War Pains

Chapter 1

It looked just like him. It had his smile, his eyes, his mannerisms. But he knew it wasn’t him. It could not be him. And he tried to tell himself that it was just that—It. It was what It was and no matter what form It took, It would be only that and nothing more.

Angel didn’t dare try to speak for the pain in his chest. It was a numbing pain, an endless pain. For a moment he couldn’t remember ever feeling so much pain. The pain seeped from every inch of his sore and bruised body, sending waves of anguish to his tired and numb mind. He kept his eyes on the figure next to him as he felt the chains pull his arms and legs farther, tauter, than they were ever meant to be.

Doyle stood there, a smile of sadistic pleasure on his face, “Why even bot'er, man? You know t'ere’s only one way out of t'is.”

Hope led the way into the Hyperion, knowing she’d given Angel the space he needed. Entertaining the others with her game systems, she’d finally given up and decided to come back. The first one into the lobby, she looked into his office. He wasn’t there.

“Where’s Angel?” Gunn asked, following Hope’s gaze.

Fred smiled, fixing a loose strand of hair in her reflection via the weapons’ cabinet doors. She shook her head, “He’s probably up in his room.”

Hope felt her skin go cold. She couldn’t feel him. Anywhere. He wasn’t there.

“No.”

She ran up the stairs to the balcony, on to the next flight of stairs. She didn’t care the others couldn’t keep up. She just wanted to find him, no matter what her gut told her. She came to his door. It was locked.

“Angel?”

No answer.

“Angel!”

When not hearing a bit of noise from the other side, she extended her hand and a blast of pure energy smashed through the door. She ran through before the smoke cleared, the others coming up in time to see the feat.

She stopped.

Bringers littered the floor. Blood was everywhere.

Fred and Wesley came up beside her. Gunn was a moment later, an axe in tow. Lorne wasn’t too far behind.

“Oh my god,” Fred whispered.

“They got him,” Hope said under breath.

“What?”

Hope knew the only answer to that question. She felt her heart sink for Its presence hadn’t been detectable to her at all. But now that she was looking for It, she felt It. The power, crude and unbridled, seemed to overwhelm her and she inhaled deeply to steel herself against the onslaught of anger, hatred and agony. The air seemed to ground her, keeping her mind intact while It reached to every inch of her and teased her, taunted her with Its power.

“Hope?” Fred asked tentatively.

Hope realized with a start that she knew the answer was real, “The First. It has him.”

Angel grit his teeth in pain as Doyle walked around him, eyeing his half-naked and stretched figure. Angel could make out the complete lack of feeling in his hands and feet; they were tied tightly with chains and he swore his flesh would simply slip away from his arms and legs if they were pulled much harder. He’d lost all sensitivity in them almost an hour ago and now he knew they existed by sight alone.

“Seriously, t'ough,” the half-Brachen, half-human visage seemed intent; his voice was thick with an Irish accent, “why even bot'er to fight all this? You know it’ll be a long while before the cavalry comes for you and—if they make it trough this labyrint' o’fun—what makes you t'ink they can actually save you, eh? You t'ink Hope has much of a chance down here? No way, buddy. She’s as mortal as the rest of them down here and she knows it right well, too. You t'ink she’s gonna risk her important life and role to come get your sorry ass? She’s got better people—actual people—to save, you know.”

Angel just eyed the visage, anger keeping him conscious. He knew that he shouldn’t believe anything the fake Doyle told him, but it stung deep knowing that there was still some truth, albeit a small amount, in his monologue.

Doyle looked off to the side and smiled, giving an unspoken command to those behind Angel. He yelped in surprise as a fresh bout of pain tore though his limbs while the servants behind him tightened the chains, pulling him nearly apart. He panted hard, the unneeded air passing for comfort. His head lolled to one side and came to rest against his stretched left arm. Just the slightest pressure caused him all the more agony and he swore he would crush his own jaws from clenching them. Yet he buried his face into his shoulder and arm, trying to manage the pain. And, he realized, it wasn’t helping him manage any better.

