Hey all! This is, obviously, my first fic on ff.net. It came to be mainly
because I was terribly BORED a couple months ago. But here are a little bit
of stuff you need to know before you start reading –
- The timeline is HORRIBLY retarded. Ok? This takes place after Reprise in Angel, and after Tough Love in Buffy.
- They somehow know about Glory and where she came from and why she needs the key. Yes, I'm screwing everything up like that. :D Ahahahaha. You all are under the power that is meeee.
- ((blahblahblah)) the text inside are quotes from the show and, at one point, are lines from the fic itself.
-And I'm very sorry if there's any spelling/grammar errors. I've tried to find them all, but I think I've probably missed a few... five... ten... maybe twenty - okay maybe a billion.
Disclaimer – I do not own these characters. God, do you know how fucked up the shows would turn out if I HAD?! But yes, they aren't mine, however heartbreaking it is. I do not make any money off of this fic. Thank you for your time. :]
Okay, done with the stupid boring stuff. On with the reading.
Chapter 1
He was lost.
Confused. Pained. Swallowed by the darkness that's been consuming him for so long. He couldn't bring himself to remember the starting point of it all. If there even was some kind of starting point. Maybe it was like a never ending line and he had been treading it all his tragic, un-dead life.
Snapped. Terrified.
Maybe if he closed his eyes for a second...
Yeah, terrified fit.
Everything he had been fighting for, hoping for, was forever to be nothing in the bigger balance of everything. He couldn't do enough, he was never going to be enough. Nothing was enough. Never enough.
Afraid.
((Why Fight?))
The thought burned his mind like fire on wood. Was this some joke the Powers were playing? Some kind of sick, impotent joke? Why fight when there was no good purpose in the long run? Why run when there was no great prize in the end? Why fight when nothing was to be made right?
Why? Whywhywhy.
It was a cycle, he realized. It's been a cycle since the dawn of time. Good versus Evil. Evil versus Good. Good never conquered Evil. Evil never defied Good. There were wins and losses on both side, no one's counting. No one cared. At least, no one seemed to care...
And that's what made up humanity.
Humanity, the word burned his tongue and he bit it until the pink flesh bled.
((See, if there wasn't evil in every single one of them out there, why they wouldn't be people, they'd all be angels))
Angel didn't see - didn't want to see why. Why these people had so much pain and so much suffering, and they cried for help and a savior to come to their rescue, but it was apart of them. The darkness was in them. Inborn. Ever since the first cave man clubbed another on the head. It was an act of hatred, a sign of evil, a feeling of impureness. But take that darkness away and you get...
Nothing.
Vulnerable, dry, anything-but-unique. They'd all be innocent... helpless.
And maybe he wanted them to be innocent. Maybe he wanted to play hero and save the helpless, hopeless - whatever.
((Angel Investigations, we help the helpless.))
He stepped into the bathroom, stripped his clothes off and took a small step into the streaming shower, the first time since Darla had laid her malevolent claws on his skin. He looked straight forward with little droplets of beaded water splattered down onto his face.
It was just now he realized he was holding a knife. It glimmered as the metal glistened and reflected off the light. It shined with cruel intentions. Inviting.
Maybe everything would go away. Maybe it would all stop. Please make it stop. Please.
He held out his wrist as he slit one of the major arteries that climbed it's way up his arm. Blood was immediately slipping and sliding from the wound as the knife made its to his elbow. The water soaked red.
Red. Red. Red. It was so red.
God, why wasn't it hurting? It used to hurt. It has to hurt. Everything used to hurt. Now it was numb without any feeling. He felt nothing.
He made another incision up his calf. There was more blood. But no pain. He choked back a sob. He was falling into despair and losing that hope that used to be so bright in the beginning. Now it was fading into black. Everything he touched turned to black; no color, no shine. Just ashes. He cut little lines across his palm and up his arm. They didn't sting, they didn't burn, but there was so much blood.
Ashes to ashes...
Dust to dust...
He could hear each drop of water. Pitter, patter, pitter, patter. Angel dropped the knife and it landed with a sharp noise, barely missing his foot. Quietly, he slid down the tile and curled himself into the corner.
Why wouldn't they let him go? He wanted to go away.
The water still ran red as he watched it twirl in a clockwise motion down the drain. He was falling and tumbling so fast, too fast. He started stumbling and tripping ever since he left Sunnydale. Ever since he left Her. The ache in his chest was just a small tug, a quiet push, but then Darla came and drove him over the edge, threw his balance off completely and he just kept crashing towards rock bottom. People wanted to help, but he couldn't let them see his suicidal plunge. He turned them away, the three people that he could finally call family, he destroyed their bond and left them the cold. He was ultimately alone.
((I just want to feel something besides the cold.))
Now he had finally hit home. His body broken and tattered from the abuse it's taken over and over again.
