Author's Note: Obviously, I don't own Angel. If I did, I wouldn't be posting on this site. Credit goes to the makers.
Anyway, I wrote this randomly and if I get enough reviews, I'll probably continue with it. Otherwise, it probably won't go anywhere. Which would be sad. :'(
The
Pain That Doesn't Subside
Chapter 1
These Wounds
Waking up at the bottom of a scorched hole in the ground, surrounded by nothing but dead corpses and ash, Gunn had found himself bloodied and bruised, unable to move muscle or limb. All he could do was open his eyelids to find a gaping gray sky, shading its stars from the world and stopping the sweet rain from falling down on his face. He was alive; maybe the only one who still was in L.A. The demon army had looked like it overshadowed the entire city when it came towards them all those hours—or was it days?—ago. He shut his brown eyes and felt his body relaxing, drifting off to sleep.
- - - - -
He sat up and yelled, calling out names and trying agonizingly to stand up on his bone-shattered legs, attempting to lift himself with his crushed hand. He heard a voice behind him that said, "Charles! You need to lay down…just relax! Slowly lay down."
The voice was soft and, he suddenly realized, so was the ground beneath him. He was no longer in the hellhole. There was someone taking care of him—someone who cared. But he could no longer open his eyes; the lids were too heavy to lift. Carefully, he laid himself back down on the mattress underneath him and again, holding no will to suppress it, fell into the nightmares once more.
- - - - -
"I'm not asking you how much it will cost. Trust me, I have that covered."
"You will regret this."
"Just do it. I'm not asking."
Gunn could hear the agitated voices circling around his head, weighing him down and making his eyes spin inside their sockets. He could hear them when they whispered as loud as if they were screaming. It made his brain pulsate and beat against the sides of his skull with every syllable.
He couldn't be alive. He had been on the brink of death before the battle had even started. Illyria had said he would only last ten minutes…minutes he had planned on making the most glorious of his life. Why was he still alive? Why couldn't he feel any of the pain? He should have been screaming in pain with all the wounds he tallied
He remembered the fight—every second of it. Illyria was fighting fifty to one, mauling the demons with a passionate fury. Spike was hacking them all to pieces, leaving no survivors. Angel had practically sliced the dragon in two after having his chest ripped open by its claws. He also remembered the spear that stuck through Illyria's gut, and the stake as it pierced Spike's heart and the sword that turned Angel to dust. The only thing he didn't remember was the explosion that made the huge crater. Or why he hadn't died in it.
"Charles? Can you hear me?"
Gunn opened his eyes to ruby red lips and light blue eyes above him.
"Gwen?"
"You're awake?" she asked, her eyes roaming along the lines of his face.
"How did you—?"
"I'll do the talking," said Gwen. "You just…hang out."
He felt the weight move off the mattress as it creaked beneath him. She stood up and walked over to the windows to draw back the shades. Sunlight leapt through the glass and every corner and crevice of the room was exposed to the rays.
"I did it once before. You just needed a little jump. Don't worry, I got you a doctor. Most of your injuries are healed. You just need to rest and let you're body do the fixing."
"I'm done sleeping," he said, putting his hand down on the mattress to lift himself up, but he collapsed instantly.
"Charles, you're arm, it'll never—it won't be what it was."
He was about to ask the obvious question when he lifted his hand out in front of him. It was wrapped around in a bandage, but he could feel it inside the gauze. It was mangled and disfigured, and he could see where the bandage didn't go up as far that a chunk of it was missing. He felt through his whole body, but none of the other limbs felt as lacking as his arm. One broken leg, a disfigured arm and he could feel half his face scraped up—he knew what from. There had also been an incident with a flaming torch that had left the right side of his stomach and back charred. Considering what he went through, these were minuscule prices to pay.
"I'm the only one left," he said, his tone sinking to fit that of morbid.
Gwen looked across the room at him, then her eyes swept the floor. "Yeah, muscles."
"You found me in the hole?" Gunn asked.
"Actually, that was the kid."
"What kid?"
She shifted her feet and cocked and eyebrow, resting one hand on her hip. "Angel's son."
"Angel's—Angel never had a son," said Gunn matter-of-factly. "If he had a son, I would know about it."
"Charles, don't tell me you cracked your head open, too. Cut it out."
A dark-haired boy stepped into the doorway and he looked from Gunn to Gwen. He had brown eyes, a cropped haircut and wore a striped polo and khakis. He addressed electro-girl.
"Don't worry about it, he doesn't know."
"Who're you?"
Gunn rose off the bed carefully with his left arm against the mattress. The boy looked slightly familiar.
"I'm Connor," he said, taking a few steps into the room. "I was a client at your firm, Wolfram and Hart. Freaked out the parents with my 'enhanced abilities.'"
"Yeah…yeah, I remember you. What're you doin' down here?"
"Well, after I slaughtered half of hell's army, I thought I'd save your life."
The boy's mouth had started to form a grin, but Gunn only sat their, propped on his weakening arm in confusion. Gwen sighed loudly and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Do we have to explain everything to you?"
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