He tried to tense, feeling that his joints would be dislocated at any moment. He could feel the strain they were each carrying. Some part of him wanted to smile in irony; he was, in this day of space-age weapons, going to be drawn and quartered. And he could just imagine the sight it would be. Muscles ripping and shredding, bones snapping and flesh fraying. Oh, yes. A beautiful thought, indeed.

He fell face forward on the gravel floor, suddenly aware that he was regaining feeling in his extremities. He was gaining feeling, but not control—they’d been stretched too far, too long. He just laid there, the pebbles imprinting on his sweating face, hoping he would be able to muster some motion if left alone.

Doyle kneeled next to him, chuckling, “You know, Angel, she isn’t worth it. I mean, think ‘bout it. What can she give you and what can you give her? Not'ing,” he paused, his voice dripping with cocky bravado.

Angel missed the command, but he knew the visage had given one; the chains pulled him upwards again, reawakening the pain that had just started to fade. He was forced to sit up straight while kneeling, his back sore and not up to the task. Angel let his wrists carry his weight—they were already becoming numb again.

“And do you t'ink she’ll be yours forever? She’s just going t'rough a phase. Now, the only reason I’m being so trut'ful is that I don’t wanna see my buddy get hurt by another gal.”

Angel opened his eyes to look the bastard right in Its fake eyes, “Go to Hell,” he managed by a whisper, his throat dry and his voice harsh.

Doyle laughed and his shape gave way to another, more familiar and terribly unsettling persona—himself. The phantom Angel stood and looked down at Its double, sneering, as Angelus would’ve, “Been there, done that.”

Hope walked from her room, the golden glow of her master’s powers still visible as she opened the door only to vanish afterwards. Fred watched her in jointed sympathy. Hope, she had come to understand and realize, was as hard and calloused as individuals came. She had seen it all, lived it all, and done it all. But, when it came to those closest to her, the ones she cared about—such as Angel—she was fresh and naive in pain and anger. The goddess floated across the atrium, her posture unaffected by the obviously troubling news the Old One had given to her upon request.

“So, what do we do now?”

“I’m not sure.”

They all looked at her in shock.

“Surely you have some sort of plan.”

“Yeah, you all with the heavenly know-how.”

“I’ve never…I’m not here to lead. I’m here to advise. One of you would be better off coming up with some sort of plan. I’m afraid I can’t think.”

Fred walked up to, “What can we do without you?”

Hope eyed her, “I don’t know.”

“Given the circumstances, you’re fit for the job, Hope. You know the First. You know Angel. You’re the only one here who has the connections we need to get this job done.”

“Angel makes decisions, not me.”

“Angel ain’t here. And every minute you complain is a minute he ain’t got.”

Hope straightened and nodded once, “Okay. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Wesley eyed her as she started for the door, “Where are you going?”

“To find out where Angel is.”

“Poor Angel. Poor, poor Angel. That’s all I ever get to hear. How strong you are for living with me inside you. For dealing with what I did. So boring,” Angelus eyed Angel.

Angel tried to eye his tormentor, “If your so bored, why not come on out, huh?” he taunted. At the First’s disappointed look, he smiled, “Oh, that’s right. You’re not Angelus. I control him! You have no say in it,” he took some pride in that fact.

“Wrong again, buddy-o,” Angelus chuckled, “You may think that. But, if Hope wasn’t around, we both know I would be the winner. I would have control of this world…and you would be leading the army,” he smiled, moving closer and getting right into Angel’s face.

Hope walked into the misty surroundings of the Record Keeper. She could hear the shuffling of tiny feet and saw the mist part for the divine creature. It eyed her sympathetically.

“You are came.”

“Yes. I know it’s short notice, but I need your knowledge.”

“About the vampire.”

“Yes.”

“He was be in a terrible cave.”

“Can you tell me where?”

“The Hellmouth holding him.”

“Which one?”

“It breathed fire and flow blood.”

Hope’s face paled and she nodded, “La Paz.”

Wesley looked at the others. They were waiting, just like him. Although he would gladly go out and fight whatever odds there were, he had no idea where to look. They didn’t know where Angel had been taken. Hope was the only chance they had to get to him.

“I wonder why he did that,” Gunn said aloud.

