Episode 6.1

Worth Fighting For

by Karen

I lied to Illyria. Though I did not intend to die tonight, I expected to. Taking on the Black Thorn? Alone, they are just demons, Angel spoke the truth. But I'm just a man. A man who spent his whole life pursuing things he couldn't have, first a father's approval, and then a girl's love.

I'm just a man. I have my faults, no one, after all, is perfect. To err is to be human. I just hope I made up for some of my flaws.

Eleven Months Ago

The two slayers were on the front porch, one sitting on the railing, while the other leaned against the wood next to her, staring out at the silent, deserted neighborhood.

"What are we going to do tomorrow? The day after? We won't be the only ones anymore. We'll always be special, but no longer unique," she mused, "One in a generation, that's gone. What are we going to do?" she asked softly, resting her elbows against the wood, feeling the grain bite into her, reminding her she was alive.

"I don't know about you, but I know what I'm doin'."

"What?" she looked at the younger woman, almost lost in the shadows.

"I don't deserve to be here, B. I committed crimes, and I'm not done paying for them." She pushed herself off the railing, moving across the stairs to the other side. If someone didn't know her, it would seem she was running from something, maybe from the blonde she had been sitting next to. But she never ran away from anything.

"Faith-" she moved to stand next to her.

"No. I have to go back. The world's not ready for the new me yet. I'm not ready for the world."

"If you ever need any help…" She stared skeptically at the blonde, "Even if it's pissing someone off, or putting a price on your head in the demon community, because you're bored."

"It'd have to be a vampire, no body to dispose of," she smiled at the woman she had been so jealous of her last time in the small town.

"From what I've gotten from the bits and pieces Willow will tell me, you helped Angel, and you've definitely helped me. If you need anything, don't be afraid to ask."

"Aw, it's no big, really."

We're all just men in this battle, most of us anyway. I didn't have any super powers to help my friends, and there was no obscure fact that would save the day. But I knew I could help even the odds, maybe even tip the scale in our favor. If I had only known about the pain…

Nine Hours Ago

"Rest now," he whispered softly as he picked up his mortar and pestle and bandages, leaving her on the bed as he went into the kitchenette. He peeked back into the bedroom to see her still sitting there, before he sighed, pulling out his cell phone.

"May I please speak to prisoner number 430019, Faith?"

"One second please."

"Hello?" the cautious and suspicious sounding voice came on the line.

"Faith, it's me, Wesley."

"Yo, long time no hear. But then, you've been running that big time law firm, so you don't have much time anymore for the little people." She leaned against the wall.

"Faith, listen to me. We're taking on the Black Thorn tonight, an organization hired by the Senior Partners of Wolfram and Hart to bring about the apocalypse. We're starting the apocalypse to end it on our terms."

"Not the first time that's happened. So, what do you want me to do about it?"

"I'm not asking anything of you, I just thought you'd like to know. There's a good chance that none of us will survive this thing, and the world won't be far behind. You've always seemed like a girl who wants to be in charge of her own destiny."

"Thanks," she said after a moment, "Thanks for the tip. I'll keep it in mind."

"That's all I'm asking. Bye, Faith."

"Good bye, Wes." She hung up, replacing the phone. She bit her lip, thinking a moment, before picking up the phone again.

"Hey, B, it's me. I'm taking you up on your offer…"

Three Hours Ago

She pulled the hem of her shirt down, rearranging it. She pulled her jacket into place, taking a deep breath as the sun set. It had been awhile since she had worn real clothes, so long so she was uncomfortable in them. Real jeans... Dark, almost black blue jeans with lots of give in them, perfect for fighting. And a cropped baby tee that showed off her perfect stomach nicely. God, it had been awhile since she had been free.

Just then a car pulled up in front of her.

"Buffy's sorry she couldn't come herself, but she's guaranteed I'll be reimbursed for getting you settled," the pretty red haired girl smiled from behind the steering wheel, "By the way, I'm Hope," she gave her a prize winning smile.

She smirked at the irony of the name, "Well, Hope," she put emphasis on the name, "I know a few fellas who need some Faith and Hope right about now," she smiled at her own joke, but it didn't reach her eyes. Wesley wouldn't have called her if he felt they had it under control. She went around to the passenger side, sliding in, throwing her meager bag in the back. She gave her directions, and they were off, leaving the hellhole known as a prison far behind them. Faith promised herself she'd never see the inside of a prison again, no matter how long she lived. Even if that was until later that night.

Three Hours Later

Faith and Hope walked down the alley, carrying swords Hope kept in her trunk. The perfect little slayer, Faith couldn't help but think, remembering the arsenal kept in the old car's rear end, prepared for anything.

Hope kept glancing around, uncomfortable, "Do you feel that?" she whispered.

"Yeah. Feels like hell," Faith said, looking around for the people she had come to help out, "Not that I've ever been there. Heard about it, though."

Just then they turned a corner, and she could just make out Angel and some others at the end of the alley theirs connected to. A blue demon jumped over the fence and they were just close enough to hear her say, "Wesley's dead."

