Disclaimer: I don’t own Buffy or Supernatural. Buffy and related characters belong to Whedon. Supernatural and related characters belong to Kripke.
Warnings: Spoilers! Light swearing
A/N: I was out of town the last few days, and this one might suffer because of that, but maybe not. The setting for this one is sometime within Season 6 of Supernatural and after the end of Angel Season 5. I’m not taking the comics into account, because I’m just not caught up on the Angel ones. Also, this story is NOT set in the same verse as “Keys to Heaven.”
“Damn it all to bloody Hell!” Spike screeched, ducking under an attacking (mini?) dragon.
The battle of LA had been reduced to just a few minor skirmishes, but those skirmishes still had their major players. Hence, the midget dragon. Spike swung his sword, catching the dragon just where he had hoped to—his neck. With a half-scream, half-gargle, the head separated and arched across the night sky, a spray of blood coloring the bleach-blond vampire. He grinned, his face morphing into his more demonic one.
“Yeah!” he cheered, charging into the next fray, taking the heads of six zombies all at once.
Angel, in the distance, put down another ten zombies and rolled his eyes as his grand sire caught up to him. The two stood shoulder-to-shoulder, hacking and slicing their way through the hordes of undead and who-knows what else that dared attack them.
“Closer and closer, mate,” Spike said, a grin of bravado on his face.
Angel shook his head, his eyes searching the group in front of him.
“We still have thirty-some monsters in front of us, Spike. And after this, we have to head to south-side and deal with whatever it is they have there.”
“I sent ol’ Blue ahead to clear some of the herd for us,” Spike said, taking out another three demons.
Spike lost his smile for a moment, shaking his head. “Well, it’s not like we have Mean Green, Charlie, or Percy anymore.”
Angel pursed his lips. Spike didn’t have to remind him. Gunn, making what they had all known was his last stand, had disappeared into the horde pretty early on, and Percy and Lorne… well, at least Lorne was somewhere safe (hopefully).
“Hold up!” Angel called suddenly, throwing an arm out to stop Spike in case he hadn’t heard.
Spike ran right into the arm, eyeing the other vampire like he’d lost his mind. He opened his mouth to say something to that affect, when Angel motioned ahead. The monsters had stopped coming. They were still very clearly there, at least twenty-five strong now, but they had turned. They were gazing at something behind them, so intent that they had forgotten the two ensouled vampires who had taken out a vast majority of them. Spike and Angel exchanged a confused look, moments before Angel saw the white light that was quickly growing in intensity.
“Cover your eyes!” Angel said, grabbing Spike and whirling the both of them around just in time for the light to reach its full power.
It was only a second. For a single second, the light had burned so intensely that Angel was sure that The Powers That Be had finally stepped onto the battle field. But when it faded, when the moment was over, he found himself still in reality. He was still standing in the battle-torn Los Angeles, his friends were still dead, and Hell was still on Earth. Spike ducked out from under his arm, the first to turn.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, causing Angel to turn as well.
All twenty-five monsters were gone. Dust, judging by the amount of it billowing about the vampires. And all that remained was a single, dark-haired man in a trenchcoat. He was surveying the destruction, and did not hesitate when he began to make his way through the clouds of monster. He stopped just short of Angel and Spike, his striking blue eyes going back and forth between the two of them.
“You are the ones? William the Bloody and Angelus?” he asked, his voice deep and hoarse.
Spike arched a brow. “Depends. Who’s looking?”
of thunder and a flash of lightning revealed shadowed wings that spread up and down the two skyscrapers on either side of the group.
“My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord.”
Spike huffed out a laugh, but it was Angel that spoke next.
“An angel? Really damn great of you to show up.”
Castiel raised a brow. “You were… expecting me?”
“I think he was referring to this mess of a city, Accountant Angel,” Spike clarified.
“I’m sorry to disappoint. My mission here is a bit more selfish. Is it true that you two vampires possess your souls?”
Another look exchanged. Neither one liked where this was going.
“And if we did?” Angel asked.
“I’m afraid that I’m in need of them. Heaven is at war.”
“We’re kind of using them, you know,” Spike said, taking a step back.
“I’m not asking,” Castiel said, holding out both hands.
A bolt of pain that didn’t seem to stop shot through both vampires, culminating somewhere at their guts as they first bent over, then collapsed to their knees. Castiel took a step forward, and Angel tried to rise, to strike out, only to fall over again.
“I need to touch them. This will hurt,” the angel said.
Suddenly, his hands became light, not quite as intense as the one that he had used to destroy the monsters. And his light-hands reached toward the vampires’ hearts. The two cried out as agony such as they had never felt—nor inflicted, they’d wager—overtook them. The pain only intensified as the hands entered them. It lasted only a moment before, a look of pain twisting his face, Castiel withdrew, his body shaking.
He stood back, huffing and puffing as the pain ebbed away in both vampires. Using each other as crutches, they pulled themselves to their feet.
“What the… was that what you bloody needed?” Spike shouted.
“No,” Castiel moaned, stumbling back before finally able to right himself. “No, it wasn’t.”
“You’re not gonna get a second chance,” Angel said, brandishing his sword.
“You’re protected by prophecy,” Castiel groaned, a grimace twisting his lips.
Spike shrugged. “Only him, I think.”
“No… no, you both are. The Shanshu Prophecy. Souls protected by such are… untouchable.”
“Then you better fly away, Trenchy, cause I think we’re about to tear you a holy new one,” Angel menaced.
Castiel’s back went rigid, and he eyed the two vampires oddly. Finally, he shook his head.
“Your prophecy is only beginning,” he said.
The sound of fluttering filled the air, and he disappeared in the blink of an eye. Angel and Spike did circles in place, searching their surroundings for him.
“Yeah, you better run, you little ponce!” Spike shouted skyward.
“What the hell was that about?” Angel asked, resting his sword over his shoulder.
Spike shook his head. “You know exactly as much as I do. Some alleged angel showed up, demanded our souls, said he couldn’t use them, and buggered off.”
“He mentioned the prophecy. He said that it was ‘just beginning.’ And he said that we were both linked to it.”
“Don’t tell me you’re buying into all that mumbo jumbo again?”
Angel shrugged, looking around. “This pretty much feels like an apocalypse. It’s crossed my mind.”
A horrible cry of some demon ripped through the skyline before Spike could reply, prompting the both of them to turn in its direction. Illyria, tossing corpse after corpse over her shoulder, was coming rapidly toward them, followed by even more demons.
“So much for going to south-side,” Spike said.
“Oh well. Saves us the time,” Angel grinned.
A demon broke from its group, making it to the vampires just to be sliced in two. Spike smirked over at his grand sire.
“Still thinking about the Shanshu and Mr. Stuffy Angel?”
Angel chuckled. “Who’s got the time?”
Disclaimer: I don't own the images used here.