| After: The View Across the River 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. - - - - - Rev. Cleophus James led his guests through the church sanctuary. The room was traditionally styled, white walls, rows of wooden pews, and stained glass in a simple diamond pattern of reds and blues. Bible verses were painted above the windows in block letters, and a raised platform held the altar and lectern. In the wall near the platform was a wooden door, a door the Reverend now approached. Angel felt Spike’s resistance again, saw him avert his eyes from the gleaming cross above the altar. “Reverend,” Angel said, and the man turned to them. “You’re aware of what we are.” The old preacher gave a slow nod. “Then you know we cannot abide these symbols of faith,” Angel said, wondering what about this situation was compelling him to speak so formally. “For now you will abide them, son,” Rev. James said. “God never promised to make it easy for his servants.” Angel felt Spike tense in anger at this, heard the sub-vocal growl in his throat. But he strode after the preacher, defiant, into the man’s living quarters behind the sanctuary. The environment was no less hostile to them here; in fact, it seemed even more so given the seemingly random way bibles and other holy objects lay about the room. “Please sit down,” the preacher said, and they joined him around the table. “Now, am I to understand that you are given visions?” “Yes,” Angel said. “And from whom do these visions come?” Angel looked embarrassed. “The Powers That Be,” he said. “Angel, those of us in the Quadrivium Society have been discussing your mission,” the Reverend said. “Some of us doubt ‘The Powers That Be’ are entirely the benevolent force they would purport themselves to be.” Angel nodded. “I’ve had the same thought.” “Our most compelling evidence is the demon called Skip,” Rev. James said. “First he is apparently neutral, doing a job and confining a clearly evil being.” “How did you..?” “There are several of us who have been following your mission,” Rev. James explained. “Psychics. Some of the Wolfram and Hart employees. A poster called Captain Crewe has been very helpful filling in the blank spots.” Spike and Angel turned to one another. Spike raised one eyebrow. “Then he helps your seer,” Rev. James went on. “Makes her part demon so she can cope with her visions.” Spike, still looking at Angel, frowned. “It seems he did so to aid you,” Rev. James said, “but in light of last year’s events, one might reconsider his real motivation.” “You’re not telling me anything I haven’t thought myself,” Angel said. “But what am I supposed to do? Just ignore these visions?” Rev. James nodded slowly. “That is exactly what I’m suggesting.” “No, he can’t do that,” Spike said. “Those visions are already…” “Spike, let’s hear this out…” “No, Angel. Even when you follow these visions you suffer. Now you’re saying your girl had to become part demon…” “Spike, please…” “What did they do to her? What will they do to you? And what alternative is this secret society offering?” “Spike!” Angel said sharply. “We don’t even know them,” Spike said. “We have a plan,” the preacher said calmly. Angel put his hand over Spike’s and gave a gentle squeeze. “We’re listening,” he said. “Your Powers That Be seem motivated only by the perpetuation of the status quo,” Rev. James said. “Prophecy and the balance of power shift in the favor of good, they arrange to remove two of your most powerful warriors and deliver Jasmine to strike you down. Wolfram and Hart makes forward strides, they arrange for you to be the architect of their downfall. Now, when you are poised to change not only the balance of power but to re-write the rules of the game, they drain your strength and fill your time with wild goose chases from one side of the country to the other.” “They aren’t wild goose chases,” Spike muttered. But Illyria took hold of another thought. “What do you mean, he might re-write the rules of the game?” Rev. James looked from face to face. “There are those among us who believe we may have found a way to close the gateways between the dimensions.” “What? You mean forever?” “I can’t speak for forever, Angel, but for a very long time.” “This is complete bollocks,” Spike said, pushing back from the table. “No,” Illyria said. “It has happened before. It takes great power to close the gates, and great power to open them again, but when the forces align… it is possible.” “And you’re saying the forces have aligned,” Spike said. “Say it’s possible,” Angel said. “Say there is a way. What would that mean? How would things change?” “Nothing material could move between worlds,” Illyria said, “and that which remained, cut off from its home dimension, would have its strength greatly reduced.” “No new demons,” the preacher elaborated. “No hellgods. We can concentrate the fight on what is here without the fear of some new threat.” “It’s madness,” Spike insisted. “You are talking about altering the foundations of existence.” “Spike, just