Biiiiiiig thanks to Sockmonkeyhere for being my beta. Love ya!
Blah blah, I don't own any of the characters. ('Cept for Simon, Karen, Shannon, and Rob.)
-Clocky
The next rest stop turned out to be an exit into a sleepy little town called Cromwell. The welcome sign boasted a population of a few thousand, along with apparently world famous Apple Pie at the downtown diner. Spike's eyebrows, ever expressive, lifted. "Cozy little 'burb..." he muttered.
Cromwell was one of those towns that nobody really notices unless they've stumbled across it in their travels. Cookie-cutter houses with fairly generic lawns that grew closer together around the town center; a main street with offices, diners, one or two semi-fancy restaurants, a cinema and a run-down little arcade that still had an original Asteroids kiosk in working order. Simple, with people going about, doing their daily deal, and simply being. In the semi-darkness of the van's tinted windows, they witnessed children at an elementary school playing in a small field, and scowling, pimply teenagers sulking around outside Cromwell High.
"Fuckin' hell, what is this? Pleasantville?"
On the other side of town, Lorne located a shoddy little Motel 6, and after some debate, it was decided that Gunn, being the least noticeable and actually capable of going outside the van without 'going extra crispy', Lorne's words, would go in and see if they had a room available.
"Y'think we can use credit cards?" Lorne asked after Gunn had limped off, looking immensely weary.
Angel shrugged. "Wolfram and Hart can probably track them, and the Senior Partners, I bet."
"Sure, but they've probably got better ways to find where we're roosting than trackin' how much cash we spend."
Angel rubbed his eyes. "You're right... They'll find us no matter what we do."
There was a distinctively gloomy silence in the van, save for Illyria, who never seemed to exhibit much of any emotion. Except, perhaps, for curiosity or annoyance.
"We lay low, then," Angel said, sounding a little determined now. "I'm not going to let them take us down after all we've done. We'll lie low here for a while, I'll call Willow and ask her if she can do some sort or spell on us while we're here, keep us hidden. Give it a few weeks, then head back to LA."
Spike and Lorne glanced at each other. "Where in LA, though? We can't exactly waltz back into Wolfram and Hart like Fred Astaire."
"No..." Angel grinned a little bit. "The Hyperion."
On the dry, yellow-green grass of the lawn outside Cromwell High, a scrawny boy was looking over his shoulder.
Awh shit...
He jogged up the lawn, dashing behind the building to creep along its side, ducking beneath windows along the first floor until he came to a stairwell. The boy jumped down the stairs, and tugged open the rusted metal door.
Cromwell High had been built in the 1950s, and the bomb shelter that had accompanied it was now used for general storage, graffiti, and kids who liked to skip class midday.
The dark-haired boy glanced around the cellar, tugged his shirt collar a little, and shut the door, leaving him in darkness.
"Karen? Rob? You guys here? Quit fucking around."
He set the paper bag on the ground, tennis shoes squeaking as he moved forwards into the room. Then...
"Wuuaaggh!"
Two dark shapes leapt from the shadows, grabbed at his arms, tore at his overshirt; something cold and clammy all over his face, spraying. He shouted, and the lights flickered on, accompanied by an electrical buzzing. Hysterical laughter, and he concluded two things.
One: There was Silly String all over his face.
Two: His friends were jackasses.
"OKAY, seriously? This stuff takes forever to get out." He tugged at the neon pink strands, assessing his friends.
Karen was a pretty girl, or she would be if she tried to be. Her hair was messily cut short and freckles sprayed across her cheeks and nose, but acne was in full-force at sixteen, and a new crop of pimples had broken out across her forehead, hastily hidden by bangs and a headband. A full set of braces and a pair of wire glasses completed the look.
Rob, on the other hand, clearly tried way too hard to look good. His hair was long and shiny, face smooth and blemish-free. His nose had been broken at some point and his ears were too large for his head; he was the eldest, though, at eighteen.
"Simon, you should have seen your face, it was priceless!"
"I seriously thought you were gonna wet yourself!"
More laughter, and Simon scowled. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You guys are freakin' lucky I even agreed to this. Skipping class to feed your stupid habit."
Still snickering, the two looked at each other. "Didja bring it?" asked Rob.
"Of course I did." Simon picked up the paper bag again, and pulled out it's contents: a full package of cookie dough, and a liter of Mountain Dew.
There were whoops and cheers, and the three settled on the floor, passing the liter bottle around and scarfing down big hunks of raw cookie dough.
"So, where we hittin' tonight?"
"I dunno, Karen. My parents are starting to get suspicious..." Simon licked his fingers clean. "I mean, coming home late, bruises all over me, unexplainable gashes. Shit, Mom cleaned my room and found my stakes; she kept telling me boys my age are supposed to keep porn under their mattresses."
Karen sniggered. "What did you tell her?"
"Told her that I took up woodworking, and those were wooden flutes-to-be."
Rob and Karen burst into peals of laughter, and once they'd sobered, Karen eyed Simon dubiously. "It's important, what we're doing, Simon, you know that. I mean, who else is gonna even try? Nobody would believe us if we told them vampires were sleazing around town."
