Chapter 4: Through Hell and Spike

In the bedroom, Angel and Cordelia lay motionless, she breathing deeply and regularly in Stage 4 sleep, he breathing not at all. A new REM cycle would be forthcoming, but for now, they rested. Around them, candles burned, sending their various sweet and pungent scents into the air. One of the candles sputtered.

And in a chair, Wesley nodded off. As the first, shallow stages of sleep set upon him, he felt a seductive call to just give in and dream. He was tired, so very tired, and it would be just so easy to slip away and . . .

A sudden, cold wind hit him in the face, and the coffee cup beside him rattled violently. Startled out of sleep, Wesley sat bolt upright.

The air around him was cold and smelled of damp earth. The mirror on the inside of Cordelia’s bedroom door revealed the dim outline of Dennis Pearson.

"Thank you, Dennis," Wesley breathed. He shook the last of the sleep from his head, then realized one of the candles was about to go out. Hastily, he re-lit it. His hands were shaking. If he had given in to sleep . . . but he chose not to think about it. Instead, he watched his friends. They were a breathtaking pair. Cordelia’s cheeks were flushed with sleep, her beauty undiminished. Angel, too, was beautiful—but cold. He looked carved from white marble, still and unliving.

The bedroom door opened, admitting another cup of coffee, black this time, borne by Wesley’s silent, ghostly partner in this vigil. Wesley accepted it gratefully.

"They’re resting now," he told Dennis, more to keep himself awake and focused than anything else. "Soon, they’ll enter another stage of the dreamwalk. It’s only when they’re dreaming that the battle is joined. The fact that they’ve gone through two stages of REM already speaks well of their chances, I think. Although, to be honest, I’ve never quite done anything like this before."

Angel drew in a breath. Another dream began.

***

Hell wasn’t at all what Cordelia had expected. No fire and brimstone, no red-clothed devils—no, Hell was empty. Empty and cavernous, all dim light and vanished hope. It was cold, too.

As for Angel—he was still and quiet, too quiet. Cordelia felt a shudder run through him.

"Doesn’t seem too bad," she offered.

"No, not at first," he agreed. "That’s one of the torments, the never knowing. You don’t know what’s going to happen to you, only that it will hurt." He gripped her hand tightly as they walked further in. "The memories are another torment. You remember with perfect clarity in here. It’s like sensory deprivation: the low light, the cold, the silence. Nothing to distract you when your memories take hold of you. You can’t fight them, either. Once you get started on a memory, you can’t let go of it. You’ve got to follow it to the end. But they’re not the worst thing."

Cordelia felt a shudder run through her own body. "So what’s the worst thing? Just so I’ll be prepared."

"The worst thing isn’t the pain," he said. "That you expect. Even feel you deserve it, when the memories start crowding in. The worst thing . . . is the pleasure."

"Pleasure?" Cordelia looked at him incredulously. "In here?"

"Yes," he hissed. "You see those things you’ve done that you regret most, and you feel the pleasure you took in doing them. Again, and again, and again. No matter how many times you see yourself doing those horrible acts, you always feel the same. And you long for pain, for punishment, because you can’t bear to know that awful pleasure for even a moment longer."

Cordelia puzzled about that only for a moment. As she did, a memory suddenly surfaced in her mind. Tricia Howell, a nice girl, a smart girl, with chestnut brown hair and blue eyes, a bit too plump . . .

She had shown Cordelia up in class one day. Miss Mason’s English class. They had been placed on opposite sides of a debate, and while Cordelia was certain she would win, Tricia had simply come better prepared. She showed a remarkable debating ability, too, and in the end, it was obvious who had won her case. And Cordelia had stewed over that, that this nothing with no social standing had bettered her.

She stewed only for a moment, however, as the perfect revenge suggested itself to her in the other girl’s deferential manner the moment the debate was over. Cordelia had congratulated her with feigned sincerity and even walked Tricia to her locker, talking about the debate. For the next week, Cordelia offered her nothing but overtures of friendship. How the girl had basked in the glow of the queen’s approval!

So it hadn’t been very hard for Cordelia to persuade her to come to a costume party at the Bronze. An animal theme—come dressed as your favorite animal. That evening, a girl dressed as a dog entered the doors of the teen club, only to realize she was the only one in costume. All the patrons had stared at her in varying states of amusement and derision, and her new "friend" Cordelia—well, the teen queen and her court had just laughed. And taken pictures.