“What?” Fred asked.

“Left the apartment. He just took off.”

“Hope said he needed to get something.”

“It didn’t look like he was getting anything. Looked like he stormed out.”

“You think something happened?”

Wesley kept his mouth shut. Although he didn’t know why Angel had left the penthouse so abruptly, he knew things would be strained if he were here with Hope. His feelings for her were complex and Wesley could only imagine what he’d been thinking…both before and after. Having crossed that line, things were bound to change. But the others didn’t know. Lorne, perhaps, for his connection to the Powers. But Fred and Gunn…they were still in the dark.

The front doors opened and Hope walked in. She ignored all of them and cut across the atrium to the weapons cabinet. She looked inside for a moment before opening the doors.

“I’ll be back in a few days.”

“We’re coming with you,” Wesley interjected, noticing Hope’s decisive use of a single reference point.

“No.”

“He’s our boss...and our friend. He’s our responsibility, too,” Fred argued, not entirely sure it was smart to argue with Hope at this point but caring too much about Angel to not take a chance.

“You told me to take charge and I’m doing it. Listen to me when I say no and trust you’ll be safer here.”

“Explain safer,” Gunn demanded.

Hope sighed, “There is a balance to this world. As long as the scales tip in my favor, the world is safe. The moment those scales turn to the First, It and I switch. It becomes material, powerful. I become a ghost. It could still pull it off. Summoning Angelus wouldn’t tip the scales, but it’d be pretty damn close and, if anything else happens…” Hope trailed off.

“You’d become powerless,” Wesley concluded.

“If that happens when I go to get him, I can’t protect you. Any of you. You’ll be on your own. And where I’m going is no place to be alone.”

“But Angel’s lost his soul before. Did all this mumbo-jumbo happen then, too?” Gunn leaned against the counter.

“Back then there was still enough good in the world for my side of the scale to be heavier. But now, with the battle in Sunnydale and the loss of so many warriors...Angelus could...make things difficult. That is why the First wants him.”

“Buffy and the others defeated It at the Hellmouth—It’s going to regroup and try again,” Wesley figured out.

“Precisely. Which is why I can’t risk any of you coming with me when I go to get Angel. You could die.”

Fred felt some mixture of sadness and loyalty overcome her. She knew that Hope could very well keep them all there if she put her mind to it but she also knew that Angel was the one who had rescued her. He was a knight in shining armor and he had rescued her. Her loyalty to him outweighed her fear and respect and admiration of Hope.

“We’re not afraid to die for Angel, Hope,” Fred spoke up timidly, unsure if her own mouth was giving voice to the words, the thought, that ran through her head.

Hope eyed her, not expecting so timid and reserved a person to say something so radical and rash. But, Hope realized she admired that quality—the willingness to die for a fellow warrior. It was something she was proud to exemplify and reward.

The impact resonated in his ears as his head swam in and out of consciousness. Angel felt the clawed hands on some demon or another land yet another blow to his face, knocking him backwards; he’d have fallen if not for the chains still keeping him on his knees in an upright position. The taste of blood flowed into his mouth and he spat out the steel-tasting liquid.

“You know, we were so happy when I was in charge, Angel. We had fun and more fun. Then you went and ruined it for the both of us,” his demonic self smiled down at him, the countenance of a vampire etched into his features.

Angel couldn’t muster a reply.

“And when I thought I was finally gonna have some fun, that Hope bitch goes and spoils my good time. She changes the rules. Damn her!” he said strongly without raising his voice.

The demon struck Angel again only this time in the arm, smiling appreciatively when it heard Angel’s bone break.

Angel yelped and tried to ignore the two entities bearing down on him. One verbal and the other physical.

“Tell me, Angel, is this really more fun? I used to force fear into the dead hearts of the vampire race. They fear me, Angel. And now, all they see is you. You and your pathetic soul. And the truth is you don’t want that soul anymore, do you?” Angelus asked, kneeling and placing his evil face into Angel’s.

