Disclaimers: All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant
Enemy and the WB. The song 'Fallen from Grace' is the property of Blue
Rodeo.
Summary: Angel realizes what he has become after being cursed by the
gypsies. This is basically an escape from the last chapter of
Repercussions, which is coming very slowly. :)
by: Andrea
//The sun won't ever shine
Not like it used to do
And there will be moonlight in the sky
Won't mean a thing to you
Friends and relations say you've changed
They say it's written in your face
Better get used to living like this
Now that you've fallen from grace//
'Please make this a dream.' The words rippled through the pain in
Angel's mind. These memories running through his head couldn't be his,
couldn't be real. He stifled a sob, visions of ugly deaths, deaths he
had caused playing in his mind. He paced around in the darkness of the
cellar the gypsies had locked him in. His hands held his head as he
remembered the words they said to him, the hatred and revulsion in their
eyes. He gripped his head tighter as the memory of a young gypsy girl
dying in his arms rolled through his mind. Gagging at the images he
collapsed on the floor, unable to believe the monster he had become. He
remembered the last day he had seen the sun, the angry words he had
flung at his parents before heading off to the pub. His head swam, so
many deaths, so many deaths he had caused. A sob escaped him as he saw
his mother's face, felt his teeth at her neck. He could feel the blood
coursing down his throat as his mother's life faded, her eyes
disbelieving. He shuddered, remembering the screams of his sisters as
they found his mother's body and the joy with which he killed them.
Rocking back and forth he tried to block the images, tried to convince
himself they weren't real, but he could see his father's eyes to
clearly, the horror and the fear that he looked at his son with. Sobbing
he curled into the dirt, praying for oblivion.
//And you will walk across the floor
As the night becomes day
There will be trouble coming round
Sent down to test your faith
And when the friends you used to wait for
Stop coming round to your place
You better get strong somehow
Now that you've fallen from grace//
He lay silent for hours, the tears stopped by the horror. It was too
much, he couldn't absorb all the terror and destruction he had caused.
He struggled to his feet, a strange sensation beginning in his middle,
wrapping his arms tightly around himself he moved around the room. The
feeling grew stronger, more familiar until he began to moan, realizing
the demon still existed in him, still hungered in him. Pacing
frantically around the room he tried to ignore the feeling, wanting
desperately to subdue the memories of feeding, of the joy he had felt in
the killings. Swallowing the disgust that rose in his throat he
concentrated on overpowering the craving, afraid that if he saw a human
he would be unable to stop himself. He stopped, his mind spinning
wildly at his thoughts, only then realizing that he wasn't human any
more, that he hadn't been human for a very long time.
He stopped his pacing, smelling something outside that tore at his
self-control. He could hear the gypsies talking softly, the thought
flashing through his head for a moment that they may kill him as soon as
he tried to leave. The craving increased, taking away his ability to
think, he heard the growl low in his throat, felt the changes in his
teeth. Reaching up he felt his face, felt the ridges and running his
hand inside his mouth he felt the sharpness there. He fought against the
almost overpowering urge to break through the door, to run out into the
night and kill. He ran his hands over his face again, trying to join his
memories with the feel of his face. He coughed, choking on the memories,
taking deep breaths to calm himself, realizing as he did that he hadn't
been breathing. Memories of his first nights as a vampire overcame him,
memories of Darla as she'd taught him the pleasures of killing. He shook
his head, unwilling to remember the joy he had felt while killing,
unable to believe that he had loved it.
Moving slowly towards the door, the craving leading him, he pulled it
open, surprised at his strength. He walked up the stairs, expecting the
gypsies to attack him any moment, praying that they would. He moved
carefully out into the open air, fearful of what would happen next. He
saw the gypsies hiding in the shadows but he kept moving forward,
terrified he would lose control. He felt the demon raging inside him,
ordering him to feed, to kill, but he ignored it, moving slowly towards
the place he used to call home. Dru, the memory of what he had done to
her tormenting him, he felt the need to rescue her, he couldn't just
abandon her to Spike. Walking hesitatingly down the stairs into their
hideout, standing in the middle of the room, looking at Spike and Dru
sprawled out on the floor, sated from blood. His stomach turning he
watched them, sickened to think he had once been happy to be with them,
to kill with them. Spinning around silently he left without saying a
word, realizing he would find no comfort in Dru's arms, no pleasure in
Spike's company.
