(no subject)
Welcome To The World
McFly, PoynterJudd
Part: 2/4
Summary: Dougie’s life, not going smoothly.
Warnings: Language, violence. Crossover, but to tell you here would spoil the story.
A/N: Written for the mcsecretsanta challenge. For my lovely Emily ♥ She wanted AUs, crack, darkfic and adventure. Oh, yeah.
Additionally: Massive thanks to armillarysphere, for letting me bitch at her and for proofing the entire thing. Thank you also to silver_stargate for giving me pats on the head when I needed them.
part i
Connor pulled onto a quiet suburban street and stopped in front of a large, red-brick house, shadowed in the dark. A turret ran up one corner of it, angular and windowed and there was a light on behind thick curtains on the ground floor.
“Where are we?” Dougie peered out of the windscreen at the house and there was a shadow moving somewhere in the light.
“An old friend. Well, friend of my father’s.” Connor tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “Actually, they couldn’t stand each other. But he’s the best person for you right now.” He looked up as the front door opened and there wass a man silhouetted against the light, tall and thin and Connor gave Dougie a vaguely encouraging smile. “Go on.”
Dougie got out of the car and stepped hesitantly up the driveway, stones crunching under his feet and Connor a few paces behind him. Closer to the house, the man’s face came into view, lined and scarred and kind and he removed a pair of round spectacles and smiled tiredly at Dougie.
“You’d better come in, then.”
His voice was soft, polished and upper-class like Harry’s used to be before he spent too much time around the rest of the band and he stepped back to let Dougie and Connor inside.
The house was warm, dark, old wood and faded fabrics, piles of leathery books and dull brass instruments and the man led Dougie into a living room and pushed him gently towards a faded velvet sofa.
“Sit down, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Dougie looked anxiously at Connor, hovering in the doorway and Connor nodded at him.
“I’ll be down the hall if you need me.”
They left Dougie alone in the half-darkened room and he sat nervously on the edge of the sofa, looking around the room. There was a dying fire in a grate, the deep tick of a grandfather clock from somewhere behind him and a rolltop desk under a window. The room was warm, comforting, and he pulled the blanket from around his shoulders and folded it neatly, placed it on the arm of the sofa as the man came back into the room, two steaming mugs in his hands.
“There you go,” and he handed one of them to Dougie. “Be careful, it’s hot.”
The heavy china burned his fingers and Dougie carefully balanced the mug on his knee, watched the milk inside gently steam and settle.
“My name’s Giles.” The man offered him a smile. “Rupert Giles. I’m sorry about your friend.”
“Yeah, people keep saying that,” Dougie held the tip of his finger against the china, let it tingle and burn like the memory of vodka. “But he’s still dead.”
“No one was meant to get hurt,” Giles said gently. “That’s why Connor’s been looking after you. We just never expected…” He grimaced slightly and took a sip of his own drink. “They distracted him with a troll. Cunning bastards.”
“Connor’s my bodyguard,” Dougie said slowly, frowning. “He gets paid to look after me. Why did he bring me to you?”
“Because after tonight, I needed to talk to you.” Giles slipped his glasses off and polished them on the corner of his woollen cardigan. Dougie noted absently that the elbows were patched like Tom’s, like the weird green woven thing that Tom kept insisting was cool and hip, and Dougie had laughed at him for even using the word ‘hip’ and his eyes burned with tears.
“You knew something like this was going to happen?”
“I was hoping it wouldn’t,” Giles leaned back against the back of the sofa. “I was hoping that we would never have to have this conversation and you could carry on living your life in perfect ignorance.”
Dougie brushed at his eyes and tried not to think about his friends. “Tell me.”
Giles leaned forward and neatly placed his mug on the floorboards beside him. “Into every generation a Slayer is born,” and he coloured slightly, the words learned by rote and repeated so many times they were almost meaningless. “One girl in all the world, a Chosen One with the strength and skill to hunt vampires, to stop the spread of evil and to prevent the end of the world.” Giles scratched at his neck absently. “Apart from now there’s several hundred girls because we broke the prophecy a few years back. And now I spend my life rounding them up and training them.”
