Feedback: It makes me happy. Don't you want to make me happy?
Summary: AU. Angel O'Brien is trying his best to live a normal, safe life in L.A. But when his brother Angelus, CEO of Wolfram and Hart, forces him to return to the past he'd thought he'd escaped, Angel will have to deal with both his own inner demons and those of his friends if he wants to survive.
Author's Note: Everybody is human, and while most of the characters will stay in character, they will be different nonetheless. The timeline is obviously completely different from on BTVS and AtS. Most of this will be from Angel's point of view, but not all of it. Italics indicate thought A/N 2: Hmm, chapters six and seven seem incredibly long, mostly because they are, lol. It'll be best if you, the reader, read them one after the other, because you will probably be slightly confused by the end of this one.June 14
12: 58 AM
Capital City Airport, Lansing, Michigan Spike POVThe water that Angel had splashed on Spike was uncomfortably cool as the two of them walked out into the Michigan night. That, plus the irritatingly heavy bags that Spike was helping to carry, had made the blonde want to annoy Angel. Well, scratch that, he always wanted to annoy Angel, but now he was doing it with a vengeance.
"This is the song that never ends! It just goes on and on, my friends!" Spike sang cheerfully as he and Angel made their way towards the edge of the parking lot, where their ride was parked.
"Shut up," Angel growled. "Just. Shut. Up."
"Some people started singin' it, not knowing what it was, and they'll continue singing it forever just because," Spike took a dramatic pause, before continuing even more loudly, "THIS IS THE SONG THAT NEVER ENDS! IT JUST GOES ON AND ON MY-mmph!" The Englishman grunted in pain as Angel swung a suitcase at him, hitting Spike square in the side. This started a brief shoving contest, made all the more challenging by the fact that the two men were trying to hold several suitcases as they pushed each other. Had they not reached the car, blood might have been spilled. Spike was sure he would have won though.
"This is the car?" Angel asked, grimacing distastefully.
Spike was secretly very pleased that his partner disliked the red SUV that was theirs to use throughout the course of the job. As vastly different as the two men were, they had discovered one, single, unifying point. They were both in love with classic cars. Angel had nearly squealed when he'd first laid eyes on Spike's Desoto, and the blonde had done likewise when he'd seen that lovely Plymouth GTX that Angel kept stored somewhere. Of course, the red Ferrari had been tingly-naughty-feeling-inducing, but that Plymouth had some class. It had some character. It also had the best security that Angel could buy, and because of that, Spike hadn't had much success in hotwiring it. Shame, really.
"It runs well enough," Spike ventured, unlocking the car. It gave a mechanical chirp, which made the blonde grimace. Manly cars did not 'chirp'. "And your brother insisted that we try and be as inconspicuous as possible. Hence the White Bread Mobile. There's one waitin' for you in Redgrass, too."
"Cars like this have no personality. They all come out of the factory exactly the same. They're the cafeteria food of cars." Angel continued ranting as he loaded his stuff into the trunk. Spike was amused to see that the big man was still clinging to his backpack like he was five and it was a security blanket. Finally, the brunette slammed the trunk closed, looking legitimately irritated.
Spike shook his head, walked around the car, and opened the driver's side door. "Plus this damn thing makes the petrol evaporate like water in the desert. A lot of my cigarette and beer money is going towards keeping the beast running." He sank back slightly in the leather seats. Ah, leather. At least the car had a few good qualities. That Global Positioning thing was nifty, too.
"So it's boring, and it harms the environment," summarized Angel, as entered through the passenger door. "We should request a new one."
"Stop being snobby. Not all the cars you drive have to be top-o'-the-line beauties."
The detective muttered something about not being snobby, but went quiet as the car's engine rumbled to life and Spike began the very long drive to Redgrass. The Englishman, sensing that Angel was going to brood for a while, turned on the radio and flipped through the stations, trying to find something worth listening to. He gave the songs bonus points if they made Angel grimace. He'd started singing along during the last song by The Clash, and continued singing as a new song came on. He knew this one by heart too. There wasn't much else to do on surveillance but watch things and listen to music. The song was a few lines in before Angel finally reacted.
"Someone get me to the doctor, someone get me to a church, where they can pump this venom-gaping hole," Spike sang, watching Angel's disgusted expression with glee.
"Why do you have to sing Spike?" the brunette asked in frustration. "Can't you just be silent?"
"And you must keep your soul like a secret in your throat. And if they come an get me, what if, you put the spike in my heart!" Head banging while driving was admittedly dangerous, but Spike was a professional at it.
