Author's Notes: I KNOW!!! Nny *is* missing something! Actually, I did that on purpose. So cool that people noticed. You all are right, Johnny is missing something in his whole, uhrm, Johnny-ness, and there's a good reason for that. I'll probably get to explaining that in the next chapter or so. This isn't going to have much to do with the other characters, you know, the ones that aren't mine, but this will have a lot to do with progressing the plot and introduces Angel and Squee's weird relationship. Don't worry, though, you purists. Not fluffy, not in the least bit. Well, okay, a little bit o' fluff. But you can deal, right?
Disclaimer: I own no one but Angel at the moment, so you can't sue! Neener neener! ::sticks tongue out::
Desires Of The Mind
Nny'sFallenAngel
Chapter 2: Jaded Reality
Blue eyes... blue eyes... blue... red? Screams. Red! Blood!
Angel shrieked, bolting upright in her four poster bed. Breathing hard, she surveyed the room with her eyes still wide in fright, trying hard to remember her dream. It was all in vain, though, because as always she could only recall a pair of blue eyes in the shadows, then blood. Horrible amounts of blood, and it was all over her... her gaze landed on the digital clock on her dresser and she groaned, falling back on her pillow with a _whump_. It was four thirty-two in the morning.
The hall light flicked on.
"Angelica?" It was her mother. Angel winced inwardly. She hated it when her mom used her full name. "What's wrong, mijita?" her mom continued drowsily, sticking her head in the door.
"Nothing, I'm fine. Just a nightmare."
"Again?" A sigh from her mother. "Do you need anything?"
"No. Go back to sleep, mom," Angel said flatly, and the hall light clicked off. She waited until her mother's footsteps faded away, the bedroom door closed, and the rythmic sound of snoring filtered through the wall her bedroom shared with her parents' room before throwing back the bedsheets and getting up. Angel rummaged in her closet quietly, picking out a pair of black jeans and a black tank top and throwing them onto her bed. She tiptoed across the room to retrieve her blue down jacket from where it hung on a lamp, then quickly got dressed and ran a comb through her hair.
For two consecutive months she'd been having nightmares, always ending the same way, with a flash of blue eyes, screams, and huge quantities of blood being spilled all over her. She could never fully distinguish if it was her blood, or perhaps someone else's, but she knew the screams were hers. Angel pondered the possible things that could have triggered this sudden bout of nightmares as she brushed her teeth and washed her face, taking care to keep the water running low so as not to wake her parents. Could it be because she had an unhealthy obsession with the macabre? She had always been fascinated with death, and she supposed this could be her subconscious' way of telling her that it was too much. Angel shook that thought off, drying her face off with a big fluffy towel. She didn't think that was the reason. There had to be some other explanation. Something had impacted her, she thought, and had jumpstarted this reaction. Angel refused to believe they were premonitions, though, as some of her friends had volunteered that they might be. She didn't believe in the supernatural at all, and probably never would. Angel racked her brain, thinking back to two months ago as she brushed her hair, put it in a ponytail, and stuck it through the back of a black baseball cap. And for some reason she remembered, with startling clarity, the skinny guy who had come in with that shirt. The memory hit her like a lightening bolt, and she almost recoiled as she recalled his features, his hair, his clothes. His clothes had been what really caught her attention- well, no, actually his hair had. How many people a day does one see with blue hair?- but anyway, his clothes, because there was something that looked vaguely like dried blood on his shirt sleeves.
He'd seemed like a nice enough guy- Johnny, Angel remembered. He'd said his name was Johnny.
She hadn't noticed at the time, but now that she thought of it, he seemed- somewhat- familiar. Almost as if she'd met him before. Angel shook off the feeling of deja vu, knowing it was probably all in her head, knelt down next to her bed, and felt around until she touched leather. She carefully drew the leather sheath out from under her bed and strapped it to the inside of her forearm. She didn't bother opening it, she already knew what was inside: a six-inch carbon steel blade attached to a balanced metal handle. Angel knew these streets at night- they were dangerous.
She had gotten into the habit of sneaking out of the house every night after one of her nightmares, taking a walk for a couple of hours until she unwound. If she returned at dawn she'd still be back before her parents had woken up, and even if she wasn't, they didn't question her. They probably thought she had been out doing laps around the neighborhood or something.
