Take My Hand
Written for: writerconuk’s Bannergrab Challenge for sevendeadlyfun’s banner.
Fic Specifics
Characters: Spike, Angel - check
Rating: Any - PG for language
Season: AtS S5 or post-NFA - Immediately Post NFA,
Can Have: angst, AI Team, Spike/Angel bickering - one large helping of bicker coming up
Can't Have: Buffy angst, character death, torture -I wouldn't call it angst exactly
Word count: 1750
_____________________________________________________________
Take My Hand
“In terms of a plan?”
“We fight.”
“Bit more specific.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Take my hand.”
“What?” Spike wiped the blood-soaked rain from his eyes and squinted upwards.
Angel hung on the edge of what was left of the Hyperion's fire escape by one hand; the other stretched out towards him.
“Bit late for that sort of specific. Not that it’d help.”
"See that?" Angel shouted over the noise of the downpour.
Spike looked towards the horde of demons sweeping relentlessly through the alley. "Yeah. Been outnumbered by the Sheriff and his posse before. Know what we do next? ‘S easy.”
“Jump!” Angel interrupted.
“Die,” Spike continued.
In the no-man’s land between the vampires and the demon horde Wolfram and Hart had unleashed on LA, a fiery chasm belched its poisonous gases into the disintegrating street. It deepened, running across the alley, toppling buildings and demons into its depths. At the junction with the main highway, it stopped.
So did the rain.
“We’re already dead - deader.” Angel nodded towards the end of the alley.
Beyond the shimmering curtain of smoke and water, Spike watched the cars speeding along the road in brilliant sunshine. Then they were gone. The sky cracked. Gigantic mountains appeared. Cliffs of sheer vertigo, pocked with valleys of deep shadow, replaced Los Angeles’ towers of steel and glass.
“Apocalypse Now playing in LA,” said Spike. “Thought it’d be… I dunno - bigger.”
“We’re not in LA,” replied Angel.
Spike glanced down at the remaining stretch of alleyway just as the fissure reached his toecaps.
“Bugger.”
The ground tilted beneath his feet and slid into the widening gap. He jumped and grasped Angel's outstretched hand. “This going to work better than your last plan?”
A great shudder coursed through the Hyperion's walls. Using Spike’s momentum to carry them across the rift, Angel released his grip on the jagged metal and swung them in through an upper window of the hotel.
They crashed to the floor, rolling out of the way of the shattered window. Spike clambered to his feet and stared at the scene visible through the hole in the wall.
“Bloody Hell, Angel. You single-handedly made Armageddon.”
“You helped.”
“Me? I saved a baby. You took down the Black Thorn.”
Angel dusted dragon scales from his coat and rubbed a hand through the singed tips of his hair. “What do you mean ‘better than my last plan’?”
Spike looked at the ceiling. “ ‘10-to-1, we're gone when the smoke clears’, if I recall correctly. I signed up for total annihilation, not a weekend break in …” he glanced round the room “where are we again?”
“Hyperion Hotel. In another dimension.”
“Right. We’re stuck in the Hyperion Hotel in some hell dimension while our luggage has gone only Easyjet knows where.”
“Luggage?”
“Yeah. You forgotten Chuck and Illyria already?”
Angel squinted through the smoke-filled hole. “You’re right about one thing,” he said.
Spike raised a hopeful eyebrow.
“This must be a hell dimension if I have to listen to your incessant babbling much longer.”
"Oh, great. Stuck in a fiery hell with you for all eternity. Someone's really got it in for me." Spike left the room and sped down the stairs. "You'd think dying twice to save the world would count for something. Well bugger this. I'm off to find a cosy crater where I can hang my hat in peace.
“You don't have a hat.” Angel said following him into the hotel’s reception area.
“Coat then,” growled Spike heading for the door.
Angel grabbed the edge of Spike’s duster halting his progress across the lobby. A motionless figure barred their exit; a medieval knight, holding a clipboard in one hand, the other resting on a huge book atop a lectern.
Spike shrugged himself free and crossed the room. “Dro. What’re you doing here? Thought after Angel killed you, you'd be in the other place.”
