Author: Wyld Angel
EMail: lissar1@aol.com
Rating: NC-17 (eventually, if I get the nerve)
Spoilers: Don't know where this is going yet, so to be safe EVERYTHING!!
Summary: I am hoping this will clear up a very bad case of writer's block. I originally got an idea for a fic that takes place about now in the current time line, but I thought it needed background, So, this is my first "Willow hauls Angel out of Hell" story. Let's assume that Oz never happened and Tara doesn't exist.
Feedback: Please !!!!
Author's note: I made the mistake of originally typing this in Appleworks, instead of in the email field. I've gone through and tried to get rid of all the "smart quotes" Sorry if I missed a few, they bug the hell outta me, too.
~Part: 1~
Willow Rosenberg was dreaming about Hell. Not the fire and brimstone Hell that that old man who hung out around the elementary school ranted about. This was the hell that could be inflicted on a man merely by making him take a long, hard look at his own heart. The dreams had started over a month ago and they were getting more and more frequent. What frightened Willow the most was the constant undercurrent of pain and despair that she sensed in them. This particular one was the worst yet. A chaotic series of images flashed across her mind's eye and she was helpless to stop it.
She saw how it began, the restless anger and discontent. The drinking, the gambling and the whores. The absolute conviction that he was never, ever going to be good enough, so why bother to try. She saw Darla, recognized the chance to escape, saw the possibility of freedom. She saw that he knew exactly what she was, yet went willingly into her embrace. She felt the fire of sharp fangs in her throat then the crushing suffocation as his heart labored to pump an inadequate supply of blood to starving tissues. She tasted the hot, sweet, stolen blood that flowed into his mouth and reveled in the sensation. There was the terror of waking up in the dark, six feet under. She felt the splintering wood under her hands as he burst out of the coffin and clawed his way up to the air. Then came the blood lust. The burning hunger, the desperate thirst that no wine or water could quench. She saw the farmhouse, silent under a cloudy, moonless sky, and knew who slept inside. She felt his sheer hatred for the man he once called father. She felt the joy he took in ripping out his throat and bathing in the spray of fresh, hot blood. She heard the girlish voice in the doorway, his sister's cries of delight turning to panic as she called out...
“Angel!” The name was torn from Willow's throat as she sat up. Gasping for breath she turned on the bedside lamp. Kicking away the sweat soaked sheets she stumbled out of bed. Pressing her hot face to the cold glass she tried to calm her pounding heart. She saw her reflection in the pane and didn't recognize the haunted green eyes that stared back at her. Shivering, she turned away and sat down at her desk. In the top, right hand drawer was a square leather box. Haltingly, she opened it and stared down at the crystal that rested inside. An orb of Thessola. She had used it nearly two months ago to restore Angel's soul, just before Buffy sent him to the demon dimension. For weeks she wondered if her spell had actually worked. Now she had mounting evidence that it had. And she regretted it with every fiber of her being. She had sentenced a kind and pure soul, more than that she had sentenced a *friend* to torment in Hell.
When the dreams had started she had hoped that they were just a result of the stress of the whole ordeal with Angelus. After weeks of nightmares she had little doubt that she was somehow experiencing some of what Angel was going through. It was the chaos of tonight's dream that made fear sit like a ball of ice in the pit of her stomach though. For beneath the pain and the terror was a sense of disconnectedness. She feared Angel was going mad. She knew there was only one thing to do. She had to bring him back.
Willow eyed her collection of magical texts and frowned. She didn't have the right information to work a spell of that magnitude. She needed Giles. But the Watcher was very touchy on the subject of the vampire, and understandably so. Any warm, fuzzy feelings you had for someone generally went away after they slaughtered your girlfriend. Normally Willow might be afraid to broach the topic, but she knew she couldn't let Angel stay where he was. She glanced at the clock, 3 am, the witching hour. What better time to get started. She dressed quickly, shoved a couple of stakes in her jacket pocket and headed across town.
