Fanfic: Casualties (REM Series 10/12)

[smokingmirror]

Title: Casualties
Series: REM 10/12
Author: Avarice
Rating: PG
Pairing: Angel/Spike
Spoilers: General BtVS s4/A:tS s1
Summary: Angel is mad.
Word Count: 1839
Date First Posted: 2001
Date Revised - 15-05-2011
Beta: Kita
Awards: -
Notes: Drama-llama is... dramatic. lol.
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.

 

Angry. Ferocity. Rage. Fury. Exacerbation. Hysterical. Berserk. Savage. Explosive. Unappeasable. Wrathful. Incensed. Wild. Hostile.

Condensed into three simple letters; mad.

Angel was mad.

From his point of view, he had a lot to be mad about. And all his reasons seemed to involve Spike in some way.

No, not Spike, Will.

That was one of the reasons.

He hadn't been mad-destroy-everything-in-sight-mad for quite some time. He'd forgotten how exhausting it could be. But in all honesty, the exhaustion probably had more to do with the dried tear tracks on his face.

He kicked at his overturned desk chair, listening for the splintering crack of wood as one of the castor legs snapped. Tiny splinters of wood flew everywhere, digging into his legs like miniature daggers with a delicious kind of pain.

Angel was mad.

The dark-haired vampire had come home from what seemed to be his final meeting with his childe four days ago. Cordelia had waited in the office all night, hoping for some good news concerning what she considered her boss's misbegotten brat, but to no avail. One look at his less than flawless appearance, red eyes and creased clothes, she knew it this story didn't have a happy ending.

“Goodnight, Angelus.”

He didn't even need to punctuate his already miserable bearing with a short, despairing shake of the head. He knew he didn't have to explain himself to her, and that she wouldn't push it.

Cordelia and Wesley had been more than understanding over the last few days, and had just gotten on with business, not bothering to snap him out of those times when his attention just seemed to drift, and his eyes misted over. They just picked up where he left off when the dark-haired vampire managed to jar himself out of it.

Angel appreciated it at first. Then he began to tired of it. Then it began to annoy him. Then frustrate him.

Now it just grated on raw nerves.

He couldn't take their understanding any more. Angel wanted them to ask, because then he didn't have to deal with his mistakes alone any more. Privacy seemed like such a good idea before, but now it just meant it tore his insides up alone. Shredding them until all that was left was a big, bleeding hole filled with nothing.

“Will!”

“The name's Spike.”

Angel was mad.

There was only so much he could take the acrid taste of his own failure and broken promises before he couldn't deal with it any more. Only so many days he could contemplate his utter inadequacy as a sire and a father and a friend and a lover and a vampire and a man before it all came flooding out in a vicious burst of self-hatred and destruction.

Only so much he could think about and failing and lying to Will

Spike

before he just wanted to die.

“Will, there’ll no’ be a night where I wilna come back t' ye. It dinna matters who calls me away, I'll always return t' ye.”

“Promise?”

The dark-haired vampire had been seen as the stoic, immovable rock for so long. From being accused of being cold and unfeeling, to being praised for his calmness in the face of trials, Angel had always masked his innermost emotions so well.

But there is only so much mismatched armour you can wear before chinks start developing.

And there was one there... and there.... oh, and a large one there...

What was that old adage about not being able to get blood from a stone? The vampire shook his hand and watched crimson droplets spatter on broken furniture.

This rock was bleeding, baby.

The time for dealing with his feelings in a quiet and dignified manner had passed. The fist-sized hole in his wall attested to that.

Angel was Not Stoic. Angel was Not Immovable.

Angel was Mad.

He couldn't believe that a single entity could fuck up as many times or as consistently as he had. If half of his misfortunes had happened to anyone else, Angel would have whistled and shook his head, and wonder whether that person was either stupid or god-cursed.

Maybe both.

Well, it was true, wasn't it?

Mistakes dogged him from his birth, followed him through his demonic life, and again through his ensoulment. And deep down, where his innermost thoughts were truth, its three-edged sword stabbed him deep in his sad and weary heart.

There was no way he could make this right.

“You said you'd never do this to me.”

“I- I know, lad,. I dinna mean to. Y'do know tha', don't ye?”

“I know.”

Angel was mad.

His office, once straightened out from Hurricane Spike was now a mess once again. But it made sense to the dark-haired vampire. He had been to quick to clean up the touch of his childe, only to be the one to throw the room back into chaos. Once again, Spike was right and he was wrong.

He could have saved a lot of effort by just leaving it a wreck.

Thinking of his childe's fury and anger incensed Angel's own once again -- albeit directed at himself -- and his mad, yellow-eyed gaze turned to the large volume on the floor.