“Spike…” Angel gestured at Drogyn’s sword propped against the stand.
“Oh, right. Battlebrand. Demonsbane. Immortal.” He grinned at Drogyn. “So, what happened? This some sort of holding dimension…”
“The fat lady has sung…” Drogyn intoned.
Spike and Angel exchanged glances.
"Sounds familiar." Spike tapped the clipboard. “What’s this, Sirk's CliffsNotes?”
“ … the Reckoning can begin,” finished Drogyn.
“Reckoning?” Spike peered at him. A shimmering hummed around Drogyn's head; a fuzzy halo pulsing with light, fading when Spike stared directly at it, brightening as he averted his gaze. Spike swung back towards Angel. “Bloody Hell, Angel, he’s an angel. It is the Apocalypse - the Finale."
“The books were opened and judgement was given,” Drogyn read from the book.
Spike tilted his head and squinted at the elaborate writing on the clipboard. “So. Which way for us then?”
“And I saw from the mouth of the dragon, and the mouth of the beast, unclean spirits. And they go forth to do battle.”
“Unclean spirits? Yeah, right. Fiery hell then?”
Drogyn closed the book and embraced Angel.
“Welcome, brother.”
“Oh,” Spike pouted. “I get unclean spirits and he - the one who just caused the end of the world - gets the Prodigal treatment.”
“Not so. The world continues.” Drogyn released Angel and indicated the glass panel in the door. “The Reckoning will show that which you left unfinished on earth.”
“Unfinished. Pfft.” Spike snorted. “Atonement’s Angel’s gig. Just show me the way out.”
Drogyn again indicated the door.
Through the glass, Spike saw the mountains shift and fade. A pair of dark eyes gazed in at him. “Drusilla,” he breathed, reaching for the door handle. There was none. He pulled his arm back and aimed a fist at the window.
“Hold!” cried Drogyn. “You may not interfere. You may only watch and choose.”
“Hmmm.” The sound of Drusilla’s humming drifted into the lobby. “So sad. And all alone. What Miss Drusilla needs now is ….”
The screaming began. Blood spattered the pane, spots turning to a deluge of red, obscuring Spike’s view of Drusilla, and the screams stopped.
“The surviving member of the Aurelius Clan is creating a new family,” said Drogyn. “You would leave that unchallenged, vampire with a soul?”
Before Spike could reply, the glass cleared, revealing a new scene. Spike recognised the apartment in Rome in which he and Angel had met Andrew.
“Why did no one tell me?” Buffy glared at the figures gathered around her. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
Spike hurled himself at the glass, and rebounded back into the centre of the room, coming to a halt against the circular lobby bench.
“What did you see?” asked Angel holding out his hand.
“Nothin’ of interest to you,” muttered Spike, pulling himself up and ignoring Angel’s offer. “Your turn.”
Angel licked his lips nervously and stood in front of the door. In the street beyond, he saw a hunched figure approaching the hotel; a hat pulled down hiding his face.
“No place left,” sighed Lorne. He stared at Angel with red rimmed eyes. “Why me?”
“You should have let him save the baby, mate,” said Spike. “He never heard it sing.”
Angel swung round and picked Spike up by the lapels of his coat. “Always think you know people best, don’t you Spike? Wait ‘til you’ve had a soul as long as I have before you’re fit to judge.”
Spike flung his arms upward, breaking Angel’s grip, and dropped lightly to the floor. “’S nothing to do with having a soul, you great lummox.”
Drogyn’s great sword sliced the air between them. “Enough,” he said gently. “Angel, there is one more thing you must see.” He grasped Angel by the shoulder and led both vampires back to the entrance door.
The three of them stood silently watching Connor and his family packing their car and locking the house. Connor hugged his parents and picked up his backpack. “I love you guys,” he said smiling.
His mother shook her head. “Then why won’t you come with us?”
“Because I love you.” Connor shouldered his backpack and sprinted away.
“Connor.” Angel reached out and touched the window as the image faded. “The Senior Partners are after him.” He turned to Drogyn. “Because of me.”
“With you gone, he is the natural choice for revenge.” Drogyn picked the clipboard from where he’d dropped it. “The Reckoning is over. Now the Choosing.”