listen,” Angel said, putting a hand on his arm. Then Angel’s hand curled into a fist, and he was falling back. He heard Spike shouting his name as though from very far away. - - - - - The vision was the same. That is, the event it foretold, of a man summoning a demon through a portal, had not changed, but the surrounding details were more vivid, more complex, more horrible. And the pain that accompanied the vision was worse. Angel heard himself screaming, and came to in Spike’s arms with tears streaming down his face. “Easy, Angel,” Spike soothed. “I’ve got you.” “No, it was the same,” Angel said. “That’s fine,” Spike said. “We know that one. We’re on it, it won’t happen.” “Doesn’t this make my point,” Rev. James said. “The visions are sent to distract from the plan to close the gateways.” “This doesn’t prove anything,” Spike shot back. “We know the visions are real. Your crazy theories could be completely wrong, or dangerous.” “Perhaps there is a third possibility,” Illyria said, and they turned to her. “We have the potential through the Quadrivium Society to send others to attend to the visions. We should view these objectives as a general would, not as soldiers.” Angel looked back at Rev. James. “Is that possible? Could you alert enough people to stop this man from doing the summoning?” The preacher rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think so,” he said. “I have my congregation, to start with.” “I can’t put innocent people…” Angel began, but Spike cut him off. “How many people will be at this summoning,” he said. “Just one, but…” “They could do it,” Spike said thoughtfully. “And if it kept you out of danger…” Angel tried to get up. “I’m not supposed to be kept out of danger…” Spike easily held Angel down and ignored the older vampire’s growls. “I still don’t like the idea of toying with the gateways,” he said, “but we’ll try Illyria’s idea this one time. If it works, we can discuss this some more.” “Spike! We are not discussing this at all!” Angel complained, but this was ignored, too. “I’ll call my people in,” Rev. James said, and he left the room. “Do you really think this will work?” Angel asked Illyria. “It has in the past,” Illyria said. “Do you remember that time?” “I was aware,” Illyria said. “But I was already imprisoned.” “Let’s go,” Spike said, rising and hauling Angel to his feet. “Off to bed for you.” - - - - - The manse guest room reawakened Spike’s fear, with its religious art, including a huge, brass crucifix above the bed. And while Spike had wanted nothing more than to lay Angel down and rub those broad, tense, shoulders until he surrendered to sleep, he kept imagining the cross slipping off its hook and crashing onto Angel; one more “fuck you” from a universe that clearly hated them both. He froze in the doorway, Angel leaning against him, until Angel became aware of Spike’s apprehension. “Wait here,” Angel said, easing Spike back a step into the hall and closing the bedroom door. Angel regarded the cross for a moment, then gritted his teeth, wrapped his hands in the bedsheets, and lifted it from the wall. He managed to hold it just long enough to lift it off the wall, and half-drop it onto the bed. He bundled it in the remaining bedclothes and pulled it onto the floor. Then he kicked it under the bed. Gingerly, he pulled the bedclothes loose and dropped them back on the bed in a heap. He returned to the door, opened it and watched the expression of relief break over Spike’s face. He pulled the younger vampire closer, dropped his head onto Spike’s shoulder. Spike took Angel’s meaning as though he had spoken it aloud, moved Angel to the bed and wordlessly began to help him undress. “I can’t wait here while it happens,” Angel said after a few minutes, and Spike looked up from where he knelt at Angel’s feet, pulling off his boots. “You have to,” Spike said. “We need to know.” “You don’t know what it’s like,” Angel said. “I don’t just see pictures in my head; I feel it, like I’m there. I’m being gutted. I’m being ripped apart.” “What do you think about the closing of the gateways,” Spike said lightly, trying to change the subject, but not really. “Illyria has no reason to lie,” Angel pointed out. “She’s with us by choice, now. If she says it’s possible, I have to believe it might be.” “And if it is possible,” Spike said, “then that means the Powers are working towards some other goal, at odds with us.” He shook his head. “That thought’s gonna keep me up, I’ll tell you that for free.” Angel slumped down, and Spike thought, he looks smaller. “If the powers are against us,” Angel said, “I have to wonder if I’m doing the right thing.” “You’re doing the right thing,” Spike affirmed. “The question is… Who do we trust?” Angel winced as Spike pulled his shirt over his head. “I’m not sure I trust the powers,” he admitted. “The priest made some good points. And when I think of everything poor Cordy went through…” “I don’t know much about that,” Spike said, “but I know I don’t trust the amateur