Angel just spat at him with the blood that had continued to accumulate in his mouth. Angelus watched Angel writhe in pain as the demon landed a solid kick to his chest. Instinctively, Angel tried to double over to cradle his now-broken ribs. He could feel them rub against his lungs, puncturing them at places when he tried to straighten. Angel just wanted this pain to end. He wanted to see Hope...to feel her warm and gentle hands comfort him.

“Angel,” a soft voice called out to him.

He looked up to see the demon shirk aside in Hope’s presence. She was glowing in the dim light and she smiled at him.

He managed a smile; “Hope…” he coughed, the pain from his lungs still fresh in his mind from bringing in the air needed to speak.

She walked briskly up to him, kneeled in front of him, “I’m here. It’s going to be fine; you’ll see.”

He nodded tiredly, “I know.”

Her expression changed from compassion to haughtiness and she shook her head, “No. You don’t know.”

Angel felt his heart drop. He’d so wanted to think it was really her. He wanted it to be her. But it wasn’t. He cursed at himself inwardly. He should have known.

“You’re...You’re not Hope,” he coughed.

The First cocked an eyebrow, “Aren’t I? I’m everything that makes her who she is. I am the part of her that demands vengeance and retribution. Even Hope, with all her purity, can succumb to my power.”

Angel shook his head, “No.”

“No what?”

“She’s better than that. And she’s gonna kick your ass.”

Hope backed away from him and resumed the shape of Angelus. Angel knew something was coming by the eerie yellow eyes of his tormentor. He tried to brace for whatever it was, unwilling to simply give in to the First.

He screamed as a long sword came through his heart from the back, poking out the front with an audible wet slurp. Pain raced to his sinking brain, bringing with it the release of vertigo.

Angel slumped, the sword still sticking from his chest. The demon behind him readied to pull it out. Angelus smiled.

“Leave it. Wait till he comes around. We’ve got plenty of time,” he smiled, his tongue licking his fangs as he smiled.

Hope sighed heavily, “All right. Gunn, get a map of California, will you?” she asked, looking at him for the request.

Gunn nodded wordlessly and walked into Angel’s office, pulling down a map from the wall and replacing the pushpins on the corkboard. He laid it out on the coffee table between the three of them.

They all gathered around it, letting Hope eye it for a minute then pressing her for directions.

“Aside from the Hellmouth in Sunnydale, there is another one on the Baja California Sur peninsula. It’s in a little town called La Paz. That’s where the First has Angel. If we drive from sun-up to sun-set, we can make it there in a little less than two days.”

“Why can’t you just teleport us all in?” Wesley asked.

“The First can sense me if I break any mystical barriers within a good hundred miles of Its position. Our best bet is to drive. It’ll be easier to haul the weapons.”

“How can we get across the border with so much weaponry?”

“I’ll take care of the border patrol. So long as I’m not forced to teleport myself or anyone else, the First should be taken by surprise. Also, we can’t have any verbal communication once we enter the caves. I’ll take care of that problem.

“The entire area is riddled with caves along the Pacific shoreline. They’re our best bet to get in undetected. Be it assumed that all entrances to this small hold have demonic guards. And the caves themselves are intertwined and form a maze. And there are more perils farther inside the caves as well.”

“Like what?” Gunn asked.

“Demons—just as an example. And, on a more mystical side, the area sucks in all magicks used within it. I might be able to summon one defense, maybe two. But then I’ll be drained—unable to replenish my sources until we exit the system. Do you understand?” she asked, looking at each of them, making sure they new exactly what they were up against.

They each nodded, taking in the seriousness and solemnity of the situation as they faced it. Fred licked her lips, not sure she was proud of herself for declaring her willingness to die. Yet she found she truly was ready to die if it meant stopping this all-evil entity from taking away Hope’s powers by taking Angel’s soul.

Hope looked at the antique clock, “We’ll leave here in the morning. I want you all to get a few days’ worth of clothing and meet me back here in an hour. I want us all to have a good night’s sleep before we deal with this.”

“How do you plan to deal with the communication bit?” Wesley asked, piqued.

“Telepathy will be our means of talking. The Fist can’t detect my telepathic vibes. Or the vibes of humans—demons It can. We’ll deal with that obstacle tomorrow night. All right?” Hope asked, standing to show that the meeting had been officially adjourned.

