Afterlife (166 words, gen, post series) Originally posted October 26th, 2007.
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One day Spike would find the reason why they survived, because he refused to believe in Angel’s version that they only survived to suffer.
Angel is living in his head these days, his dead breath filled with ashes of friends lost. If Spike had any poetry left in his soul these days it’d be filled with pretty synonyms for grief, stubborness , asshole, bastard and love. That care can taste like charcoal and sour sweat, symbols on hands rough and untended for.
The span of his Angel’s shoulders no longer look like they’d be able to hold wings up high. The strength is hollowed out, slack and bent.
Spike watches from the shadows as the morning light fills Angel’s features and gives cruel clarity to a face that hardly sleeps. That hardly lives but for the stubborness of Spike and guilt to breed and tend to.
Angel wears his new life like a hairshirt, like punishment and remembrance. He got gifted with life - but too many died.
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