Angel had gotten to appreciate the city at night- early morning, actually- the sounds, the cool feeling of the black pre-dawn. Sure, there was the occasional freak wandering the streets, looking for either a quick fix or a quick fuck. They were easy to avoid.
But then again, there were the more dangerous members of society, the ones that *weren't* so easy to avoid. The ones looking for neither fix nor fuck. The ones that answered to a deeper need.
Angel shivered unconsciously as she stepped outside.
Bloodlust.
Like the ones going around committing those murders, the real pros. The police continued to think it was only one person.
Angel snorted derisively. Yeah, right. The police didn't even have any leads as to who it was, or as Angel thought, who _they_ were.
Her thoughts turned back to Johnny. He _had_ been nice, there was no question. He had even offered to introduce her to one of his younger friends. He had been so nice, in fact, that Angel hadn't felt like turning him down, and since she _was_ single, she really didn't see any reason to. So, she had given him her number to give to the boy in question. Johnny had assured her that the guy was just turning seventeen, and that the shirt Johnny was getting screened was his birthday present. Soon after, he had left, and soon after that, she had gotten a call from this guy.
She smiled a bit in spite of herself. Todd, or Squee as he preferred to be called, had been so shy that first time they'd talked. She'd had a hard time to get him to really talk, to open up a little. But by the time they'd had to hang up, Angel and Squee had been talking like old friends. She was getting a little worried now, though. They'd been talking together for about two weeks, but they'd never had a chance to meet since Angel had to work and sometimes Squee had things to do. Angel was worried that maybe, when they finally did meet, he wouldn't like her. It was a stupid thought, she knew, since they got on really well together on the phone, but she also knew there was an inexplicable difference to talking on the phone and talking face to face.
Besides, she consoled herself, if he wasn't a complete jerk, he'd like her no matter what she looked like. Musing, she lost track of time, wandering aimlessly about, lost in her thoughts.
A soft, continuous scraping sound suddenly interrupted her thoughts, and she whirled around, noting too late that the side street she was now walking down was poorly lit by one flickering streetlight about fifteen yards away, not to mention completely empty.
Well, fuck, she thought, tensing her left arm.
The soft scraping sound abruptly stopped and was replaced by one soft but distinctive thump coming from her right. Angel bent her knees slightly, knowing that the thump could have been a diversionary tactic to fool her into turning that way. Another soft thump came from the shadows directly in front of her. Fighting to keep her cool, she clenched her left fist, the muscles in her arm triggering the spring on the sheath on her right forearm. The knife popped out of her right sleeve, and after months of practice and conditioning, she caught it on reflex. Angel tensed up slightly, lowering her body even further into a defensive position. She relaxed her shoulders slightly as a low chuckle rolled out of the shadows on her left, and a dim figure moved out of the deep shadow of an apartment building.
"Can you actually use that thing?" the figure said in what was unmistakably a young male voice.
She regulated her breathing, knowing that if she panicked now, she was dead. "Well enough," she replied.
The guy cocked his head, moving further out of the shadows. "How... unique."
"What makes you say that?" Control, she thought desperately, trying to keep her knees from shaking. Stay in control of yourself.
The guy stepped forward, now only two yards away from her, stepped forward again, now only a yard and a half. "It's just that, there you stand, completely terrified, and yet the instinct for self-preservation is so strong that you're holding your fear in check long enough to attempt to hold a conversation with me, hoping, I guess, that I'll lose interest in you, or that I'll become distracted enough to allow you to escape. And if that doesn't happen, I suppose you'd even try to fight me."
"And what do you think my chances are, should it come to that?" she asked, carefully modulating her voice to a pitch that didn't betray her nervousness.
The guy smiled, and looked her directly in the eyes, his large blue eyes- she started slighty and squeezed the hilt of the knife- catching the dim light of the street lamp and shining. "Your chances?" He seemed to consider the question, and then grinned at her, actually more a smirk than a grin. "Slim to none."
Angel sucked in a breath, holding it momentarily, then let it go. "I think you're underestimating me."
"Really..."
"Yeah."
He nodded almost thoughtfully. "You've got some nerve. I like that. And chances are, you won't tell anybody about me, will you? Something tells me you're not supposed to be here."