Spike had wanted to find and touch the last thing he knew his sire had held... something he knew the older vampire was fond of.

A choked hiss caught in his throat as he stalked towards it.

And if one single object beside himself should hold as much blame as he, it was this book.

"Aye, one more by Amergin an' then it be time t' rest." William nodded and rested his chin in his hands, giving his sire his full attention.

Lifting the ancient copy of verses of the bard Amergin above his head, and using much of his remaining preternatural strength, he tore the book apart, from cover to cover.

Angel.

Was.

Mad.

Pages fluttered down like leaves off a tree, but Angel didn't notice.

Will grinned, eyes sparkling, and he began to recite the lilting verse after shooting Dru a salacious smile, but not before interlacing his fingers with his sire's...

He threw the two covers and much of the contents into his trashcan which was miraculously still standing. Thrusting a hand into a pocket, the dark-haired vampire violently searched for an object.

Soundlessly, he pulled an engraved lighter from his pocket and threw it in William's lap. It took the boy slightly by surprise and he looked up.

His fingers closed around the cool metal of the silver lighter -- the ridges of the etched griffin cutting into his hands one last time -- and fangs flashed over his lips in a macabre smile.

It was an antique by now, but he'd taken good care of it, and it was still in top working order... The bleached blond bit his lip and looked down at the intricate swirls and lines that made the griffin.

Flicking the top up, he heard the familiar click and hiss of gas igniting. Staring into the bright blue centre of the flame, he paused for a moment

“Something to forget me by. Told you I was better at taking care of your possessions than you were.”

before letting it tumble from his fingers and into the can.

Angel stood still -- mesmerised -- as the flames licked at the antiquated pages of the book, which caught fire instantly. Blackened by fire and heat, the lighter began to sink into the growing ash, until it was hardly visible.

Realising what he had done, and with horror etched on his features, Angel sank to his knees and thrust his hand into the ash and flame-filled bin. He roared in pain as fingers closed around the molten metal, its heat searing the flesh of his hand.

The dark-haired vampire pulled his arm out of the trash, shirt smoldering, flesh burnt, black and bloody. Angel looked down at his hand and only saw what had once been an antique lighter, but was now little more than a contorted lump of silver.

It was then that his freshest wave of tears finally began to course down dirty cheeks. They came quietly at first, without a sound. Gradually, a hiccup or two accompanied them, which steadily built to pain-filled sobs that wracked the vampire's entire body. He rocked back and forth, cradling his mangled hand until a loud burst of air nearby caused him to look up.

Cordelia stood over him with a fire extinguisher and an expression of infinite compassion and concern on her face. With the fire out, she put the extinguisher down and climbed onto his desk. Reaching up, the former cheerleader turned the blaring smoke alarm off.

Angel looked straight ahead, his ridged, tear-streaked face marked with lines of years of realised emotional pain. Uncaring of her clothes, Cordelia knelt down in front of the dark-haired vampire and gently took his injured hand. She tried in vain to get him to drop the metal still burning into his skin, but he would not. Angel responded by lurching forward -- almost as if in slow motion -- and buried his face in her skirt.

Clear tears, tinged pink with blood on dirty cheeks. Those azure eyes wept for Angel, they wept for Drusilla, and they wept for himself.

The dark-haired man's sobs grew louder and louder, until his keening lifted in a wailing, inhuman howl that vibrated through every cell of his being. Even Cordelia cringed at the terrible banshee sound, one that she had only heard in her darkest nightmares.

She rubbed his shuddering back in a circular pattern murmuring nonsensical words of comfort. The awful sound died on his lips, and he was deathly silent, though his shoulders still shook.

Cordelia held her best friend as he wept.

+ + + + +

It hadn't taken long for him to start talking. Before he knew it, Angel had told his secretary the entire miserable story, from the night of Will's turning, to his goodbye a few short days ago. Throughout his entire account, Cordelia kept silent, occasionally patting his thigh in support.

With a shuddering sigh, Angel finished his tale. He dragged a weary, non-injured hand over his eyes in a vain attempt to banish tears.

Cordelia breathed deeply and held the vampire's newly bound hand. "Angel."

Something in her voice made him look up at her for the first time since she had entered the room. Her hazel eyes met his with a steady, certainty. "I had a vision."

A shiver ran through Angel's body. Just the way she said it...

He knew who it was about.

Supported by Cordelia, the vampire walked slowly out of his ruined personal office to retrieve his trench from the main foyer. With some difficulty, he put his hands through the arms. Turning back, the ex-cheerleader saw clarity of purpose in her boss' eyes for the first time in days.

"Just tell me where I'll find him."

 

~finis

on to One Last Goodbye