Title: The Aftermath, a canon, or as close to canon as a fanfic
can get, Spangel story, by P'al Kwai
Ratings: 17+ for language, violence, and EXPLICIT m/m slash. If any of this
offends you, PLEASE do not read.
Spoilers: Angel S5. Takes place after Angel S5.
Disclaimer: I don't own BtVs or Angel characters. Joss Whedon, David Greenwald, Mutant Enemy and the WB...all rights.
Author’s Note: I did not abandon the Bloodline or Dhampir Series. In fact my next story posted will be a Thanksgiving fic in the Dhampir Series, still, hope ppl enjoy something different from me.
Thanks to Souless_angel85 and Ghostsforge for their fb.
Los Angeles, California, July 19, 2004
Stumbling out of the cellar of one of the many abandoned buildings in LA, Angel squinted his eyes in the twilight of the evening. More than a month spent down in a basement, brooding and feeling sorry for himself, reminiscent of the time he spent on the streets of New York.
Walking down the gutted sidewalk, the air was thick with the smell of blood and death. The first war had not lasted long. The human population of LA was decimated within days. The lucky ones had died; the rest had not.
It was the second war that had ravaged the city, the war between the demons. They had fought for supremacy, causing the different species to unite in alliances, betray, and then battle more.
The weaker demons had been conquered, and many shared the same fate as the humans; death or slavery. The vampire, scorned by other demons, because of their dual demon/human nature was one of the first to be targeted, but Angel wouldn’t allow it. The enormous rage that had always been the core of Angelus exploded. Angelus, Scourge of Europe had returned, meaner and more vicious than ever. And because of that he had survived, along with many others of his kind.
Illyria had never left his side, fighting with the brutality and cunningness of an Old One. After their last big victory, she had cocked her head and looked at him, a sliver of respect shining in her eyes. “I underestimated you, half-breed. You are a leader of warriors.”
“I’m a leader alright,” Angel growled, as he swung a fist, smashing it into a brick wall.
The sound of concrete breaking had a gang of Haja demons stopping in their tracks. One glimpse of the Angelus, now known as the Scourge of LA had them crossing the street to the other side.
Snarling and cursing he made his way back to the Hyperion. After being ousted by the Senior Partners from the offices of Wolfram & Hart, he had returned to the old hotel. It was home and large enough to accommodate himself, Illyria, Spike, and the rest of the motley crew of vampires and demons, who chose to follow him.
But now he wondered if any of them were still there, waiting for his return.
Walking through the front door of the hotel, the person Angel saw was Illyria, sparking an impulse to turn around and walk back out. He knew was what coming. Her look of scorn said it all.
“I was mistaken. You may be a warrior, but you’re no leader.”
“I’m in no mood!” Angel snarled out, as he moved to brush past her.
“They came,” she continued, undaunted. “Many of yours died, and he was taken.”
“He?” Her words stopped Angel in his tracks. “Just who was taken, and by whom?”
“The Belletor Clan came. They killed many of us, and took the blond one. The one, who shares your blood.”
Instinct had Angel opening his mouth to refute the claim that Spike shared his blood, when the full implication of what Illyria said dawned on him. “And you just let them. . ?” he broke off, realizing that she was not the one to blame. He was the leader, and he had failed again.
“They say he still lives, but whether that is the truth or no. . . .”
“It’s the truth.” Three long determined strides, and Angel was opening the weapons cabinet. “As you said, he’s of my blood, and it tells me that he is not dust yet.” Pulling out a heavy battleaxe, he gave it an experimental swing.
“But despite being of your bloodline, you have no concern for him,” Illyria stated, head tilted, as she wondered what the half-breed vampire was up to.
“On the contrary,” Angel growled out, as he, satisfied with the battleaxe, rummaged around for smaller weapons that he hid in his boots and pockets. “Spike has always concerned me.”
“So all your yelling and arguing with him were signs of your deep concern?” Since awakening in this new world, Illyria found humans and demons of the modern world to be puzzle that couldn’t be solved.
Again, Illyria’s words had Angel wincing inside. After so many years and the only one left at his side was Spike, who stayed even though he was never given any sign of affection from Angel.
“Just what are you doing, vampire?” Illyria now realized that Angel was readying himself for battle.
Heaving the battleaxe over his shoulder, Angel turned to the door. “I’m going to go and get what belongs to me from the Belletors.”
