The Death of an Angel
The Death of an Angel
by Drake Pendragon
A/N: I normally don't just throw down stories like that. But I think anyone who watches Doctor Who and saw the Angels Take Manhattan, they'd understand the sudden inspiration. This only took me three hours to write, so give me a little leniency is all I ask.
If there is any interest in reading other stories in this universe (i.e. the adventures referenced herein) let me know in the comments and especially which ones. I see if I could write something to do it justice. This doesn't have to be a one-shot.
Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. BBC and Mutant Enemy do.
Willow shrieked. It was a shriek of pure fear. It was a shriek of pure anguish. It was a shriek that echoed back to a time where she lost everything. It was a time when the basis of her life and her happiness had been brutally ripped out from under her feet and left her bloodied and scarred. As the pain and grief racked her body again she doubled over in agony. Black bile came out of her lungs and tarnished the lush green grass of the cemetery. Vibrant red hair darkened at the root, poisoned by foul craft and malicious thoughts until each strand was the color of sin. Across her face gashes ripped open, bleeding the same tar that came with each breath. Her pupils dilated like a shark smelling blood in the water until it enveloped the entire orb. In that minute, ten years of rehabilitation was undone.
It didn’t make sense to her. They had won. They had beaten the bad guys. They were going to go celebrate at a pub. A worthy celebration as once again they had bested their most feared enemy: the Weeping Angels. In truth it had actually been a horrific experience that made her heart pound so loudly she felt it would rip from her chest. This was only the second time she had encountered the Angels but the last one traumatized her so severely she thought she could never look at statuary again without feeling fear. She would come to know that true fear was staring into the demonic face of the Statue of Liberty after it had been overtaken by the Angels. None of that mattered now that her closest friends had died. Amelia and Rory Williams were dead. Dead as dead could be.
Long ago she had learned her lesson on resurrection. What she did to her best friend was beyond the pale. She knew that and accepted that now. So even though she was standing beside the graves of Amy and Rory, with her hand resting on the cold granite headstone, she knew that she would never get them back. That’s where the rage came in. That’s where the anguish came in. She had just been talking to both of them a minute ago. She had just been laughing with them a minute ago. Everything was as it should have been a minute ago. Then that Angel showed up and now she had lost them both.
Willow’s shriek turned into a scream of pure rage. The Doctor tried to move in to stop her. Amy and Rory’s daughter, the temporally backwards River Song, tried to stop her. Both of them ended up on their back, blown down by a wave of pure telekinetic energy. As she lunged forward, she was no longer the kind, geeky, and brilliant Willow Rosenberg, but the colloquially known Madwoman or Dark Willow. She gathered all kinds of energy from the world around her. The grass withered and died, the air grew stale, and the graveyard seemed to darken before everyone’s eyes. Willow let loose the energy in a single arc of primal energy, stemming from the air in front of her and striking the Angel in the chest. The Weeping Angel shattered into pieces, launching stone shrapnel all over the graveyard.
“Willow!” River screamed, pushing herself to her feet and running to her friend. The Doctor was on his feet next, a lot more unstable than his wife, the good Professor Song.
“What did you do?!” The Doctor demanded angrily. Tears were caught in the corner of his eyes while they flowed freely from River’s. Willow slowly turned to face them, her expression blank and deadened. Both of them were clearly taken aback at the sheer level of corruption in her face.
“I avenged them,” was all Willow could say. The emotions came back far too strong and she felt her façade begin to fracture and break just at the Weeping Angel did seconds before. Her knees went out from under her and she fell to her hands. She wept for her friends, right in front of their grave. Intellectually, as she could not acknowledge it at that moment, she knew that her friends lived out the rest of their days together, happy as they could be. Fifty years is a long time after all. For Willow the pain was too fresh, too recent.
River knelt beside Willow and just held her. She understood what Amy and Rory meant to Willow. After all, her rehabilitation hadn’t truly begun until that day in Leadworth when Prisoner Zero and the Atraxi threatened the entire planet. If it wasn’t for the innocent altruism of Amelia Pond, Willow just might have wiped out the entire fleet with a malicious wave of her hand. Amelia Pond believed that Willow could be better than the monster she was now and for ten years, Willow believed it too.
Later on, when given time to reflect, the Doctor would comment on the miraculous nature of Willow’s recovery in the graveyard. As her eyes turned back to their familiar green and her hair turned vibrant and red again, her tears flowed crystal clear and hit the deadened grass of her friend’s graves. The energy she had pulled out of the world around her returned home and the plants turned green again.
River helped Willow to her feet and into the Tardis where the three of them sat in shock, still processing and understanding the horror of what happened around them. Its alien architecture and attentive nature soothed Willow’s raw nerves and wrapped her in a comforting aura to try and abate her sadness. Because she was hurting, the Tardis hurt for her.
“Why would you do that? It was everything Amy and Rory didn’t want you to be!” the Doctor finally said, desperately searching her tear stained face and grief filled eyes for some kind of answer. He was not just looking for a reason to why she acted as she did, but why any of this happened. Willow couldn’t answer either, at least not truthfully.