The night was clear and cold and she walked briskly to keep warm. Suunydale's streets were deserted and she reached Giles’ apartment without incident. The Watcher was asleep in the arm chair in his living room when the knocking started. He woke easily, as he had since Buffy's disappearance. Going to the door, he looked out through the peephole. Willow was the last person he expected to see and he quickly fumbled the door open.
“Willow, what's wrong?” he ushered her inside, closing the door behind her. She took a deep breath and looked up at him.
"I need a spell, Giles." He went to the stove and put the kettle on to boil.
"You came over here at 3:00 in the morning to ask me for a spell?" he inquired mildly.
"Yes."
"Whatever for?"
"To get Angel out of Hell."
She saw his shoulders go rigid and he set the teacup he was holding down on the counter with a decisive clink.
"No. Absolutely not," his voice was utterly calm.
"Giles..."
He spun around, face twisted in anger. The light of sheer fury in his eyes brought thoughts of his past as "Ripper" rushing to her mind.
"Over my cold, dead body, Willow."
She sighed, "Giles..."
"No! How could you think for one moment that I would--"
"Giles, just shut the hell up and listen to me for one minute!" she yelled.
Giles’' jaw snapped shut so hard she heard his teeth click.
"That’s better. Now, will you please hear me out?" She asked more quietly.
He nodded, still clearly not happy, but startled into a semblance of composure.
Willow sighed and wandered over to the couch, suddenly unsure of where to begin.
"Do you remember when I was in the hospital, the night Buffy vanquished Angelus?"
"Of course."
"It wasn't Angelus. It was Angel."
"What are you talking about?"
"I restored his soul."
Giles' eyes widened. "W-what?" he stammered, "How?"
"There was a disk in the computer lab. Ms. Calendar was working on a translation of the Romany restoration spell. I found it, I finished it, I used it."
"Willow, that us a very powerful, very dangerous ritual."
"Yeah, tell me about it. According to Xander I was channeling a Romany spirit."
"You could have been hurt." his voice was stern.
"But I wasn't. It worked."
"How can you be sure?"
"For a long time I wasn't. But I’ve been having these dreams, nightmares actually. I think I'm somehow picking up on what's happening to Angel."
"Tell me."
Willow described the dreams, including the currents of emotion that ran through each one. Giles listened, fascinated.
"I'm afraid he's losing his mind." Willow continued. "Giles, I know how you feel about Angelus, but I have to get him out. I can't leave an innocent soul trapped down there, to be tortured like that forever."
Giles stood, pacing slowly. "I've read of only two accounts of sorcerers successfully pulling someone from a demon dimension."
"But it can be done?"
"Theoretically, yes." He sighed and turned to her. "But I won't help you do it."
"What? Giles, please-"
"It's too dangerous, Willow. I'm not going to trade your life for Angel's."
"It's not Angelus down there. If it were he wouldn't be hurting like this. We can't leave him down there."
"I'm sorry, Willow, no."
Willow shot to her feet, her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed with anger. "You've told me it can be done, Giles. I'm going to do it, with you or without you."
"Willow--"
"No! No, I am not leaving a friend to that fate. If you won't help me. I 'll find someone who will. You have a choice. Either help me, guide me, try to keep me safe, or get the hell out of my way."
Giles looked at the girl in front of him in shock. She was blazing with fury and for the first time he felt he saw her for who she really was. She was a capable young woman and a powerful novice witch. He was accustomed to seeing her as the quiet hacker who needed to be shielded from danger, yet here she was embracing it in order to save a friend. He felt ashamed at his own narrow mindedness.
"Alright, " he said quietly, defeated.
"What?"
"Yes, Willow, I'll help you."
A smile lit her face and she threw herself at him, happy Willow restored. "Really? Thank you !"
He hugged her tightly for a moment then held her at arms length, searching her face. His eyes were grave and a little sad. "Don't thank me. You don't know what you're getting into."
She sobered quickly. "I'll be careful, Giles. Witchcraft is 90% will and I've got that."
