Long Hard Road Out Of Hell

claudia6913

Long Hard Road Out Of Hell

Author: claudia6913
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: W/A
Summary: Angel comes back from hell. This is a response to Gabrielle's `Willow/Angel Challenge' on NHA Forums.
Distribution: Vampyre Haven and NHA for now, I will post in other places later…when I have more written.
Disclaimer: I unfortunately do not own the characters. Those are owned by Joss and Co. I seek no profit from the use of anything here.
Feedback: Of course! ghoztstarz@yahoo.com
Author's Notes: The title was taken from the song `Long Hard Road Out of Hell' by Marilyn Manson from the `Spawn' soundtrack. Please be patient with this fic. I'm not sure how often I will post.

 Prologue

Empty hallways echo the silence of the night. Small animals scurry along the floor, and insects crawl on the walls. The soft night air blows the dust in swirls, making shadows twist and turn. The abandoned mansion stands like a stone monolith, telling of hard times, and broken hearts. If these walls could, they would bleed red and cry unspent tears. They would tell of lover's quarrels, of blood spilled and drying in the cracks of the tile.

Yet, time waits for no one. It doesn't wait for the small, powerful blonde that visits the abandoned home every night, crying for a lost love. It doesn't wait for the beautiful red-head that sits in front of the empty fireplace during the day, contemplating the loss of a friend. Nor does time wait for the dark-haired creature of the evening that died one fateful night at the hands of the blonde.

Clouds race along the horizon, making their way quickly to form over the mansion. Threatening noises roll through the air, promising a storm. The wind picks up heavy and blowing, tossing leaves into the empty house. What draperies that are left at the windows are whipping around as the wind picks up speed. Flashes of lightning light up the night air and silhouette the black stone in the lighted sky. Heavy rain drops beat on the old roof and stream through the broken windows.

One stray bolt of lightning hits the mansion, illuminating it from the inside out. No one is there but the house itself to witness the vortex that opens several feet above the floor. The swirling black hole blows stagnant and decayed air into this world. Screams can be heard coming from it, pain evident in the many voices. Soon a man, no a demon, naked, wet, and cold falls down to the stones.

The vampire lays unconscious and shaking. No one is there to welcome his return. Not even the mice come to sniff at him. They know what he is. The vortex closes with a loud snap, and with it the storm stops and the clouds evaporate back into the ether. That is all that heralds his return, the retreating of everything. 

This is the first night the blonde has not come to visit the place she pierced her lover's heart. If she were to come, she would find him here where she wanted him most for those long, lonely months. She stayed away because of the storm. Maybe in the morning the red-head will come to visit and find him, but for now he is cold and alone.

Chapter 1

Willow stops at the stairs leading up to the broken front door, still bathed in the warm light of day. Bracing herself, she walks in. Today she knows the true story behind Angel's death and she's coming to face her part in it. Willow knows she contributed, no matter what Giles, Buffy, or Xander say. If only she had done better, if only she hadn't been interrupted and knocked unconscious. So many ifs and not a one of them make a difference now. Taking a deep breath she walks through the broken doors.

"Angel?" her whispered voice asks, echoing through the bare room. Well, bare except for the naked vampire lying in a shadowed circle in the middle of the room. Willow is rooted to the spot, her mind racing. `How?' she asks herself. So many possibilities make their way across her mind. `Did someone bring him back? Does anyone else know? How did he get here, and from where?'  

The still form of Angel quivers in his unconscious state, startling Willow and making her gasp. Watching him closely she notices his muscles twitching and straining. Finally, she comes to the realization that he is naked and she is staring. Blushing, she looks away. After a few minutes she looks back at him and notices fading bruises and cuts all over his body.

Only one thing registers in Willow's head at that moment…he is in need, and she wants to help him. Without thinking she runs out of the house and heads straight to Willy's. The fact that she is purposely running into a demon bar is not lost on her. Angel needs blood however, and this is the only place she knows that supply's it without question.

