After The Storm
Chapter 5
By Vixen
Alone in the hotel, Connor tossed and turned violently in bed. Images haunting him, coming back to him, keeping him from peace as he lay sleeping restlessly.
Connor could see a place in his mind, a city street in Los Angeles. He knew this place; it had all fallen apart here. All the dreams his father had for him when he was an infant, questions of whether he would grow up to be a teacher or a police officer or break the home run record in baseball, they had all vanished in this very spot. So many possibilities and choices ripped from him, from them both, in one instant of revenge from a past foe. He'd been so small, barely even a month old when his choices had been narrowed down to one. He would grow up to be the Destroyer.
In his mind's eye he looked on in horror as it played out for once more for him, reliving all the details in grisly surround sound. He couldn't recall exactly how it had all played out the first time, but when he thought about it the scene was always the same.
The portal started as a small thing, barely noticeable. A small innocent tear in the fabric of time and space, taken for granted, nothing to be afraid of.
It grew in shape and color next. Reds mixed with orange tones, the edges of the darkness glowing with the hellfire that made up the rivers and lakes in Quor-toth.
The portal grew larger, unwilling to be ignored. It swallowed up everything in its path, till it covered the whole end of the street. Everything within the dimension could be seen clearly now, al the monsters he would have to face in the coming years, the elements he would rage against. The loomed before him; waiting for him.
They had hurt him there, destroyed his soul before it had a chance to grow. The demons there had done their best to rip him apart, but he had grown strong. He grew to be the Destroyer, with only the ranting dialogue of another broken madman bent on revenge as company.
He had learned to hate his real father before he could even speak. His first sentence, Holtz liked to tell him whether it was true or not, was 'Angel bad'. He knew what his guardian wanted to hear, and at such a young age he also knew hate. It was either accept the brainwashing or lose his only protection from the horrors of that world. Even at such a young age the choice was clear.
He could picture a fight by the portal, right before the inevitable had happened. A fight between his real father and the man who would shape him into a weapon, every night they battled over his fate, every night he watched Angel fail.
At some point during the fight, Holtz would get the upper hand through some sneaky maneuver, some slight of hand unseen until it was too late. Defeated, Angel fell to the ground in pain.
Connor saw himself as a child in the next scene, still by the open portal, struggling to get away from it, struggling to reach Angel who was still lying on the ground. With the winds whipping around, it was hard to move against the flow of the inevitable. Everything was dragging him down, but it only made Connor exert more effort in trying to get away from the portal, he wasn't going to give up the fight.
Crawling on the street, clinging to the gravel, the young boy moved towards his father. Angel looked at him, unable to move against the winds, and reached out his hand for his son. It was so close, Connor just had to get to him and everything would be fine, he would be saved a life of torment and he'd grow up normal, and happy, and everything would be fine.
Little fingers grasped out for his father's hand, briefly touching, just a little bit closer. He pushed forward a little bit more, at last wrapping his hand around his father's, the portal's grasp held strong though. Angel looked his son in the eyes, his emotions playing across his face. He knew he wasn't strong enough to keep fate from playing out, though he was still willing himself to hold on tightly.
Connor saw the expression, the lost hope, and pleaded, "Please don't let go." He could see himself now, a little older, still holding on and begging with those same words. "Please don't let go." The years continued to pass him by, as he lay in the middle of the street, clinging to his father. "No, you have to hold on, you just have to—"He could see his father losing strength, unable to keep up the fight, as Connor grew into a teenager. All his life he had been holding on, but it wasn't going to change anything. Eventually, their grip broke, and Connor felt his hand sliding from his father's own, and then the space between them grew larger.
"Don't let go. Please, Dad, you just have to hold on.. don't let him take me.."
They stared at each other for a long horrifying moment, each of them knowing what was coming next. Connor dug his hands into the cement road, his finger nails scraping against the black tar, and he reached out for his father once more but Angel was too far away and there was no going back. "No, no, no.. Don't let go, please don't--" Connor woke up in a tangle of black bed sheets, jumping up in bed he breathed hard, trying to remember where he was and that he was safe.
Light from the streetlamp outside on the street was coming through the window, casting a soft glow around the room. As he ran a hand through his long hair, he felt tiny beads of sweat on the brow of his head. Without any electric to run the air conditioning in the hotel, the air was muggy in the heat of late spring.
