Submitted for Feedback: "Now William"
Prague. July 1881.

“Where’ve you been now, William?”

Spike snarled to himself, closing the window and sighing. He’d been back not two seconds and already Angelus was on his case. Already an annoying little ponce, Angelus was worse whenever the girls weren’t around. So with Darla off catering to The Master’s desires and Drusilla … doing whatever Drusilla did … that left the de-facto leader of this little Fang Gang in a less-than-pleasant mood.

Then again, Angelus was never in a pleasant mood unless he was torturing and disemboweling.

“Feeding,” the younger vampire answered, quickly making his way to the back bedroom, wanting nothing more than to retreat before the sun rose. If he fell asleep fast enough, he wouldn’t have to bother with his grandsire’s prattling.

“Feeding,” Angelus repeated, stepping out of the shadows and grinning at Spike. His grin was actually more of a sneer, a look of condescendence over the younger leech before him. In many ways, William was nothing more than an insignificant bug, someone to be toyed with when desired and ignored when needed.

Too busy chasing around his sire to truly be a useful vampire, Angelus had little, if any, respect for Spike, so much so he refused to use the fledgling’s new alias.

“Now William … ‘tis not smart to be feedin’ while the Slayer roams about, now is it?”

Spike growled under his breath. Damn Angelus and his cowardice. Refusing to meet the Slayer head-on, denying himself the adrenaline, the rush of confronting the only being on the planet truly capable of undoing him. Oh, Angelus was mighty when it came to preying on the weak – ask him to mind-fuck a seer to insanity and he’s golden, but the minute you point him in the direction of a being with some semblance of power and he skulks away to the shadows, wishing for his lovely Darla.

“I was hungry,” Spike explained, turning to face Angelus with a defiant gaze. He really didn’t care for the elder vampire’s assumed position of authority. The way Spike heard, it was Darla who made Angelus, so despite the former poet’s distaste for Darla, he figured it only made sense for her to be in charge of this little macabre family.

Then again, Spike often wished to take Drusilla by the hand and just leave the other two. Roam the world together, hunting down Slayers and living the unlife to its fullest. No caveman-browed masochists to get in the way and tell Spike what to do.

“And let the Slayer come,” he added with a bit of a swagger. “I bloody welcome her.”

Angelus made no effort to hide the bemused smirk on his face, brushing a lock of brown hair out of his eyes as he approached Drusilla’s progeny. Once face-to-face with the irritate lad, Angelus placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head.

“Oh … William,” he began with a mocking regret in his thick Irish accent. “Y’still don’t get it. The Slayer’s not to be meddled with. She’s slain dozens of our kind, possibly hundreds.”

“Weak little wankers,” Spike responded dismissively, shrugging his shoulder out of Angelus’ grasp. He wanted none of the elder vampire’s lecturing. Too many times Angelus warned of the strength of the Slayer and the undead foursome had yet to encounter one. Then again, that was probably because whenever she so much as crossed into whatever country they were pillaging, Angelus would herd them all up and scatter away like a cockroach whenever a lamp was lit.

“The Slayer would be no match for us.”

“Aye, no match,” Angelus agreed momentarily, pushing Spike back into a chair. “Well, not for me. But you … you’re reckless. Not too keen on usin’ the brainpan. Any Slayer who survives past a month will take advantage of that and dust you in two seconds.”

Spike scoffed. “No match for you,” he mocked, shaking his head. “Then why not take her? You’re so bleeding strong, Angelus. Why is it every time the Slayer so much as sneezes you grab us and hide in the nearest mouse hole?”

Angelus’ nostrils flared. Again with William and his insolence. Those questions, the constant nagging and needing to know why Angelus did things the way he did. There was no need to question such things; none of the four were piles of dust, so as far as the one once known as Liam was concerned, he was doing things the right way.

“You’re young,” he told Spike. “Which is why I don’t stake you for your stupidity. I keep hoping some day everything I tell you will sink in, and you’ll get it.

“Just because I can take on the Slayer doesn’t mean I should. This isn’t a seer, William. This isn’t someone I can pick at for a few months, drive her batty until I give her the eternal kiss. Oh no … Slayers are special. They fight back.”

And you can’t handle that …

“Which is what makes it fun,” the younger vampire chose to say instead, not at all interested in the prospect for a round of fisticuffs with Granddaddy as the sun threatened to rise. “Kill the helpless to feed, sure, but don’t you just wanna tear into something every once in a while? Just get in there, get your bloody hands dirty? Let the animal buried deep where your soul used to be and just let loose?”

Angelus said nothing, his sadistic sneer growing as his hair framed his face. The younger vampire felt an unnerving chill run down his spine at the sight, willing to admit only to himself that Angelus did in fact scare him sometimes.

This being one of them.

“We’re animals,” Spike added, hoping to feign bravado well enough to fool the elder vampire. “Prattle on all you want about the art and the sodding majesty of what we do, when the sun comes up we still have to crawl in our beddy-byes.”

If Spike still had a heartbeat, it would’ve tripled when Angelus glared at him over his shoulder. It wasn’t necessarily what Spike said that irked Angelus so; it was more the young one’s insolence. No matter how often Angelus demonstrated his power, his hold over both Darla and Drusilla, it seemed Spike was always right there to disagree with him.

When Angelus wanted to run, Spike wanted to fight. When Angelus took his rightful turn with Drusilla, Spike threw the vampiric equivalent of a hissy-fit – one that only got bigger if he was denied his own turn with Darla. Angelus never cared if Spike had his way with Darla; it was the blonde’s choice not to engage the fledgling vampire in such a manner.

