Disclaimer: I do not own Angel the Series.
Note: As I said when I pre-viewed this fic in Iron Coin Chronicles 2x08, this fanfic series will not be a re-write of every episode. Some episodes will be similar enough in end result to not be worth the effort, while others will not happen at all. Some episodes will be fairly different but just won't be very interesting to read, IMO. Or to write.
So, this story will not be updated with any frequency (or at least not the same frequency as the ICC series). When an Angel episode to re-write comes up, a chapter will be written. It will be written alongside the mainline of ICC, and it remains possible that the two will intersect. I won't speak as to a certainty either way.
What I will do, to make it clear for everyone, is to identify exactly what Angel episode I'm re-writing in Flip Side for any given chapter. As with ICC, I generally assume you're familiar with the way the actual episode went, or familiar enough with the important points– and that if you aren't, you should take a quick look at an episode summary or something. When there's this much to unpack, I don't have the time or space to really work in everything, so you do need to be familiar with the original material. I'm just saying.
Thanks to Starway Man and dieticlast for beta-reading and creative consultancy services. You guys have continued to make this series great, and without your ideas and advice, this would be a much lesser series.
I haven't mentioned it recently, and I'm going to mention it once in this fic, and that will be all. I have a tumblr, alkenifanfiction . Tumblr . Com and on that site I post fandom and fanfiction related ramblings, provide sneak peaks, writing updates and other related things. If you're interested, feel free to follow. Otherwise, on with the fic!
This Episode is a re-write of Episode 1x09 "Hero" from Angel.
The Iron Coin Chronicles: The Flip Side
By Alkeni
Chapter 1: Atonement Doesn't Need Death
Once upon a time there was a vampire. And he was the meanest vampire in all the land. All the other vampires were afraid of him, he was such a – bastard. Then one day he's cursed – by gypsies. They restore his human soul. And all of a sudden he is mad with guilt. You know: 'What have I done?' You know, he's freaked. It's a fairly dull tale. It needs a little sex, is my feeling. So sure enough: enter the girl. Pretty little blonde thing, Vampire Slayer by trade. And our vampire falls madly in love with her. Eventually the two of them, well, they get fleshy with one another. Well, I guess the technical term is perfect happiness. But when our boy gets there, he goes bad again. He kills again. It's ugly. So when he gets his soul back for the second time, he figures hey, he can't be any where near Miss Young Puppy Eyes without endangering them both. So what does he do? He takes off. Goes to L.A. To fight evil and atone for his crimes. He's a shadow, a faceless champion of the hapless human race.
Looking around at his home for the past few months, Angel had to admit it to himself – he hadn't exactly planned to stay in L.A. Hadn't really even planned to be in L.A. Angel in the City of Angels? Someone like Xander Harris might have thought it funny, but Angel didn't. But then...
He'd ended up staying in L.A. anyway. It had more or less just happened. Plus there was plenty for him to do. Plenty of evil to defeat – vampire and demon alike. They were more careful here, more integrated, than in Sunnydale. There were less of both relative to the overall human population, but given how many people lived in L.A. and its surrounding area? That was still a lot of demons and vampires.
Yes, he hadn't meant to stay in L.A. but...it had happened anyway. And now he was here to stay, unless Doyle's visions took them out of the city for some reason.
Doyle – Allan Francis Doyle, to use his full name – the Irish half-demon had grown on him. He hadn't expected that when the guy just showed up in his apartment, telling Angel his life story. And what 'happened next'. Angel still wasn't very happy about this emphasis on getting him into the world, on making him engage with people, but it was...
Well, at the start he had hated it. But over the past few months – okay, he disliked using the word 'nice' on general principles, but it was nice to have someone by his side. Someone who understood. Someone who wasn't totally human, the way everyone else in Sunnydale had been...apart from him.
Doyle wasn't exactly the kind of guy he'd expected he'd start to see as perhaps a friend, but as it turned out... that was more or less what was happening. Maybe. He wasn't entirely sure. It wasn't like he had much experience with the concept, even in Sunnydale. There'd been Buffy, and there'd been her friends, who he'd tolerated or gotten along with more for her than anything else. The only one he'd really had any 'friendly' affection for was Willow. Cordelia was exasperating, Xander annoying, and as a Watcher Giles was never going to really approve of him even before... Jenny. Afterwards – well, Angel wouldn't ever have expected anything more than what he got from Giles. He was kind of surprised that Giles really had gone to bat for him with the Council, but then again, the man would do just about anything for Buffy.
Faith he had respect for, but not much like. It was good that she'd always been willing to stake him if he got out of line, if he ever lost his soul again. Buffy had killed him, in the end, sent him to hell – but it had been literally him or the world, and it had taken her months to get to that point. Angel had appreciated that there was a white hat who would stake him if need be that could. Which was why he'd told Doyle rather explicitly to contact Faith if he ever lost his soul again.
A moment of 'perfect happiness' wasn't in his future, not with Buffy living roughly eighty miles away up the coast, but Angel knew there were other ways to lose one's soul. Ways that applied to everyone, not just him. He didn't want to take chances. Not after... not after Angelus had come out to play in Sunnydale.
Doyle, surprisingly, had fully understood. He hadn't expected that, which in many ways made him value the other man more. Though the man's belief that going to a sports bar was a good way to spend the evening was annoying – and the fact that he wouldn't stop occasionally trying to convince him to go to one, rather than spending the evening with a good book. So far, Doyle had yet to convince him that a bunch of drunks yelling at a TV screen was worth putting down a compelling read like Les Miserables. Angel still wasn't sure how he'd managed to miss this particular work so far in his life. Though he still preferred War and Peace.
Having someone back him up in a fight was somewhat helpful, but it was annoying how Doyle insisted on staying human during a fight – even though he was far stronger when letting his Brachen side show. As a human, he was maybe a few steps above Xander in a fight – not very good, but at least not entirely useless. As a Brachen, he was much, much better at contributing to success in a fight to the death.
Of course, Angel didn't know much of anything at all about these 'Powers that Be' that Doyle talked about – his term for them, rather than whatever it was they called themselves, if they called themselves anything. He wasn't sure, but the way Doyle seemingly randomly inserted himself into his life, complete with 'instructions from on high' reminded him of Whistler. While he had no way of knowing for certain (his old mentor had never mentioned them by name), he suspected that Whistler worked for these 'Powers', whatever they were.
