Prompt 78 - Dream-track - BtVS

[thismaz]

 Title: Dream-track
 Fandom: BtVS
 Prompt: 78 - Emancipation (or in this case, the lack there of)
 At: tamingthemuse
 Rating: Older Teen
 Summary: Part 17 of my pre-season one story which includes Xander, Willow, Jesse, Angel and Spike.
 Word Count: 2,020
 Comments: Are greatly appreciated, loved and cherished.
 Previous parts:
 In reverse order, in tags here
 In my memories.
 Or, starting here with links to the next, at the end of each chapter.
 Disclaimer: here.
Now beta'd by the wonderful laazikaat

Warning (highlight the white area to see the warning text):

Vamp Xander

17. Dream-track

Wednesday night

Willy's was a bust. Spike hadn't been seen there for almost a week and Willy swore he didn't know where he lived. Although he did, with some persuasion, remember where he had last heard Spike's car was stored. The Fish Tank drew an equal blank. For all it's rough appearance, it turned out to be a predominantly human bar and, by Angel's judgement, the clientele were neither rough enough, nor respectable enough to attract Spike. A visit to the lock-up garage where, as Willy predicted, Spike's car was hidden also provided no clues. There was no guard or attendant on duty for Angel to threaten for more information, not even an office he could break into and ransack for an address. He spent the whole night keeping watch from a roof top across the street, just in case Spike returned, but to no avail. And a second night was too much time to waste - the chances that Spike would come back for anything were too slim. However, the knowledge that Spike was still in town was both worrying and perversely comforting. It didn't get him any closer to finding Xander though. Reviewing his actions to date Angel realised that he didn't have a single clue, which left only the final option of aimlessly trolling the streets.

That day his sleep was shallow and his dreams confused, Jeb tormented him with words of blame and regret. 'I wanted you,' he said, as he ran a hand down Angel's naked chest. 'I would have been everything you dreamed of.' He curled his fingers, digging his nails into the delicate skin under Angel's arm pit and dragging them across and down to his stomach, leaving thin trails of bright red welling from ragged cuts, which he bent down and licked away. He looked back up and gazed into Angel's eyes. 'I still can be,' he whispered. The words held both promise and threat and Angel realised that he couldn't move, his wrists tied tightly to the bed frame above his head. So tightly that they were going numb, as if he still had a circulation that could be cut off. Darla peered down at him from behind Jeb's shoulder and smiled, her eyes mocking. Jeb keened and arched back, his head falling to her breast as she ran her hands up his arms, just before she gently cupped his face and with a vicious twist, snapped his neck. Jeb's body fell forward onto Angel's chest. 'No!' he cried, 'it wasn't like that!' He reached out clasping the body to him, as it faded away into insubstantial mist. 'Fucked that one up, didn't you?' Spike observed, his bleached hair glowing in the moonlight and his pale face somehow illuminated from below while the rest of his body, shrouded in his leather coat, merged with the night. Jeb opened his eyes and gazed mournfully up at Spike from the long, dead grass at Angel's feet. 'You love me, don't you?' he whispered, his eyes fixed on Spike's face. 'You'll love me forever.' Spike slung his arm around Jeb's shoulder and they stood together, looking down at Angel with identical expressions of disgusted pity. Then they turned and walked away across the moor, twin patches of darkness sharply outlined against the harvest moon, merging into one and fading away in a shimmer of wavering shadow. Angel looked over at Dru on her motorcycle. 'Can we catch them?' he asked. Her smile was sad and she shook her head. 'Not for a hundred years,' she replied. 'But we can try.' The wind whipped at his face and Dru's laugh echoed in his ears. 'You killed me,' she observed in a conversational tone, as if she was offering him no more than the time of day. 'You took me, claimed me, owned me and never freed me. I always wondered why you did that.' With a sob, he reached for her, but she danced out of range. 'I'm sorry,' he cried. 'Sorry enough?' she asked. Then she smiled like a tiger and twisted like a snake. 'No, not sorry enough,' she sang. 'Not nearly sorry enough. Not yet. But don't take too long, lover, I haven't got as much time as you.' When Angel woke, the tracks of dried tears were tight on his skin, pulling at the corners of his eyes.


Thursday evening

He called it patrolling, but he knew that he was way off his game. His feet were heavy and his movements felt sluggish from lack of proper sleep. The occasional flurry of movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye, but even those he investigated proved to be nothing by the time he reached the spot. His heart just wasn't in it tonight. The worry about Xander and the problem of Spike occupied his thoughts to the exclusion of any more mundane vampire hunt.

Xander had still not been home; his room was untouched from when Angel had first checked on Monday, so he walked the streets, hoping for a miracle that would lead him to Spike. He tried the empty factories that he'd noted in his first few weeks, those that weren't already occupied by small bands of sireless minions, and the boarded up shops in back streets, but found no sign of Spike.