“And?”
“And,” Giles winced, as if struck by a sudden headache. “You’re a Slayer.”
Dougie looked at him blankly. “I’m not a girl.”
“Yes, I know that,” Giles frowned. “I’ve been watching you for the past five years. If anything, I have learned that Dougie Poynter has a cock and he loves it very much.” The word sounded odd, vulgar coming from Giles, and Dougie felt a dart of something in his stomach, like the first time he’d heard Harry swear, fuck, and he’d gone to sleep for days with the sound of the posh vowels stretching out over the illicit word in his head, lips moving to try and copy it, and never getting it right.
“So how am I…?”
“I have no idea,” Giles sighed. “I’ve been trying to figure it out, with no luck. But every locator spell, every piece of magic I know, picks you out as a Slayer every time. It’s an absolute puzzlement.”
“So what were you going to do about it?”
“Well, I was hoping that eventually, with you being a boy, you would just… stop giving out a Slayer aura.”
Dougie looked at him, and felt suddenly very calm. “Wait. There’s an ancient prophecy all about me and you were hoping I would grow out of it?”
“Well, when you put it that way…”
“This is fucking bullshit,” Dougie stood up, dumped the mug onto a little side table. “You’re fucking crazy!”
Giles reached out for him. “Dougie..”
“No!” Dougie snapped, backing away. “You’re a fucking lunatic, you are! You and Connor! Oh my god, wait until Fletch hears about this, he’ll have you two! Fucking nutters!”
“Dougie, listen to me…”
“Fuck off!”
“Dougie Poynter, sit the hell down and shut up!” And it was so like Harry, voice rounded and tight and powerful that Dougie sat suddenly, barely made the edge of the sofa, and he glared up at Giles with narrowed, scared eyes. “For heaven’s sake, for once in your life just pay attention!”
Dougie flushed red and looked down at his hands. There was a streak of dark brown across the back of his knuckles, flaking away to crimson and he realised with a sick, heavy feeling that it was blood.
“I’m sorry,” Giles said gently, sitting down next to him. “I didn’t mean…”
“I feel a bit sick.” Dougie turned his hands over so he wouldn’t see the blood. “Can I go outside for a while?”
“Of course you can,” Giles eyes crinkled at the corner as he smiled, and Dougie couldn’t help but notice how blue they were.
~*~
They sat on plastic sunloungers in Giles’ garden, wrapped up against the cold in mismatched woollen hats and blankets, and watched the stars blink harshly in the night sky. Dougie clutched the re-heated milk in his hands, watched the steam rise and curl and disappear above him.
“When I was your age, I was told what I was meant to be,” Giles leaned back in his chair, feet up and ankles neatly crossed. “Spend the rest of my life training Slayers. I wasn’t too impressed.”
“What did you do?”
“Went a bit wild,” Giles gave him a half-smile. “Alcohol. Sex. Rock and roll.” At Dougie’s soft laugh, Giles turned to him with a frown. “I was quite the bad boy then, I’ll have you know.”
“Yeah, right,” Dougie grinned into his milk.
“Cheeky git.”
Dougie put his mug down and lay back. “Mister Giles?”
“It’s just Giles, Dougie.”
“Okay.” Dougie looked up at the stars, bright and cold and held up his hands, drifted them through the air. The stars shone between his fingers, distant and glittering and he watched them shine in and out of sight. “Why is this happening to me?”
“I bought a television about a year ago,” Giles mused. “Never had one before. Infernal things, almost as bad as computers. But there’s occasionally an interesting documentary on the BBC that I enjoy with a cup of cocoa.”
Dougie snorted. “You are so old.”
“There’s brandy in the cocoa.”
“You’re also disgusting.”
“There was a documentary,” Giles glared at him and Dougie stared up at the sky. “A new medical discovery called chimerism.”
Dougie twisted to look at him. “Chimera. Like the monster.”
“Well, yes. That’s perfectly correct.” Giles smiled proudly. “However did you know that?”
“Computer games,” Dougie shrugged.
“That’s… entirely fascinating. And very disturbing.”
