ANGEL Fic: Cracked (1/1) -- S/A
Title: Cracked
Rating: R
Pairing: Spike/Angelish
Summary: Angel can't remember anything between when Gunn fell, neck broken, between two demons and when he woke up sometime today, wondering where the fuck he was and what had happened to Spike's right leg.
Author's Note: Thanks to jypzrose for the beta.
CRACKED
Angel can't remember anything between when Gunn fell, neck broken, between two demons and when he woke up sometime today, wondering where the fuck he was and what had happened to Spike's right leg. It's all white in his memory, like someone erased the biggest parts of the battle. There's a tourniquet on the stump that's attached to Spike's hip, and it looks vaguely like the leather and armor that had once made up Illyria's clothing.
Illyria, however, is nowhere in sight.
Angel tries to move his own legs; can't. He thinks he may be partially paralyzed. There's blood in his mouth that isn't his own. He pushes himself up into a somewhat seated position and nearly passes out from pain. More whiteness skirts along the edges of his vision.
He lies back down before his trembling arms give out, flops his head to the side, and reaches out slowly to nudge Spike, who's pale, thin, and slightly blue-lipped. He looks... well... dead. "Spike," Angel says, and shakes his shoulder when he doesn't move. His voice sounds like it's been mixed with a handful of gravel.
Looking up at the cave ceiling for a moment, he wonders how they're going to get out of there and get some blood. He hadn't even known that there were caves in Los Angeles. He wonders if they won, or if this was some sort of hell dimension reserved for the people who really piss off the Senior Partners. Then Spike grunts a little next to him, and he hears him shift. His head turns again and he catches the fluttering of Spike's eyelids and sees a brief sliver of cloudy blue.
Spike's throat works, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows a few times and tries to speak, but either his vocal cords have been damaged or he's too weak to get any sound out other than that lone grunt. Somehow this bothers Angel more than Spike's incessant chatter, insults and taunts ever did.
Angel inhales deeply, tastes more blood on his tongue; realizes that it's blood he's smelling, not blood he's eaten. He forces himself upright, digs his fingers into the soft dirt under him, blinks a few times to clear his swimming vision.
Gunn. Lying just across the cave, a few yards away. Not dead then, but it's a very near thing. His breathing is shallow, his heartbeat faint.
Angel edges toward the human and pain sears through him. Apparently he's not paralyzed after all. He manages to fumble onto his hands and knees and half-drags himself across the cave floor, fingernails breaking as they claw at the soil. A rock slices open the palm of his hand and the pain of the fresh wound is a welcome reprieve from the agony of his broken body. He doesn't know how long it takes him to crawl the short distance from one side of the cave to the other - minutes, hours maybe, and he's trembling all over and thinks he might vomit. He's not pleased by the reminder of what nausea feels like.
He collapses next to Gunn, counts to a hundred, then pushes himself back up. His pulse is slower now than when Angel had started across the cave. Angel kneels next to the human, holding himself up with one hand against the cave wall. "Hi," he says, and Gunn smiles a little. His eyes are clear and they widen a little when he sees Angel looking at his neck.
"Ang - " Gunn chokes, and it's a garbled syllable. He has to work hard to get even that little bit of sound past his paralyzed vocal cords. He stops trying when Angel shakes his head. His brow furrows and he looks at Angel's face, scrutinizing him. Then he relaxes and his lips curve upward in another smile.
Angel collapses again, then reaches up to close Gunn's eyes and hooks his fingers in a large rip in his pants. He tears away at the thigh of Gunn's jeans, then presses his mouth to the warm flesh. His face shifts and he drinks, knowing that in his paralyzed state, Gunn can't feel the pain of the admittedly sloppy bite.
Angel's hunger takes over and he can't remember the last time he drained a human this fast - can't remember the last time he drained a human, period. It's only after he sits up, the blood racing through his body and healing him from the inside out, that he licks his lips, and presses a kiss to Gunn's cooling forehead. "Thank you," he whispers, and he gathers his friend's body close for an embrace that never would've happened before all this.
He finds moments later that he can stand with relatively few problems. A moment later, he can walk. He crosses the distance to Spike in three long strides - a distance that had taken him what seemed like eons to crawl - and he tears into his wrist with his fangs before he can even think about what he's doing. Spike makes a soft, needy, whimpering sound in the back of his throat as Angel's blood pours into his mouth.
Angel stops when Spike's got a little color back in his face and he doesn't look quite so ashen. Then he tears a strip of fabric off the bottom of his shirt and wraps it around his wrist, securing it tightly. He looks out of the mouth of the cave. It's getting dark. The sun must've set without him noticing.
He stands and every single bone in his body protests. He thinks he might fall when he bends down and slides one arm behind Spike's back, the other under his remaining knee, and lifts him up; staggers a bit under the new weight but then rights himself. Somehow Spike weighs as much as a man twice his size right now. His coat is in tatters, and Angel wonders if he can afford a new one on his drastically reduced budget.
Spike's eyelids flutter again and he makes a low sound in the back of his throat, than falls still. Angel is careful not to jostle his abbreviated limb too much as he makes his way for the cave entrance. He stops at the mouth, looking out at the carnage in awe. The bodies of their foes lie scattered on the ground like the dolls that lay broken and torn after one of Dru's fits. There's a large, dark shadow on the ground in the distance.
Dragon, Angel thinks fleetingly. "Hey, good news," he says to his unconscious companion, his voice harsh and cracked. "Looks like we won."