Tossing the sheets aside furiously, Connor sat on the edge of the bed. His hands gripped the mattress as he pushed the nightmare out of his mind. He'd been having them ever since he got his memories back; the past seemed unwilling to stay buried.
Consciously, he could differentiate between the Old and the New. The Old was not important, the New was what he had become, what he was today. People had sacrificed so much, too much, to bring the New into the world, to fix the Old, to forget the Old. Consciously, he could deal with the past, day by day.
Subconsciously, it was eating him alive.
He pushed himself out of bed, and looked at the time. 5:03. At least he had gotten more sleep than he usually did. Feeling lost, he walked across the room. A cool early morning breeze flowing into the room swayed the curtains back and forth. Taking off his shirt, he stood in front of the open window, letting the air cool his skin, relaxing in the feeling of the light breeze. The rain had stopped; only a few drops fell from the now wet building, dripping rhythmically down from the gutters. There was the smell of ozone in the air, like after a thunderstorm. Connor took it all in, every detail from around him, reminding him that his life was better now. He wasn't in Quor-toth anymore, and he'd never have to go back there. Now if only he could loosen up and forget that place every existed.
Far away he could hear sirens, there was still trouble out there. He'd have to protect them; the normal humans who couldn't fight against what had been unleashed upon the city by the senior partners. He'd come to that conclusion last night. As much as Connor would have loved to return to his other life, his normal life, he had been led to the hotel for a reason. There was work to be done, and he was the only one in the city strong enough to do it. He detested the fight; it wasn't him, that's what he had told Angel after he beat Sahjahn. Still, he could just turn his back from the helpless.
There was also the problem of the portal. Somehow he had to find a way to reopen it. "Portals.. Why does it always have to be portals," Connor frowned, lost in thought. His life had seemingly revolved around them, and each time one had opened his life had gotten a hell of a lot worse. It was the reason he didn't like magick before, the reason he still didn't like magick now. It made things complicated. He couldn't just leave them there though. Angel, Spike, Illyria, Gunn.. he wondered if they were okay. What if they were stuck in another hell dimension? Was that what being a hero got you, a one-way trip to a nightmarish world?
He turned back to the clock, and sighed knowing that it would have been impossible to get back to sleep. There were too many worries in his mind, and too much to be done. Wandering into the bathroom, he stopped in front of the mirror. His reflection starred back at him. He looked at his neck, checking for the missing scar on his neck. He'd gotten it right before getting his new life; when he had fought his father in the mall. It was the first thing he always did in the morning, it had quickly become a habit. If it were there, then everything that had happened to him since the day in the mall would mean nothing. His new family wouldn't exist, and he'd have to go back to being who he used to be. It was never there; he knew it would never be there again; still every day when he woke up he had to check. Just to make sure.
He turned the sink's faucet, wondering if the water had been switched off along with the electric. When nothing came out, he sighed. "We're gonna have to fix that later," Connor yawned. He didn't have enough money to get the whole hotel up and running again, but it was the only place he felt comfortable at the moment. He'd make it livable somehow. Adding that to his to-do list, he turned his attention to the things he had to do that day. For now he had to go home and pack his stuff. He'd make up some lie to tell his parents, so he could come live here. It was going to have to be a pretty big lie, he imagined.
Connor couldn't get them involved with this though, it was bad enough he was already involved, but he had to do what he could to protect his new family. It was strange; technically he hardly knew them. He'd only really spent a few months living in their house, being a part of their family. The fake memories were still with him though, he clung to them, he couldn't lose them. His sanity depended on the past Christmases he had not really lived, the family picnics, road trips to visit Yellowstone National Park. They went there every summer, since Connor had been five. He smiled. It didn't matter that it wasn't real.
Grabbing his shirt, he put it back on. He found his shoes in a pile on the side of the room and slipped into them. Once he slipped his jacket on, he headed downstairs. If he made it back to the suburbs quick enough, he could just slip in his bedroom window before anyone woke up. Hopefully, they wouldn't even notice that he had been gone, and he wouldn't get grounded for life.
Before leaving the building, he locked the door behind himself and looked back once more at the darkened lobby. He'd be back soon.
.......................
Feedback, please? Pretty pretty please?
