Author's Notes: Originally meant to be a drabble one-shot. It's still a one-shot, but it's a bit long to be considered a drabble.

Blood Screaming

(An Angel Fic)

It was the poof's fault, really. The entire argument had started because he refused to admit the obvious. Well, if Angel wanted to be a stubborn arse like he always was, that was fine with Spike. Angel could just sit in his big, comfy leather chair and continue being an idiot and - oh, who was he kidding? What person in his right mind would think that astronauts would win over cavemen? It didn't make bloody sense! But would Angel listen to reason? No! They had argued about it for over forty minutes and Angel still refused to accept defeat and realize the simple truth: cavemen were superior to astronauts.

Frustrated, Spike had finally had enough of his Sire's bull and stormed out of his office. He had told himself he was going to be mature about the situation and just forget about the argument and move on with his unlife. Spike had been committed to that idea for a total of three minutes before he had begun pitching his cavemen vs. astronauts question to anyone who would listen. To his immense satisfaction, cavemen seemed to be the more popular choice.

Spike had finally worked his way down to the mysteriously empty science department in which only Fred and Knox seemed to be working. Or whispering over a creepy box, whatever. Why was that thing even in the science department? Shouldn't it have been in Ancient Relics? He'd have to remember to ask them that after they finished the more important discussion.

"C'mon, Fred, who would win: cavemen or astronauts?"

"It depends, Spike."

"On what?"

"Weapons."

"I told you, the astronauts don't get weapons."

"Look if the caveman have fire, than the astronauts need laser guns. Like in Star Wars."

"I think you mean light sabers, luv."

"Oh, well, that's not the point." She blushed, embarrassed that she had not known the proper term. "If the astronauts don't have weapons why do the cavemen get fire? It puts the astronauts at an unfair disadvantage! If both groups can't fight on even ground, than the entire argument falls apart."

"But," said Knox, "if the astronauts are so smart why would they need weapons? Wouldn't their sneakiness make them equal to the cavemen's brawn and, therefore, not disadvantaged?"

"Exactly my point!" exclaimed Spike. "Whaddaya say to that?"

"They need weapons because - oh, you two! I refuse to think about this. We have to get back to work."

"Work?" Spike grinned, walking over to the nearby sarcophagus. "You mean this giant box? Nice to see you guys are stretching the budget."

"She's right," said Knox. "Spike, you should go."

"In a minute," he mumbled, running his hands over the jewels embedded in the ancient coffin. "How much do you reckon these are worth?"

"Spike, back away..."

Before the vampire could ask why Knox was so in love with the stupid box, one of the crystals on it opened and blew a gust of air into Spike's face. He stepped back, gasping and coughing.

"I told you!" exclaimed Knox.

Fred was slightly more concerned. "Are you alright?" she asked.

He flashed her his most charming smile. "Sure, luv, it takes more than some mummy dust to get me down. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to find the poof."

Ten minutes later

Angel couldn't take it anymore. Spike was driving him insane. And it wasn't just the constant insubordination or the fact he kept selling Angel's personal cars for blood money. Spike was too much of a distraction. Angel had a law firm to run, he couldn't afford to be bothered every half hour or so by his irksome Childe demanding to know why his Sire's unlife was much better than his own. Or who was better: Batman or Superman? Or whining about who would win the cavemen vs. astronauts battle. Honestly, who cared? Everyone knew that Batman was better than Superman and that astronauts could take cavemen any day of the week. Just because Spike always felt that he had to contradict everything Angel said - dammit! Spike was distracting him again and he wasn't even in the room!

Angel had to get rid of him. He had the resources of Wolfram & Hart literally at his fingertips. He could send Spike anywhere in the world. Dump him in Mongolia or some place like that. Of course, he couldn't make it sound like he wanted to get rid of Spike, his Childe would whine and refuse to leave if that was the case. Angel had to make it sound like he was doing Spike a favor. Treating him to a permanent, exotic trip. Call it a job and send him on his merry way. Yeah, that could work. First, he would have to have Harmony track him down and...

