disclaimer in part 1

Swan Song
By Diane
-----
THE ARMS OF ABADDON

Spike stepped into the red portal, felt it whip-snap against
his flesh as he was flung forward like a rock released from
a catapult. The air rushed by him in a crimson blur.
Blood. Streaming down the walls of the tunnel he was being
sucked along. Sticky. All over. Blinding him.

And then he was spit out of the tunnel like a hairball from
a cat.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Ground.

Crying out, he ducked and rolled to the side to dissipate
the force as his feet hit the rocky, blackened crags.
Little bits of soot and blackened, sharp earth embedded
themselves in his skin until he felt the prickles of the
demon dimension stabbing him through practically every piece
of exposed flesh.

Angel wasn't as lucky.

He hit the ground, HARD. And he failed to land in a place
that was conducive to rolling. A rag doll hitting the
sharp, craggy earth, Angel's knees buckled under the brute
force of his landing. A brutal snapping sound bit through
the air, and Spike heard Angel cry out in desperate pain.

Angel cascaded to the ground, his large body falling victim
to physics.

He didn't get up.

Groaning, Spike wobbled to his feet and stepped over to
Angel.

"Angel?"

Simply unable to pick them out in the din of the surrounding
wasteland, he couldn't listen for heartbeats. He lowered a
cold hand to Angel's neck and felt a pulse there, beating
strongly just underneath the surface of the warm skin.

Angel groaned and his eyes leaked open.

"Ow," he said as he attempted to heave himself into a
crouch.

Spike reached down and pulled him into a standing position,
but as soon as he let go, Angel screamed. "I think my ankle
is sprained. Bad." His teeth grit together and he winced
as he looked around. "So where's the Gothaim?"

Squinting, Spike peered out over the dark, blackened earth.
Off in the distance, to the west, about a mile off, was a
tall black obelisk, pointing towards the sooty black sky.
Black. It was all black. "That big tall thing right there,
maybe?" Spike asked, sarcastic.

Angel shook his head. Scanning the distance, he stared off,
eyes wide, and unseeing. "I don't know. I can't see more
than ten feet..." he whispered, pain lacing his words.

Spike paused, suddenly being forced to remember that Angel's
night vision had been obliterated along with his demon. And
he couldn't help but feel an utter lack of sympathy. "Can
you walk?"

Angel tested his ankle with a grimace, placing his left foot
out in front of him and putting his heavy weight on it.
Flailing, Angel stepped back and grabbed at Spike. "Not
far," he replied, his voice choked and strained.

Spike rolled his eyes as he saw tears forming in Angel's
eyes. "You never change, do you?"

Angel looked at him, innocent. "What do you mean?"

"You never admit when you're hurt. Even when it's so bad
you can't even bother to hide it. You always were that way,
Angelus." He gripped Angel around the waste and let his
Sire lean on him. "And you're a big, giant idiot, too, you
stupid poof."

Angel groaned as they took the first few steps. Spike felt
his Sire's fingers clutch tighter at his skin through his
coat. "Oh, and why do you say that?"

"Because you can't admit that the Slayer loves you. And you
didn't even care about her until she died."

Angel's muscles tensed against him as he struggled to keep
them moving forward. "I did care. And she didn't die."

"The first time, she did. And you came, and you fucked with
me, and you left, and I wish that you, for once, got the
short end of the damned stick. You get Buffy, you get the
whole fucking timeline reset so you can be with her, and I
get nothing. I was very touched by her concern that I was
accompanying you on this one way excursion into Hell. No one
gives a flying fuck that I'm not going back..."

He felt Angel stiffen next to him, and he inhaled sharply.
"You remember, too." A whisper. Soft, pale, barely audible
in the groaning roar of wind and death that streaked the
air.

Spike snorted, unable to contain his burning hatred for
Angel any longer. It tumbled from his lips in a furious
waterfall of tantrum. "No fucking shit, Sire... And I
think you're a real bastard, you know? You wasted two god
damned years jerking off in a shower in L.A., when I would
give my life for a second. A SECOND with her. You get the
rubber stamp, and I get shit."

Angel looked at him with those soft brown eyes of his.
Spike wanted to sock him in the face, but he forced himself
to hold back. "I'm sorry," Angel said, sounding actually
sincere.

Spike glared. Stupid bastard. "No you're not."

"I am."

"I hate you."

Angel blinked. "I don't hate you."

"Sod off," Spike snapped.

"I can't walk..."

"I'll throw you..."

"Won't your chip go off, then?"

Spike growled in frustration. "Go to Hell."

"Already there," Angel replied, nonchalance dripping off of
his tone.

Spike's eyes narrowed as he felt his chest freeze up with
anger. "Fuck you."

Angel suddenly shifted tactics, even as the agony in his
eyes doubled at Spike's suddenly jarring support. "Why did
you offer to come along if you didn't want to do this?"

Spike walked faster, not caring how badly it was hurting
Angel. Faster, and faster, his steps crunching into the
rocky mess, some of it even threatening to cut through the
thick soles of his boots. He wondered if it was hurting
Angel. He hoped it was. "Because I don't want to stay
behind and watch the Slayer go to pieces over _you_, you
prancin' poof, and then refuse me even then."

Angel moaned as Spike took a really jostling step forward.
"If you... hate me so much, then why... did you let me..."
he panted. So he was starting to lose his breath now.
Human. Spike growled as Angel stumbled a bit and fell
towards him. "Why did you let me, after the funeral..."

"I thought that maybe I could get a nice workout," he
snapped, exploding when he saw the confusion in Angel's
soulful eyes. "Jesus, Angel. You're my Sire. Something I
haven't had in a century. A CENTURY. Why the bloody fuck
do you think?"

