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After the Fall Echoes Some Kind of Peace There were moments when it might have been fixed. He dreams about them and whenever he wakes up, his words are there, reminding him that some wounds can't be healed. I love you, Connor. Now get out of my house. Sometimes, before he can think, he calls out and takes them back. Stay. Please. Be my son. Don't let her twist you. Don't let me... please stay. He dies a little for Connor every morning, when he wakes up and greets the dawn from the mocking safety of his necro-tempered glass windows. When he thinks of what he didn't say.
Something is missing. He doesn't know how else to explain his dissatisfaction. He knows why he's here. He thinks that he knows. He fell in with Lilah and that had... somehow... caused a rift. Caused Angel and the others to reject him. He knows that, just as he knows that Cordelia had tried to do some horrible things. That she'd brought forth something... evil and powerful, but something that Angel had destroyed. There's more there, but he can't quite reach it. Whatever it is, Lilah certainly doesn't want him to know. Which is reason enough to find out the truth.
Routine You'd think that being dead would be a good enough reason to stop needing to sign in blood on every important document. Really, pricking her finger enough to bleed had been hard enough when she was alive. And there was so much more for her to deal with now. They trusted her with things that they wouldn't have let her near before. It was enough, most days. Angel was a more... controlling boss than she'd expected. Still, it was worth it. Especially when she got to make subtle references to Connor with everyone around. She'd always enjoyed seeing Angel off-balance.
It was like being on the greatest high in the world. His every sense was at its sharpest. His entire being filled with power and possibility. Yeah, he couldn't have left this behind for anything. He spent a lot of time in The Room, just being. Absorbing everything that was offered. That this was his... it was the best thing that'd ever happened to him. Walking felt like flying. Each breath strengthened him, steadied him. Every moment hummed with pleasure. He couldn't understand why anyone would ever question the need for this. Damn, this was worth anything to keep. Anything.
Empty Spaces The second worst part is that Wes doesn't understand. It's frustrating that after all they went through, Wes understands none of it. Without Connor, nothing that's happened recently makes sense. Yet, they all go on, and they don't even see the hole in their lives. His fault, yeah, and damn Lilah for her 'conditions' anyway because... He'll mention something, only to find that Connor was enough entangled in the memory that he gets nothing but blank looks in return. He's seen so many expressions on Wes's face, but the blankness is just... fundamentally wrong. Because Wes is supposed to understand.
He goes to visit her sometimes. Her room is bright and airy. It reminds him of who she used to be. He never touches her. It would be wrong to blame Cordelia for anything that happened. He doesn't. But touching her would be close to acceptance. He does talk to her. Nothing that Wolfram and Hart would be interested in. Little things, from before she took a demon into her. So, he visits her, but less often, and for a shorter amount of time each visit. He should visit more. But he looks at her and only sees his son.
Incidental He doesn't spend a lot of time with Fred, Gunn, or Lorne any more. Gunn and Lorne are so involved in their... whatever they do. Fred... wants it too much. A second in her presence and he can feel her getting ready to try to talk herself out of Wolfram and Hart. That's not going to happen, but he'd never be able to explain it to her. Hey, Fred, we can't leave the evil law firm because that's one of the conditions of keeping my son happy. Yes, I know you don't remember my son. Yeah, that'd go over well.
He thinks about fucking Lilah sometimes. Just holding her down, keeping her silent, making her weak, hearing her gasp and pant. Figuring out the appeal that she had had for Wesley. Usually, he thinks about it after she's made one of her 'clever' and 'subtle' remarks about Connor. Shutting up Lilah is a deeply personal and much loved fantasy. He's imagined it so many different ways. He has all the details worked out. She's sensitive about the head, always so worried that it'll fall off. That's found a place in some of his dreams. She's even more sensitive about Wes.
Weakness She couldn't believe how stupid she'd been. Thinking that they could go back. That they could... do it all again. Better this time, because this time they would be on the same side. She'd just had a horrible meeting with her boss - with Angel - and her body was used to getting to have Wesley after she'd gone through horrible meetings. So she'd gone to him and kissed him. And after a moment of a complete lack of response, he'd pushed her away, wiped his mouth, and told her to leave. She'd never felt more humiliated in her life.
