A/N: You know that line of Wesley's about how Angel's vampire self has been sublimated-the human and the demon? And you know that look Angel had on his face right after he sees his reflection in the pool in Fred's cave and changes back to just Angel? And the way that happened in the day, but by the time it was dark outside, Angel had barely moved and was still shaking from the shock? Didn't you just gasp at the potential for a really excellent angst fic?
Tell me how I did when you're finished.

It jumps right in at the middle of "Through the Looking Glass" when Angel and Fred are attacked on the way to Cordelia's new royal digs.

Oh, and...a little hinting at certain feelings of Angel's for Wesley. Whaaat? I couldn't resist.

Vampire Sublimation
B.L.B. Liquor

Shift into fight and defend mode, because the girl once called "Fred" is huddled behind me and is at least half as crazy as Drusilla. If these men want their cow, they'll have to go through me.

Then suddenly it's just fight mode, and then it's just for Violence, and I'm pitched forward into freedom and destruction, and I am a powerful hedonist with a million kinds of lust surging, and no room for complete sentences or mercy;

Kill everything, feast, kill and feast, slaughter drink and maim-not her, there are two others, strong and rich-

Over and over repeating the mantra kill maim feast drain drink slaughter and the rush is black and beautiful

Drink the blood, drink their blood, these beings that smell like food, it's right beneath the surface tinged with fear

But there's something that smells even better, if it's possible, and it's rich and warm and liquefied power, so -stalking now-

Through the rock, follow the red food, it's hot

It's good

Momentary distraction, there's movement in the water, so I look down at it, even though I'm so hungry and so close

Suddenly my eyes are burning and there are two of me, one inside and one outside, and the inside one is in pain

And now it's just the inside one, and oh God I'm in pain, and my face shifts and it doubles, triples, fiery anguish that makes me stumble and fall into the dirt.

That was me. Oh God, that monster was me. I can't stop shaking, because I still feel the black rush, but now it's mating with the pain, and I can't keep still or sane.

That monster was me. I am a monster, a demon, and I just saw what he looks like. What I look like. I can't even call it Angelus, because Angelus felt all those things, yes, but Angelus was smooth in his evil and underneath the raw drive for pleasure and blood, there were things like possession and happiness.

And family. Don't forget family.

I'm shaking harder now, because I just remembered who the two beings that I wanted to eat were. Wesley and Gunn were out there in the forest, and I smelt them and hunted them, and I could think of no greater pleasure than ripping into their throats and draining them dry.

When was the last time I ate? Not since we came through the portal, and then it was half a mug of cold porcine blood, as usual. It's little wonder that they smelled so good-

That thing was you. You are a killer, a sick, wild spawn of darkness, and no matter what dimension or world you're in, your chief purpose is pain. Your only purpose is causing pain. Lots and lots of pain, body-wrenching, mind-numbing, fiery pain, guilt, blood, hatred, hatred, pain.

Damn you, damn everything about you, even the precious, exalted soul, because it is no more worth saving than you are, and you will never let yourself loose like that again, because next time, you will hurt someone, worse than before, when you had

That monster was you!

bloody flesh dangling and dripping from your mouth.

I shudder and wrap my arms around my torso, fingernails digging into my upper arms, hands clenching spasmodically. I'm rocking back and forth back and forth back and forth

Gunn's face, eyes narrowed and teeth bared, and the sound of his heart beating quick and forceful, the sound of adrenalin, the vampire equivalent to sugar, I knocked him back and the air around him tasted like anger and hesitation, and it just made me want to break him even more

But Wesley...Wesley was the worst, sweet Wesley of books, glasses, and tight leather pants-"It's Angel! It's Angel!"-resolve and bullet wounds I should have prevented, soft walnut-coloured hair, soft voice translating, correcting, voicing doubt and disapproval, voicing painful secrets of the childhood, voicing loyalty, shouting to reach me-"Angel, can you hear me? Can you hear me, Angel! Angel? Angel!"

Rocking, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, and back and forth, shaking and curling up harder, laying in dirt forever where it's right. I loathe myself. I loathe everything I've ever been and everything I am now. Back and forth. Back and forth. It's right, here in the dirt, and hurting. The loathing's clutching and choking me, a painful sensation because lack of air is not a problem, but hard claws gripping my throat and squeezing, that hurts, just not enough. I suck in my cheeks, shift into fangs and bite down, and the shaking stops just slightly, enough for me to feel the acute pain in my muscles-shoulders, stomach, and upper legs especially, and I realize it's because they've been tight and clenched, probably for at least a couple hours, judging from the effort it takes to unbend my knees and roll onto my back. I will never let loose again. Never. Never. Never. "Never?" I recognize that voice, and it's actually a relief. Mine, but thick and Irish, before I came to America with the intention of slamming everything out of me that was part of what I was. "But remember, how sweet it were? And it were so...short-lived. Ye never got to taste one of them. Just a purple-faced demon. But think, how one of yer pet humans would taste." Angelus groaned inside my head with the thought. "I suspect that's why ye've kept them around, so long. Ye cannae part with a one, knowing how they'll taste one day." No. "No?" He sounded amused. "Why then? Ye saw yerself, ourself, ye know we'd do it in a snap if we ever got out. Think of yer Cordelia," he snarled on her name, "yer tongue on her neck and all that sweet citrus blood. Ye could shatter her first. We could. Shatter her for old times' sake." I writhed and banged the back of my head against the compact dirt. No! Leave! "That self-punishing thing is sickening. Wesley, then? Stop it. Ye know ye want him. What an appetizer he'd be, for getting back to the proper dimension and having a good long pleasureful massacre in yer Slayer's town. What an appetizer!" I don't want that, but he does, and I can only bang my head harder and concentrate, it's not so nice having him back anymore, just shut up, I'm concentrating and you're going, and he's thinking something I really don't want to hear, but- "Mmm, British blood. Think it'd taste like home?" Damn you! Damn me. Damn- There's another voice. Not his. A female's.

