Author: Ketterly
Prompt: Find
Fandom: Angel
Rating: PG-13
Author's Website: Ketterly's Page
Author's Note: This is slightly AU and a little bit out of character.


"Well, well, well. Looky what I found!"

"Go away, Spike," Connor muttered, glancing all around to see who the meddlesome vamp had brought with him.

"It's just me," Spike said with a smirk. "Were you hoping for someone else?"

"I was hoping for none of you," Connor said sullenly.

"Well, come on, then," Spike said. "Let's get you out of here and home to Daddy."

"No, I'm not going!" Connor said, trying hard not to pout, as it wasn't becoming of a man.

"Uh, yeah, you are," Spike said firmly. "What, you planning to stay in this closet all day? Eventually some demon's gonna need a box of pencils, you know."

"Then I'll hand them to him," Connor said petulantly. "I'm not moving."

Spike sighed.

"Look, kid. We really don't have time for this. Your pop is a busy man, a very busy man of late, and there are no extra minutes set aside on the agenda for your crap. Get up before I bellow for him."

"You wouldn't," Connor mumbled.

Spike turned from the closet and yelled at the top of his lungs to the room in general, which happened to be empty.

"Call off your goons, Angel! I've found him! He's in the supply closet on the second floor!"

He turned back to Connor with a smirk.

"Asshole," Connor muttered.

"Right," Spike agreed, reaching a hand down toward the boy to help him up. "I'm sure the old git heard that. You've no choice now but to come out of there and face the music."

Connor sighed, threw Spike one last hateful look, and got to his feet, rejecting the offer of help. He dusted off the seat of his pants and cleared his throat awkwardly when he saw Spike grinning at him.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," Spike said. "Come on."

"Don't make me!" Connor pleaded desperately, changing tacks. "You don't understand! He's … He's gonna do something to me."

"I'll bet," Spike replied easily, deciding to take advantage of the empty conference room and removing a cigarette from his jacket pocket. "And rightfully so, wouldn't you say?"

"No!" Connor protested. "He's gonna … He's gonna beat me up!"

Spike snorted and gave Connor a look that made him turn red.

"That's not exactly the version of the story I heard, junior," he said with a chuckle. "What I heard was that you and your mates got caught spray painting graffiti on the side of a building when you were supposed to be in school, and that you had the police bring you to Angel instead of to Ma and Pa Reilly. That sound about right?"

When Connor only gave him a disgusted look in reply, Spike continued.

"And what I also heard was that Pa Angel was a lot less impressed with you than you thought he'd be, and he told the officer on the scene that he intended to warm your scrawny little behind with a big scary hairbrush. Do you remember that chapter of the story?"

"Just let me slip out of here!" Connor pleaded. "He'll never know!"

"Oh, right, and risk getting my own scrawny little arse beat in your place for letting you escape? Bugger that."

"It'll be fine. He won't hit you," Connor reasoned.

"He won't 'hit' you, either, mate," Spike said with a hint of amusement in his voice. "But I think you'd better come out of there and quit making him wait. He doesn't like to have to wait."

Connor gave his bottom lip a nervous chew.

"I'm too old for this," he mumbled.

Spike snorted again and crushed his cigarette out on the door jamb.

"What are you, eleven? Twelve?"

"I'm a senior in high school!" Connor protested shrilly. "I'm eighteen!"

"The mere fact that you ran and hid in a closet instead of punching him in the mouth and hopping the first bus out of Dodge certainly says otherwise."

"I … I'll fight you!" Connor said weakly. "I will. I can, you know. I could totally kick your ass."

Spike rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I know. You're the big bad Destroyer. Angel's told me all about it now you've got your little memories back and all. He's very proud."

Connor flushed with pleasure.

"But right now, he's also very pissed off," Spike said, cutting short those happy feelings. "And I'm starting to get that way myself. What are you, afraid of him or something?"

"Of course I am!" Connor exclaimed, completely unashamed. "He's my dad!"

Spike smiled a little and shook his head good-naturedly.

"Well, be that as it may, the people and … non-people … of Wolfram & Hart have better things to do than go looking for the boy wonder."

"You apparently don't," Connor muttered.

"That's it," Spike said, reaching out and taking him firmly by the upper arm. "I'll have you know I'm missing daytime TV for this, squirt. Let's get you delivered and spanked so that I can get on with it."