"Alright, Angel, the votes are in..." said Spike, waltzing into his Sire's office.

Scratch that last thought. Spike had found him on his own. Was the half hour up already?

"...cavemen win hands down."

Whatever thoughts Angel had about having an adult discussion with Spike vanished with that one sentence.

"What do you mean 'hands down'?" demanded Angel, getting up from his desk and marching over to the younger vampire.

"Accounting agrees with me."

"Did you buy them booze?"

"Well, that's mature, Angelus! Admit it, I'm right, you're wrong!"

"Just because you have something against evolution and the progression of man as the dominant species..."

"Typical, seeing what you want to see! Never getting the big picture!"

"Hey, I can see the big picture! I'm a big picture see-er!"

"Whatever gets you through the day."

"Hey, what gets me through the day is… Spike?"

The younger vampire's annoyed face suddenly looked troubled, sickly. His seemed to stare past Angel rather than at him.

"Spike?" Angel repeated carefully.

Spike attempted to answer his Sire, no doubt to throw out another insult. As soon as the younger vampire moved his lips, he began to cough. Blood poured from his mouth and he began to sway on his feet. Moving quickly, Angel caught his Childe before he hit the ground. His concern became genuine fear when Spike started to convulse.

Three hours later

"It's called Illyria," said Wesley, "a great monarch and warrior of the demon age murdered by rivals and left adrift in the Deeper Well."

"Which is what?" asked Angel, perhaps a bit too harshly. He was painfully aware that they were pressed for time. The more time they wasted, the sicker Spike got. The demon inside Angel was ready to kill something. It screamed for vengeance and Angel was inclined to support that.

"A burial ground," explained Wesley, "a resting place of all the remaining old ones."

"This one ain't resting," remarked Gunn.

Angel suppressed an urge to hit him. He appreciated a quip in the face of peril as much as the next guy, but this one was not funny!

" No. I don't think this is merely an infection," stated Wesley. "Spike's skin is hardening like a shell. I think he's being hollowed out so this thing can use him to gestate, to claw its way back into the world. That's speculation. Either way, his soul, or essence, if you prefer, will be completely destroyed."

Completely destroyed, thought Angel desperately. Gone, as in no way to get him back. Okay, now Gunn's quip was even less funny.

"Do we have any chance of finding this Deeper Well?" he asked.

"I already have," supplied Wesley. "It's in England, in the Cotswolds."

"Good, we'll prepare a jet..."

"Boss, thank God I found you!" exclaimed Harmony, running into the room. "It's Spike, he's in your office and..."

"What's he doing in my office?" Angel growled. "Why isn't he in Medical?" Honestly, Spike was like a small child. If he wasn't properly monitered he wandered off.

Harmony took a step back and nervously raised her hands. "Hey, Boss, I swear I don't know. But, if it helps, he doesn't look so hot..."

Angel didn't hear her finish that sentence. He was already speeding out of Wesley's office and towards his own.

Three minutes later

Where the Hell was the poof's liquor stash? Every office had one and Angel was the C.E.O. and a Mick besides. There was no way his private pocket of Hell Incorporated would be booze free. There had to be some alcohol somewhere! Spike stumbled and grabbed hold of Angel's desk. He couldn't even walk straight, why the Hell did he even leave his comfy hospital bed? Angel would have come back eventually... No, Spike amended, I don't care about Angel, I care about his whiskey. I didn't leave to find Angel, I left to raid his private stash. Now, all I have to do is find it.

God, he was dizzy. Everything was spinning and painful. He entire body ached and it burned with an impossible fever. Spike felt genuinely sick, like he had the flu. He hadn't had influenza since he was nineteen. He had to lie down. And that couch was all the way across the room.

"Spike!" a voice exclaimed. "What the Hell are you doing?" It was Angel. He sounded angry. And concerned. Goodie.

"I was looking for a drink, Peaches," Spike smiled. "Just a drink."

