A/N1: While this fic is a sequel of sorts to "The Poetry Slam," this fic does stand alone. Spoilers for Post Buffy S7:Chosen, Post Angel S5: Not Fade Away.
A/N2: Originally, Chapters One through Twelve were betaed by AlwaysJBJ. However, since FlexSis has done such an excellent job on the chapters after Twelve, I asked her to look back over the first twelve for finishing touches. So, I thank Always for her original betaing and FlexSis for her revisions.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, they are owned by their respective companies &/or corporations, whether that is Mutant Enemy, Fox Entertainment, Joss Whedon, Davis-Panzer Productions, or Rhyser Entertainment, etc. However, I do appreciate the opportunity to play with them every so often. Additional disclaimers will appear as the story progresses.
Spike pressed himself against the wall of a darkened alley adjoining the one north of the Hyperion Hotel. He was tired, bloodied, and wet but still on alert. Bloody hell, it was getting hot. How can it be so hot and yet the rain be so cold?
he thought. No one else had shown yet. Bugger.
Well, he had disposed of his task rather quickly: a little disappointing, actually; he'd been expecting a nicer brawl. Still, not bad work, even with Junior handicapping him by one arm; cute little tyke had actually gurgled as Spike was slashing through the Fell.
Thankfully, Peaches didn’t see him looking all Obi Wan. Could not believe it had been so easy to sneak inside; hello, vampire scent does not smell like Fell. He really should have taken offense.
Little Mamma was happy seeing Junior again. Spike frowned. Morsel’s Da though still was not in the best of health. But Spike figured the money and the new identities would help sort out that family nice and proper like.
Spike tensed as he sensed a familiar smell, then relaxed: just Peaches, complete with broadsword. Spike stepped out to make his presence known. “Boo.”
“Not so far. You feel the heat?” Spike asked, needing to make sure he was not the only one feeling this. Earlier in the day, he had begun questioning whether he had been changed after coming back to his unlife from the big pile of ashes. It tore at his soul that he was even second guessing himself.
Angel nodded, “It’s coming.”
Covering his relief from Peaches’ answer, Spike said, “Finally got ourselves a decent brawl.”
Spike saw Gunn running down the street, carrying his proudly homemade battle-axe. “Damn! How did I know the fang boys would pull through?” He frowned as he noticed Gunn’s run become first a jog and then a weak stumble. “You’re lucky we’re on the same side, dogs, ‘cause I was on fire tonight. My game was tight.”
Spike quickly, with Angel’s help, caught Gunn before he fell and helped him onto a box.
Human blood. Gunn was hurting worse than he was trying to show. He understood, but still he had to look at the wounds. “You’re supposed to wear the red stuff on the inside, Charlie boy.”
Spike had to hand it to Gunn. Charlie had only then seemed to notice his wounds and quickly dismissed them, asking instead, “Any word on Wes?”
As the words left Gunn’s lips, Illyria jumped down from the chain-link fence standing behind Angel. Blue does know how to make an entrance,
Illyria answered the question left hanging in the air. “Wesley’s dead.”
Spike hung his head for a moment in deference to the ex-Watcher. He had grown sort of fond of that bastard. Man did know his scotch, the 12-year-old Lagavulin; Spike wished he had copped some off of him.
The roar of a crowd has begun to grow in volume. The heat had increased at least fifteen degrees since Angel first entered the alley.
Blue had earlier let slip to him that she had become more human since Wes had ray gunned her. Spike watched fledgling emotions flash across her once ice-cold face. She surprised him by admitting it. Little Shiva gritted out, “I’m feeling grief for him. I can’t seem to control it. I wish to do more violence,”
“Well, wishes just happen to be horses today.” Spike told her over the din of the crowd.
Angel agreed, “Among other things.”
Spike swiveled to his right in time to watch the horde of demons turning the corner at the entranceway to the street leading into the alley. Bloody hell. A sense of déjà vu swept over him, taking him back to that day under the Sunnyhell High, with thousands of uber grand pappies. Except the ubers were prettier. Spike saw perhaps thousands of assorted hellspawn and oh look a dragon. Hadn’t seen one of those since the Bad-Perm Bitch’s Tower.
He heard Gunn shouting, “OK. You take the 30,000 on the left…”
“You’re fading. You’ll last 10 minutes at best.” Smurfette, always a font of positivity.
Gunn, a true soldier, stood up, “Then let’s make ‘em memorable.”
Angel had stepped toward the crowd, so Spike followed, Charlie and Shiva behind him. Just like the in the old days,
Spike mused; here he was, standing on his Grand Sire’s right. He felt better that Charlie boy was standing beside him, thinking he could keep him from harm at least for a little while. It was a thought anyway. Bluebell was on Angel’s other side.
Secretly, he loved the fact that Angel had rejected all Angelus’ instincts. Wonder if Angel realized he was doing it? That Tit would have never allowed himself to be back up against a wall of any sort. Hell, he had even threatened to end my unlife for causing such trouble.
Recalling Yorkshire in 1880, how he had incited that mob. Angelus had been seriously pissed. Told him right off that he preferred getting caught. “All out fight in a mob, back against the wall, nothing but fists and fangs.” Poofter actually threatened him with a metal stake.
No, the Insufferable One only fought battles he knew he could win.
“In terms of a plan?” he asked Angel.
“We fight,” Angel stated. Well, pin a rose on Captain Obvious.
“Bit more specific?” he tried asking again.
Angel had stepped forward as the demon horde began their attack. “Well personally, I kind of want to slay the dragon. Let’s go to work.”
With that, Angel swung his sword, beheading some beastie. Blue went to work knocking holes in the heads of three unrecognizable demons. In fact, Spike was not sure what he was fighting. He had immediately had gone into game face, disarming some creature that had tusks. He almost had fang envy.
Katana in hand, Spike began exacting a fair amount of damage. Charlie boy was fighting off some 10-foot tall hairy beast and losing. So, he made his way over to Gunn, sliced the fur ball’s kneecaps and finished it off with a beheading stroke.
“Stay close. Be my backup. Don’t make me eat you, Charlie.”
“OK, got your six.”
All of sudden, Spike’s senses went on high alert. Powerful magic was being used. Burnt olive smell. Was that glitter?
Spike’s eyes couldn’t believe who he saw standing before him.
“Hey there, Sexy Resurrected, heard you might need our help,” Faith grinned as she, Rona and Dana joined in the battle.
A/N3: Pre-battle dialogue taken from “Not Fade Away.” Flashback Yorkshire dialogue taken from BTVS “Fool for Love.”