He smiled faintly. "I can see that. Go home. It'll take me a couple of days to reseach this. Friday is the full moon, we'll aim for that night. Take ritual baths every night, meditate. The purer you are, the better chance you'll have. Fast all day on Friday. I'll call you when I know more about what we'll be doing."
"Ok, " she slipped her jacket back on and went to the door, suddenly feeling shy and awkward. "Thanks, I'll see you later."
"Good night, Willow."
She closed the door softly behind her and he sank down on the couch. Closing his eyes, he buried his head in his hands. "God help you."
~Part: 2~
Three nights later Willow went back to Giles' apartment. He was waiting for her at the door, his face sober and worry clear in his eyes.
"Did you do as I told you?" he asked
Willow nodded, setting her blue canvas supply bag by the front door. "Bath every night, no meat and I've fasted since last night."
"Good." He hesitated. "I wish I could stay and help you, Willow. But I'd only be a distraction."
"I'll be all right, Giles," she said with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. He hugged her briefly then closed the door softly behind him as he headed out into the night.
Willow turned a surveyed the living room. Giles had pushed all the furniture to the side and rolled back the large area rug, leaving a large, empty working area in the center of the room. She knew the clay Mexican flooring tiles would hold a magical charge readily and she guessed that Giles had put up every protective ward he could think of on the apartment for her. She was a secure as she was going to get here at the mouth of Hell.
She retrieved her bag from the foyer and went upstairs to the apartment's spacious bathroom. She ran water in the tub, making it as hot as she could stand it. While it was filling she set several candles around the room, white for purity, and lit them. To the bath she added handfuls of dried lavender and rosemary, also for purification. Her goal was to clear her mind and finish the cleansing she had started three days earlier. She stripped off her jeans and sweater and sank into the steaming water. Calmly, she reviewed the words of the ritual in her mind then allowed the warmth and the fragrant steam lull her into a state of light meditation. When she came out of it a short while later she knew it was time. She dried off and slipped into a snow white cotton shift, it clung to her still damp skin and fell in yards of fabric to her ankles. Unhurriedly, she combed out her long red hair and snuffed out the candles. Her body felt curiously light as she descended the stairs and looked out over her work space. This was it. The purification was complete. Now it was time to go to war.
Painfully aware of the risk she was taking Willow had planned for an additional circle of protection. She placed candles in the cardinal colors at their respective points then completed the circle with alternating red and black candles. Red for courage and black for repelling dark energy. She had cleaned The Magic Box out as far as those candle colors went. The owner had looked at her steadily growing pile of supplies and seen the resolve in her eyes. Before she left he had squeezed her hand gently and said softly. "I don't know exactly what you're planning, Willow, but please be careful."
Smiling faintly at the memory, she squared her shoulders and stepped into the ring of candles. With a thought, she gestured and the candle wicks flared to life, one after the other. She went to the low table that faced the East side of the circle. Picking up her ebony handled athame she cast her Circle, then, walking counterclockwise, she redefined the Circle with incense and with water. Her skin was practically crawling with Power by the time she finished and she quickly moved to the center of the circle. It was time to give the energy somewhere to go. She lifted her hands in a gesture of supplication and spoke, in a firm, clear voice to the empty room.
"I call the Archangel Michael,
the Angel of Judgment, to stand before me.
I plead for the aid of your wisdom and strength,
As I breach the gates of Hell."
"I call the Angel Gabriel,
the Angel of Mercy, to stand at my right.
I plead for the aid of your grace and compassion,
As I breach the gates of Hell."
"I call the Angel Uriel,
The Angel of Salvation, to stand at my left.
I plead for the aid of your power and strength,
As I breach the gates of Hell."
"I call on the Angel Azrael,
The Angel of Death, to stand behind me.
I plead for the aid of your guidance and safe passage,
As I breach the gates of Hell."
