Alone again, again alone
Patiently waiting by the phone
Hoping that you will call me home
The pain inside my love denied
Hopes and dreams swallowed by pride
Everything I need it lies in you
'Cause I'm broken
I know I need you now
'Cause deep inside I'm broken
You see the way I live
I know, I know your heart is broken
When I turn away
I need to be broken
Take the pain away
I question why you chose to die
When you knew your truth I would deny
You look at me
The tears begin to fall
And all in all faith is blind
But I fail time after time
Daily in my sin I take your life
All the hate deep inside
Slowly covering my eyes
All these things I hide
Away from you again
All this fear holding me
My heart is cold and I believe
Nothing's gonna change
Until I'm whole again

"Broken"
12 Stones

Chapter 4
Broken

THUD!

Spike felt himself being thrown back into his body – felt himself knocked off his cot – felt something, or someone, land on top of him.

"Oh dear God, get off me ya great lump!" he groaned as he lay on his back. Angel stared down at him, his hands pushing him up slightly.

"Spike?"

"Yeah, it's me," Spike said, looking at Angel's eyes.

"You… you came for me," Angel said quietly.

"Willow got me in," Spike said. "Now, seriously, get off, before people start talking." Angel nodded and shoved himself off of Spike and onto the floor next to him.

"What happened?" Spike looked towards the stairs – Faith was helping Willow up off the floor a good distance away.

"I guess that's just a normal side effect," Willow said, casually dusting herself off. "I've only ever done that once, and with Buffy, it was… different."

"We OK though?" Faith asked as Spike sat up. Next to him, Angel continued laying on the floor, but he was at least looking around and moving a bit. Willow nodded.

"Should be good to go," she said. "He'll probably be pretty drained for a few… how long were we gone?"

Faith sighed. "About two days. We were starting to get worried. Finally, we set up shifts watching you guys so that when you finally came back through, we'd know." Spike stared at her hesitantly.

"We were gone for how long?" he asked. "Are you sure?"

"We were on a different plane of existence," Willow told him. "Maybe that plane travels at a different speed than this one does," she suggested.

"Must be," Faith said. "Wood an' I were really freaked – didn't know if you guys were ever coming back. Wondered if you could even find Angel."

The two girls continued talking as Angel rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up onto his feet, looking around as though stepping into the room for the first time. Spike watched him carefully.

"You're home, Angel," Spike whispered, leaning in close to him. "You're safe – here, with me."

"And Faith," Angel stated, still looking around. "And Wood."

"Yeah, and Faith and Wood," Spike said flatly. Angel nodded.

"I'm safe," he whispered to himself. He turned his head to see Spike, and forced a smile. "Thanks."

"Anytime, mate," Spike told him, returning the smile with equal forcedness. He knew Angel still had some real recovery time ahead of him – he wasn't expecting miracles. He also knew Angel would not be himself for a while. But Angel could at least show real gratitude to his rescuers. Especially after he had held Spike's hand that way; looked into his eyes that way…

"Guys?" Spike and Angel snapped their heads to the ladies, who were now at the top of the stairs. "You comin' up?" Faith asked. Angel nodded slightly. Spike smiled at her.

"We'll be up in a minute," Spike said. "I think we should maybe change out of these clothes, if we've been wearin' them for a few days now." Willow smiled.

"I'm thinking a shower is in order first, at least for me," she giggled. "We'll see you in a little bit though?"

"Yeah," Angel said, giving her his best relaxed look. Spike had seen that look so many times – he knew exactly what it meant. It meant that Angel was currently fighting his own inner battles, but he didn't want you to know that. Willow beamed, and she and Faith walked through the door.

Spike heard the catch as the door closed and turned to Angel abruptly. "What's really goin' on, then?" he asked boldly. Angel turned his relaxed gaze on his grandchild.

"Nothing, Spike. I'm fine."

"Bollocks!" Spike hissed as Angel turned and moved to a small clothing rack – it held all of his new clothes. He began selecting a new shirt as Spike continued. "I know you better than that, Angelus – "

"Don't!" Angel started, feeling his temper flare at the use of his old name. He averted his eyes as he turned to Spike. "Don't. Ever. Call. Me. That."

