The Rain

by Saber ShadowKitten
Absence Diminishes Little 3

I hate the rain, especially when I have to walk in it. It's cold and wet and is running down the back of my neck and under my clothes, making me wet and cold and miserable. I shouldn't have fucking gone out tonight. Not that I knew it was going to rain. There wasn't a cloud in the soddin' sky when I left my little shit-palace I now call home. Of course, I also wouldn't have gone out if I'd known I was going to get fucking gang raped.

I hate the bloody rain. It's cold and wet and is stinging me like hell. I keep stepping in the bloody puddles of water because I can't see a friggin' thing out of my left eye. The rainwater keeps washing the blood from my broken nose into my mouth, which I can't close because my fucking jaw is broken, too.

I hate the goddamn rain. My lips are swollen and bruised and cut, and each time a drop of the friggin' cold water hits 'em, it feels like a million little pins are prickin' me. My left arm is hanging useless at my side because the fucking pillock bent it so far back, it ripped right out of the socket, which means I can't close my duster so the fucking rain is soaking through my clothes.

I abso-fucking-lutely hate the rain. My wet tee is clinging to me, making it feel like there's a bloody hundred kilos of weight squeezing my bruised and cut chest and stomach. The only thing good about it is that it's acting like a wrap for my broken ribs.

I hate the bloody fucking rain. It's making my trousers chafe against my swollen knackers. The only thing the goddamn rain isn't doing is soaking my arse and the backs of my legs. The semen and blood still coming out of my torn-up hole is doing that just fine on its own.

I hate this stupid rain, but I'm lucky I can still walk in the wet crap. If I were mortal, I'd be layin' out in that alley behind the bar where he'd tossed me, drowning in the rain. As it is, it took me for-fucking-ever to get to my feet and stagger out of that alley because of my injuries. Vampires may be difficult to hurt, but if you hit one hard enough and often enough, we break and bruise and bleed like anyone else; and those pricks hit quite fucking hard and quite fucking often.

Goddamn bloody fucking rain, I hate it. I'm never going to make it back home. I'm still going to be walking down this friggin' street looking like Quasimodo when the sun comes up. I won't turn to ash either, I'll turn to paste because of this stupid rain.

I hate this cold wet shit. I pull one side of my duster closer to me with my right hand, which is shoved deep in the pocket of the coat. I raise my head slightly to look down the dark street with one eye. I see a light and can make out the word 'Telephone' written across it before the rain blurs my vision.

Stupid rain, I hate it, but it is giving me one advantage. No one else wants to be out in it, either. There's no one out here to see my pathetic self hobbling down the street, or see my messed up face, or smell my blood. If I can make it to that phone box...

I hate this goddamn motherfucking rain. If I wasn't dead already, I'd probably be blue and suffering from hypothermia. I step in another puddle and the water sloshes up over my foot as I get closer to the phone box where it's dry and not wet like it is in this bloody rain.

Just a few more steps, mate, just a few more steps.

I push open the half-closed door of the box and almost slip onto my arse stepping into it. The fucking rainwater has made the metal flooring of the phone box slick. I turn my body, push the door completely shut and the light goes on over my head. The rain echoes annoyingly as it beats down on the outside of the box, but at least I'm not out in the fucking stuff anymore.

The water runs down the glass panels outside of the box, making everything blurry outside. Not like I can see all that well currently. For all I know, the glass could be clear and it's my bloody vision that's all blurry. It doesn't sound like it's going to stop anytime soon, either.

Fuck. Now that I'm not concentrating on walking, everything hurts. I lean against the glass wall on my right shoulder, my hand back in my pocket, and close my eyes...well, eye. I'm never going to get home. I'd be happy to stay right where I am if it weren't for the little fact that the sun rose every morning. I can't go hide out in any of those abandoned buildings I passed because, with my luck, I'd find the one that's another vampire's lair and then I'd be royally buggered. I couldn't even fight my way out of a paper bag at this moment, let alone another vampire.

Standing here isn't going to get me home any faster, though. I need blood and rest and a nice stake in the heart to be able to heal from this encounter. I open the only eye that I can open and see the phone looking right back at me. Course, it's an inanimate object, so it doesn't have eyes, but if it did, it would be looking right back at me, daring me to use it.

