Disclaimer: I don't own Angel. Joss Whedon does. I hope he doesn't sue me.

A/N: Thank you to justawritier, angel-cordy, Ann, -J, wesleyssilverphoenix, and Black Opal 1 for dropping a line.

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They were in the lobby of the Hyperion. He must have maneuvered them in here, part of Angel's brain realized—gotten them off the street before some passerby got too good a look at Connor and the blood he was soaked in. Illyria, wearing her own blue face since they'd crossed the threshold, had disappeared, taking the groceries with her. Minor detail. All that really mattered right now was his son.

Anxiously, Angel checked the young man for wounds. He could smell the blood on the boy just as strongly as ever—its bright metallic stink filling his nostrils—but the smell held no attraction for him. His inner beast didn't try and battle its way up to gorge itself on the red fluids. Angelus—the realization hit him as suddenly as a blow to the head—was gone. The smell of blood was actually sort of…repulsive to him now. And Connor wasn't hurt. His hands were beaten, but they would heal within the hour, given how fast his son could heal. Angel couldn't help but smile.

Connor eyed him distrustfully. "Why…why are you smiling?"

He hugged his son's head. "I'm not a vampire!"

"Well, duh—what have I been telling you for the past three weeks?" Cordy's voice came from behind them, from the base of the stairs. Angel released his son, and he heard Connor suck in a surprised breath as he got his first look at her…in this life at least. Angel turned as well, and his smile widened at the sight of her. She was dressed very simply in black trousers and a white blouse untucked, her dark hanging in loose curls still damp from the shower. "Hello, Connor." There was nothing in her voice except maternal warmth, though a hint of unease lurked in her dark eyes. She knew what had passed between them when her body wasn't hers to control, and she knew that part of him knew as well.

"Um…hi…" Connor, blushing bright red, gave a little wave in her direction.

Cordy's eyes flicked over him, taking in the blood. "What happened to you?"

"We were just about to find out," Angel answered for him. Gently, he steered his son over to the pouf and settled him down on it. Cordy sat down beside him. Close enough that she was positioned to look both him and Angel in the eye but not so close that her proximity intruded on Connor's personal space. The kid still looked like he was two seconds from jumping through the roof. Crouching down in front of his son, Angel laid a hand comfortingly on Connor's shoulder. "What happened? Who's dead?"

Connor bit down on his lip as if he was trying to chase away the tears with pain, but they trickled down his cheeks anyway. Angel had to fight to keep his hands from brushing them away. How hard was this? He didn't know what he was supposed to do. Holtz had taken away the chance he'd been given to be a father. Angel had never had the opportunity to kiss his son's scraped knees, to comfort him when the monsters in the closet woke him up at night.

"It's all right," Cordy added. "We can help you. It's what we do."

"I know," he answered, his voice shaky. "I…I went home to do laundry this weekend. There are washers and stuff at the dorms, but I didn't have any quarters, so I talked one of the guys on my hall into giving me a ride to my folks' place. Everything looked fine from the sidewalk, so he just dropped me off and drove off. My key doesn't work too good in the front door, so I went around the back and found the kitchen door standing open. It looked like it'd been forced." He paused and swallowed. "When we were little, in school, they always told us never to go in the house if you found the door open like that. In case the burglar or whoever was still there. But, I thought, hey, I'm all powerful and stuff—I can take on your average robber. There were…men in the house. Standing over my parents' bodies." Connor looked down, twisting his hands together between his knees. "I'm pretty sure they weren't human. Demons, maybe, in human form. Whoever they were, they were strong." He stopped with the hand-twisting and held his arms out, looking at the dried blood like he was just now noticing it. "Not strong enough." The hands clenched into fists, and Connor's eyes grew dark and hard. "I should have made it last longer."

Angel drew back, stunned by the sudden change in his son. "Connor…"

The teenager leapt to his feet, casting an unreadable look down at him. "What? You can't tell me you've never wanted to make someone hurt for an eternity, Dad." Pushing past him, Connor strode across the room and, as Angel and Cordy watched helplessly, ran up the stairs, disappearing into the upper reaches of the hotel.

The door leading to the hotel's kitchen opened with a tiny squeak, and Angel's superhuman hearing alerted him to Illyria's return. "I wish to consume tacos. You will make them now."