
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/189150.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M
  Fandom:
      Angel:_the_Series
  Relationship:
      Drusilla/Connor, Drusilla/Darla
  Character:
      Drusilla_(BtVS), Connor_(AtS), Angel_(BtVS)
  Additional Tags:
      AU, Angst, Dark, Drama
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-04-23 Words: 1078
****** Thicker Than Water ******
by snowpuppies
Summary
     To Drusilla, family is everything.
Notes
     A/N: for the c2c_buffyawards Challenge #1 For Prompt #1: Connor,
     Family Rules
     Beta'd by the wonderful velvetwhip!
See the end of the work for more notes
Thicker Than Water
 
She can't find them.
She sees, sees it all behind her eyelids—paper and ribbons and vomit—but it
doesn't make sense, no sense at all, and she might be going mad, but Mummy and
Daddy will make it all right, she just knows it.
If she can—blood, blood, so much blood—find them.

She searches.
Everywhere.

Each corner of her mind dusted and organized and explored, but she doesn't
remember, doesn't—maggot-filled eyes stare back at her; Mother's dress is
torn—know what happened.
The Sisters assure her the torment will stop. Will stop.
She just has to find her way…

***

She's waiting inside the tear in reality when he steps through.
Grinning, she licks her teeth and draws him in; he drops to the floor without a
thought.
She takes the babe from his arms and cuddles him close.
"Shhh," she croons. "Mummy's got you now."
He blinks up, summers-sky blue eyes, and she can feel it, all the way down to
her toes, in all of her parts—inside and out—that this child is hers to keep.

***

She opens her eyes; Daddy grins—fangs glinting in the moonlight.
"Welcome to the Family."
She rises, eyes open wide as she reaches for his hand.
Yes. He'll be her King of Cups, and she'll be his Princess.
She laughs; it echoes in the still of the night.

***
He nurses from her breast, blood oozing from the cut she makes with her
fingernail.
He grows quickly, fast and strong like their Daddy, sharp and witty like their
Mummy.
She sees in his eyes and he sees in hers, soft little-boy lips open in
concentration as he copies her thrall, turning her outside-in until her stomach
rumbles in delight. Little duckling follows Mummy's every move, helping her
strip the flesh from a Sluk—black as night and sticky with ichor—dancing to the
singing of the stars—they burned brighter in Quor'toth, their songs screams of
beautiful agony—feasting on blood and flesh, messy-faced and grinning in the
wake of her approval.

***

She whimpers.
Darla licks the wound clean, sluggish blood dripping from her chin like
ecstasy, like poppies in the snow and warm chestnuts in the afternoon.
"There, there," the words brush against her temple; she leans into the caress,
a wriggly puppy looking for a scratch. "Mummy will take care of you. It's what
family's for."
She sighs—the stars echo in harmony with each other. This is the way things are
supposed to be. Right and sure.
She lifts her chin and captures crimson-stained lips with her own.

***

She wakes in a frenzy, head spinning, agony and nausea and gut-clenching fear.
She's seen it—he's fallen, pleading eyes, grimacing mouth, as something foul
stalks closer.
Lace and velvet whirl as she flies to him, clingy black sand flying beneath her
heels like a cloud of gnats. The pixies buzz in her ears, angry like hornets;
she can see the world tilt as her house of cards crumbles like dust.
It'll not happen. She's come in time, racing on the wings of demons, ready to
rend and tear and devour the foe that's threatened her boy.
She finds him covered in gore, crooked smile, laughing at her shrieks as they
dance through the carcass.
She's raised him well, her Boy.
He's almost ready.

***

Her William dozes in her arms.
She toys with his curls, humming idly to the songs in his heart—the ones she
heard the moment their eyes met, snips and snaps and fireworks in counterpoint.
She's satisfied, body gloriously sticky with blood and come and saliva; she
smells of her William, of Darla and Angelus and…Family.
Leaning closer, she nips his skin, lips suckling at the wound.
Her Prince tastes of jellies and candy floss, summer rain and daisies.
She feels his smile against her skin; the pixies giggle in delight.
And all is right.

***

He presses against her, trembling with youth and vigor, aroused by the violence
of his hunt.
She closes her eyes and sighs as his hands find her buttons and zippers.
Stickyslick skin against her own, his mouth devouring her flesh, smooth teeth
nipping, lips sucking, tongue caressing the tendons of her neck, the soft skin
of her shoulders, latching onto the tender rise of her breasts.
He slides in, grunting against her cheek as he begins to move as his instinct
desires.
She clenches, grinning wickedly.
"Mummy," he sighs, breath warm against her neck.
His thrusts become harder.
Yes.
Yes.
He's ready.
***

The world is screaming.
Screaming.
All around, topsy-turvy, buckets and rust and blackened claws inside-out
underneath it all rotting flesh and she'll not be a corpse again. No. Not
allowed.
Mummy is shrieking. The air is filled with broken bits and bobs as the
hurricane rips through their home; Darla is not happy.
She wails. She knows the answer, knows it, but cannot abide it. Cannot squirrel
it away, cannot hold it close like a broken bird, crushing its bones in her
tiny hand. The stars are weeping.
A soul, they say. A soul.
The King of Cups has become The Fool.
And the family is in ruins.

***

Her Angel—Her Daddy—is there, birdsong and laughter filling his head as he
gapes.
The boy pulls from her grasp, eyes open in welcome, arms spread wide.
Grinning, he gasps, "Daddy!"

***

Darla and William finish them off; the dirty gypsies—tambourines and scarves
and malice, hunting them down, ripping them asunder.
Naughty boys don't get their bread.
But Mummy and William get theirs.

The rumbly churning of her stomach does not cease.
It's all wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. She must make it right. Her family is
everything, blood and breath and flesh and tears.
The pixies sing a song of new leaves and freshly-blackened boots.
Yes. She can be patient.
She can wait.

***

He rises from the floor, his body like a snake, like summer wheat in the wind's
vicious grasp, sinuous and seductive.
He clasps the boy in his arms, fang-filled smile content and wicked.
She tingles in anticipation.
"My Son," he sighs, crushing the boy to his body. He looks up over the top of
the boy's head and his eyes lock with hers.
He grins and his eyes are black as night, needles burning into her skin.
Yes.
Yes.
She laughs in delight as she flies with fairy wings into his arms.

Her Daddy is hers once more.

FIN.
End Notes
     Originally archived here.
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