**
Beverly Hills, California. The Regent Beverly Wiltshire Hotel
Battleaxe bloody, Angel made his way past the now dead Belletor sentinels and through the front door of the opulent hotel, which now served as the Belletor lair. Pausing a moment, he glanced around, taking in the lavish surroundings.
“We get the old Hyperion, and they get this,” he grumbled enviously to Illyria, who once again stood by his side.
“They proved themselves to be dominant and deserve the spoils,” Illyria answered matter-of-factly, as she too studied the rich marble and tile that could be found from floor to ceiling.
Angel grunted in reply, as he looked behind him at what was left of his clan. For whatever reason, they and Illyria had followed him into what was sure to be a one way trip. “Just didn’t know what else to do,” Angel muttered to himself.
“Well, vampire,” Illyria interrupted his musing. “We’ve won a scrimmage, but there’s still the battle. What is your plan?”
Before Angel could admit he had no plan, Axmor, the Belletor leader suddenly appeared with the whole of his clan behind him.
“Angelus!” he greeted, as he majestically made his way down the staircase. “To what do I owe this honor?”
Angel had made a daring entrance and to continue to impress the Axmor, he needed to continue his bold behavior.
“I believe you have something of mine, and I’m here to retrieve it.”
“You’re a little late.” Axmor smirked, as he stepped down off the last stair. “I’ve had him for a couple of weeks now, and.” He shrugged with his arms opened. “Possession is nine tenths of the law.”
“Human laws don’t apply to us anymore,” Angel growled out, lifting his battleaxe threateningly.
“Do you really think?” Axmor made a sweeping motion toward the large number of demons behind him. “That you can defeat us? We’re stronger and outnumber you.” He looked over Angel’s shoulder at his pitiful army. “By quite a few.”
“No,” Angel answered truthfully. “But before your clan can kill me, I swear that I’m heading straight for you. Can they kill me, before I kill you?”
Something flickered in Axmor’s eyes, and Angel knew it to be doubt. The Bellator leader was in a bit of a fix. Cower behind his men, and he would forever be labeled a coward. Stand his ground and maybe, just maybe die by the hands of Angelus, the Scourge of LA. And for what, a skinny, souled vampire.
Seeing the indecision, Angel quickly pushed his plan into action. A plan that had finally occurred to him. “Your species is known for their love of sport. Give me your best warrior. If I defeat him, then you give me what is mine, and allow all of us to leave.”
“And if you’re defeated?” Axmor asked with interest.
“You will still allow Spike and the rest,” Angel half turned to glance at his followers, “to leave, but I will stay and be. . .be your slave.”
“A willing slave?” Axmor raised in eyebrow. The thought of having the infamous Angelus spread out beneath him was tempting, along with the knowledge that having the vampire as his personal slave would boost his reputation in LA.
“Willing and eager,” Angel said without hesitation. He had no intention of being defeated.
Axmor’s eyes gleamed, as he clapped his hands once. He had nothing to lose by accepting Angel’s proposal. “Grolak,” he called out and a seven foot tall, four foot wide giant stepped out of the crowd. “You will have the privilege fighting for our clan’s honor. Prepare yourself.”
Eying the massive Belletor, Angel couldn’t help but take a small step backward, as he whispered somewhat desperately to Illyria. “Any suggestions on how to defeat him?”
**
The Hyperion Hotel, July 20, 2004
Cracking open one eye, Angel groaned, wishing someone would knock him unconscious. He and the Belletor had beaten each bloody, but in the end, with Illyria’s coaching he had prevailed. But not without a price, as every fiber of his being now ached, including all hair follicles and both eyeballs.
“You’re awake.” Illyria banged open the door holding a coffee mug.
“Unfortunately,” Angel groaned again. “What’s that?’ He eyed the mug, as Illyria raised his head.
“Blood. You need to regain your health.”
Gulping the sweet liquid, it took half a mug before realization set in. Pushing Illyria’s hand aside, Angel wanted to spit out what was in his mouth but was unable.
“It’s human!” he hissed out accusingly.
Illyria shrugged with unconcern. She couldn’t understand Angel’s aversion to human blood. It went against everything she knew about the vampire’s nature. “The human was just about dead.”
“Goddamn!” Angel swore, but couldn’t resist drinking the last of the blood. Falling back on the pillow, he looked around the room and was content to see Spike occupying the bed next to him.
“How is he?” Angel motioned toward the other bed.
“A healer came from the Hethap clan came and had a look at him. He’ll survive.”
