A/N: Hi. This is set after the last episode of the last season. The gang is under attack from W&H.

"I thought I told you to go home."

"I never listened before. Why start now?"

The two locked eyes for a brief moment before Connor hesitantly knelt and reached toward his father, unsure what he was planning to do.

"No, don't move him," Spike said as he suddenly appeared, dragging one leg slightly behind him and wiping blood from his mouth. "He might have broken his back."

"I'm fine," Angel said, though he made no attempt to back up his words by moving.

"You've never been fine," Spike muttered to himself, fishing a cigarette out of his coat. He extended the pack toward Connor. "Want a smoke, mate?"

"Spike!" Angel hissed, grimacing in pain as he lifted his head off the ground.

"Um, no thanks," Connor answered politely. "Maybe next time."

"No, not next time. Not any time," Angel objected as Spike chuckled and blew a long trail of smoke from between his lips.

"We … We shouldn't just leave him here, though, should we?" Connor asked uncertainly, turning to Spike as if he were the ultimate authority. "I mean, it isn't safe. Right?"

"He'll be good enough to move in a minute," Spike answered, seemingly unconcerned though his eyes swept all around searching for imminent danger.

"Gunn," Angel groaned.

"Huh?" Connor asked.

"Gunn," Angel repeated. "You have to find Gunn. He's hurt."

"I'm not leaving you, Dad," Connor said firmly, ignoring the gawk from his new white-haired companion.

"I'll collect Charlie," Spike offered, stomping out his cigarette on the concrete with the foot he'd just been dragging, already nearly healed. "Hopefully not in pieces…"

Connor ignored the lurch in his stomach that those words had produced and leaned down over Angel, inspecting him from head to toe but unsure what to do other than perform a visual examination.

"Dad, I'm so sorry," he whispered urgently as if it might be his only chance. "I'm so sorry."

"Connor, no," Angel said, trying to shake his head though he didn't manage it very well. "No, son."

"Yes," Connor insisted. "This is all my fault."

"No," Angel said firmly, steadily meeting his gaze. "None of this is your fault."

"I'm so sorry," Connor babbled repeatedly as the tears ran unchecked down his face. "God, I'm so sorry!"

"No, Connor, don't do this. Don't blame yourself," Angel said soothingly, desperate to reach up and wipe the tears away, but his body wouldn't yet allow it. "I'll be fine. It'll all be fine."

Spike returned carrying a limp Gunn over his shoulder. Connor gasped, thinking the worst had happened to the man he only recently remembered, but Spike quickly shook his head.

"Just knocked out. He'll be okay," he said. "Eventually." He nodded toward Angel. "Can you move yet, gramps?"

Angel's tongue poked out of his mouth as he made a concentrated effort to pull himself off the ground, but he just couldn't manage. Worry crossed Spike's face, worry which he couldn't erase before Connor saw it, but he cut off the boy's questions before they could be asked.

"Right, then. You'll have to carry him. We'll go … Ah, we'll go…" He spun in a full circle looking at each dark building. "Shit, I don't know. Angel usually handles these things."

"I know where to go," Connor said resolutely, scooping the moaning Angel into his arms and lifting him as gently as he could. "Follow me."

"So, earlier when you called Peaches the 'D' word, what was that all about?" Spike finally inquired as he and Connor shared their third cigarette of the night. "He some kind of kinky mentor or something to you?"

"No," Connor mumbled, taking an extra-long puff before he said more. "He is my 'D' word. He's my dad."

"Your dad," Spike repeated tonelessly. "He did tell you he's a vampire, right? We don't generally run around making offspring in the typical way."

"Who said I was typical?" Connor asked with a cheeky grin that Spike could just barely detect glinting off his teeth in the moonlight.

Spike murmured in acknowledgement and watched Connor as he stared out the grimy, broken windows of the abandoned building that he'd said he used to call home.

"Who's your mum, then?" he asked, intrigued. "It's not … no, if it were the Slayer, surely I'd have known about it before now."

Connor shook his head.

"Darla. I think that was her name, anyway. It's … I mean, I think I'm still remembering stuff. I don't think it's quite all here yet. It's foggy sometimes."

"Darla? Like, my great-grandmum Darla?" Spike asked, picking up on the only part of that rambling that he needed to know.

Connor did a double-take and shrugged before staring back out the window.

"I guess so," he said quietly. "Unless you and Angel know more than one."

"But Angel, he sta—" Spike abruptly stopped, realizing Connor may not know and may not want to know the details.

Connor turned questioning eyes on him, however, and he felt suddenly and uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

"Never mind," he said, reaching for his cigarette back. "Give me that. You shouldn't smoke so much. These things'll kill you."

"Let's hope so," Connor murmured.

"Don't say that, mate," Spike admonished, nodding toward the darkness outside. "There's plenty out there that want to kill you."

"Let them try," Connor said dully.

"Cheery one, aren't you?" Spike commented, laughing humorlessly. "Must get that from your dad."

"Will he really be okay?" Connor asked worriedly, glancing behind him at the slumbering figure of his father on the floor next to the unconscious Gunn. "Like, he really can't die, right?"

"Not easily," Spike assured him. "But he can hurt, and I wager he will for a while. Taking a tumble from that high up does a number on you no matter how thick your head is."

"We can't stay here," Connor said, pacing back and forth. "They're coming for him. For us. I know they are. I can feel it."

"Well, before you go claiming ESP, let me remind you that they aren't exactly being sneaky about it. Remember, there was a bloody dragon out there! I suspect we'll see and hear them coming long before they attack again."

"We can't win," Connor said, shaking his head back and forth. "There's too many. We can't win."

"Can and hopefully will," Spike argued. "Me and your pop have been through worse."

Connor gazed at him skeptically.

"Wesley's dead," he reminded him.

Spike nodded.

"What about Illyria. Is that her name?" Connor asked. "The one who … Fred…"

"Yeah," Spike interrupted. "Dunno where she is. Dunno whose side she's on, either. You can never tell with her."

"Connor," Angel suddenly groaned from the floor.

"Dad!" Connor exclaimed, rushing to his side. "Dad, are you okay?"

Spike smiled at the absurd question, but Connor couldn't see it.

"Connor," Angel said, his voice gaining strength as he gazed up to make full eye contact with his son. "This is important."

"I'm listening," Connor said quickly, taking Angel's hand in both of his and squeezing. "What is it?"

"You touch another cigarette, and I'm gonna kick your ass."

Connor's mouth hung open for several seconds before he began to laugh incredulously, almost maniacally. He burst into fresh tears, letting them stream down his cheeks without regard for his audience as he cradled Angel's head in his lap and leaned down, hugging his father to him.

Angel caught his eye as he finally managed to reach up and wipe the tears away.

"I mean it."