The Adventures of Deadboy and Zeppo
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male › Angel(us)/Xander
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
12,249
Reviews:
48
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male › Angel(us)/Xander
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
12,249
Reviews:
48
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Realizations
-
Angel sat in an uncomfortable motel chair doing his best impression of a statue with his arms crossed and his eyes staring blanking ahead at the atrocious green wallpaper. He concentrated on using all of Angelus' planning and tactical knowledge to find a way out of this mess. He also enjoyed the fact that the longer he sat, the more uncomfortable the four soldiers became. Where they squirmed and blinked and shifted and breathed, Angel remained a perfectly still, a reminder of the fact that he wasn't human.
Wasn't human.
Angel felt Angelus' gleeful laugh at that irony. Instead of trying to imitate humanity, Angel was intentionally flaunting his demon status in front of the soldiers who supposedly provided backup for his mission.
As much as Angel tried to forget Xander's words, they kept seeping into the edges of his consciousness. He wasn't trying to be perfect, he was just trying to be a decent human being, and Xander didn't understand how the soul and the demon trapped him. He listened to Angelus' laugh echo through his mind.
. Dios, que salva el metal, salva la escoria… ya todo esta.
The lines of poetry flowed into his memory from some book he had long ago forgotten the title of.
. God, who saves the metal, saves the dross… everything is there.
He was the metal. He had survived a century of Angelus' hunger and anger and hatred, and he still held a steely control. The idea that god would save Angelus, the dross, the waste, the ugly byproduct of some mistake, Angel concentrated on the patterned wall paper as he tried to push that thought away.
Xander and that long-forgotten poet were wrong. Angelus was the monster who needed to be destroyed if Angel was going to save himself. Angel never would have committed the atrocities that Angelus had committed.
One of the soldiers clicked the television on and the early news anchor announced a fatal car accident with no more emotion than the weatherman offered when predicting rain. As the demon, before the soul, he wouldn’t have even noticed that, but now Angel could feel bad for some random soul killed by a drunk driver. He had a conscience. He wasn't Angelus.
"Man, they need to execute a few of those drunk drivers, that'd make people sit up and take notice," one of the soldiers announced a little too loudly. Angelus chuckled at making combat-trained men so nervous.
"Except you might be the one swinging considering I've seen you get in the car after poker night."
"Man, I am never too messed up to drive after poker, but someone who hits a mom in a mini-van deserves to get fried." Angel didn't move, but these men's willingness to discuss death so callously made Angelus stir under the restraints of the soul.
"Hope the little girl makes it," the third offered. Angel forced himself to concentrate on the wallpaper and not the conversation or Angelus or the damn poem or even the memory of Xander's laughter. For once he wished Cordy would show up to complain about not making enough money or Wes would come in babbling excitedly about some 2,000 year old scroll. Neither happened, so Angel found himself trapped with his own thoughts.
Angelus considered people animals. He ate and raped and killed with no more thought than a butcher gave his pigs. Of course, the butcher never sought out certain pigs, playing with them until they begged for mercy just to feel more powerful. The image of Kathy, his little sister, opening the door and smiling at him floated to the surface, and Angel had to suppress a sob.
Angelus had snapped her neck cleanly, letting her body fall to the floor near the door she had just invited him to enter. Kathy never knew her mistake or watched their parents die, but Angel remembered the joy that had risen at feeling his sister's neck snap, that joy had belonged to Angelus. Angel hadn't been there to cry out or protect his sister, and Xander couldn't know what it felt like to remember how your sister's neck felt as it broke.
Xander was wrong. Angelus existed separate from him because *he* loved the sister *Angelus* had killed. He never wanted to hurt her, not really. Angel's fingers closed on his upper arms until he could feel bruising start to set in. A memory: he'd been 16 and Kathy nine. Their mother had copied bible verses onto strips of paper for Kathy to memorize and Angel had slipped them out of Kathy's keepsake box, carefully imitating their mother's handwriting as he copied blasphemous versions of the verses onto new strips. He wanted her to get in trouble, their perfect child, the one who never made mistakes, the one who wasn't him.