Faith stopped short, Hope running into her. "I'm feeling grief for him," the blue demon continued. Hope heard a noise, and turned behind them to look, her eyes widening in terror. "I can't seem to control it. I wish to do more violence."

"Well, wishes just happen to be horses today," Spike said, and Faith stared at him as she came closer. She looked behind her, at what the gang was staring at, and knew there would be no time for questions.

"Among other things," Angel said, too exhausted for sarcasm. Then he saw them, "Faith, what are you-" Angel started.

"Wes called me, filled me in that there was gonna be a fight. Thought I might lend a hand." She heard the leathery flap of wings, and looked up to see the dragon. "Though you might need more," she said, staring.

"Okay. You take the 30,000 on the left..." Gunn said from where he sat on a pile of crates.

"You're fading. You'll last 10 minutes at best," Illyria said as Faith and Hope joined their group. Hope moved a bit away, pulling out her cell phone. Faith looked at her a moment, then let her be. She was probably calling her parents and telling them goodbye. She felt a pang of guilt, she hadn't been totally specific with Buffy as to why she wanted out now. The girl hadn't signed on for any of this. She didn't deserve to die; she was 16, at most. But with that many demons, there was no way they could possibly survive.

Gunn stood, placing a hand on Faith's shoulder in greeting, "Then let's make 'em memorable."

Angel stepped a bit away from the chain link fence, and Faith, Illyria, Gunn and Spike followed him, giving themselves some fighting room. No one wanted to be stuck with their back to the fence and have no place to go.

"In terms of a plan?" Spike asked from behind Faith.

"We fight," Angel stated the obvious.

"Bit more specific," Spike retorted.

"Well, personally, I kind of want to slay the dragon."

Hope joined them, "I just started the phone chain," she told them, taking her weapon from Faith, "Help should arrive in a matter of minutes."

"It's not going to be enough," Gunn said, "But thanks for the hope. We're not gonna make it through this."

"Hey, don't be so pessimistic," Faith said, "I didn't get out of jail just to die. You've got Faith and Hope in your corner, how can you go wrong?" she asked, flashing Gunn a smile.

"Stop it," Angel ordered. "Let's go to work." Angel swung his sword, testing it.

Then the wave of demons was upon them. They hacked and slashed, trying to stay together, protect their backs, but it didn't work. Soon they were separated. Together, they were strong, a team, but separated, they would fall, being just men. There looked like there was no hope for them, that they would go down fighting, a true warrior's death.

Before she knew it, she and Hope were cut off from the others, and instead of worrying about Gunn, already wounded, her attention switched to keeping herself alive, and the teen behind her, as they fought back to back. She had brought her into this mess, and she needed to make sure she would come out of it.

The demons came and came, too numerous and too varied to pinpoint which was what, no clue as to what would kill which, what would just bring more peril among them. She didn't have a choice, all the demons started to look the same as she dealt what she hoped were killing blows, cutting off arms and legs, cutting their guts out, slicing their heads off with one fluid movement. The body parts became too numerous to count, the bodies falling, the blood dripping, everything was in so much quantity, she wanted to scream, but she knew if she did, she would die, because her attention would be split, and they'd kill her, and then her body would be added to the rising body count.

And then someone cried out behind her, and she turned to see Hope, cut from shoulder to hip. She just stared as the girl fell, an anger building up in her she had never felt before. An anger that she let consume her, let it fill her veins with fire. She raised her sword to strike at the demon who had killed the young slayer, took the girl's life so easily as it had probably taken others, when a sharp pain sounded in the back of her head, and then there was no more pain as white enveloped her, taking her away from the fighting.

Gunn had his back pressed against the wall, one less direction to block, one less direction to be ambushed from. He knew he wouldn't make it, he knew that eventually, he would get distracted, with demons coming at him from more than one side, and he would lose. There was nothing to guard against it. He was going to die, he couldn't do anything about it. At least he was going down fighting. He would never be old and cripple, confined to a bed, waiting for death to take him. He was in charge of his own destiny.

He parried one blow turning to hack down another foe when he felt a pinch in his hip. Then the pinch grew as if a fire burned his body as the blade embedded in his hip dug deeper, into his stomach and intestine. He drove his sword into the demon that had gutted him as he fell, smiling that he had taken one with him, before he let the white wash over him, numbing his pain.

Spike didn't have a weapon in the beginning, but he twisted a demon's neck and took the nasty looking axe from him. And then he was in business, hacking and slashing, doing more damage than he was being dealt. He didn't recognize any species of demon, they were all foreign, and he couldn't help but wonder where they had all come from. He knew that there was an evil grin on his face, knew that he wasn't going to survive this; none of them were going to. It was a demon invasion, and there was nothing they could do. The odds were impossible, the chances improbable.