He had her there, she had to admit. She couldn't tell anyone, because then she'd have to explain what she was doing out so late, and that would create all sorts of other problems... oh, boy. Angel narrowed her eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of having one over on her.
He smirked again. "Thought so. I'll let you off this once, girl. Just because I admire the fact you've got guts enough to stand up to me, doesn't mean I wouldn't see those same guts stretched across a rack."
"Is that a challenge?" Angel retorted boldly, somewhat pissed off that this unknown guy would presume to order her around.
"If you want to take it that way," he answered coolly. "I'd prefer to think of it as... for your own protection."
"I don't need you to protect me," she said, tightening her grip on her knife.
He tilted his head to the side and took another step toward her. "Oh, you don't, do you? Ssshhh. Listen."
In the distance, she could faintly hear a moan gradually turn into a scream only to be cut off abruptly. Angel suppressed a shudder- and suddenly found herself pressed against the apartment wall, one of his hands on her throat, the other on her knife-arm. Her eyes widened in fear as she stared at him. She could now see the scars on his young face- one long, thin scar stretching all the way across his face, underneath his amazingly blue eyes, dozens of other old scratches scattered across his face.
"See?" he squeezed lightly, then let go of her throat, pinning her shoulder instead and keeping a firm grip on her arm.
Angel felt paralyzed, the electricity in his brilliant blue eyes was so strong. "Yeah, I see," she managed weakly.
"There's things out there that aren't as nice as I am..." he paused, and softly and almost wonderingly ran the fingers of his right hand down the side of her face briefly. She shivered, and he continued, "and I'm not nearly as nice as I'm being right now. Now leave, before I change my mind." He let go of her and turned away, seeming to just fade back into the shadows.
Angel waited a few seconds, and then visibly relaxed, letting out a big breath she had been holding in.
"Whoa..." she murmured to herself, hand to her face. His touch had almost seemed to burn, but now that she thought of it, she had hardly really felt his fingers. Heart still pounding, Angel sheathed her knife, and walked quickly back the way she came. It was already starting to get light out as she snuck back into her house.
"Thank God school's out for Christmas break," Angel groaned as she collapsed onto her bed. "I don't think I could take anything more today."
******
Johnny met Squee in front of house 777 just before daybreak.
"So, how was your night?" Johnny asked, wiping some blood off his face with the bottom of his shirt.
Squee shrugged. "It was okay."
Nny raised an eyebrow. "_Just_ okay?"
Squee sighed. "I saw Angel again."
"Oohh," Nny said, understanding.
"Yeah... I kinda... umm," he looked at the ground guiltily, "talked to her. Personally."
Nny looked at him, shocked. "What?"
"I had to!" Squee replied defensively. "She was getting way too close to that freak on Thirty-Second who thinks he's a vampire. I had to do something!"
"What'd you do?"
He looked down. "I tried to scare her into not coming out at night again... I don't think it worked, though."
"Shit... this is bad. Did she recognize your voice?"
"No," Squee said. "I don't think so."
"Damn, Squee," Johnny said. "You do realize you just royally screwed yourself over?"
"What? Why?"
"If she ever sees you again, she's going to recognize you. No question about it, she will."
Squee groaned in realization. "Dammit..."
Nny nodded. "This verges on deep psychological trauma, should you ever tell her who you really are."
"Well, she didn't seem all that scared, really... and when I touched her face, she actually seemed-"
"You _touched_ her? Holy fuck, Squee..." He shook his head in consternation, the gesture of a disapproving parent.
"I couldn't help it, believe me. I tried. She just..." Squee sighed. "Never mind. It's stupid."
Johnny looked at him, and put a hand on his shoulder. "She makes you want to... to live a normal life, doesn't she? Give this all up, and just be a seventeen year old kid for a change- not some threat in the shadows. To be open to touching and feeling and living in the sunlight instead of..." he sighed, pulling Squee into a brief one-armed hug. "I knew that I shouldn't have let you give in to your rage. And I'm sure I wasn't the greatest role model."
Squee looked up at him. "Nny... there was nothing you could have done." He squeezed Johnny's arm before stepping away towards his own house. "Besides... you were a better father to me than my own ever was."
Johnny watched him as he walked up his front steps and let himself into the old house. The door closed behind him, and Nny shook his head a bit regretfully, his mind still wandering in the past as he turned to go into his own house.