Chapter 5
By Vixen
Alone in the hotel, Connor tossed and turned violently in bed. Images haunting him, coming back to him, keeping him from peace as he lay sleeping restlessly.
Connor could see a place in his mind, a city street in Los Angeles. He knew this place; it had all fallen apart here. All the dreams his father had for him when he was an infant, questions of whether he would grow up to be a teacher or a police officer or break the home run record in baseball, they had all vanished in this very spot. So many possibilities and choices ripped from him, from them both, in one instant of revenge from a past foe. He'd been so small, barely even a month old when his choices had been narrowed down to one. He would grow up to be the Destroyer.
In his mind's eye he looked on in horror as it played out for once more for him, reliving all the details in grisly surround sound. He couldn't recall exactly how it had all played out the first time, but when he thought about it the scene was always the same.
The portal started as a small thing, barely noticeable. A small innocent tear in the fabric of time and space, taken for granted, nothing to be afraid of.
It grew in shape and color next. Reds mixed with orange tones, the edges of the darkness glowing with the hellfire that made up the rivers and lakes in Quor-toth.
The portal grew larger, unwilling to be ignored. It swallowed up everything in its path, till it covered the whole end of the street. Everything within the dimension could be seen clearly now, al the monsters he would have to face in the coming years, the elements he would rage against. The loomed before him; waiting for him.
They had hurt him there, destroyed his soul before it had a chance to grow. The demons there had done their best to rip him apart, but he had grown strong. He grew to be the Destroyer, with only the ranting dialogue of another broken madman bent on revenge as company.
He had learned to hate his real father before he could even speak. His first sentence, Holtz liked to tell him whether it was true or not, was 'Angel bad'. He knew what his guardian wanted to hear, and at such a young age he also knew hate. It was either accept the brainwashing or lose his only protection from the horrors of that world. Even at such a young age the choice was clear.
He could picture a fight by the portal, right before the inevitable had happened. A fight between his real father and the man who would shape him into a weapon, every night they battled over his fate, every night he watched Angel fail.
At some point during the fight, Holtz would get the upper hand through some sneaky maneuver, some slight of hand unseen until it was too late. Defeated, Angel fell to the ground in pain.
Connor saw himself as a child in the next scene, still by the open portal, struggling to get away from it, struggling to reach Angel who was still lying on the ground. With the winds whipping around, it was hard to move against the flow of the inevitable. Everything was dragging him down, but it only made Connor exert more effort in trying to get away from the portal, he wasn't going to give up the fight.
Crawling on the street, clinging to the gravel, the young boy moved towards his father. Angel looked at him, unable to move against the winds, and reached out his hand for his son. It was so close, Connor just had to get to him and everything would be fine, he would be saved a life of torment and he'd grow up normal, and happy, and everything would be fine.
Little fingers grasped out for his father's hand, briefly touching, just a little bit closer. He pushed forward a little bit more, at last wrapping his hand around his father's, the portal's grasp held strong though. Angel looked his son in the eyes, his emotions playing across his face. He knew he wasn't strong enough to keep fate from playing out, though he was still willing himself to hold on tightly.
Connor saw the expression, the lost hope, and pleaded, "Please don't let go." He could see himself now, a little older, still holding on and begging with those same words. "Please don't let go." The years continued to pass him by, as he lay in the middle of the street, clinging to his father. "No, you have to hold on, you just have to—"He could see his father losing strength, unable to keep up the fight, as Connor grew into a teenager. All his life he had been holding on, but it wasn't going to change anything. Eventually, their grip broke, and Connor felt his hand sliding from his father's own, and then the space between them grew larger.
"Don't let go. Please, Dad, you just have to hold on.. don't let him take me.."
They stared at each other for a long horrifying moment, each of them knowing what was coming next. Connor dug his hands into the cement road, his finger nails scraping against the black tar, and he reached out for his father once more but Angel was too far away and there was no going back. "No, no, no.. Don't let go, please don't--" Connor woke up in a tangle of black bed sheets, jumping up in bed he breathed hard, trying to remember where he was and that he was safe.
Light from the streetlamp outside on the street was coming through the window, casting a soft glow around the room. As he ran a hand through his long hair, he felt tiny beads of sweat on the brow of his head. Without any electric to run the air conditioning in the hotel, the air was muggy in the heat of late spring.