"Need…blood," Willow asks, gasping for air.
Willy looks at her suspiciously then says, "You look like you're human."
"Not…for…me."
"Sorry little girl. Paying customers only. How else is a guy supposed to make a living," he says, turning to service another person.
"Look, I can pay alright?" Willow gasps, placing some money on the counter. "Give me whatever that covers."
Willy quickly grabs the money from the counter and heads into the back to retrieve the blood. Willow had given him money enough for ten bags, but being the creep that he is he only grabs seven, bringing them back in a brown sack.
"Here ya go. Enjoy," Willy says, going back to business.

Willow snatches the bag off the counter without saying anything. Taking off at full speed she runs to her house. First things first, she puts the blood in a cooler along with some ice. Then she grabs a blanket and heads back to the mansion. As she nears it, Willow slows her pace. Doubt crosses her mind. She isn't sure if she saw what she thought she saw, and doesn't want to walk in there and not see him. Now, more then ever, she needs Angel to be in there, and not still in Hell. With hopes that she wasn't hallucinating, Willow steps into the house.

She exhales a breath that she didn't know she was holding. Angel is still here, though in a slightly different position. The sound of mumbling and the stirring of small animals are the only sounds in the vast open area.

Walking over to the wooden bench, that until recently had been her seat day after day, she sets down the cooler full of blood. A blush creeps up her face as she turns and looks at Angel's naked form. Quickly unfolding the blanket she steps closer and covers him. He jumps slightly at the contact of something, but in his current state he can do nothing about it.

Feeling somewhat better, Willow sits on the bench, facing Angel instead of the empty fireplace for once. `Things happen for a reason,' Willow thinks. `So, why and how has Angel come back?'

Chapter 2

The daylight dims, unbeknownst to the occupants of this room. Shadows grow, casting a darkness that creeps up the floor closer to where Willow is sitting. Minutes turn into hours; the only thing keeping time is the steady beating of Willow's heart, though she herself is oblivious to the passage of time. The only thing holding her attention is the creature in front of her. Willow watches the bruises fade and the cuts heal.

It is, at last, nightfall and Willow is suddenly aware of it. She knows Buffy comes here at night to do the same thing she has been doing by day. Looking around Willow doesn't know what to do. 

A slight rustle of leaves tells her someone is outside, and by the growls coming from Angel, she assumes, rightly, that it is Buffy. Willow jumps slightly when she feels Angel grab at her ankle unconsciously. She stands there indecisive for a few moments. `He doesn't want to see her,' she thinks. `Why would he after all? But then why would he seek my help?'

The torpid vampire on the floor will not wait for Willow to comprehend what his body is telling him. It is yelling `danger' and his only means of escape will not take him away. By some unknown force the vampire starts to drag the girl to a darkened corner, shielding from all but the most determined view. She understands and grabs the cooler with blood, making sure the blanket stays on Angel as they slowly make their way to the corner. Willow  crouches down and Angel curls around her, his eyes still closed. She unthinkingly strokes his hair, trying to calm the shudders that wrack his body.

From the corner they see a female silhouetted in the doorway. There's no mistaking who it is…Buffy. Willow inhales sharply when she feels Angel's face shift under her hands. She feels the soft rumble of a growl more then she actually hears it, but her fear makes it deafening in the silence. 

Willow has her eyes trained on the shadowy figure of her best friend. She watches in silent alarm as Buffy makes her way slowly across the threshold to stand in the middle of the living room, facing the fireplace. Buffy doesn't look around, she doesn't look anywhere but right in front of her. Her eyes are seeing something that is no longer there.

In her fear, Willow is sure that Buffy will see them. Her short breaths echo in her ears and the growls coming from Angel are reverberating in her head. `I should tell her we are here,' Willow thinks. `Buffy will know what to do. But, Angel doesn't want to see her it seems. Oh, what am I going to do?' She looks between the vampire that is clinging to her and her best friend. Making a decision she makes to stand, only to be caught by Angel. He grips her waist with almost bone crushing strength making Willow nearly gasp in pain before she claps her hand over her mouth and sinks back down in the corner.

