Part Four

Angel rolled out of the way and stared - as the four brothers pulled themselves up from out of the soil and stood in front of their grave, facing down the demon. They each still wore their numbered masks - each one a different colour. The only splash of colour against the dark of their burial suits. They rolled their shoulders and cracked their necks - realigning their bodies after so many decades beneath the ground.

Number Five was staring at them too. 'Mis hermanos,' he breathed, barely daring to believe.

Across the graveyard, the demon snarled at the brothers - perhaps recognising those that had vanquished him before. They faced the demon and then all clapped their hands in unison. '!Andale!' It was as if they had never been away - never been apart. They spoke in perfect time - as they always had - and flipped and somersaulted their way over to the gate, prying off an iron bar each to use as a weapon. Death had had no impact on their power, on their skill and on their fighting ability. They were still a finely honed unit, coming together as a fist.

They each grabbed an iron rod from the gate and then ran towards the demon, their makeshift weapons raised. Angel still lay on the floor, staring at them, dazed and confused and completely disbelieving.

The brother in the red mask - Number Four - stopped, as he ran past Angel, and looked back at him. 'Amigo... Andale!' he said - his tone suggesting he was a little surprised Angel was not already up and fighting. Then he turned and ran towards Tezcatcatl and his fellow luchadores.

Doyle arrived at Cordelia's apartment, the ingredients bagged up under his arm along with the spell book, and knocked on the door. The lamp was on over the doorway, shining into the dark - and the Jasmine bushes were spreading their sweet perfume through the night air. He must have stood here a hundred times over the years. More. He remembered bringing her here that very first time - following a tip off from one of his guys - and after hours of slogging their way around disastrous apartments, each one more terrible than the last. He remembered Cordelia's joy.

'Oh my gosh, have you ever seen anything so beautiful?'

'Nope - never.' In those dark days, making her happy was one of the few things he had to make himself happy. She had been the one, shining light in the otherwise bleak landscape of Doyle city, and being able to find this apartment for her had been one wonderful moment in what was otherwise a pretty terrible week. And she had loved it so much she had hugged him. She had never hugged him before. But from then on she was grateful, saw him as more than just the badly dressed, drunk, short guy in the office who was always hitting on her. This apartment was maybe the beginning of Cordelia starting to see him differently.

And there was so much after that. He remembered that wonderful year of walking her home - before they were dating - arms linked because they couldn't hold hands yet - wanting to kiss her so badly. The lingering conversations at this very door - not wanting to say goodbye, their hearts beating fast as they found reasons to prolong their time together. And the first night she had invited him inside, after that disastrous heist at the museum, and he spent the night with her…

And there were the bad times too. The night he had come here to break up with her - because he was going to prison and he didn't want to make her wait for him. And the night she had thrown him out for kidnapping Connor, and for lying to her for months - and all the nights he had guiltily lurked in the bushes, just wanting to be close to her but knowing he was unwelcome. But - no matter what got in their way - they always found their way back to each other - and he was always welcomed back here, eventually. This place had seen the best and the worst of their relationship - and Dennis had been there through it all. And now tonight would be the last time Doyle ever came here. It didn't seem real.

...

Cordelia opened the door and he stepped inside, giving her a swift kiss as he entered. 'Are you sure about this darlin'?' he asked her. He was surprised - and impressed - that she had come up with an answer so quickly. He had been afraid she would avoid the issue, as it was so painful, and so make her pain even worse. He should have known better, he realised. Cordelia was always unfailingly brave and unfailingly honest - of course she had faced up to this right away.

She nodded her head - yes she was sure - though her eyes were red rimmed and she was clutching a screwed up tissue in her hand. 'And - uh - is Dennis sure?' he asked. She nodded again.

He wriggled out of his jacket and hung it up and then crossed to the sofa, taking the spell ingredients out of the bag and spreading them across the table. 'We gotta sprinkle the sage throughout the apartment,' he told her, 'and the chicken feathers - we have to burn one in each room. Otherwise Dennis might not leave properly - he might just get exorcised to another room - the smell of the burning feathers stops him from doing that. I think it's meant to be - uh - particularly pungent. Enough to force anyone to the great beyond. Then y' light the candle and say the words in the book.' He showed her the spell book. She sat down on the couch and began to read through. 'Do you wanna perform the ritual this time?' Doyle asked her, 'or do you want me to…'

Cordy shook her head. 'I'll do it,' she told him. 'It's right that I should do it. It has to be me. Would you - would you mind setting up the spell in the rest of the apartment, whilst me and Dennis say goodbye?'

