That night, Angel dreamt of terrible, terrible things.
It all happened so fast, he barely was able to focus on the images. But a sense of fear ran through him, accompanied by an odd feeling of happiness. He didn't understand.
And suddenly, there he was. Surrounded by dead bodies with a sinful smile on his face. He knew it was wrong, but really, was it? So familiar, so nice, standing there in a pool of red and skin ripped inside out.
Spike was watching him sleep.
Or maybe Spike was sleeping next to him. Angel couldn't tell, and he didn't particuarly want to, either.
"Mmm," Spike whispered into the air, "What a sight." He reveled in the image. It would be the only time he'd see Angel so terribly vulnerable, the kind where he was so desperate for love and knowledge. The kind of vulnerability that in all of his years he'd never seen in Angel, no matter how close they had gotten. Spike knew he'd never see it again. He knew, deep down, that this was only temporary, but it was so beautiful, it would haunt him every single night and yet Spike couldn't seem to care.
Angel snapped awake. Fire flashed in his eyes, and Spike understood. He held Angel close, comforting him, entwing their fingers as Angel sobbed quietly into Spike's chest.
"It's okay," he told him. "I'm here."