Angelus laughed wildly, and Angel could feel his world tilting off balance so badly that he grabbed the arms of the chair. His sudden movement made the four men jump for weapons, but Angel ignored them as he felt his balance sliding out from under him. No. Not again. He didn't know where the perfect happiness had come from, but he wouldn't yield, not again. He gasped for air as he pushed out of the chair, stumbling to the wall that he had stared at for so many hours.
No. Kathy hadn't died because of his jealousy. It wasn't his fault. But if it wasn't his fault, why did the guilt of it eat his soul? Why wouldn't the universe forgive him when it was the demon's fault? Angel's shoulder hit the wall as it suddenly occurred to him that his demon wanted blood and violence and Darla and childer, but not revenge.
The revenge… that had come from him. His jealousy of Kathy, his hatred toward his father, his anger toward his mother. In Sunnydale, the demon just wanted to feed; *he* wanted to prove that he wasn't worthless. His insecurities had led Angelus to open the portal. His fault. Angel sank to the ground as he realized that Xander had been right. His demon wanted many things, but the torture and the mind games had been the demon's way of trying to please Liam. *He* wanted to get back at Buffy for being the champion that he wasn't. *He* wanted to strike out at Giles because Buffy turned to him for advice even though Angel was far older.
"Oh god," Angel whispered as he finally lost the balance that he had held for so long. He fell straight into the truth as he remembered Darla's words, something about the person informing the demon, leading the demon on a certain path. He had led his demon to his path. Angel blinked as he suddenly recognized the laughter in his head as his own, the same small voice that had suggested he follow Darla and rut like an animal on the street. The same voice that had told him the he couldn’t please his father so he might as well please himself with every tavern wench in town.
"God," Angel whispered again, this time he wasn't sure whether it was profanity or a prayer.
He looked up to see four combat trained soldiers with tazers pointed at him as he sat on the floor. Angel thought quickly since he wasn't going to discuss the truth with them. He needed a lie that would make his position stronger rather than the truth which would make then doubt his sanity. He already doubted it enough for everyone involved.
"One of my childer," he lied as he pushed himself up off the floor. "One is dead, dusted." Let the morons worry about vampire telepathy for a while. "Leave me alone until sunset," Angel ordered as he went into the bathroom and closed the door. With the water running, he allowed himself to finally cry.
Angel sat in an uncomfortable motel chair doing his best impression of a statue with his arms crossed and his eyes staring blanking ahead at the atrocious green wallpaper. He concentrated on using all of Angelus' planning and tactical knowledge to find a way out of this mess. He also enjoyed the fact that the longer he sat, the more uncomfortable the four soldiers became. Where they squirmed and blinked and shifted and breathed, Angel remained a perfectly still, a reminder of the fact that he wasn't human.
Wasn't human.
Angel felt Angelus' gleeful laugh at that irony. Instead of trying to imitate humanity, Angel was intentionally flaunting his demon status in front of the soldiers who supposedly provided backup for his mission.
As much as Angel tried to forget Xander's words, they kept seeping into the edges of his consciousness. He wasn't trying to be perfect, he was just trying to be a decent human being, and Xander didn't understand how the soul and the demon trapped him. He listened to Angelus' laugh echo through his mind.
. Dios, que salva el metal, salva la escoria… ya todo esta.
The lines of poetry flowed into his memory from some book he had long ago forgotten the title of.
. God, who saves the metal, saves the dross… everything is there.
He was the metal. He had survived a century of Angelus' hunger and anger and hatred, and he still held a steely control. The idea that god would save Angelus, the dross, the waste, the ugly byproduct of some mistake, Angel concentrated on the patterned wall paper as he tried to push that thought away.
Xander and that long-forgotten poet were wrong. Angelus was the monster who needed to be destroyed if Angel was going to save himself. Angel never would have committed the atrocities that Angelus had committed.
One of the soldiers clicked the television on and the early news anchor announced a fatal car accident with no more emotion than the weatherman offered when predicting rain. As the demon, before the soul, he wouldn’t have even noticed that, but now Angel could feel bad for some random soul killed by a drunk driver. He had a conscience. He wasn't Angelus.
"Man, they need to execute a few of those drunk drivers, that'd make people sit up and take notice," one of the soldiers announced a little too loudly. Angelus chuckled at making combat-trained men so nervous.