Right. Like that's going to happen. Who the bloody fuck am I going to call? The Slayer? Ha. Fat fucking chance at that. That bitch would take one look at me and laugh her head off. Then she'd go and tell all her chums about the poor vampire who got gang raped by a bunch of pillocks.

Who else is there? Let's see. Can't call Giles because he'd ask all sort so friggin' questions that I don't want to answer, then he'd probably tell the Slayer and it's back to laughing in good ol' Spike's face again. Can't call the witch because she can't keep a bloody secret to save her neck. Anya neither. I'd rather fry than call Xander.

Looks like it's back to walking in the rain. I hate the bloody rain. I take my right hand out of my pocket as I straighten and I see something flutter to the floor. I let out a growl that sounds more like someone's choking a cat as I bend down to pick it up. My broken ribs shift and I can literally feel another one pierce my lung. Good thing I don't use the soddin' organ.

Once the pain stops after I straighten, I focus on what I picked up.

I should have left it on the floor.

There's no way in hell I'm going to call my Sire. No fucking way. If he saw me looking like I do, he'd... he'd... he'd...


Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck fuck. I'm not going to call him. I don't want his help. I don't want to see him. I don't want to talk to him. I hate him. I'm not going to call.

The rain beats harder on the phone box. The panes of glass shudder loudly as the wind picks up.

I pick up the receiver, put it to my ear, then hang up again.

Bloody hell.

I pick it up again, use my shoulder to hold the receiver to my ear, set the card on the metal tray under the phone, and punch in the number on the back of the card.

"Please deposit fifty-five cents for the first three minutes of your call."

I hang up.

Lightning and thunder crash simultaneously nearby, causing the light above my head to flicker erratically.

Goddamn it all to hell.

I dip my hand back into the pocket of my duster and dump a handful of change onto the metal tray next to the card. Oh look. I have enough for a couple of burgers at McDonald's. I should have gone there instead of to the bar. I don't think the pimple squad would be interested in literally fucking over a vampire.

I pick up the receiver, wedge it to my ear with my shoulder, deposit the appropriate money, and dial the number.




I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this.


I hang up.

I lean my forehead on the back of the ugly green receiver hanging from the cradle, my right hand still wrapped around it. I forget that I shouldn't take a breath, and pain wracks my body as my ribs poke further into my lungs.

I pick up the receiver, use my shoulder to hold it to my ear, put in fifty-five more cents and dial.



I hang up.

I look at my depleting pile of change. I have enough for one more call, but I'm not going to use it. I'm not going to call him again. I'm not. I'm going to open the bloody door and walk my sorry arse home.

I feel another gob of semen slide down the back of my thigh under my trousers.

I pick up the receiver, wedge it to my ear, deposit the change, dial, and damn myself for eternity.



How the bloody fuck did he know it was me? I don't want to do this. I'm going to hang up again. I don't want his help. I don't need him.

I swallow because my mouth is dry and I fight back the wave of pain caused by the ring of bruises around my neck from the belt and my torn up throat. I wheeze loudly as I take in a breath of air to speak. "Ayewl?"

"Two hours."

Then I hear nothing because he's hung up already.

I replace the receiver, put the leftover change and the card back into my pocket, then use the windowed wall of the phone box to slide to the floor. Pain radiates from my arse, my bollocks, my ribs, my arm, my face, my everything.

Fucking humans.

My mind starts replaying in vivid color what happened at the bar, ignoring my fight not to relive it. I'd gone there because it was off the beaten path and therefore less likely to be a place other vampires frequented. They're not too happy with me right now, what with me killing demons like a goddamn Slayer with a cock. It's not like they'd stand around and listen to me explain that I need to kill something so I don't go out of my ever-lovin' mind.

The place had been a typical biker bar; dark, smoky and had loud music blaring from an old jukebox. It hadn't been very crowded, and I'd picked a spot to sit at the bar, had gotten my beer and had lit up a fag. I'd watched some of the blokes shoot billiards at one of the three tables in the place, then had decided to put down my money and play the winner.