“So I’m a monster?”
“No, no, not at all. It’s when you start off as twins,” Giles said. “Apparently, it’s very common. Most often one twin dies in the cellular stages and is absorbed into the mother’s body. Sometimes, the cells are absorbed by the other twin as it grows. Two different strands of DNA in a single body.”
“So I’ve got… wait a minute!” Dougie sat upright, stared at Giles in horror. “There’s a girl inside me?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“Get it out!”
“You can’t,” Giles said patiently. “That DNA is as much a part of you as your own. It’ll be in your bones or your organs and we can’t very well take out those.”
Dougie stared down at his palms, horrified. “Is that why I’m so small?”
“It could be,” Giles shrugged. “Or it could be why you have panic attacks when you have to cut your hair short. Or why you have a deep appreciation for boys in tight shirts.”
“I have a deep appreciation for breasts!”
“You might be a lesbian.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Sorry,” but Giles didn’t sound it.
“Are you sure about this?” Dougie tugged on the ends of his hair, nervous. “It might just be some weird thing you saw on telly, right?”
“May 2003.”
Dougie looked up, frowned. “What?”
“We broke the prophecy that meant there was only one Slayer at a time, woke up all the others waiting to be called on. Can you remember what you did that month?”
“I can’t even remember what I did last week. That’s what I have the others for.”
“This would have been big, unforgettable. Did you feel…” Giles waved his hand in the air. “Did you change?”
“I was in a shit punk band,” Dougie said slowly. His insides felt odd suddenly, cold and hot and he didn’t want to carry on, not really. “We were meant to be doing something with it, get famous. We weren’t very good, though. I was…” He curled up tighter, and the air around him seemed full of needles. “I was reading a magazine one day and just felt… different. Like I had been sleeping all my life and I just woke up. And I was turning a page and there was this advert for a band audition. So I went for it because I suddenly thought, I could do that. A month later, and I’m in McFly.” Dougie wriggled under his blanket and dug out a crushed packet of cigarettes from his pocket. “Fuck, where’s my lighter?”
“Here,” Giles leaned over and in the half-darkness a small flame appeared cupped in his fingers. Dougie leaned forward and lit a cigarette, and it was only after he’d taken the first, deep drag that he realised that there was never a match in Giles’ hand. “That,” Dougie whispered, “Is fucking cool.”
~*~
Giles stole one of Dougie’s cigarettes and they lay in silence, smoke-wreathed and chilled in the night.
“Giles?”
“Yes?”
“Why did that thing kill Paul?”
“Because he was in the way,” Giles said gently. “And that’s what monsters do.”
“And I’m meant to kill the monsters?”
“We’ll talk about that in the morning.”
“Are there lots of them?”
“In London, yes,” Giles tapped ash onto the grass next to him, watched the falling pins of lights crash and fade. “But that’s because there’s a Hellmouth, a gateway to hell underneath the city.”
Dougie’s eyes grew wide. “Under the entire city?!”
“Oh, no,” Giles shook his head. “Just Kilburn.”
“That… explains a lot,” Dougie mused. “How come they never came after me before now?”
“They did.” Giles took another drag of the cigarette, watched the boy out of the corner of his eye. “Have you never noticed strangers following you, wanting to touch you? Dark shadows lurking outside your home? Odd noises in the street outside?”
“I’m in a boyband.”
Giles nodded. “Well, yes, I suppose…”
“Are we safe out here? Can they get in your garden?”
“You’re perfectly safe here,” Giles stubbed out the end of the cigarette on the cold grass. “Lots of spells, lots of wards. Nothing can get through.”
“Like the Burrow!”
“Like what?”
“Harry Potter. Where the Weasleys live.”
“I suppose… well, yes, rather.” Giles frowned. “I find it difficult to believe that you have read those weighty tomes.”
“Hey!” Dougie glared at him. “I can read!”
“There’s no pictures in them.”
“I’m not a complete retard,” Dougie sniffed. “Anyway, Tom read them to me.”
Giles laughed. “I knew it.”
“He does the voices! My head doesn’t do the voices!”