Being kissed by the dead was a singularly unpleasant experience. It was rather like being kissed by a chain-smoker who'd never bothered with brushing her teeth. And she'd been so very cold. And through a reaction born of instinct, he'd pushed her away, perhaps forever. If only she'd given him time to prepare. Though he didn't know what could have prepared him for kissing a corpse. He did regret what he'd done, but he couldn't see another way it could have gone. Her mouth tasting of ashes, her tongue grave-cold in his mouth. Even now, the mere thought repulsed him.
Company To my complete lack of surprise, Lilah was always suggesting plans that involved Wesley working with her. I could have been remembering wrong, but she had to have been more subtle when she was alive. Wait... no, Lilah always was as subtle as a two-by-four to the skull. Meanwhile, being the boss, I could arrange it so that Wes and I worked together most of the time. Frustrating Lilah was always fun. Plus, it never hurt to keep an eye on Wes. Recently, I was getting itchy whenever he was off alone. Wesley working alone was never a good thing.
"Family is what matters, Wes." "I beg your pardon?" Wesley looked up from his book and his eyes met mine. "Family. It's the most important thing." "Ah." For a moment, he seemed to be at a loss for words. "And does this have something to do with the current case?" "Not really." "Then what does-" "You're it." After I said those words, his eyes narrowed. "I'm... family? Your point being...?" He started to look a little impatient. "Not just family. My only family left." "Oh. I see." Thankfully, he seemed to understand and went back to reading without another word.
Angel wasn't certain when spending time with Wes went from quietly enjoyable to pure torture. The new Wesley was still so... new. He almost wanted to tell Wesley to come into work wearing glasses, just to remind himself that it was still Wesley. He missed the old Wesley. The one who... looked up to him. Who looked at him. Because now he was the one doing the looking. And that made everything different, in ways that he wasn't sure that he liked. Until now, he'd never wanted to kiss Wes, and he didn't know if this Wesley would let him.
The kiss came as quite a surprise to Wesley. At first, the shock kept anything from registering, but after a moment, sensation returned. Angel's mouth was cool but not cold, not anything like the debacle with Lilah. Apparently vampires were governed by different rules. And even though Angel kept the kiss relatively chaste, Wesley could feel himself reacting. Despite feeling as though he would regret this some time in the future, perhaps even in just a moment, Wesley was unable to pull away. When Angel finally broke the kiss, Wesley looked away and concentrated on getting his breathing under control.
Absolution Sometimes, he almost convinced himself that she was waking up. Still, he knew full well that a person in a coma could move without the action meaning anything. But she would sigh or smile and he would wonder what it would be like if she did wake up. He wondered how she would feel about what they'd gotten themselves into. Would Cordelia understand? He hardly understood it himself most of the time. Also, she hadn't been herself for some time, though before he'd blamed it on his own actions. And though he missed her, he'd been missing her for years.
He was truly happy. College was a blast. Tracy hadn't worked out, but there were so many other possibilities. After all, for the average guy, college was just one big party. And he was nothing if not average (though intelligent and athletic, he heard his mom's voice chide). This latest girl was really something, too. Short, dark hair, and a smile that lit up a room. She liked to be in charge, and he had to admit that he didn't mind. And she was strong and fast, just like him. Athletic but normal. Yeah, everything was great. Life was perfect.
He wasn't entirely sure why he kept visiting. Sometimes, he wondered if the evil coiled in Cordelia had been part of the reason for their failing friendship. If she'd been avoiding him because she feared the resident demon expert would figure it all out. No fear of that, he thought, perhaps a touch bitterly. After all, he'd been so caught up in his own drama, he might not have noticed if Cordelia had walked around carrying a sign that said, "I'm incredibly evil." Seeing her always made him wallow in self-indulgent depression. Upon reflection, that was probably why he came.
Around noon, her eyelids fluttered, and she started a new dream. This one was simple, just the boy, sitting with her in a dark room, his hand touching her knee as he laughed. He started to slowly fade away, and like that weirdo cat, his smile stayed the longest. Red seeped around the edges of her dream and everything started aching. Her right hand twitched and tightened into a fist in the soft sheets of a bed... her bed? She took a shuddering breath and the air was thick. At one-fifteen, Cordelia Chase opened her eyes. She could remember everything.