The sun came up slowly over the horizon as his door clicked shut.
***
Devi and Tenna are coming, I promise! I just wanted to say thank you for all the great reviews I've gotten. Love y'all!! Review? I'll bribe ya! But not with money, I'm broke. ::hands out candy to all reviewers::
Disclaimer: I own no one but Angel at the moment, so you can't sue! Neener neener! ::sticks tongue out::
Desires Of The Mind
Nny'sFallenAngel
Chapter 2: Jaded Reality
Blue eyes... blue eyes... blue... red? Screams. Red! Blood!
Angel shrieked, bolting upright in her four poster bed. Breathing hard, she surveyed the room with her eyes still wide in fright, trying hard to remember her dream. It was all in vain, though, because as always she could only recall a pair of blue eyes in the shadows, then blood. Horrible amounts of blood, and it was all over her... her gaze landed on the digital clock on her dresser and she groaned, falling back on her pillow with a _whump_. It was four thirty-two in the morning.
The hall light flicked on.
"Angelica?" It was her mother. Angel winced inwardly. She hated it when her mom used her full name. "What's wrong, mijita?" her mom continued drowsily, sticking her head in the door.
"Nothing, I'm fine. Just a nightmare."
"Again?" A sigh from her mother. "Do you need anything?"
"No. Go back to sleep, mom," Angel said flatly, and the hall light clicked off. She waited until her mother's footsteps faded away, the bedroom door closed, and the rythmic sound of snoring filtered through the wall her bedroom shared with her parents' room before throwing back the bedsheets and getting up. Angel rummaged in her closet quietly, picking out a pair of black jeans and a black tank top and throwing them onto her bed. She tiptoed across the room to retrieve her blue down jacket from where it hung on a lamp, then quickly got dressed and ran a comb through her hair.
For two consecutive months she'd been having nightmares, always ending the same way, with a flash of blue eyes, screams, and huge quantities of blood being spilled all over her. She could never fully distinguish if it was her blood, or perhaps someone else's, but she knew the screams were hers. Angel pondered the possible things that could have triggered this sudden bout of nightmares as she brushed her teeth and washed her face, taking care to keep the water running low so as not to wake her parents. Could it be because she had an unhealthy obsession with the macabre? She had always been fascinated with death, and she supposed this could be her subconscious' way of telling her that it was too much. Angel shook that thought off, drying her face off with a big fluffy towel. She didn't think that was the reason. There had to be some other explanation. Something had impacted her, she thought, and had jumpstarted this reaction. Angel refused to believe they were premonitions, though, as some of her friends had volunteered that they might be. She didn't believe in the supernatural at all, and probably never would. Angel racked her brain, thinking back to two months ago as she brushed her hair, put it in a ponytail, and stuck it through the back of a black baseball cap. And for some reason she remembered, with startling clarity, the skinny guy who had come in with that shirt. The memory hit her like a lightening bolt, and she almost recoiled as she recalled his features, his hair, his clothes. His clothes had been what really caught her attention- well, no, actually his hair had. How many people a day does one see with blue hair?- but anyway, his clothes, because there was something that looked vaguely like dried blood on his shirt sleeves.
He'd seemed like a nice enough guy- Johnny, Angel remembered. He'd said his name was Johnny.
She hadn't noticed at the time, but now that she thought of it, he seemed- somewhat- familiar. Almost as if she'd met him before. Angel shook off the feeling of deja vu, knowing it was probably all in her head, knelt down next to her bed, and felt around until she touched leather. She carefully drew the leather sheath out from under her bed and strapped it to the inside of her forearm. She didn't bother opening it, she already knew what was inside: a six-inch carbon steel blade attached to a balanced metal handle. Angel knew these streets at night- they were dangerous.
She had gotten into the habit of sneaking out of the house every night after one of her nightmares, taking a walk for a couple of hours until she unwound. If she returned at dawn she'd still be back before her parents had woken up, and even if she wasn't, they didn't question her. They probably thought she had been out doing laps around the neighborhood or something.
Angel had gotten to appreciate the city at night- early morning, actually- the sounds, the cool feeling of the black pre-dawn. Sure, there was the occasional freak wandering the streets, looking for either a quick fix or a quick fuck. They were easy to avoid.