Simon shrugged. "Well, yeah but... I'm kind of sick of us taking on the responsibility. We're not Van Helsing, Karen. We're only able to stake a couple a month, anyway. We can really only fight 'em off until whoever they were trying to eat runs away."
Rob swallowed a mouthful of soda. "Maybe, but at least we're keeping people safe, you know? Gives you a good feeling."
"I'm sick of it, though. How long has it been since we started this? Year and a half, two? What happens when one of us doesn't make it back..." Simon trailed off.
Karen threw him a snooty look and dug a hand into her pocket. "Look what I made." From her pocket she produced three identical necklaces. "Check it out, you know that stupid bead jewelry kit thing I got last Christmas? Well I finally figured out a use for it."
The string was a stretchy, plastic sort of material, and when Karen pulled the first one over her head, the boys found that each individual bead was actually a plastic cross.
"I felt bad, taking all the Rosaries from that basket in the church, but I figure they put them out there for a reason." She handed one to each of them.
"Nice." Rob breathed.
"We're not gonna, you know, not come back one day. Shannon and I are making sure of it. We're doing all kinds of research on vampires, I think we can get them out of this town."
Simon looked soothed. "If your sister's in on all of this, then I feel better about it."
Karen gaped. "Oh! You trust her but not me?! What is this?"
Simon sneered. "You know what I mean."
"Well! I should get to English. 's turkey neck waits for no man." Rob stood, brushing off his jeans. "I'll meet you guys at the diner around seven-thirty?"
The group agreed, and hurried to their respective classes.
The call to Willow, Spike mused, had been one of the most entertaining things he'd seen in his life. When Angel finally managed to convince Giles that no, they did not work for Wolfram and Hart, and no, they were not lying, the smarmy little tosser finally put them on to Willow.
Which, once Angel had explained everything that had happened, had resulted in Willow shouting at Giles for a good twenty minutes for not telling her. "IS FRED ALRIGHT WHERE ARE YOU GUYS?!" Angel was forced to hold the phone at arm's length, she was so loud.
"Stay there for a few weeks, a month or two. Just until it looks to Wolfram and Hart that you guys are well-hidden. Once the search goes down, you guys should be safe to go back. Give me a few minutes, and don't go anywhere!"
She hung up, and before Angel could even hang up the motel's phone, there was a soft pop, and Willow Rosenberg was standing in the motel room, looking furious.
"I swear, Angel, if Giles had told me about Fred when you called... I would have been over faster than you could spit-SPIKE!?"
The vampire lifted a hand. "Red. How's it?"
Willow gaped. "You're all... solid, and... not burned to a crisp, wha... how...!"
Lorne piped up, from his spot on the edge of one of the two double beds. "Not totally sure. Blondie Bear over there showed up all ghostified after Angel got that amulet in the mail."
Gunn nodded. "Then we got a box in the mail that flashed a little bit, turned the offices upside down and made Spike solid again."
The vampire in question nodded. "'Bout sums it up. Cheers."
"That's incredible... I can't believe... Buffy is gonna be so-"
"No," Spike cut her off. "Don't tell 'er. Just don't." he held up his hands. "After an exit like that, well it'd be bloody hard to outdo it." He grinned, face dripping the cocky attitude that Willow had known in Sunnydale. But that Spike had been in love with Buffy to the point of obsession; now he was actually asking her not to tell Buffy he was semi-alive?
"Uh... sure, sure, I won't tell her... Um, where's Fred now- oh."
She had caught sight of Illyria, curiously inspecting the bible that all motel rooms seem to come equipped with. "Oh, Fred..."
The Old God looked up, stony eyes trailing up and down Willow's form. "The Shell?"
Gunn scowled. "She's got a name."
Illyria cocked her head to the side, eyes on Gunn now. "The Burkle." Illyria moved mechanically, as if she was merely intrigued at the people around her. Her eyes drifted away, back to the book in her hands; she sniffed its binding.
Willow's hand covered her mouth. "It's not even her anymore..."
"We know, okay? Can we get down t'business? Fred's gone. Nothin' we can bloody well do about it..." Spike scowled from his position against the wall; beyond the scowl, however, was a profound look of anguish. In fact, everyone in the room except Illyria seemed to be grateful that Spike had spoken up; even Angel didn't snap at him. Fred had truly been a friend to each of them, unquestioningly loyal and trusting.
"Right..."
Willow clapped her hands together, and held them up in front of her face, palms up. A low humming seemed to escape from her closed lips, and after a moment, a bright, orangey flash danced through the building.
"There, it's kind of a new trick, I picked it up in a book Giles found. Essentially, it's going to sort of make you guys untrackable. I mean, if Wolfram and Hart showed up and saw you, well, can't help you there!" she laughed a little, nervously. "But unless they come here deliberately looking for you, they shouldn't be able to track you."
"Thank you, Willow. I don't know how we can thank you for doing this for us. Or even for trusting us..." Angel looked towards the side of the room.
Willow smiled. "You don't have to do anything, Angel. Really, Giles should have known better than to think you guys would be really helping the Law Offices of Demon, Demon, and Evil. But... Maybe you guys could tell me everything that's been happening with you?"
Angel smiled in her direction, and settled in to catch Willow up on everything, from the day they had first stepped into Wolfram and Hart's lobby in an attempt to change it, and how they had failed.