I wrote this a while ago for a connor slash ficathon. Didn't really know what to do with it so I thought I'd post it here. Might send it to a few lists. Not sure I like it but I've written worse.

Title: Taste Like Home.
Author: luka
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Spike/Connor
Summary: Set around 'The House Always Wins'. While the rest of the gang head to Vegas our dear Connor heads to Sunnydale where he encounters a certain nutty vampire who inhabits a school basement.
Author Notes: written for notaspambot for the Connor slash ficathon.





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He’s not exactly sure what made him think of Sunnydale. He remembers hearing them talking about it once, Gunn and Fred, they’d decided to look for Cordy there not long after she’d disappeared. It seemed like a long time ago now.

Connor had listened at the door to their entire conversation. Sunnydale, Ca. Cordelia’s birthplace and his father’s former home. The Hellmouth. That’s what they called it. Tales of death and destruction. Demons spewing forth into the world. Violence, anguish, despair and torment.

Sounded kinda like home.

It didn’t occur to Connor to think how wrong that was.

Connor had only one thought in his head and that was the fight. He blocked out everything else, Los Angeles, Angel, Cordy, family, belonging, all of it and he tried to lose himself in the one true constant of his life. The Kill. There was nothing for him in this world. It was all empty to him now.

Perhaps that’s why he had to go there. He had to go to the Hellmouth. Fight the demons. Fight the evil. Go home? Perhaps this time he’d be lucky. This could be the battle to end it all.

Riding inside a bus was a new and interesting experience. As it pulled into Sunnydale bus station Connor was overcome by a wave of disappointment. This was not what he expected. He’d expected the hellmouth to at least resemble a hell dimension, and while Connor didn’t presume to be an authority, he was pretty sure hell didn’t come with a Starbucks, a Gap, and all the other things kids in this dimension loved so much, as standard.

That was when it hit him. Of Course. They couldn’t know. Hell is a very abstract concept to those who’ve never been there. A giant snake at graduation may be horrific but it was nothing compared to what his eyes had witnessed over the years. It suddenly occurred to him that Cordelia had laughed when she told the story. Filled it with humour and platitudes about teen angst in an attempt to try and convince his new “father” of the resilience of teenagers.

It was a wasted journey? May as well have stayed in L.A? Followed his father to Las Vegas perhaps? Picked a fight in any demon bar in the country? There didn’t seem to be much chance of impending battle in Sunnydale.

As he walked down what appeared to be the main street he thought about Angelus. How many times had he walked down the same street? It was only a few years ago but still long before Connor was ever thought of.

He thought of his mother. She’d died here once. He’d read all about it in some old notes he’d found while helping to clear out Cordy’s apartment, they where in an old box file with the name Darla printed along the top in unfamiliar handwriting.

Connor had found a photo in the same box. A faded sepia tintype of four vampires. On the back was written “Darla, Angel, Drusilla and Spike. 1892. London.”

His mother had been beautiful. They all had.

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Connor once again recalled Cordelia’s tales of High school traumas. He thought about the burnt up graduation certificate he had seen whilst packing up boxes. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps the High School was where he’d find his fight.

It didn’t take him long to locate the campus. It seemed fresh, new and, more importantly, safe. Clean corridors and neat classrooms.

Connor wandered through the art block, looking at all the pictures on the walls. Connor had never drawn a picture. Holtz had described such practices as folly. It didn’t matter. Connor didn’t have anything to draw. There was nothing in his minds eye that anybody would want to see. His art would be nothing like the pretty pictures of flowers that blanketed these walls.

It made him sad seeing all this. Was this how his childhood should have been? Was this what he’d lost?

As he turned into the corridor Connor saw a door marked basement. Perhaps this was it. The further he walked the more he was convinced there would be no grand battle, no noble defeat, but if he was to find it anywhere it would be here. True evil always buries itself deep.

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He heard singing the second he opened the door. The fragile voice that stretched up the stairs to his ears sounded melancholy, haunted, and beautiful almost. The song sounded familiar. Perhaps Holtz had sang it to him as a child? A second after the thought flashed through his brain he realised how ludicrous it was. Why would Holtz sing to him? To soothe him to sleep? To comfort him after a horrid dream? Holtz didn’t believe in comfort. He believed in vengeance and that was all.

Connor descended the stairs quicker than his training and instincts should allow. There was no stealth to his movement. He just wanted to find the source of the sombre melody. It sounded like home.

The young man had barely reached the bottom step when a figure leapt out at him from the shadows. Blonde hair, sharp blue eyes and malignant smile. Connor recognised the man who stood before him instantly. He remembered the old tintype. “Darla, Angel, Drusilla and Spike. 1892. London.”

He’d slept with the image under his pillow the night he found it, just that one night. Anything more would have been indulgence and Connor had no room for that. Holtz would have been appalled.

The two figures mirrored movements, curiously leaning forward to inspect each other. The blonde man was shirtless wearing only a pair of tight black jeans, his feet were bare and he seemed to almost shiver with the cold. Arms folded in front of him Connor could still see what looked like a cross-shaped scar transecting his torso.

“You’re Spike?” Connor said in an inquisitive manner. It wasn’t really a question though. He had no doubt in his mind that this was his brother, nephew, family, haven?

“What’s Spike? Who’s Spike. Spike has no spark. I have the spark. Don’t know. Can you stop the screaming? Make it go away? My head… my heart… the spark… they hate each other. They’re tearing each other apart and there’s nobody left to fight over the pieces. All alone. I just want to be whole again.”

Connor could hear the desolation in Spike’s voice. He could feel it like it was his own. There was something familiar in the ranting. A glint in the older mans eye that looked like salvation. There was no battle here. There was nothing left to fight.

“You look like family.”

Spike leant forward and for the first time in his life Connor didn’t feel the need to pull away. He didn’t react; he didn’t flinch. He just let the older mans soft, cold lips connect with his and felt a warmth radiate through him. Tired arms wrapped around each other, weary bodies pressed together and the world started to dissipate.

“You taste like family.”


THE END

x-posted to a_better_lie & lukataintedlove