“You’re a very odd child, Dougie,” Giles smiled affectionately. “Now be a good lad and pass me another fag.”
Dougie yawned, and he’s got no idea what time it is, only that it’s terribly late and he’s suddenly, awfully, exhausted. Giles noticed and stood up.
“Stay here. I’m going to go make up a bed for you.”
“Thanks,” Dougie muttered sleepily, and stared up at the stars until he heard the sound of footsteps on the grass again.
~*~
The bedroom was small, warm, and Dougie lay under the pile of blankets wide awake and shivering. He hated the dark, always had done, and here, in this not-quite stranger’s house, the darkness seemed closer, tangible. Giles had given Dougie clean pajamas, gently scrubbed the boy’s hands clear of the last traces of cracking blood and shoved him gently towards a little guest room covered in framed paintings and more odd little ornaments. Somewhere down the hall Connor was sleeping, but all Dougie wanted was blue eyes and strong arms, and he pushed back the blankets, skipped quickly through the dark bedroom and padded softly down the hall.
“Mister Giles?”
Giles’ bedroom was darker than his own, and Dougie quietly closed the door behind him, hurried over to the side of the bed and knelt on top of the duvet, feet swinging up and away because there were suddenly monsters under the bed in the world.
“Is everything alright?”
“I’m sleeping in here tonight,” Dougie said firmly, and shifted around, crawled under the duvet. The bed was huge, wide, and Dougie could easily have curled up and left plenty of space but he reached out, tentatively, and curled his fingers around Giles’ wrist.
“I don’t know if this is really appropriate,” Giles whispered, and Dougie pulled closer.
“But I’m not really a Slayer.”
“You’re just a boy.”
“I am not,” Dougie whispered fiercely. “And you used to be wild.”
Giles nodded, and his eyes were blue like Harry’s, and in the darkness it was okay.
~*~
“That was a bit wrong, you know.”
“Oh, do be quiet.” Giles took the mug of tea Connor handed him and sat down at the kitchen table.
“I’m meant to protect him from weirdos like you.”
“And you do such a fabulous job.”
“Oh, bite me.” Connor turned back to the teapot and started making his own cup. “Where is he?”
“Getting dressed. We need to decide what to do with him.”
“Send him home. Let him be with his friends.”
“I meant afterwards,” Giles sipped at his tea and made a face. “I don’t take sugar.”
“So did I. And I know you don’t,” Connor gave a not-entirely innocent smile, and looked up as Dougie padded into the kitchen. “Hey.”
“Are you talking about me?” Dougie yawned. “That’s a bit rude.”
“We were just discussing your well-being.” Giles handed Dougie his mug as the boy sat down next to him. “We need to work out what we’re going to do with you.”
“What?” Dougie looked up from the mug and glared across at Connor. “You said you weren’t kidnapping me!”
“I’m not!” Connor said, exasperated. “But you need to make a choice, what you want to do.”
“What do you mean?” Dougie eyed them suspiciously.
“He means, now you know what you are, do you want to learn more?” Giles offered. “Or, do you want to go home, forget all this happened, and live your life with us watching over you?”
“That’s not very fair on you, though, is it?” Dougie said. “Looking after me all the time.”
“It’s not like you ever minded before,” Connor muttered.
Dougie frowned at him. “Paul. He died because that vampire was after me, right?”
“Yeah,” Connor looked away.
“Right then.” Dougie sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Teach me.”
“Are you absolutely certain?” Giles tapped Dougie gently on the wrist, made the boy look at him, determined and so very, very young. “Slayers are strong, powerful. You’ve got none of that.”
“I’m not letting anyone else die because of me,” Dougie said fiercely, and thought suddenly of Tom. “I’m taking some responsibility for once. Now, can I go home? I need to take the dog for a walk.”
~*~
There was a large crowd of people outside the gates of the small residential community where the band lived, men and women with large black cameras and notepads and dictaphones. They pressed close to the gates, clutching cups of coffee that steamed in the early morning chill. Behind them were suited security guards, large and familiar and as Connor drew the car closer to the gates Dougie turned to him.