“Um. Did I miss the memo?” interrupted Spike. “Why’s the boy the natural choice for revenge?”
Angel sank into an armchair. “Connor’s my son,” he choked.
Spike put his hands on his hips and looked speechlessly down at Angel’s crumpled form.
“There is no time for explanations,” said Drogyn. “You each must choose whether to go onwards to your reward or back to continue the fight.
“No contest.” Spike’s head snapped up. “I know what’s waiting for me and it’s not the hero’s kind of reward.”
“In that, you are mistaken,” said Drogyn. “For you have rightly earned your place among the champions.”
Angel took his hands from his face and looked anxiously at Drogyn.
“What’re you looking so worried about, Champ?” said Spike. “Seems you’ve earned the Shanshu thingamabob.”
“I don’t want it,” Angel snapped. He rose from the chair. “I want to go back and help Lorne and Connor. How can I do that if…”
“You really are a thickheaded Irishman,” snorted Spike. “Don’t you get it yet? You got the Shanshu…” he rolled his eyes and bounced his head in time to the numbers he mouthed as he calculated. “17 years ago, judging by appearances.”
“17 years?” Angel frowned.
“Connor, you dunderhead!” thundered Spike. “He is the Shanshu. Don’t know how you did it, but you fathered a human.”
Angel’s features relaxed. He grinned and punched Spike on the jaw, sending him reeling against the lectern. The great book tumbled to the floor, disintegrating into dust as it hit the terrazzo.
“What’d you do that for?” asked Spike rubbing his face.
“Calling me a dunderhead.” He offered Spike his hand.
Spike took it and allowed Angel to pull him to his feet. “So. It’s back to fight the good fight together then?
'”You are a good friend,” commented Drogyn opening the door.
"Not bloody likely. I like my friends," chortled Spike. He turned to Angel. "I'll probably never like you."
"I'm family. No-one likes family."
"I did."
"Darla always said you were an idiot."
"Says the Bog-trotter."
"Sassenach."
"Poof."
"Take my hand."
Spike raised an eyebrow and did as he was asked.
They stared into the rift for a moment - and jumped.
Fic Specifics
Characters: Spike, Angel - check
Rating: Any - PG for language
Season: AtS S5 or post-NFA - Immediately Post NFA,
Can Have: angst, AI Team, Spike/Angel bickering - one large helping of bicker coming up
Can't Have: Buffy angst, character death, torture -I wouldn't call it angst exactly
Word count: 1750
_____________________________________________________________
Take My Hand
“In terms of a plan?”
“We fight.”
“Bit more specific.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Take my hand.”
“What?” Spike wiped the blood-soaked rain from his eyes and squinted upwards.
Angel hung on the edge of what was left of the Hyperion's fire escape by one hand; the other stretched out towards him.
“Bit late for that sort of specific. Not that it’d help.”
"See that?" Angel shouted over the noise of the downpour.
Spike looked towards the horde of demons sweeping relentlessly through the alley. "Yeah. Been outnumbered by the Sheriff and his posse before. Know what we do next? ‘S easy.”
“Jump!” Angel interrupted.
“Die,” Spike continued.
In the no-man’s land between the vampires and the demon horde Wolfram and Hart had unleashed on LA, a fiery chasm belched its poisonous gases into the disintegrating street. It deepened, running across the alley, toppling buildings and demons into its depths. At the junction with the main highway, it stopped.
So did the rain.
“We’re already dead - deader.” Angel nodded towards the end of the alley.
Beyond the shimmering curtain of smoke and water, Spike watched the cars speeding along the road in brilliant sunshine. Then they were gone. The sky cracked. Gigantic mountains appeared. Cliffs of sheer vertigo, pocked with valleys of deep shadow, replaced Los Angeles’ towers of steel and glass.
“Apocalypse Now playing in LA,” said Spike. “Thought it’d be… I dunno - bigger.”
“We’re not in LA,” replied Angel.
Spike glanced down at the remaining stretch of alleyway just as the fissure reached his toecaps.
“Bugger.”
The ground tilted beneath his feet and slid into the widening gap. He jumped and grasped Angel's outstretched hand. “This going to work better than your last plan?”