But then again, there were the more dangerous members of society, the ones that *weren't* so easy to avoid. The ones looking for neither fix nor fuck. The ones that answered to a deeper need.
Angel shivered unconsciously as she stepped outside.
Bloodlust.
Like the ones going around committing those murders, the real pros. The police continued to think it was only one person.
Angel snorted derisively. Yeah, right. The police didn't even have any leads as to who it was, or as Angel thought, who _they_ were.
Her thoughts turned back to Johnny. He _had_ been nice, there was no question. He had even offered to introduce her to one of his younger friends. He had been so nice, in fact, that Angel hadn't felt like turning him down, and since she _was_ single, she really didn't see any reason to. So, she had given him her number to give to the boy in question. Johnny had assured her that the guy was just turning seventeen, and that the shirt Johnny was getting screened was his birthday present. Soon after, he had left, and soon after that, she had gotten a call from this guy.
She smiled a bit in spite of herself. Todd, or Squee as he preferred to be called, had been so shy that first time they'd talked. She'd had a hard time to get him to really talk, to open up a little. But by the time they'd had to hang up, Angel and Squee had been talking like old friends. She was getting a little worried now, though. They'd been talking together for about two weeks, but they'd never had a chance to meet since Angel had to work and sometimes Squee had things to do. Angel was worried that maybe, when they finally did meet, he wouldn't like her. It was a stupid thought, she knew, since they got on really well together on the phone, but she also knew there was an inexplicable difference to talking on the phone and talking face to face.
Besides, she consoled herself, if he wasn't a complete jerk, he'd like her no matter what she looked like. Musing, she lost track of time, wandering aimlessly about, lost in her thoughts.
A soft, continuous scraping sound suddenly interrupted her thoughts, and she whirled around, noting too late that the side street she was now walking down was poorly lit by one flickering streetlight about fifteen yards away, not to mention completely empty.
Well, fuck, she thought, tensing her left arm.
The soft scraping sound abruptly stopped and was replaced by one soft but distinctive thump coming from her right. Angel bent her knees slightly, knowing that the thump could have been a diversionary tactic to fool her into turning that way. Another soft thump came from the shadows directly in front of her. Fighting to keep her cool, she clenched her left fist, the muscles in her arm triggering the spring on the sheath on her right forearm. The knife popped out of her right sleeve, and after months of practice and conditioning, she caught it on reflex. Angel tensed up slightly, lowering her body even further into a defensive position. She relaxed her shoulders slightly as a low chuckle rolled out of the shadows on her left, and a dim figure moved out of the deep shadow of an apartment building.
"Can you actually use that thing?" the figure said in what was unmistakably a young male voice.
She regulated her breathing, knowing that if she panicked now, she was dead. "Well enough," she replied.
The guy cocked his head, moving further out of the shadows. "How... unique."
"What makes you say that?" Control, she thought desperately, trying to keep her knees from shaking. Stay in control of yourself.
The guy stepped forward, now only two yards away from her, stepped forward again, now only a yard and a half. "It's just that, there you stand, completely terrified, and yet the instinct for self-preservation is so strong that you're holding your fear in check long enough to attempt to hold a conversation with me, hoping, I guess, that I'll lose interest in you, or that I'll become distracted enough to allow you to escape. And if that doesn't happen, I suppose you'd even try to fight me."
"And what do you think my chances are, should it come to that?" she asked, carefully modulating her voice to a pitch that didn't betray her nervousness.
The guy smiled, and looked her directly in the eyes, his large blue eyes- she started slighty and squeezed the hilt of the knife- catching the dim light of the street lamp and shining. "Your chances?" He seemed to consider the question, and then grinned at her, actually more a smirk than a grin. "Slim to none."
Angel sucked in a breath, holding it momentarily, then let it go. "I think you're underestimating me."
"Really..."
"Yeah."
He nodded almost thoughtfully. "You've got some nerve. I like that. And chances are, you won't tell anybody about me, will you? Something tells me you're not supposed to be here."
He had her there, she had to admit. She couldn't tell anyone, because then she'd have to explain what she was doing out so late, and that would create all sorts of other problems... oh, boy. Angel narrowed her eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of having one over on her.
He smirked again. "Thought so. I'll let you off this once, girl. Just because I admire the fact you've got guts enough to stand up to me, doesn't mean I wouldn't see those same guts stretched across a rack."