None of this had been planned. But it had happened. Along the way, he'd made himself an enemy of Wolfram and Hart by pushing one of their undead clients out a window in front of one 'Lindsey McDonald'. And then stopping one of their human mobster clients from killing a cop and escaping from police custody, with their little 'talking stick' and 'sensitivity training'.
Though the less I remember about all that, the better.
And then there was that plain-clothes cop. LAPD Detective Kate Lockley and he had more or less stumbled across each other's paths when Doyle's visions led him to that club and eventually to that body-jumper. He'd ended up crossing paths with her a few times since, most notably with that 'talking stick'.
Lockley was interesting, Angel was willing to admit that much to himself. She'd more or less given him a legal pass about the body-jumper, probably because he'd saved her life, but it had still saved him from hassles he didn't want to deal with. Sometimes, he missed the days when a man could move through society without any need to interact with officialdom, when you didn't need all those different forms of I.D. just to legally exist in the world. Made being immortal a lot easier. As it was, he had to have a name to sign on the lease for his apartment and on his bills for the electricity that, you know, gave him light and kept the pig's blood in his refrigerator cold. And plumbing. And he needed a name for his driver's license. And a –
So Lockley had done him a favor, more or less.
She'd called in that favor when she'd asked him to 'consult' by helping her find a mob boss who was trying to get out of town. It hadn't worked out all that smoothly – including him having to actually stop the bad guy from escaping – but it had worked well enough.
The other times he'd run into the female cop had been far less noteworthy – Detective Lockley clearly liked the complicated, messy cases, the ones that were more likely to turn out to have the kind of supernatural component that he got involved with, at the direction of Doyle's visions or his 'contacts' in the supernatural world of L.A. It was one of the things he'd learned quickly about Doyle – he knew a guy. He always, it seemed, knew a guy. It just often turned out that that guy wanted to collect some debt or another he owed, which was problematic at best. But he'd found that he could at least trust Doyle with his back.
He knew Lockley didn't need any protecting, but he wondered just how long it would be before her interest in the more disturbing crimes in L.A. might see her go one step too far, find out the truth and get in over her head with a vampire or a demon or a warlock or something. It was an unpleasant thought – for all her rough edges, it was clear Lockley was a good person, and the world needed more in the way of good people.
And speaking of good people, there was Harriet "Harry" Doyle. She was a recent addition to his unlife, but her expertise in demons had proven useful once since the disastrous bachelor party that had nearly seen Doyle's brains eaten, and Angel suspected her demon expertise would be useful again. She didn't have the range of language knowledge a Watcher would have – though she did know several demon languages – but her understanding of demons was just as useful. More or less.
Even if Angel would never have expected to hear anyone call themselves an 'ethnodemonologist' of all things.
People today.
At the very least, Harry had given him tips on a few locales frequented by non-violent or even 'good' demons, which could prove useful sources of information on what was going on in supernatural L.A., if or when Doyle's contacts failed. Including a place Angel planned never to visit – a karaoke bar named Caritas. Because he didn't do karaoke. Or sing. Ever.
Getting Harry's help on that case – or any others – wasn't exactly something that made Doyle happy, but he'd done it anyway, and Harry had been more than willing to help both him and her ex-husband.
Though...she'd made a few comments about wanting to study him – given that he was a 'unique fusion of human and demon', given his soul. She'd (understandably) shied away from studying vampires in any close detail beyond what was in texts and tomes, but she seemed quite interested in the opportunity to study one that wouldn't tear her throat out at the earliest opportunity.
Angel wasn't looking forward to her attempts to convince him to go along with that.
Life in L.A. during the last few months had been a mix of new, aggravating and interesting. What it wasn't was similar to life in Sunnydale, which was a welcome plus.
November 30th, 1999
Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles
Doyle didn't exactly live in the upper part of Angel's two-level apartment, but he spent a lot of time there nonetheless. Made things easier if the man had a vision, which would happen at just about any time, day or night. They generally happened at night, which fit both Angel's situation and the fact that demons and vampires stayed indoors during the day, but visions during the day had nonetheless occurred a few times.
Right now, though, Angel was still working through his Thanksgiving visit to Sunnydale. Seeing Buffy again, even from afar...it hadn't been easy. And seeing her happy, more or less – that had been both easier and harder to bear. It was...good, that she could be happy again. That him leaving hadn't left her an emotional wreck or something, but it was also...painful, to see her happy, and to not be able to share in her happiness. To not be part of her life.
For her part, Faith hadn't really been impressed with his desire to stay away from Buffy for her own good, but she had agreed not to tell Buffy that he'd been in town to help out thanks to Doyle's vision. Thankfully. The dark-haired Slayer had also said that Buffy wasn't exactly over him – and while she was better now, she'd been worse earlier. Something about a guy named 'Parker', Faith had mentioned – but that had been more muttered than anything else, and Angel hadn't wanted to hear details about some sort of rebound relationship Buffy had had. Especially if it had ended badly – which he suspected it had, given the brunette's facial expression.
Just hearing the name made him want to find whoever it was Faith had mentioned, and beat the crap out of him. What kind of name was Parker anyway?
But he was back in L.A. now, and away from Buffy, like he needed to be. Still couldn't move past it all, seeing her again. Nothing had ever really left him, but seeing her again had brought it all back into full relief.
Angel heard the elevator from the upper level coming down over the sound of him hitting the punching bag in front of him and he slowed down, then stopped as the elevator came to a stop. Unsurprisingly, Doyle came out and approached him.
"Is this a private catharsis, or can anyone watch?" Doyle asked, leaning one shoulder against a wall, arms crossed.
"What do you want?" Angel started punching the bag again. He wasn't really in the mood for another 'getting out into the world' pep talk from the half-demon seer.
"You've been in a right mood ever since you got back from the Hellmouth. Now I get being upset about seeing Buffy again – I mean, when my ex showed up, I was a wreck for a few days myself. But it's time to get back to the fight, Angel."
"It's not just seeing Buffy." Angel said as he stepped away from the punching back, sitting down. "That's a lot of it, but – I left for her own good. And she's happy – with me, after I came back from Hell-"
"There was this black storm cloud over everything between the two of you?" Doyle suggested for him.
