It was all his fault, he knew it. Sure, the others had volunteered to stand with him; they were his friends. Not that he deserved their kindness; hell, not that he ever would.
They made their stand in the alley, staring down the hordes and listening to Illyria try to sound both casual and angry because of Wesley’s death.
When Gunn’s familiar voice reached his ears, he snapped out of it.
“You take the 30,000 on the left…”
Angel didn’t have a plan, per se. But whatever needed doing, he was going to just do it right the fuck now.