| After: Summer Solstice by Shiver |
| Rating: NC-17 Pairing: A/S Spoilers: Everything, including “Not Fade Away” (AtS: S5) Notes: The show is now over, but since I received so many positive comments on the series, I’m going to continue with it as long as the Muse cooperates and there is continued interest. Hell, I probably won’t even need the interest. My Muse is kind of a bitch that way. Thanks, and thanks for reading. - - - - - Spike watched the afternoon sun slant across the motel parking lot as he stood smoking in the doorway. The sun would set soon, and they could get on their way, though neither he nor Angel was sure exactly where. The vision, as usual, had been frustratingly vague, only a town name, Aston, and the image of a weather-beaten barn with black doors. Having spent much of the last three nights driving past way too many weather-beaten barns for Spike’s taste, he had the feeling things would not be so simple. He blew out a stream of smoke and was irritated by its failure to quickly dissipate in the muggy air. For all its faults, he thought, at least LA had low humidity. He glanced back into the room, saw Illyria sitting cross-legged on the near bed watching the pictures blink on the silent TV screen. Angel was sprawled on the far bed, his sleep restless, as it had been each day since his most recent vision. Spike took another draw on his cigarette, watched two cars pull in off the interstate. Night was coming. Time to get moving. Angel whimpered slightly in his sleep; Spike flicked his cigarette away and turned back inside, swinging the door shut. He slid into the bed, put his arms around Angel’s chest. “Wake up,” he whispered, and Angel’s eyes fluttered open. He looked over at Spike and gave a relieved sigh, put his arms around Spike, hugged him tightly. “Bad one?” Spike said. “Bad enough,” Angel answered. “But once we get this done, they’ll stop.” “Until the next time,” Spike said, his voice low, angry. “Shh,” Angel soothed. “It’s what we do.” “Well… can’t they find a way to jerk us around without tormenting someone?” Angel chuckled. “You would think,” he said. Illyria stood and snapped off the TV. “I grow restless,” she said. “I wish to be done with these motels.” “You and me, both, sister,” Spike said, standing himself and holding out a hand for Angel. “The sun’s going down. Enough time to get ready before it’s dark.” - - - - - Spike drove, and less than an hour later they were passing a sign declaring, “Welcome to Aston.” “Keep your eyes open,” Angel said. “It’s a barn with black doors.” Spike peered into the darkness beyond the road. “Good luck,” he said. “I can’t even see if there are buildings.” Four minutes later they passed another sign: “Thank You for Visiting Aston. God Speed and Come Back Soon.” Spike hit the brakes, spinning the car 180 degrees and ending up facing back the way they’d come. “Did you see anything?” Angel shook his head, and Spike began driving much more slowly. “There’s one,” Illyria said. “Black doors?” Angel asked. There was a moment of silence. “I can’t tell,” Illyria admitted. Spike pulled onto the shoulder, threw the car into park, opened the door. “If I step in cow shit,” he said, “I’m going to kick somebody’s ass.” - - - - - Three hours and five weather-beaten barns later, Spike was ready to rip every citizen of Aston into tiny bits. “How many fucking barns can there be in this fucking armpit?” he complained, punctuating each word with a stomped foot. “I mean, the fucking powers that…” He came up short against Angel’s outstretched hand, looked up to see a huge man in checked shirt, ostrich boots, and ten-gallon hat leaning against the car. “Shit,” Spike swore under his breath. “Evening, boys, ma’am,” the man said, touching the brim of his hat. Illyria and the two vampires said nothing, though Spike was mentally reviewing every Burt Reynolds movie he’d ever seen “I understand,” the man went on, “you’re looking for some portal-opening crystals.” - - - - - “How did you know?” Angel asked when they were all on their way down a gravel road that none of them had seen the first two times past. “Got an email,” the man, Clint, said. “From who?” Spike said. “The psychic friends network?” Clint chuckled. “Something like that,” he said. “Pull over near that mailbox.” Angel did, and turned off the car. Out in the still darkness, they could see the patch of starlessness against the horizon that they now knew indicated a barn. And just barely, a green glow emanated from where they knew the doors would be. “There she is,” Clint said. “Let’s suit up,” Angel said. They came in through the back, weaving through the deserted animal pens on the lowest level. Above them there was the sound of people moving around, and low, indistinct chanting. Angel hefted his sword in his hand, led the way up the stairs, praying the activity above would