A/N: There's bad language in this chapter.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit! For the love of God, and also fuck.

"I'm going to kill him," Connor murmured, staring at the now empty space on the curb where he was sure his car used to be. "I am going to kill him."

He tossed his bag roughly to the ground and whipped out his phone to snap a picture of that lovely "No Parking Here to Curb. Violators Will Be Towed" sign in front of Willy's dive, empty and derelict-looking in the morning light. He would send it in a nasty email to Spike later.

How was he supposed to make his grand getaway with no wheels? Walking around aimlessly sounded a lot less appealing than driving a cool Mustang around aimlessly, so he got the number from the sign for the impound lot where his car now likely resided and made the call.

They had his car. Good. Great. He took a deep breath and headed in that direction on foot. Things were looking up. He had canceled his debit card, but he'd gotten some cash out of the bank to tide him over until his replacement plastic came, so he could pick up the car. He would collect his baby, and then he could figure out where to go from there.

Angel slowly came to, but he refused to open his eyes. He'd been around long enough to know how things worked, and he'd be damned if the universe was going to have this laugh at his expense. He knew good and well that when he finally opened his eyes, he would find that the kid still snuggled up into his side had reverted to the full-grown man, and all hell would break loose.

Well.

He just wouldn't open his eyes, then.

Problem solved, for a little while at least.

He shifted gently and ran his fingers through Will's hair, contemplating the last few days and all his many mistakes. He hadn't even been out of bed yet and already he missed his son terribly. Two days was a long time. Perhaps he should abandon that notion and just go and get him now...

Spike sighed deeply in his sleep and rolled over, dumping himself straight into the floor like he'd done on his first night back. This time, however, he didn't remain peacefully asleep.

"Ow! Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, rubbing at the back of his head where he'd whacked it on the way down.

Angel reluctantly opened his eyes and gazed down into the floor beside him.

Oh.

Spike was still Will after all. Well, Spike was always Will, but … He was still young.

The two simply stared silently at each other for a few seconds, Angel wondering if Spike would be embarrassed to have slept in the same bed with him, and Spike wondering if Angel was going to yell at him for swearing. When neither event came to pass, Spike got himself and his injured dignity out of the floor and made a big show of dusting himself off.

"Why'd you push me?" he demanded.

"What?" Angel laughed incredulously. "I didn't push you!"

"You musta," Spike protested. "How else would I have ended up in the floor? If you wanted me to get up, all you had to do was say so."

"I did not push you," Angel repeated. "I wouldn't do that."

"Right," Spike muttered with a snort, making his way to Angel's closet and picking out clothes as if they belonged to him.

"Sure, you can wear that," Angel murmured to himself. "No need to ask or anything."

"Great, thanks," Spike replied easily, taking his clothes to Angel's bathroom.

"Uh, what do you think you're doing?" Angel protested.

"Uh, taking a shower," Spike called back, his tone clearly assigning Angel a high level of stupidity. "You might have heard of it. You turn on the tap, the water runs out?"

"You have your own bathroom," Angel reminded him.

"Awww," Spike said over the water that he'd already turned on. "Please, Papa, can't I use yours?"

Angel rolled his eyes. He was afraid this would be a … a thing now. Spike would call him Papa whenever he wanted something and, Angel being Angel, he would cave immediately.

"I don't want this, though!" Spike suddenly called, opening the door and tossing out Angel's hairbrush. "You can keep that thing away from me."

"You deserved every lick," Angel said sternly. "In fact, with that attitude, you probably deserve a few more."

He heard the lock turn in the bathroom door and smiled.

"Yes, but I can't give you my I.D. because I don't have it," Connor repeated yet again, more slowly this time. "I lost my wallet last night, and the DMV is closed today. But I swear that I am Connor Reilly, that that is my car, and that I need to get it out."

"Sorry, kid," the man said, sounding more heartless than sorry. "No I.D., no car. Those are the rules."

Connor pounded his forehead on the metal fence post in frustration.

"Please?" he tried. "Please, can I have my car?"

"Look, kid, I'm just doing my job," the man replied. "Maybe next time, you'll think twice before parking a flashy car like that where it shouldn't be parked. You shoulda known better."

"Thanks for nothing," Connor grumbled, reluctantly gathering his things and walking off.

Coffee would help. He'd get one of those to help him think. He was incredibly tired, not having slept at all after the previous night's drunken escapades, and things just … well, they weren't going as well as he'd hoped. He kinda thought Angel might have called him by now to demand that he bring his ass straight home, but he hadn't. Angel was stubborn, he knew—that was where he'd gotten it—and while Connor also knew that his dad would eventually call, it might be awhile. Maybe he was being childish about the whole thing, but then again, Angel was the one who'd gone all holier-than-thou and cracked the whip … or the hairbrush.

Twenty-five years old and he'd gotten put across his dad's knee! And worse, it had actually hurt. Jesus, how humiliating. He felt his face flush at the thought, and he stirred vigorously at the swill passing for coffee in front of him.

This was all Spike's fault, anyway. He should have known better than to let himself be dragged along in any of Spike's schemes. Regular Spike was bad enough, but Spike Lite was even more energetic and full of life … un-life … and just looking for any sort of trouble to get into. He was probably already lighting up a cigarette behind the Hyperion just hoping that Angel would catch him at it.

Connor laughed at the image, but caught himself and schooled his features back into a pensive frown. Well, one comforting thought, maybe the only one out of the whole mess, at least Spike had gotten his ass beat, too. He seemed to accept it without too much fuss, something that the adult Spike would never have done. In fact, wasn't that a big part of the reason he'd left the last time? Connor wasn't entirely clear on the details, because Angel wasn't big on sharing, but he was pretty sure it was.

Yeah, see. So what if he hadn't really been out on his own in a long time? Spike had left, and he'd stayed gone a good long while, too. Of course, he'd also managed to slight an evil ex-girlfriend and get himself turned into a small child, so... Maybe Spike wasn't the best example to follow.

Connor groaned and dropped his head down onto his folded arms on the table. He had no debit card, no driver's license, and no car. He really didn't want to, but he knew what he had to do. He had to go home…