Angel sighed. "More or less." And then there had been Faith's skepticism about the merits of leaving for her own good, and the way Faith had pointed out that Angel was deciding what was best for Buffy without even talking to her about it. Which Faith had called 'stupid man bullshit'. Was leaving actually the best choice?
"It's not easy, breaking things off, or having things broken off." Doyle replied. He shrugged, "I don't know if I'd have the strength to do what you did – I'm more of a 'pleasures of the flesh' sort. Walking away from a girl like that for her own good?" The Irishman shook his head. "I dunno. But," Doyle came away from the wall, "that's why you're the hero and I'm just the guy with the migraines that come with pictures."
"These 'Powers' of yours had to have seen something in you, or they wouldn't have given you the visions at all." Angel told him, remembering Doyle's mysterious – and as yet, unexplained – 'we all got something to atone for' comment. "You never know your strength until you're tested." He added.
"You're a vampire with a soul who went to hell and back and you've dedicated yourself to the fight against evil." Doyle countered. He gestured to himself, "Me? If it weren't for the visions, I'd still be a nobody drinking and gambling my life away." He frowned a little as he added, "not that I've really stopped either of those habits."
No, Doyle hadn't. Though Angel had noticed his friend seemed to be drinking a little less since his ex-wife had shown up, and then proved willing to help them if they ever needed her expertise with demons. At least, he smelled like he'd been drinking less, which was all Angel really had to go on. As a general rule, he trusted his senses and the evidence they gave him. It was hard to fool a vampire's sense of smell.
"You're a Champion, Angel. You did the right thing by her because that's what you do. Part of your makeup." Doyle finished. "If you could be with her, you would – who'd pass up a beauty like that? But you can't."
"Even if I could be with her –" Angel shook his head, "our lives don't belong to ourselves. She's got a duty. In the end, I just got in the way of that – she fed herself to me in order to save me. Her life is worth more than mine." He shook his head, "There was no way I could stay in Sunnydale. Not then. Not now. Not ever."
"Maybe not now, but you've got to hold out hope for –" Doyle started to say, but then he closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his head, grunting in pain.
"Vision?" Angel stood up. Maybe something to do would make it easier to put Sunnydale behind him. Maybe.
"Vision." Doyle confirmed. "There's a condemned apartment building – boarded over windows, complete wreck on the inside – the works." He named an address, taking his hand from his head and searching through his pockets, fishing out a bottle of aspirin. He dumped three pills into his hand and swallowed them dry.
Angel supposed Doyle probably had a lot of practice with swallowing pain medication, since the visions had come into his life.
"Anything more?" Angel was already heading for his weapons. The first thing were the two wristbands loaded with stakes – they were on his arms and concealed in his sleeves in a matter of moments. He had no idea what else it was that he was going to need, unless Doyle gave him info. A sword of some kind was always useful – maybe an axe?
"Demons. The people that need help," Doyle said softly, "they're demons." He sounded surprised, unsurprisingly. Shocked even.
Angel turned around at that. Did he just – "Demons?" Angel didn't get that – how –
Okay, there were 'good' demons. He'd always known that. 'Demon' was a rather broad category, and while most were violent, brutal monsters barely above animals just like Angelus had been, there were plenty of species and breeds that had no interest in killing except in self-defense. That sort were no threat to humans – at least not more than humans were to themselves. Angelus had always found such beings to be especially pathetic, and as Angel, he'd tended to avoid them.
'Good' and 'neutral' demons had even less love for vampires than 'evil' ones generally did. In several years on the Hellmouth, he'd only met a handful of demons that weren't evil, and after coming to L.A. he hadn't really run into any. Because initially, he'd been avoiding people of all stripes, demon and human alike.
But then he'd met first Doyle, and then those Ano-Movics. The 'brain eating' aside, they had seemed to be entirely human in the way they lived their lives. Under other circumstances, all that might almost have been funny. As it was, it was just strange.
And now, the visions from the Powers were sending him off to save demons? They'd only ever sent him to save humans before...
An innocent life is an innocent life, no? Angelus' 'crimes' had been against humans, but only because demon blood was not something a vampire could feed on. There were a few species he'd heard about that vampires could enjoy the blood of, but they were more or less the equivalent of... junk food, for lack of a better analogy. Edible, but not really any good at sating actual hunger for the undead.
But saving lives was saving lives. That really was all there was to it. So far, Doyle's visions had yet to lead him wrong. He still didn't entirely trust them, but for the time being, he was going to trust this one.
"Demons." Doyle confirmed. "They're – they're hiding from someone, or something." He went on to explain. "I don't recognize the species." He frowned, "I hate to say it, but we might end up needing to call Harry on this."
"If we need to, we will." Angel agreed. "You managed to get along with her when she helped us before."
"Not sure I'd use the phrase 'managed to get along with her' to describe that, Angel." Doyle disagreed. "She's still not happy about the whole ruined engagement thing." He put his hands in his pockets. "Pretty sure she's blaming me for screwing it up for her."
"Richard Straley was going to eat your brains. He was going to kill you. She wasn't happy about that all on her own." Angel pointed out.
"Aye, but she blames me all the same." Doyle countered. "Not fair or rational, but – well, women." He let out a sigh and gave a shrug, a sentiment Angel was unfortunately familiar with.
Not that men can't be just as irrational. Angel had enough experience to know that too – and had already handled enough cases where that was a problem.
"We'll call her if we have to." Angel said again, and Doyle nodded unhappily.
November 30th, 1999
Condemned Building, Los Angeles
The inside of the structure showed the obvious signs of current habitation. Foot traffic in the dust, the smell of recent – and definitely demonic – life, and of course, the bed and blankets and pillows scattered around just the section they could see through the hole in the interior wall. But he couldn't see any people, demonic or otherwise.
They turned the corner, Angel checking around with his flashlight – he was holding one as much for Doyle's benefit as for his own, his own eyes picking up on things in the darkness human eyes never could. Or half-Brachen demon eyes, in this case.
"Pretty low rent, even by demon standards." Doyle commented. Which was true – demons that were humanlike enough to desire beds with pillows and blankets usually went for better than this place. Not always much better, but they tended to like their creature comforts.
"Well, you said they were hiding. It's a good place for it." Which made it a terrible place to hide, long term. Once all the obvious places were checked, you checked the good hiding places. If whoever was after the demons that lived here knew anything about how to hide, they'd be here soon.