The threesome stood and nodded. Gunn and Wesley walked out and Fred paused, eyeing Hope for another minute. Then she followed, leaving Hope and Lorne in the atrium. Lorne walked up to Hope.

“If it’s any different to you, I think I’ll stay here. I’m not one much for fighting.”

Hope nodded with a tired smile, “Yeah. You hold down the fort.”

“Get him back, cupcake. And I don’t mean just for us.”

Hope stared at him as he started to walk out. Did he know? Was his connection with her understudies that good? Or had he been talking about the good of the world?

“Lorne…”

He stopped, turned to face her, and waited.

“You know?”

He shrugged, “Kinda my gig, sweetie.”

Words and moments drifted to and from Angel, his brain still unwilling to accept the gravity of the pain by waking. He seemed to see it all from a haze; it was a painless and distant fog that surrounded his being, taunting him to be conscious. It wanted him to be awake and to feel the pain. But he wasn’t ready. He just stayed there, in that haze, until he could convince himself to deal with the pain and try to escape in whatever way he could. He could hear everything around him as though it were at a great distance. But there were no sights to accompany the noises. Only the promise that full consciousness would result in tremendous pain.

“…to Her…let Her see…and kill…” the words floated by, his own voice giving them meaning and purpose. Why? Why was his own voice speaking when he knew his mouth wasn’t moving? Why?

He couldn’t bear the suspense and finally committed to opening his eyes and awaking. The pain greeted him. In his cold body was a colder feeling through his chest and his eyes caught sight of the sword; it was still lodged in his chest, cutting through lungs, heart and ribs. He could feel his bones knitting themselves back together around the blade and he knew instinctively that any extraction would cause more pain.

He smelt blood, dried and metallic. He moved ever so slightly and felt his chest scream in pain. He also felt the dried blood on his chest restrict his motion, clinging to his skin like plastic.

“Ah, you’re awake. How nice to see those eyes,” his own voice, haughty and chilling, greeted him, “That looks rather painful,” the yellow eyes glared at the sword, “Perhaps we should remove it,” he looked behind Angel.

Angel could feel the demon’s clawed hands grip the sword, the slight motion causing fresh pain.

“Now, we can make all this pain stop, you know. All you have to do is join me. Help me.”

Angel used his energy to glare meaningfully at his opposite, unwilling to draw in air to speak. It was a cold, ruthless stare and most likely would have turned anyone else to stone.

“No, then? Your choice.”

The sword was ripped free; Angel screamed as healing organs and flesh were ripped back apart, his bones being pulled back the wrong way. Yet he remained awake. The sword came free with a sound like ripping jeans and Angel could smell fresh, dripping blood. He panted quickly, the air keeping him awake.

The chains were let loose and Angel fell forward again, this time able to move his extremities and clutching at his gaping wound. He curled up on the floor of the old riverbed, the cool and damp pebbles offering harsh proof that he was still capable of feeling. He remained there in a fetal position, trying to keep consciousness and allow himself some time to gather his strength. He needed to be free. He needed to see Hope.

“Why? Why do you want to see her so badly, Angel?” a smooth, harmonic voice asked him.

His eyes opened as he realized the owner of the voice. He could see her a few feet away, looking down at him and eyeing his draining blood.

Darla was dressed in a white, heavenly gown. Her blonde hair was loose around her shoulders and wavered slightly as though hit by a breeze.

“You’re not her,” he said harshly, wheezing from the wide hole in his lung.

“No. I’m not Hope.”

He managed to shake his head, “You’re not Darla.”

“No. She killed herself. A shame. I could’ve used another vampire like you. She was destined for so much more.”

Angel watched as another demon flicked a lighter, the flame rising high. He could smell the gas as it wisped towards him, invisible and carrying with it the heat of the flame. It took the few steps necessary to be closer to him, the flaming lighter wielded like a weapon.

Angel winced, knowing the flame would singe and burn and char.

