Long Hard Road out of Hell

Title: Long Hard Road Out of Hell
Author: claudia6913
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: W/A
Summary: Buffy has made her nightly arancrance at the mansion. Will she know what’s been going on? This is a response to Gabrielle’s ‘Willow/Angel Challenge’ on NHA Forums.
Distribution: Vampyre Haven, NHA, SoG, TSFA, and anywhere else I post. All others just ask and you shall receive.
Disclaimer: I unfortunately do not own the characters. Those are owned by Joss and Co. I seek no profit from the use of anything here.
Warning: This fic is now extremely graphic in nature. Please be warned.
Feedback: Of course! ghoztstarz@yahoo.com
Author’s Notes: The title was taken from the song ‘Long Hard Road out of Hell’ by Marilyn Manson from the ‘Spawn’ soundtrack.

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Chapter 8

“We will have to continue this later,” Angel says off-handedly to Willow. He races to the concealed door and opens it, making sure it closes behind him, then takes off up the stairs to meet someone else who is deserving of punishment, someone else he can make pay.

Small sounds of scurryanimanimals and wind blown leaves can be heard coming from outside the mansion. The sound of gravel and broken stone being walked on echoes in Angel’s ears. He moves quickly and silently up to the main room of the mansion, not wanting to miss his visitor. Carefully he places himself where he can be seen, yet ignored at the same time.

Quietly he watches as a figure stands in the doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight. Her face is shadowed, but there is no mistaking her. Angel knows her, knows every inch of her. Every nerve of his body is on edge, screaming at him to kill her, kill the Slayer. The natural reaction of a vampire is trying to make its way through Angel, trying to change his face, make him move before it’s time. He is stronger than that; he can wait for her to come to him.

Buffy slowly makes her way across the threshold, unshed tears shining in her eyes. It always hurts her to come back, night after night, and relive her worst nightmare. Her eyes show that her thoughts are far away, seeing a time and place where she had to kill the one she loved. She picks her way carefully and slowly through the room, not because there is anything in her way, but because her Slayer sense is just a little jumpy. Coming to her usual spot, she stops and looks down. The ring she had placed on the floor is now gone, stolen she thinks.

Crouching in the corner that had only a few nights ago hidden Willow and him from her sight, Angel waits. It pains him and angers him at the same time to see that look on her face. In his mind she is nothing more then another demon come for him to play with, only this time they’ve artfully made it up to look like Buffy, his supposed 'one true love'. That thought angers him, makes him want to hurt her for taking that form. ‘Why Buffy and Willow?’ Angel asks himself. ‘Of all the people they could mold themselves after, why those two?’

Time slips by, unnoticed and unmourned. Angel, so caught up in his thoughts, has stopped watching Buffy. He doesn’t see her turn to leave and stop abruptly, as she sees his shape vaguely outlined in the shadows. Caution dictates her movements as she draws a stake out of her pocket.

The closer she gets, the clearer the figure gets. Her mind is having a difficult time grasping what she is seeing. Buffy sees Angel, but she knows he’s in hell. She knows because she is the one that sent him there.

“Angel?” Buffy whispers.

Trying hard to keep a smile off his face, Angel crawls slowly into the moonlight, and looks up at her with false tears in his eyes, showing her he is harmless.

“B-Buffy?” Angel chokes out.

“How?” she asks, dropping her stake and reaching out to touch him, make sure he is real. ‘Oh God,’ she thinks. ‘He’s here, he’s back.’ Huge, silent tears fall down her face; she is so thankful that her hand meets flesh, proving that he is not a figment of her imagination.

Angel gently reaches up and touches the hand that is caressing his face. Dropping to her knees, Buffy stares at him, looking for signs to confirm that it is him. He leans his head into her hand and kisses it softly, bringing a gasp of surprise and pleasure from her.

Flinging her arms around Angel she says, “Oh God, I can’t believe it! You’re.....you’re back. I’m so sorry Angel. I had to. You know that right? You know I had to, right?”

“Shh,” Angel says stroking her hair and holding her close to him. He discreetly moves her hair away from her neck whispering sweet things into her ear. The pounding of her heart drowns out her apologies.