The memory played itself out in perfect clarity, every sight, sound, smell, and emotion coming back. Cordelia felt the satisfaction of lording her power over others, the near-sexual rush of putting an upstart in her place. The Cordelia of then reveled in it; the Cordelia of now writhed in self-disgust.

As the memory faded, Cordelia realized with horror that it hadn’t been hers alone; Angel had seen and felt it, too, as if it had been acted out in front of them. She wanted to retch.

But the hand around hers tightened, and as Cordelia looked at him through tears of regret, she saw only understanding in his eyes.

"She left Sunnydale High at the end of the year," Cordelia told him. "Guess she couldn’t take being called the Dog Girl for another year. I kept that nickname alive." She drew in a shuddering breath. "You know, that may have been the worst thing I did. All she did was prepare better than me, and I screwed her over because of it."

"I know," Angel said softly. "Believe me, I know."

"Yeah, I know, too," another voice cut in, all Cockney and attitude. "Sucking the life out of friends and neighbors—good times, if you ask me. ‘Course, I haven’t got the soul problem you two blighters do."

It was Spike. Their new guide had arrived

Cordelia winced. "Can we skip this? Please?"

"Sorry, luv." Spike’s white head was the first thing they saw coming at them through the gloom. "It’s all part and parcel, you see. If you don’t face these things here, you’re gonna be facing Agragon with all these nasties knocking around in your heads. Can’t afford that, just like me old mate Angelus said. ‘Course, I wouldn’t mind watchin’ you two go down. Could be funny."

Angel just looked Spike up and down, profoundly unimpressed. He turned to Cordelia. "Come on, Cordelia. If we’ve got to do this, we might as well get it over with." The elder vampire turned an infinitely contemptuous gaze upon the younger. "Lead on, William."

Spike’s jaw tightened at that. "Don’t push me, you poof."

"Why not?" Angel laughed. "It’s not like you could ever take me in a fair fight."

"Excuse me," Cordelia interjected before things could get even worse. "Could we cool it with the testosterone? Hell—bad enough already!"

Spike glared at them a moment more before finally wheeling and striding away, tossing a "Coming, then?" back over his shoulder. Angel and Cordelia followed.

The going forward with something to focus on had one good effect: the memories dredged up for both of them fell by the wayside. What memories Cordelia noticed were awful enough: Drusilla, insane and covered in blood as Angelus and Darla made love practically in her lap; Cordelia whispering the lies that drove Vivian Westwood, Sunnydale High’s previous teen queen, out of town; nameless, faceless victims of Angelus’ brutality; nameless, faceless teens kicked out of the way of Cordelia’s rise to power in her school. Cordelia shuddered, imagining what she herself would have been like as a vampire.

"You’d have been a kick," commented Spike, as if he’d heard that thought. "Cruel, calculating, yet with that nice touch of class. Something Peaches here never had."

"Look who’s talking," growled Angel, face set and determined.

"There but for the grace of not getting bit . . ." Cordelia trailed off as another memory rose either in the air in front of them or behind her eyelids; she couldn’t make up her mind on that. For a moment, she thought it was Angel and Buffy making love. They were lying on the floor in front of a fire, bodies entwined . . . and Angel had his mouth pressed to the Slayer’s neck, feeding urgently. "Oh. My."

"Fun!" chortled Spike.

Angel seemed to go even paler. "I never wanted her to know . . . I would never . . ."

Realization hit Cordelia. "This was when she made you feed to save your life, right?" Angel nodded marginally. "And you enjoyed it."

"I did." The words were so quiet Cordelia barely heard them. The memory changed, then, and Cordelia saw Angel biting . . . her. And two words he’d said suddenly made sense.

" ‘Not mine.’ When I said it was a nightmare, you said ‘Not mine.’" Cordelia looked at him steadily. "Angelus wasn’t just being a jerk, was he?"

"He’s a vampire, sweets," Spike’s voice cut in. "You can’t know what it’s like—sinking your teeth in, drinking down someone’s life, feeling their passions . . . it’s a touch of godhood."

Angel’s eyes looked into hers. "I’m sorry," he whispered.

"You know what?" Cordelia raised her eyebrows. "I can deal. Question is, can you?"

He nodded fractionally. "I can."

They moved on, then. Spike looked disappointed. Soon, the cavernous walls began to close in on them, and the air became thicker and hotter.