As her last words rang into silence a golden mist filled the space around her and the faint ringing of trumpets seemed to come to her ears. Gradually, it coalesced into four radiant figures. The one in front of her, Michael she assumed, stood nearly seven feet tall. Crystal blue eyes smiled at her out of a sea of golden hair that tumbled to copper shoulders. He was clad in white clothing and a magnificent jeweled sword hung at his side. Most impressive of all was the pristine pair of wings that adorned his back and spanned roughly twelve feet across.
The Angels to her right and left looked like polar opposites, both were slightly smaller than the Archangel, but that made them no less impressive. Both were clad in white and both had the same unearthly glow to their skin. But Gabriel's hair was a wash of snow white and his eyes were a very light blue. Uriel had a tumble of pitch black hair and the eyes that regarded her warmly were a deep amethyst.
Finally she turned to the Angel behind her and was amazed to find that she was even capable of being any more surprised. This Angel, Azrael, had shorter hair, in a deep mahogany brown. His eyes, deep chocolate brown, watched her with a stillness that both chilled her and struck her as eerily familiar. This was Death.
Several heartbeats later she managed to drag her gaze away and turn back to the towering Archangel. He seemed to be waiting patiently for her attention to come back to him. 'So nice of him to allow me time to adjust,' she thought a little wildly. Then he spoke. And it was the most incredible sound she had ever heard. The trumpets that had heralded their arrival seemed to concentrate in his vocal cords, if angels had vocal cords, and the result was a rich melodic tenor that seemed to both seduce and soothe her.
"I believe you called us, little one" It took more than one attempt to get her voice working. "I-I need your help, please."
"You seek to bring Angelus back."
"Yes."
"Why?" The simplicity of the question left her stunned for a moment.
"Because - because he has his soul back..."
"Angelus committed many crimes upon this Earth."
"But that was when he was evil," she replied.
The Archangel watched her carefully, "And does his soul make up for all the things he did, all the lives he took that were not his to claim?"
"No-but--"
"Then I ask again, little one. Why do you wish to bring him back?" his tone sharpened slightly and Willow's temper flared to meet it. "Because he's my *friend*! I know what he did when he had no soul. His soul is innocent. Ever since the gypsies gave it back to him he's tried to right those wrongs. All the religions speak about redemption. Doesn't he have the right to try to earn it, too? Besides, what kind of god would allow an *innocent* soul to suffer an eternity of pain? " She stopped short, worried she had gone too far. But the Angels were all smiling.
"Very good, Willow," he brushed a hand lightly over her cheek. "Your heart and your intentions are pure.
"You were testing me?" she asked.
"In a way. You see, Angelus has much more to do in this world. But we aren't allowed to just go in and take him out ourselves. It's just one of the rules. We needed someone who wanted to see him freed, but we also needed someone who was strong enough, pure enough to survive a trip and likely a battle in the depths of Hell."
"You think I can do it?" she asked, suddenly afraid.
He gripped her shoulders tightly, "Do not start doubting yourself now, Willow. That road leads to damnation."
She let herself absorb the reassurance in his touch and pushed the fear away. "Is there anything I should know?"
He smiled, seeing the renewed resolve in her face. "It will be dark, and confusing. You will be tempted, by what I cannot say. You must stay on the path, no matter what happens. Your focus must be on your friend. If you get disoriented look for Azrael. He travels there much more easily than we do. Gabriel, Uriel and I will do our best to protect you, but you must be on your guard. Willow, I say again, you must not doubt yourself. There are things there that feed on that doubt. If they get hold of you we may not be able to get you out." He pressed her atheme into her hand. "Take your blade, it will have much more power there than here." He sighed, and the sound was like wind through a grove of oaks. "I wish there was more I could say to prepare you, but it Hell is different to everyone who goes there."
She tightened her grip on the blade and squared her shoulders, "I'll just have to do the best I can, because the alternative really bites."
"Shall we then?" Michael gestured to Azrael. The dark haired Angel came up to Willow and wrapped an arm around her, sheltering her in the broad curve of one wing. Michael stood before her and she saw Gabriel and Uriel on eit her side. At some signal a black vortex began to take shape in front of them and the first hot whiff of brimstone reached Willow's nose. It had begun.
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