The Curse of Ouroboros

by SpikesKat

The elderly gentleman shuffled down to the water’s edge in the predawn hours, aided by the use of a gnarled cane. He was alone, save for a few seagulls, as he took his customary place on the well-worn rock. Closing his eyes, he allowed the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the sweet tang of salt water to wash over his senses. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, long used to the act of breathing. 

Then just before the sun began to crest the horizon, he opened his eyes and watched – what he knew instinctively – would be his last sunrise. The heat slowly seeped into his weary bones, something he’d come to appreciate these last few years as arthritis and a host of other “elderly” problems proved just how human he now was. 

As the sun continued its journey into the sky, Angel was soon joined by others on the beach – early morning joggers, middle-aged couples walking their dogs. He paid them no mind, content in his solitude. Or if not content, resigned. After all, he’d been alone for a very long time. Nearly fifty years, in fact. In that time, he’d seen the death of everyone he’d ever held dear, save just one. 

One he’d been unable to find no matter how hard he’d tried.

In the aftermath of their battle with the Senior Partners, Gunn had been the first to go. Suffering from internal injuries no amount of surgery could fix, the man had lingered for nearly six months in a coma, his body kept alive through artificial means. Angel had found him two days before he’d died. 

It had taken Angel that long to remember his former life, that he’d been a vampire once upon a time, a warrior in the good fight. Having shanshued, he’d been wiped of his memories, if not his dreams. At first, he’d thought he was going crazy. Artists weren’t supposed to have nightmares about fighting demons – even if they did tend to be a little eccentric. 

Finally putting the images to paper had been the key to unlocking his past. Things came rushing back to him, and he realized that several months had passed from that fateful night in the alley. 

His first agenda had been to locate the others from his crew, desperate to find out if he’d been the only one to survive. He’d happened across Gunn by accident, thanks to a special interest story on the local news regarding a John Doe who’d been found beaten and bloody in a back alley not far from the former offices of Wolfram & Hart. He’d watched the program only long enough to determine which hospital Gunn was in. 

Angel had snuck into his hospital room and sat at his bedside, his hand had been clasped in the other’s as he whispered his apologies when Gunn’s heart had given up on the fight and stopped. He’d escaped during the melee as the room had suddenly flooded with medical personal intent on saving their patient’s life and lurked in the hallway until the doctor pronounced Gunn dead thirty minutes later. 

His next stop had been Cleveland to check in on Faith and Robin. He was careful not to get caught as he’d spied on their lives and was relieved to see that the two were doing relatively well under the circumstances. They managed to cheat death for three years before a clash with some demon bent on opening the hellmouth ended their existence. They, along with several recently called slayers, lost their lives in the battle, sacrificing themselves in a last-ditch effort to keep the gateway to hell closed. 

From there he’d moved on to Rome, only to backtrack to England when he learned that Buffy had split from the Immortal and moved there to help Giles with the Watcher’s Council. It had broken his heart to remain hidden in the shadows and watch from afar, hurt to see that she was dating someone else, the older brother of a slayer. 

On her wedding day, he’d gotten rip-roaring drunk. Then did it again five years later when she died – for good this time. 

Her friends he continued to keep an eye on out of loyalty to her, though he never once made his presence known to them. They aged, as he did. None of them lived to see thirty, however. Dealing with the underworld on a nightly basis, it was only a matter of time before the law of averages caught up with them. 

Connor’s death nearly broke him, much like Buffy’s had. He stayed drunk for what seemed like months, wallowing in despair and raging at the fates that would take the child before the father. 

It was only after Giles’ funeral nearly ten years after becoming human that Angel gave up the role of watcher and went back to living his own life. Every human he’d ever had some type of connection with in his former life was gone. 

He spent some time in the land of his birth, but eventually moved back to the States. There he bought a house in a small town along the eastern shore where he spent a good portion of his time painting. Eventually, his work was picked up by a gallery in a nearby city, and soon after, an exclusive studio in New York. 

Fame wasn’t something he sought, though, and he denied any and all requests for interviews and personal appearances. He wanted to live the remaining years of his life in relative anonymity. And thankfully, the local townsfolk had kept their distance, willing to cater to the eccentricities of their resident celebrity artist. 

The years slipped by without him being aware, save for the increasing ache to his joints and the mirror that showed the growing number of lines upon his face. It was only when his hair started to grey that he stopped to take a good look at the calendar. 

“The years just flew by,” he murmured to no one. 

The sun arced in the sky and Angel remained where he was. He ignored the hunger in his belly. It wasn’t like it much mattered anyway. He’d had a feeling, which had only grown stronger as he sat and watched the world go by. 

He wasn’t going to live past today. 

After witnessing his final sunset, a lone tear slid down his cheek. Not once in his fifty-plus years as a human had he ever taken a sunrise or a sunset for granted. 

Only when it was completely dark did he rouse himself from his place on the rock. The long hours spent in one spot had played hell with his body, though, and even with the cane, his legs were unable to support his weight. 

He would have crumpled to the ground were it not for the strong hands that wrapped around his body and held him close. 

“William,” he murmured, knowing instinctively that it was Spike that had caught him. 

“Hello, old man.” 

Angel barked out a laugh at the moniker – a laugh that quickly gave way to tears. Only to be reduced to heart wrenching sobs as his large and extremely frail body was easily lifted and held against one much slighter than his own. 

“It’s alright, love. I’ve got you,” Spike whispered quietly against Angel’s ear. Repeated variations of the same theme as he slowly trudged up the beach and back towards Angel’s home. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Epilogue 

Two nights later, Angel woke at dusk. He sat up and it took him a moment to realize that the aches and pains he normally experienced when he got out of bed were conspicuously absent. Looking down at his hands, he realized that the age spots were gone, the skin that had hung loose on his thinning frame was now taut and pale, and devoid of scars. 

He climbed out of bed and headed towards the bathroom before he realized that he felt no urge to urinate. 

What he did feel was hungry. Extremely so. Eager to sink his fangs— 

Angel froze when the thought crossed his mind. 

“Oh god… no….” 

He ran into the bathroom and let out an inhuman sound when his reflection was absent from the mirror, and several minutes passed before he realized someone was pressed up against his back. 

“Why?” he cried as his legs gave out and he sank to the floor. 

“Percy got it wrong,” Spike replied quietly, his arms wrapped tight around the trembling body of his sire. “Humanity’s only good for a lifetime. Afterwards you go back to what you were. In your case, a vampire with a soul. Buncha bollocks if you ask me. You’ve done your time, you deserve to rest.” 

“No… no rest… for the wicked…” Angel managed to get out through his tears. 

“Bloody got that right,” Spike chuckled. “Come on. Let’s get some blood in you.” 

Hours later, they were walking along the beach. 

“I searched for you,” Angel told him. “Every few years I’d—” 

“I know,” Spike replied, his voice subdued. It had killed him not to reveal himself during the low points of Angel’s human life. 

“You know?” 

“Of course,” Spike told him, injecting a bit of snark – complete with matching grin – to hide the pain. “Been keepin’ my eye on you since you got turned into a human.” 

“That’s why I could never find you.” 

“Yeah, and those bloody Powers were sticklers about me staying out of your life. If not, I’da—” ‘Been there. For Buffy… and for Connor,’ he didn’t say. “Anyway, they said you deserved a break from the things that went bump in the night, myself included. And, for once, I was inclined to agree with the interfering arseholes.” 

They walked in silence for awhile after that, each lost in thought. 

It was Angel that eventually asked, “So now what?” 

Spike smiled as he replied, “Now we go back to work.” 

The End  

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