Bloody fucking mistake that had been. Those blokes hadn't been good losers, especially when they'd though they'd been hustled. Hello? Demon? I've been around for a hundred years, I think I know how to play the soddin' game, and play it well.

Course, I hadn't told them that. But I had run off at the gob. They hadn't taken too kindly to me saying their chits were two bit cunts who probably got more pleasure from the pool cues they had been holding than them.

First swing, I'd blocked. I had broken the soddin' cue right in half. I'd jumped and had rolled over the table away from the sods, picking up a couple of balls on the way. I'd lobbed one directly at the git across from me.

And I'd dropped the second as pain seared through my brain.

One of the billiard player's buddies had conked me across the back of the head with another pool cue. Instinctively, I'd turned and swung, connecting with the guy's jaw. Immediately it'd felt as though a flaming hot poker had been shoved into my head.

Before I had recovered, the prick had slammed my face down onto the side of the billiards table. I'd kicked back, and my fucking head had exploded in pain again. The git had grabbed my duster and had yanked it partially down my arms, trapping them, before he'd flung me to the floor.

Another two had been on me within less than a second. One had grabbed me by my hair and had yanked me up to my knees from behind. The second had smashed his meaty fist into my left eye over and over again. I hadn't been able to get my duster over my shoulders because the git holding me was standing on it, and his legs had been pressed tight against my sides because of the way he'd picked me up, which had made it hard for me to get it off my arms.

I had felt my eye start to swell before I'd gotten my arms free. When I had, I'd grabbed the guy holding me by his wrist and had used my body weight to throw him over my head into the sod punching me. I'd jumped up to my feet, staggering slightly because of the pain in my head caused by throwing the human, and had spun around in time to block a second pool cue that had been aimed at my head.

I'd yanked the cue from his hands and had jammed it back into his stomach. I hadn't been able to stop the growl that'd escaped me as the implant in my head had reacted again. I'd known I had to get the fuck out of the place before I'd gotten beaten by a bunch of humans who had a combined I.Q. level of a sheep.

I'd thrown the pool cue at the guy I'd butted, then had turned to run out of the place. I had been almost home free when I'd run smack dab into the biggest fucker I'd ever seen, who had walked into the door I'd been trying to use.

He'd latched onto my neck with one huge hand and had lifted me off the ground without effort. I'd grabbed his wrist with both of my hands, and had tried to kick him. One of my Docs had connected with his leg, and I'd sworn at the soldier boys who'd captured me months ago as my brain had been electrified.

The overly hulking bloke holding me off the ground had grabbed my left wrist with his other hand. He'd squeezed until I'd heard the bones crackle as they broke. Still holding my wrist, he'd released my neck and gravity had carried me down to my feet. He'd immediately spun me and had yanked my arm up behind my back after he'd put his other hand on my right shoulder. The rip of my muscles had been loud as my left arm had been torn out of its socket.

He'd released me and had given me a violent shove back into the bar. Two burly blokes had grabbed hold of either of my arms, the dislocated one having caused me serious pain. I'd tried to fight off the one holding my good arm, but the flaming in my skull had prevented me from doing any good. They'd dragged me over to the billiards table I'd won at and had turned me so my back was to it.

I'd used the table to my advantage. The git I'd beat had moved in front of me to take a shot at me. I'd quickly leaned back on the table, had brought both my feet up, and had shoved him across the room with as much strength as I had.

Tears had sprung to my eyes at the intensity of the pain that had pierced my brain, which had prevented me from getting loose from the guys holding my arms. I had not been able to see the first blow to my gut, or the second. When I'd opened my eyes, it had been just in time to receive the huge fucker's fist in my face.

My nose had spurted blood as it broke. I'd growled and my face had slipped into its true countenance. I guess no one had been scared to have a vampire in their midst, because no one had screamed in terror or fled. It could also had been the fact that the big sod had slammed a doubled fist up into my crotch, driving me up off the ground with the strength behind it. I'm surprised I hadn't spit my knackers out my mouth.

The guys who'd been holding me had let go when the huge fuck nailed me, and I'd fallen to my knees. The big git'd grabbed my hair and had stopped me from curling into a ball from the pain radiating from my bollocks. He'd smashed his fist into my already swollen left eye once, twice, three times, each precisely placed hits that I had been unable to stop.

