottle to his lips.
"Give me a swig, kid." A tall, blond man sat next to Ethan, keeping in the deepening shadows. "I need it."
Handing over the bottle, Ethan moved away slightly, allowing room for the other man to lean against the broad stump. "Have the rest. It's not sitting well in my stomach."
"Your stomach, kid? Bloody stuff isn't supposed to be for your stomach. It's supposed to numb your mind and your heart so that it stops hurting so much when everything goes wrong." He was silent for a moment. "How old are you?"
"Seven."
"You're old enough to understand then." The blond nodded. "Sometimes, it hurts more than you can bear, doesn't it?"
"All the time."
"Don't worry. It'll get worse." He laughed harshly, taking another drink. "Let me tell you a secret, kid…what's your name?"
"Ethan."
"All right, Ethan. I'll give you this for free. Women have the capability to rip your heart out your chest and feast on it like it was a warm meal. They're cold, heartless creatures themselves, so they don't even notice the pain you suffer as they do it."
"My…my mum, she's the town whore."
"It could be worse, my son. My lover, she's an Angel's whore."
Ethan considered his words, taking the bottle back from him. "All right, you win."
A soft floodlight came on, prompted by the darkness, and lit the area around them. The blond was about to speak when a soft, lilting voice carried out across the dying yard. "Spike?"
"Spike?" Ethan asked softly.
"A nickname. Don't laugh." The blond levered himself up and walked to the doors of the house Ethan had thought deserted. He guided a beautiful brunette out into the garden, setting her on a concrete bench.
She looked like a china doll to Ethan - pale, gorgeous and breakable. He felt drawn to her, losing himself in her blue/green eyes. "Hello, my lady." He didn't know where the formality came from. She simply seemed somewhat royal to him.
"Spike, he thinks I’m a princess." She laughed delicately, but strangely.
Ethan had heard the laugh before. It was tinged with insanity. His mother laughed very much the same. "You look like a princess." Some instinct in his mind pushed at him to flee. Insanity was one thing when you dealt with it in the confines of your own home. It was quite different when it was laced with the dark malice he suddenly sensed in the couple in front of him.
"I'm Spike's princess. Except he doesn't give me all the tea parties I want. He thinks that the dolls should be enough company. But I want someone else to play with. I want a new toy, Spike. One whose heart beats in fear and panic. Can I have him, Spike?"
Ethan leapt to his feet and dashed for the fence, his heart pounding. Suddenly, almost as if he had flown there, the blond was in front of him, his face covered in ridges. "Sorry, lad. What my princess wants, I give to her."
"What are you?"
"Evil." Spike shrugged his shoulders, as if the answer were obvious. "And you're dinner."
"No." Ethan backed up, the fear in his heart disguised by the calm on his face. He had faced his father's drunken wrath. He'd seen the man he thought was supposed to love him deny that he belonged to him. He'd seen him come after him with a bottle and a razor strop and escaped with his life. He'd seen his mother, drunk and bleeding, come into his room and ply her trade on her only son. He'd seen evil. And it had nothing to do with the man, or whatever he was, standing in front of him.
"Yes." Spike nodded, admiring the young man's courage. Pity he was going to die. But Spike had learned young vampires didn't last, so there was no turning him.
Ethan ran again, his mind working faster than he thought possible. He knew the blond was behind him, but he didn't know where the brunette was. He looked around, hearing a noise to his left, and found himself sprawled on the ground. The brunette was standing over him, delight in her glowing yellow eyes. "Spike, I want to keep this one for a while. May I?"
"Whatever you wish, princess." He grabbed Ethan under the arms and hauled him to his feet. "Come on, lad. We'll take you to your room."
The brunette stood in front of him as Spike clamped his arms in the manacles that hung from the wall. His feet barely touched the ground and the ache in his arms was already beginning. "I'm Drusilla," she said softly. "What's your name?"
"Ethan."
"Ethan." She said it as though it were a song, trilling it along her tongue. Stepping forward, she touched his face, intending to look into his eyes. Letting him go instantly, she screamed. "Spike!"
Spike caught her as she crumpled, his ridged face glaring in Ethan's direction. "What the hell did you do to her?"
"I…I…Nothing!" Shivers of fear coursed down his spine and he searched his mind frantically for the garden of peace he'd come here to find. He wanted to escape to it as he did when his father beat him or his mother kissed him. He wanted to disappear into himself and not have to worry about anything from the world outside.
Spike led Drusilla to the bed and lay her down. "What is it, love? What did he do? What did you see?"
She sat up finally, hunger in her face. "He's got magic, Spike. Powerful and dangerous. We can't take him. He's going to bring havoc!" She laughed aloud, musically and dementedly. "He's the harbinger of doom for someone we won't like, Spike. He's going to make them all cry."
Spike laughed and lay her back on the bed. Taking the bottle of alcohol from his coat pocket, he got off the bed and walked over to Ethan. "You're one lucky bastard, mate. Her vision saved your life."
"What are you?" He refused to cry, but the tears were there in his large, dark eyes.
"Vampires. Nightmares. Your worst fear made manifest."
Ethan shook his head. "You're not my worst fear. You're not even close."
"Then I pity you, son. Because I'm not going to kill you." He unchained him, offered him the bottle and led him to the back door of the house. "But don't intrude on my generosity too much. Drusilla's likely to change her mind about you."
Ethan stared after him as he closed the door. Taking the half-full bottle, he drained it and tossed it aside. He took one last look around the dying garden and realized he'd lost his safe haven, his place of peace.
He walked home, dejected. He realized he'd lost the playground in his mind.