“Fuckin’ storm,” Spike growled, shaking his head. Angel noted his hair didn’t move, and wondered just how much gel had gone into slicking back those curls to keep them from moving when his head was so wet.
“Don’t blame me,” Angel said, peering out of the broken door they’d crawled through. The rain sheeted across the alley, all but blocking any visual cues that would let him know if anyone was still following them. Maybe they could take a breather for a few seconds, he thought, with only the smallest bit of irony. “I have no control over the weather.” He glanced back, seeing Spike had found something to sit on, trying to wipe his face dry and failing.
As if he realized he was being watched, Spike glanced up. “What happened to them?” he asked.
Gunn, Illyria – Angel had to shrug in answer. He had nothing to say. He remembered Illyria had been protecting Gunn at one point, but beyond that, the battle had swept them all up and managed to split them apart. The dragon had swooped down and attacked; the demons had charged, the city had been torn apart. And there wasn’t that much that the four of them could do to stop it.
At least Connor was safe, Angel thought, leaning back against a wall, taking a second to regroup, to gather himself up, to try to decide what to do next.
He dragged his eyes open. “What?”
“So, um, what do we do now?”
Spike, asking him? Now he knew for sure the world was going to end. “Go out there, find some bad guys, get into a fight.” Angel shrugged.
“Great.” Spike hauled himself up, taking a couple of steps closer. “Well, let’s not wait for the fight to find us.”
Angel stiffened, holding up a hand. The sound somehow rose over the storm – footsteps, echoing through the alleyways, getting louder as they approached. “Too late for that,” he said, twirling the sword in his hand as the demon horde appeared.
Spike joined him at the doorway and they exchanged a glance before charging out into the storm.