Tossing the sheets aside furiously, Connor sat on the edge of the bed. His hands gripped the mattress as he pushed the nightmare out of his mind. He'd been having them ever since he got his memories back; the past seemed unwilling to stay buried.
Consciously, he could differentiate between the Old and the New. The Old was not important, the New was what he had become, what he was today. People had sacrificed so much, too much, to bring the New into the world, to fix the Old, to forget the Old. Consciously, he could deal with the past, day by day.
Subconsciously, it was eating him alive.
He pushed himself out of bed, and looked at the time. 5:03. At least he had gotten more sleep than he usually did. Feeling lost, he walked across the room. A cool early morning breeze flowing into the room swayed the curtains back and forth. Taking off his shirt, he stood in front of the open window, letting the air cool his skin, relaxing in the feeling of the light breeze. The rain had stopped; only a few drops fell from the now wet building, dripping rhythmically down from the gutters. There was the smell of ozone in the air, like after a thunderstorm. Connor took it all in, every detail from around him, reminding him that his life was better now. He wasn't in Quor-toth anymore, and he'd never have to go back there. Now if only he could loosen up and forget that place every existed.
Far away he could hear sirens, there was still trouble out there. He'd have to protect them; the normal humans who couldn't fight against what had been unleashed upon the city by the senior partners. He'd come to that conclusion last night. As much as Connor would have loved to return to his other life, his normal life, he had been led to the hotel for a reason. There was work to be done, and he was the only one in the city strong enough to do it. He detested the fight; it wasn't him, that's what he had told Angel after he beat Sahjahn. Still, he could just turn his back from the helpless.
There was also the problem of the portal. Somehow he had to find a way to reopen it. "Portals.. Why does it always have to be portals," Connor frowned, lost in thought. His life had seemingly revolved around them, and each time one had opened his life had gotten a hell of a lot worse. It was the reason he didn't like magick before, the reason he still didn't like magick now. It made things complicated. He couldn't just leave them there though. Angel, Spike, Illyria, Gunn.. he wondered if they were okay. What if they were stuck in another hell dimension? Was that what being a hero got you, a one-way trip to a nightmarish world?
He turned back to the clock, and sighed knowing that it would have been impossible to get back to sleep. There were too many worries in his mind, and too much to be done. Wandering into the bathroom, he stopped in front of the mirror. His reflection starred back at him. He looked at his neck, checking for the missing scar on his neck. He'd gotten it right before getting his new life; when he had fought his father in the mall. It was the first thing he always did in the morning, it had quickly become a habit. If it were there, then everything that had happened to him since the day in the mall would mean nothing. His new family wouldn't exist, and he'd have to go back to being who he used to be. It was never there; he knew it would never be there again; still every day when he woke up he had to check. Just to make sure.
He turned the sink's faucet, wondering if the water had been switched off along with the electric. When nothing came out, he sighed. "We're gonna have to fix that later," Connor yawned. He didn't have enough money to get the whole hotel up and running again, but it was the only place he felt comfortable at the moment. He'd make it livable somehow. Adding that to his to-do list, he turned his attention to the things he had to do that day. For now he had to go home and pack his stuff. He'd make up some lie to tell his parents, so he could come live here. It was going to have to be a pretty big lie, he imagined.
Connor couldn't get them involved with this though, it was bad enough he was already involved, but he had to do what he could to protect his new family. It was strange; technically he hardly knew them. He'd only really spent a few months living in their house, being a part of their family. The fake memories were still with him though, he clung to them, he couldn't lose them. His sanity depended on the past Christmases he had not really lived, the family picnics, road trips to visit Yellowstone National Park. They went there every summer, since Connor had been five. He smiled. It didn't matter that it wasn't real.
Grabbing his shirt, he put it back on. He found his shoes in a pile on the side of the room and slipped into them. Once he slipped his jacket on, he headed downstairs. If he made it back to the suburbs quick enough, he could just slip in his bedroom window before anyone woke up. Hopefully, they wouldn't even notice that he had been gone, and he wouldn't get grounded for life.
Before leaving the building, he locked the door behind himself and looked back once more at the darkened lobby. He'd be back soon.
.......................
Feedback, please? Pretty pretty please?