Blood

Author: Rachel Anton

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
 
 

 Angel wasn't sure what he'd been thinking, exactly. First a touchy feely pep talk, and then asking Spike what he wanted- which was sort of like asking an elephant how to ride a bicycle, except half as funny and twice as useless- and then actually telling him about Connor, knowing full well what sort of response he'd get. He was slipping. Letting Spike get under his skin.
 

And now there were the questions. The arguments. All the reasons he hadn't told anyone about this in the first place.
 

"How do you know he's even alive?" was the first. Followed quickly by, "And supposin' he is, how in the hell do you expect to find him?"
 

"I've got a feeling," he said, and Spike scoffed.
 

"A feeling. That's great. We're basing our whole plan on your feeling?"
 

"It's a very strong feeling!"
 

He knew his answers would never be enough for Spike. Ironic considering the boy never seemed to pay attention to anything *but* his own feelings. Angel usually preferred to follow his mind and his conscience, but he'd also been around long enough to know when to listen to his instincts. Especially when they were screaming at him this loudly, driving him forward relentlessly.
 

"He's alive, Spike. And he's probably in danger."
 

"Yeah, aren't we all."
 

"Look, I can feel him. We're getting closer. I know I'm right about this."
 

He should've just stopped at the fucking. Really. They could have been pulled onto the side of the road right now, rutting like animals against the side of the van instead of having this useless conversation. He thought maybe he should suggest that. It was pretty easy to distract Spike with sex. But for some reason that was starting to feel a little bit cheap.

"We're going the right way, Spike. And more importantly, there's no other way to go. This is all we've got."
 

"Well we could stop!" Spike said, sounding nearly hysterical for some reason. "Find a place that's safe and just fucking stop already."
 

"There is no place that's safe. Every time we've stopped for more than a couple hours we've been ambushed."
 

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Spike frowned and fidgeted petulantly in his seat. Quiet for a time, because he couldn't possibly argue the point, and no doubt angry that Angel was right.
 

Angel didn't understand why Spike was so goddamn angry all the time. It hadn't been like that for Angel, when he'd first gotten his soul. He'd only been angry at himself. If someone had shown him even the barest modicum of interest, reached out to help him the way he's done for Spike, he would've been anything but angry. Christ, he would've given his left testicle for this kind of care and concern. From anyone. Anywhere.
 

Yeah, he'd made some mistakes, but at least he was trying. Trying to show Spike that he'd made the right decision, trying to make up for all the evil that he'd taught him and replace it with something better.
 

But Spike was resistant and quarrelsome as ever. Arrogant and stubborn and ungrateful. He was starting to remember why he'd gotten so frustrated with the little bastard when he was a fledgling. He just wouldn't listen. Had to argue every fucking thing until he was blue in the face.
 

"Have you told Willow about this?" Spike eventually asked.
 

"No, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't either."
 

"Well why the hell not? Don't you think she has a right to know?"
 

Angel sighed. Every. Fucking. Thing.
 

"I just don't think it's a good idea. She doesn't need to know."
 

"What're you afraid she'll think it's stupid, too?"
 

God, sometimes Angel's fingers really ached for that old switch of his. It was a little disturbing, how close to the surface Spike was able to bring the demon.
 

Patience. Patience was important. Had to remember that.
 

"No," he said. "I'm afraid it'll get her hopes up about there being more people alive than just the three of us. I don't want her to be disappointed if I turn out to be wrong."
 

"Thought you said you knew you were right."

What was that trick Lorne had taught him about controlling the urge to bludgeon friends and family members when they were driving you absolutely apeshit insane? Something about saying "Serenity now" five times fast? Or was that something he'd seen on television? Didn't seem very promising, so instead he thought about the look on Spike's face a few hours ago. With Willow.
 

He'd felt so guilty in that moment, so sad for Spike and protective towards him, that he hadn't even been able to finish what he'd started with Willow. They spent the rest of their time at the campsite talking about Spike, trying to pinpoint exactly what was wrong with him and how they might be able to help him fix it. It actually turned out to be a very interesting conversation, and it had prompted him to start this whole thing with Spike in the first place. He was starting to regret that now, but thinking of the genuine misery Spike was experiencing did help to alleviate the annoyance a bit.
 

Not so many command words, Willow had suggested. Less ordering, more requesting. Well, he'd already tried that, but he supposed it couldn't hurt anything but his pride to try again.
 

"Spike, please. Just do me this favor, and don't tell Willow. Please."
 

"Don't tell Willow what?"
 

Oh, for cryin' out loud. She was awake, popping her head between the seats again like a perky little puppy. That girl had the most uncanny ability for waking up at exactly the wrong time.
 

"Oh, nothing," Spike said. "Just more secrets from the Pentagon over here."
 

"Secrets, huh? Well that's not very nice..."
 