Willow is starting to physically feel the passage of time as her legs go numb from her position. `How long does Buffy plan to stay here?' she asks herself. Angel appears to have gone back into his stupor, his body still as death. The only thing that lets Willow know he is truly here is the grip he still has on her waist.

Finally, after what seems like hours to Willow, Buffy turns to leave. As she is walking away Willow lets out a soft sigh of relief. However that relief is cut short when Buffy stills mid-step. Panic runs through Willow at the thought of being caught. `Oh no, not now,' she thinks. The low menacing growl that comes from Angel makes Willow jump. Her nerves are frayed. She is in pure panic mode and doesn't hear the loud rustling just outside the mansion, but Buffy does and runs to meet it head on.

By the time Willow calms and notices Buffy is gone, she hears the banter between Buffy and her adversary. `Figures,' Willow thinks. `They can't just leave well enough alone.' Standing up, Willow stretches her tight muscles and groans as tiny pin pricks make their way along her legs. Angel, content where he is, just lays there unmoving. The threat gone, he now goes back to his unconscious state.

Limping from staying in one position for so long, Willow slowly makes her way to a tattered chair and falls into it. "What am I going to do with you?" she asks looking over at Angel. Upon receiving no answer she looks back over to the fireplace. Rubbing her eyes tiredly, Willow knows she has to think of something. She can't just leave him here.

"Oh no," Willow says jumping up. "I bought that blood and didn't even think to feed you. Some caretaker I'm turning out to be." It feels good to Willow to actually talk out loud. It helps make Angel's presence feel real to her and assuages her fear that his presence is merely a figment of her imagination and that he's still lost in the hell dimension. 

"Now, let's see if we can get you to eat. I'm sure you've got to be hungry. I don't know if they actually fed you…there," she says. Babbling has always been a comfort to her, and now she uses it to ease not only her nerves but hopefully Angel's as well. She walks slowly over to the corner where the cooler is sitting and opens it.  "I don't have a knife, but I'm sure you can open it for yourself. I mean, it's not like your fangs are just there for decoration, right?" She grabs a bag of blood and looks at it. "AB negative. I hope you like it. I thought he would have given me pigs blood, but this will do for now." 

Crouching down she sets the blood in front of Angel's face and backs away quickly. Willow's only ever seen a vampire feed once, and that was on a living person. She knows what Angel is, but it is easy to forget when you don't see him in game face or feeding. To her he was her friend with a slight aversion to sunlight. Now, it hits a little closer to home. Angel is a vampire, a creature that drinks blood, and has killed hundreds.

Sniffing loudly, Angel lifts his head, his eyes open and trained on the small girl slowly backing away from him. Her fear is  overwhelming his senses. She smells like food and he is hungry. Nothing else registers in his addled mind. Basic instincts have taken over. He lunges for her.

"Angel!" Willow cries as she is knocked over by the vampire. His fangs glisten in the moonlight and his yellow eyes bore into her. She closes her eyes and whispers, "Please…no."

Chapter 3

"Angel!" Willow cries as she is knocked over by the vampire. His fangs glisten in the moonlight and his yellow eyes bore into her. She closes her eyes and whispers, "Please…no."

Willow is vaguely aware of the weight of Angel on her. The only thought running through her head at this point is, `I deserve this, to die at his hands.' With her eyes shut she cannot see the mild confusion that crosses Angel's dazed face, his vampiric features shifting back to human ones. The hunger that had made him want to feed from her vanishes in the breeze, almost as if it was never there.

Slowly he crawls off of her and crouches by the wooden bench near the fireplace and shakes. The room is dreamlike to him in his new found awareness. Nothing seems real, yet he can feel the floor and the breeze that caresses his bare skin, sending prickles of recognition through him. He stares at the slight girl on the floor. The red hair registers in some unknown part of his brain, but it doesn't make it to his consciousness. She is familiar, but not.

Lying on the floor Willow slowly becomes aware that she is in fact not dead. Opening her eyes slowly, she looks around for Angel. Finding him to her right, she sits up slowly. His intense stare sends shivers down her spine. `Why didn't he kill me?' Willow thinks.