"And why the bloody hell not?" Spike asked, amused at the anger he had caused. Infuriating Angel had always been one of his favorite past times. Angel turned back to his clothes, grabbing a forest green t-shirt off the rack.

"Because I'm asking you," Angel sighed. He felt himself breaking – felt the walls he had carefully, methodically built over the last two centuries – felt them crumbling as he stood there, trying to make sense of everything that had happened since that damned night in the alley.

"You can't rationalize it, Angel." He looked up, his eyes wide in terror. There, in front of him, was Fred. Her glasses were sitting near the end of her nose, her wavy brown hair pulled back loosely in a small clip, a few ringlets framing her face as she smiled at him.

"No, no, no, NO!" he shouted, grabbing his head. He ducked into a crouch, his arms encircling his head as best they could. "No, no…"

Spike watched, horror struck, as Angel stooped in front of him, keening and howling like an animal. Chanting the same word over and over.

"No, no, no, no…"

He sat down and took his grandsire into his arms, holding him close. "No, no, no, no…"

"It's alright, Angel," Spike murmured.

"Yeah, Angel," Fred's voice floated through the air and into Angel's mind. "It's alright. I mean, you used my painful and untimely death for your own personal gain, which in the end proved to be a greater plan to make a small but noticeable stand against the evil we fought but were working for, and I'm rambling again, aren't I?" Angel peeked out from under Spike's arm.

"No, no, no, no…."

"Yes, yes, yes," Fred said, kneeling next to them. She giggled slightly. "Can't run away, Angel. Remember? Handsome man saves me from the monsters?"

"No, no, no…"

"Angel, fight it," Spike said, still holding him tightly. "Fight it, you have to fight. It's not real."

"He's right you know," Fred agreed. She shrugged. "I'm not real. I'm just one of those uncommon spectral anomalies that sometimes manifest after severe mental or physical trauma. Unless there's something in your metaphysical make up, or some kind of pathogen spreading throughout your – wait, you wouldn't have pathogens, vampires don't get sick. Silly me."

"No, no…"

"Fight, Angel."

"You can't fight this, Angel," Fred said softly, reaching out to his face. He tried to pull back, but Spike held him steady.

"Fight it," he growled. "It can't touch you, don't pull away from it."

"No…"

"Yes," Spike argued. "Yes, Angel, fight it. Fight for me – remember? I gotta have someone to talk to – and you're it."

Fred's hand dipped through Angel's face. "You couldn't save me," she whispered as she began to fade from his sight. "You can't save anyone…"

"No…" Angel sobbed still, pushing against Spike.

"Angel, stop fighting me, fight the ghost," Spike said. Angel watched Fred disappear into nothing.

"No," he moaned. "I can save people, I know I can…"

"Of course you can," Spike soothed, feeling Angel relaxing ever so slightly. He was not pushing away so much as pulling Spike into him now.

"I can save… I can…"

"Yes," Spike nodded, feeling Angel pushing himself against Spike as much as he could. He knew that Angel was just desperate for that sense of belonging, that sense of knowing he wasn't worthless. And nowhere would any vampire find that sense better than in the arms of one they considered family. So Spike let him do what he had to. Angel's mouth and nose ran over his neck, breathing him in. His hands roamed Spike's back, reveling in the feeling of home. Spike felt Angel calming slightly, felt his anxiety slowly creep back into the depths.

At last, Angel sat limp in his arms, his face nestled comfortably in between Spike's neck and shoulder. Spike traced gentle shapes along Angel's back.

"Thank-you." Spike tilted his head slightly, leaning it away from Angel's so that he might hear a bit better.

"What was that?"

"Thank-you," Angel repeated. "For… helping me. For coming in with Willow when I… thanks. And for this."

Spike smiled. "Anytime."

"So you're still seeing ghosts."

Willow's red hair was currently dark, almost brown. She had taken a shower last night, but upon waking up felt as though she should take another one. After spending almost two days trapped in Angel's tormented mind, she felt, well… more than just dirty. Partly because of the lack of showers while she had been projecting herself and Spike into Angel's memories. But mostly just because of the memories she had seen. They had been disturbing, to say the least. But she had to admit, she had a newfound respect for him – to carry so much guilt, and grief, and sorrow, for so long… there had been times when she hadn't been strong enough to carry her own tortured past. She was sure she would never have survived as long as Angel, carrying around his memories.