Connor wasn't going to make it easy on him, but instead of openly fighting back, which he didn't think would go over well with his father, he went dead weight and dropped to the floor. Spike sighed and put a tight arm around his waist, hoisting him up enough so that he could literally drag him, feet scraping across the floor, to the hallway.

"You know what?" he said once they'd cleared the conference room door. "If you're so worried about this and how much it's going to hurt, let me give you a preview."

He reached down and gave Connor several sharp swats on the bottom, which sent the boy scrambling to his feet.

"Dude, stop!" he yelled, looking down the hall to see if anyone had seen. He lowered his voice. "Stop, okay?"

"Are you going to walk on your own, or do I need to toss you over my shoulder and smack you every step of the way to your dad's penthouse?"

"No, I'll go," Connor said hotly. "Just leave me alone."

Spike gave him an impressive glower and kept hold of his arm as they walked to the elevator. Connor kept his head down as the other people in there regarded him with open curiosity, and Spike just stared straight ahead at the elevator doors. All too soon, they were in Angel's office.

"I've come to collect the reward money," Spike announced as he tugged Connor through the door behind him.

"Spike! You found him!" Angel exclaimed. "Good work."

"Yeah, I know," Spike replied. "About that reward money…?"

Angel rolled his eyes.

"Figures," Spike muttered. "Well, do you want me to keep watch down here just in case he bolts on you again?"

"Would you?" Angel asked.

"Yeah, if I can watch the big telly."

Angel tossed him the remote control from off his desk, then leaned down to speak into his telephone.

"Harmony, tell everyone we've found him," he said into the intercom.

"You got it, bossy," came her chipper reply.

"Connor," Angel said sternly, regarding his son for the first time. "Come here. Now."

He didn't want to, but he ducked his head and reluctantly shuffled toward his father, who took his arm in a vice-like grip and started him moving toward the elevator that would take them to Angel's apartment. Once there, he shoved Connor gently down onto his bed.

"What the hell, Connor?" he scolded. "Skipping school? Vandalism?"

"It wasn't vandalism," Connor mumbled. "It was just some old abandoned building. It's not like we were painting someone's house."

"That's still vandalism," Angel pointed out sternly. "And why were you doing that anyway? That's no way for someone in the top ten percent of his class to act. You were supposed to be at school!"

"It's almost over," Connor said defensively. "It's not like the last two weeks of school even matter. All the numbers are already through. They can't like, revoke my class standing or anything."

"But they can suspend you! They can keep you from graduating at all!" Angel argued. "They can toss your ass out of there."

"Yeah, you'd know a thing or two about that, huh?" Connor murmured.

Angel didn't say anything, and Connor's face flushed. He met his father's eyes and saw hurt there.

"Sorry," he said quietly.

"You don't have to be sorry," Angel said gently. "You're allowed to be angry with me. What you're not allowed to do is skip school, vandalize buildings, and get brought home by the police!"

"I wish I had gone home," Connor said ruefully. "They wouldn't be freaking out on me there."

"I know they wouldn't, and that's precisely why you need me to be," Angel said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Have you ever gotten a spanking before?"

Connor dropped his gaze to his lap and shook his head no.

"Then I'd say you're long overdue, son," Angel commented. "Stand up and get your pants down."

"Please, Angel… Dad," Connor whined.

"Oh, no," Angel said with a shake of his head. "You're not manipulating me on this one. I'm going in the bathroom—again— to get my hairbrush—again—and when I come back this time, you'd better be here and you'd better have those pants down."

Connor sighed and watched his father's retreating back, but he just couldn't make himself comply. When Angel returned, he was standing in just the same position with his jeans snapped firmly around his waist.

Angel frowned.

"I…" Connor started.

"You just lost your underwear, too, then," Angel said heartlessly.

He turned Connor around and cracked him hard with the brush.

"Ouch!" Connor yelped.

He cracked him again.

"Dad, ow!" he cried, putting both hands back there.

"Get 'em down," Angel directed, aiming another swat where he couldn't cover.

"Ow-uh!" Connor howled. "How am I—ow!—supposed to do—ouch!—that if you won't stop—ah!—hitting me for three seconds?"

To his horror, Connor realized he was already on the verge of tears. Angel paused to let him get his pants down, and he fumbled with the zipper with shaking hands and eventually got his jeans down. Angel sat down on the edge of his bed and pulled him right across his knees. Connor groaned when he felt his underwear coming down.