Doyle nodded and picked up the sage and chicken feathers - as well as the box of matches that still lay on the coffee table from earlier. He went into the kitchen and took five saucers from the cupboard. He measured out a fifth of the sage and sprinkled it on the floor and surfaces of the kitchen, before resting one of the chicken feathers in one of the saucers. Then he struck a match and lit the feather. Leaving it to burn out in the kitchen, he headed for the dining area. He repeated the same actions - sprinkling the sage and burning the feather in the dining room, the bedroom and the bathroom - then he headed back to the living room, and Cordy.

She was still sat on the sofa, talking quietly - seemingly to herself - but Doyle knew she was speaking to Dennis. 'There's so much I need to thank you for,' he heard her say, as he set about sprinkling the sage in the final room. 'So many times you've been there for me - times you've tried to protect me. You've been my rock, Dennis - I would never have made it this far without you. And I want you to know…' her lip was beginning to tremble, 'that'll I'll always love you, and I'll always remember you - and I hope you'll always remember me too. But I guess,' she sniffed, 'I guess it's time for us both to move on.' Her eyes welled up - and a tissue rose from its box and floated across to her, 'thanks,' she sniffed again, taking it and dabbing at her eyes. 'I'm gonna miss this so much.'

Doyle held the final chicken feather against the match, watched it catch light and then dropped it into its saucer. Then he cleared his throat, 'um - it's time, Cordy. If you're ready. It's time to light the candle…' he glanced around the room. 'Are y' sure about this Dennis?' he asked, 'it's not too late to change y' mind.'

But the candle and the box of matches picked themselves up off the table and floated into Cordy's hand. Dennis was sure - and he was ready. He was telling them to get started.

Her hands trembling as much as her lip was, Cordy struck the match and held the flame against the wick of the candle. Once it was alight, Doyle switched the lights off and Cordy held the candle steady and began to chant.

Angel picked up his own iron bar, from the ground, and struggled back to his feet - following the brothers towards the battle. Los Numeros Hermanos fought as one, circling the demon - weaving around him and striking out with their makeshift weapons. There was not much room for Angel - as the luchadores trod what looked like a well rehearsed dance around Tezcatcatl - not much space for him to slide in and take a shot. But he managed to get in a few punches - a few swings of his iron bar. He wasn't getting near the heart though.

As he swung his bar, and the demon staggered backward, creating space, the brothers suddenly converged; forming together to create a step with their hands. Number One stood on the step and his brothers launched him into the air - an old move from their days in the ring, their days as champions. Number One landed on the shoulders of the demon - who roared out. 'We're trying to kill it - not pin it,' Angel yelled at them.

But Number One leaned away from Tezcatcatl, dragging the demon downwards. His hands hit the floor - as the demon bent under his force - and he pushed down - backflipping so forcefully that he was able to pull Tezcatcatl up into the air, following the path of his own backflip, and then slam it face down on the floor.

The other three brothers were on top of the demon at once. They flipped it back round, so it was lying on his back and then pinned a limb each - staring up expectantly at the watching vampire. 'OK - so pinning it works,' Angel shrugged - and then ran forward, holding his iron bar - and driving it deep into Tezcatcatl's heart.

Pinned beneath the grip of the luchadores, Tezcatcatl's body shook as the blow struck right where he was vulnerable. The iron bar was forced through his chest, through his heart and then hit the ground beneath. It roared out in pain, feeling its strength, its power, its very life flow from its body - and then turned to dust, crumbling away into nothing - like a common vampire. Tezcatcatl was dead - for this half century. The danger was passed.

...

Over by the grave, Number Five let out a moan. Angel heard and turned away from the fight, immediately - and headed back to the dying old man's side.

The flame flickered in the darkness. Cordelia's voice was wavering - but she struggled to make it sound as forceful and determined as possible. She did not want this to go wrong - not for Dennis. 'Anubis, Hermes, Hecate and Vanth,' she called out, 'guides to the souls of the departed - take the spirit of Dennis Pearson and lead him safely to the lands beyond the veil, help him find his way to what comes next. Let him find peace, let him find rest, let him cross through the gateway and find his home in the world yet to come.'

'Hey,' Angel knelt down beside the old man. Number Five was holding his belly - as if trying to stop his insides from falling out. His breathing was heavy and laboured - and Angel knew there was nothing he could do for him.

'Mis hermanos, they came back,' he gasped.

And Angel realised he could do this one thing for the old luchadore, this one final act of mercy - he could help him die happy, die at peace with the world and with himself. He nodded his head, 'because you're worthy,' he told him, 'you proved it.'

'Maybe. But still the demon did not want my heart.'

