Summary: Ever wonder what happened to the baby that Spike saved from the Fell brethren?
Notes: written for the spuffy kink ficathon for pfeifferpack
"I put him in the bed. Tried to kiss him good night."
Spike tried not to respond to Brian's voice.
"He wouldn't even face me as I did so. He never even once called me dad, said I wasn't his father."
Spike kneeled down next to the window, his face returning to its true form as he tried to get the scent.
"I just went downstairs for a cup of tea, to read something. By the time I came up to check on him, he was gone. I never even saw who took him."
Spike tilted his head, grabbing the trace. "Was the window open?"
"Yes… I thought I'd closed it. When I first saw him missing, I thought he'd run back to you. I searched for him, drove all over the neighborhood, and I couldn't find him."
Spike snorted. "Well at least you didn't think I took him."
"As if you had to. No matter what I did, Wesley kept asking for you. I mean, Wesley, what kind of a girly name is that anyway? I didn't even get to name my …"
Spike grabbed him, pushing him against the wall before he could continue. "It was the name of a hero,” he spat in the man’s face. “You should be proud that I gave the boy the honor of carrying it!"
"I'm sorry." Brian practically choked as he got out the words.
"Yeah, whatever." Spike was sure he almost had it, Wes' scent was easy enough to find, it was the other one, almost familiar yet…
"I don't see why you're so pissed at me over it? What? Would you rather have had me abusing the kid, make him hate me so you could come in as the big savior?"
"No! Of course not."
"Well stop complaining then. Wes is a good brat, he's brave, kind, loyal. I just got lucky enough to hang on to him for a while. You should be glad to get him back."
Spike couldn't help his sadness flooding through as his words sounded off into nowhere.
"I'm sorry. I just… do you know what it's like to wake up from a coma and find out that your wife sold your only son to some kind of demon cult?" Brian's voice broke on those words as if he still found them hard to believe. "To find out that your own flesh and blood is in the hands of a vampire?"
Spike noticed something from the back of his eyes, a small doll that had fallen on the ground, nearly hidden under the bed. Ignoring Brian as he kept on ranting, while he kneeled down to pick it up.
"So yeah, I wanted to be a hero, what else was I supposed to do, just abandon him?"
Oh was the bloke still talking? Balls. Was he supposed to be all caring and considerate now?
They both turned to the door, staring at Buffy.
"I'm sure Spike can find him."
Yeah, like the good little blood hound that he was supposed to be. Spike growled a bit, unconsciously perpetuating the image, careful to stay out of the way of the sunlight and glad that the drapes were closed. His hands held tightly to the doll. He knew that if he'd turn it around Wesley's name would be sewn to the tag in the back. He'd spent hours on that, only to find out after he was done that they sold those little tag things these days that you could just write on and then iron on to the doll.
He could still smell smidgeons of his own blood on the threads.
"Sure, why not. It's what I always do isn't it? Picking up the crumbs, doing whatever you blokes want me to do?" Harsh, so harsh and Buffy just didn't get it, didn't know why he was so angry, why would she? It was never her fault, now was it?
"It's the Fell." Angel spoke, in gameface as well, taking the lead away from him.
"It can't be."
"Damn it Spike, can't you just…"
Spike didn't give him a chance to continue. "But I killed them all. Didn't I?"