Title: Letting Go
Pairing: None really, references to Spangel and hints at Spuffy love.
Summary: Angel’s thoughts. Post Destiny.
Timeline: Spoilers up to and including Destiny.
Thanks to my beta umbralillium
Notes: So I had been waiting a year to see Angel Season 5 ep1-8. I finally see Destiny and inspired beyond words. Well maybe words, since I wrote this. It was originally going to be slash, but my brain decided: No Emily! You must write Angel Angst! I dunno, I’m very very odd.
Notes #2: If any of you con me into writing a sequel, I will bash you over the head with a bowling pin. Or possibly hug you to death.
Hope you like it, and as always, I am a review Slut, so: Review on!(that was so retarded, but really, it sounded like ‘Rock On!’ in my brain. –Have I mentioned I’m odd?)
They spent two weeks apart, avoiding each other.
Angel didn’t want to admit that Spike was right, about everything.
The first few days they spent in denial and ignoring the other. Slowly they filled a routine. Spike would try to ignore Angel; Angel would try to ignore Spike. Then, when forced to interact, they acted like old rivals. Pissing each other off was starting to turn into a contest; who could piss the other one off enough to make him leave the room. They never talked about the present, never about Buffy; they always talked about the spaces in between. After Angelus declared dominance, declared ownership. Before Spike strung Angel up, trying to cure Drusilla, trying to prove that he was the one in charge.
They had feasted, fought, and fucked for twenty years. Twenty years Spike spent learning how to become a proper vampire, learning how to become angry and disappointed. Angelus taught him who was the boss; that Spike was only there because Angelus allowed it. He led Spike on and then dropped him every time. In death, in life, in love. He took everything Spike had, everything he’d wanted and pissed all over it.
Twenty years Angelus spent teaching and creating, molding Spike into what he would become. He treated Spike like a childe. Drusilla knew next to nothing about vampire lore, their rules, traditions, the way of things. Angelus created Spike, created the twisted demon, and tried to break the man.
William was a ‘simpering fool’ as Spike liked to say, a feminine nancy-boy who couldn’t fight his way out of a paper sack. William was innocent and whimpering, a naive little boy clinging to his mother’s skirts. William was sweet and noble and loved deeply.
Spike had hated William. For a hundred and twenty years he couldn’t accept who he was, what he was. Spike was brash and rude, ignorant and evil. Spike hated
almost as much as William loved. He took pleasure in destruction and chaos. He was dark and black and evil to the core. He was what Angelus made him.
The new Spike was different though. A new spin on an old tale. Sunnydale and Buffy had changed him. Instead of fighting William, Spike united with him. The demon in Spike finally stopped fighting the past and started looking to the future.
Angel hated this most about Spike. Spike’s demon was strong enough to relate, to bond with his humanity; he wanted
to be different, he wanted
Angel and Angelus really were two different entities. Angelus was evil and honest and remorseless. Angel was good, or at least he tried to be, he fought for what was right because he couldn’t do anything else. Spike was different though, always had been, his demon was different, the man he had been was different. The lines between Spike and William became blurred and they had finally accepted one another. The line between Angel and Angelus was wider than the Grand Canyon.
Angel didn’t hate Spike. He envied him
He finally understood that it wasn’t about Spike at all; it was about him. He hated himself, his demon, what he was. He hated that he didn’t have the courage, the strength, to be what Spike was. You see, he had learned a lot of lessons in his day. The first one he was ever taught, Darla had said ‘What we once were informs all that we have become.’ This was true, even among the demons. Their demons were created into existence, based upon who they had been. So you see, it wasn’t the demon that was weak; it was the man.
The man in Angel, Liam or Angel or whoever, that was the one that didn’t want the soul. He spent a hundred years fighting himself, fighting the demon. He spent a hundred
years in pain and anger and sadness. Spike spent three weeks.
It was like pointing out everything that was wrong with Angel. Spike, William, the simpering little fool, was a stronger man than Angel. A better one.
When Spike came back, Angel had begun to realize that he was different. He had seen shades of the man and shades of the demon. They had ceased to be separate. He tried to ignore the niggling, whispering words, telling him that Spike was better.
When Spike picked up the cup and drank from it, it was like the last nail in his coffin. He finally had proof that Spike was stronger, that he deserved everything more. Angel fought the good fight. Spike won it. Angel had saved millions of people. Spike had saved more. Angel was cursed with a soul. Spike won his.
They had fought and it was finally settled. Spike was
the better man.
Every day Angel went to work, fought evil, tried not to cause too much of it. Every day he trudged through the bad, to try and do the good. Everyday he worked to stop the evil, to help where he was needed. Everyday he watched how Spike laughed and snarked and pissed all over what Angel was trying to do. What he was trying to be.
Spike had spent a hundred and twenty years trying to get out from under Angelus’ shadow. To become better. He tried to live up in everyway possible. To surpass everything Angelus had done, everything he had been.
Somewhere along the line, though, a town and a girl had changed that. Spike finally let go, accepted himself, stopped trying to be better. He let go and he was fine, he won the battle. He let go and everything he was fighting for was justified, everything he did made a difference. He let go and he was
Angel wouldn’t get better
He couldn’t let go.