“It’s ok, I understand,” he says. Softly, he lays kisses along her shoulder, moving slowly towards her neck. “You can make it up to me.” Without warning Angel strikes at her neck, sinking his fangs painfully into her throat.

Buffy struggles, trying to push him away and kick at him. She yells his name and rakes her nails along his face and back, anything she can think of to get him away from her. Vaguely she remembers dropping her stake. Reaching a hand out behind her she tries to search for it, but Angel has other plans, better plans, for her. Standing up, he pins her to the wall to slow her struggles and keep her from finding anything to stop him with.

Greedily, Angel suckles at her throat, reveling in the feeling of power as her blood flows over his lips and into his body. It’s a rush, like a drug to him. Slowly, he feels her struggles ease, feels her become lethargic. Finally, he feels her swoon, her arms and legs going limp against him. Removing his fangs from her neck, he licks his lips in satisfaction.

“Yes, you can make it up to me. Isn’t that what you want?” Angel asks Buffy, who is now semi-conscious.

“I’ve got a special place for you,” he says, swinging her up so that he can carry her. “I picked it out earlier. I wasn’t sure if you would come or not. I must be doing something right if they have sent me another one to play with, to make pay. I don’t want to disappoint them, do I?” Angel makes his way down the dark, dank stairwell and into the secret room in the basement with Buffy still groggy in his arms.

“There,” Angel says, making sure the door closes behind them, “see now? The cross in the corner is yours. I assume you know the one laying on the table there.”

He walks by Willow who is now unconscious from exhaustion. The trials he’d put her through earlier have drained her of whatever reserves of energy she had.

“Willow,” Buffy says thickly. Her mouth is dry and her vision blurry, but there is no mistaking that shock of red hair. She can barely see in the dim light coming from a single candle. The room has a faint metallic odor to it from the blood that is exposed to the air and Buffy has to swallow through rising nausea.

Walking quickly to the far right corner, Angel unbuckles the straps on the wooden cross, careful to keep Buffy held in his free arm. The thick leather straps are the same kind that has Willow currently secured to the table. This was another of Angelus’ acquisitions while he had inhabited this house. Careful not to touch the cross and get burned, Angel props Buffy up against the wood. There is a leather strap that can be placed across the abdomen, so he restrains her with that one first before moving on to her wrists and legs. When she is finally secure, he stbackback and looks at his work.

“There. Comfortable?” Angel asks smiling.

“What?” Buffy asks confused. Nothing is quite making its way to her brain; her thoughts are all fuzzy due to loss of blood. She knows she is propped up on something and she is aware that something isn’t right about Angel, about this whole situation. Her eyes want to close and not open, but she can’t let that happen, not with Willow in trouble.

Chuckling, Angel brushes her hair from her face. “I don’t know why they have given the two of you to me, but I can assure you I won’t waste this opportunity,” he says pressing his finger into the wound on her neck, making it bleed more. Sighing with what could only be contentment; he licks the blood off his finger and revels in the small jolt of power that rushes along his tongue and down his throat.

Angel walks over to Willow, her face a mask of pain, and taps her on the forehead. “Time to get up,” he says. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Reluctantly, Willow’s eyes open. Her back is a mass of pain, her body protesting each movement. Angel steps out of her line of view and gestures to the corner. In her state, it takes her a minute to actually focus on what, or who, is there. Slowly she sees a red and white top and blonde hair. Concentrating, she sees that it is not a red and white top, but a blood-stained white shirt. Willow involuntarily lets out a small noise, indicating that she is finally comprehending what she is seeing.

“Buffy,” Willow says, her voice hoarse from screaming earlier.

“Don’t you like it?” Angel says crouching down so he is eye level with her. “I found her upstairs. Did you know that Buffy killed me? She sent me here, sent me to hell. I’ve been doing something right, haven’t I? For someone to send me another demon to make pay. But why in these forms? Why do you look like Buffy and Willow?”

A confused Willow looks at Angel. “What?” she whispers. “Demons?”