'He didn't want mine either,' Angel admitted. Number Five chuckled - which immediately became a cough. 'Of course not, Amigo. Who'd want that dried up walnut of a dead thing?' He coughed again, 'coffee,' he spluttered.

Angel furrowed his brow, ' Coffee? You want coffee?' Number Five was dying - his stomach was opened up - a warm beverage seemed a strange last request. And a painful one, given his injuries.

'!Estupido! The talisman, it's in …' he gestured with his left arm and then fell back groaning. Angel scrambled to his feet, grabbed the fallen thermos and emptied it out onto the grass. Sure enough, the golden talisman of Tezcatcatl fell to the ground, shining in the moonlight. He picked it up and returned to Number Five's side. 'I may be no hero,' the old man told him, 'but I am no fool.' He groaned, one last time, his eyes closed and he slumped back against the headstone.

Angel looked at him, sadly. Death was always sad - even when it was welcomed, even when it came to one who had lived without hope or love. It was the finality - the loss of everything that was and might have been. Whatever came next, it was different to what came before - and all change meant loss, one way or another. Number Five might have been old, he might have been bitter and lived without hope, he might have lost everything he valued - everything Angel thought was important in himself - but his passing was still so final, still so sad. It closed a door that could now never be opened. He would never put right his wrongs - never forgive his own mistakes. He would never die a champion.

Angel sensed something standing over them and looked up. The other four brothers had appeared before him, their opponent vanquished and their final brother dead, their time on this earth was passed. There was just one final thing before they could return to the land of the dead. They stared down at the two men, silently.

The flame of the candle flickered, as Cordelia finished speaking, and then died out - leaving the pair of them in complete darkness. 'Is that it?' Doyle asked quietly, 'is he gone?' But, before Cordy could answer, a light began to glow in the centre of the room. It was dim at first - but it gradually and steadily grew brighter and brighter until it was a dazzling, blinding white that reached every corner of the apartment. 'I think this it,' Cordy murmured, reaching out and clutching hold of Doyle's hand. 'I think that's the light for him to go into… Dennis…'

She choked on his name and then inhaled sharply, as she felt something brush past her cheek - just for a moment - the ghostly whisper of a farewell kiss.

The brothers reached down and picked up the body of Number Five. They carried him aloft on their shoulders, like pallbearers, and walked silently over to the site of their own grave. They stood there for a moment, still in utter silence - the four young men in their funeral suits and masks, carrying the still and aged body of their youngest brother. Angel stared at them. Watching them as quietly as they watched him. And then they faded away, melting from existence - stepping back through the gateway to the world of the dead. The ground was undisturbed where they were buried. It was as if they had never been there - never come back. Except that the body of Number Five had vanished also, they had taken their fallen brother back through the gateway with them. Los Numeros Hermanos were complete once more.

Doyle had had to close his eyes, screw them up tightly against the brightness of the brilliant white light - though it was still so dazzling that he could still feel it just beyond his eyelids. He could feel Cordelia's hand still gripping his own - he could feel it shaking. Her gave her hand a squeeze, hoping to bring her some comfort - and wondered if she had closed her eyes - or if she had forced herself to keep watching.

After a minute or so, he realised that the light behind his eyes was fading; growing dimmer. Cautiously, he pried open one eyelid - and saw that, indeed, the white was becoming more yellow - a warmer and dimmer glow - and it was receding; shrinking back from every corner of the apartment and coalescing in that one spot in the middle of the room. It seemed to him like the gateway had been opened - he and Cordy had peered right through to the other side - but now Dennis had stepped across the threshold and that gateway was closing behind him. It had been easy. The day of the dead - the gateway had been half opened anyway.

The light continued to grow smaller and dimmer. Dennis was travelling further and further away, beyond their reach. Doyle suddenly wondered if Dennis were scared. 'Bye Dennis,' he called into the dwindling light, hoping to make the ghost less afraid, if he was, 'see you on the other side, bud.'

And then the light died away completely, the gateway closed and the apartment was left in darkness. He felt Cordy rest her head against his shoulder, in the dark, and he wrapped his arm around her and held her tightly, as she cried against his chest.

Angel arrived back at Wolfram and Hart. The team - and Spike - were waiting for him in his office. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the talisman, handing it to Wesley. 'See if you can put this someplace safe?' he said.

Wesley took it from him, nodding. 'Are you alright?' he asked, sounding anxious. 'I know you've been feeling…'

But Angel cut him off. 'I'm fine,' he said. 'Got the job done - that's what's important. It's been a long day, see you guys in the morning.' He turned away from them and headed for his private elevator.

