This is to heal my heart a little at the all the moments that broke me in Angel season 5 (Even though it was a phenomenal season). I needed some closure for the beloved characters Joss Whedon had finely crafted. Also, I wanted to leave it on a refreshed and hopeful note that I may or may not expand in other little projects. However, this is a complete piece of fan fiction. Thank you for reading, reviews are welcomed and valued!

The Good Fight

Chapter One- Hell of the Battle

-Angel-

Angel looked over at the bodies strewn across the darkened alleyway. The battle had raged on for hours, it coursed violently through the night with dark streaks of demon blood repeatedly being spilled across the concrete. An army had folded on the four of them. Only four left. Angel's thoughts before the battle were not the dragon cracking the sky above them, or the ear-splitting growls of the hellish mass bounding forward. He saw the faces of those he loved, of those lost over the years.

He saw the old god that inhabited Fred's body beside him, ready to fight at his side. He no longer despised her but the deep ache inside his chest always sprung up when he remembered Fred's gentle smile and unique soul.

Then there was the reason she was here beside them- Wesley. Wesley had made mistakes no man could completely forgive but his so recent loss made Angel overcome with fresh bouts of pain.

Doyle faces came into his mind- both his human side and the demon he once was ashamed to be. Doyle was the beginning, the first to really believe he was more than a shadow of a caged monster. He'd given up his life so he could be here- so he could fight the good fight- this fight.

With a wave of grief coursing through his body he finally saw her. She'd been there every day with him, whether he wanted it or not. She'd held him together when his life was in pieces. She held his son and loved him like her own and in the quiet moments- when no disaster had been calling them- life had been blissfully simple. She'd lay on the bed with Angel, feeding his son with a bottle of milk and for that brief but beautiful moment he had been content. He'd seen over 200 years of the beauty in the word but Cordelia had crafted a new definition of it in the few years he'd known her. Her strength- her will- the way she cared- it had seeped into him- crept up on him until the day that it hit him at full throttle. He loved this woman. He loved her so completely and utterly that he couldn't spare the thought of living after she didn't exist. The last kiss Cordy had given him haunted him every night…. so, he was thankful for the battle ahead. He was eager to tear them apart, to finish his last stretch of his eternal life. Angel was tired and he was ready. It had been a long old existence; more people had loved him than he'd deserved and he would carry them with him.

Now, as the carnage had died down with the rain and the sun threatened to rise in the sky, he took in the scope before him. The smell was thick with demon remains and the ground was piled with deformed, demonic creatures that had been slayed. It wasn't until they'd won, that Angel believed it possible they could win. When he is stepping through the bodies, the sight of blue caught his attention. Illyria had fallen and Fred's body was still, unanimated. The only thought in his mind was 'she can rest now'. A lump in his throat formed as he picked up her small frame. He found a raised wall, only a metre high but enough to lay Fred's body down onto; he couldn't stand it being lost upon the cluster of remains. Angel kissed her head, she finally looked peaceful. He had to believe Fred wasn't completely gone, he had to believe that if there was a way, Wes would find her wherever he may be now.

Angel heard something, it was faint but it caught his attention. He turned his head and followed the voice. That's when he saw Gunn, bleeding out, pale, shaking. He took a deep breath. No. No more, he couldn't take any more. He bent down to where Gunn slouched against the wall of the building.

"I'm going to get you to a hospital" He said, trying to help him up. The moment Gunn moved, blood flowed more intensely from his wounds and he coughed raggedly. Gunn stilled Angel's hands.

"It's ok boss. It's ok" He said, a smile curved his lips. He gave Angel a look, one of understanding and acceptance. Angel's exterior quivered, trying not to break apart in Gunn's last moments.

"I'm sorry" Angel whispered. Gunn shook his head weekly.

"We showed um hell didn't we…" Gunn's smile widened as he looked up at Angel. Then a breath left his chest, his eyes dimmed, his wide smile slowly relaxed until his face was completely still of motion. Angel let out a cry of frustration- of pain. He was gone.

-Spike-

There were a few close calls, a huge demon with spikes stemming from his hands had rammed him into a wall while another went for his head. His head was almost severed right there and then but he'd been saved by Illyria; she was a force of nature, ploughing down dozens at a time and leaving swift destruction in her wake. It had hammered down all night, like the heavens were opening to gain audience over the hell on the ground. He fought until he was physically exhausted and then he continued to fight, all the while picturing his slayer fighting beside him. Not that he would have wanted her at risk. In the end, it was enough that he could always carry her with him, could always imagine the feel of her light. She was happy and far from this place, living her life with little bit. It was the life she deserved but it was something he found himself doing almost every day- imagining Buffy's hazel eyes scowling at him. Bloody hell- he missed that slayer like the way he missed being corporeal when was essentially a ghost.

Blood and guts covered Spike like a jacket even with the rain coming down. At one point, he heard a crazy screeching from above. Angel had launched a spear into the sky and it impale the dragon in the gut, making it crash down and collapse a building…. Show off.

Eventually, somehow the mass had thinned and stopped attacking. Bodies were strewed on the ground and in the distance, Spike saw Angel laying a blue figure on the length of a wall. Illyria was gone yet he hadn't seen it and Spike couldn't imagine what could end her. Wesley had been lost and with him, her reason for tolerating the life she'd been forced to live. She'd been

vital to the fight, cutting down so many in pure, unfiltered rage. Spike remembered that burning, searing and boiling inside his chest from when Buffy had died. Of the century he lived through, pain had never been so vivid and unbearably loud inside him- and that was when he didn't have a soul.

Spike took in the scene- yet again he and Angel were the ones left alive. As he moved over to his grandsire, Spike felt a blow to his gut at the sight. Angel was losing another one, Gunn soon drifted away in an instant, like the wind had changed and carried the consents of his soul along with it.

Spike and Angel always fought, always made digs at each other but all he could feel in that moment was some kindred with his pain. The pain of having nothing else. Angel raged, hitting his already raw fists into the side of a building, thrashing wildly and fiercely. Spike didn't interrupt him, he said nothing for once. It had been a hell of a night, a battle to remember and yet Angel had nothing left to hold any weight to his victory or the future.

"Will there be more?" Spike asked.

"No, it's over" Angel simply answered. Spike paced back and forth.

"They fought well"

"This is hell" Angel breathed that statement as if it were fact he was reminding himself of. The words reminded Spike of when Buffy had been resurrected, she'd asked her sister if this was hell. Maybe it was. Spike sparked one up and took in the smoke.

"Well… looks like we are yet again the last standing. Some prick somewhere has it out for us- always sticking us together" Spike took another drag.

"They are all dead"

"You still have junior" He reminded Angel. The mention of Connor brought some life back into Angel, even if it was a minute glimmer. Spike knew that he wasn't going to dust himself as long as the boy was around though. So, what now? What did spike have? He was going to try and live every day trying to keep himself from Buffy and he would- he loved her properly now- selflessly. He was able to do that now his soul was returned. She and little bit were in his thoughts all the damn time and even if he never got to look upon her face with his own eyes ever again, he would see her in his head each day of his eternal life.

Angel and Spike looked at one another, the same the thought on both their minds.

What now?