Angel stormed over to him. "You should be in bed!"

"I should be alotta things." Don't fall over, he ordered himself, trying desperately not to show Angel just how much he needed his desk.

"You need to go back to Medical."

"I need a drink."

"What you need is to be in bed!"

God, Angel was so annoying when he was in Sire mode. Of course, he always was in Sire mode. Stupid ponce always had to be in control, always had to know best. "I know what I need, Peaches, and that's a drink."

"Spike, you're not well..."

"I think I'm aware of that!" Spike exploded. "I can barely walk, you stupid git!"

"Which is why you should be in bed."

"I'm not a bloody child, Angelus. I - dammit!" Spike's legs buckled out from under him and he fell towards his Sire. Angel caught him easily.

"C'mon, Spike, let's get you out of here."

The younger vampire was suddenly too tired to respond. He nodded his head, and, leaning heavily on his Sire, they left the office. Wesley was waiting outside. Spike thought he heard Angel mention something to him about not being able to go to England, but he must have heard wrong. There was no reason why they'd be going to the Motherland. They weren't fans of Manchester United.

God, he felt like his body was being digested. Maybe his brain was frying.

One hour later

Angel had taken Spike to his penthouse. He couldn't leave Spike in the infirmary and there was no way he was going to let his Childe go back to that rat-infested apartment of his. Strangely, Spike hadn't protested. He wasn't talking, which was just plain unnatural for him. It hurt Angel to see Spike like this. What hurt his more was that he could do nothing to save him from the demon currently liquefying his insides. He would most likely lose Spike like he had lost Cordy and that thought made Angel very angry. After Cordy had died, Angel had vowed to protect what was left of his family. Fine job he was doing so far.

Looking at Spike lying prostrate on his bed, just staring at the ceiling, Angel knew had to say something, anything. They hadn't spoken a word to each other since he had attempted to explain to Spike the truth about his "infection" over an hour ago. Try as he might, Angel couldn't find it in himself to tell Spike that his very essence was going to be obliterated. He had softened the story by replacing words like "destroyed" to words like "possessed" and "dead."

He didn't think Spike quite believed him.

"Do you want me to call her?"

"Who? Fred?"

"No, Buffy."

"How noble of you, Peaches! It must have taken a lot for you to bring up the B-word." He paused, his curious smile dissolving into a slight frown. "Buffy never loved me. She told me she did, but she lied."

Angel knew this already, but didn't want to hurt Spike further by agreeing to it. He remained silent.

"Let me tell you a story, Peaches. I had a cat once. I called him Lord Byron. After the poet, see? Yeah, well, when that cat died, I cried. I was seventeen years old and I cried over that mangy animal like a nancy boy. I loved that cat and I cried for it. Buffy never cried for me, not even at the end. Her eyes got all watery, but she didn't cry. She couldn't, see, because she didn't love me."

"I'm sure she cared about you," said Angel, trying to comfort his Childe.

"But not enough to cry for me! I loved her, ya know. I would have done anything for her, but did she care? No! She gave me her body, but it didn't matter because every time I screwed her she was thinking of you! She'd scream my name, but I knew yours was lurking just underneath the surface. I was just convenient!"

"I'm sorry," Angel whispered. He meant it, too. He pitied his Childe. All Spike ever wanted was the love of a beautiful woman. And that was the one thing he had never gotten as a human or a vampire. Unless he counted Drusilla, but a demon's love was always tainted. Spike had wanted pure love, true love, the crap that Disney movies were made of. And he had never gotten it. Not with Cecily, not with Dru and certainly not with Buffy.

"Yeah, you're sorry!" Spike ranted. "You're never anything but sorry!" Tears began to spill from his eyes. "Stupid poof."

"You don't want to see her?"

