Title: The Journey Home
Author: Niki-chan
Summary: Post 'Not Fade Away'. Angel and his friends fight a losing battle, until an old friend shows up with a little reinforcement. Can Buffy and Angel put their past behind them, or are they destined to find their way back to each other? B/A, with a little reference to B/S.
Disclaimer: Please Joss, since you're not using them anymore?
Notes: I haven't written BtVS/AtS fanfiction in a long time, so feedback is very much appreciated.
Angel knew this was the end.
It wasn't a surprise. He had gone into this knowing it would cost him his life. He didn't regret it; didn't fear it. He welcomed it.
He watched as Gunn collapsed, the last ounce of life leaving his broken body. Illyria had been right; he hadn't lasted much longer than ten minutes.
She was amazing in battle. Her strength amazed him, as she managed to keep up with both him and Spike. Yes, they killed their fair share of demons. However they all knew it was futile. They were out numbered.
Angel scoffed to himself. Outnumbered was a bit of an understatement. There were four of them (now three), against a hundred thousand.
Angel continued the battle, the odds not important. He would go down, yes, but not without a fight. He would go down in a blaze of glory, not giving up until he was nothing more than a pile of ash.
Out of the corner of his eye he witnessed Illyria fall. She seemed slightly confused, the truth of her mortality finally hitting her. She was dead before she hit the ground.
Only Angel and Spike remained. He found it oddly fitting that they would be the last two standing.
Not for long, of course. Angel winced as a blade pierced his gut. It wouldn't kill him, but it hurt like hell. He welcomed the pain, however. It meant he was still alive.
More demons fell, yet still more came. Angel felt his body weakening. Despite his strength, his wounds were beginning to get the better of him. He needed a break, time to heal. Not very likely, however.
He was a mess, his body nothing more than a mass of bloody flesh. His left arm was broken, and he could barely see out of his right eye. The wound to his gut went straight through, and blood poured from the gash in his throat, reminiscent of a demon's bite. Had the situation been different he probably would have laughed at the irony in that.
He knew this was the end. He had lost too much blood, was too weak. He needed to feed, and at the moment that was impossible. He turned to look at Spike. He was glad he was here; they never would have made it this far otherwise. He would never admit it, of course
Angel winced as a demon sliced his leg with its sword. He grimaced as he collapsed onto the ground, no longer able to support his own weight. He wouldn't have to worry about admitting anything, he realized, as the demon raised its sword for the finishing blow.
He didn't close his eyes; didn't duck. He knew this was it. He had gone as far as he could go. This was it. Besides, decapitation wasn't the worst way to go. He remained still, unable to move. He was ready for the end.
But it didn't come.
He opened his eyes, confused. He couldn't see. The slash over his right eye had rendered it useless, and his own weakening body made the other one virtually the same. He didn't need to see, however. He already knew.
It was Her.
"Angel," she whispered, kneeling beside him. "Hold on."
She was up and fighting. She yelled commands to the others. Yes, there were others; about a hundred of them. He supposed he should have been surprised that she had come to his aid, and with an army of slayers no less. But somehow he wasn't. And as the battle raged on around him, he remained on the ground, unable to stir, until the darkness consumed him.