“Do any of them know? About me?”
“Only Frank.” Connor slowed the car down as the crowd noticed them and turned expectantly. “Saved him from a werewolf a couple years ago. He helps me keep a special eye out.”
“Wait!” Dougie stared as the first journalist reached the car, held up a camera and started taking photos. The flash filled the inside of the car, making Dougie blink furiously to clear the bright spots in front of his eye. “What do I tell everyone? I can’t say that it was a vampire what killed Paul!”
“It was a scaffolding accident,” Connor told him steadily, guiding the car carefully through the crowd. “Tragic circumstances. You needed to get away for the night to deal with it. Let other people talk at you, let them fill in the blanks themselves. You can’t tell anyone.” The gates opened in front of them and they left the crowd behind. “It’ll be okay.”
Up ahead Dougie could see Danny walking down the road towards them, dogs on their leads in front of him. He was out of the car almost before Connor had pulled to a stop, running towards his friend.
“Danny!”
“Hey!” Danny grabbed him, pulled him into a tight hug. At their feet, Bruce and Flea were jumping, whining, but the boys didn’t let go, held tight and Dougie buried his face in Danny’s shoulder. “Oh my god, are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Dougie mumbled against Danny’s shirt, and his hands were shaking.
“I can’t believe it. What… Connor rang, told us what happened. Why didn’t you come home?”
“I couldn’t,” and that was enough for Danny and he nodded, held Dougie tighter. The dogs were going mad, and Dougie broke away from the hug to bend down, wrapped his arms around Flea. “Hey boy.”
“Dougie!” There was the sound of running feet and then Harry was there, dropping to his knees and throwing his arms around the boy. “Thank fuck you’re okay!”
Dougie closed his eyes, let himself be held and breathed in Harry. Strong arms and different blue eyes and he felt suddenly calm.
“Guys,” and Tom was there, brought out by the commotion, palm against Dougie’s head, other hand slipping into Danny’s. He nodded towards the end of the road, at the watching journalists and flashing cameras. “Let’s get inside.”
They headed into Tom’s house and while Tom busied himself in the kitchen making sandwiches and tea, Dougie went upstairs, to run a hot bath. He lay there in the water, letting foamy bubbles run absently through his fingers while Harry sat on the floor next to him, head propped on his arm on the side of the bath and hand skimming over the surface of the water. Later, dried and wrapped in clean clothes that Tom heated up in the microwave, Dougie lay on Tom’s bed, surrounded by his friends and the remains of lunch. They lay there twisted together, quiet and breathing and tangled, boys and limbs and dogs and crumbs and Dougie thought suddenly, fiercely, I’d kill for you, and that didn’t scare him at all.
~*~
Giles had a training room set up in his loft, a high, wide space with locked cabinets lining the walls and crash pads on the floor. He stood in the middle of the room, cleaning his glasses carefully with a red handkerchief, eyeing Dougie thoughtfully.
“So what are you doing for Christmas?”
“I don’t know,” Dougie shrugged. “I think I might-“ A punch to the chest sent him flying backwards, landing heavily on the mat. “What,” he wheezed, curling onto his side and staring up at Giles. “What the fuck…”
“First lesson.” Giles neatly put his glasses on and reached down a hand to help Dougie up. “Don’t get distracted.”
“Right,” nodded Dougie, and kicked Giles in the shin.
~*~
“Okay, vampires.”
Dougie tilted his head back against the sofa, squinted his eyes closed as he thought. “Stake. Beheading. Sunlight. Lots and lots of fire.”
“Good,” Giles nodded. “And werewolves?”
“Silver bullet.”
“Zombies?”
Dougie laughed. “You’re fucking kidding me. There’s no such thing!”
“I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. Zombies.”
“Uh.” Dougie frowned. “Sever the brain stem?”
“Correct. How did you know that one?”
“’Shaun of the Dead’.”
Giles sighed deeply. “I cannot believe half your Slayer training has come through popular culture.”
“”It wouldn’t have had to if you’d told me about this years ago.”
“You still go to sleep with a nightlight,” Giles said dryly. “Forgive me for not thinking you weren’t ready.”