“Yes! Demons! Both of you!” Angel yells, standing up. “Can you see her from there?”

Willow shakes her head no, her vision going blurry again. The light is too dim for her to see clearly, especially in her current state of pain and exhaustion.

Angel walks purposefully over to Buffy and grabs her by the front of her shirt pulling her closer to his face. “Let’s get you closer,” he says to her. “So Willow can see. Don’t want her to miss the show now do we?” He grabs a hold of the strap that crosses her midsection and pulls the wooden cross with Buffy on it so it is closer to Willow.

Willow looks desperately at Buffy who hangs limp on the cross, head down. The situation is hopeless, and Willow now knows that. She has never seen Buffy beaten this badly by anyone. Buffy slowly raises her head to look at Willow. They share a moment of sorrow, tears shining in both their eyes. A small gasp escapes Buffy’s lips as she looks down the line of Willow’s body and sees all the damage that Angel has wrought.

“And I thought you’d be happy to see each other,” Angel says sarcastically, seeking to break their focus on each other and bring it back to him.

“What do you want?” Buffy asks thickly, her mouth dry.

The smile that spreads across Angel’s face is feral, showing too many teeth, and the look in his eyes plainly says ‘you don’t want to know’. He doesn’t say anything, letting his actions speak for him. He trails a finger along the edge of Buffy’s shirt, making her stiffen and want to crawl away from him. Chuckling softly, he hooks his finger in the top and pulls, ripping the shirt down the middle. It hangs loosely by the thin spaghetti straps, exposing her bra and stomach, showing Angel all that pale flesh.

Willow whimpers, unable to say anything, her throat dry and hurting, but she remembers when he’d done that to her, ripped her shirt. She shut her eyes tightly, not wanting to see what he would do. Vaguely she hears struggling and the knocking of wood on stone. Opening her eyes, Willow sees Buffy struggling against the restraints and hurling curses at Angel. But Buffy is drained, not only of blood, but energy as well. Her struggles weaken and Willow watches as Angel smiles again.

“If you’re done?” Angel asks. Walking in front of Buffy, he blocks Willow’s view as her grabs the top of Buffy’s skirt with both hands. A loud tearing sound reverberates in the silence along with Buffy’s scream. Moving away, Angel let’s Willow look, and she sees that he has removed her skirt and what underclothes she’d been wearing. Buffy hangs nude on the cross, crying and whispering something unintelligible.

“No,” Willow whispers, shaking her head. She can't let him do this, not this.

“No?” Angel asks. “Do you forget you have no choice?” His voice trails off as he walks around the table in search of something. There is a sound of wood scraping on wood as he opens a drawer hidden under the table. The clinking of metal sounds loud and oppressive in the deadly silence of the room. Buffy and Willow collectively hold their breaths, wondering what Angel is searching for, and both knowing they really don’t want him to find it.

A smile of triumph spreads across Angel’s face as he pulls out what he was looking for and holds it up for both the girls to see. The highly polished metal glitters in the soft glow from the candle, showing off sharpened edges and beautifully ornate carvings. Willow lets out a gasp and Buffy stays silent, only her eyes showing her fear. Angel turns the knife in the light, showing it off for them. It is six inches long coming to a fine point. It looks like it could split the finest of hairs down the middle. The handle is a dark cherry wood that almost resembles blood, which was probably the point.

“Do you like it?” Angel asks, walking back to stand in front of Buffy.

“Go to hell,” she says.

“I'm already there. Thanks to you,” he says scathingly. With a quick flick of his wrist he slashes across her stomach, making her gasp with surprise. They all watch as the smooth skin soon opens and blood oozes to the surface. Their eyes follow as drops cling and slide down, some pooling in her bellybutton only to overflow and continue their journey down her body.

Buffy’s shock slowly gives way to anger. She pulls frantically on the straps that hold her securely to the cross, wanting out, needing to get free. Not only for her sake, but Willow’s as well. Her sudden feeling of helplessness brings tears to her eyes. ‘I’m the Slayer,’ she thinks, ‘I am not helpless!’ Her muscles scream at her as she keeps up her thrashing, her body protesting each movement in her weakened state.