Angel looked at the dining table as the five of them sat around it. He wore a black button up shirt and black slacks. To his immediate left sat Spike, who was reclining as far as he could in his chair, watching him intently. His gaze had not strayed from Angel for the duration of the talk – which had thus far been the past fifteen minutes.

"So what can we do to stop it?" Faith, who was next to Spike also, was leaning on her elbows. Her fingers were laced in front of her. She had not bothered to get out of her pajamas – a white tank top and short boxer shorts. Her hair was disheveled. But she was alert and ready for anything.

Willow attempted a smile. "Well, actually, there's really not a whole lot we can do. If he's seeing ghosts – "

"Unacceptable," Spike said, his gaze still locked on Angel. Slowly, his eyes trailed to Willow, then to Wood, who sat between her and Faith. He looked back to Willow, her hair dripping casually onto her light blue satin pajama shirt. "Something's gotta be done – he goes on like this much longer, he'll ruddy well go insane." Angel continued to look at the table.

"Spike, we can't just rush into anything," Wood said. He too was reclined, his arms wrapped around his chest, which was covered in a white tank top like Faith. He regarded the blonde vampire coolly. Spike knew Wood would never forgive him for killing his mother – but it had been almost thirty years ago. Why couldn't he at least understand that Spike was indeed sorry? Why couldn't he at least see that Spike had no intentions of doing anything like that ever again?

"Wood's right," Faith told him. "We rush, we might do something even worse – and none of us want that." Willow nodded.

"I can call Giles – "

"No." All eyes turned to Angel, who looked up finally. "No, don't call – I'll be fine."

"You did a whole mess of screamin' last night that says otherwise," Faith said. Angel looked at her, pain and desperation filling his eyes. "I know you're strong, Angel. But you're in some serious trouble and we want to help. Everyone needs help."

Angel nodded. "But there's nothing you guys can do – "

"I'll call Giles," Willow repeated. "He might know, or the Council – "

"They wouldn't help me before," Angel said temperately. "I don't see why they would now."

"It's a lot different now," Willow told him. He huffed.

"I'll be fine," he stated, pushing away from the table and walking out of the kitchen. Spike stared after him.

"Ruddy Mick," he grumbled. "Just as I thought all along – the hair gel he's been usin' for who knows how long has finally eaten the last of his brain. Fine indeed." Spike glanced to Willow. "How soon can you call Giles?" She shrugged.

"Anytime. I have his direct line, his home line, everything actually. Twenty-four hour Giles access."

"Call him," Spike said. "If we got any chance of at least helpin' Angel, we need to know it, and it needs to happen like, yesterday. Poor bloke. Can't hardly sleep, can't stay awake. No appetite. And that's just me," he said, smiling. Willow grinned.

"Yeah, I can see that Angel's personal torment is really taking its toll on you."

"Damn right."

Spike was in the living room, going through some basic workouts. Pushups, sit ups, stretches, anything at all he could think of to keep his mind off of the sounds of Angel's shrieks.

Since the conversation that morning, he had seen Angel only once – when his grandsire had started screaming again and he had run in to find him cowering naked in a corner, a large piece of metal in his hands as he cut into his skin over and over again – on his legs, his arms, his chest. Spike had a few cuts of his own from wrestling the scrap metal out of Angel's grasp, including a long and jagged slice across his left cheek that had almost given him another hole in his body. After that, Angel had told Spike to leave him alone – something Spike had been grossly uncomfortable with, but Angel had insisted. Spike had argued every point he could, but Angel had still shoved him out. So now, Spike was doing anything to stop the resounding cries that echoed sharply in his mind.

