The Next Mission: Interlude-Children of a Prodigal Father
by WayWard Childe
A/N: I like to give special thanks to Hieiko, who made this fic look all professional like.

FEEDBACK: Please give me feedback, I need it, but not in a physical dependent way. More in a helps motivate me to make more, way.

I can't stop; I've been going on like this for hours. Punch. Block. Kick. Stake. Repeat. I do this 'til my knuckles bleed, the red liquid seeping from my skin mingling with the blood of things that just got in my way. Because it's THEIR fault! Their fault that he's gone, gone AGAIN, gone before I...

A demon interrupts my battle so I slam him into a wall and twist his arm off. Blood pours, and the thing screams that I'm a monster. ME! But he's one of THEM, the things that took him, and the others, my family, my friends, my enemies, my dreams that never existed yet existed all the same. So I punch the demon, telling him that he's the monster, that he's nothing, and I revel in it. I remember Quortoth and all the things I had needed to do to survive. I remember being tied to a tree when I was five. I remember Angel, no, *Dad*, telling me that wasn't right; I remember that he was sincere and that he loved me and I...

The demon's gone but now it's the wall's fault, right? It must be this alleyway wall's fault. Why else would I be punching it? Why else would I be weeping and letting my knuckles rip and tear. Why did he have to leave again? I'm alone and I never got to tell him how sorry I was, that I wish I could take back all the pain I had caused. Never got to be friends with those who willingly gave me friendship. Never got to have my true family... only hell, pain, and LIES. The walls are crumbling, turning to dust beneath my fists. That’s when I feel cold, strong arms surround me. They feel like my father's, but I know they're not. They feel like the arms of someone who cares, and I know he does.

"Why?" I ask, weeping into his shoulder, and holding on tight 'cause I can't lose something else before I even know it.

"I don't know," he replies, voice thick with tears and laced with pain.

"Why did he leave us again?" I ask, sounding like a scared child for perhaps the first time in my life.

"Because it's what he does, he leaves you and abandons you, but never means to."

"What will we do?" I ask, seeking guidance.

I can tell that he's shocked. No one probably goes to him for help or seeks his guidance; no one ever made him a leader. After a moment, having recovered from the shock and awe of being put into the role, he finally steps up.

"We fight, we live, and we make him proud. And we become what he said we were. We become Champions."

I nod. He's right. That's what we must do, what we must become. For him, for Fred, Cordelia, Gunn, Wesley, and Lorne.

We will be Champions.
We will make them proud.
We will save the world.



TBC............

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