//Better get used to the sorrow
Better get used to the pain
Don't even worry about tomorrow
You know it's only today all over again//
He wandered aimlessly throughout Europe for years. Feeding only on rats
and dead animals, only ever enough to keep himself alive. He wanted to
die, found himself praying endlessly for some release from the guilt at
what he had done. He hadn't seen Spike or Dru since the night he had
been given back his soul. He winced at the thought of the torture he put
Drucilla through, of how he had stolen her sanity. Walking slowly down
a dark alley, he wondered again why he didn't end it, why he didn't lay
down until the sun came up and ended this torture. Was he afraid of
Hell? He laughed bitterly at the thought, knowing that there was no way
Hell could be any worse than the existence he lived now.
Other vampires avoided him, the legends of the horror he had committed
following him. He was glad they feared him, glad that they left the
towns he was in, left the people in relative safety. He spent his nights
thinking of his crimes, picking out one death to mourn, one life to cry
for. It was the only way he could handle it, the guilt was too strong.
He would kneel in the dirt, head low and let the memories of one death
pour through him while he cried. He would let the guilt for the death
absorb him until the first signs of the approaching dawn. Then he would
find a place to hide, hopeful every time that he wouldn't make it; that
the sun would rise too fast and take him with it. And every morning as
he once again hid he realized why he continued, why he would always
continue. He would suffer for the pain he had caused, the gypsies had a
right to their vengeance and he would not take it from them. He would
give them the satisfaction of seeing him suffer for all eternity.
//Never mind the paper and the pen
They can't help you anymore
Forget about the music
That used to lift up your soul
And when the lover that you lean on
Turns round and shows you a stranger's face
Better get used to living like this
Now that you've fallen from grace
Better get used to living like this
Now that you've fallen from grace//
Running became his life, running from memories, from town after town
that he had left his mark in. So many people dead, so many lives ruined.
The monstrosity that he was astounded him, every new death he remembered
shocked him as much as the memory of the first one had. He searched all
of Europe for a moment of forgetfulness, one second when the horror of
what he was released its grasp on him. He tried everything, the music he
used to lose himself in for hours as a human. The drawing's that used to
consume him, everything he drew now was full of death. He looked around
his room, at the pictures of crimes he committed spread all over the
floor. Laying on the floor among his pictures, feeling unbearable guilt
for these people who didn't even have names in his mind, just memories
of whether or not they fought him. Feeling the tears of remorse welling
in his eyes again he struggled to his feet, running once more.
He wandered down a deserted street, barely noticing a couple embracing
in the shadows until the way the woman moved prodded at his memory. He
remembered a beautiful blonde haired woman that he had loved and killed
with. He walked closer, feeling a pit of dread forming in his stomach.
The woman was dressed in a kimono, her blond hair pinned up from her
neck. He stared horrified as memories of nights spent taking blood from
that neck coursed through him. She turned slowly, sensing his presence,
her face contorted in the demon's shape. The tears coursing down his
face he stumbled backwards, running from the street, ignoring her voice
calling after him. 'Darla' her name running through his head, he could
remember loving her so clearly, but she was a monster like him, he
couldn't be near her.
He found himself hanging around the waterfront two weeks later while
searching for one of the rats that were so plentiful around the water.
Watching the passengers laughing as they boarded the boat. He stared
wistfully at them from the shadows, his hunger temporarily subdued. He
watched them board with so many hopes for what the journey could bring
them. Glancing back at the land that he had killed so many on he moved
quickly through the shadows, finding an empty cargo box and slipping
into it. Maybe he would be discovered at sea, maybe the sunlight would
find him and kill him, but maybe he would find some peace, some way to
make amends in the New World. Closing his eyes he offered up one more
prayer for the souls of those he had killed as the boat pulled away.
end