"We’re entering the bottleneck now, my friends," announced Spike. "Best be prepared for the worst, because baby—you’re gonna get it." He grinned maliciously.

Cordelia fell to her knees, clutching her head and screaming. Her body twisted with the agony ripping through her mind—vision upon vision, the pain of the whole world savaging her.

***

His own pain Angel had been expecting. Cordelia’s caught him by surprise. He dropped to his knees beside her, pulling her into his arms. She was screaming, thrashing against the curse that seemed to have overtaken her again. Angel realized what it was.

"It’s a dream, Cordelia," he whispered into her ear. "Fight it. It’s not real."

She screamed again, an ugly, ragged sound. Tears were running down her face.

"Listen to my voice, Cordelia," Angel commanded her. "Listen. You can change this, just like we changed me biting you. It’s not real. It’s dreams, it’s all dreams. Fight it off. You’re strong enough . . ." And he continued speaking into her ear, hoping his words were making it through.

***

Wesley sat on the edge of the bed, holding Cordelia’s left hand to his heart and wiping away the tears that streamed down her face, which was contorted in agony. A harsh keening sound issued from her throat, and the hand that clutched Angel’s was white at the knuckles. The ex-Watcher was in an agony of his own. If this went on much longer, he would break the spell.

"Cordelia, Cordelia," he murmured again and again.

***

"Cordelia, fight it, please," Angel begged her. This was too much.

Suddenly, her fists balled up, grabbing hold of his coat. "Nnnnnno!"

The word came out in a defiant cry. Angel felt her stiffen, then suddenly relax, breathing raggedly against his shoulder. A soft sob welled up from within her.

Angel wrapped his arms tighter around her. "It’s all right, it’s over," he murmured into her ear as she clung to him. One of his hands stroked her hair gently as he rocked her, knowing she wouldn’t accept comfort for long, even from him.

The first sob was the only one that made its way out of her. She took a few breaths, then pulled back from Angel’s embrace. "I-I’m all right."

Angel wiped a few stray tears from her face. "Cordelia—why didn’t you tell us you were this afraid?"

She sniffled softly. "What good would it have done, except giving you another free pass on the Angst Express? Even before the whole Vocah thing, I saw how guilty you felt whenever I got a vision. It’s not like they’re your fault, you know."

"But they are," Angel argued. "If it hadn’t been for me . . ."

"Duh! No," Cordelia interrupted. "Doyle started getting the visions when he let his people down, okay? He knew you could help, and you needed to help, and so he found you. Then he gave them to me when he was about to die." Cordelia looked Angel in the eyes. "It’s out there, Angel, it’s all out there, and you can help. See? I don’t mind."

And she didn’t. It was a revelation to the vampire, knowing Cordelia didn’t blame him, that she accepted the visions for what they were—a way to help others. "But you’re still afraid of what Vocah did."

She nodded softly. "It was like . . . I had this thing that was good and powerful, and he used it against me. He made it a weapon, and it wasn’t supposed to be like that, you know? He hurt me with it, and he hurt you."

"Like a mental rape," Angel realized. Cordelia’s eyes grew wide at his terminology, but she didn’t disagree. Angel gently wiped the last of the tears from her face. "I’m sorry you had to go through that, Cordelia."

"Hey, it’s not your fault," she told him. She sniffled once more, back to herself. "Besides, you chopped off a lawyer’s hand to unbind me, and that means a lot."

"How precious. I may heave." Seeress and vampire turned to give Spike a perfectly synchronized glare. The other vampire was smoking a cigarette, leaning against the tunnel wall. "Are you two through with whatever it is you’re doing? Because I’m getting bored. Not to mention the sugar shock."

Angel got to his feet, helping Cordelia up as he did so. "Ready whenever you are, William," said Angel.

Spike fixed him with a level glare. "It’s Spike."

"Actually, it’s the dream aspect of Spike," Angel corrected, "and I’ll call you whatever I want to." Being pushed around by his unruly childe wasn’t high on Angel’s list of priorities, especially considering what Cordelia had just gone through. "Now, do your job and get us out of here."

Spike gave a humorless chuckle. "Don’t go getting all cocky, Angelus. You think your girl had it rough? This place has more for you than a few ugly memories. I’m gonna enjoy watching you squirm."

