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Dead Soul
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Angst/horror
Pairings: Spike/Drusilla, Spike/Sunday, Drusilla/Sunday, Spike/Drusilla/Sunday
Warnings: BDSM, non-consensual sex, violence, bloodplay, language, f/f slash,
inappropriate humor - all the good stuff
Disclaimers: Story and chapter titles are titles of Blondie songs. (I thought
about being careful with song dates and such but, like Spike, I got bored. Any
anachronisms are either intentional or so the hell what.) The usual disclaimers
for both characters and song titles. The only things I own are the things I
steal from dorm rooms. No, that sweater doesn't make you look fat. It just makes
you look purple
Distribution: Want? Take, have. But please let me know where
Feedback: Keeps the bloodlust in check, mailto:deadsoul820@aol.com
or drop me a comment on my LiveJournal, Dead Soul
Summary: Spike, Drusilla and Sunday in New York City, 1977. Ever wonder where Sunday (BtVS, Season 4, "The Freshman") came from? Why her fashion sense seems familiar, not to mention her attitude? She tells her story.
The thirteenth night after Spike left, the shit hit the fan. Or rather, the dust hit the floor and Dru rolled around in it.
I can't say that I hadn't felt something building in her. She was quieter than usual, only breaking her silence to titter behind a hand lifted to her mouth like a little girl with a secret plan.
I could tell something was different as soon as we entered the main room. She had found, or had had made, a dress for me that exactly matched hers, only black, with little matching button up boots. And instead of having me sit on the floor at her feet, she sat me next to her on the fainting couch, wrapping her arm around my waist and guiding mine to rest around hers. I was the negative to her positive - my black dress and blonde hair the opposite of her white dress and black hair.
Instead of all the minions being there and waiting for their instructions, the room was empty. She reached to the small table to her right, picked up a small bell and rang it. One of the minions, the great hulking one I'd seen tear a girl's throat out, entered the room. She left him kneeling in from of us for the longest time while she caressed me and took little blood kisses from a small cut she'd made along the top of my exposed shoulder.
He was shifting uneasily from knee to knee as he waited, not daring to look up. Drusilla took her arms from around me and opened a drawer in the table the bell was on. She withdrew a piece of wood, about eight inches long and whittled to a sharp point. She stood and walked around behind the minion. With no more warning than that, she plunged the piece of wood, the stake, into the minion's exposed back. He exploded in a giant puff of dust. She brushed a few stray motes from her dress, muttering something about ants being all over her, sat back down next to me and rang the bell again.
She staked the next one and the next, but when the fourth was kneeling in the pile of dust that had formed on the floor, she handed the stake to me and nodded. I stood nervously. I knew what she had done. She had given each of these vampires something impossible to accomplish and this was their punishment. While I wasn't sad to see them go, they were vampires after all and had killed who knew how many people and none of them had ever been at all nice to me, it did make me that much more afraid for myself. They had served to distract her for a few hours each night, giving me a respite from all the desperate eggshell walking being with her entailed and once they were gone, all her attention and insanity would be focused solely on me.
As I hesitated, Drusilla's expression became stern and she made abrupt pantomime stabbing gestures. Drawing a deep breath, I raised the stake high in both my hands and brought it down into the minion's back with all my strength.
Which turned out to be barely enough. It was harder than it had looked when Dru had done it to drive a thick stake which had already been dulled by the bodies of three previous minions through skin and muscle and into the creature's heart. I can still remember the feel of it up my arms as the stake passed through the first resistance of the skin, the stiffer resistance of the muscle and the grating feel as it ground between the ribs before striking the heart. As he turned to dust, the faint outline of his skeleton hanging in the air for an instant, I dropped the stake with a soft flump into his dust and the dust of the ones who had been killed before him.
Drusilla cheered and clapped, crying, "See, the giant ants. They shall have no cake with their tea!" She rang the bell one last time and the only remaining minion entered. He was a little quicker on the uptake than the others had been. When he had come close enough to see the pile of dust with the stake lying in it, he turned to run out the door he'd just come in.
Faster than I could see, Dru was there before him, standing between him and the door. Grabbing him by the neck, she lifted him clean off the floor, his feet dangling as he pried uselessly at her fingers. "Kill the ant," she said to me in the calmest, most reasonable tone I'd ever heard her use. I picked up the stake, blew some of the dust off of it and once again plunged it through skin and muscle, sliding it between ribs to pierce the heart. As the vamp exploded, the dust was caught in a stray draft and covered Dru's white dress and black hair with gray.
She grabbed me for an impromptu polka across the basement then spun me away so hard I crashed headfirst into the brick wall. The blood dripping into my eyes blinded me. When I'd wiped enough away and my vision had cleared a bit, I saw her rolling on the floor in the dust, scooping up handfuls of it and letting it rain down over her head, rubbing it in her hands, rubbing her hands down her face, laughing wildly. But the laughter turned to tears and wailing as she thrashed around, tearing at herself with her long nails, ripping her dress, making long red rents in the white skin of her chest and arms. I was frozen, I didn't think I could stand without fainting and even if I could get up and go to her, I didn't have any idea what to do for her to calm her down.
After what seemed liked hours, she had worn herself out to the point that she could only lie still in the dust, in the rags of her dress, dragging her nails over and over down her arms and moaning piteously. I was just about to experiment with creeping out of the room, ready to play dead if she seemed to notice me move when the door slammed open and Spike strode in, huge grin freezing on his face as he took in the scene.
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