"Desperately, but what would I say to her? Guess what, luv? I fried, but got over it. I've been back for months and didn't tell you. Sorry 'bout that. Now I'm dying again and want some company. Come quick. No, Peaches. I've said everything I needed to say to her. Buffy means so much to me, but she's such a small part of it. A sliver of my unlife. Now, Dru, she was the whole pie. I spent so much time with her. I vowed to be her knight, to protect her for all eternity. Now, I don't even know if she's alive."

Angel didn't know either. For some reason, that bothered him. "Dru can take care of herself."

"What if she doesn't want to anymore? You know she doesn't like to be alone. Could've gone out during the day and - oh, God."

Considering they hadn't heard from her in years, that was probably what had happened. Not that he was going to tell Spike that. His boy shouldn't have to hear that now. "I'm sure she's fine."

"You're lying, Angelus."

Inwardly, Angel swore. Spike was always good at picking through the lies. Years of living with Angelus had taught him well. He had forgotten how well. "Try to get some rest."

"I'll rest when I'm dead."

"Don't say that. Gunn and Wesley are on their way to Europe right now. And Fred's working in her lab. They're going to find a cure."

"You don't believe that."

"Yes, I do."

"Then why are you here, Sire? If I'm gonna be fine and dandy, why even bother with the bedside manner?" He spat out the word "sire" as if it were poisoned blood. It bothered Angel that Spike continually used that affectionate term derogatively, not that he was going to tell him that.

"Someone's gotta look out for you," Angel said neutrally.

"You're the only one left to do that, Peaches. You're the only one left who gives a damn. That's irony for ya. You were there at the beginning. Might as well be there at the end. Funny, I never thought it'd end like this."

Angel noticed that Spike was starting to shake. Suddenly he sat up in bed and backed up against the headboard. "I'm sorry!" he shouted, clearly panicked. "I'm sorry I was hungry! Don't cane me, Father! I'm sorry! I won't do it again! I promise! Stop! Stop!"

Angel knew Spike's father had beaten him. He had mentioned it offhandedly shortly after he had been turned. Angelus had thought nothing of it. His own father had tanned his hide more than once. I hadn't bothered him then, but now, hearing Spike cry like that, lost in some delusion, it was almost more than the older vampire could bear.

"Spike, calm down! Your father's dead! He can't hurt you anymore! Will, you're safe here!" Not knowing what else to do, Angel moved onto the bed and put his arms around Spike; something he hadn't done since an unfortunate mob incident in a French province in 1883. "You're safe."

Spike relaxed slightly, curling up against his Sire. His lucidity was returning, but he could not, or would not, stop writhing. "You're cool, Angelus. I'm not. My skin is on fire. I'm burning, Angel. Burning for my sins. How come you don't get to burn?"

Spike fell asleep shortly after that. It wasn't a peaceful slumber. Spike twitched perpetually and, every few minutes or so, he would let out a low moan. Occasionally, he would mumble obscenities and names. He'd whisper for his Mum, for Dru, for Buffy. Angel heard his own name mentioned more than once. Odd thing was, Spike, more often than not, would ask for Angelus. That didn't surprise Angel, though it made him feel somewhat jealous. That in itself didn't make much sense, because he and Angelus were technically the same person. Angelus was the one who raised Will, after all. Treated him better than his own father. Why shouldn't he ask for him?

Angelus had never beaten Will. They had gotten into fights, surely. Vampire families couldn't help but fight with one another. Demons weren't known for being civil. Words were said, punches were thrown. That was normal. Normal for them, anyway. Frequently, Angelus would act like a proper Sire and discipline his Childe with harsh words and occasional blows, but he had never beaten him into submission. That wasn't his style. Angelus had preferred to play mind games with Spike. Those were more fun than any brawl.

Of course, Spike loved a good brawl, especially with his Sire. At times, Angelus was convinced that Spike acted unruly just to get a rise out of him; to get a decent fight started. Spike had never won one, not until a few months ago with that stupid fake Cup of Perpetual Torment. Simply put, Spike had kicked his ass. Angel might have been proud if he hadn't been so mind-numbingly angry with his stupid Childe. Good thing that cup had been a fake.