"Always with the posturing, Spike," Angel returned casually. "Didn’t you ever learn . . ."

A white-hot pain shot through him, straight to his soul. Angel knew the sensation all too well—it was imprinted on his memory, along with making love to Buffy. Panicking, he turned and stumbled away, trying to put distance between himself and Cordelia.

"Angel!" She was beside him.

"Get away," he ground out. "Get as far away as you can, Cordelia."

"Angel, what’s happening?"

"My soul . . ." He was slipping, falling inside.

Cordelia forced her way in front of him. "Angel, listen to me."

"No!" He pushed her away. "It won’t be long now. Get away!"

"It’s not real," Cordelia insisted. "It’s no more real than my visions were back there. You can make it stop."

He was stumbling away again, nearly falling. Cordelia kept up with him. "Look, Angel, it can’t be real. Been happy lately? Hello! We’re in Hell! Snap out of it!"

The stripping sensation was still there. "How?"

"You decide. You just decide it’s not real, and it isn’t. Come on, Angel! Be decisive!"

Angel leaned up against the tunnel wall. It’s not real, he told himself frantically. It’s not happening. I’m not losing my soul.

I’m not.

The sensation faded away. Cautiously, Angel opened his eyes. Cordelia was standing in front of him, her face both worried and determined. One of her hands was pressed to his chest. "Still all there?"

He breathed out a long sigh. "Still all here."

"Well! That was amusing," said Spike jauntily. "Not as amusing as if you’d really lost your soul and ripped her throat out, but I’ll take what I can get. Coming along then, my pets?"

Angel and Cordelia looked at him, then at each other. "Can’t we just ditch him?" Cordelia asked.

"Don’t I wish." Reluctantly, they followed Spike, who grinned wickedly.

"We’re coming to the end of our little trek, friends," the platinum blond vampire announced. "However, two things need to happen before I can let you out. First, we need to take a look at what we’ve learned today. Can either of you tell me?" Neither Angel nor Cordelia could summon the energy for even a smart remark. "All right, then. The lesson is: neither of you would have made it through this alone. It’s only together that you have the strength to face what is to come. You know—people who need people and all that rot. There’s your key. Go into the final battle as the lone hero, Angel, and you might as well take a bath in holy water."

Angel winced at the thought. "All right. You said two things."

"The second thing is . . ." Spike trailed off, waiting, and a moment later, the child’s voice came in singing again. This time, Cordelia was sure she recognized the tune. Angelus had called it a hymn, hadn’t he? Was it something she’d heard in church one of the few times she’d ever been in one?

And, as usual, the song had a profound effect on Angel. He stopped abruptly, pain sharp in his face. Spike approached, looking at him steadily.

"You’re going to have to face her, you know," he said. "Don’t fool yourself, Angel. Something like that hanging around in your thoughts—you’d never make it close enough to Agragon to strike a blow."

"All right," Angel said faintly. "All right. I’ll face her. I’m ready."

Spike made a dismissive sound. "Don’t lie to me, either. Don’t say you’re ready just to get out of here. If you need another go ‘round, take one, but don’t go in unprepared."

Cordelia looked at Angel in confusion. "What is it? Who is she?"

Angel looked at the Seeress, stricken. "I killed her."

"Who?" No answer was forthcoming. "What made her different? A really nasty death? What? Talk to me!"

"No," Angel answered. "No, not a bad death, especially for me. She had . . . the only merciful death I’ve ever given anyone."

The voice continued singing. Cordelia could almost make out the words. She heard Angel start humming along. His eyes were closed now. His whole face was closed.

When he opened his eyes again, the change was palpable. "I’m ready," he said simply, and he was.

"Well. I do believe he is." Spike gave a nasty laugh. "Too bad I can’t stick around for this next part. Ought to be painful. Off with you, now." He gestured at the tunnel ahead of him. "Time to go."

Warily, Angel and Cordelia walked in the direction he’d indicated. Suddenly, the floor seemed to drop out from under them, and they were falling, falling . . .

"Mind the step!" called Spike after them.

***

Angel hit ground hard. If he’d had breath, it would have been knocked from him. For a moment, all he could do was lay there, stunned, staring into the darkness. Where was Cordelia?

"Angel?" Her voice was coming from behind him, sounding strangely timid. He started to turn over, but was pre-empted by her voice. "Don’t look now, but—what do we do about the whole no-clothes thing?"