Which would probably be why Doyle got a vision now.
The next room they passed had couches, stuffed chairs – but torn, worn and well beaten. The kind of furniture too damaged to even be left out on the street for someone who wants it to just up and take. The whole place screamed squalor.
The stuffed animals on the couch suggested children. Demon children.
That wasn't something Angel had ever really stopped to think about – but to a certain level, children were children. Humanlike demons would give their children stuffed animals, dolls, toys. Like everything else, these were worn, battered and damaged. Well used and possibly even fished out of a dumpster.
But it was the food on the table that drew his attention. Cheap, but at least there seemed to be a significant amount of it. It was still warm. Whoever had been sitting here at this table had been doing it not that long ago.
He stepped out of the room and looked down the hall. He inhaled sharply – there was a scent stronger than the rest. The people who lived here? It was hard to tell.
"I smell something." He told Doyle. Completely misunderstanding him, Doyle gestured to the table:
"Still warm. They left in a hurry."
"Not food." Angel explained. He stood in the middle of the room, tracing the scent – he crouched down and grabbed the rug, tossing it aside. Faintly, he could see the outline of a trap door. Not bad. It was fairly well hidden. "Fear." He added. That was what he'd smelled. It was similar between species, but not exactly the same. But he was a vampire, and vampires were predators. Fear was what they lived on – more than blood even, in some ways.
Angel reached down and pulled the trapdoor up, shining his flashlight down into the revealed hole alongside Doyle.
He could see them – demons. Huddled together. Terrified. If not for the fact that they obviously weren't human...you'd think they were. They had the same looks of fright a human would, they wore human clothes – if worn, torn, patched and mismatched – and the older ones were already putting themselves in front of the younger ones, even as he and Doyle looked on.
Angel crouched down, keeping his voice calm and reassuring. "Don't be afraid. It's okay. We're here to help."
November 30th, 1999
Condemned Building, Los Angeles
It took only a few minutes for the demons – Lister Clan – to get out of their little panic room. It was pretty clear they had a lot of experience going in and out of it, or at least rooms like it. There were maybe two dozen of them at most. A few children, a few elderly. All of them looked tired, hungry and scared.
"Who are you?" One of them – an older one – was brave enough ask first, the first to come out.
"My name's Angel. This is Doyle." He gestured to his companion. "We're here to help." He told them again. There was no point in beating around the bush, "You're hiding from something that wants you dead?" It really wasn't a question. People didn't hide like this, feel that much terror, if they weren't being hunted. He would help these people – as quickly and effectively as he could.
"Why would you help us?" The demon asked. "How did you know to find us here?" If he needed to breathe, Angel would have inhaled sharply in annoyance. He was used to questions like this, but he didn't like wasting time with the answers.
"Because you're innocent people in need of help." Angel answered. Going into 'my friend has visions' was more complicated than he really wanted to spend time on. Explaining it to Faith, as to why he'd been in Sunnydale, that was one thing. But this wasn't really the time or the place. The visions would only come if whoever they depicted was in imminent danger of one kind or another. Probably more than one kind. "Who's after you?" He asked more explicitly.
"The Scourge." The Lister demon said softly, as if afraid to be heard saying it. The name meant nothing to him. Was that a person, a nickname? Some kind of demon or evil force? A group? Angel didn't miss the flicker of recognition on Doyle's face. The name meant something to the Seer. "They've been hunting us for months, tracking us like animals. And they will find us here...but there's no escape. Not on our own."
"No escape?" What was stopping them from running? They'd clearly done it before, from what the demon had said.
"We have no other options –" the demon paused a moment, then swallowed. "There's an island, off the coast of Ecuador. Briole. Many of our people have found sanctuary there. A place we can call home, be safe. We tried to join them –" He looked away for a moment. "We gave our money – all of it – to a man who promised us passports, and passage on a ship. We were too trusting – stupid. He took the money, and the ship never came."
Angel felt an immediate urge to strangle someone. Even before he'd...
Before he'd met Whistler, met Buffy, begun to play a role in the fight against Evil, Angel would never had sunk so long as to try to profit from a situation like this. He didn't especially need the money, yes, but it was the kind of evil that was just both so insanely petty and brutally destructive which annoyed him. In decades gone past, he probably wouldn't have cared about these people's plight, though he didn't like to think about that. But he would never have even thought to promise them a way out, then taken the money and run. It didn't even make sense to him. There had to be better ways to make money, even while being scum.
"You were trying to save yourselves. You make a mistake, it doesn't make you stupid." Doyle said softly. "That bastard's going to have to carry around what he did the rest of his life. He's the idiot." There was something in what the half-demon said that suggested Doyle understood first-hand what he was saying.
We all got something to atone for.
Before anyone could say anymore, another demon, just a kid, a teenager – though Angel had no idea how old the demon actually was – burst into the room, holding a box.
"They're close. They almost got us. We lost half our supplies." Angel watched as the kid walked right by him and Doyle.
The Lister they'd been talking to put a hand on the kid's shoulder, gently turning him around to see Angel and Doyle. "Rieff. We have a guest. It's the Promised One."
Angel heard those words, blinked, and –
I'm no one's promised one. Angel knew he wasn't some prophesied hero. He was a vampire – with a soul, yes, but vampires weren't heroes in prophecies. That was Slayers. People who didn't have a century of bloodshed to work off. He was here to help them, but he wasn't going to be able to promise them whatever it was their prophecies claimed – prophecies never worked out well, never like someone would expect.
Buffy faced the Master and died...then came back. With Xander's help. Because prophecy didn't take into account things like a useless nobody having the courage that a vampire with a soul didn't. Angel didn't like to admit it, but that was a moment when Xander hadn't been useless, and he had been.
But that was the point: placing all your belief in a prophecy was useless. Because prophecy didn't take into account the fact that once people knew about it, things changed. Things didn't go as planned. Angel had lived long enough – as Liam, as Angelus and as Angel– to find the very idea of prophecy, of the future being foretold in unchangeable detail, suspect. The visions were one thing – they weren't ancient passed-down stories translated fifteen times and rewritten over and over again as pages and parchment failed.
Besides, they had yet to be proven wrong. Whereas prophecies...