And Spike didn’t understand that, much like he failed to understand just about everything else about the ways of the vampire. Angelus blanched at the thought of taking on the Slayer; sure, there were myths and legends of the few vampires able to best the Slayer in battle, but as far as Angelus was concerned they were just that: myths.

He never believed for once second that Lestat could ever take one, let alone several.

The Slayer was the veritable Boogeyman, and the more vampires stayed out of her path of senseless destruction, the better. Dealing with Daniel Holtz had been bad enough; Angelus hated to think what would happen if one took Holtz’s convictions and added superpowers to them.

“Do ye not remember Holtz?” he offered simply, leaning back against a doorway and folding his arms, patiently waiting for Spike to finally get it.

Spike, for his part, scoffed, shaking his head. “Please, you mean to tell me you’re still getting your knickers in a twist over that sod? You offed his family, turned the niblet and drove him bonkers. And I’m sure he’s back with his nice and cozies now anyway … unless the sod struck a deal with the bloody devil or something.”

It amazed young William how Angelus could cower so easily over a mere mortal. One which he and Darla had tortured quite deliciously, at that. For all of Hotlz’s righteousness and for all the men he enlisted to his cause, he was just a man. Flesh and blood, nothing special aside from a crossbow and a stake.

But the Slayer? Oh, she was a morsel. All the righteousness of an uptight Englishman, but with the powers of a demon and the looks of a harlot. Why wouldn’t Spike be enticed by that? He was drawn to the power, the thrill of potentially bettering someone whose only purpose is to turn him into a pile of dust.

For Spike, it was not only an adrenaline rush, but a bit of an aphrodisiac as well.

“Take away Holtz’s weapons and all you’ve got is a man,” he added. “But the Slayer … she is the weapon.”

“All the more reason to avoid suspicion,” Angelus countered, again approaching Spike and pushing him back against the wall. Picture frames shook with the force of William’s impact, his eyes widening.

“We’ve got ourselves quite the reputation,” the elder vampire continued. “No thanks in part to you. Now I don’t care if the local vampire king hears about Angelus and his little group. I welcome that. But the Slayer finding out about us?

“If her Watcher’s worth the ink used to write his books, the Slayer knows more about us than we know about ourselves. Which puts us at a disadvantage. I’m not worried about the power, young William … I’m worried about what she’ll have … up here.”

Angelus poked Spike in the forehead to accentuate his point, smirking to himself and shaking his head as he let go of his “comrade” and began to walk away. “Then again, the Slayer’ll have that over you regardless.”

Without thinking, Spike snarled and pushed himself off the wall and jumped at Angelus. With a growl, his face shifted … eyes turning yellow and his forehead growing bumpy and rigid. He tackled his grandsire to the floor, grabbing a large tuft of hair and ramming Angelus face-first into the floor.

“Older doesn’t mean smarter,” Spike quipped, again introducing Angelus’ nose to the floor.

Reaching behind him, Angelus grabbed Spike’s wrist and forced his hand off his hair before swatting at the younger vampire and pushing him off. Rolling over, Angelus glared at Spike, his face still remarkably human and showing little, if any, emotion.

“You’re young,” Angelus began, “that much we knew. But you’re also stupid, a fact becoming more and more clear every night. I’ve tolerated you until now because, for some reason, you make Drusilla happy.”

Breaking off a leg from the wooden table beside him, Angelus reached for a grabbed Spike by his collar, growling in his face and pointing the broken-off leg in his chest. “But let me make somethin’ clear, Willy … you are not, nor will you ever be, the leader of this family. That mantle belongs to me, because I know what it takes to make sure we all make it to see the next sunset. Bluster all you want about how big and bad you are, but you will always live in my shadow.”

Spike pushed Angelus off of him, kicking away the table leg as his face shifted back to its human façade. “What it takes … you run away at the first sign of trouble. Cause all the bleeding havoc you want, but the minute someone spoils the party, you run off with your fangs between your legs.

“Who knows … Dru and I might just take off one night.”

Angelus laughed to himself, brushing blood away from his nose and licking his fingertips dry. “No you won’t. Dru wouldn’t leave,” he offered. “She’s more mine than yours.”

Again Spike charged Angelus, only to find himself swatted away this time. He hit the floor with a grunt, looking up in time to see Angelus crouched over him, the fangs now unsheathed and the feral eyes striking. He struggled against the elder vampire’s hands on his collar, but couldn’t break free.

“I made her,” Angelus growled. “So I have as much a claim to her as you. I didn’t make you, William, but I can – and will – destroy you. When the Slayer’s in town, you stay low.

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint Dru, would you?”

Letting go of Spike, Angelus walked out of the room, shutting and locking the door behind him. With a growl, Spike rose to his feet, closing the curtains over the window to keep the rising sun from invading his room – and his flesh. He growled and sneered at the closed door separating him from the vampire who pranced about acting like he knew what was best for all bloodsuckers involved.

The more he learned about Angelus, the less Spike liked the sod. Overbearing, confrontational as all get out … so long as you didn’t hold any power. Then he was a wuss to end all wusses. Unwilling to face the Slayer or even acknowledge that anyone other than him might have something resembling brains or strength … at least Darla was up-front and knew what she was. Angelus was trying to act all bureaucratic where there was no call for it.

Vampires and politics didn’t mix, and the more Spike saw in this little family of theirs, the more he wanted out. Angelus was right … as long as he stuck around, Spike would always be under the older vampire’s shadow. There was no way of getting around it, unless Spike did something bold like try and stake the boy.

But that would piss off both Darla and Drusilla … and the last thing Spike wanted to do was piss off his beloved Dru. The vampire sighed, sitting with his back against the wall and shaking his head. He was stuck. Unless Dru agreed for them to separate – which she wouldn’t, as tied to Angelus as she was, Spike was stuck.

“Bloody hell.”