cover the creaks that came on each step. At the door he waited for Spike and Illyria to come in close behind him, then kicked it open. The room was large, the ceiling lost in the darkness above. Around a painted circle Angel recognized from his vision stood a dozen men in robes. Two held tall glowing crystals and all faced a black-skinned demon who held a third. Illyria and the vampires charged, slashing at the robes priests, who, at the attack, produced swords of their own. Spike toppled one who bore a crystal, but when he brought down the pommel to shatter it, the stone vanished in a puff of smoke. Illyria, who was watching, dispatched the other, and that stone, too, evaporated. All three turned towards the final stone. The demon who carried it now hovered roughly ten feet in the air, was laughing as the last robed followers were felled. “So, what should I say?” the demon said. “Some standard evil-doer’s line? ‘Curses, foiled again?’ “You may have beaten me this time, Dark Avenger..?’ ‘I’d have gotten away with it if it weren’t for you meddling kids?’” “How about ‘I surrender?’” Angel said. “A little begging for mercy would be nice,” Spike added. The demon gave a raspy laugh. “And Illyria. What a surprise to see you here.” Spike cocked his head. “You know her?” “Who doesn’t,” the demon said. “I’d have thought you’d use this opportunity to your own gain, Illyria.” “I follow my own path,” Illyria said. “Hmm,” the demon nodded. “Well, enough of the chit-chat. I’ve a portal to open, and then the hordes of…” It was cut short as an axe thrown by Illyria struck its shoulder. Angel and Spike leaped into the air towards it, Spike slashing open the demon’s leg, and Angel grabbing its neck and holding on. They spun through the air wildly, finally striking the floor. The two vampires attacked with swords, hacking through the demon’s think, leathery skin as it twisted madly in an effort to escape. It screamed, “No!” and Angel turned to see Illyria had retrieved the remaining crystal, and was preparing to shatter it. At the demon’s cry, she hesitated. “Do it,” Angel shouted, and with a glance in his direction, she did. It exploded with a force that knocked them all off their feet, and a blast of heat so intense, Spike thought he must surely be burning, but then it was gone, and they were plunged into darkness. Nearby, they heard the choking gurgle as the demon breathed its last. - - - - - “Are you okay?” Angel asked Spike as they limped behind Illyria towards the car. “’Course I’m okay,” Spike said, irritated. After a moment, though, he said, “you?” “I’ll live,” Angel said. Clint was still as they’d left him, leaning against the trunk, ankles crossed. “Y’all take care of business?” he called. “The crystal has been destroyed,” Illyria replied. “All right, then,” Clint said, grinning. “Now, y’all are more than welcome to come back to my place, have some of my wife’s buttermilk pancakes and get some rest before you’re moving on.” “Clint, that sounds like heaven,” Angel said. Clint came around the car, shouldered past Angel to take the door handle. “Let me drive,” he said. Angel shrugged, got into the back seat instead, but when Illyria tried to get in from the other side, Spike elbowed her towards the front and joined him. “I’m a cattle rancher,” Clint said when they were once more underway. “When I’m not driving folks around after demons, that is. We’ll see if we can’t get you boys a breakfast more to your liking.” Angel sighed and let his head drop back. He felt Spike’s hand rest against it, fingers threading through his hair. - - - - - Clint’s wife, Charlene, was also straight out of central casting, in her calico housedress and white apron, red hair in a braid against her neck. But her eyes were sharply intelligent, and she watched her guests keenly as they filed into her kitchen. “Why don’t you two boys come out back to the barn,” Clint said, and Angel and Spike followed him. Illyria and Charlene regarded one another silently across the oak table. “Can I get you some coffee?” Charlene said at last. “I do not take sustenance,” Illyria told her. Charlene shook her head. “We’re off to a great start,” she said. - - - - - The vampires followed Clint down the dim passage between the cattle pens. “Most of the herd’s out on the range,” he said. “But when I heard you were coming, I brought in a few.” They had stopped in front of a large pen where four steer shuffled around in the straw. “Er, not to be ungrateful,” Spike said, “but those blighters have to weigh a few thousand pounds. We can’t just grab ’em and latch on.” “Just hang on,” Clint said, entering the pen. He waved one hand in the direction of the nearest animal, drawing its eye.. When it looked at him, its eyes widened, and with a stiff-legged gait, it followed Clint out. Still holding the steer’s gaze, Clint closed the pen