"Is that a challenge?" Angel retorted boldly, somewhat pissed off that this unknown guy would presume to order her around.
"If you want to take it that way," he answered coolly. "I'd prefer to think of it as... for your own protection."
"I don't need you to protect me," she said, tightening her grip on her knife.
He tilted his head to the side and took another step toward her. "Oh, you don't, do you? Ssshhh. Listen."
In the distance, she could faintly hear a moan gradually turn into a scream only to be cut off abruptly. Angel suppressed a shudder- and suddenly found herself pressed against the apartment wall, one of his hands on her throat, the other on her knife-arm. Her eyes widened in fear as she stared at him. She could now see the scars on his young face- one long, thin scar stretching all the way across his face, underneath his amazingly blue eyes, dozens of other old scratches scattered across his face.
"See?" he squeezed lightly, then let go of her throat, pinning her shoulder instead and keeping a firm grip on her arm.
Angel felt paralyzed, the electricity in his brilliant blue eyes was so strong. "Yeah, I see," she managed weakly.
"There's things out there that aren't as nice as I am..." he paused, and softly and almost wonderingly ran the fingers of his right hand down the side of her face briefly. She shivered, and he continued, "and I'm not nearly as nice as I'm being right now. Now leave, before I change my mind." He let go of her and turned away, seeming to just fade back into the shadows.
Angel waited a few seconds, and then visibly relaxed, letting out a big breath she had been holding in.
"Whoa..." she murmured to herself, hand to her face. His touch had almost seemed to burn, but now that she thought of it, she had hardly really felt his fingers. Heart still pounding, Angel sheathed her knife, and walked quickly back the way she came. It was already starting to get light out as she snuck back into her house.
"Thank God school's out for Christmas break," Angel groaned as she collapsed onto her bed. "I don't think I could take anything more today."
******
Johnny met Squee in front of house 777 just before daybreak.
"So, how was your night?" Johnny asked, wiping some blood off his face with the bottom of his shirt.
Squee shrugged. "It was okay."
Nny raised an eyebrow. "_Just_ okay?"
Squee sighed. "I saw Angel again."
"Oohh," Nny said, understanding.
"Yeah... I kinda... umm," he looked at the ground guiltily, "talked to her. Personally."
Nny looked at him, shocked. "What?"
"I had to!" Squee replied defensively. "She was getting way too close to that freak on Thirty-Second who thinks he's a vampire. I had to do something!"
"What'd you do?"
He looked down. "I tried to scare her into not coming out at night again... I don't think it worked, though."
"Shit... this is bad. Did she recognize your voice?"
"No," Squee said. "I don't think so."
"Damn, Squee," Johnny said. "You do realize you just royally screwed yourself over?"
"What? Why?"
"If she ever sees you again, she's going to recognize you. No question about it, she will."
Squee groaned in realization. "Dammit..."
Nny nodded. "This verges on deep psychological trauma, should you ever tell her who you really are."
"Well, she didn't seem all that scared, really... and when I touched her face, she actually seemed-"
"You _touched_ her? Holy fuck, Squee..." He shook his head in consternation, the gesture of a disapproving parent.
"I couldn't help it, believe me. I tried. She just..." Squee sighed. "Never mind. It's stupid."
Johnny looked at him, and put a hand on his shoulder. "She makes you want to... to live a normal life, doesn't she? Give this all up, and just be a seventeen year old kid for a change- not some threat in the shadows. To be open to touching and feeling and living in the sunlight instead of..." he sighed, pulling Squee into a brief one-armed hug. "I knew that I shouldn't have let you give in to your rage. And I'm sure I wasn't the greatest role model."
Squee looked up at him. "Nny... there was nothing you could have done." He squeezed Johnny's arm before stepping away towards his own house. "Besides... you were a better father to me than my own ever was."
Johnny watched him as he walked up his front steps and let himself into the old house. The door closed behind him, and Nny shook his head a bit regretfully, his mind still wandering in the past as he turned to go into his own house.
The sun came up slowly over the horizon as his door clicked shut.
***
Devi and Tenna are coming, I promise! I just wanted to say thank you for all the great reviews I've gotten. Love y'all!! Review? I'll bribe ya! But not with money, I'm broke. ::hands out candy to all reviewers::