Prompt 172 - Restless Chapter 5

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Title: Restless Chapter 5
Author: Guardian Erin
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Angel
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Disclaimer: I do not own.
Summary: There's still room for heroes.
Note: Posting it here temporarily because things are an organizational mess. Tomorrow I'll sort out all the chapters.



There's blood everywhere. I could smell it half a mile off when I caught onto the demon's trail. I'm supposed to be a champion. Broken bones, dead companion, it doesn't matter. Got to keep fighting right down to the knuckle. Have to stay strong, and be the best hero that I can be. I feel like I'm dying, but vampires can't bleed to death. They don't die from blood loss, they just get exhausted. They wear down, and they give up or they slip up, and then they're gone. Nothing more than ashes in the wind.

He needs me, though. I can see it in his eyes, full of grief and resign. That's the only strength I have left, like a powerful charge through me. Nothing can stop me now. Don't even feel the pain in my fists when I hit his plated skin, just feel the anger swelling up inside. Everything else is gone. I can't lose him now. If I have to kill every damn demon in Los Angeles to keep him, I will, or I'll die trying.

Body makes a nice satisfying crunch. He's already wounded, and I don't think he expected me to fight like this. The violence just pours out, delivering back a blow for each branding, each time my skin was flayed open, each human I had to watch wither and die for that bitch. By the time I work through to Blue, my hands are covered in blood, some my own. Don't even feel it. The demon is dying. I make sure it won't survive and leave it to die there like it was going to let my sire die. My entire body is trembling, full of adrenaline, fear, sorrow, and hatred.

He's bloody, barely able to stand when I pick him off the ground. The pain makes him come to, and I realize how thoroughly exhausted he is. It's no wonder how the demon managed to get a one up. Not exactly an irenic bugger. The old sod is lucky I'm still around to watch his back. Story of his life, really. I murmur something to him, not really sure what I was going to say to even try to comfort him. I can barely feel anymore, can barely keep myself wound together enough to help anyone else. He's silent, and doesn't even shush me, but I can tell he wants me to be silent, too. He moves, barely able to walk, but setting a direction anyway. I have to help him, unsure which gutter Angel is leading me towards. It takes a full hour but then we come to a building just before Angel completely loses it, on the verge of passing out again.

He's heavy, though I think he's lost a lot of weight. Kudos to vampire strength, even in dire conditions, I'm able to bring him inside with just a little effort. Sleeping beauty is gone. It takes a while to sort out the maze he's got, but his scent is all through here, and I find my way to a door that leads into his home.

It's actually nice, despite the condition of the building. Couch looks soft, and I'm relieved for it. Sleeping beauty gets trotted off to bed. The entire place reeks of despair. This is what happens when the poor thing is left alone, I guess. Humans kept him going, but this is just sheer depression, through and through. He's got some blood in the fridge. Wonder where he managed to get it.

The adrenaline is wearing off while I wait for the blood to warm up. Everything hurts, and it's harder to ignore the pain in this place. I feel like there's some ghost here. Could easily be any of my own, but this one seems to know the place. It's got a heaviness that only comes from a long period of oppression.

When the blood is hot, I take out the mug and drink it down myself. Angel needs the blood more right now, I know, but vampires can't bleed to death, they just don't get better right off, and I plan to give him better stuff anyway.

A second mug is heated up and I take that into the room. The place is so damn silent, I might as well be back in that miserable crypt back in Sunnydale. Funny thing is, this place feels just as oddly like home as the crypt did. A few nice things, and it's pretty posh, if lonely. I just about went crazy when I was left to myself for too long. And all of the humans are dead. Poor sod. 'Least he's got me now, whether he wants me or not.

And whether or not he wants it, he's getting a little more of me. I sit down on the bed, drag the old tosser over my lap - Christ, he's torn up - and open up a vein on my arm. It's amazing I have enough blood left to even bleed, but the fresh draught's got the circulation moving. I wait until there's a decent flow, then give it up to Angel, who is stirring just from the smell of it. Still wants me, then. It's a shame.

Have to ignore it when he really starts feeding. I underestimated what this did to me. Even thinking about spooning Andrew doesn't get it out of my head. Teeth scraping my skin, tongue slick and persistent, and the tiny noises he makes, like a dead man clinging savagely to life. It would be my undoing, if it weren't both concerning and cause to make me a little angry because it reminds me too much of other things, other ways he desperately wanted me. Not too much, though.

He's had enough. I push him off firmly, if a bit roughly. Didn't come here to baby him. Soon as the nonce gets better, I'm… I won't stay here. He needs a lot of support to stay upright, but the additional mug of blood puts a little more life in him. Can't help but wonder what besides that demon put him in this state, but just the humans being dead is enough. He doesn't cope so well on his own. Told me that himself, actually. Without his friends, he'd be nothing. Nothing never looked so horrible before.

There's blood left over, but I don't think Angel's up for finishing all of it. I learned early on that when you've got a bad injury, it's better to have a lot of short feedings rather than gorging all at once. It actually made the healing nice, because Angelus would come in at least every half hour to wake me and give me more blood. Didn't understand then why he cut me off so short. He wouldn't let Dru nurse me herself for a long time until I learned to control the bloodlust. Girl would just give it all away if you let her. I'd probably do the same about now, except that Angel wanted this, in a way. He knew what was coming and wanted me far gone. Too bad for him I'm not going until he's back on his feet, and then I'm gone. For good. There's got to be someone else who won't….

