Author's Note: This story takes place in the slightly-alternate universe created in my one-shot "Scratch." I recommend you read that first; otherwise Doyle's presence will be confusing.

by Otahyoni

"Yougotta do what you can to protect your family."

—Connor, "Origin"

The vision hit him like a cement truck. He dropped the pot of soup as his brain exploded with light and pain. The pot bounced as he hit the floor, limbs twitching, eyes squeezed shut, mouth contorted in pain.

This was the worst it had ever been. The worst. Partly because it was unexpected—he hadn't had a vision in four and a half years. But mostly because of what it showed him.

Angel. Cordy. Wes. A string of others he didn't know. Fighting. Dying. In flashes and bursts of emotion and pain, the last four years of the Angel Investigations team were laid out, ending in a rain-soaked alley where a pile of dust washed into the sewer as an army of demons rejoiced.

Woven through it all was the face of a boy.

When it was over, Doyle lay in a pool of soup on the floor of his kitchen. Through his grief and the residual emotions of the vision, he was aware of one thing:

He had to find Connor. He had to find Angel's son.