Then I'd watched with my one good, golden eye as he'd unzipped his pants and had pulled out his cock. It had been fucking enormous, larger than my Sire's, with an angry looking purple head and a piss slit the size of some chits' cunts.

I'd clenched my jaw shut as the pillock had grabbed my lower lip and had pulled down. The inner lining of my mouth had started to tear, and my right hand had flown up and had latched onto his hand. The second my nails had dug into his skin, the implant in my skull had gone off.

I'd opened my blood-filled mouth before he'd torn my lip off, and he'd rammed his engorged cock down my throat. In the exact instant my sharp teeth had scraped against his prick, the searing in my brain had made me scream out around the cock in my mouth. I'd opened my jaw as wide as I had been able, gagging as the huge git had fucked my face.

When the implant had stopped electrocuting me, I'd forced my human mask back into place. My cheeks had ballooned each time he'd rammed his cock into my mouth, the blood from my torn lower lip had made it easier for him to slide in and out. I'd knelt there and let him do it, my left arm dangling useless at my side, the fingers on my right hand digging into my thigh.

My left eye had been completely shut, but out of my right, I'd seen the other humans in the bar watching with interest. A few of them had been making out with the women. Most of the men had been standing with their arms crossed over their chests, malice written on their faces.

I'd choked on the semen as the huge sod came, his prick shoved halfway down my throat. It'd run out of my mouth and down my chin, and had mixed with the blood from my torn lower lip. He'd stepped back, his softening cock sliding easily from my mouth, but he hadn't released my hair. With one hand, he'd tucked himself away and had stepped to the side of me.

His deep, rumbling voice had sealed my fate for the remainder of my time at the bar. "Next."

Four more human males had fucked my face before I'd been yanked to my feet by the huge fucker. The guy I'd beaten in billiards had used a crow bar on my upper body next before he had broken my jaw with by slamming it across my face. Then the big pillock had shoved me half-over the billiards table, and my face had bled on my duster, which someone'd tossed on the lower part of it.

I'd tried one more time to stop what had been happening to me, but the implant had not cooperated. I'd closed my eyes and had prayed for someone to accidently stake me with a broken cue as my trousers had been pulled down to my ankles. Big guy's hand had released my hair only long enough to loop my own belt around my neck.

I'd grabbed a handful of the leather of my duster when the first bloke had started buggering me. My guts had felt like they were being stabbed by a knife and my anus had been on fire from the tearing of my inner lining. The guy fucking me had pulled back on the belt around my neck like I'd been a bloody horse, and had caused it to squeeze tightly around my throat. If I'd needed to breathe, I would've probably passed out by the time the first git was done. However, I hadn't needed to breathe, so I'd gotten to enjoy seven humans fucking me up the arse before the belt had been no longer used as a sort-of choke chain.

By then, I had given up and took the abuse. I couldn't do anything, anyway. Not with the implant in my head. The pricks gang raping me had been living beings, the very humans that bitch of a Slayer had said the Initiative wanted to protect by implanting us demons.

A woman had crawled onto the billiards table in front of me, had lifted my head by my hair and had shoved a twelve-inch, double-ended, fake cock into my mouth. Who knew where the bloody hell she'd gotten it from. She'd stood on the table, had taken off her trousers and knickers, then had sat and slid the other end of the fake prick into her snatch.

She'd held onto the back of my head and began fucking herself with the cock. The other end had gotten shoved further and further down my throat with every hit of her cunt on my face. As some bloke had been raping me up the arse, she had been raping me in a different way. It had been un-fucking-believable. A hundred twenty-six year old vampire had gotten raped by a human woman.

Two other women in the bar had used the cock shoved in my mouth to fuck themselves. They'd used the belt around my neck by making whomever was buggering me pull back on it, causing my head to raise off the billiards table higher. The bulbous end of the plastic cock had torn at my throat, bruising and cutting it on the inside. My mouth had been filled with enough blood to fill Giles's yellow mug.

The gang rape had ended with the huge pillock fucking me. The pain in my arse had dulled to a constant ebb of fire because of the repeated buggering by the first twelve blokes. That hadn't stopped me from screaming out around the fake cock left in my mouth by the chits when the big git's enormous prick had stabbed into me.