After an hour of fruitlessly wracking his brain for any alternative options he found himself in the park, looking down at a dead homeless guy, who seemed to reproach him with his fixed and glassy gaze, and he realised that he needed to do something. A quick touch to the face confirmed that the body was still warm and he'd missed the chance to save another life. With a shrug of regret, Angel hurried away, just in case the police happened to be out patrolling too. 'Once more along Main Street,' he thought, 'to the ATM, then the hospital. I just need something to eat. There's nothing really wrong with me, nothing that a good meal won't solve. After that, Restfield and maybe check out the Funeral Home. Even if Spike's not around, there may be someone who knows where he is.' With that decided, he sped up his pace and headed back into town. If those places turned up nothing, he'd go back to the factories.

For a price, his contact at the hospital provided him with two packets of blood, fresh from the bank. He had them ready, almost as if he'd been expecting Angel to show up. And Angel drank it cold, as soon as he got outside, too eager to wait, or to go home and heat it up. As always, the surge of power was thrilling and for a moment he felt almost dizzy with it, but once the buzz faded a little, he felt able to resume his patrol with clearer eyes and a renewed determination to find someone who could give him a new lead. Part of him kept hoping he was wrong, but it was four nights since Xander had been home.

It was nearing 1am by this time and the town was quiet, but Angel strode on, searching for any movement. With most of the humans off the street there was less chance in finding a minion out and about, but there was always a chance. Most experienced vampires in a suburbia like this ate early, or waited for the nightshift to knock off work nearer dawn and, if necessary, he would wait that long. It wasn't as if he had anything else to do.

As he turned the corner into Main Street he thought he spotted movement near the alley next to The Sun Cinema. It looked like Xander, it looked like Jeb, and he broke into a run.

Skidding to a halt at the alley mouth he peered into the darkness. Slowly he edged forwards, step by step, cautiously hopeful, until he could see the blank wall at the end. The alley was empty, but he could have sworn he'd seen... He shook his head, frowning, wondering if he was hallucinating. There was no way it could have been Xander, not in those clothes. And if it was, where was he now? He turned and made his way back to the street, not noticing the fire escape ladder hidden in a dark corner of the building.

He was walking towards the gates of Greenacre Cemetery when he saw him next, on the other side of the railings, stepping into an open patch of moonlight. Angel caught his breath and Jeb stood still, looking back at him. Then he seemed to shrug and turned away, disappearing into the bushes next to the path. Angel ran to the entrance, grabbing the edge of the open gate to swing himself around without slowing down. But when he reached the spot there was no sign that anybody had been there, no footprints, no broken twigs in the bushes, just the rich, musty smell of damp earth and the scurry of small creatures in the undergrowth. He searched the whole cemetery without finding anything, not even a recently disturbed grave.

By 2.30, he was back in the factory district, and this time he thought he caught a glimpse of Jeb entering a shadowed doorway. Again he ran, but when he reached it he found the door firmly locked. Raising his foot, he put all his force behind the blow and kicked. It shuddered. A second kick and the jam began to splinter around the catch. A third and the door crashed inwards. Inside was a narrow staircase and Angel scrambled up, into a wide space full of heavy duty shelving stacked with crates on pallets. A portable pallet lifter was parked near the top of the stairs and the place was silent and empty. He searched it anyway, but found nothing. That fact didn't surprise him.

For the rest of the night he continued to doubt his sanity as he kept catching glimpses of that familiar figure, dressed in loose and shapeless trousers and a heavy coat tied at the waist with rope. It really was Jeb, but that was impossible, and each time he ran after his hallucination, he found nothing.

As dawn threatened, he finally caught a break. He was back on Main Street when a slim young looking vampire walked out, right in front of him. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to him, bringing his stake up to press against her chest, above the heart. "Talk," he demanded. "Where's Spike?"

She grabbed at his wrist, trying to force the stake away and he had to exert all his strength to hold it still. "Who?" she gasped. "I don't know any Spike."

"Short. Thin. English. Mouthy. White hair," he growled.

"Oh, him, yes, I've seen him," she cried. "If I tell you, you'll let me go?"

"Maybe. Tell me anyway."

"I just saw him. He was heading up Crawford Street. I don't know where he was going. Please let me go?"

Angel considered her words. She was frightened enough to be telling the truth. She could probably sense his age and didn't know how weak he was. "Relax," he said. Obediently she dropped her hands away from his arm. Angel smiled into her shoulder and plunged the stake through her ribcage. "I only said 'maybe'," he observed as he stepped back from the dust. Slipping the stake back into his pocket, he wiped a few traces of ash off his coat and trousers. 'Crawford Street, eh?' he thought. 'Okay, a bit more classy than I would have expected of Spike, but there aren't many houses up there. It shouldn't be too difficult to track down which one he's taken over. Looking up at the sky he confirmed that there was no time now to follow up the lead, but come nightfall he'd find the bastard and he'd get a few answers to his questions. Weak he may be, but Spike was his grand childe and that gave him an advantage that he intended to make full use of.

Continued here.