“Fire is so powerful, isn’t it, Angel?” Darla asked rhetorically, “It can kill any living thing. It can burn away the old until all that is left is the new. The stronger, better, tougher new. Perhaps that’s why mankind fears it. Yet they keep it in their homes. To make themselves believe they have harnessed its powers. Fools. The Bringers will make them realize that. Fire will rain down on your slut and your friends. And before the end they’ll scream for you. They’ll die, shriveled and burned while you lay here...helpless.”

Angel bit his lip as the flame licked at his jaw line. He could feel it charring the skin, turning it crisp and discolored. He moved away from it in a burst of energy.

Darla chuckled.

“You think you can crawl away?” she taunted him.

The first demon was behind him, grabbing him by the hair and using it to drag him across the pebbles. Darla followed, the flame-wielding demon still threatening his safety. Where he was being dragged to, he didn’t know. All he wanted was to be home. To be with his friends...his family.

Hope looked between Fred, Gunn and Wesley, “I’ll be back in a little bit. I have to go get something,” she said vaguely, not completely willing to accept what she was going to do.

“What’re you gonna get?” Gunn asked.

She looked at him for a moment, “Something we need to save Angel,” she managed to say, then turned and walked out of the atrium and into the garden.

She walked into the alleyway and sighed heavily. All this so her friends—Angel’s friends—would not know her true form. She let herself lose cohesion and she felt the air around her crackle with immense power. She became a semi-solid cloud of vapor, color and form clinging to her desperately. In this form she outstretched the loose figure of her hand and opened the gateway.

The ground beneath her was solid even though invisible. All around her was the white emptiness of purity. The air was sweet and thin, carrying on it the wishes and dreams of mankind. Small shafts of heavenly light illuminated the white area, the fog at her feet and ankles moving aside as she stepped in the puddles of super white ground.

“Well, look who’s here,” Michael said calmly, his voice drifting with the breeze.

“I need you, Michael. I need your help.”

He coalesced before her, his form becoming as solid and transparent as her own, “I know that. I remember telling you to let the mortals help you.”

“Angel’s in danger. I’m in danger.”

“I’m aware of the situation, Young One. And, yes, you are in danger. Why don’t you just kill him and erase the possibility?”

Hope eyed him, “Please. La Paz is a black hole. Our strength combined can break Angel out. Please, help me.”

He scoffed, eyeing her figure, “Look at you, Hope! You’re wearing clothes of their status in this—our purity! It is a gift to be what we are and you waste it by helping those who need only swift death or no help at all. You have been brainwashed into thinking that Angel matters. He does not matter! He is expendable. As such, he should be expended.”

Hope remained silent for a moment, not entirely sure she wanted to argue the point. And, fearfully, she found she could think of no great argument. Finally she inhaled deeply, “He’s my champion, Michael. And I am asking you for your help. That’s all. Toss whatever insults you will. This mission will happen with or without you. Without you will lead to Angel’s death…possibly mine. Think of that.”

She started to walk back towards the gateway. She could only hope that—

“Hope, wait!”

She found some comfort in his voice, knowing now he would help.

“I’ll come. But I do it for you...not for Angel.”

Hope nodded, smiling slightly, “I understand.”

The two of them stood side by side and opened the gateway, walking back in to the world that drowned them with angst and impurity. Hope had to catch her breath, the sudden inundation startling.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked, slightly more accustomed to the shock.

“No,” Hope said, looking ahead at the back entrance of the Hyperion.

Michael followed her gaze to see flames licking at the doors, smoke billowing around the atrium, poisoning the air.

Hope ran.

“Take out the flames!” she yelled, Michael’s hands already outstretched to carry out the order.

She didn’t bother to open the doors and simply ran right though them, her solidity faltering for the moment. She saw her three friends sprawled out on the floor, blood leaking from open wounds. Feeling the heat behind her, she continued forward, seeing the fleeting black-robed figure scurry out the other set of doors and into a portal.

Bringers.

She cursed under her breath, the smoke singeing her lungs and making her nose burn. The closest body was Gunn. She knelt next to him and checked for a pulse...it was just barely there. She looked around and saw the flames slow and then lose their danger altogether, simple embers still glowing from the heat.

Michael knelt next to Fred and Wesley who were right next to one another. He looked at her.

“These two aren’t breathing!” he shouted.