Absolution "Angel, we really shouldn't do this at work." Wes' voice is muffled against my skin and I pull away, tracing a finger against his mouth. "That would be more convincing if you hadn't said it the last three times." Wesley gives in after that, like before. The smell of his skin draws me back in and I lick his shoulder, resisting the urge to nip. Even with him, especially with him, I can't trust myself that far. He might let me, but... no. Not yet... not ever. But I can't stop myself from sucking hard enough to leave a mark.
He's flaunting it. I knew that Angel had a petty streak but this is... it's territorial bullshit. He might as well put a sign over Wesley' head that says, "I can kiss him without disgusting him." He's such an asshole. Of course, Wesley doesn't seem to notice what he's doing, but he's probably just... Who am I kidding? I don't know him as well as I'd thought. I never would have guessed that he'd come to the firm to save me. I've been underestimating him. All along, I've been wrong about how strong his feelings are... for me, for Angel.
Earlier today, I opened my eyes for the first time in forever and, predictably enough, I saw a nurse. Oh, she wasn't wearing a uniform, but I've seen enough to be able to tell. Not only was she a nurse, she was the expensive kind. Which would make sense, only... not rich anymore. She tried to get me to talk to her, but I'm not going to tell a stranger about being evil and sleeping with Connor. The only thing that makes sense is asking to see Angel and Wesley. They'll know what to do. How to make it right.
I don't understand how all of this happened. It's been months and it still doesn't make sense to me. How could we have joined Wolfram and Hart? Sure, they have an amazing science division. And Knox is a sweet guy. Doesn't seem barely evil at all. But then I start looking past the neat factor of the toys and start thinking about how the firm probably used all of it in the past and it doesn't matter how neat they are. This is wrong. Angel won't listen to me. He just ignores it all. There's something he's not telling us.
Beyond The nightmares were getting worse. At first, they'd been nothing. He'd been able to laugh them away. But now, he was having them almost every night. And they were getting more and more intense. They felt more like memories than dreams. He knew that he belonged somewhere. There was an odd pull in his heart that told him that he needed to be somewhere else. But he liked where he was. Liked who he was. And he could hear a voice in his head reminding him that his heart would lie to him. Not this time. He wouldn't let it.
They wouldn't let her talk to Angel or Wesley. Oh, they had all kinds of reasons, but that's what it boiled down to. Hell, the guys probably didn't even know that she was awake. And she knew that they needed her. And while she'd hate to say it out loud, she needed them too. And someone else, an inner voice reminded her. But talking to... him would come much later. After she figured out what the hell you could say to the kid you'd slept with when you were evil. Right now, she just needed to get out of here.
Lilah was hiding something. Well, in the interests of honesty, Lilah was always hiding something, but this time, it seemed to be something important. Perhaps something to do with his oddly fogged memories. He's been searching for an answer, some way to understand why nothing makes quite enough sense. But it would be simple for the firm to cover its own tracks. He's almost certain not to find things out that way. Still, he knows that something is there, waiting to be found. He's had odd dreams, where he knows someone that he doesn't know. He'll figure it out eventually.
This day was going to be hell. Cordelia was awake and demanding to see Angel. Wesley was... increasingly less her Wesley with each passing day. And now there were reports of the boy's power reemerging. It'd been a mistake on the Senior Partners' parts to think that the spell could hold against a soul like that. It could only last so long before his own strength broke it and he remembered himself. Then again, this could all be part of their master plan. Even so, she was the one who would be blamed. Sometimes, she really did hate her job.
The Butterfly Effect His dreams used to be overflowing with the blood of his victims. They still are, but the faces have changed. He dreams of killing, always has, but recently, his dreams are more painful. The spell worked almost instantaneously, but there was an instant, his son bleeding in front of him, when he'd wondered if Wolfram and Hart had betrayed him. He wishes, sometimes, that he'd found another way. A way to keep Connor. Sometimes, when he dreams, he has an odd sense of connection, like when the First had been showing Buffy his kill-dreams. He dismisses it as wishful thinking.