He'd fucked me for what seemed like forever. He'd already orgasmed once before, so his second time round he could last a lot longer. Whatever lining was left in my anus had been ripped apart by his bloody huge cock. It went on and on and on before he'd finally climaxed, his strong-arse hands bruising my hips.

After he'd finished, my trousers had been pulled up and I'd been dragged out the back door by him. He'd dropped me in the alley behind the bar, then he'd kicked me in the knackers. My duster had been thrown out the door at me before it had banged shut.

I'd yanked the fake cock out of my mouth and had dropped it to the ground, then had coughed up the blood that was in my mouth and throat. I'd gotten the belt off from around my neck before I'd laid there for several minutes, curled in a fetal position from the pain that engulfed my body.

I'd finally managed to push myself to my feet, fix my trousers and retrieve my duster. It had taken me longer than normal to get the leather coat on over my broken and dislocated left arm. I'd slowly made my way out of the alley when the rain had started.

Now here I am, sitting on the floor of a phone box, waiting for the man I hate to come riding in to rescue me like I'm some bloody fairy tale princess. I should have just walked home. Who cares about the fucking rain? It's only water. I won't melt.

I wheeze in another breath of air before forcing myself to swallow. My throat is unbelievably raw from those women raping me. That huge fucker hurt me, but that fake cock those cows used was further down my throat then those things are suppose to go. I'm fucking glad I didn't need to breathe, what with my broken nose and all.

Fuck, if I'd been human, I'd be dead. Though right now I'm not too sure if that's a bad thing or not. Those pillocks at the bar had been playing for keeps. They wouldn't have cared about killing a human, and in this town, there'd be no homicide investigation. People turn up dead all the time.

I lean my head back against the glass pane and close my working eye. I don't think I'm ever going to be able to move again. Those stupid motherfucking Initiative pricks. Somehow I'm going to kill them all. They're the ones who did this to me. Sod the humans at the bar, if it wasn't for the soldier boys, I wouldn't have gotten gang raped. I could've protected myself. I could've eaten the whole bloody patronage of the bar. I could have shoved the huge fucker's enormous cock down his own fucking throat!

And I'm not going to fucking cry! I'm not! I'm not! I'm not!

Damn it. I wipe my right eye with my right palm as a tear trickles from it. Oh bloody hell, I hurt. I feel so...violated. Powerless. Weak. The Initiative didn't just take away my ability to hurt living creatures, they took away my ability to protect myself.

I carefully adjust my duster around me. I'm wet and I'm cold. Stupid friggin' rain. Come on, Angel, get your big soddin' arse here already. I want to go home.

I finger the chain around my neck, hoping it will make the dumb poof get here sooner. I called the bleedin' ponce, I might as well use him to my advantage. I'm in too much fucking pain to move anyway. I shouldn't have stopped walking. I should have stayed home. I shouldn't have come back to Sunnyhell. I should have tied the bloody wanker to the bed in Romania and not let him leave.

I hear a light tapping on the side of the glass on the door and I open my eye. I roll my head on the windowed wall behind me and look out the door. A flash of lightning lights up the sky at that moment, and I see my Sire crouched outside the phone box, looking right at me.

This is the normal time the scary music cues up and the bloke in the box gets chopped to little bits. Then again, I think if Jason or Leatherface were to come after me, they'd shake their heads and say that someone already did a good enough job on me.

I let out a hiss of pain as I move my legs. I try to push myself to my feet, but I get nowhere fast. The door opens and Angel is looking at me with an inscrutable expression. I take a wheezing, painful breath so I can speak, and I say, "You jus gunda dook a we owr you gonda hewlk?"

Angel comes partially into the phone box and helps me to my feet without a word, although I'm whimpering in pain. Why wasn't he this quiet when he lost his soul a few years back? It'd been much nicer to have him around then.

He carefully leads me through the rain to his car. I hate the fucking rain. He settles me into the passenger seat, then closes the door, and I lay my head back on the headrest. I don't bother to ponder how he found me, despite the box being out in the middle of nowhere and I didn't tell him where I was. He found me, he's taking me home, and I don't have to walk in the rain.