But Fred was not ready to let him go. She slid off the desk, where she had been perching. 'So Number Five, he jumped in and helped in the end?' she asked, anxiously.

Angel came to a stop but he didn't turn around to look at them. He had come to realise that - for humans at least, if not for him - stories were important. They needed to believe in the champions, the heroes. Needed to believe in redemption and valour and bravery. They needed to believe it in others so they could believe it in themselves. It gave them comfort. And they needed that. 'He died a hero,' Angel lied - and then left them alone.

Cordelia was sat on the couch at Doyle's apartment. Her apartment now. He had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and she was holding a cup of herbal tea, though she wasn't remembering to drink it. The tears were still rolling silently down her cheeks.

Doyle had wanted to get her out of that apartment as quickly as possible, didn't want her staying there alone whilst she was grieving, didn't want her missing Dennis' familiar presence in the place he had always been. He thought she would miss him less at his place - where she wouldn't expect Dennis to be there, wouldn't forget - and then have to remember and grieve all over again.

Tomorrow he would have to return and hoover up all the sage he had scattered. He'd have to pack up all of Cordy's things and bring them over to his place, clean her apartment thoroughly and then contact the realtors to find out about dropping off the keys. He wanted to do as much of the admin and busy work of moving for her as he possibly could. Moving house was bad enough at the best of times, so much to sort out, so much to remember … he'd have to get meter readings for the gas and electricity as well - ring up the companies and cancel her accounts … he didn't want her to have to think about all that stuff whilst she was grieving. Though he knew she might want to visit the place one last time - to say goodbye - before he handed the keys in. So he wouldn't have to rush - would have to give her time to adjust and move on, give her space to decide if she wanted to see the old place one last time - or if she was done with it. She'd lost so much in the last six months - her whole family, their old office - and now her home and her ghost. He wanted to make everything as easy for her as possible. Wished there was some way he could take away her pain, feel it for her. Instead - all he could do was be there for her, hold her hand and dry her tears, and help her out with the practicalities.

He sat down beside her, and she rested her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and stroked her hair - not knowing what to say.

'I miss him,' she said quietly.

'I know. I'm sorry.'

'Do you think he's OK?'

He turned his head and planted a soft kiss into her hair, 'I'm sure he is,' he promised. 'And I'm sure he's lookin' down on y' right now - and he wouldn't want y' to be sad. And I'm sure he'll be waitin' for y' - for a long, long time, but he'll be waiting for y' - ready to welcome you home when it's your time to go to him.'

'Do you really think it was the right thing to do?'

'I really do,' he assured her, 'and so did Dennis. He isn't gone, Cordy - he's just someplace else. He's where he's supposed to be. He should have gone there a long time ago, before you were born even - and now he's there, right where he belongs. And you got him there, 'cause that's what friends are for.'

She sniffed and raised her head from his shoulder, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. She finally took a sip of her tea. 'I miss him,' she said, again.

'I know.'

It was very late at night now - the whole building was deserted and in darkness. Spike must be somewhere but - wherever he was - he was mercifully nowhere to be seen. And security were being unobtrusive.

Angel made his way down from his penthouse apartment, and walked through the lobby to Wesley's office. Once inside, he made his way to the watcher's desk and ran his hands over the various book templates that were kept there. He selected the one on ancient prophecies and carried it back upstairs to his home.

He crept into Connor's room and sat down by the bed. His son was sleeping, of course, this late at night. His skin was flushed, and his chest was rising and falling with his deep, heavy breathing. Angel watched him. Maybe hope was important to him as well, he thought. Maybe he had to believe in champions and heroes, too - perhaps that was the only way he could continue to be one, even trapped here - in this den of evil. He had seen, tonight, where a lack of hope - a lack of belief got you. Seeing the bitter truth, realising you served no higher purpose, did not make you happy - did not set you free. Instead it trapped you in a web of your own remorse and resentment.

Angel had to believe there was more to life than that. More to the universe and his place in it. Because even if that was a lie - believing the lie was better than drowning in the truth. He had to hope. He had to believe in heroes. In champions. He had to believe he was one - and that there was light at the end of the tunnel. He wanted it to be true - that had to count for something. Wanting was so very close to hoping. And if he didn't have hope - then he didn't have anything.

He picked up the template and whispered into the spine. 'Shanshu Prophecy. English translation.' Then he opened the book and watched the words spread across the page. And, as Connor slept beside him, Angel read the words of the prophecy; of his shining, golden reward; the promised light at the end of this dark and weary tunnel - and he dared to hope: The vampire with a soul shall have his past washed clean and live again in mortal form.

A/N Next episode is Lineage