Spoilers: Takes place seven minutes after the end of 'Not Fade Away'.
Disclaimer: Angel belongs to Joss, still does and always will—now people, if you can't keep the T.V. show, make a movie dammit!
Rain cascaded from the skies, drenching Angel in the unnervingly warm waters as he held his axe high in the air and swung down, chopping an unidentified demon's head in half. From his counting, this was his fiftieth demon in the past seven minutes, and he was worried of what would come at the end of the next three.
He'd loose another of his own. Even Illyria had noticed Gunn's life fading and had wasted no time pointing it out, though now she fought with a vengeance—as though trying to avenge Wesley's loss. Had it not been for the rain, Angel could have sworn earlier he'd noticed tears plastered to the ex-god-king's cheeks.
A demon grabbed him from the side, digging its claws into his rib cage, bloodying the flesh. Biting his lip to stifle the pain, the ensouled vampire pulled his axe back once more and shoved it into the demon's neck.
Fifty-one…
Another came at him from the side, diverting his path from the dragon he really wanted to battle. He sighed, stabbing this one as well and pulling the axe through the demon's stomach and wrenching it through four others.
…Fifty-six…
Illyria hissed at the creature before her, its structure long and twisted through years of immortality and training. The thing remained unintimidated, infuriating her. Did it not know who she was?
Anger mounted upon her grief, fueling her desire to continue fighting. It lashed out at her with its metal-plated fist, and she ducked on instinct and returned with a swift kick to the gut and shoving the blade she'd "borrowed" from the ancient red demon on life support through its head.
The creature moaned, staggering backwards into a leather-clad figure cussing out a beefy green demon. Spike. At being hit in the back, the vampire spun angrily and pushed the knife farther into the creature's skull before he noticed her standing there fending off a trio of midget-sized vampires.
"What do you say we swap? I take on the kiddies, you kill off big, green and drooly," he offered, his signature smirk pasted on his face.
Illyria tossed him a weary glance as she shoved her elbow into the chest of one of the midgets, turning it to dust in an instant. Then the heel of her shoe went through another's neck, leaving the last one to stare at her with widened eyes as she threw it into the wall.
"I'll take that as a no," Spike stated, shrugging as "big, green and drooly" tried to punch him yet staggered to the side and fell over in the process.
"It is a worthless trade," she informed him bitterly, holding her head high. "Neither are good opponents in battle. Find me one worth my time."
"Okay, no more offering uneven switches to the gal in blue, got it," Spike mumbled to himself as he planted his sword in his demon's heart.
Lorne sighed, staring down at the burnt orange color of the drink before him. His nineteenth shot went down the hole not a minute later, yet he coughed it up as he set the glass down.
The demon's emotions were conflicting, making him regret leaving the team all because he'd killed someone that might have ended the world. Narrowing his red eyes, Lorne slammed his fists down on the gray counter of the bar, grabbing some unwanted attention.
"To hell with it," he shouted aloud as he slid off his bar stool. "I'll help them—I'll die helping them..."
Yet despite the sureness of his words, his steps staggered and his mind was fogged in the drunkenness. He'd never make it there in time…
Gunn choked as blood rose in his throat, flooding its copper taste into his mouth and dribbling down his chin. His blood. Grabbing the nearby concrete slab of a wall for support, the long-time vampire hunter clasped his chest, trying desperately to keep his enemies at bay while he awaited the inevitable.
His time was draining too quickly; he didn't like the sensation one bit. A towering amber scaled demon lunged at him, not giving him a chance to protest. Yet the demon was thrown backwards, and there in its place stood Illyria, holding the demon by its thick neck, her hand slowly squeezing the windpipe.
Quitting the game of sadistically watching the thing suffer and choke, she tore its throat out and tossed the blood-saturated organ to the floor beside its owner's corpse. She focused her attention on him just as he collapsed to his knees on the ground, choking over the liquid in his throat.
Illyria watched him unsurely before finally kneeling down beside him and pointing out, "Your life is fading…" She tilted her head to the side as though to get a better look at him.
"I know—we mortals are stupid, but we can tell when we're about to die," Gunn replied, kneeling forwards and coughing up more of the fluid.
He felt her arm draped across his chest to keep him from falling over and glanced up at her, as if in confusion. Yet what he saw was far from what he'd been expecting. Grief was a mirror image in her eyes, and it suddenly dawned upon him that she had indeed in her weakened state grown attached to them all. Wesley most though, and his death had hurt her more than she was willing to admit.
"I will not watch as two of my companions die," She stated. "Why didn't you listen to me?"
"What? When you said not to get myself killed? Don't you think I t-tried?" Gunn responded, choking over the last word.
"I won't watch you die…"
And that was when time froze around her, and the clocks turned back.
TBC…
A/N: Continue, yes or no? Reviews needed! Thanks...