gate, then took the animal’s head in his hands. At his touch, the steer’s eyes closed, its jaw went slack, and Clint released its head. “Amazing,” Angel breathed. Clint extracted a pointed metal tool from his pocket. “Who’s first up to the bar?” he said, and Angel nodded at Spike. Clint pierced the steer’s fleshy neck, and blood immediately began to flow. With only the smallest hesitation, Spike crouched beside the steer and drank deep. Angel watched Spike feed, the vampiric ridges marring Spike’s handsome features almost immediately, then he glanced at Clint, who was watching him. They regarded one another in silence, the only sound in the barn Spike’s rhythmic sucking. After a few minutes, Spike withdrew, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, and Angel looked at Clint a moment longer before bending his own mouth to the steer’s open vein. Spike stepped forward to put himself between Angel and the rancher, carefully watched Clint’s mouth instead of his eyes. After a moment, Clint chuckled. “Don’t get yourself worked into a lather, vampire,” he said. “My talent only works on animals.” Angel stood, his lips still wet. “I’m done,” he announced. Calmly, Clint reached into his other pocket and pulled out a wad of cotton and a bandage. He packed the steer’s wound and led it away to another pen. - - - - - When they returned to the kitchen, Charlene was calmly instructing Illyria in the preparation of pancakes, and the former elder god watched her with avid interest. Spike drifted over to join them, and offered to help. Charlene set him to squeezing orange juice. Clint caught Angel’s eye, nodded at the front porch, and the two men stepped back into the pre-dawn air. “I know you’ve got questions,” Clint said. “Now’s the time to ask them.” Angel looked out into the fields. “How do you know who we are?” he said. “Told you that,” Clint said. “Got an email.” Angel turned towards him. “You offered to answer my questions,” he said. “You’re right. Sorry,” Clint said. “I don’t know how much you know about the internet…” “Not much,” Angel admitted. “Computers were about two hundred years after my time.” Clint nodded. “You saw me with the steer,” he said. “I’ve had that talent most of my life, the ability to mesmerize animals like that. My mother had it, so did my grandfather. About five years back Charlene got the computer to help run the ranch, check cattle prices, follow the news, stuff like that. I didn’t pay it much mind until she decided to look for information about my particular gift. Then she found a group called the Quadrivium Society.” Angel repeated the strange word: “Quadrivium.” “Psychics, witches, mystics, a few half-demons. All of us with talents of various sorts.” “A magic club,” Angel said. “More of a magic coffee klatch,” Clint corrected. “Maybe not even that formal. Mostly we just post stuff about our jobs and our kids. But there are some very powerful talents there.” He paced the length of the porch. “Two days ago there was a post from someone called Captain Crewe. Gave a quick update on you and told us you might need some help.” “Do you know anything about him?” “Never saw him before,” Clint admitted. “Could be anyone. Clairvoyant, maybe. Remote seer. Even someone who had inside information. Not even a man, necessarily. But one of the gals who runs the board vouched for him, and, well, here you are.” “Here we are,” Angel agreed. Clint put a hand on Angel’s elbow. “We’re good people, Angel, and we’re going to help you.” Angel let out a breath he didn’t remember taking. “I appreciate it,” he said. “We’d never have found that barn without your help.” “Well I appreciate you stopping a bunch of evil things from eating my town,” Clint said. “Now let’s go in before Charlene chews me out for letting you get burned up.” - - - - - They came back into the kitchen and Angel watched, amused, as Spike took dishes from Charlene and carried them to the table, then ate more pancakes than any of them, blotting up every drop of maple syrup. After breakfast, Clint took a thermos of coffee and left to tend to his work. Charlene showed the vampires to the spare bedroom where the windows had been carefully masked with cardboard and heavy drapes. She left them there and they heard Illyria ask if she might spend the day with Charlene. The woman laughed, said it was fine with her, but Illyria should expect to be set to work. Then the back screen door slammed. Spike put his arms around Angel, pushing him back on the bed before the female voices had faded. Angel resisted. “Spike, we can’t.” “Shut up,” Spike said. “I just…” He pressed his lips to Angel’s, fierce, almost desperate. “I need this. Need you.” Angel glanced towards the shuttered window, heard Charlene and Illyria retreating further away. “Okay,” he said. Spike pulled away, began to strip off his clothes. Angel did, too, but