They've stopped pretending that she's just a patient. They've stopped making excuses. Bars on her windows, a lock on her door. She's the bird in the gilded cage. They've started asking her questions. They want to know if she still has visions and how much she remembers. She hasn't told them anything and when they tried using a psychic on her, his brain exploded. She doesn't bother feeling sorry for him. She hasn't mentioned Connor's name, and neither have they. She asks about Angel and Wesley every day. Life is starting to fall into a routine. Then Lilah shows up.
"You can't, Fred." Angel's gone way beyond 'boss-like' and into dictatorship. "And you can't stop me." My own voice is so much colder than it used to be with Angel. God, when did he close himself off from us? "I've read the contract you signed. You can't sell us, only yourself." "It's more complicated-" "I don't care!" I try to find some hint of the man who saved me from Pylea. "I can't do this anymore. I'm leaving Wolfram and Hart." But I can't stop myself from trying again. Giving him another chance. "Angel, just tell me what really happened."
He knows who he is. He can't anymore, though. Not after tonight.
The Butterfly Effect "I trust that you've been enjoying your stay." Lilah sounded as arrogant as ever. It was enough to make even a saint mad as hell. And as recent events had proven, I was no saint. "Yeah, being a prisoner is wonderful. Didn't I kill you?" And I can hear the bitchiness in my voice and I know that bringing up someone's death is over my usual line, but I'm beyond caring. I want out and there might be a way to use her. "Wolfram and Hart wouldn't let that stand in the way of their plans." Lilah didn't stop smiling, but there was a brittleness about her. I'd spent most of my life finding vulnerable spots without trying and I'm even better at it when I pay attention. She's focused, but I'm sure that I can break that. "Too bad for you. Where are Angel and Wesley?" She lost the smile. One of them is her weak spot? "I know that you know." "They're working for us." She broke out an incredibly fake grin. "Well, technically, Angel's my boss. He's running the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram and Hart." I bit my lip, then took a chance. "What about Wesley?"
Trying to ignore his past had failed. Spectacularly. After last night, Katie definitely wouldn't go out with him again. So, pretending had failed. Again. He should have learned his lesson last time - no magic lasts forever. And no matter how real this life felt, he knew it wasn't. So he was left with no choice - he had to go to LA. He needed to find Cordy and make certain that she was real. Find Angel and see if there was a family resemblance. Fortunately, the weekend was coming up. He just had to get through Thursday and Friday's classes - he had that lab in Bio. - and then he could finally start the hunt. He'd miss Jake's big party, but there was always another one coming up. Of course, he didn't know how long it would take to find her. He had class Monday afternoon and… Tracking had been much easier before he'd had a life. When he could lose himself in the search and not allow himself rest until he found his prey. And when he didn't have to worry about calling his mom every week so that she wouldn't worry. He'd made a good son.
Walls of Jericho "Fred, it isn't that easy," Angel said, beyond tired. Running a law firm - trying to figure out how to change things without losing his best weapons to cause that change - was more exhausting than he could have imagined. "After what I signed... you'd just forget the second after I told you about it." "Try it," Fred said, waving a hand at him. "At least try, Angel." Angel examined Fred carefully. He couldn't just let her walk away - the deal had been Connor's new life in exchange for all of them at Wolfram and Hart. But if he told her and she didn't forget about it, she'd know about Connor again. He wasn't sure how he felt about that yet. "What do you remember about Darla?" he asked, leaning back on his desk. "Your Sire?" Fred asked, tilting her head. "This is about her?" Angel gave her a slight nod. It had started with Darla. "Well, she..." Fred trailed off. "I did meet her, right? I can't really remember that but I do remember rain and dust and..." There was a moment of silence. "She staked herself." Fred whispered, closing her eyes. "Angel, why would she do that?"
He knew what Lilah and Angel were hiding. Wesley took care not to let his satisfaction show on his face. He went through files like this every day - had made it clear that he wouldn't be satisfied until he'd personally examined every file at Wolfram and Hart, even if that were an impossible task. So he made certain that his reaction showed there to be nothing special about today's. After last night's dream, he'd begun to believe that the firm had wiped their memories. Possibly at Angel's request. However, it appeared that they'd overestimated their abilities... or they'd planned for him to remember all along. He scanned the relevant section again -- 'When a memory charm is used to destroy short-term memories, it is almost impossible to regain the lost time. However, when a witch (or warlock) attempts to extend the spell beyond its normal reach, the affected will notice the missing time - and more importantly, if the will of the victim is strong enough, they will recover their memory.' So, the boy in his dreams was important enough to forget. And as the days passed, Wesley would remember more and more. Eventually, he would remember it all.