Rating: R
Pairing: Spike/Angelish
Summary: Angel can't remember anything between when Gunn fell, neck broken, between two demons and when he woke up sometime today, wondering where the fuck he was and what had happened to Spike's right leg.
Author's Note: Thanks to jypzrose for the beta.
CRACKED
Angel can't remember anything between when Gunn fell, neck broken, between two demons and when he woke up sometime today, wondering where the fuck he was and what had happened to Spike's right leg. It's all white in his memory, like someone erased the biggest parts of the battle. There's a tourniquet on the stump that's attached to Spike's hip, and it looks vaguely like the leather and armor that had once made up Illyria's clothing.
Illyria, however, is nowhere in sight.
Angel tries to move his own legs; can't. He thinks he may be partially paralyzed. There's blood in his mouth that isn't his own. He pushes himself up into a somewhat seated position and nearly passes out from pain. More whiteness skirts along the edges of his vision.
He lies back down before his trembling arms give out, flops his head to the side, and reaches out slowly to nudge Spike, who's pale, thin, and slightly blue-lipped. He looks... well... dead. "Spike," Angel says, and shakes his shoulder when he doesn't move. His voice sounds like it's been mixed with a handful of gravel.
Looking up at the cave ceiling for a moment, he wonders how they're going to get out of there and get some blood. He hadn't even known that there were caves in Los Angeles. He wonders if they won, or if this was some sort of hell dimension reserved for the people who really piss off the Senior Partners. Then Spike grunts a little next to him, and he hears him shift. His head turns again and he catches the fluttering of Spike's eyelids and sees a brief sliver of cloudy blue.
Spike's throat works, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows a few times and tries to speak, but either his vocal cords have been damaged or he's too weak to get any sound out other than that lone grunt. Somehow this bothers Angel more than Spike's incessant chatter, insults and taunts ever did.
Angel inhales deeply, tastes more blood on his tongue; realizes that it's blood he's smelling, not blood he's eaten. He forces himself upright, digs his fingers into the soft dirt under him, blinks a few times to clear his swimming vision.
Gunn. Lying just across the cave, a few yards away. Not dead then, but it's a very near thing. His breathing is shallow, his heartbeat faint.
Angel edges toward the human and pain sears through him. Apparently he's not paralyzed after all. He manages to fumble onto his hands and knees and half-drags himself across the cave floor, fingernails breaking as they claw at the soil. A rock slices open the palm of his hand and the pain of the fresh wound is a welcome reprieve from the agony of his broken body. He doesn't know how long it takes him to crawl the short distance from one side of the cave to the other - minutes, hours maybe, and he's trembling all over and thinks he might vomit. He's not pleased by the reminder of what nausea feels like.
He collapses next to Gunn, counts to a hundred, then pushes himself back up. His pulse is slower now than when Angel had started across the cave. Angel kneels next to the human, holding himself up with one hand against the cave wall. "Hi," he says, and Gunn smiles a little. His eyes are clear and they widen a little when he sees Angel looking at his neck.
"Ang - " Gunn chokes, and it's a garbled syllable. He has to work hard to get even that little bit of sound past his paralyzed vocal cords. He stops trying when Angel shakes his head. His brow furrows and he looks at Angel's face, scrutinizing him. Then he relaxes and his lips curve upward in another smile.
Angel collapses again, then reaches up to close Gunn's eyes and hooks his fingers in a large rip in his pants. He tears away at the thigh of Gunn's jeans, then presses his mouth to the warm flesh. His face shifts and he drinks, knowing that in his paralyzed state, Gunn can't feel the pain of the admittedly sloppy bite.
Angel's hunger takes over and he can't remember the last time he drained a human this fast - can't remember the last time he drained a human, period. It's only after he sits up, the blood racing through his body and healing him from the inside out, that he licks his lips, and presses a kiss to Gunn's cooling forehead. "Thank you," he whispers, and he gathers his friend's body close for an embrace that never would've happened before all this.
He finds moments later that he can stand with relatively few problems. A moment later, he can walk. He crosses the distance to Spike in three long strides - a distance that had taken him what seemed like eons to crawl - and he tears into his wrist with his fangs before he can even think about what he's doing. Spike makes a soft, needy, whimpering sound in the back of his throat as Angel's blood pours into his mouth.
Angel stops when Spike's got a little color back in his face and he doesn't look quite so ashen. Then he tears a strip of fabric off the bottom of his shirt and wraps it around his wrist, securing it tightly. He looks out of the mouth of the cave. It's getting dark. The sun must've set without him noticing.
He stands and every single bone in his body protests. He thinks he might fall when he bends down and slides one arm behind Spike's back, the other under his remaining knee, and lifts him up; staggers a bit under the new weight but then rights himself. Somehow Spike weighs as much as a man twice his size right now. His coat is in tatters, and Angel wonders if he can afford a new one on his drastically reduced budget.
Spike's eyelids flutter again and he makes a low sound in the back of his throat, than falls still. Angel is careful not to jostle his abbreviated limb too much as he makes his way for the cave entrance. He stops at the mouth, looking out at the carnage in awe. The bodies of their foes lie scattered on the ground like the dolls that lay broken and torn after one of Dru's fits. There's a large, dark shadow on the ground in the distance.
Dragon, Angel thinks fleetingly. "Hey, good news," he says to his unconscious companion, his voice harsh and cracked. "Looks like we won."