"Ah, so that's why you like this song," shouted Angel over the chorus. "Your name shows up in it."
Spike stuck his tongue out at Angel, aware that it was a bit juvenile but not particularly caring. The next verse came in and he cranked the volume dial even higher. "And now the night comes. That's a stage for this, they come in pairs. She said, 'We'll shoot back holy water like cheap whiskey'. They're always there!"
And now to really rattle his knobs, Spike thought maliciously. Ah, he'd missed having Angel around to mess with. After checking to make sure there wasn't much traffic around, Spike put his plan into action. He took his hands off the wheel and put them behind his head in a relaxed position. His brunette partner was gawping at him in horror, and Spike smirked. Then he propped his feet on the wheel to steer. After all, driving with no appendages touching the wheel at all was dangerous.
With Angel shrieking in his ear, Spike howled the next verse. "Someone get me to the doctor, and someone call a nurse, and someone buy me roses-"
"SPIKE, GET YOUR GODDAMN HANDS BACK ON THE GODDAMN WHEEL!"
"-and someone burn the church. We're hanging out with corpses and driving in this hearse. Someone save my soul tonight, please save my soul tonight!" His final yell was interrupted when Angel very rudely shoved his feet from the wheel, causing the car to veer dangerously off the road.
"Oi!" the Englishman protested, but Angel was paying little mind to Spike's indignity. Instead, the brunette was frantically steering the car to a shoulder of the road before nearly tearing the keys out of the ignition. The car grumbled to a halt and Spike took survey of the situation. Angel was sprawled across both their seats, practically in Spike's lap, one hand on the wheel, the other dangling in the space beneath the seats, clutching the keys. Spike, on the other hand, had his hands behind his head and his legs pushed against the door in a rather uncomfortable way.
"Why Angel," the blonde said softly, grinning down at the furious man in his lap, "I had no idea you felt that way about me."
Angel actually bared his teeth and growled as he struggled back to a sitting position, making sure to elbow Spike in the groin as he was doing so. That was unnecessary, the Englishman thought in irritation, doubling over in pain.
"I just," Angel gasped, out of breath and furious, "hate you. Just completely HATE YOU!"
Spike laughed. "Aw, c'mon. You had fun."
"No, you bleached kamikaze idiot, dying in a car accident is NOT my idea of fun!"
Rolling his eyes, Spike straightened and held his hand out for the keys. The expression on Angel's face was really quite priceless.
"There is no way in hell you are getting these keys! You almost killed us!"
"There was no traffic around, Angel." Spike was used to the detective's stubborn silliness by now. "We were perfectly safe."
"We could have hit a tree, and that still would have killed us!"
"The closest we ever got to the trees was when you pulled us off the road," Spike pointed out calmly.
"I'm driving now, you psycho. You can give me the directions, but you aren't getting anywhere near the wheel." Keys clutched firmly in hand, it was clear that Angel was not going to budge an inch.
Faking a sigh Spike moved as if he was going to get out of the car, but suddenly whirled and jabbed his fingers into Angel's kidney. Swearing with pain, Angel instinctively let go of the keys in favor of clutching his side. The blond triumphantly grabbed the keys and jammed them into the ignition. Ah, victory.
Glancing over to the passenger side, Spike saw that his partner was still clutching his side, panting something like, "Kill you, kill you, kill you!" Silly ponce.
"I promise not to steer the car with me feet anymore," Spike murmured when Angel finally straightened and looked ready to attack. Baring his teeth once again-did he go feral or something?-the detective jabbed the radio off before settling back into his seat.
The Englishman began driving again, cheerfully ignoring the death glares that Angel was sending him. The loss of music didn't faze him. He'd won this round.
"What was that stupid song anyway?" Angel asked after about fifteen minutes of silence.
Oh yeah, I'm the one who can't stand to be silent? But Spike answered nonetheless. "It was Vampires Will Never Hurt You. 'S by My Chemical Romance."
"Your chemical what?" Angel asked, familiar expression of confusion on his face.
Rolling his eyes in pity, the Englishman explained, "No you git, My Chemical Romance is the name of the band."
"Ah." Another minute or so of silence. "Stupid to sing about vampires."
Sensing the beginnings of what could be another world-class argument, Spike responded, "Why is it stupid?"
Angel stared at him in surprise. "Because vampires aren't real." The way he said it indicated that it should be obvious.
"So? That doesn't mean anything. People sing about all sorts of things that aren't real. Ever heard Vampire Punk Rockers From Hell by Inkubus Sukkubus?" Angel shook his head. "'Course not. Well, my point is, people talk and sing and make TV shows about things that don't exist. Vampires and werewolves and the like. So what?"