Willow, Faith, and Wood had journeyed to one or more of the local self proclaimed 'occult shops' in town. Giles had talked to Willow about a spell that was said to help in the case of a demon being possessed. But not before giving her a long lecture about the fact that she was in fact helping Angel, who had in fact been running Wolfram & Hart, which was in fact still one of the worst evils ever born into this world. Willow had assured Giles that his concerns were unwarranted, and Spike had been lucky enough to catch his reply. Something to the effect of, "Yes, of course, crazy old Giles just throwing out the idea that maybe vampires and demons aren't the cuddly creatures we all know them to be! Ruddy magnificent, we're still trying to save them rather than slay them."

Spike smiled a bit as he recalled Giles – he had not seen the Watcher since that day at the high school, when he had saved the world.

I saved the world.

As he stood up and grabbed the small towel he had brought into the living room, he smiled.

I might be a demon, but I saved the world. Top that, Watcher boy.

He walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a large container with blood. He poured some into a mug and set it into the microwave, pushing a few buttons and letting it go. He walked back into the hallway, listening closely for sounds of Angel – there were none. He shook his head, walking back into the kitchen in time to hear the microwave being at him. He took the mug out, sipping at its contents, becoming lost in his own thoughts.

"Anymore in there?" Spike turned to see Angel standing in the doorway, wearing only his slacks. His chest was beginning to heal already – but much slower than usual. Angel needed to feed to help the healing process. Spike smiled.

"Plenty – want me to heat some for you?" Angel shook his head.

"I can get it," he said, opening the fridge. He pulled out the container, reaching into the dish rack that sat on the counter and grabbing a mug. Once his own cup was heated, he walked to the table and sat down.

"They called Giles, didn't they?" he asked. Spike nodded, leaning against one of the counters.

"They're worried about you, mate." Angel looked at Spike.

"And you?"

"I'm bloody well terrified," Spike admitted. He set his mug down next to him. "Last few days have been… well, they've been a right hell, to be honest. But we're here, we're in this together, and we'll make it through. I'm here for you. You know that."

Angel nodded. He stood up and walked to the doorway, leaving his cup still steaming slightly. Spike frowned as he heard the door to the basement open and close. "Ruddy git."

The front door opened this time, and Spike stood as Willow and Faith walked into the kitchen. Wood followed them, carrying several bags, which he set down on the table.

"What's all this?" Spike asked, moseying over and rifling through the bags.

"It's what's gonna help Angel," Willow said cheerily. She began pulling ingredients out of the sacks, laying them out on the table. Spike continued poking through the contents until she finally shooed him out of her way. "I need to get all of this ready, Spike, and I can't do that with you moving everything – go. How's Angel? You checked on him lately – oh God, Spike, your face! What happened?"

"I checked on Angel," Spike said, grabbing the now cooling blood off the table and returning to the counter. "He started screamin' again – don't know who he saw, but whoever it was, they were pretty bad ass. Got down there and he was naked, tryin' to see how many cuts he could put on his body before he passed out I think. Got this and a few others gettin' the piece o' metal outta his hands. He was up here just a few minutes before you all got home – came up, heated some blood, asked if you called the Watcher, then went back downstairs."

Willow nodded sadly. Spike knew she was nearly as concerned about Angel as he was – and he was thankful for it. She continued separating and organizing ingredients as he watched in silence.

"So," he broke the silence many moments later. "When do we get this mojo workin' and fix our old pal Angel, ay?"

Night had fallen, dark and heavy, with a sickening thickness in the air that seemed to coat Spike's skin like blood. He shivered at the imagery his mind brought forth, shaking his head and turning his focus back to the task at hand. He was currently walking outside the building, sprinkling salt around the perimeter. It was a fairly common practice in magic. And as Willow had said – the sooner it happened, the sooner she could work the banishing spell that should set Angel free of his ghostly tormentors.

After finishing his task, he raced back inside and down into the basement. Upon opening the door that led out of the hallway, he felt overcome with the scents of herbs and incense that Willow had set up. He placed the back of his hand to his nose, trying to avoid the overpowering scents as best he could. He rushed down the stairs and joined the witch near Angel's cot.

"All set?" she asked hopefully. He nodded, his hand never leaving his face. She beamed at him. "Sorry 'bout all the, ya know, the smells," she said. "But it's what Giles told me – "

"If it'll make Angel less of a self flagellating knob, I'm all for it." She nodded, picking up an ancient looking text and opening tentatively to a marked page. Spike looked to Angel, who was cowering on his cot, his face streaked with tears and traces of blood. Around his bed were several bunches of herbs. He looked up suddenly, catching Spike's eyes.