"Terrific." The kid – Rieff – said, his sarcasm sounding all too human.
"I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding." Angel started. They needed to not rely on him as some sort of savior. He could help them, but whatever he did couldn't be constrained by some sort of ancient text.
"Oh, I don't think so." The elder disagreed. "Many of our prophecies are cryptic, but on one thing they are all clear: In the final days of this century the Promised One will appear and save us from the Scourge."
Maybe a little suspect that the one part that's clear is the part that's coming up right now? Also the most appealing part?
"He's not the Promised One." Rieff said to the older Lister demon. "He can't protect us – they're coming, and no matter how many promised guys you throw at them, they're not going to stop until every last one of us is dead. You're going to get us all killed!" Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked out of the room.
Huh. It turns out teenagers are the same across time, space and species.
"He's young." The elder told Angel, sounding apologetic. "I'm sorry. Excuse me." He started off after Rieff. Angel looked at Doyle and gestured to the window. The half-demon got the hint and they both made their way over to it.
"The Scourge. What is it?" he asked.
"Death." Doyle said softly, with a hollow note he'd never heard in the man's voice before.
"Death?"
"An army of pureblood demons. They have a big hate-on for us mixed heritage types." Doyle gestured to himself and the Listers. "Very into pedigree. They hunt us down like animals." Doyle looked at him, "Not especially fond of vampires, either."
"Demons of all stripes usually aren't." Angel pointed out. "Does anyone fight back?"
"Oh all the time." Doyle nodded softly. "I wouldn't be surprised if these ones did, at some point. You notice there's not a lot of adult men." He gestured back to the various Lister Demons again. "Elders and kids, right? People try to stand up to the Scourge, but it's not just some random gang of skinheads or something. They're fanatics. They want to die for the cause. They believe in what they're doing."
"Zealots." Angel summarized.
"The worst. You can't fight them and win." He looked away, "Can't even hide from them. They always find who they're looking for."
This was personal for Doyle, Angel suddenly realized. He had experience. First-hand. But not in fighting them.
"Who did they get? A friend?"
Doyle shook his head. "I barely knew him." The man looked out the window for a moment, then back to Angel. "You know how I told you once that we all had something to atone for?" Angel nodded and let Doyle continue. "This is mine." Taking a breath, Doyle told him the whole sorry tale – how a full-blood Brachen named Lucas had come to him for help a short time after Doyle had discovered his heritage, just a few months after Harry had left him. How Doyle had turned Lucas away. Refused to help him. It hadn't been his problem – why help them? Why draw attention to himself?
It was a feeling Angel understood, having been there at times since getting his soul. He couldn't condemn Doyle – and Doyle was quite clearly condemning himself for it. Strongly. Had been for a long time.
"I punked out." Doyle finished. "I'd only just found out about my demon side. I didn't know what it meant. The idea of having family obligations with guys that looked like big blue pin cushions, it was just a little bit too much to take right then. And I was afraid." Doyle looked out the window again.
Angel figured he already knew the answer, but he asked it anyway. "What happened to him? Him and the rest?"
"I saw them dying." Doyle said softly. "The first vision I ever had. When it happened – I thought I was having a stroke or something...but the pictures. They stayed with me. I didn't know what they meant, if it was just guilty conscience or –" He let out a breath, "I went looking for them. I had to know if it was real, or a dream, or..."
Doyle shook his head. "It wasn't a dream."
Angel looked at Doyle. So much about the man made more sense now. It was interesting how one event in a person's past could so utterly change a person, explain a lot about the way they behaved. He'd wondered what it was that could take a guy like Doyle – the sort of guy he'd presented to Angel initially, anyway – and make him dedicate his life to helping people the way he did. This –
We all got something to atone for.
"You couldn't have known." Angel told him. "The only ones responsible for their deaths are the Scourge." It was easy for him to say that, but by his own logic, that meant he wasn't responsible for what Angelus did. Which was rather hard to argue – he wasn't Angelus, but he remembered being Angelus. He remembered enjoying it. Remembered living it. Whether or not he was responsible didn't really matter. He felt responsible. For every crime Angelus committed, from the smallest to the largest. He remembered every face, every victim, every debauched sin.
"But that's the thing." Doyle disagreed. "Lucas told me they would kill them. That that was what the Scourge did. I still didn't help them!" He looked at Angel. "That's the thing about the Scourge, Angel – they always get their victims in the end. These people are going to need more then their mythic Promised One. The contractually-obligated 500 might be a start. You can't fight the Scourge, Angel."
Shrugging mentally, Angel ignored that; mostly because he had no intention of fighting an army. Among demons on Earth, 'army' usually only meant warriors in the hundreds, rather than thousands. But as good as he was, he was never going to be able to fight a whole army by himself. If he had Buffy and Faith by his side, plus maybe Willow and Amy with their magicks for good measure, he might consider some sort of strategy that involved fighting them – though only as a delaying strategy, and certainly not to the death or even close – but just by himself? Not an option. And there wasn't likely time to try and get help from Sunnydale, if he could even convince Faith and Buffy to risk their lives for demons.
For some reason, he really doubted he'd be able to. Their experience with demons thus far was entirely with hostile, bloodthirsty monsters, him being the only exception, and they had a Hellmouth to defend. If this was happening in their backyard... well, the Lister demons here were innocents, so they'd probably be willing to help once he convinced them it was the right thing to do. But all this wasn't happening in their backyard, so...
So it was all immaterial. There was no time, and he really didn't want to ask either of the Slayers to come down to L.A. anyway. Especially not Buffy.
"We don't have to fight them. Because we're going to get these people out of here." Angel said firmly.
"How? We can't just take 'em to this Briole place. Well, unless you've got a ship in one of the pockets on that coat of yours. And anywhere we could take them would just be a temporary refuge at best, until the Scourge came after them again."
"I don't have a ship, but there's a ship's captain that will take them, if I tell him to do it." Angel told him. At the quizzical look on Doyle's face, Angel added, "He owes me a lot of money. This will settle the debt."
"You'll have to tell me how that situation happened at some point." Doyle said softly. "Well, okay. But the question is, how do we get these people to the harbor? They can't exactly go out onto the streets as a whole group, especially with the Scourge roaming around."
