Nothing was making sense; the world kept spinning and changing on him. He was trying so hard to keep up; trying to remember what was real. If he could just rest, he might be able to do it. But they wouldn't leave him alone.
Faith skipped past him, holding hands with Connor. "Good call," she said. "I kinda have a soft spot for Sunnydale. I mean sure, I nearly died and all, but you can't hold a grudge forever, can you?"
Connor smiled. "No," he said. "But it's fun trying, right Dad?"
Angel held out a hand, but Connor was already gone.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"And so you should be," said a new voice. "Late on your first day. That doesn't inspire much confidence, does it?"
Angel looked around, then down. Blinked in surprise.
Buffy, he could understand. Faith and Connor, yes. But -
Snyder?
Snyder stepped forward. "Show some respect," he said. "You're in my world now."
Angel tried to back away but suddenly there was a wall behind him and he had nowhere to go. He slid down it and landed in a graceless heap on the floor.
He closed his eyes - not real not real not real - then opened them to find Snyder looking down at him, hands on hips.
"That's better," he said. "You know your place. That's something we can work with."
"What's happening to me? Why are you here? What do you want from me?"
"Don't start getting uppity with me, young man. This is your subconscious, you deal with it."
Angel brought a hand up to his face and slapped his own cheek, hard. He had to wake up. Had to get out.
"Now stop that," said Snyder. "I won't stand for that sort of destructive behaviour. Not in my school."
He reached down, and Angel found his hand gripped in one of Snyder's. It was shockingly warm.
"Come on, now," Snyder said, voice suddenly quiet. "It's not that bad. Look, there are no students here - now that's the place at its best. It's peaceful, and isn't that what you want? Some peace and quiet? There are no people to save here, Angel, no crimes to feel sorry for. No-one's relying on you, no-one's expecting you to look out for them. You don't have to be responsible here, you don't have to be in charge. Just do as I tell you, and you'll never have to worry about anything again. Won't that be nice? Isn't that what you've always wanted?"
Snyder's hand still held his, while the other was moving in Angel's hair. It felt - good. Strange, but good. Surprisingly so. A small sigh escaped his lips.
"I can look after you, Angel. I can forgive you. That's what you've been looking for all this time, isn't it? Forgiveness? To make up for what you've done? Well now you can. Make it up to me, Angel. Make it all up to me."
The hands were suddenly gone, and Angel felt strangely bereft. He looked up to find them unbuckling their owner's pants.
"What are you - I don't - "
"Quiet. You need to do as you're told, now. You want to be good, don't you?"
"Uh - yes, I suppose, but -"
"You suppose? This is no time to be wishy-washy. Do you, or don't you?"
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes - sir?"
"Better. Now take your medicine like a good boy. You know what to do."
On his knees, with a cock at his lips. It'd been a while, but yes, he knew what to do. Angel could be good, if he tried. He bent his head and followed his instructions.
When he was done, Snyder let out a deep, satisfied sigh. "Oh yes. That's right. You can stay here with me now. The others don't need you, they have Spike. Spike, they have Spike. Spike. It's Spike. It's Spike. Angel, can you hear me? Wake up. It's Spike, Angel. Wake up."
Angel flinched, his head hitting something hard. He turned to look. Not a wall. A bed. His bed.
"Well, at last. Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty."
Angel's mouth felt dry. "Spike?" he managed.
"Yeah, it's me. Don't panic, you're all right. I got word that some beastie was trying to have your brains for lunch, so I thought I'd better stop by and sort it out. Well, I couldn't let the poor thing starve to death, could I? Wouldn't have been humane."
He lifted one boot, showing Angel the remains of something vaguely blue and very squishy stuck to the sole. "I put it out of its misery," he said.
Angel ran a shaking hand over his face. "So none of that was - it was all just -"
"Just fever dreams, pet. What's the matter, did the bogeyman nearly get you?"
Angel staggered to his feet, just as a small Fred-shaped whirlwind flew into the room. "Oh! Oh! Angel, are you okay? We heard - Spike said - "
"Yeah, Fred, I'm okay. I think."
"Well," said Spike. "I guess I'll just turn you over to the loving bosom of the family, then, and be on my way."
Angel stared at him. "Spike."
"What?"
"Why are your jeans unzipped?"
"Huh? Oh, right. Well, that would be because, um, well - oh yeah, because I rushed straight out when I heard you were in trouble. Who's got time to get dressed properly when the big man's in danger, huh? Anyway, hey, look at the time. Gotta run. Things to do, places to go, helpless to help. You know how it is."
Angel reached out and grabbed Spike's arm. "Did you - did I - "
Spike turned cool blue eyes on him. "Did you what, pet?"
"Angel," said Fred. "You should rest. Get some sleep."
Angel couldn't hold back a small shudder. "Spike, get out of here. And Fred? No sleep. No way. My subconscious is - not somewhere I want to spend time. Ever again."
- End -
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