Conviction (A Missing Scenes Ficlet)
Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)
Rated: T
Pairing: implied Spangel
Characters: Angel
Word Count: 574
Warnings: Angst, sad Angel, contemplations of suicide, set during s5x01: Convictions, missing scene, stream of consciousness
Summary: Angel finds out about the Hellmouth and Spike’s involvement in its destruction.
Three days after the destruction of the Hellmouth…
Gone. He was gone. His favored Childe, burned to ash for the sake of the world. Gone, because he had chosen not to stay. Another guilt to add to the endless stack of reasons he had stayed away from his golden one for so long.
Angel muttered a barely audible goodbye to Willow and set the phone back in its cradle, the world tilting on its axis as he pushed his chair back and stood. He made his way across the office to the wall of necro-tinted windows, staring out across the city with sightless eyes. His soul twisted and screamed, the hollow shell where his heart had once beat a steady rhythm ached in a way he hadn’t felt since those first days after the Gypsies had exacted their well-deserved justice. He briefly wondered how much energy it would take to shatter the thick windows, to let in the sun and stand in its purifying light one last time, burn like he had.
Only briefly.
Too many still counted on him. People he hadn’t completely failed, yet. Wes, Fred, Gunn…even Lorne. He had brought them all here, to this pit of evil, their faith that he knew what he was getting them into a heavy weight on his chest. He couldn’t leave them alone, no matter how much he wanted to follow his insufferable, lovely, spirited Golden Childe down into the bowels of Hell; it should have been him, he had been given the amulet, told to take it to Sunnydale, he should have been the one to wear it, to burn. But he had run off, deserted his old family for his shiny, new one.
He was the one who had been given the task as the helper of the helpless, not his sweet, sad William.
Another wronging made, upon the many that weighed heavy on his soul when it came to his dear Childe. He had made him into the monster that he was, twisted the poet, the lover, into the creature that delighted in death and destruction as much as Angelus. Made him, and abandoned him. Left his William behind with Darla and her cruelty, and with Drusilla and her madness, a fate unbefitting one so loyal.
Even after his Childer had made their way back to him, stumbled into his life once more, he kept his distance, as best he could. Even Angelus had known that gap couldn’t be bridged again, kept the pain fresh, taunting the boy, so as to push him farther away. He couldn’t ruin his Childe further, soul or no.
Angel sighed heavily, his unnecessary breath fogging the glass as he bowed his head, forehead pressing against it, feeling the small amount of warmth that managed to penetrate through the tint. He closed his eyes against the tears he felt pricking, lingering a moment longer before pushing off the glass to cross back to his desk.
He would carry on, play bitch to the Powers as was needed. Protect the new family he had gathered through fate and fortune, turn Wolfram & Hart - at least this branch - into a beacon of good. He would carry out this one last job.
Then he would follow him. His Spike. His William. His favored Childe. Follow him to the fate that never should have been his. Then he, too, would burn. No matter how much glass he had to shatter.
Rated: T
Pairing: implied Spangel
Characters: Angel
Word Count: 574
Warnings: Angst, sad Angel, contemplations of suicide, set during s5x01: Convictions, missing scene, stream of consciousness
Summary: Angel finds out about the Hellmouth and Spike’s involvement in its destruction.
Three days after the destruction of the Hellmouth…
Gone. He was gone. His favored Childe, burned to ash for the sake of the world. Gone, because he had chosen not to stay. Another guilt to add to the endless stack of reasons he had stayed away from his golden one for so long.
Angel muttered a barely audible goodbye to Willow and set the phone back in its cradle, the world tilting on its axis as he pushed his chair back and stood. He made his way across the office to the wall of necro-tinted windows, staring out across the city with sightless eyes. His soul twisted and screamed, the hollow shell where his heart had once beat a steady rhythm ached in a way he hadn’t felt since those first days after the Gypsies had exacted their well-deserved justice. He briefly wondered how much energy it would take to shatter the thick windows, to let in the sun and stand in its purifying light one last time, burn like he had.
Only briefly.
Too many still counted on him. People he hadn’t completely failed, yet. Wes, Fred, Gunn…even Lorne. He had brought them all here, to this pit of evil, their faith that he knew what he was getting them into a heavy weight on his chest. He couldn’t leave them alone, no matter how much he wanted to follow his insufferable, lovely, spirited Golden Childe down into the bowels of Hell; it should have been him, he had been given the amulet, told to take it to Sunnydale, he should have been the one to wear it, to burn. But he had run off, deserted his old family for his shiny, new one.
He was the one who had been given the task as the helper of the helpless, not his sweet, sad William.
Another wronging made, upon the many that weighed heavy on his soul when it came to his dear Childe. He had made him into the monster that he was, twisted the poet, the lover, into the creature that delighted in death and destruction as much as Angelus. Made him, and abandoned him. Left his William behind with Darla and her cruelty, and with Drusilla and her madness, a fate unbefitting one so loyal.
Even after his Childer had made their way back to him, stumbled into his life once more, he kept his distance, as best he could. Even Angelus had known that gap couldn’t be bridged again, kept the pain fresh, taunting the boy, so as to push him farther away. He couldn’t ruin his Childe further, soul or no.
Angel sighed heavily, his unnecessary breath fogging the glass as he bowed his head, forehead pressing against it, feeling the small amount of warmth that managed to penetrate through the tint. He closed his eyes against the tears he felt pricking, lingering a moment longer before pushing off the glass to cross back to his desk.
He would carry on, play bitch to the Powers as was needed. Protect the new family he had gathered through fate and fortune, turn Wolfram & Hart - at least this branch - into a beacon of good. He would carry out this one last job.
Then he would follow him. His Spike. His William. His favored Childe. Follow him to the fate that never should have been his. Then he, too, would burn. No matter how much glass he had to shatter.