"No. But I assume you know a guy you can borrow or rent a big truck from cheaply?" The plan was forming only loosely in Angel's head – he knew enough to expect a complication of some kind to arise, but he had no idea what it was going to be. So until it came up, he had to keep things moving.
"I might know a guy." Doyle said hesitantly after a moment.
"Go get a truck from him, then." Angel said simply. "But before you go, call Harry and give me your phone."
"Harry? Angel, you aren't getting her involved! This is too dangerous –"
"She can take care of herself." Angel interrupted, "But I'm not planning on her getting involved anymore than answering questions." Sure, they could use a third person to help keep everything in line, but this wasn't something he could bring an ethnodemonologist like her into. Harry would freak out these people with all her questions even more than they already were. "She might know more about the Scourge than you do. If she studies demons, and she's spent a lot of time around the nonviolent kinds – the kinds that the Scourge would hate if they're the purity type – then she might have information of use."
Doyle looked back at him for a moment, then nodded. He took out his phone and dialed a number, then handed the phone to Angel. "I'll be back with the truck quick as I can." He left the room.
Angel nodded, and listened to the buzzing of the phone as it rang. He didn't like cell phones. As he'd said before, and probably would complain about again, the damnable things were almost certainly invented by a bored warlock to spread misery and suffering. Or at least frustration and aggravation. The way they lost calls and broke the signals constantly for no apparent reason was just the start. Sure, there was an advantage to not having to go and find a pay phone but –
"Francis?" Harry's voice demanded from the other end of the line.
"No, it's Angel." Angel said. "Why would you think it's Doyle?" His ex still called him Francis, even though the guy had insisted on being called Doyle several times in his presence. Angel guessed he would give up before she did.
"Because he's the only one who would call my home phone this late at night. Anyone else would just call my office and leave a message." Harry explained, before her voice hitched somewhat. "Is something – did something happen to –"
Angel shook his head. "No, Doyle's fine. I'm just borrowing his phone. We need some information." Angel briefly wondered what exactly Harry's job was if she had an 'office phone'. Presumably she had one – she'd confirmed as much already – but how exactly did an ethnodemologist work in order to get paid? Given that this wasn't the time, Angel filed the question under 'ask later if there's time and I care enough' and got back to the task at hand.
"What do you need?" She asked
"Do you know anything about Lister Demons?" So far, nothing Angel had seen suggested that these demons were anything but innocent, but he'd rather not find out that he was saving a clan that regularly ate human organs or were actually significantly more violent than they seemed. Innocents should be protected – but demons that were a threat to people? That was a little more of an issue.
"Lister Demons?" Harry said nothing for a moment, "Well, going off the top of my head here, they're a fairly peaceful species. I mean, they can be violent, just like humans can – but they're no more or less likely to indulge in that sort of thing. A lot of human blood in them, and some even pass for humans pretty easily without even needing spells or disguises."
"No problematic customs?"
"They don't eat brains, if that's what you mean. As far as I know, Listers don't really have many native traditions. They are big on prophecy, though. Angel – what's going on? I didn't realize there were any Lister demons in L.A."
"That's kind of what they were going for." Angel told her. "Second question: Do you know anything about The Scourge?"
Angel heard a sharp inhalation of breath on the other end of the line. "You're just asking out of academic curiosity, right?" There was a very, very hopeful note in her voice.
"I'm afraid not." Angel replied.
"So you're telling me the Scourge is here, in L.A.?" Angel didn't need his superior vampiric senses to pick up on the fear in Harry's voice.
"Apparently. I'm trying to help a clan of Lister Demons out of L.A. before the Scourge can –" Angel started, but Harry interrupted.
"Look, Angel, I know you're a vampire. You're one of the big names – I did some research on your...reputation, after...well, you know, but –"
Angel shook his head and interrupted her this time, "All that was a long time ago. Plus I'm not the vampire that did those things." Not that it didn't change the fact that he actively felt like he was.
"That's not what I was saying." Harry replied. "I mean, I know all that; Francis wouldn't be working with you if you were still evil, and you do have a soul now. The point I was trying to make is that I know you're capable of doing a lot of damage to anyone you try to go up against. But the Scourge isn't just some gang of purity-obsessed demons. They're organized. They have a command structure just like a modern army, complete with uniforms."
"Uniforms?" Angel tried to wrap his head around demons – especially purebloods going after other species for being too human – adopting anything so human as a uniform.
"Like something right out of Germany in the 30s and 40s." Harry replied. "I've seen pictures, read accounts. And that's about as close to the Scourge as I want to get."
"So they don't just act like Nazis, they dress like them too?" Angel rolled his eyes. "Great." Maybe I'll be able to send one of their coats to Spike. With crosses sewn in. Or maybe laced with that 'Killer of the Dead' poison he nearly killed me with. That seemed a lot more fitting.
Of course, he had no idea where Spike currently was, but the blonde little shit would doubtless turn up again one day – and Spike had seemed awfully fond of that SS jacket way back when. "I don't plan to go up against them. Look, Harry, I've got a way to get the Listers out of L.A., but I need to know everything you know about the Scourge."
Angel stepped into the hallway. "If they're that big on hating anything to do with humans, why model their uniforms on a human organization? Adopt a human command structure?" Was there anything else human he had to worry about? Demons with guns, maybe? They couldn't kill him that way, short of filling him so many bullets his entire body fell apart, but it would hurt like hell. And it would make it harder to protect the Listers.
"According to their literature – and yes, they do have literature – the ability and willingness of humans to work together in large groups and follow orders. That and their inventiveness. It's how an 'utterly inferior species has managed to spread itself across our world like a plague, its cities rising like boils and warts'."
"Human inventiveness? So they use modern technology, too?"
"No, they don't. But they do use a lot more in the way of tools and devices than most demons. A lot of techno-mystical constructs."
"Techno-mystical constructs? What exactly does that mean?" He needed this information, damn it, and he needed it yesterday. This was why Buffy kept Giles around – well, that and he'd become something of a father to her and her a daughter to him. No, not the time –
"I don't know! It's not like I've studied the Scourge that extensively." Harry countered defensively.
"Harry, there are innocent lives riding on this. I need to know what I might be up against, if something goes wrong."
"Sure, but I can't tell you what I don't know, Angel!" Harry pointed out, raising her voice, still defensive. "I can do some research, but I have no idea how long that will take."