“Your bedside manner could use some improvement.” Angel couldn’t help the jab, as he closed eyes. The blood he consumed had kicked in his healing abilities. His pain was lessening, but the need to sleep was overwhelming. Through half closed eyes, he could see Illyria looking at him in puzzlement, before the comforting blackness took over him.
**
July 21, 2004
It was early morning of the next day when Angel awoke for the second time. Somewhat healed, he found he could actually move a bit without the accompanying blinding pain. Sitting up slowly, his body creaked and groaned.
“You’re awake.” A voice greeted him, but this time it wasn’t Illyria with a warm mug of blood.
Shaking his head to clear his vision, Angel looked to his right and saw a battered Spike sitting sidewise in a chair, staring at him. “You’re a bloody poof, you know.”
Closing his eyes quickly, Angel wondered if he could pretend he never woke up.
“Stop acting as if you’re still sleeping, cause I know you’re awake. . .ponce.”
“You’re angry,” Angel said after a few moments. He could feel the weight of Spike’s stare and knew that a confrontation was inevitable.
“Oh, Mr-Wrapped-Up-In-Himself finally realizes someone else’s feelings.”
Angel could only sigh. “I saved you, Spike, and got my ass beat in the process.”
“You took your bloody time about it!” The volume of Spike’s voice raised a notch. “And then, when you finally show up, you make a big production about it. Now, all of LA is talking about how the great Angelus went in and saved one of his minions. I’m not one of your sodding minions.”
“No, you’re not my minion, Childe,” Angel said soothingly. He now understood where Spike’s anger stemmed from, humiliation.
“And don’t call me that.” Spike was fast working himself in a rage. “That term isn’t used anymore, and besides, I’m not your Childe.”
“The term is certainly used, especially now in a demon society. And if it’s total accuracy you want, then I suppose I should call you GrandChilde.”
“Right, gramps.” A bit of Spike’s rage dissipated, at being able to call Angel grandpa. “So now instead of being the helpless minion, who need saving by the great Angelus, now I’m the helpless GrandChilde? I‘ve just always been your bitch, haven‘t I?”
**
London, England, 1880
“Tis just a game, boyo.”
With Angelus, everything was just a game, a game, where he pushed, wanting to see what it would take to make the younger vampire cry uncle.
“This is more than a game, Angelus,” William protested, as his legs were thrown over broad shoulders. “I thought we were demons, not. . .not poofters.”
The face over him only grinned while thrusting with his hips.
Back arching, William bit down on the scream that rumbled in his throat and tried to escape from his mouth. “Blo-ody hell!” he muttered through gritted teeth.
When Angelus had suggested they relieve themselves, since the women were on holiday in Southampton, he had pictured a wank session. Something he was familiar with as they had been a common occurrence in school, but this, lying on his back, legs spread, with another’s man’s cock inside him was something he never imagined.
Ass on fire, William felt like he was being split apart, as Angelus continued to drive himself in hard. It was like being in the eye of the storm, body pushed and pulled in every direction, and he had no control. “Bloody hell, just get it over with.” It was the closest to crying uncle that he would get.
“Soon, boyo,” Angelus lied with ease. He had been a while since he had a taste of a young, virgin ass; the night was young, and the women wouldn’t be back to London for another few days.
**
July 22, 2004
“Hate you,” Spike mumbled, as he shot dark glares across the Hyperion’s lobby at Angel, who was giving orders to the new additions to their family.
Word had spread wildly through LA about Angelus’ latest victory, and as it spread the tale became more and more embellished, until it had Angel taking on the whole Belletor Clan single handedly. Now hordes of demons were flocking to join the Clan led by the notorious Angelus.
“You mumble curses at him, even though he saved your life.” Walking over to Spike, Illyria looked at him with curiosity.
“The bloody git gets lucky and now he’s king of LA,” Spike said resentfully. “If he isn’t one to fall into pig shit and come out smelling like a rose.”
“Pig shit?” Illyria asked with bafflement. She didn’t remember seeing any pig shit at the Belletor lair. “What do you. . . ?”
But before she could finish her question, the Hyperion’s front door swung open and an always dapper Lorne entered the hotel.
“Hello, hello, hello,” he greeted jovially, and then seeing the surprised looks on everyone’s faces, he quickly added. “I know it’s been a while, but after the big apocalypse, I relocated to Las Vegas.”
“Las Vegas?” Angel ordered the minions to their quarters, as he stepped over to Lorne. “I thought you were sour on Vegas, after what happened the last time you relocated there.”