A great shudder coursed through the Hyperion's walls. Using Spike’s momentum to carry them across the rift, Angel released his grip on the jagged metal and swung them in through an upper window of the hotel.
They crashed to the floor, rolling out of the way of the shattered window. Spike clambered to his feet and stared at the scene visible through the hole in the wall.
“Bloody Hell, Angel. You single-handedly made Armageddon.”
“You helped.”
“Me? I saved a baby. You took down the Black Thorn.”
Angel dusted dragon scales from his coat and rubbed a hand through the singed tips of his hair. “What do you mean ‘better than my last plan’?”
Spike looked at the ceiling. “ ‘10-to-1, we're gone when the smoke clears’, if I recall correctly. I signed up for total annihilation, not a weekend break in …” he glanced round the room “where are we again?”
“Hyperion Hotel. In another dimension.”
“Right. We’re stuck in the Hyperion Hotel in some hell dimension while our luggage has gone only Easyjet knows where.”
“Luggage?”
“Yeah. You forgotten Chuck and Illyria already?”
Angel squinted through the smoke-filled hole. “You’re right about one thing,” he said.
Spike raised a hopeful eyebrow.
“This must be a hell dimension if I have to listen to your incessant babbling much longer.”
"Oh, great. Stuck in a fiery hell with you for all eternity. Someone's really got it in for me." Spike left the room and sped down the stairs. "You'd think dying twice to save the world would count for something. Well bugger this. I'm off to find a cosy crater where I can hang my hat in peace.
“You don't have a hat.” Angel said following him into the hotel’s reception area.
“Coat then,” growled Spike heading for the door.
Angel grabbed the edge of Spike’s duster halting his progress across the lobby. A motionless figure barred their exit; a medieval knight, holding a clipboard in one hand, the other resting on a huge book atop a lectern.
Spike shrugged himself free and crossed the room. “Dro. What’re you doing here? Thought after Angel killed you, you'd be in the other place.”
“Spike…” Angel gestured at Drogyn’s sword propped against the stand.
“Oh, right. Battlebrand. Demonsbane. Immortal.” He grinned at Drogyn. “So, what happened? This some sort of holding dimension…”
“The fat lady has sung…” Drogyn intoned.
Spike and Angel exchanged glances.
"Sounds familiar." Spike tapped the clipboard. “What’s this, Sirk's CliffsNotes?”
“ … the Reckoning can begin,” finished Drogyn.
“Reckoning?” Spike peered at him. A shimmering hummed around Drogyn's head; a fuzzy halo pulsing with light, fading when Spike stared directly at it, brightening as he averted his gaze. Spike swung back towards Angel. “Bloody Hell, Angel, he’s an angel. It is the Apocalypse - the Finale."
“The books were opened and judgement was given,” Drogyn read from the book.
Spike tilted his head and squinted at the elaborate writing on the clipboard. “So. Which way for us then?”
“And I saw from the mouth of the dragon, and the mouth of the beast, unclean spirits. And they go forth to do battle.”
“Unclean spirits? Yeah, right. Fiery hell then?”
Drogyn closed the book and embraced Angel.
“Welcome, brother.”
“Oh,” Spike pouted. “I get unclean spirits and he - the one who just caused the end of the world - gets the Prodigal treatment.”
“Not so. The world continues.” Drogyn released Angel and indicated the glass panel in the door. “The Reckoning will show that which you left unfinished on earth.”
“Unfinished. Pfft.” Spike snorted. “Atonement’s Angel’s gig. Just show me the way out.”
Drogyn again indicated the door.
Through the glass, Spike saw the mountains shift and fade. A pair of dark eyes gazed in at him. “Drusilla,” he breathed, reaching for the door handle. There was none. He pulled his arm back and aimed a fist at the window.
“Hold!” cried Drogyn. “You may not interfere. You may only watch and choose.”
“Hmmm.” The sound of Drusilla’s humming drifted into the lobby. “So sad. And all alone. What Miss Drusilla needs now is ….”
The screaming began. Blood spattered the pane, spots turning to a deluge of red, obscuring Spike’s view of Drusilla, and the screams stopped.