Hellfire Club. Not that the ones we’ve met haven’t been okay, but we don’t know anything about the ones calling the shots. This Captain Crunch, or whatever the hell he calls himself, for instance. How the fuck is he ‘filling in the blank spots?’” Angel caught Spike’s hands, looked intently into his eyes. “That’s just it,” Angel said. “I feel like Captain Crewe does know us. I think the plan to close the gateways might work. But at the same time, I can’t commit to it while these visions are compelling me.” Spike leaned down, pressed his forehead to Angel’s. “Just one time,” he said. “Just once and then we’ll know.” “I don’t know if I can, Spike.” “I’ll be here for you,” Spike said. “Take what you need from me.” - - - - - Angel suffered three more visions in the course of the day, and Rev. James’s congregation prepared to respond to the vision without him. The last was so bad that he had the window raised and had climbed halfway out before Spike could drag him back inside and knot the blankets around him to make him stay. Angel had come out of it and tried to joke about it, and Spike had teased that it was too bad they hadn’t thought to bring the chains and manacles when they’d left L.A., but neither really found it funny. When the men Rev. James had enlisted left to attend to their task, Angel began to pace. When their wives and daughters and sisters joined the preacher in exhortations to Almighty God for their safety and success, the strength seemed to leave him, and Spike eased him down onto the bed. “Be strong,” Spike said. “I know you are. Anyone who can toss me around the way you have...” “No,” Angel said. “I can’t.” He grabbed Spike’s hand, gripped it until Spike bit the inside of his cheek for the pain. “You have to go for me,” he said. “What?” “Be my eyes. Be my weapon. You’re blood, William. I can’t trust anyone else.” Spike took a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll go,” he said. “But promise me you won’t try to follow me.” “I doubt I could…” “Promise me, Angel. Swear it.” “I promise,” Angel said, releasing Spike’s hand. Spike went down the hall to where Illyria was going through the books in the pastoral study. “I need you to do something for me,” he said. - - - - - In a way, Spike realized, it was good that Angel had sent him to confirm what the vision had told him, for he might not have believed it otherwise. But it did fit the pattern of diminishing threat they had followed across the continent. Yes, the house demon in Ohio had already killed four people and possessed a fifth, but compared to the thousands threatened in Montana, it was a big step down. Now, Spike arrived at the empty storefront in Angel’s vision to find two dozen of Rev. James’s congregation leading a young man with greasy hair and skull tattoos out of the building. Okay, true, there was a virgin sacrifice bound and gagged on a makeshift altar of sawhorses and old “Danzig” album covers, but it wasn’t anything a phone call to the cops couldn’t have easily taken care of. Illyria and the secret society were right; they were being played. When he returned to the manse, he found Illyria where he’d left her, guarding Angel’s door, and he entered to find Angel himself sprawled on the bed. He was unconscious, but muttering quickly under his breath. “Have to help them,” was one phrase Spike caught. “Too late,” was another. Spike sat on the edge of the bed, put one hand over Angel’s. When Angel didn’t rouse, he put one hand to Angel’s cheek and said his name aloud. Angel started and opened his eyes with a gasp. He gave a weak smile when he saw Spike there. “Did you get him?” he asked. Spike decided to give Angel the full story when Angel had rested. “We got him,” he said. “That’s very good, William. Very good,” Angel said, his eyes already closing again. “You were always a good boy, William. I should have told you…” Spike stroked Angel’s forehead fondly, then turned away to prepare himself for bed. There was a soft knock at the door. Spike answered it to find Rev. James there holding the phone receiver. “There’s a call for you,” he said. Spike glanced back at Angel’s sleeping form, then stepped into the hallway, leaving the door ajar. He took the phone. “Hello?” “Are you Spike? Am I speaking to Spike?” came a woman’s voice, tinny and distant. “Yeah. Who’s this?” “I’m calling for Captain Crewe,” the woman said. “I haven’t much time but he wants me to tell you you’ve got to go to Paris. The Quadrivium Society can help you. But you can’t let Angel respond to the visions anymore. You can’t let him send you out again.” Spike nearly dropped the phone. “How did you know that?” he said. “Who are you?” “It will drive Angel to madness, he says.” “Who says?” Spike said desperately. “Who is he?” “In another life, it’s happened already.” Spike held the phone with both hands, trying to steady it to his ear. “What has? What do you mean?” “Go to Paris,” the woman repeated. “If you’re to close the gates, you must go to Paris.” And then the line went dead. |