Hunter It was interesting, how easily everything came back to him. He didn't remember L.A. at all, but he walked down the streets without hint of doubt or fear. He'd known fear as Casey - ordinary kid fears. Now, he was certain nothing smaller than the world shattering would scare him. If that. He'd seen the world shatter a time or two, though he couldn't recall how just yet. The second that he'd gotten off the phone with Miranda… with mom… he'd started pushing away who he'd been, started to let himself listen to the whispers inside. Two urges were manifest - the need to confront and speak with Angel and the need to find and protect Cordy. Both brought up swirls of emotion that Casey wouldn't be able to handle. Then again, Casey had been out of his depth since the first dream and had been totally lost the night with the monster - the K'n'lar demon, something inside him murmured in correction. The second that he'd seen the beast, he'd known just how to kill it. After, he'd thrown up in the bushes while Katie sat a foot away from him, silent. No, Casey was of no use here.
"You weren't supposed to wake up," Lilah snapped at Cordelia, knowing that her instant reaction would give too much away, but too on edge not to say something. "Why the hell did you have to beat the odds?" "Naturally gifted," Cordelia said with an irritating smile. "You were going to tell me how Wes is?" "He's doing well," Lilah said, regaining her composure. "He lands on his feet." "So do you." Cordelia stood up and stretched, looking far too at ease. "I'm glad that death didn't take away your 'bitch' title, 'cause that's a killer to get back." Lilah just shrugged elegantly, a move that she would never admit to having practiced in a mirror. "When you're evil, it's not that hard. You should know that much." "So, you are here to ask me what I remember." Cordelia said, tossing her hair back defiantly. "And here I was hoping for some real girl talk. We could have really gotten to be friends. Maybe had a sleepover and painted each other's toenails. You know, if you weren't an evil, dead lawyer who is literally from Hell. And just between us girls, being dead is no reason to stop washing your hair."
Bare Bones He'd gone looking for Cordelia and had found Angel by accident. He still didn't remember most of his past life, but he'd have known that scent even if he hadn't known anything else. It was death and blood, with just a hint of rotting flesh and an overlay of something like his own scent but centuries older. A sense-memory intruded, reminding him that he'd known Angel by smell when he'd first come to this dimension. The lost part of him whispered words he'd never gotten to say and the rest of him ignored it, too used to the weak, nameless child to even be bothered by its whimpers. There was so much pain and loss associated with the thought of his 'father'. Too many horrible memories that he could almost, but not quite, put his finger on. He stripped away the shell of Casey, who was too weak for this, and pushed away the whispers of Connor, who was too broken, and let the strength of the Destroyer control the search. The vampire would be used first as a means to an end. Once initial contact had been established with the woman, he could return to further investigate the monster.
"You have a son?" Fred asked. She wasn't surprised when Angel didn't answer, since it was the third time she'd repeated the question. "You have a son." She exhaled sharply, hoping her brain would start working again soon. There was shock, and yes, there was the anger, and there was also this terrible sense of loss that felt like it didn't belong to her. A loss that she didn't have the right to feel. "That's who Connor was," she said quietly. "The Connor that you went to go see. The one we didn't know." "Connor was... is my son," Angel confirmed. Fred looked up to meet Angel's eyes. How could she have avoided noticing how much colder they were now? She shivered. "You weren't ever going to tell us about it?" she asked, rubbing her arms. "Those were our memories, Angel. We had the right to keep them." "You didn't know Connor," Angel said softly. "None of you understood what he'd gone through. He had the right to a real life, Fred. And because I was his father, he never even had a chance. He was hunted before he was even born. Stolen before..." She'd never seen Angel like this.