Spike wanted nothing more in that moment than to run to him, hold him, and tell him it would be alright. He wanted to comfort his grandsire, wanted to whisper soothingly in his ear. But Willow had given him strict instructions: he was to stand clear of Angel, and be ready to help her harness the magic's should anything go wrong.

"Here goes nothin'," she whispered. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she closed her eyes, directing her energy into her new mission. She opened her eyes and began to chant.

"Angels of protection – angels who clear. Remove all spirits who don't belong here! What is dark be filled with light. Remove these spirits from my sight!"

Spike's eyes widened as he watched several beacons of bright light emerge, all of them converging to the bunches of herbs and incense. Willow kept her concentration as she pulled her Athame out of her sleeve and pointed it up at the sky, then slowly, menacingly, dragging the tip through the air until it pointed at the floor. Angel let out a terrified and pain filled cry, wrenching Spike's heart.

"Spirits of evil, unfriendly beings, unwanted guests, be gone!" She continued her chant, bringing the Athame up to shoulder level and turning slowly around in a complete circle. Still, Angel shrieked. "Leave us, leave this place, leave this circle. Go, or be cast into the outer darkness! Go, or be drowned in the watery abyss! Go, or be burned in the flames! Go, or be torn by the whirlwind! By the power of Hecate, we banish you! We banish you! We banish you!" She was shouting now, though she was barely heard over Angel. Her eyes had bled into black pools, but behind the pools Spike could see the purest light he had ever witnessed.

All around the cot, the bunches of herbs were now glowing with the spirits bound to them, almost burning in intensity. Angel was writhing and gasping on his cot, looking as though he were being tortured by an invisible hand. Willow kept her focus, shouting once more, "We banish you!"

The room fell silent, all the lights extinguished as a strong gust of wind blew through the room, rustling Spike's hair and chilling his corpse. No one uttered a word, or even moved, for what felt like hours. Then a small, almost hesitant voice spoke.

"Angel?" Spike almost thought it had been he who had broken the silence, until he realized that the voice had been far too feminine. He immediately began feeling in his pockets, fishing something out. With a loud click, his silver lighter flared into being and illuminated Angel, who lay on his bed, still as death. Spike took several steps forward, until at last he was kneeling next to his grandsire.

"Angel?" he asked, reaching out with his free hand to trail his fingers lazily over the skin on his arm. Angel's head turned, looking him in the eyes.

"Spike," he whispered, smiling faintly. "Am I…"

"Safe as houses," Spike told him, feeling his own mouth turn up gently at the corners. "Right Red?"

"Should be," she said, kneeling next to him. "How ya doin', Angel?"

Angel sat up and shrugged. "Guess I'm OK – other than the fact that for the better part of the past few days I've been going completely insane, being haunted by demon ghosts of my deceased friends."

"So, pretty much a typical week at the office for people like us, huh?" Willow asked. Angel chuckled.

"Pretty much," he said. Willow stood.

"Are you two gonna be OK now?" she asked. Spike nodded up at her.

"You can go to bed now – I know you must be exhausted, what with all the David Copperfield tricks you pulled the last few days. We'll be fine," he assured her. She smiled and placed a friendly hand on Angel's shoulder before retreating to the stairs, making her way up to the main area of the house carefully. Spike heard the door close, then turned to Angel.

"You really alright, mate?"

"I think so," Angel said. "I feel… different. Like I've been… fixed… but part of me is still broken."

"Hell of a way to be broken."

Angel said nothing, and for a few minutes the two sat in silence again. Then Angel spoke up.

"You don't… don't think you could maybe, heat up some blood, do ya?" Spike stared at Angel in disbelief.

"Just cause you've been all haunted and tormented doesn't mean I'll roll over for ya now," he scoffed, standing up. Angel nodded, then tried to stand up. Spike pushed him back onto the cot. He looked up at him, confused.

"But I will help you, ya know, on the whole road to recovery." Spike smiled at his grandsire before turning and walking up the stairs.