There was no way of getting around it now. He had to tell her or risk losing her trust entirely, and giving Spike more ammunition to undermine him with. What a mess this was turning out to be.
 

Honestly, he had to admit there was some truth to Spike's suggestion that he was afraid of Willow's reaction. If she thought he was being foolish, as Spike did, it might cause him to question himself, and he couldn't afford that. And if they decided to team up against him and try to get him to change his course he wasn't sure what he'd do. He couldn't keep going without them.
 

Oh well. There wasn't a choice anymore.
 

"I was just telling Spike about this um...feeling. That I have. Just, you know, a feeling."
 

"Oh, like a sexy feeling?" she asked. "Should I go back to sleep?"
 

Angel wiped his face uncomfortably, and Spike snorted.
 

"N-no, it's a..."
 

"He thinks Connor's alive," Spike interrupted. "Thinks he can hear the spirit of his poor, helpless son, crying for him through the ether."
 

"That's not...it's not as silly as he's making it sound. It's more...different."
 

God damn Spike anyways.
 

"You think Connor's alive?" Willow asked quietly, without any obvious disdain. "Really?"
 

"I do, yeah. I can't explain it, but I feel it. I've felt it ever since we started this."
 

"Well...why didn't you just say so, ya big dufus?"
 

Spike snorted again, and Angel grappled for an explanation that didn't sound condescending or pathetic.
 

"I just...didn't want to um, upset you or..."
 

"Angel, come on. Witch here, remember? If he's alive I can probably find him. You shoulda told me a long time ago."
 

Spike handed the map back to her with a withering glance at Angel. And Angel felt...rather stupid.
 

"Oh. Um. Locator spell. Right." He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it. Maybe somewhere, deep down, he really didn't want to know if he was wrong. But if he was right then this would obviously be a huge help. Stupid stupid.
 

"I think I've got enough ingredients here," Willow said. "But it would help if you have something that belongs to him. Do you have anything like that?"
 

"Oh. No. I don't."
 

"What about your blood?" Spike asked.
 

Willow laughed dryly. "It's always gotta be blood..."
 

Twenty minutes later they were sitting in a circle on the floor of the van, and Angel was letting Spike slice open the palm of his hand. He bled into an empty green bean can. Once there was a reasonable amount, Willow took the can, added a few more ingredients, and stirred it all up with a pencil.
 

"Not exactly a magical chalice," she said. "But it'll do." Then she chanted a few words in Latin and splashed the contents over the map. For a moment the mucky potion hung in an ugly clump over the map, suspended in air, and then it changed. Turned into a strange spider web of flashing white light. After a minute or so, the spider web broke apart into four large, bright balls. Two of them settled just above Kentucky. One floated off to California and hovered uncertainly back and forth between San Francisco and Santa Barbara, and the last flew straight to New York City and landed there with a definitive splash of flame.
 

"Oh, oh no, the map's on fire!" Willow yelped. Spike grabbed the nearest available fluid- a half-empty container of orange juice- and spilled it on the map, extinguishing all four of the fireballs and making a sticky mess.
 

"Um, so, what does that mean?" Angel asked, when the minor ruckus had passed.
 

"It means there's four people alive and in the country who are part of your bloodline," Willow said. "The two little flames over Kentucky were you and Spike, and the other two...."
 

"One of 'em was Dru," Spike said. "The one what couldn't make up its mind where to go."
 

That made sense. And everyone else Angel had sired was dead. So that meant he was right.
 

He was right.
 

His boy was alive. His boy was in New York City. He was right.
 

"Guess we're goin' to the big apple," Willow said, and gave his hand a small squeeze.
 