had only just removed his boots when Spike bounded naked onto the bed. Spike reached over, pulled Angel’s shirt over his head without undoing the buttons. “Don’t think, Angel,” he said. “Just lose yourself, be a mindless bundle of animal wants.” “How romantic,” Angel said. “I can see why you wanted to be a poet.” “Shut up,” Spike said. He knelt on the bed, bent and grasped the spindles on the old-fashioned headboard. Angel stared for a moment, then he did lose himself. - - - - - Later, they dozed, the humid warmth of the day giving their undead flesh the illusion of life. Then, as evening came, Spike woke slowly. He smiled to himself as he realized Angel had slept sound and still: No nightmares, no restlessness. He kissed Angel’s shoulder, his throat, murmured wordless endearments into his skin, and the other vampire woke with a smile of his own. “Mmm, that was nice,” he sighed. Spike looked offended. “Nice?” he repeated. “I practically dislocate several joints and all you can say is ‘nice?’” Angel chuckled, pulled Spike into his arms. “Amazing, then. Outstanding, Extraordinary.” They kissed one another. “Fascinating. Beautiful,” Angel said quietly. They kissed some more, and Spike said soundlessly, “I love you,” against Angel’s mouth. Angel chuckled again. “I can’t hear you,” he said, and then his eyes rolled back. Spike pushed away, suddenly frightened as Angel went rigid and shuddered, gasping out his pain. Spike put his hands on Angel’s shoulders, tried to hold him down. “Leave him alone,” he demanded of the air, and after a moment, Angel stilled. His eyelids fluttered open and he reached towards Spike’s face. - - - - - They descended, already dressed and packed for travel, found Illyria waiting with Clint and Charlene. “Vision?” Clint asked, and Angel nodded. “Come back out to the barn, then,” Clint said. “Drink your fill for the road. And tell us where you’re off to. Charlene’s gonna post at the QS, see who can help you.” Angel and Spike glanced at one another, something wordless passing between them. “Ohio,” Angel said. “Dayton.” - - - - - “You’re lucky,” Charlene told them later. Doctor Mephisto is in Dayton. He’s a very powerful psychic. You’ll be in good hands.” They thanked Clint and Charlene, who promised to follow their progress and to pray for their safe travel. Spike drove 150 miles east, abandoned their stolen car beneath a bridge, stole another. They drove until just before daylight. - - - - - Illyria, who had been silent since leaving Clint’s ranch, grew chatty as they began to bed down for the day. “Are Clint and Charlene… mates?” she asked. “They’re married, yeah,” Spike replied. “Is that important? Married?” she said. “I’ll take this,” Angel said, then turned to Illyria. “It means they’ve made a promise to love one another for the rest of their lives.” “Again, love,” Illyria said with distaste. “I do not understand why you beings place so much importance on love. You cannot eat it, or drink it. It cannot shelter or clothe you. It has no intrinsic worth. From what I have observed, it only rarely brings joy and often gives pain. And yet you creatures, with your limited life-spans and resources will pursue it to the exclusion of all other goals.” “Because it’s the only thing that makes the rest of that crap worth anything,” Spike said sharply. “You could have every thing that you ever want, and if nobody cares if you live or die, you’re still in hell.” More quietly, he added, “believe me, I know.” Illyria cocked her head to one side. “So, if one does not ever find a mate, one’s life has no worth?” “It doesn’t have to be a mate,” Angel said. “Love comes in many forms. Family, friends, helping others…” Illyria gave a slow blink. “I still do not understand.” “Well, that’s your personal soap opera, I guess,” Spike said, stepping out of his clothes and heading into the bath. - - - - - Angel climbed into bed alongside Spike, still damp and smelling of hotel soap, flowery and chemical. Illyria, bored with the silent TV, had gone to watch cars pass by outside. Angel laid an arm over Spike’s back. “How are you feeling?” Spike asked. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” Angel told him. “Doesn’t matter. How’s your head? Looked like that vision did a number on you.” “I’ll get over it,” Angel said. There was a moment of silence, then Spike went on. “We didn’t finish what we were talking about.” Angel grinned. “You mean my description of your prowess?” he said. “Let’s see… have I used ‘Unbelievably Limber’ yet?” Spike gave a small shake of his head. “No, what I was saying…” Angel frowned. “About dislocating your joints? I thought you were joking.” “No,” Spike said. “Just before…” Angel hugged Spike to him. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m fine. It’s not important.” Spike swallowed hard. “No, I guess it’s not,” he said. |