What if Max wasn’t really David’s sire? It was really someone else, someone that David modelled himself after. AU, and slight Buffy cross where David’s sire is concerned. Apart from that it tells the story of how the original Boy came to be.
Author: LostGirl (aka Lost Girl-Markos Lover and StarsChild)
Disclaimer: I dont own Lost Boys, or Spike. But I do wish that I owned Marko and David, -_- but I dnt.
David had always known that he was different. Always. There was something inside of him that called to the night, revelled in it. Something that was ready to tear him apart if he subdued it. An animal that seemed to cry out inside him, howling for the solitude of darkness.
So it was on this cold and dark night that he found himself wandering the town he had come to call home. The rain beat heavily down upon him, and he tucked his long black coat about him tighter. The streets were full of people, late-night shoppers, he’d presumed, and the dark clouds made the night seem blacker still.
The wind whipped about his prone form as he almost stumbled into an alleyway, seeking seclusion from all the prying and pitying looks that the many people gave him. His bright cerulean blue eyes were dull and he didn’t react when he walked into someone. Not until that someone got his attention.
It wasn’t everyday that you were attacked in an alleyway, not everyday when your attacker pins you against a wall with unbelievable strength. Not everyday that he bites into the soft flesh of your neck.
His life force drained from him, and his attacker did not stop. Vision grew blurry, darkness threatened to take hold, to smother him in its black oblivion. A terrible pulling on his heart that made him want to scream in agony, but was unable to find his voice. Images pulsated with blood red clarity, some of them his own, most of them alien to his memory.
After what seemed like and endless eternity his attacker drew away, and he felt weak and so tired. It was then that he caught sight of his attacker. Startling facial features, high cheekbones and intense eyes. White blond hair framed his striking face and David had a feeling that this man was going to be the last person he saw.
The man’s face contorted, feral, yellow replacing the intense shadow of his eyes. He would have gasped in fright if he had the energy. His strength was failing and his attacker deemed that the time was right. Cutting open his wrist he placed it over David’s mouth, and firmly told him to drink.
He was scared, there was no denying it. In the nineteen years of his life he’d never been so scared. But as the darkness beckoned he found himself swallowing, the disgust that he’d felt before now disappearing. It was instinct to swallow after he had lost consciousness. Instinct that kept him swallowing the potent blood of this creature of the night.
He awoke a different man. His sire was there with him, told him about his heritage, that his Great Great Grandsire was the Master vampire himself. Said his name was ‘Spike’, had told him the origin of his own nickname. Night after night Spike would tell him things, about the world. After they’d fed off the blood of the innocent. At first he had been repulsed by this, disgusted by what he had become. But it wasn’t long before he grew accustomed to the vampiric way.
He found a joy in the hunt, felt whole as he drank the lifes blood of his victims, and soon he began to respect his sire. Idolise him.
But one night David awoke to find that his sire was gone. In despair he searched the streets of the city, finding nothing. Finally he retreated back to their den, the place where they slept during the harsh light of day. And he found the farewell letter.
His sire was gone.
Gone to see his beloved Drusilla. He’d heard of her, the insane vampiress seer that had turned his sire. Now he was alone. He travelled the world, searching for his maker, always looking but each lead eventually led to a dead end.
Along the way he became so obsessed that he began to dress like Spike, the long black coat, black jeans and t-shirt. Dyed his hair white blond. Became the bad boy that Spike had always been. So he would never be able to perfect his sire’s tone of voice or match his wit or sarcasm, but no-one could imitate Spike.
David travelled so far and yet found nothing. In despair he fed off a youth that mirrored his pain of loss. The raven haired youth’s eyes spoke volumes to him, and before he knew what he was doing he had told the dying youth to drink his rancid blood. He was too far gone to resist, and he created a companion of the night. Dwayne. His first Childe.
Together they terrorised the people of Santa Carla, the death toll slowly mounting as they gorged themselves with blood. That was when they found an Old One. Max. This vampire hadn’t the strength to carry on. In a moment of rare humanity, David had saved the older vampire from his ultimate death, bringing the wayward Max to his senses. It earned them gratitude. And a kind-of adopted father.
Paul had come next, the second of David’s Childer. He had been a gift from Dwayne in the moments of his great depression. Paul’s blood was sweet and David could not have hoped for a better gift, and the youths’ laughter and sense of humour had been an added bonus. Not wanting to kill such a precious gift he had shared his potent blood once more.
The three did more damage than they ever did before. They ruled the Boardwalk, keeping rival gangs in line, killing their enemies mercilessly.
Their fourth had been one of them. He’d been a Surf Nazi, a member of their rivals gang. But he didn’t belong. Marko, the angelic one with the innocent ways. Paul had been the one to befriend him, the one to gain his trust.
Marko had belonged with them, and still retained his innocence after he was turned. These four reigned the night in Santa Carla. Nothing could stop them, and nothing ever would, until fate perceived that its devils of the night needed to be vanquished.
But that tale is for another time, and another place.