"Angel," she says tentatively. The quick start he gives at the sound of her voice startles Willow as well. She gives a short, mirthless laugh at her own fear. "It's ok," she says, purposely dropping her voice to an almost whisper, hoping it calms the obviously disorientated vampire. Willow looks at him. Really looks at him. For the first time, she is acutely aware of his emaciated state. His ribs are showing to the point of her being able to count each and every one of them. Angel's normally pale complexion is ashen, almost sickly.

"What has that trip done to you?" she asks softly. The sound of her own voice seems almost blasphemous after this new revelation. Willow wants so badly to reassure him, to let him know somehow that she is here for him. As she reaches her hand out, he jerks away. Sighing she drops her arm.

"I wish I knew what to do Angel. I should know what to do," Willow says exasperated with herself. "What do you need? What do you want?"

Angel just looks at her, his face a mask of confusion. She is talking to him, but the words aren't making sense to ears. They are nothing more then noise to his rattled senses. The smell of her desperation hangs heavy in the air tinged with the very human scent of her.

Standing up, Willow stretches. Angel eyes her warily as she walks over to the corner they had previously occupied, and picks up the packet of blood. Walking slowly, she makes her way closer to Angel. His eyes are wide and fixed upon her every movement. His muscles are tensed and ready for fight or flight.

"It's ok, Angel. Look, I'm just bringing you something to eat," Willow says, taking another small step towards him. She can hear soft growling coming from him, his lips curled in a snarl.

"Ok, ok. I'll just leave it here then," she says and lays down the small packet a few feet from him. Backing up slowly, she watches as his nose flares, trying to scent what is placed before him.

Feeling comfortable enough to move, with the girl being several feet away from him, he gazes at the object on the floor. Angel is quite unaware of what it is and reaches out tentatively to touch it. Seeing that it poses no danger he picks it up and examines it. The fluid within it looks familiar, yet the casing seems impenetrable. 

Standing there, watching, Willow feels a need to say something, tell him what it is, and tell him how to open it. But she is also afraid that any sound from her will frighten him. He is fragile right now, silently looking at everything, yet comprehending almost nothing. Her heart goes out to him and breaks at the same time. `Poor Angel,' Willow thinks. `I wish I knew how to help him. It's all my fault, all of it. I should have known! If I had known maybe I could have done something to free him sooner. Obviously someone had. But who? Who would go in search of Angel and then figure a way to release him? Buffy? I doubt it, at least from what she has said of her little vacation that wasn't what she was doing. Who then? Not Giles. He is still grieving and angry about what Angelus did to Ms. Calendar. Now's not the time for this though. I have to get Angel back to his old self, then I can worry about who or what brought him back. Maybe he might know.'

Looking back at Angel, Willow can see that he has figured out the mystery of the little plastic bag. It is drained of every last drop of blood and shredded. He is looking around for more and getting upset at not finding anything.

"I've got more, Angel. Can I get you some more?" Willow asks taking a small step. Angel looks up at her as if he had forgotten she was even in the room, which is probably what happened. Walking carefully, she slowly makes her way to the cooler in the shadowed corner and carries it back towards Angel. He watches her closely, but does not growl at her this time. She sets the cooler down a little closer to him and opens the lid, tilting the container to show him the contents. 

His movement is so quick that it brings a small yelp from Willow. Instead of going for her, however, he grabs for the blood. She watches him eat this time. The savageness with which he consumes the blood fascinates her. Her mouth gapes, watching with open amazement as he grabs for the fourth bag. She has a brief thought that he shouldn't eat so much, but it passes as soon as it comes.

Finally sated after the fifth bag, Angel sits back on his haunches and looks around the immense living room before him. He has no idea that he is still stark naked, the chill of the breeze doesn't faze him. Slowly he gets to his feet.

"So, Angel, what do we do now?" Willow asks him with a slight blush tinting her cheeks.

Chapter 4

Angel is walking around the mansion, exploring. Willow sits down and watches him. She has, for the moment, gotten over the fact that he is naked and examines him appreciatively. The muscles and sinew of his form are moving in an almost elegant dance along the length of his back as he reaches up above the mantle. His long, taut leg muscles stretch, showing the perfect lines of his body. Only the faintest of scars still show on the broad expanse of his back, making Willow wince slightly at the thought of the pain he has been through these past few months.