He looks completely worn out, even when he's asleep. I can't blame him when I see him like this. No one can ever frigging blame him for anything. Just one soulful look and his human pets…. Actually, guess he won't get that anymore. Back to living like the rest of us, then, just a bit more miserable than most. We would have made quite the morbid couple, if he hadn't gone and run it into the ground. Always knew how to turn a good thing into a train wreck, he did.

Won't leave him, though, 'cause that's not the kind of man I am. Never did have a bloody clue about how to get off before everything turns to smoke. Always been the one left sorting through the pieces. Can't decide whether or not I should tell him what happened to Blue.

Couch is just as soft and nice as it looked. The ponce likes soft, nice things so much I wouldn't be surprised if he pilfered the place just because of the couch. Wouldn't be surprised if he looted every market in a two mile radius to fill his closet with silk and leather. Heh, funny thing is, I bet if I opened up his closet, that's what it would be full of.

Least the couch is comfortable enough to make do. Reminds me a lot of the couch back in Angel's flat, 'cept that one seemed a lot smaller, prolly because Angel always tried to lay his enormous ass down on it whenever I did. Couldn't blame 'im though, I'm probably pretty damn tempting. You know, when he used to actually act like he wanted anything to do with me. He'd squish himself in, so we'd either have to seriously scrunch up or I'd end upon top of him. Think the bugger liked that a lot and did it on purpose, come to think of it. Try to knock ol' Spikey off the couch so he'd have to climb over his lap. Pervert.

Liked me shimmying a bit in his lap, too, then. Had to get comfortable after all. Not my fault that the couch was all taken up. Not my fault that the ponce got hard every time. Alright, that was definitely my fault. It was a bit like a game, trying to figure out who had more control. All Angel wanted to do was force me to move, 'til I had to get off on him. Sometimes I let him do that, but other times I turned the tables on him. I'd just settle over him and play dumb while working him into a frenzy until he either had to come by his own movements or drop the game.

Wasn't easy to get him to drop it, though. He liked it too much, liked me settled over his lap pretending not to notice how hard he was. Didn't care so much for me ignoring his advances, though, as if he was only interrupt me trying to watch whatever program was on the telly. There was no mistaking at the end of it, but that didn't mean I let up my own act. He only let up the pretense when he finally came, arms wrapped around my waist, with my stomach fluttering but otherwise no reaction from me. The only acknowledgement he got was when he pulled me back against him and slid a hand down to the front of my jeans, finally making me move. He'd babble something into my ear about how much I must have enjoyed myself and how hard and wet I was, all the while working at bringing me off. It wouldn't take long, unless he had other things in mind that he wanted to do, namely torment me and make me wait.

When life got in the way and made the day stressful, sometimes I'd skip the office altogether and wait for him in his flat. It could take hours for him to come back. The only tip-off he'd get was if I'd not been around in a long time. I'd wait about for him, either keeping the shower steamed up for him, watching the telly or lying on the bed. I'd give him a while to sort himself out and calm down, then let him join me.

Didn't notice I'd fallen asleep waiting one night until he started petting my thigh. Started low, light enough that I could barely feel it and then firmer, teasing strokes that translated clearly into my dreams. Nearly had me on the edge when he got to my inner thighs, but there wasn't enough pressure, just enough to make me wake up aroused and a little disoriented until I felt him pinch my arse and saw his lecherous smile. I turned over then to deter him from keeping his hand on me arse, but only seemed to encourage him to grab onto it more while he pulled me closer. He murmured something about work, but I didn't hear it at all, too torn between his hand squeezing my arse to pull me closer, and his other huge paw pushing at the front of my jeans. Wanted nothing more than to just rub off, especially when he said my name, but then he repeated it again, louder and with other things I couldn't make out. Urgent things.

My name again, so clear that it cuts through my dream. Bloody fucking fuck, I'd fallen asleep. Angel's not standing around like I'd thought he'd be, though. It was the first thing I reflexively saw in my head; Angel standing over me demanding to know what the hell I thought I was doing. He isn't anywhere at all, and then I remember exactly where I am and where I left Angel. I can hear him in the bedroom, making soft pathetic noises.

I should be happy the bloke is in pain, but I'm not. I feel terrible all the way to the bone. I'm in his room before I can even think about what I'm doing. It's like when we were together and the nightmares would come, except that now everything is coming back slowly. I feel like I have to relearn what to do, and it's hard. It's so hard to just reach out and touch him, though the movement should be easy. Part of me wants to make sure everything is alright. Another part of me just wants to walk away before I get hurt again, but his pain is more than I can bear.

His eyes open up, full of anguish and confusion. I take my hand off of him and Angel struggles to sit up, staring at me first bewildered and then lowering his eyes as if he doesn't really want to look at me directly. Any second now he's going to ask me what the hell I'm doing here, and possibly end up with him kicking my ass – only because I don't think I'd be willing to beat my sire to bloody pulp when someone's already beaten me to it.

The awkward silence stays between us. That damn ghost is in the room. I'm not sure what else I expected from Angel, but now it's clear that this thing, whatever it is, has completely come between us, like a burned bridge that can never be rebuilt.

"I'm sorry," I finally say, but I'm not. I feel angry and confused and just a little bit hurt and pissed off. "I'll leave."

The bastard is fast, faster than I would expect even on his best day. He grabs me, hard and drags me down onto him and traps me in a crushing hold. I'd start struggling and swearing except that I realize he's shaking, and God help me, I can't stand it. "Don't," is all that he says, but the single word packs more of a punch than I could imagine. The first thing my sire's said to me in months, and it's him asking me to stay. With him. I could stay with him, even if the bastard never wanted another thing to do with me, and at least I would be safe again. I'd be able to sleep without wishing that I wouldn't wake up again.