“I… I don’t know,” Willow said with a hiccup. She hastily wiped away her still flowing tears with the sleeve of her blouse. It didn’t help much except to get her sleeve wet.
“You responded to murder with murder!” he said heatedly. River shot him a baleful glare but true to form the Doctor didn’t notice.
“Don’t yell at her! We all loved Amy, every one of us! Don’t think you have a monopoly on grief!” River demanded.
“But she just killed that Angel!” the Doctor said.
“Because it was Amy! Because it had just killed Amy and Rory! She lived beside them for ten years, Doctor! Ten years! That might not mean much to a Time Lord but to a human that is a long time!” River exclaimed.
“I’m sorry,” Willow choked out, ducking her head in shame. River hurried across the console room to her side, holding her in a maternal embrace.
“No, don’t be sorry. Not about this,” River said.
“It was still murder!” the Doctor exclaimed.
“Are you defending the Angel for killing our friends, our family?!” River demanded.
“Amy wouldn’t have wanted me to do that,” Willow said.
“Exactly!” the Doctor argued.
Willow’s head popped up in the way that they had seen hundreds of times. That motion meant that she had figured something out, no matter how trivial or how pivotal. She had done it when she figured out just how to turn off the oblivion continuum inside Bracewell. Conversely, she had done it when she figured out that every single one of the black boxes was exactly the same during the Year of the Slow Invasion. She would later admit that the black box epiphany wasn’t one of her brightest moments.
“What is it?” River asked.
“Amy would have wanted me to kill the monster that killed her and Rory. She would have expected it even. She just wouldn’t want me to lose myself to it,” Willow explained.
“How do you figure? Amy was a person of remarkable mercy,” the Doctor said.
“And wrath!” she argued.
“Mercy! Remember the star whale, or Bracewell, or the Silurians, or Van Gogh, or Kahler-Jex!” he argued back.
“And Wrath! On board the Bysantium she made me swear to kill all of the Angels if the one in her head killed her. Or how about the astronaut in 1969? Or the eye-patch woman? Or Solomon after he had Brian? Oh god, Brian…” Willow said sadly.
“How are we going to explain this to him?” River asked.
“I don’t know. He made me promise to make sure the Doctor didn’t break his promise in promising him that he wouldn’t let Amy and Rory killed and that seemed like such an easy promise to make because what could possibly happen that we couldn’t undo and now they’re both dead and gone and if we try to retrieve them we blow up New York and I know that I tried to end the world a long time ago but that was a long time ago and I really don’t like the thought of destroying New York City, even for them,” Willow babbled on, starting to pace around the control room.
“Sweetie, breathe,” River said.
“Yes, breathing is good for humans. What’s good for Time Lords is telling them what you’re going on about!” the Doctor said.
”Apparently you promised my grandfather that my parents wouldn’t die and he made Willow promise to make sure you kept yours,” she replied.
“This is why I hate endings!” he yelled, kicking the railing by the console.
“Speaking of endings, I guess I’m going to have Amy publish the book?” she asked.
“Of course not. That book was written by Willow. Amy and Rory said it sounded like some of the accounts Willow had written of our previous adventures,” he said.
“We’ll make sure she puts in an afterword just for you,” she replied.
“The last page!” the Doctor yelled. He ran off just as Time Lords are wont to do. He ran out the front door of the Tardis to where he had left the picnic basket they were using earlier. Willow and River watched him go without saying a word. River looked over at Willow and frowned at the deadened look that returned to her eyes. The redhead’s feet carried her out of the Tardis and back to her friend’s graves.
Time travel was odd. If she closed her eyes tight enough, something she wouldn’t do in case there other Angels in the area, she could see Amy and Rory standing right there. But the Angel had killed Rory in front of her and then Amy committed suicide by Weeping Angel right after. She found herself staring into the letters on the smooth granite into they became odd shapes and lines instead of words.
“Willow, look up,” River said. Willow’s eyes shot up and she saw herself standing amongst the trees nearby. Her hair was darker, like she was a little in touch with her dark side or just simply grieving. The other Willow pointed at the ground beside the headstone. The current Willow looked down and saw a piece of paper hidden under the bouquet of flower that had been placed there earlier that day. They were sunflowers, Amy’s favorite.
“What’s this?” Willow asked under her breath, picking up that scrap of paper.
“Willow, she’s gone,” River said, placing her hand on Willow’s shoulder.
“That’s okay,” Willow replied. On the paper was a simple message: You don’t have to be apart from them if you don’t want to. She really enjoyed her birthday in 1945.
“Willow?” River asked.
“I need someplace quiet to write that book. I’m thinking New York, 1945,” Willow said.
“You’ll tell them I said hello?” River asked.
“You’ll tell them yourself,” Willow asked.
The grief, rage, and horror were still there and burned hotly in her chest. However, there was something new there: hope. The end wasn’t exactly that. Yes, her friends died before 1990, but at least she could be there with them. There was also intrigue. She appeared the same, even after claiming she had lived from 1945 onward. This could be the toll that the Doctor had mentioned her magicks causing on her body. Perhaps the Doctor would have his forever-onward traveling companion after all. All she could think about was explaining all this to Amy when she saw her again.
End of the Death of an Angel