"What time is it?" asked Spike, reluctantly opening his eyes.

"You were only out for about an hour."

"I'm gonna miss that hour. Should the room be this bright?"

"I could turn off the lights if you want." Angel moved to get up, but Spike weakly grabbed his arm.

"The light hurts my eyes. I don't like it. It hurts my eyes, but don't turn it off. The pain tells me I'm still here." He sighed. "I guess you don't need to worry 'bout that prophecy anymore. If I'm not around..."

Now what was he talking about? Oh, the Shanshu. Angel honestly hadn't thought about it. Not since Spike had collapsed. "Don't talk like that," Angel whispered.

"Why not? Can't talk about much else."

"It's just a prophecy. Probably fake."

"Lying again."

"Dammit, Spike! I don't care about the prophecy. I care about you!" I'd give up my humanity if it would save you, Angel realized silently. Where did that come from? Surely, Spike didn't mean that much to him. Did he?

"That's nice," mumbled Spike. "Not lying now."

Five hours later

"I know what love is, Angelus. Love is blood screaming. It screamed for Dru, it screamed for Buffy. God, how it screamed for Buffy! It screamed for you once. How drunk do you think we were that night, Peaches? I still don't remember how we ended up in that barn."

Angel forced a smile. "Something about a leprechaun."

"Right," Spike chuckled into Angel's chest. "A leprechaun." He looked up at his Sire and their eyes met. "Would you have loved me?"

"What?"

He smiled at Angel's confusion. "Not like that, Peaches," Spike whispered, shaking his head. "Would you have loved me as your Childe, your friend, even your equal? Would you have stopped hating me?"

"I never hated you, Spike. I said I did, but if that was true I would have staked you. I never could stake you. I..." Angel broke off, painfully aware of the tears coursing down his cheeks.

Spike grinned. "Well, bugger, Peaches, maybe you do love me, after all." The smile vanished when Spike was overtaken by another coughing fit. When that had subsided, he asked: "Will you leave me, Angel? Leave me like the others?"

He sounded so vulnerable.

"No, Spike, I won't leave you," Angel said, gently kissing Spike's forehead. He tried not to think about how leathery the skin felt or how the unnatural heat from it burned his lips.

"You left before."

"I got a soul."

"And when you lost it, you weren't right. She made you go insane, ya know. Not the soul, just her."

"Buffy?"

"Who else? She drove me insane, too. Insane enough to make me go and get a bleedin' soul. I should have gone to you, not her. She didn't know. She couldn't know about the pain. All o' that blood, all o' that screaming..." He paused. "I'm not scared, ya know."

Now Spike was the one who was lying.

"I've been through worse things than the monster flu."

"I know." He noted that Spike was panting. Not a good sign for someone who didn't need to breathe.

"Oh, bugger, Angelus! I don't want to die. Not again."

Angel didn't want the younger vampire to die either. Funny how a just few months ago he hadn't cared all that much when Buffy had told him Spike had died in Sunnydale. There had almost been a feeling of relief mingled with the vague sadness and regret. His boy had been dead and he couldn't say that had pained him. It was the memories that hurt the most. Not the recent ones, but the old ones in which he had traveled Europe with a young Fledge called William. Angelus had taught him everything he knew and the young William had learned it all. On some level, Spike was like a son to him, or an annoying brother. Of course, that was what a Childe was to his Sire; a son, a brother, a student, a companion, a friend, a rival, even a lover.

Despite their connection and history, Angel hadn't really mourned Spike's first passing. Spike was William and William had been in the past with Angelus. He was a memory. Both painful and wonderful, but still nothing to get worked up over. That was before. That was before an ensouled Spike had popped out of that stupid amulet and gotten stranded at Wolfram & Hart. That was before Spike had begun to imbed himself into Angel's already hectic life. That was before they had begun to strengthen their weakened blood bond and remind themselves what they had been to each other so many years ago.

