A/N: My first Buffy fic. Rather interesting idea that came to me last night, thought I might try to expand it. May end up slashy in later chapters (Haven't decided yet).
RATING: PG-13, for now, I'll probably push it up later
USUAL STANDARD DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters, the setting, or anything else relating to the show, much as I would like to. Although I wish Joss would let me borrow Spike for a bit…or Willow? Willow would be nice too.
The vampire dropped the boy and turned to run as soon as he saw the other step into the alley. Caught in the act, Naughty, Naughty. The kill wasn't even difficult; the surprised vamp hardly had time to react before he was staked. Spike just shook his head, chuckling, as he brushed the dust from his clothes. It was too easy when they were feeding.
He looked about for the body that he knew to be there, the vampire hadn't run far from where he'd dropped his meal. A stake lay in the middle of the alley, catching his attention. A stake? Not mine, must have been dropped. He saw the sneakers first, peaking out from beside a dumpster. Ah, the body. No, the victim. There's a heartbeat.
The moon moved from beneath a cloud just as he stepped around the dumpster. Spike bent to check the boy's pulse, turning him over to look into his face.
"Bloody 'ell." Knew it would happen, Spike thought as he quickly bundled the boy in his coat and pulled him into his lap, knowing that it was probably too late to worry about getting him warm anyway. He would never make it to the hospital in time. His heartbeat was too faint, and getting fainter. The whelp's gonna die, there's nothing for it, unless…Spike ran a hand over his face. In another time he wouldn't have cared, he would have left the boy to die. Now, he was losing a friend. Friend? Can't be right. He hates me, will hate me worse if I…
The boy took a last shallow breath and then stopped breathing all together.
Well, if I get staked, I'll just have to get staked. He won't die on my watch.
He pierced his jugular with his pocketknife, pulling Xander's face to his neck. Almost automatically the boy began to drink. Spike held the boy close, his fingers tangled in his dark, shaggy hair, willing himself not to get lost in the sensations which the act had triggered. Soon the boy fell away, back into unconsciousness. His heart stopped.
He deposited Xander on his bed, pulling the rumpled sheets up to his chin, and proceeded to pace. Every so often he would look over at the boy lying there, to all appearances dead. His skin was already beginning to pale. Spike would glance at him, disturbed by what he had just done, and pace again. One side of the crypt to the other. After a few rounds he fell down onto the couch, but immediately stood again and went back to pacing. He glanced at the clock. He walked over to the bed to push an errant strand of hair out of Xander's face. He looked at the clock again. He looked at the boy, wondering what their relationship would be now.
Minion? No. Childe? Yes. He studied the boy's face, tempted to once again run fingers through that baby-soft hair. He frowned. Lover? In your dreams, you bloody ponce. To remove the temptation, he once again looked at the clock. The boy would awake soon.
Spike walked over to his ancient refrigerator. The new vampire would be hungry. There was only one bag of human vintage left, courtesy of the local blood bank. He emptied it into a mug and proceeded to warm it. Almost as if it were an alarm clock, Xander sat up when the buzzer on the microwave went off.
In response Spike thrust the mug into the boy's hands, watching him study the contents. The boy shrugged and drained the mug.
"You turned me." He said. It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.