"Make it as quick as you can, Harry." Angel replied. "Please." He lowered the phone and hung up. At least, he was fairly sure that what he hit was the disconnect button. He closed the damned thing for good measure and tucked it into a pocket, for the time being.
December 1st, 1999
Truck en route to the L.A. Harbor
Intimidating the Harbor Master into approving the ship's passage out of the port without inspection or question had been all too easy. Angel hadn't even needed to show his vampire face, which he had been expecting to have to use. He wasn't going to complain about the point, but there it was.
Getting all the Lister demons into the truck that Doyle brought to the hideout hadn't been that hard, either – although Rieff had tried to stay behind, apparently fed up with everything and believing nowhere was any better than where he was. Angel could understand how the teenage demon was frustrated with his lot in life, but that hadn't stopped him from slugging the kid and then loading his unconscious form onto the truck with the rest of his people. And sure, they didn't seem thrilled that Angel had knocked Rieff out that way – but at least they had accepted his explanation without difficulty. They didn't want the kid to stay behind and die, after all.
Which was fortunate. If Angel had bothered to try to talk Rieff into coming along quietly, then they wouldn't have missed the Scourge by the thin margin they actually did. But they did get out of there before the Scourge arrived, which was all to the good.
It was while they were on their way to the harbor when Harry called again.
Accepting the call on Doyle's phone, Angel answered. "Harry?"
"Yea." She said, "I contacted an associate of mine who lives in Paris right now – and he wasn't happy about being called at this hour, let me tell you! Anyway, he's one of the few people who's actually had an encounter with the Scourge and lived to tell the tale. It was in Ukraine, a few years back."
"Okay, and?" Angel asked impatiently. What was it that Harry's Parisian friend knew about the Scourge?
"The Scourge's techno-mystical devices. A lot of them are basically bombs. Incredibly deadly to anything that isn't a pure demon, in various ways. But they are all incredibly fragile. They're glass cannons."
Angel blinked. "They make weapons out of glass? That's – kind of stupid, isn't it?"
"What?!" Harry explained, then, sounding utterly thrown by the idea, "No. Sorry. It's just an expression. The bombs – they're very powerful, but they can't take much punishment. They break easy, and if they break even a little bit, then they won't function."
"So what, if they break one out, I just throw a rock at it?"
"Maybe something heavier than a rock you pick up off the ground or something, but yes, something along those lines."
Well, it was useful information. Still didn't help him figure out how to fight off an army if they got to the ship, but it was better than nothing.
"Anything else?"
"Nothing else of any use. He survived that encounter with the Scourge by running as fast as he could, not by staying around to chat. He wasn't that interested in being talkative about them to begin with." Harry sighed. "I wish I could be of more help – but I don' t have anything else, sorry."
"What you've told me is more than I had before." Angel replied. "Thanks." It really wasn't that useful, but it was something.
"Welcome. Just – just make sure Francis doesn't do anything stupid. Please?" There was a level of worry in Harry's tone Angel hadn't quite expected. She obviously wasn't interested in her ex-husband dying – well, he already knew she didn't want him to die – but still.
"I'll make sure he doesn't." Angel said. He didn't want his friend and seer doing anything stupid either. Of course, stopping him from doing stupid things was easier said than actually done.
"Get those Listers to safety." Harry said. "Good luck."
December 1st, 1999
The Quintessa, Pier 12, L.A. Harbor
The ship's captain – 'Big Randy' – was not exactly happy about taking a bunch of demons on as cargo, but he really liked the idea of his debt with Angel being settled once and for all. Angel had never collected on it because it wasn't exactly as if he needed the money, and he figured that he might need a favor from the guy at some point in the future. He'd expected something more like needing to get himself out of the country in a big hurry, but this was as good a use of the debt as any other. Better, even.
The phone call to the captain before they got there had gotten things ready for them. But what it had apparently also done was make someone on 'Big Randy's' ship greedy. Because the Scourge was there. Angel was cursing himself for not picking up the scent before all the Lister demons had gotten into the hold. As far as he could tell, there was no other way they could have known the refugee Listers were coming here.
The only good thing, so far as Angel could tell, was that there was only about three dozen of them. Maybe they had more in L.A., but they didn't have more here. With any luck...
"How did you figure out they were coming here?" Angel wanted to know who it was he had to thank for this complication.
"Never underestimate the greed of the inferior." One of them said in a grand, bold voice, stepping forward from the assembled Scourge demons. Probably the leader. "A human came to us, offering information, think he'd be given money. He was given the proper reward for all those whose blood is filled with pollutants. Just as those on that ship will be." The demon pointed to a crane that was lowering something into the hold of the ship, even as the Quintessa was just starting to pull away from the pier.
"As soon as the Beacon's light shines, all those of impure blood, all those tainted by humanity within a quarter mile will be destroyed, burned away by its cleansing light!" The commander said, sounding like he was possessed by a religious ecstasy. Which might actually be the case. "It will be one further step to a cleaner world. And there is nothing you can do to stop it!"
Can't stop a glass cannon? Oh, I think I can manage that. Angel shook his head and lunged for the Scourge commander, who was standing right in front of his men – no guards between him and the vampire that had no issues with killing him.
They're not used to actually fighting something with any real combat skills. That was his supposition, anyway. Well, good. It was an exploitable weakness.
"That's not going to happen tonight – and you're not going to be around for your cleaner world, anyway." Angel grabbed the demon by the front of his Nazi-knockoff outfit and spun him into the Scourge soldier behind him, still holding on, but basically using the commander as a way to knock over his soldiers.
The Scourge demons fell like ninepins as they were hit, and though more came for him, Angel was already running to the ship. The device – the Beacon – was almost in perfect position over the ship's hold. Angel jumped onto the ship, landing with the commander – but before he could break the demon's neck, he broke free of Angel's grip.
"You will die, half-breed!" The Scourge leader yelled. "Your kind is a parasite on all that is pure and evil in this world! An abomination that offends my eyes!" He lunged at Angel, knocking him to the ground and getting a few good punches in as the Beacon started to glow. Angel could barely spare a glance for it, but he didn't have time for this fight. The Listers were in too much danger. Angel had no idea how long it would take to kill them, and him, and he didn't want to find out.
