Disclaimer: I don't own any of characters, I'm just borrowing them for a while.

WARNING: Spoilers for season 5 of Angel particularly the final episode "Never Fade Away".

Sans Shoes In LA
By OldScout.

The alley was empty; it hadn't been a week before. A week before the alley was crowded with people, bodies and debris. The people were police, government agents, military personnel, emergency response teams, construction workers with heavy equipment and at first; a few teenage girls. Most of the bodies were being labeled different things by different people. The police called them freaks and gang members, the government agents called them aliens, the military called them H. S. T.s and the teenage girls called them demons. There were a few non-demons in the mix, an old homeless man was sleeping in the alley when it started, and there were the bodies of a few teenage girls mixed in with demons. The surviving girls knew not to hang around, they quickly gathered their own and one other female who was fighting on their side and disappeared.

During the next few days, the area for several blocks we quarantined and only people on official business could enter or leave. The bodies of questionable origin where quickly loaded into dump trucks and mostly hauled to government incinerators in the desert, while some kept going, heading for a base in Nevada. Working around the clock, the alley was soon cleaned up, washed down and put back into some kind of order.

The sun shined brightly on the alley. No one could tell such carnage had been there just a week before. It was now just another average alley except maybe it was a bit cleaner then other near by alleys. A short man wearing a round brimmed fedora and carrying a plastic shopping bag walked down the alley and stopped half way to the other end. Anybody who knew the place would recognize the spot by the small holes in the brick walls of the buildings. A week before, a chain linked face stretched across the alley here, now the only thing that remained were the holes where it had been anchored to the brick.

The sun was almost at its zenith, the man checked his watch. "Yep, right on time."

Dust began to swirl in the calm mid-day air. After several minutes the dust settled leaving the naked body of a man laying facing down in the middle of the alley. The man with the fedora stepped forward and poked the body with the toe of his shoe. "Hey get up, I don't have all day."

"Hrmph." The man on the ground swatted blindly at the foot poking him.

"Come on let's go before somebody sees you." He continued to nudge the naked man with his foot.

"O'kay, O'kay." The man mumbled as pulled his knees underneath himself and looked up at the sun. He squinted at the glare and held his hand up to shield his face. "Don't suppose you got some bloody extra clothes with ya?"

"Here. And hurry up."

The plastic shopping bag hit him in the chest.

The first man looked away but didn't turn away as the new arrival pulled out a pair of knee length short pants and fastened them. Next he found a faded Hawaiian shirt and held it up. "What the bloody hell is this?"

"Hey, beggars can't be choosers. You're lucky there's a good will down the street, I didn't have a lot of time to get over here."

"This thing looks familiar." He looked at the tag inside the shirt. An "XH" was clearly written in fading indelible marker. "Ah, Christ; I'm in bloody Hell."

"No you're in L. A., but close."

"You mean I'm back. Again?"

"Yep, only this time, William, you're human."

"How, why?" Spike asked as buttoned the awful shirt.

"Remember the prophecy?"

"You mean the Shanshu?"

"Of course, what the hell else would I be talking about?"

"But Angel..."

"Angel has his own destiny. Oh, and here." He tossed a battered wallet to spike. "You got ID and a hundred bucks. Don't worry, the IDs legit, besides, nobody can confirm it anyway."

Spike looked at the driver's license with his picture and a Sunnydale address. "Sunnydale?"

"Yeah, it's great. Did you know that 90 percent of the fake id's being made this year use a Sunnydale address?"

"What the BLODDY HELL is this?" He held up the license. "William HARRIS?"

"I thought you'd like some family." Whistler turned back to the street. "Hey, I've gotta' get going. You take care now, okay."

Spike looked in the bag again. "Wait! What about some flippen shoes?"

"Sorry, didn't know your size."

"Bloody hell."