Holy Christ. He was actually right.
 

~~~~~
 

"So the moral of the story," Spike was saying to him, ten or twelve or twenty hours later, "Is that you're an idiot."
 

"Uh huh..."
 

He'd been going on like this forever. And ever. And Angel was tired. So goddamn tired. He hadn't slept for more than a two hour stretch in weeks, and he wasn't eating enough at all. But at the same time, he was incredibly tense. Wired. Itchy and antsy and scared. Terrified and elated and very very close to the edge. It all felt so real, now that he'd told them. Now that they knew where to go.
 

So real.
 

He couldn't even imagine what they might find when they got to New York.
 

Connor was alive, but something was still just...wrong. Something that had been niggling at the back of his skull since the beginning, but he still couldn't get a handle on it. There were huge pieces of the puzzle missing, and he had a feeling Connor was one of them.
 

He wanted to go to sleep.
 

Or think. Try to put things together in his head. But Spike just wouldn't shut up.
 

Spike was drunk. He'd apparently pilfered a bottle of Jack from someplace or other when Angel wasn't looking, and he was guzzling from it now, and growing more irritating by the second. He was slumped on the beanbag chair, and Angel was slumped on the mattress and praying he'd pass out soon.
 

Willow was driving. She was driving fast, with the music up high, and she seemed fairly happy. Re-energized. Hopeful. Like she might be driving towards something real after all. Angel was glad for that much, at least.
 

"I mean, if you'd just told us in the first place..." Still talking. "Why you gotta be such a wanker about everything?"
 

"Spike, my head is kinda hurting."
 

"Well, I'm just sayin'..."
 

"I know. I'm an idiot, and you're drunk but you'll be sober in the morning and I'll still be an idiot. Or a wanker. Or a bloody pain in the arse. We've been through this ten or twenty times, in several different languages, so can we please just...not?"
 

Spike made a strange noise, then stuck his tongue out.
 

"You're no fun anymore," he said, and took another drink.
 

Angel was starting to feel like a character in a play. A very tedious play he read a long time ago about a bunch of annoying people stuck in a room together for eternity, having endless, repetitive, circular conversations. Turned out to be hell.
 

"Spike, you really shouldn't be drinking so much."
 

"Oh, sod off."
 

"I'm serious. It won't help."
 
 
 

"Won't help with what?"
 

Why was he bothering? God, what was the point? Maybe he just wanted to keep playing his role. If he didn't keep playing, he might fall apart.
 

"Won't help with whatever pain you're feeling. Won't help you deal with the soul any better. Just makes things worse."
 

"Don't reckon things could get much worse."
 

"Jesus, Spike, could you maybe try *not* feeling sorry for yourself for a couple of minutes?"
 

So melodramatic, his boy. Never content to sulk quietly in a corner somewhere. His pain was always the biggest, the loudest, the worst anyone had ever experienced.
 

And he was still his boy, no matter what came out of his damn fool mouth. Always would be.
 

"Oh, what do you know about it anyway?" Spike snarled at him.
 

"I know a lot about it, you jackass! I'm the original copy, remember? I've had my soul a lot longer than you've had yours."
 

"Yeah, and I'm way ahead of you already."
 

"Excuse me?"
 

Oh, this was not going well at all. This was turning dangerous. But Angel wasn't tired anymore. That was something.
 

"I may be insane, but at least I don't think I'm two different people," Spike said, pointing the now half-empty bottle in his direction. "I mean, what's that all about? Gotta give your souled self a whole 'nother name so you can pretend the demon isn't still a part of you? Always thought that was stupid. Now I know it is."
 

"It's not stupid. It's necessary."
 

"Oh, bollocks. It's only necessary cause you're the bleedin' poster boy for every sort of repression known to man."
 

"I am not repressed!"
 

Spike started laughing. Laughing so hard he rolled off his damn bean bag chair and spilled some of his whiskey, and Angel felt his hands clenching involuntarily into fists. This wasn't going to be pretty.
 

Why couldn't he just sleep?
 

"Oh, God," Spike managed to sputter between bouts of mirth. "That's the best laugh I've had in weeks. Thanks, mate."
 

"Shut up, Spike. Just...shut your mouth."
 

"You... not repressed." He snorted once more, then wiped his eyes and rolled back onto his knees and started crawling across the floor. Soon he was kneeling directly in front of Angel, looking at him with that stupid head tilt, like he was a specimen in a zoo.
 

"Angel, you're not just repressed, you ARE repression. You're like a...a-a symbol for it or something. Got your demon all locked up in a box somewhere with this nice, boring old Angel persona built up around it to keep the humans happy. But the minute you actually start to enjoy yourself...POP!" He clapped his hands in front of Angel's face, and Angel wanted to break them. "Out comes the big bad Angelus to punish everyone for makin' your miserable life just a tiny bit bearable. You're a fucking altar to Catholic guilt!"
 

This was just too much. To sit here and listen to this pathetic tirade, this drunken psychoanalysis from Spike. Spike, of all people.
 

"And you think you're so much better off, huh?"
 

"Better than that, yeah. Least I'm not inventing an imaginary personality named Spikealicious or something."
 

No, of course not. For Spike, the vampire was the construction. Spike was never anything real at all.
 

"Maybe you don't need to. Maybe it's easier for you cause you were such a damn pathetic excuse for a vampire in the first place."
 

"Yeah, maybe so, but you know what? If I lost my soul, I'd still love Willow. If you lost yours, you'd kill her."
 

Angel felt his last sliver of patience giving way to an overwhelming combination of fury and exhaustion. Spike was right. He was right, but it didn't matter. He just needed to shut the fuck up.
 

He grabbed hold of the front of Spike's shirt with his fist and pulled him roughly forward.
 

"Shut your damn mouth, William," he growled, and again, Spike was laughing. Not like the drunken, exaggerated fit before, though. This was the low, seductive chuckle he used whenever he'd managed to push the right button and provoke Angel. Manipulate him in exactly the direction he'd been hoping for. His eyes were challenging, sparkling with intensity and Angel didn't know whether he oughtta kill the little shit, or kiss him.
 

Spike answered the question for him when he licked his lips and asked, "How 'bout that fuck now?"

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