"You talk too much." Angel replied. "And with a football-head like yours, I don't think you should say anyone is an offense to your eyes." Angel pushed the demon off of him, sending him flying back a few feet. They exchanged blows for more time than Angel really felt that he could spare – the demon was good, but Angel knew he was better.
Spinning the Scourge leader around, Angel grabbed the commander's head and twisted, the sickening crack proving he'd done the job.
I'll have to dismember him in case this and the next thing isn't enough to permanently kill him, but first things first.
The ship was still moving, gathering speed as it slipped away from the pier – and the Scourge couldn't get onto the boat now. That was vitally important. Angel looked out onto the Beacon – it was still glowing, still gathering strength for the upcoming explosion. Angel looked into the hold and saw Doyle on the upper railing, his Brachen face on display, his legs bent, ready to lunge and jump onto the device -
"Doyle! Don't do it!" Angel shouted, grabbing the Scourge commander and hurling him into the device with as much strength as he could muster. The demon crashed into the device, the control panel sparking and breaking – with a fast, high-pitched screeching whine, the device went dark.
It was over, at last.
December 1st, 1999
Angel's Apartment, Los Angeles
Getting back to shore hadn't been the easiest of undertakings – in the end, he and Doyle taken one of the ship's lifeboats and gotten back to L.A. Harbor that way. They'd made sure to land quite a long distance from Pier 12, though. Neither of them had wanted to end up anywhere near where the Scourge was.
It was now many hours later – well into the afternoon – and they were both in the upper level of Angel's apartment, along with Harry. Both of them had slept, et cetera. Doyle had called Harry after they were away from the ship and the Scourge, to let her know that the Listers were on their way to their chosen sanctuary. Angel had heard the woman's sigh of relief, even standing away from the phone. How much of the sigh was for the Listers was an interesting question.
But now Harry was here. Angel supposed he should have expected her to stop by at some point, but to be honest, he hadn't really thought about it. Doyle had busied himself making her coffee as she sat down on his couch. Angel didn't sit.
"Those Lister Demons. They're going to be alright?" Harry asked after a long moment of silence.
"Well, they'll get to their destination. I don't know if Briole will be the sanctuary for them they expect, but they'll get there. 'Big Randy' may be kind of a lowlife, but he keeps his word. And..." Angel offered a small smile, "well, he's kind of terrified of me."
"Given who and what you are, that's not exactly hard to believe." Harry replied as Doyle returned with a cup of coffee for her, which she accepted gratefully. Doyle sat down in a chair a bit away from the couch. "I'll admit...I'm a little freaked at the idea of being in the same room as the Scourge of Europe. Even though I know you're not going to kill me or anything."
I never liked that name. Angelus hadn't either, really. He'd preferred to be feared by his own name, not some title. He'd liked the fear that came with the title, sure; it had led to people giving him that title, but he hadn't liked the title itself. Angel liked it even less, though invoking it came with added intimidation value. Lots of demons and vampires had heard of 'Angelus' but even more had heard of 'The Scourge of Europe' or 'The Whirlwind'.
I have to admit, the four of us got up a lot of sick shit over those two decades. Of course, the Whirlwind's tenure had been merely a short fraction of the length of his and Darla's time together. Spike had still been quite young for a vampire, by the time those Kalderash gypsies had cursed Angelus. Their brief reunion during and after the Boxer Rebellion didn't entirely count.
Those are crimes I really do have to atone for. Yes, he'd fed on human criminals, those who were murderers and monsters, but still. They were sins still weighing against him – and even if he'd been inclined to, he couldn't cast those crimes onto Angelus.
"I'm not surprised." Angel said after a moment. "Most humans who know my reputation wouldn't want to be in the same room as me, soul or not. Even a lot of vampires and demons didn't like hanging around me when I was Angelus. Had a fondness for killing things that pissed me off, whatever the species." Of course, the commander of the Scourge had pissed him off and then he'd killed him, so it wasn't something he'd entirely outgrown.
Though I never killed Xander. So there's that.
"Francis said you killed one of the commanders of the Scourge." Harry said after a moment. Doyle's brow furrowed a little as she referred to him by that name, but didn't react otherwise.
"Killed him and then threw him at their magical light-bomb." Angel said. "Your friend was right – that thing was insanely fragile."
"You threw –" Harry blinked. "You threw him at their device?"
"Had damn good timing with it, too." Doyle said before Angel could say anything. "I was –" He bit his lip and cut himself off.
"He was just about to jump onto the thing to take it apart, probably. Or something." Angel finished for the half-demon. He understood why Doyle didn't want to talk about it, especially not around his ex. And he understood fully why the man had been all too willing to do it. Dying to save people from the Scourge? If that wasn't something that would balance the scales for what he'd done before getting the visions, Angel wasn't sure what would.
But atonement didn't have to mean death. And he was just as glad Doyle was still alive – not just because he wouldn't lose his link to the 'Powers that Be', but because, as he'd been admitting more and more often to himself recently, even to others in passing, Doyle was his friend. Losing him would have been bad all on its own.
"You were going to commit –" Harry cut herself off, as she looked at Doyle in disbelief. "What the hell were you thinking?!" She raised her voice, looking like she was about to stand up and start berating Doyle properly.
"I was thinking that someone had to save those people!" Doyle replied quickly, his voice raised just as much. "I didn't know Angel had the commander of the Scourge on hand to throw at the thing!"
Angel raised his hands and took a step closer to the two of them. "If you two want to argue about this, please wait until I'm downstairs, at least. Or better yet, do it out in the hall or something."
Harry turned away from Doyle, then settled back into her seated position on the couch. After a moment, she nodded.
"This is going to paint a big target on your back, Angel. You know that, right?" Harry said softly. "The Scourge isn't going to just forget about this. You humiliated them, took their prey out from under their noses, killed one of their leaders and then destroyed one of their techno-mystical devices. They'll come after you eventually."
"They might." Angel agreed.
"They will." Harry repeated. "I spent most of the night and morning researching the Scourge. They don't give up. Every retreat is just a regrouping. They'll come after you again, and probably sooner rather later."
"Well, if they do, Angel will find a way to deal with them." Doyle said, shrugging. "He's a Champion and all."
"You were prepared to give your life to save those Listers, Doyle." Angel said, as he started heading down to the lower level of his home. He then said over his shoulder, "Don't undersell yourself."