It was kind of like old times. Except they weren't evil and they were helping people instead of eating them. He didn't want to lose Spike again. Not to the sun, not to a stake or a crazy Slayer. Not to Illyria. Not to anyone or anything. Of course, what Angel wanted didn't matter. Spike was going to die. Plain and simple. And, unlike his feelings on the subject several months ago, Angel was already grieving with intensity he hadn't felt since he had given up Connor.

"Just keep fighting," Angel begged. "Please, Will, just keep fighting."

"I can't, Sire," said Spike, his voice breaking. "I can't."

His body was shaking. The convulsions had started again. Angel held him tighter. "Please try." He couldn't lose Spike. Not now. He had lost so many people already and to lose another Childe - Angel didn't know if he could deal with it.

"It hurts, Angel. Make it stop!"

Frantically, Angel untangled himself from Spike, reached over to the bedside table and unwrapped a syringe filled with morphine. He had been told to only use it when Spike's pain was the greatest and his Childe must have been in terrible pain to admit it. He tried to inject Spike, but the needle refused to penetrate his skin.

"I, I can't," Angel muttered helplessly.

"You're my Sire, it's you're job! Do something! Be Angelus before Romania! Be Liam on a drinking binge. Be Angel whining about your poofy hair! Just be something! Be Yoda, dammit! Be Yoda!"

The demon inside Angel was in pain. No, it was the man. No, it was both. Both wanted to protect Spike. Save him from Illyria. Save everything that Spike was. But it was hopeless. Angel knew he couldn't save him. But he was supposed to. That's what Sires did for their Childer. They protected what was theirs. He should have been able to. Why not now? Why not now?

"Alright, Spike," Angel said, his own voice cracking, "I'll be Yoda."

"No!" he shouted. Pushing his Sire off the bed with a strength that Angel had thought he no longer possessed, Spike again moved toward the headboard. "You can't take me! I won't let you! Not now! I beat Pavayne, I can beat you!"

Angel was by his Childe's side in an instant. "Spike, calm down!" He reached for his hand, but Spike pushed his arm away. Angel settled for sitting at the edge of the bed.

"He's with me! He's with me, dammit! He won't let you take me!"

"I can't stop them, Will."

And what he said next nearly broke Angel's heart:

"Then you're not my Yoda. Cavemen win, Angelus. Cavemen always win. Oh, God!" he screamed. The convulsions were becoming more violent. "Stop it!"

Angel tentatively reached over to Spike, hoping that his Childe wouldn't push him away again. Mercifully, he didn't. "Shh, Will," Angel soothed, embracing the younger vampire. "Shh."

"I'm sorry," Spike babbled. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"For what, Childe?" Angel asked softly.

"I don't wanna go, Sire," he sobbed. "Don't let them take me!"

Angel's dead heart seemed to constrict in his chest. He could feel Illyria claiming him. The demon in Angel screamed and raged possessively, Mine, mine, mine. Not yours. Never yours. Mine, mine, mine! The human felt pure terror. Not him. Not now.

"No, Spike, you have to fight! Do you here me? You don't even have to talk, just concentrate on fighting."

"I'm not scared. I'm not."

"Hold on, dammit!"

"Oh, God, Angel, why can't I stay?"

At once, Spike's seizure subsided and he went limp in Angel's arms. It was then he realized that his boy was no longer blinking. "Please, Will..." he begged. Crying, he hugged Spike against himself. "Please..."

Spike began to twitch again. He pushed his body so hard away from Angel's that his Sire was thrown across the room. For a brief instant, Angel hoped that Spike was merely having another fit, that Illyria hadn't claimed him. That hope was extinguished when he saw Spike tumble off the bed. Angel watched in horror as Spike's body continued to convulse and change. When his Childe finally stood up, his hair and the sides of his face were blue. His eyes, usually so vibrant and expressive, were cold and resembled chips of ice.

Curiously, those large chips of ice examined Spike's arm and flexed Spike's fingers. When it spoke, Illyria's cruel, deep voice sounded nothing like his Childe's.

"This will do."