Boxed An hour and quite a few insults later, Lilah was still there, being annoying with her very existence. "Don't you have a job?" Cordelia asked in annoyance. "Shoo. Go and be threatened by Angel. You can moon at Wesley while you're there." Lilah just raised an eyebrow and settled herself in her chair. "I have as long as this takes." "Right, because you're all corpse-y and gross," Cordelia said, wrinkling her nose. "Ick. You know, you might want to look into getting a stronger perfume, because rotting flesh is not the scent that'll win you anyone's love." "The sooner you say something useful, the sooner I can leave," Lilah said, the very irritating picture of calm. Cordelia shrugged. "I remember killing you. I remember being mildly evil. That's about it." She'd never been able to lie this well before, but it mattered more now. There had to be a way out of here and to Angel and Wes. And Connor. "We both know that that isn't true," Lilah said patiently. "Well, if you know, then why don't you tell me?" Cordelia asked. She gave Lilah a scornful look. "We both know that if you had anything, you'd be using it."
Wesley absently straightened the papers on his desk, still thinking over his most recent discovery. He'd almost hit on the name to the boy - something Irish, which implied a relationship to Angel in any case. He wanted to say familial, but as far as the Watcher's Library knew, Angel had murdered all his family after he'd been turned. Still, it wouldn't have been the first time that the Library had been wrong. In fact, after speaking with Angel on the subject, the Library had been wrong nearly as often as it had been right. It was time to bring in an outside opinion. Angel was, for obvious reasons, out of the question. Fred was already prepared to bolt - if he brought this to her, she might just slip away. Lorne was out of town, possibly on business, though it could be hard to tell with Lorne. Business was often pleasure for him. Which left him with Gunn as the only viable option. Wesley nodded to himself and pressed a button on his phone, requesting Gunn's presence as soon as it was convenient. It wasn't as if there were any great need to hurry on this matter, after all.
Thrown Stone The monster... didn't look surprised at his entrance. Something close to horror, but not really surprise. The Destroyer dismissed the woman as insignificant, focusing on the familiar scent. He stalked toward the blood and age that was only superficially covered by the smell of technology and knowledge. Until the vampire moved at him with blinding speed, pushing him to the ground as he felt a crack in the air. And he could smell gunpowder and he twisted around and looked up, barely able to see past the man to the woman with a gun. He blinked, a memory pushing in despite all his efforts to stay pure -- turning around at the window sill, seeing the man he'd always thought of as the ultimate evil take pain for him -- and he tried to speak. He managed a soft whimper. "Put the gun away, Fred." The demon said sharply to her. "That's not human," the woman protested and he remembered how to laugh. She glared at him, but lowered the gun. "It's not, Angel. And it feels evil." "Well, we can talk about that while we talk about you bringing a gun into my office." A lecture. How incredibly... paternal.
It was hard to think. Everything inside him was screaming the same thing - his son had come home - but he knew that he couldn't let himself concentrate on that. It wouldn't last. So, he forced himself to focus on Fred, keeping himself between her and Connor. "I don't feel safe here," Fred said, reluctantly putting the gun back in her briefcase, still staring past him towards Connor. "You know that, Angel. Are you really so surprised about this?" "You could have killed him." Angel said. He flexed his hands, stopping himself from tightening them into fists. "Why are..." she trailed off, finally looking at Angel. Knowledge dawned in her eyes. "Oh. This is... Connor." "Next time, don't shoot first." Angel said, knowing that his tone would imply that next time, he wouldn't be able to stop himself at stepping in front of the bullet. Angel allowed himself to look at Connor, his eyes hungrily examining every inch of his son. His son had come home and she'd almost ended it before it began. Not that anything could begin. Connor would have to forget again. Have to leave again. But for this moment - his son was finally home.
Angel turned away from her and Fred very carefully retreated to the doorway. She'd been right earlier - she'd never seen Angel like this. She hadn't known that Angel was capable of saying something like that, all dark and full of painful meaning, to someone on the good side. Wouldn't have believed it if she'd been told. Seeing was believing, though, and her eyes told her that Angel wasn't thinking at all right now. He was totally and completely focused on his... son. God, Angel had a son. A flesh and blood, evil demon son. And she knew she was right about that. His eyes were empty like nothing she'd seen since Pylea. But Angel wouldn't believe something like that about his own son. Or maybe he did and that's why they didn't remember him? Angel hadn't gotten around to the why yet. Fred shivered. Just seeing Angel like this, staring at that kid, was creepier than just about anything she'd ever seen. And her eyes kept skipping over the boy, like she wasn't allowed to look. Was that part of the spell? She'd had such a hard time saying his name... but she had been able to say it.