“Such a spitfire,” Angel says with a hint of laughter in his voice. “The Willow impersonator on the table did the same thing when I had her chained to the bed over there.” He walks around Buffy, eyeing the cross to make sure she hasn’t weakened it with her struggling. He doesn’t want to ruin this opportunity. It is too good, and he isn’t sure when it will end.

“Why?” Buffy asks in a defeated voice. “Why Willow?”

Angel looks at her, then at Willow, composing his thoughts. “Don’t you know?” he asks. When they both shake their heads 'no', he has a moment of shock.

“While you actually sent me to hell, she sent me there, I mean here, with a soul,” he says giving Willow a scathing look. “Do you know what they do to vampires with souls in hell?”

“I’m sorry Angel,” Willow says in a whisper.

“No, don’t apologize Willow,” Buffy says. “He did it himself.”

Another line of red appears as Angel once more uses the knife on Buffy. Then another. The front of her stomach becomes a curtain of blood, each cut making Buffy wince and droop just a little more on the cross. Her life is slipping from her as she watches it trail down her body. The cuts burn now. Angel watches hungrily as the blood flows, dripping from her feet into a small trough on the floor, placed there to collect the blood.

“I did not. Angelus…he…he wanted to bring hell on earth. I never wanted that.” Angel’s voice turns quiet. The whole room falls silent, becoming thick with the scent of blood and regret and guilt. That pronouncement is too much for Willow who lies quietly on the table, unable to say anything.

Buffy scoffs after a few moments. “You are one and the same. He taught me that,” she says with some disgust.

Angel’s hand quickly comes up to encircle her throat, squeezing her airway and making Buffy gasp. “Don’t you ever say we are the same!” he says angrily. “We are not the same!” Angel suddenly lets go of her, leaving Buffy gasping for air and swallowing through a lump in her throat. Willow is softly crying.

“Angel, please,” Willow pleads, her voice barely audible. “It’s not her fault. I did the spell. I gave you your soul back. I wasn’t quick enough though. I’d sent Xander to tell Buffy that it’d worked, but he was too late, or didn’t make it. It’s my fault Angel, not Buffy’s. She was just trying to save the world. Please Angel, don’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Willow’s words trail off into tears. Buffy tries to say something, but she can think of nothing to comfort her friend.

Angel stands there baffled. His thoughts race to scenes long forgotten and seen through Angelus’ eyes. Twisted memories of sending Drusilla to stop Willow from doing the spell and of Buffy and him in a sword fight right in this very mansion. ‘They can’t know all of that,’ he thinks. ‘Can they? Would they know what happened that night? Would they fake all of this? For what reason?’

“Xander didn’t tell me,” Buffy says. “He told me that you said to give him hell.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Angel says, flicking his wrist and cutting Buffy again, a little deeper this time. His earlier doubts are buried underneath his need to make them pay, no matter who or what they are. Either way. If they are the demons then they deserved it. If they are actually Buffy and Willow…well, they still deserve it for sending him to hell. Sending him to hell with a soul. No matter what Angelus had done, Angel himself hadn’t been the one to do it.

“I’m in hell, and you two mean nothing. You demons mean nothing to me. Your words are just lies and I don’t want to hear it anymore,” he says softly. Standing in front of Buffy, he places the blade to her neck, pressing into her skin and cutting it.

“Goodbye,” he says. The knife slides slowly across her neck, her scream cut off when the blade slices through her vocal cords. Willow’s scream echoes after Buffy’s as she watches the impossibly red blood flow down the front of her friend’s body.

Angel solemnly watches Buffy’s life blood leaking out through the huge gash in her neck. Her head lolls to one side, her eyes open and staring at Willow. He listens as the heartbeat slows, then skips. Listens as her breath comes in wet gasps as she tries to breathe, but draws in nothing but blood. The flow of blood slows as her heart stops beating. Willow’s cries echo in the silence.

Bending down, Angel grabs the small wooden trough of blood at Buffy’s now dead feet and tips it to his mouth, drinking it all.

“Why?” Willow cries.

“Because. You all must pay.”