Hope felt her mind race—this could not be happening. None of this could be happening. She’d only left them for a few minutes. She’d only been gone for—

She cursed, knowing the difference being on another plane of existence had. She picked up Gunn and slung him over one shoulder, running over to Fred and Wesley. She lifted Wesley like a baby and yelled at Michael to take Fred.

“Get them outside,” she moved to the doors, knowing the fresh air would hopefully help bring Gunn around.

The three of them were laid on the patio, Gunn starting to cough as Hope laid him down. She smiled for that. Wesley and Fred, however, were not so easily brought back.

Michael placed a hand on Fred’s neck and cursed, “There’s no pulse. She’s dead.”

“Bring her back!” she yelled at him, concentrating on doing the same to Wesley.

“Hope…” he trailed off, about to argue that he wasn’t supposed to interfere. But he caught her eyes and saw the desperation in them, knowing how much these mortals meant to her. He inhaled deeply and placed his hand on Fred’s forehead, his skin starting to glow a golden sheen.

Hope laid Wesley down and did the same, her skin owning a silver sheen. For her it took less time and Wesley’s eyes burst open, his lungs drawing in fresh air. He coughed heartily, the heart and brain restarting themselves. Hope cradled him and smiled, “There we go. There we go.”

Wesley grasped her arms like a lifeline and continued to breathe heavily. His eyes ventured over to Fred; Michael was still working on her, trying to mentally restart the body.

“Hope…” Wesley started.

“Shhh. She’s fine. You’re both fine,” she soothed him, her voice serene.

Fred gasped for air and Michael held her, giving her the comfort he knew she needed. With her eyes wide, Fred held onto Michael instinctively, her mind kicking in and making her crave physical contact.

Hope looked at the threesome, knowing it had been a close call and also knowing that the First would use the few seconds of death against Angel. But Gunn hadn’t been captured and, even though the First could easily assume her own form, Hope had to pray that Angel was strong enough to trust her; she had to pray that he wouldn’t give in to despair and make Its purpose more easily fulfilled.

Everything was upside down. The ceiling of the cavern was at his feet and the riverbed of pebbles was at his head. Everything was wrong. This wasn’t how things were supposed to look. He tried to curl his chest to look at the bindings around his feet but felt a wave of vertigo from the sword wound.

“It has been done, Angel,” Darla’s voice called to him.

The demon next to Angel—he was upside down, too—carried a torch and held it close to Angel’s bare chest. Angel yelped upon feeling his skin crack and singe.

“You know what happened?” Darla asked from a distance.

He caught sight of her distorted figure as she walked closer to him.

The flames licked his chest, sending waves of pain to his brain and demanding that he scream. He held it back, not wanting to give them the satisfaction. More pain traveled to his brain, more sounds made him sick as his skin became charred and dry. Blood poured from the openings as the skin was burned away, trailing up his chest and towards his chin and ears.

It almost tickled.

He shook his head to throw off some of the blood that was tingling his senses.

“Your friends have been killed by my Bringers,” Darla kneeled next to him, her face level with his.

“You’re lying.”

The flames touched him again and he winced, his eyes welded shut for the moment.

“If I were lying, would I be able to take their forms?” Darla asked, daring Angel to look once he heard the swift slurp of her form changing.

Angel opened his eyes to see Wesley smiling at him. His heart dropped even lower and he held back a whimper...he didn’t want to see these figures and forms of his friends.

“A shame, really,” Wesley’s voice echoed in the cavern, “They didn’t even put up much of a fight. My Bringers were bored. As we speak, your friends are burning in the hotel, their dead bodies smelling and sending out waves of nausea to all who try to enter.”

Angel felt his eyes water and he closed them, both to stop from crying and also to keep from crying out as more blood drained from skinless muscle. He needed Wesley...he needed his friends. They were all he had. He couldn’t lose them and he had to believe that Hope would save them. He had to believe it.

“Oh, I wouldn’t rely too much on Hope,” Wesley sneered, his form giving way to Fred’s, “She’s off chasing Michael, trying to fix the bridges she burned. While she was off having fun, this happened to us. We were left to fend for ourselves and the Bringers killed us. Painfully, I might add. We knew Hope couldn’t be trusted,” Fred eyed him, standing and crossing her arms over her chest.