“Get bent.”
“Your witticism astounds me. Dragon?”
“What.”
~*~
Giles opened one of the locked loft cabinets, a heavy metal box held tight by thick chains. He smiled proudly as Dougie looked at the contents, held on hooks at the back.
“These are my own designs. Urban weapons for the modern Slayer.”
Dougie looked at him doubtfully. “It’s a paintball gun.”
“Well, yes,” Giles admitted. “But the paintballs are filled with laudanum and holy water. I’m trying to work out a way to use wooden pellets, but they keep jamming the gun.”
“Don’t you ever get arrested?”
“For what, carrying weapons?” Giles reached into the cabinet and brought out a small, slim stake, handing it to Dougie. “The key is to keep them concealed, or looking harmless. A stake concealed in a boot or, in your case, somewhere in your voluminous trousers. And don’t make any sexual remarks.”
“You’re no fun,” Dougie frowned, trying to hold the stake comfortably in the waistband of his jeans. “And this won’t stay.”
“Talk to Connor about that. He has a whole range of wonderful holsters. Gets them custom made. He found a rather fantastic way of keeping a half pint of holy water on him at all times. Even added in some alcohol so no one would get suspicious if they saw it.”
“The schnapps?”
“Yes. Wonderful idea.”
“Dude. It’s schnapps.”
“And?”
Dougie just shook his head.
~*~
There was a mannequin in the loft, a solid white thing held upright by a metal support and Giles wheeled it out into the middle of the floor. Dougie looked at it suspiciously.
“It isn’t going to attack me, is it?”
“What? No.”
“Good,” Dougie beamed. “See? Not distracted.”
“Just kill the damn thing,” Giles held out a thick wooden stake to Dougie who took it, turning it round in his hands.
“Is this going to give me splinters?”
“No, Dougie.” Giles watched as the boy looked thoughtfully at the mannequin before spearing it quickly and neatly, turning back to Giles with a hopeful smile on his face. “Well done,” Giles closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, warding off an encroaching headache. “You found the spleen.”
~*~
“Where do you keep disappearing to, Pugs?”
Dougie kept his eyes closed and hoped Harry would think he was asleep. They’re naked on Dougie’s bed, bedclothes damp and crumpled, skin slick and flushed. The setting winter sun sent cold white light dying across the walls, making the boys ache and shiver even inside.
“I know you’re not asleep, Dougie,” Harry let his fingers glide up and down Dougie’s hip, pressing into the soft skin and watching it turn from tan to white and back again. “Talk to me.”
“What about?” Dougie stretched, pressed a gentle kiss against Harry’s chest solid and rhythmic beneath him. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Dougie opened his eyes and looked up at Harry, sighed. “It’s been a weird week.”
“I’m sorry about Paul, I really am,” Harry said carefully, and his fingers didn’t stop moving. “But you used to be able to talk to me about things. You haven’t said anything about him to me.”
“Harry…”
“I’m worried about you, Dougie.”
Dougie pushed himself up on one arm and looked down at Harry. It was almost there on the tip of his tongue and he wanted to tell him everything, to whisper and shout and not stop and tell Harry that it was okay, he wasn’t crazy, he’d protect Harry, but there was a buzzing coming from the floor next to the bed and Harry sighed and pulled away from Dougie, leaned over the edge to pick up his phone.
“Yeah,” Harry answered the phone, closed his eyes. “Okay, I’ll be there in a bit, babe. Yeah, no worries.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched slowly. “No, nothing important, don’t worry.”
Dougie thought, fuck you, and he started looking on the floor for his underwear, somewhere in the tangle of hastily-stripped clothing. Harry got dressed in silence, slipped on his shoes and leaned down to press a quick kiss against Dougie’s cheek.
Dougie pulled away. “Fuck off.”
“Pugs…”
“Go back to your girlfriend, Harry,” and he pushed past the other boy, walked into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. He turned on the shower, sat on the side of the bath and watched the falling water and didn’t leave until he heard the sound of the front door closing.
t o b e c o n t i n u e d
~*~