“Yeah.” Lorne grimaced a bit at the memory. “I remembered all too well, and was more careful who I chose to partner with this time. And how are you all?” His gaze swept from Angel to Illyria and Spike.
“Just peachy.” Spike lifted a leg over a chair arm, as he gave Lorne a suspicious stare. “And you?” The simple question was loaded with meaning.
“Listen.” Lorne looked around the hotel nervously. “Can we go somewhere and talk, where we won’t be overheard?”
“Why?” Arms crossed over his chest, Angel, too was staring at Lorne with mistrust. They had heard nothing from him and now two months later with everyone else dead, he waltzes in like nothing had happened.
“Because I have news from the outside world, and you might not want everyone and his uncle hearing it.”
“There’s an outside world?” Spike jumped to his feet, now anxious to hear what Lorne had to say. “What? Did the Senior Partners of Wolfram & Hart end the world just here in LA?”
“No, Armageddon was world wide, but not all of the big cities fell to the Senior Partners, and now there’s a group that is set to take back the demon occupied cities. And I believe.” Lorne gave both Angel and Spike a hard stare. “The two of you are acquainted with some of the members of this group. You knew them back in Sunnydale.”
A bare moment passed, as Angel and Spike knew immediately whom Lorne was talking about.
“Let’s discuss this in my office,” Angel quickly suggested as he led the way with Spike, Illyria, and Lorne following him.
“Great. Just great,” Lorne said with a big smile. “We’ll talk privately in your office. But I don’t suppose you have the fixing for a seabreeze here because I’ve got a lot of talking and a cold, wet one would hit the spot.”
**
“So, Buffy and Giles tracked down Lorne and made him messenger boy.” Spike paced back and forth in Angel’s office, head whirling with everything the Anagogic demon had told them.
In the United States Buffy, Giles, and an army of slayers had taken back New York and Chicago; their next target was LA, hence the reason for Lorne’s visit. The Slayer hadn’t forgotten them and was now throwing them a life line.
“Which is good for us,” Spike continued. “We can leave this hell hole.”
“And do what?” Angel asked, as he tipped back the office chair he was sitting in. “Be at Buffy and Giles’ beck and call?”
“We-ll,” Spike sputtered out. That was the last thing he had expected out of Angel’s mouth. “I-we. . . .”
“We’ll owe them then, and because of who we are, they’ll use us.”
“This is. . . .” Spike couldn’t believe his ears. “Buffy and Giles we’re talking about,” he spoke slowly, as if speaking to a mentally challenged person. “Our friends. Our partners in. . . .”
“They haven’t been our friends for some time now. Remember when Fred was dying. They didn’t lift a finger to help us.”
“Well, that was because they didn’t trust you.” Spike gleefully put the blame on Angel. “Cause you were the big shot CEO of Evil, Incorporated, but me, I helped them save the world last year.”
“Then you should go,” Angel spoke softly. “Go help them fight the Senior Partners.”
“And you?” Spike frowned in bafflement.
“She and the others have fought at my side. They’ve been loyal.” Angel’s tone was contemplative, as he thought out loud.
“Who?” Spike asked before thinking, and then immediately understood. “Oh, you mean Illyria. Right. Blue’s been loyal, so she comes out with us.”
“I don’t think that Buffy and the Council are going to be welcoming Illyria with open arms. They’re fighting against demons, and she’s one of the Big Ones.”
“So we just explain that. . . .”
“Buffy and Giles are just going to allow an Old One to join their side.” Angel interrupted. “Try again.”
“Okay.” Spike wrapped his arms around himself; he didn’t like the vibes that he was picking up from Angel. “So Illyria stays here and takes over as leader. It’s probably what she wants, be the great chief. She’ll have delusions of ruling the world again.”
“But the Slayers will always be there to stop her, and if I take them up on their offer, I’ll be on their side, fighting the ones, who. . .” Angel broke off, standing up suddenly. He had made his decision. He wasn’t going to betray the ones who had stood by him all these months.
“But, but,” Spike protested. “If we stay, then we’ll be fighting against Buffy. We’re souled vampires. We don’t fight against Slayers. We fight with them.”
“Like I said.” Angel turned back toward Spike, hand on the doorknob. “You should go with Lorne, and fight the good fight.”
“Bloody hell!” Spike watched Angel leave the room. Giving the desk a good kick, he made a sizeable dent. “Guess, Angelus Scourge of LA can’t give up his kingdom.”
He paced a bit more, before putting another dent in the desk. “And just how does gramps expect me to go over to the other side and fight against him?”
****