Angel blinked, but didn't flinch. "I think that you're
lying."

"What the fuck are you talking about now?" Spike rolled his
eyes. The obelisk was getting a lot closer now. Another
five minutes of this bleedin' walk, and he would be slitting
Angel's skin open with a big bleedin' knife. The thought of
that drove him at an even faster pace.

"I don't think you hate me," Angel replied. "And I don't
think you're mad about the other stuff. I think you're mad
about the Shanshu."

Spike paused, raising a hand in the air and clenched it into
a fist and started shaking his head back and forth. He
didn't fucking need this right now... What he needed, was a
bigger knife. "Bloody..."

"You are, aren't you... Why?" Angel cut him off.

Spike refused to dignify that with an answer. Poof.
Couldn't he see it?

"Why, Spike?"

Apparently he couldn't.

His voice started in a low, threatening growl, deep within
the pit of his chest, burbling forth like a regular sigh.
"Because maybe I bloody wanted it, too! Maybe then she'd
actually see what a big froofy idiot you are and like me."

He saw Angel swallow harshly. "Oh."

Spike stopped. "We're here. Take off your coat and I'll
cut you..."

Angel's eyes narrowed as he winced and removed the coat.

Spike pulled his switchblade from his pocket, pressing the
button that released it with an ominous snap-click. He
actually felt excited... Blinking the rush away, he
approached his Sire. "You might want to sit down for
this..." he warned. Why had he done that? Angel didn't
need a warning, he needed to be beaten into a bloody pulp
and fed to all the starving vampires in China...

Beaten. "Oh, bollocks," Spike growled, annoyance dripping
from him in waves.

Angel looked at him apprehensively. "What?"

"I can't make the cut," he said, gesturing to his head.

He expected Angel to fly off the handle then, break out with
the fangs and start growling at him. Why didn't you think
of that _before_ we left, you idiot! And then he remembered
the only fangs Angel could snarl at him with were the
plastic Halloween variety. Growling, he grew frustrated at
his lack of ability to reconcile human Angel vs. soul-
whipped Angelus.

It was annoying.

Angel just shook his head. "Give me the knife then..."

Spike's jaw fell open. "You're going to cut yourself? That
masochistic streak coming out again? This'll hurt like
sunlight, you know. 'Specially now," Spike found himself
warning. Argh! Why was he _warning_? Angel didn't need a
warning...

"Well, gee, Spike," Angel began, actually showing the first
signs of annoyance. "Maybe we should just go find an
overseer to help us. I'm sure that would blow over really
well..."

Spike raised an eyebrow as he handed the blade over. "An
overseer?" he asked, remembering that Angel had been here
before. Not _here_ here, maybe, but somewhere in this
dimension...

Angel made a funny growling sound, and Spike had to force
himself not to laugh. Apparently Angel was having just as
much trouble reconciling humanity with soul-whippedness.
"Let's just say that we're pretty damn lucky no one has
showed up yet to collect us."

He brought the blade down across his forearm and wrist,
unable to withhold a cry as the blood started dripping down
from the fresh made cut. Not dripping. Running just short
of spurting. Angel had cut deep. Really deep.

Spike found himself licking his lips before he could stop
himself. Shaking his head, he grabbed Angel harshly and
walked him around the two foot square base of the obelisk,
squeezing his Sire's arm roughly to make the blood drip
faster.

And then it was done.

Angel slipped, heaving, to the ground, his face pale and
drawn as he cradled his arm to his chest. The funny way
he held it practically screamed that some tendons were
cleaved. "Angel..." Spike whispered.

Angel grunted, but didn't otherwise respond.

His head started slipping to the side.

"Fucking Hell, Sire, you didn't need to cut your damn arm
off," Spike cried, his voice breaking as he scrambled to
Angel's side.

His breathing was light, shallow.

And he didn't open his eyes.

Spike shook him. "Stay awake!" It sounded like a good
thing to say. Isn't that what everyone did in the movies?

Spike ripped Angel's shirt from his body and crumpled it
over the long, jagged, poorly cut wound, pressing down hard.
Pressure. The bleeding wasn't really stopping, even then.

"WHO DARE DISTURB MY PIT?"

Spike froze, letting Angel slip to the ground as he turned
towards the loud, booming voice.

A large, black creature stood there, with black, molting
wings that heaved in the wind, beating air all around them.
It was HUGE. It had at least three feet on Angel, maybe
even more, Spike couldn't tell. Glowing red eyes stared at
him, narrowed, and Spike could see the saliva dripping off
his very long, very sharp-looking fangs. "Shit..." he
muttered.

"WHO DARE DISTURB MY PIT?"

Spike shrugged. "Silly us, we didn't know this was your
pit. Why don't you just show us the exit and--" He backed
away until he hit flat against the obelisk.

This was bad. Very bad.

He glanced down.

Angel looked dead.

The hulking creature advanced, its clawed feet tearing
through the stone and sharp earth as if it were butter.
Spike could feel the ground underneath him shaking with
each, massive step.

Hot, stinking breath, wafting over his face, and then it
turned.

Spike saw its claws reach down and grab Angel, the obvious
weaker of the two. He shook his Sire like a rag doll, and
not once, did Angel even blink, or groan, or anything.

The big creature growled, and then broke into the leeriest
grin Spike had ever seen. "This one has been here
before..."

Spike felt cold at the menace housed in that rumbling voice.
Been here before. He glanced at Angel. And then back at
the black monster standing before them.

Somehow, he just knew.

That this, was Abaddon.

continue