"A-angel? Why don't y-you come over here, you're going to h-hurt yourself li-like that..." I open my eyes and stop what I realize was whimpering. There's salt on my face and lips. I roll with considerable pain onto my side, and tremble in the effort to push myself up on my hands. I finally do, and get my knees under me after several attempts. There's a shape just a few feet away. I rub my eyes on my shoulder, because I can't see for some reason. I look forward again, and it's the cave girl...Fred. Fred with a very deep crease between her eyes and worry all over. I can taste it with the salt. She's on her hands and knees too, and she turns and crawls over to a stack of pelts, looking back at me. She sits on her knees and leans over, reaching out her hand, and I force myself toward her, relieved that my beast, well, my other one, my not-so-bad one, has left in total disgust that I am listening to a literally dirty human despite him pulling out several of the usual trump cards. I drag myself forward, pausing to hang my neck, because there is a great deal of pain that I'd rather save for later-not-now shooting up and down. I lurch forward, my eyes clenched shut, and then drop to my elbows, because there are lacerations across my lower back with sharp things dug into them that I hadn't noticed till now. Just a little more-a little more-I finally feel my palm touch fur, and with one last effort, throw myself down, half on, half off. I'd have my legs join me if I could feel them under the blanket of numbness. Fred, who I remember now saved me and them, and I feel a gigantic rush of affection and gratitude toward the frail lunatic...Fred has gingerly come to the other side of the fur and put her hands around the back of my knee and pulled, then repeated the same with the other. She pauses and looks back at me. I try to force something positive onto my blank face, but fail. She re-positions herself again and is inspecting my back carefully, having pulled up my shirt. I want to remember what this was from, a fall, maybe? But it's probably better not to bring out more memories. I realize what she's going to do and bite my lip. Her hands are very gentle, tugging at burrs, sharp rocks, and splinters, but I can feel everything, and on top of my previous state, I can't help but start shaking again, just a little. She pauses for a while and runs her fingers along my side and lower ribs soothingly. When I've stopped gasping-God, how embarrassing-she returns to the rest of the wounds and cleans them out, too. I don't think she dares to bandage me right now, but that's more than enough, and I try to thank her, but it's an indistinct moan. She leaves and starts to build a fire across her dark dwelling, and I realize that it's night. I'm facing the wall and the only light before she starts striking sparks is recognizable as moon light. I wonder vaguely how many moons they have here.

There are some long, silent moments wherein I try to collect myself, but inevitably I find myself running over the memory of those horrible-what had it been? Twenty minutes, tops. I stalked Gunn and Wesley for most of that, but had become impatient and louder. They stopped when Wesley realized I was following them, and there was a vague imprint of wrathful satisfaction at scaling the boulder and lunging for them still tainting the memory. Then-I realize. I'd been thinking of me seeing their faces, their reaction to the demon, Wesley's words, but for some reason, the unbearable thought hadn't really connected-that they had seen me and they realized it was me, yes-and realized it was me. They'd understood that human face and my monstrous visage were the same. It was their Angel. And that, thinking of them seeing claws, spines, and ugly skin and thinking "Angel"...it makes me start to shake again. Oh no. Oh no, oh no. Of course. They'd seen me. They'd seen a killer no different from every demon they faced daily and known it was their Angel underneath. They knew what I looked like. They knew...they knew that I could kill them now. Well and truly, up close and personal. I almost had. They would hate me. I hope to God they would hate me. Don't forgive me. Don't. Because Angelus does want to kill you and drink you, and maybe I do, too. Maybe I do. That is unforgivable. Don't, because you'll get hurt. You will get hurt. I can't stand you getting hurt. You've seen me. I can't see you again. I can't, I won't.

They've seen me. I can't go back to them. They've seen me. I can't go back. They've seen my monster. They've seen him and known he was me. Oh no, oh no, oh no... Fred is talking again, because I'd started shaking. I force myself to calm down. Just a tremble and the same thoughts. I can't. It's not worth putting them in pain. But it's not worth living if I don't. Oh no, they've seen it, oh no... She's coming over. I force calmness into every limb and strain to hear her. She's carried water over and she touches it to my neck. It must be visibly hurt, too.

"Are you feeling any better?" Tentative. There are little breaths going in and out of my mouth. Focus. Concentrate. Calm. I start to assess the likeliness that I'll be able to respond. The wet cloth touches just behind my ear.

"It's okay. You don't have to talk. I'm used to it." A long pause. The cloth goes back to whatever the water is in. I wish I could turn around, see her, say it with my eyes, but I'm in so much pain and I think I'd just frighten her away. I close my mouth because it's dry and open it again, force out slurred sound.

"Th-they saw it." Another pause.

"Saw what?"

"The-the monster." Cold and wet on the back of my neck. "Th-they saw what I really am." Try to ease the shaking, but this is, selfishly, the hardest part. "I c-can't go back, n-...not now, I can never go back." There's a tear in the very corner of my left eye. I shake my head. "No..." I can't say any more. Long pause again. I suck in breath a little harder, knowing I can stop talking. That's the important part, that I can't go back. She speaks.

"Y-you could stay here..." She is very sad. She knows her home is dark, wet, and not altogether pleasant. It's lavish and comfortable, though, considering everything she must have gone through to put it together. It's something to be proud of. I can't tell her that now, though. I spoke and I am very, very tired. There is something crucial still to be known and said, but I can't find it. A haze slips over and I slip into it. Just for a while. What am I missing?