Here's my first attempt at fanfiction... or for that matter fiction of any kind. Mostly this started as a way to fill in plot holes that have been bugging me for years now. Like, who was the Doctor (I just don't believe it was Spike), and how did Angel get out of hell, what happened to Dawn's keyness, and what was up with that dominoes comment Doc made that one time? Anyway, it seems to have run away with me. This is a work in progress, and I welcome constructive criticism (my muse survives almost exclusively on Doritos and comments, so please comment :)).
Many thanks to my lovely beta, Mayalaen :)
Title: A New Dawn
Pairing: Spike/Gunn friendship, Spike/Dawn eventually, and maybe even a little Dawn/female OC just for the heck of it. Rating:
PG-13 for violence, language (ratings pertain to the chapter linked in
the post. That way, if you like the first few chapters but squick
easy, you can skip the NC-17's) Summery: Post NFA.
This one picks up where NFA left off, with our heroes facing impossible
odds, at least until they get some unexpected help. Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.
A Hard Day's Night
"Let's go to work."
As one, all four surviving members of Team Angel strode purposefully toward the advancing demon army. As he approached the line, Angel swung his sword up and then down again, neatly slicing the head off of the first demon soldier he met. He spun gracefully and buried his sword to the hilt in the chest of another demon, then pulled his sword swiftly up and out again, slicing the demon from mid-chest to shoulder.
Beside him, Charles Gunn swung his battle axe up, down, right, and left, cutting down demon after demon. By now all four were surrounded by demons. Gunn spun on his heel, ignoring the pain in his belly, cleaving a demon from head to navel in one blow. Someone shouted his name, and he turned toward the sound, but got stuck halfway. Looking down, he saw a demon's sword sprouting from the side of his rib cage. It seemed to grow, to lengthen impossibly as the soldier pulled it out. With a strangled yell that bubbled ominously in his chest, Gun swung his axe once more, and he felt sure as he fell and his vision narrowed to a tunnel and finally failed that his killer fell, too.
Spike saw Gunn ahead of him as the vampire fought bare-handed. He was impressed by Gunn's bravery in the face of certain death. The erstwhile lawyer was only human, after all. Fists and feet flew lightening-fast, and Spike whooped joyfully as he gave his demon free rein. Skulls crunched under his boots like hard candy in his mouth, and just as sweetly. Bones snapped and viscera squished in his fists like rotten peaches. He felt his injuries distantly: a sword cut on his thigh, a bone-bruising club to his left arm. They paled in comparison to the dark and blood-splattered elation of violence that sang through his veins. For a moment there seemed to be no demons in his reach, and he looked over to where he'd last seen Gunn, but couldn't find him.
"Charlie!" He shouted, and ran to where he thought he's seen the man last. Coming up behind a demon, he deftly took its head in both hands and wrenched it around until it faced him. He laughed at the sight of it, the head turned around backwards, as the body fell. He sobered when he spotted Gunn's body -- bloody, trampled and sprawled on the pavement. There was no time for grief, but he respected Charles, who'd died courageously doing his life's work.
"Good night, Charlie-boy," he said as he picked up Gunn's axe and swung it at a demon that had the gall to shove a sword in his chest.
Bodies flew around Illyria. She swung one by the leg into a crowd of demons on her right, then landed a punch on the chest of another that sent it soaring into a brick wall. Through a break in the fighting, she saw Spike, Gunn's axe in hand, and deduced that Gunn had succumbed to his injuries as she'd predicted. She nodded to herself and thought that he was a true warrior, despite his humanity, and had died a good death. She grabbed a demon by his breast plate and a leg and slammed him head-first into concrete.
Angel's sword had broken, lodged in a demon's armor, but he'd picked up two more and continued to fight. He cut a demon neatly in half and turned, expecting to find another to replace him, but saw only bodies and the retreating backs of the demon horde. Retreating? There was Spike, covered in blood and other, thicker things, staring in disbelief at the retreating army. Angel heard a scream as Illyria dismembered one last demon and also turned toward the other end of the alley to stare at the demons as they disappeared into the rain.
Spike laughed and yelled after them. "That's right, you fucking ponces! Run! Big Bad's comin' to—" his bravado was ruined by a wet, choking cough. He spit something dark and wet onto the street, and swore quietly.
A gust of air made Angel stumble back a step. The three survivors looked up as the dragon screeched at them from above, flames dancing brightly among its many, many teeth. It beat its wings again, sending another hot burst of air into the alley. The dragon screamed again, and beating its wings one last time, dived toward the narrow alley, mouth open and bright.
Angel tightened his grip on his swords and braced himself.
"Oi, Peaches!" Spike called, as all three ran out of the path of the dragon's attack, "You still want bagsies?"
Before Angel could answer, a bright blue bolt of lightening arced out of the darkness and struck the dragon just as it darted lithely between the Hyperion and the neighboring building. The dragon crashed into the other building, shattering brick and leaving a dent in the wall as it fell heavily into the alley.
Angel changed course instantly, and ran with superhuman speed toward the dragon. It was already shaking its head and getting to its feet as Angel, with a grim smile on his face, called over his shoulder, "Forget it, Spike. I called it!" More lightening lit up the night, showing that the demon army had only retreated to the mouth of the alley, eagerly awaiting their turn to surge forward again. Angel leapt onto the dragon's neck, slick with rainwater, just as the lightening struck the army near its center. The lightening stopped as the rain over the demons seemed to catch fire. Tiny drops of flame fell from the sky. At first just a few, then a torrent of tiny flames that hissed and sizzled where they hit wet pavement and flesh. The heat soon dried the clothing and skin of the army, allowing each to catch fire easily. The army screamed as if it had one voice as each soldier felt the sizzling flames and ran in panic. The army flowed haphazardly down the alley and into the streets of Los Angeles, the flaming drops of rain and renewed blue lightening following them wherever they ran.
Angel dropped one sword, needing a hand to grip the slick, scaly skin of the dragon's neck. The vampire plunged the other sword into the neck, and screamed with the dragon as the hot blood sprayed his hands and face, scalding him. The dragon beat its wings and reached both front claws around its neck to scrabble at Angel and his sword. They cut through the thick leather of his jacket and left deep gouges in his back. He roared, but kept his grip on the sword and began determinedly to saw into the dragon's flesh with it.
Spike and Illyria saw the fire and the burning demons once more advancing toward them.
Spike hesitated. "Blue," he called, "are god-kings familiar with the concept of tactical retreat?"
Never taking her eyes off the now-flaming horde, the former demon king said firmly, "No," and strode forward to meet the enemy.
Spike sneered and, adjusting his coat, swaggered after her. "Yeah," he said, "who needs it?"
"Spike!" said a familiar voice in his head, "Get the survivors, I'll take care of the giant." Spike slowed.
"Red?" he called, as the fire vanished from the sky, reverting to normal rain.
"Go, you pathetic excuse for a hero!" Willow screamed in his head. Spike did not have time to respond to the venom in her 'voice' as he approached the first of the injured demon soldiers. Most had collapsed, burnt and dying, but a few still stood and fought.
Illyria once again began tossing demons around the alley like rag dolls. Mixed in with her grief-turned-battle lust was disappointment that she would not get to kill the giant. She channeled it into her fury, and was pleased by the sound of flesh against brick and concrete.