Yawning, Willow relaxes and closes her eyes for a minute. She is tired and the night has been a trying one. Her nerves are still frayed from the almost-encounter with Buffy and from almost becoming Angel's dinner. There have been too many such almosts in the last year or two for Willow's comfort.

Her eyes are having a hard time staying open. Angel can hear the faint slowing of the girl's heartbeat that signals the onset of sleep. He knows her…somehow. Everything is still jumbled and broken. The pieces are slowly fitting together though.

The last thing he remembers is hell, the stench of it, the cries for mercy…his cries for mercy. His ears still register the faint crack of a whip, leaving him flinching at the sound as if it is real. Right now however, the whip is more real to him then any of this…the mansion and the girl. Even the blood somehow didn't seem right. The taste of it died on his tongue before he had a chance to savor it. It had seemed thick and cold…much too cold.

It has been centuries since he last fed. Angel had lost track of just how long ago. He lost count when he lost his mind. He's seen red for years. Nothing but red. The color of blood, the color of the girl's hair, his blood…everything became tinged in the crimson  color of his nourishment. Now it's as though he is looking at everything around him in a funhouse mirror, changing and distorting his view of things, as if he sees some hell's eye view of Picasso's world. Unrecognizable shapes and sounds meshing together in an unnatural way. The room and its contents are almost garish in their oddness to him.

The soft whimper from Willow catches Angel off guard and makes him spin quickly around, ready to attack. He sees her shift slightly in the uncomfortable chair, eyes closed in sleep. He takes a tentative step closer, curiosity driving him. She is so trusting of Angel, unaware of how unstable he is right now in his haze.

Angel stares at her for a very long moment, waiting, watching, listening for any sign that she might wake up. He is not sure about her, if she is an enemy there to bring more torture or not. Though how could she not be here to torture him as everyone else had? Millions of faces had been paraded by him, bringing their own form of pain and anguish to lavish upon him as he had once done to them. They are nothing more then a blur to him now in his memory of it. So many faces, so many screams. He holds his hands to his ears now as they ring with howls of  suffering.

He had not been the only one in hell, but one of thousands…millions. They'd been separated yet he could see everyone else's suffering, enhancing his own. Demon upon demon walked around the blackness, for there was no light, yet he could see. He could see each and every one of them clearly. Each demon was different for each prisoner. Every one of them had their own personal hell created for them. It was pure madness, a place Angelus would have found pleasing…but not Angel. No, never Angel. All those lost souls he couldn't help.

His own soul was of great amusement, an evil vampire turned to good then thrown to hell for what was to be all of eternity. The demons laughed and mocked him in languages he couldn't place, but it was written on their faces…the pleasure they took in the cruel irony of the situation.

There was no escape for Angel, try as he might. He ran, ran for what seemed hours yet he got absolutely nowhere, coming no closer to any of the other helpless people. How the demons laughed at him then. He was trapped in a transparent box of blackness, of despair. How long had he tried to escape? Days? Weeks? Months? He didn't know then and can't know now. Time held no meaning there, for the absence of time was part of the torture, part of the pain they inflicted on him.

It doesn't matter now. Angel can barely recollect any of it in conscious detail save for smells and the occasional sound. He continues on his meandering search of the stone house. He's not looking for anything in particular, but just looking as if seeing it all for the first time. He is awed by the fact that he can touch and actually feel something. In hell he felt nothing but the bite of the whip, the sting of the knife, and the stickiness of his blood clinging and drying all over his body. His blood only flaking off to be replaced with some fresh from another wound.

The soft sound of Willow's breathing and the shuffling of Angel's feet are the only sounds in the house. Not even the leaves just outside the window are moving. An eerie silence has come over the house through the shadows, cloaked in them. The air is still, the breeze that had come through the windows earlier has taken its leave leaving a stillness that is palpable. And so the night wore on unendingly, with Angel searching the large house, and Willow blissfully unaware in her slumber.

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