"Except you might be the one swinging considering I've seen you get in the car after poker night."
"Man, I am never too messed up to drive after poker, but someone who hits a mom in a mini-van deserves to get fried." Angel didn't move, but these men's willingness to discuss death so callously made Angelus stir under the restraints of the soul.
"Hope the little girl makes it," the third offered. Angel forced himself to concentrate on the wallpaper and not the conversation or Angelus or the damn poem or even the memory of Xander's laughter. For once he wished Cordy would show up to complain about not making enough money or Wes would come in babbling excitedly about some 2,000 year old scroll. Neither happened, so Angel found himself trapped with his own thoughts.
Angelus considered people animals. He ate and raped and killed with no more thought than a butcher gave his pigs. Of course, the butcher never sought out certain pigs, playing with them until they begged for mercy just to feel more powerful. The image of Kathy, his little sister, opening the door and smiling at him floated to the surface, and Angel had to suppress a sob.
Angelus had snapped her neck cleanly, letting her body fall to the floor near the door she had just invited him to enter. Kathy never knew her mistake or watched their parents die, but Angel remembered the joy that had risen at feeling his sister's neck snap, that joy had belonged to Angelus. Angel hadn't been there to cry out or protect his sister, and Xander couldn't know what it felt like to remember how your sister's neck felt as it broke.
Xander was wrong. Angelus existed separate from him because *he* loved the sister *Angelus* had killed. He never wanted to hurt her, not really. Angel's fingers closed on his upper arms until he could feel bruising start to set in. A memory: he'd been 16 and Kathy nine. Their mother had copied bible verses onto strips of paper for Kathy to memorize and Angel had slipped them out of Kathy's keepsake box, carefully imitating their mother's handwriting as he copied blasphemous versions of the verses onto new strips. He wanted her to get in trouble, their perfect child, the one who never made mistakes, the one who wasn't him.
Angelus laughed wildly, and Angel could feel his world tilting off balance so badly that he grabbed the arms of the chair. His sudden movement made the four men jump for weapons, but Angel ignored them as he felt his balance sliding out from under him. No. Not again. He didn't know where the perfect happiness had come from, but he wouldn't yield, not again. He gasped for air as he pushed out of the chair, stumbling to the wall that he had stared at for so many hours.
No. Kathy hadn't died because of his jealousy. It wasn't his fault. But if it wasn't his fault, why did the guilt of it eat his soul? Why wouldn't the universe forgive him when it was the demon's fault? Angel's shoulder hit the wall as it suddenly occurred to him that his demon wanted blood and violence and Darla and childer, but not revenge.
The revenge… that had come from him. His jealousy of Kathy, his hatred toward his father, his anger toward his mother. In Sunnydale, the demon just wanted to feed; *he* wanted to prove that he wasn't worthless. His insecurities had led Angelus to open the portal. His fault. Angel sank to the ground as he realized that Xander had been right. His demon wanted many things, but the torture and the mind games had been the demon's way of trying to please Liam. *He* wanted to get back at Buffy for being the champion that he wasn't. *He* wanted to strike out at Giles because Buffy turned to him for advice even though Angel was far older.
"Oh god," Angel whispered as he finally lost the balance that he had held for so long. He fell straight into the truth as he remembered Darla's words, something about the person informing the demon, leading the demon on a certain path. He had led his demon to his path. Angel blinked as he suddenly recognized the laughter in his head as his own, the same small voice that had suggested he follow Darla and rut like an animal on the street. The same voice that had told him the he couldn’t please his father so he might as well please himself with every tavern wench in town.
"God," Angel whispered again, this time he wasn't sure whether it was profanity or a prayer.
He looked up to see four combat trained soldiers with tazers pointed at him as he sat on the floor. Angel thought quickly since he wasn't going to discuss the truth with them. He needed a lie that would make his position stronger rather than the truth which would make then doubt his sanity. He already doubted it enough for everyone involved.
"One of my childer," he lied as he pushed himself up off the floor. "One is dead, dusted." Let the morons worry about vampire telepathy for a while. "Leave me alone until sunset," Angel ordered as he went into the bathroom and closed the door. With the water running, he allowed himself to finally cry.