"I warned you," Angel said simply.

"This is so unfair!" he lamented, sniffling a little. "I don't deserve this!"

"You don't, huh?" Angel asked. "You're damn lucky they even gave you the option of calling your parents. You're eighteen years old, Connor. They could have just arrested you! Would you rather I have someone take you down to the police station so you can make a full confession to truancy and vandalism, then?"

"No," Connor muttered petulantly. "I guess not."

Angel lifted the brush high and snapped it down low and hard. Connor's entire body stiffened as he gasped in shock at the pain, which was so much worse on an unprotected backside, so much worse than he'd been expecting. It burned just like fire, but he was too stunned to cry out from it. The first swat was soon followed by another of equal caliber, and then another, and by the third one, he'd found enough voice to break his silence.

"You don't have to put all your strength into it!" he shouted shrilly, trying to wiggle away.

"Be still," Angel admonished, easily readjusting him.

Angel did seem to ease up a little after that, but it still hurt like hell, and he started doing it in rapid-fire smacks that had Connor bawling like a little kid in no time.

"Please, Dad! Please! Please stop!" he begged, gulping back enough tears to be able to speak. "Please! I'll never do it again, I swear!"

Angel didn't stop, however, and instead continued until both he and Connor felt that he'd been well and truly "worn out." He stopped struggling and sobbed brokenly over his dad's lap, and only then did it end.

Angel tossed the brush aside and gently tugged his son's underwear up over his very red bottom. Connor simply lay there and let him do it, unable to form a coherent thought about anything but the pain. Angel stood and pulled Connor up with him, giving him an affectionate pat on his burning behind, and Connor twisted out of his grip and reached down to get his jeans untangled and up his legs.

"That really hurt!" he grumbled, giving Angel a piteous look from under wet lashes.

"It was meant to," Angel replied, not unkindly.

Connor didn't quite know what to say to that, so he wiped his sleeve across his face and stared uncertainly at the floor until Angel leaned down to catch his eye.

"Hey," he said gently. "You okay?"

Connor shrugged.

"Let me rephrase that," Angel said, wrapping his arms around him. "You'll live. Are we okay?"

Connor shrugged again, but it was kind of hard to do while being restrained in his dad's arms.

"That wasn't an answer," Angel pointed out.

Connor snaked his arms around his dad's waist and gave him the shortest of squeezes.

"I guess I'll accept that," Angel said, tousling his hair fondly. "I'm sorry you got a spanking."

Connor pulled back and looked at him incredulously.

"Why'd you do it, then?" he muttered, still sniffling.

"You needed me to," Angel replied. "I'm serious. You didn't punch your way out of a hell dimension just to throw your life away on something as stupid as spray painting buildings."

Connor only sniffed in reply. He thought maybe Angel should be a little happier that he'd been doing something so normal, but the throbbing in his rear end advised him against saying so.

"You should get back to school," Angel said after a moment.

"It's past three," Connor replied.

Angel just stared at him blankly.

"School gets out at three?" Connor said.

"Oh," Angel said uncomfortably. "I didn't know. It's been a long time since I was in school. You should get home, then."

"I don't want to," Connor replied.

"Well, you can't stay here."

"Why not?" Connor asked.

"I've got a meeting."

"Can I go?"

Angel snorted.

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because one, you don't work here, and two, I'm your father and I said so."

Connor rolled his eyes. Angel pointed to the hairbrush on the bed and raised his eyebrows.

"Okay, okay," Connor said with a small laugh. "I'll go home."

"Connor," Angel said, placing his hands on both of his son's shoulders. "I would love for you to visit me again, any time you want. You don't have to have such a drastic excuse to do it. You don't need any excuse at all. All you have to do is call—preferably not from jail."

Connor blushed and nodded his understanding.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Now get your butt home," Angel said, turning him around and giving him a playful smack on the bottom to start him moving toward the elevator.

Connor winced dramatically and rubbed at the seat of his pants with both hands. The punishment had been just as bad as he'd feared, but the sting from it had already almost faded, and he had a hard time harboring any ill will toward his dad for doing it. He lifted a hand to wave at Angel as the elevator doors closed, and by the time they reopened in his father's office, he'd already come up with half a dozen nooks and crannies in Wolfram & Hart where they'd never be able to find him—just in case.

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