If I should die before I wake...
And now he was losing. Not just the battle.
He was losing the war.
- The timeline is HORRIBLY retarded. Ok? This takes place after Reprise in Angel, and after Tough Love in Buffy.
- They somehow know about Glory and where she came from and why she needs the key. Yes, I'm screwing everything up like that. :D Ahahahaha. You all are under the power that is meeee.
- ((blahblahblah)) the text inside are quotes from the show and, at one point, are lines from the fic itself.
-And I'm very sorry if there's any spelling/grammar errors. I've tried to find them all, but I think I've probably missed a few... five... ten... maybe twenty - okay maybe a billion.
Disclaimer – I do not own these characters. God, do you know how fucked up the shows would turn out if I HAD?! But yes, they aren't mine, however heartbreaking it is. I do not make any money off of this fic. Thank you for your time. :]
Okay, done with the stupid boring stuff. On with the reading.
Chapter 1
He was lost.
Confused. Pained. Swallowed by the darkness that's been consuming him for so long. He couldn't bring himself to remember the starting point of it all. If there even was some kind of starting point. Maybe it was like a never ending line and he had been treading it all his tragic, un-dead life.
Snapped. Terrified.
Maybe if he closed his eyes for a second...
Yeah, terrified fit.
Everything he had been fighting for, hoping for, was forever to be nothing in the bigger balance of everything. He couldn't do enough, he was never going to be enough. Nothing was enough. Never enough.
Afraid.
((Why Fight?))
The thought burned his mind like fire on wood. Was this some joke the Powers were playing? Some kind of sick, impotent joke? Why fight when there was no good purpose in the long run? Why run when there was no great prize in the end? Why fight when nothing was to be made right?
Why? Whywhywhy.
It was a cycle, he realized. It's been a cycle since the dawn of time. Good versus Evil. Evil versus Good. Good never conquered Evil. Evil never defied Good. There were wins and losses on both side, no one's counting. No one cared. At least, no one seemed to care...
And that's what made up humanity.
Humanity, the word burned his tongue and he bit it until the pink flesh bled.
((See, if there wasn't evil in every single one of them out there, why they wouldn't be people, they'd all be angels))
Angel didn't see - didn't want to see why. Why these people had so much pain and so much suffering, and they cried for help and a savior to come to their rescue, but it was apart of them. The darkness was in them. Inborn. Ever since the first cave man clubbed another on the head. It was an act of hatred, a sign of evil, a feeling of impureness. But take that darkness away and you get...
Nothing.
Vulnerable, dry, anything-but-unique. They'd all be innocent... helpless.
And maybe he wanted them to be innocent. Maybe he wanted to play hero and save the helpless, hopeless - whatever.
((Angel Investigations, we help the helpless.))
He stepped into the bathroom, stripped his clothes off and took a small step into the streaming shower, the first time since Darla had laid her malevolent claws on his skin. He looked straight forward with little droplets of beaded water splattered down onto his face.
It was just now he realized he was holding a knife. It glimmered as the metal glistened and reflected off the light. It shined with cruel intentions. Inviting.
Maybe everything would go away. Maybe it would all stop. Please make it stop. Please.
He held out his wrist as he slit one of the major arteries that climbed it's way up his arm. Blood was immediately slipping and sliding from the wound as the knife made its to his elbow. The water soaked red.
Red. Red. Red. It was so red.
God, why wasn't it hurting? It used to hurt. It has to hurt. Everything used to hurt. Now it was numb without any feeling. He felt nothing.
He made another incision up his calf. There was more blood. But no pain. He choked back a sob. He was falling into despair and losing that hope that used to be so bright in the beginning. Now it was fading into black. Everything he touched turned to black; no color, no shine. Just ashes. He cut little lines across his palm and up his arm. They didn't sting, they didn't burn, but there was so much blood.
Ashes to ashes...
Dust to dust...
He could hear each drop of water. Pitter, patter, pitter, patter. Angel dropped the knife and it landed with a sharp noise, barely missing his foot. Quietly, he slid down the tile and curled himself into the corner.
Why wouldn't they let him go? He wanted to go away.
The water still ran red as he watched it twirl in a clockwise motion down the drain. He was falling and tumbling so fast, too fast. He started stumbling and tripping ever since he left Sunnydale. Ever since he left Her. The ache in his chest was just a small tug, a quiet push, but then Darla came and drove him over the edge, threw his balance off completely and he just kept crashing towards rock bottom. People wanted to help, but he couldn't let them see his suicidal plunge. He turned them away, the three people that he could finally call family, he destroyed their bond and left them the cold. He was ultimately alone.
((I just want to feel something besides the cold.))
Now he had finally hit home. His body broken and tattered from the abuse it's taken over and over again.
If I should die before I wake...
And now he was losing. Not just the battle.
He was losing the war.