“No…” Angel managed, unable to say anything else for fear he would lose control of his voice. More flames singed his shoulder and he tried to move away without avail. The skin peeled back and revealed dense muscle, blood dripping onto the dry riverbed and creating a stream of red that ran to meet the flowing waters outside of Angel’s view.

As the flames periodically lapped at Angel’s flesh, he felt tears drain upwards on his face, mixing with the blood below.

Fred and Wesley, Gunn as well, each sipped at a cup of hot tea as Hope wrapped blankets around their shoulders. Michael had started to repair the damage and was so far doing well at it.

“What happened?” Gunn asked, still somewhat fuzzy on the details.

“Some Bringers came after you guys while I was gone. Their job was to kill you.”

“Why? What threat do we pose?” Wesley asked, his voice still hoarse.

Hope sighed, “You don’t pose a threat. But, the First can only assume the shape of deceased individuals. To Angel…”

“It was to hurt Angel,” Fred concluded, eyeing her tea.

Hope nodded, “Yeah, it was. And, since you are his family, it could be a very crippling blow. We can only hope that Angel doesn’t give in.”

“We’re still going after him in the morning?” Gunn asked.

“Yeah. We have to. And I brought reinforcements. We might need him,” Hope looked over her shoulder at Michael.

“You think he’ll help us?” Gunn asked.

“I do. He’s an extra set of super-strong hands that we need at this point. I don’t think we can do this unless we have all the help we can get.”

“So...when we...died...you and he brought us back?” Fred asked sheepishly.

“We did.”

“I don’t remember anything,” Fred said, her voice bordering on sadness.

“You aren’t meant to. You and Wesley hadn’t made it...there wasn’t enough time…” Hope trailed off, finding it harder than she thought to explain.

“I like it better that way. I don’t want to know,” Wesley said suddenly, putting his empty teacup aside. He looked between Hope, Fred and Gunn, “I think we should all get some rest. It’s been a long day and we have to shove off early in the morning.”

Hope nodded in agreement, “Yeah. Goodnight.”

Oddly enough, Gunn and Fred walked off relatively quickly, leaving Wesley there for a moment to eye Hope. He sighed heavily, taking a step towards her.

“Thank you…for bringing us back,” he said quietly, his eyes quickly dashing over Hope’s shoulder to look at Michael, then focusing back on Hope.

She smiled, “It’s what I’m here for.”

Wesley seemed to accept that and walked off towards the room he’d placed his belongings in for the night. Hope watched them go, knowing there was much confusion about them and knowing it would heal in time. She looked over her shoulder at Michael, hoping things would not get out of hand. She sighed heavily and started to walk up to her room.

“Goodnight, Michael,” she said slowly.

He watched her ascend the flight of stairs, “Goodnight.”

The door closed behind her and he felt some part of him sink. He had so hoped it would never come to this. He was being called on to save her champion, the vampire with a soul. But, as much as he hated to admit it, there was a quality Angel had that Michael knew he would never own in Hope’s eyes. There was that mercy and that deepness—the remorse for deeds past. Whereas Hope and Michael had learned never to look back on the past unless it were absolutely necessary, Angel did so on a regular basis and it brought him grief.

Hope had found it in herself to help console that grief. And that made it all the harder for Michael. She had taken it upon herself to be his guardian when no such bond was required of her. She had lowered herself to his level and was still so happy.

And Michael was alone.

It bothered him that Hope had, at one point in history, been his. It was easy for her to follow the golden rule of not looking back, but Michael had it harder because he was constantly reminded of what he lost. What he had had and lost.

Hope let her clothes fall to the floor. They still reeked of smoke from the fire but, with time, she knew they would air out. The smell was the least of her worries. In the morning she and her companions would set out to save Angel. Whether or not they would succeed was still up in the air. The five of them would face the First without any supernatural means of defeating it. Hope pulled on her pajamas and tried to sleep, her mind heavy with concern and doubt.

Blood dripped.

Flames flickered.

Tears fell.

Skin cracked.

Hours passed.