Names were darting through his head, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to think any of them yet. The woman was electric pain and sandwiches, both equally prominent, yet neither important. But the man was water and blood and fire, and the most powerful thing in the world. He'd suppressed the foolish and weak parts of himself earlier, yet already, they were fighting to break free. Fighting for control and for that rarest of gifts - peace. Casey just wanted to go home, get a big hug from his mom, and believe that this was nothing but a bad dream. And that was the truth. But the gentle want still remained and he didn't move, trapped by the intensity of his father's eyes.
Fallen Apple Gingerly, he pushed himself off the ground, but he didn't stand up yet, not quite ready to directly confront his father. No. Casey slammed his eyes closed to block his heart against the hunger he could see in the man in front of him, the protest never making it past the tightness of his throat. My name is Casey Jacob Miller. I'm a college student, maybe a little fucked-up right now, but just a regular guy in a normal world where people don't stay standing after they've been shot. He realized abruptly that he was crouched on the floor, presenting as small a target as possible but poised for action. His muscles were remarkably relaxed, even though he felt like his heart would break through his chest at any moment. Even with his eyes closed, he was aware, his memory letting him know where the exits were while his hearing kept close track of the other occupants of the room. Preparing myself for any eventuality, he realized dimly, fight or flight... or pain. He couldn't quite find the right words for any of this, but Casey almost remembers dying and this feeling isn't so very different. Like drowning in blood.
He can remember three fathers now. Holtz had been the only one he'd known for so long, yet he'd always known that Holtz was not truly his father. In retrospect, it's odd that he'd been encouraged to call Holtz his father, yet was reminded at every turn that he was merely the damned spawn of demons and never could be a true son, never a true replacement for the losses his... father had suffered. He can't even remember the first time that he was told of his origins. He suspects now that he was told the story over and over, each day for every day of his life, as he can't remember a day with Holtz where he did not hear it. Quar'toth had aged Holtz in so many ways. He can vaguely remember a vibrant hunter. But something in the air... Holtz had complained about the weakness that the air of Quar'toth created. And when he'd first arrived on this dimension, he'd been lost without the smell of flames and ash. The one scent that had made any sense had been his true father's, yet that was the one that he'd come to destroy. Another of fate's twisted games.
Is he one person with several personalities or has he simply gone insane? He has three names and none of them feel as though they describe the whole of him. His head is stuffed to overflowing with memories, and they feel as though they're leaking out his ears. But he knows what love is, this time around. Casey had doubted many things in his life, yet he'd never truly doubted that he was loved. Love. His mother, throwing her arms around him and telling him that she wanted him to do whatever made him happiest. His father, sitting with him and talking about the future, knowing that it would be bright and wonderful, because his father believed that Casey was bright and wonderful. This, Casey knows, is proof of love. Steven... the Destroyer... knew the hunt and knew scent. His every sense told him that the man in front of him was his father. Casey took a breath, centering himself. Connor knew that lies couldn't ever be trusted. Connor believed that love was just a lie. Angel was the answer to the question. Casey bit his lip, licked away the sharp taste of his own blood. Connor opened his eyes.
Connor carefully studied the man still staring at him as though Connor were the Holy Grail, the sacred answer to every question in the world. Almost all in black, only a dark blue silk shirt relieving the monotony. He looked... old, which felt wrong to Connor, as his senses and his memory told him that Angel was an ageless creature, a monster that time could not touch. But Connor had learned many things in the past year, among them the fact that grief could age people. Perhaps it had been grief that had caused Holtz' aging, too, and not Quar'toth's poison environment. Had the loss of his family hardened Holtz? Had the same thing happened to Angel in Connor's absence? Was that proof of love? Or was that just what he wanted it to be? Slowly, Connor stood up, sparing a glance for the woman in the corner. Fred, who had played mother to him one summer. She didn't look older at all, and she hadn't known him. Perhaps the two were connected. He turned his gaze back to Angel, his mouth quirking up into the semblance of a grin, the right words finally coming to his lips. "Hi, Dad."
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