Summary: Ever wonder what happened to the baby that Spike saved from the Fell brethren?
Notes: written for the spuffy kink ficathon for pfeifferpack
No one bothered to question him when he finally staggered back into the Hyperion. His arms were loaded with about three or four boxes loaded to the brim and blocking his view nearing the risk that he'd fall over and drop 'm on the ground. He didn't look like he'd care much if they would. They all knew why. All the little bits of young Wesley Burkle had been left in the apartment; no need to remind the boy of his old life after all. The only thing gone was a little Count von Count doll that was Wesley's favorite. Angel for once kept silent when Spike came in. He didn't even nag on him for crawling back in, for begging to be let back in. He just took Spike to his office and opened a bottle of Jack. Sharing it's contents and then being there, all quiet like. There had been no words between the two souled vampires, just understanding. Angel had never afterwards mentioned Spike’s tears to anyone, and Spike was grateful for it.
Every once and a while Spike would get one of those little packets They weren't big, holding nothing more than a letter; one or two pictures, a copy of a report card. Spike cherished them more than anything, even if they were never mentioned. Yet every time one of those envelopes arrived, he'd end up on a rampage and all at Angel Investigations knew to avoid him for a couple of days.
It was no surprise then, that when Rupert Giles showed up at the door, Andrew and Dawn in tow, his welcome was far from warm. Angel glared at the watcher, holding his demon at bay with great difficulty. Gunn got up to go get Spike and Illyria and a young man called Connor sat there all confused about who the hell these people were and why his father was so angry at them.
"Where's Spike?" Giles demanded it, as if it was his right, as if he were the one in control here. It only rattled Angel even more.
"Who?" Angel crossed his arms, slowly leaning against his desk and eying the watchers as if they were gnats daring to get in his way.
"Damn it Angel, where's he taken the boy?"
Angel tilted his head in a damn near perfect imitation of his vampiric offspring.
"We checked his apartment, it was empty," Andrew chimed in.
Angel glared at him, but before he could say something Spike was coming down the stairs, Illyria and Gunn at his back.
"What the bleeding hell do you want now Rupert? Come to complain about something else?" Giles tried to say something, but Spike wouldn’t let him, showing his rage in his face.
"I've done what you wanted; kept away from my boy, let some stranger have him. What more could you possibly want from me? What, can't a bloke even have a few pictures anymore?"
Giles was clearly caught off guard, but Spike had long since stopped giving a damn. Like Giles once said, they weren't his friends, so why would he give a bleeding bollocks about anything the bastard had to say.
"He isn't with you?" Giles sounded surprised, almost disappointed somehow.
"Course he isn't, he's with his pop, bleeding blood relation crap."
Giles stood frozen for a second.
"He isn't." he finally said. "Someone took him, I presumed it was you."
Spike started laughing almost hysterical, his laughter dying down suddenly as he got what Giles was saying.
"Oh it's the old, blame the Spike game isn't it? Well I'm bloody well through with it."
He went for his coat, Angel tried to stop him.
"I have to find him."
"We can help."
Spike just nodded. He didn't bother to look back at Giles, didn't ask him any more questions, the boys father would know a lot more of the answers than the watcher did. He didn't bother to look back to see Dawn and Andrew following him, along with his friends, leaving Giles standing alone in the lobby.