"But it means you can't connect to what they're understand about, especially if they are singing," protested the brunette. "Music is supposed to make you feel something, and you can't feel anything if you can't relate."
"But you can relate," Spike argued. "Remember that ex-wife of yours? She seemed like a real bloodsucker."
Angel scowled hard at him. "Leave Darla out of this, yeah?"
"'M just sayin'."
"Well don't." Angel's voice was unexpectedly harsh, and Spike glanced at him curiously. He'd have thought Peaches would have had nothing but bitter loathing for his ex. If I had married a woman, promised to love and cherish and whatever, and then she'd slept with my rich twin brother, I'd be right pissed.
The silence in the car was suddenly uncomfortable. Spike tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, occasionally stealing glances at Angel. Finally, reckoning the question couldn't possibly upset the detective too badly, Spike asked, "You ever see her again? After you quit Wolfram and Hart?"
"Yes." The tone of Angel's voice indicated that that was all the blonde was going to get.
So imagine Spike's great surprise when, about five minutes later, Angel asked, "How long did she stay in L.A. after I left?"
Squinting, Spike tried to remember. "Uh, she buggered off about two months after you did."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. She and Angelus had some kind of bloody great row, and next thing I knew, she was gone. With the baby." He wasn't sure what made him ask the next question. "When you…saw her again, did she have the little one with her, then?"
"Yeah," Angel muttered quietly. "She had Connor."
Spike almost wanted to try and crash the car again. At least then, he wouldn't have to dive so deep into the past. He wasn't a big fan of reflection, of looking back and closely examining what he'd done. Live for now, that was his motto. One of them, anyway. But Angel was trapped by the past, and Spike could see that so clearly it was as if the chains were real, tangible things. And as much as the big guy got under his skin, Spike didn't want to see him miserable.
So he took it upon himself to exorcise some of those demons from Angel's past. It might not have been his business, but that had never stopped Spike before. "Look, mate, I know you don't exactly revel in the things that happened, but maybe it was for the best."
"Oh really?" Angel's voice had gone very cold. "How do you figure?"
"Would you have really wanted to be with Darla when she was cheating on you? Knowing what she'd done, could you have gone on with things? Especially when she was pregnant?"
Angel swallowed, looking down at his hands folded in his lap. "No, I didn't want to be with Darla after everything that had happened."
"Exactly." Spike felt slightly encouraged. "So maybe it was good that it all came out. You wouldn't have wanted to go through your life thinkin' that baby was yours."
"No. I wouldn't want to have raised Angelus' son," Angel agreed. The Englishman tried to ignore the fact that his partner was pretty much repeating what he said, but simply using different words.
"Right. And having the kid around, that would have been a pretty hard reminder of what happened. Which is why you left Wolfram and Hart, right?"
The brunette nodded, eyes closed.
"So you got to leave the place you hated and wander the world or whatever it was that you did for five years. Y'know, before you became a detective."
"How did you find out about that, anyway?" Angel asked quietly.
"Your brother told me."
More silence, long enough that Spike thought his partner had fallen asleep. Therefore, he was quite startled when Angel spoke. "Do you think I'd have been a good parent?"
Spike closed his eyes for a moment, sighing through his nose. I said I didn't want to be his therapist. So why is this happening! But still he answered, "Better than Darla and Angelus. I mean, you have a whole hell of a lot of problems," which made Angel smile, "but still. You'd have at least been better than your brother. Since the day I met him, I'd always reckoned that if Angelus did have any young, he'd probably eat them."
That actually made Angel laugh. "I always thought that Darla and I would have a family though, y'know?" He still had his eyes closed, and the smile had dropped from his face. He looked so pale as to almost be translucent in the darkness.
"I don't think the bint was ready to have a kid when she did. She still had a lot of issues. Plus, it would also have helped if she could decide which of the O'Brien twins she wanted a piece of."
Angel smiled again. "You're like Doctor Phil and Jerry Spring all rolled in to one, you know that?"
"Sure, whatever." Spike drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment. "Are we bonding or something?"
"God, I hope not."
"Right."
"This conversation never leaves the car."
The blonde looked at Angel aghast. "Well, bloody hell no. People might start thinking I'm nice." He shuddered.
"Couldn't have that."
When Spike looked at Angel again, a half hour later, the brunette was asleep. As much as doing something to Angel in his sleep was tempting, Spike decided to leave the old boy alone. Plenty of time for pranks when they got to Redgrass.
TBC