“The surviving member of the Aurelius Clan is creating a new family,” said Drogyn. “You would leave that unchallenged, vampire with a soul?”
Before Spike could reply, the glass cleared, revealing a new scene. Spike recognised the apartment in Rome in which he and Angel had met Andrew.
“Why did no one tell me?” Buffy glared at the figures gathered around her. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
Spike hurled himself at the glass, and rebounded back into the centre of the room, coming to a halt against the circular lobby bench.
“What did you see?” asked Angel holding out his hand.
“Nothin’ of interest to you,” muttered Spike, pulling himself up and ignoring Angel’s offer. “Your turn.”
Angel licked his lips nervously and stood in front of the door. In the street beyond, he saw a hunched figure approaching the hotel; a hat pulled down hiding his face.
“No place left,” sighed Lorne. He stared at Angel with red rimmed eyes. “Why me?”
“You should have let him save the baby, mate,” said Spike. “He never heard it sing.”
Angel swung round and picked Spike up by the lapels of his coat. “Always think you know people best, don’t you Spike? Wait ‘til you’ve had a soul as long as I have before you’re fit to judge.”
Spike flung his arms upward, breaking Angel’s grip, and dropped lightly to the floor. “’S nothing to do with having a soul, you great lummox.”
Drogyn’s great sword sliced the air between them. “Enough,” he said gently. “Angel, there is one more thing you must see.” He grasped Angel by the shoulder and led both vampires back to the entrance door.
The three of them stood silently watching Connor and his family packing their car and locking the house. Connor hugged his parents and picked up his backpack. “I love you guys,” he said smiling.
His mother shook her head. “Then why won’t you come with us?”
“Because I love you.” Connor shouldered his backpack and sprinted away.
“Connor.” Angel reached out and touched the window as the image faded. “The Senior Partners are after him.” He turned to Drogyn. “Because of me.”
“With you gone, he is the natural choice for revenge.” Drogyn picked the clipboard from where he’d dropped it. “The Reckoning is over. Now the Choosing.”
“Um. Did I miss the memo?” interrupted Spike. “Why’s the boy the natural choice for revenge?”
Angel sank into an armchair. “Connor’s my son,” he choked.
Spike put his hands on his hips and looked speechlessly down at Angel’s crumpled form.
“There is no time for explanations,” said Drogyn. “You each must choose whether to go onwards to your reward or back to continue the fight.
“No contest.” Spike’s head snapped up. “I know what’s waiting for me and it’s not the hero’s kind of reward.”
“In that, you are mistaken,” said Drogyn. “For you have rightly earned your place among the champions.”
Angel took his hands from his face and looked anxiously at Drogyn.
“What’re you looking so worried about, Champ?” said Spike. “Seems you’ve earned the Shanshu thingamabob.”
“I don’t want it,” Angel snapped. He rose from the chair. “I want to go back and help Lorne and Connor. How can I do that if…”
“You really are a thickheaded Irishman,” snorted Spike. “Don’t you get it yet? You got the Shanshu…” he rolled his eyes and bounced his head in time to the numbers he mouthed as he calculated. “17 years ago, judging by appearances.”
“17 years?” Angel frowned.
“Connor, you dunderhead!” thundered Spike. “He is the Shanshu. Don’t know how you did it, but you fathered a human.”
Angel’s features relaxed. He grinned and punched Spike on the jaw, sending him reeling against the lectern. The great book tumbled to the floor, disintegrating into dust as it hit the terrazzo.
“What’d you do that for?” asked Spike rubbing his face.
“Calling me a dunderhead.” He offered Spike his hand.
Spike took it and allowed Angel to pull him to his feet. “So. It’s back to fight the good fight together then?
'”You are a good friend,” commented Drogyn opening the door.
"Not bloody likely. I like my friends," chortled Spike. He turned to Angel. "I'll probably never like you."
"I'm family. No-one likes family."
"I did."
"Darla always said you were an idiot."
"Says the Bog-trotter."
"Sassenach."
"Poof."
"Take my hand."
Spike raised an eyebrow and did as he was asked.
They stared into the rift for a moment - and jumped.