He felt a sword bite into his dead flesh, and it would have been a mortal would, except he wasn't mortal. Another sword found hold in his shoulder, slicing through his right collarbone, making every swing hurt. But he wouldn't let the pain bother him, nor the grinding sound as his severed bones moved. He switched arms, swinging with his left arm, but then a sword bit deep into his shoulder, and he lost movement of his left arm. He dived, grabbing the axe as it hit the ground, but then more demons came at him, and he couldn't get back up. He hacked at legs and hips as he tried to get up, but there just wasn't enough room to maneuver. A sword caught the back of his neck, and there was searing pain as it cut through, and then the feeling of bodylessness, before nothing.

Illyria had the upper hand. She was, after all, a god, though she was trapped in a mortal's body. She didn't have her true power, if she had, all the demons would have been bowing at her feet, knowing they had met their creator. But something was wrong, not the cuts and bruises forming on her body as she ripped more and more limbs from the corpses, but something internal. Something weighed down on her heart. Her body no longer wished to go on. It was tired, and it was hurt, and it had lost it's other half. It did not want to go on.

She was immortal, but when her body no longer wanted to go on, it became harder and harder to push it forward. She had been close to being ripped apart not a few hours before, and then Wesley had fixed her. But now here she was again, close to losing everything, and Wesley was not there to help. He had always been there to help, but he wasn't there anymore. She felt lost suddenly, having no clue who to turn to. Wesley had been the only one she trusted.

The cuts and nicks to her body became more numerous until there was no place on her body that wasn't sore and seeping with blood. She fought on, but soon it became a labor to lift her arm and snap necks, it took too much effort to put force behind a blow. Her body was tired, and she wanted to sleep. A knife cut through her armor to penetrate her spinal cord, and she knew it was time to sleep.

Angel looked around, unable to find anyone he knew. He watched with a twisting in his gut as Faith and Gunn fell, and then Spike fell and never came back up. Even Illyria, the demonic god, fell after the overwhelming odd became too much for her. He mourned each individual as he kept parrying and blocking blows. The ground was slick with demon blood, but he kept his footing as he fought, it seemed he was always one step ahead of his opponent. He always bested them. But they just kept coming. He had superior technique, but they had the numbers, and even though he was immortal, he was so tired, emotionally, physically, mentally drained. Blades of all shapes sizes and origins cut into his dead skin, but he couldn't feel them as he fought on, for the good of humanity. He knew that eventually he'd lose enough blood, and then he too would fall.

The dragon snaked out it's neck to bite him and got a mouth full of sword. It threw its head back in agony as he drove in to stab at it's under flesh, trying to find a way through the tough scales. But a demon came out of nowhere, and trapped him between the dragon, and slit his throat. He let out a guttural scream, stabbing the sword into the dragon's chest and heard it's dying scream as his body turned to dust.

One by one they fell. There was never any hope for them. Just as there was no hope for me.

As one, they started, staring about them at the brightness of it all. Faith shook her head blinking, wondering where the hell she was.

"Do not be frightened, warriors," a deep voice said, it sounded from all around them, it was hard to pinpoint where the voice came from, until a figure showed himself, "Among other things, you are safe here."

"We-we're dead," Faith said, "I died," she said, uncertainty creeping into her voice.

"Yes, you all died, trying to rid the world of evil. But you have earned a choice. You can either travel to the Ghost Roads, be born on earth into a new life, with no memories of this one, or you can go back, and continue on with the fight, fighting for whatever rewards you might receive." The being stared at Angel when he said this, making Angel frown in thought.

"All of us?" Gunn asked, "What about Cordy, Fred? They all helped us fight, even if they didn't make it to this battle. Did they get a choice too?"

"They had their own choices to make. Cordelia went on to become a higher being. Winifred, with no body to return to, decided to go on to the Ghost Roads, to help lost souls on their final journey.

"Each of you must make your own decision. Do not let their decisions inhibit yours," the being stared at Wesley, grief showing on his face for the pain of humanity.

"There is nothing worth fighting for anymore, not to me," Wesley said slowly, "I'm sorry, Angel, but I do not wish to go back, in any form."

Angel nodded, Wesley's decision weighing on his heart. One more friend gone, one more friend lost to the fight against evil. One by one they left him to carry on alone.

"Very well," the being said, and slowly Wesley started fading, until there was nothing where he had once stood. Not even a chance for goodbyes.

"I did bad things in my life, I need to repent for them," Faith said slowly, "The world needs someone to fight for it; it has B and the other slayers, but I want a shot to do good."

"Very well," the being nodded, turning to Angel.

"I wish to go back," he didn't give any reason why, still lost in thought. It wasn't so much as a decision, but a compulsion to go back. Something still waited for him at the end of the journey he had unwittingly started on by tasting that gypsy girl so long ago.

"Very well," the being turned to Spike, "You are lucky to have this chance, William the Bloody, what is your decision?"

"Oh, bloody hell, I'll go back. Got some unfinished business, you could say."

"Very well," the being then turned to Gunn.

"I'll go back," he said, "Don't wanna be the party pooper."

"Very well," the being said. "Things will be different once you go back. The world is different because of you and the war you started."

Once more their vision was filled with white, and then there was nothing.

I wish them all good luck. After losing everyone I ever cared about, maybe I just gave up. Maybe they cared more than I did. Maybe they had more worth fighting for.

.END.