I hate the bloody rain.

I must of passed out or dozed or something, because the next thing I know, Angel's lowering me in a tub of warm water. It bloody fucking hurts and feels so good all at once. I open my good eye and I recognize the bath as the one at his place near the Bronze where we came on Christmas.

I chuckle at my own little pun and wish I hadn't as pain wracks my body. This isn't fair. What did I ever do? I've been a good demon, creating havok and maiming and killing just like good demons are suppose to do. Where does it say in the vampire handbook that we're suppose to get souls or get raped by humans, eh?

Angel's fingertips brush along my right cheekbone, one of the few places I'm not hurt, and I focus on him. The eyes that I hate to look into are filled with sadness and anger, and they pull me in. I'm drowning in the liquid brown orbs, and I feel like he can see to the very core of me.

I don't want him to look at me when I'm like this. I don't want him to see that I really do need him. I want him to just go away. I hate him.

He picks up a washrag and soaps it up, then he carefully begins washing me. The damn poof. Why doesn't he say anything? Why doesn't he ask me what happened? Why does he even care?

I drop my chin after he washes under my neck. I watch as the bath water gets redder and redder because of my blood. It's kind of neat, actually. Reminds me of the time Dru killed a bloke and tossed his body in a lighted fountain. The red of the blood had slowly spread out over the water and Dru had made designs on the surface with her finger.

My Sire turns me slightly and I let out a cat-strangled growl of pain as he gently wipes at my bum. "Shh," he says softly.

Oh yeah right. I'll 'shh' you, you bloody nonce. You get fucked up the arse by a cock the size of your ego and see if you 'shh.'

After washing the back of my legs, he releases me and pulls the drain on the tub. I watch as the red water level gets lower and lower in the tub until it gurgles completely down the drain. I hadn't seen Angel leave the bathroom and come back with a mug of blood with a straw in it. He picks up my right hand and closes my fingers around it, then lets go.

The warmed blood tastes like animal shit, but it's blood. I drink it slowly by pressing the straw to the roof of my mouth with my tongue and sucking, as my Sire pats me dry with a towel while I'm still sitting in the tub. My throat is protesting with each swallow. I get a quarter of it drunk and I think I'm going to heave.

"Done?" Angel asks, his voice low and calm.

"Yeah," I reply. He takes the mug from me and sets it to the side, then scoops me up out of the tub as if I were a soddin' baby. I'd protest up a storm, but my body hurts so badly, I'm just trying not to cry out in pain as he carries me into the other room.

I wonder if this is how he treated Buffybitch whenever she got real hurt. Somehow I doubt the twit allowed him to take care of her. Probably too afraid one false move and, oops, bye-bye soulboy.

He sets me down carefully on the unmade bed, then begins to check over my injuries. My shoulder is popped back into place with a loud scream from me, and he bandages me up so much I undoubtably look like a mummy. Then he pulls the sheet up over me and tucks me in. I feel like I should be sucking my thumb or something. Cor, why did I call the wanker again?

He runs a light finger over my forehead, looking at me with those all-seeing eyes of his. He then turns off the light on the night-stand and goes into the bathroom, presumably to clean up. I can hear him moving around for a few minutes, then the click of the bathroom light as he shuts it off. The apartment is totally dark.

I hear him sit down on the chair, the leather creaking as he gets comfortable. The rain is still coming down outside, knocking on the window repeatedly. I hate that goddamn rain.

"Ayewl?" I say in my raw voice.


I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm so bloody whacked in the head. "Kean you..." Fuck. I'm not going to ask. I don't need him. I hate him.

I hear the chair creak and then his footsteps as he crosses the floor to me. He says nothing as he carefully climbs into the bed with me, joining me under the sheet. I'm on my right side, which is the least painful, and he spoons himself loosely to me, his hand gently sliding down around my waist. I feel a light kiss on the back of my neck, then a breath of air as he sighs.

"Danks," I tell him after a few minutes.

"Not necessary, William," he says softly. "Just sleep."

So I close my eyes, relax back against my wanker of a Sire whom I hate, and just sleep to the sound of the rain beating against the window.

I really do hate the rain.

End 1