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fandomweekly2024-12-21 01:20 pm
badly_knitted) wrote in fandomweekly2024-12-21 01:20 pm
[#243] Stumbling Towards Redemption (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)
Theme Prompt: #243 - Redemption
Title: Stumbling Towards Redemption
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating/Warnings: PG / None
Bonus: No.
Word Count: 795
Summary: Angel was the worst kind of monster before he was cursed with the return of his human soul. Now perhaps he finally has a chance to start making amends for his evil ways by helping the new Slayer.
All the time he’d been a soulless human body inhabited and animated by a demon, nothing had mattered beyond what he’d wanted: To destroy, to feed, to torment and torture his human victims so their blood would taste that much sweeter. He’d been a monster, without conscience or even the smallest shred of compassion, dedicated to cruelty. He’d revelled in his depravity, that being the nature of the worst of demonkind.
Then, he’d fed on the wrong victim, and her family had conjured up the worst punishment they could imagine: Restoring his human soul. The transformation hadn’t been instantaneous; at first the demon residing in his body had continued to hold the upper hand, propelling him back to the others, Darla, Spike, and Drusilla, and he’d tried to continue as if nothing had changed, but in truth, everything had.
Slowly Angel had ‘remembered’ everything he’d done, and his soul had felt the full weight of his crimes bearing down on him, devastating him with their enormity. The human part of his unprecedented dual nature had taken over then, and he’d fled, but had quickly learned there was no escape from his past. He'd still been a vampire, dependent on blood for his survival, and for a time he’d tried to continue feeding from humans, but his newly rediscovered conscience had tormented him with memories of every depraved act of cruelty he’d committed since he was first turned, and the guilt had quickly become unbearable.
Ashamed and tortured by memories, he’d isolated himself from other vampires, turned to animal blood for sustenance, and tried to understand what had happened. The return of his soul had been the result of a curse the Kalderash gypsies had laid on him, their revenge for the death of their most precious and beloved daughter. A deserved punishment, Angel had no doubt, but it had left him adrift and alone, with no place to belong, and no purpose to his existence. He was something that had no right to exist. A demon and a human, two separate entities, forced to share one body, leaving the human part of him clinging precariously to the ragged edge of sanity.
From time to time he’d tried to fit in among humans without then discovering what he was, but that was difficult, since he had neither reflection nor heartbeat. It was also unwise, since the proximity of humans was a constant temptation to the demon that still existed inside him, and although he’d done his best to resist, perhaps inevitably, he’d eventually given in and fed from a human. The guilt and horror that had overcome him afterwards had been enough to drive him into the shadows, shunning company of any kind, surviving on the blood of rats, when he was able to catch them.
He'd been in New York, lurking in dank, garbage-strewn alleyways, weak and starving, mostly failing in his effort to catch enough rats to sustain him, and wondering why he even bothered, when Whistler had found him, mocking him for how pathetic he’d become. He’d deserved the mockery, because it was no more than the truth; he’d fallen as low as it was possible to fall while still retaining some small sense of identity.
Still, despite how filthy, worthless, and disgusting he was, Whistler had dragged him to L.A. and made him witness the next Slayer being called to her destiny, a young girl who, unlike other Slayers, was completely unprepared for what she’d be facing. She’d somehow fallen through the cracks, been missed, overlooked, and as a result she’d had no training, had no awareness of demons and vampires, no fighting skills, nothing. Never had the mantle of Slayer fallen on someone so unready.
Angel’s cold, dead, unbeating heart had been deeply moved by her plight, and for the first time in centuries, he’d found it in him to care about someone other than himself. Buffy Summers was going to need all the help she could get, if she was going to have any chance of surviving for more than a year or two, and more than anything, Angel wanted to be there for her, doing whatever he could to ease the burden that had been laid so unexpectedly on her slender shoulders.
Whistler had worked him hard, training him day after day without a break, getting him fit and healthy enough to be worthy of fighting alongside the Slayer, but Angel threw himself into it with a will, seeing a way that he could at last begin making amends for all the evil he’d committed over the course of more than a century. He didn’t care what he had to do, what trials he had to endure, what sacrifices he had to make, he’d do whatever was asked of him willingly, and without hesitation, because a chance like this was unlikely to ever come again, and he couldn’t afford to waste it.
Redemption was probably still far out of his reach, but if he fought on the side of good hard enough and for long enough, maybe eventually he would be able to wash at least some of the bloodstains from his soul. He certainly wouldn’t be losing anything by trying, and if it meant he could make life even a little easier for Buffy Summers, then whatever the price, it was one he was ready and willing to pay. Perhaps by fighting evil he could at last become the man he’d never been when he was alive, no longer a wastrel but someone his long-dead father might have been proud to call his son.
The End
Then, he’d fed on the wrong victim, and her family had conjured up the worst punishment they could imagine: Restoring his human soul. The transformation hadn’t been instantaneous; at first the demon residing in his body had continued to hold the upper hand, propelling him back to the others, Darla, Spike, and Drusilla, and he’d tried to continue as if nothing had changed, but in truth, everything had.
Slowly Angel had ‘remembered’ everything he’d done, and his soul had felt the full weight of his crimes bearing down on him, devastating him with their enormity. The human part of his unprecedented dual nature had taken over then, and he’d fled, but had quickly learned there was no escape from his past. He'd still been a vampire, dependent on blood for his survival, and for a time he’d tried to continue feeding from humans, but his newly rediscovered conscience had tormented him with memories of every depraved act of cruelty he’d committed since he was first turned, and the guilt had quickly become unbearable.
Ashamed and tortured by memories, he’d isolated himself from other vampires, turned to animal blood for sustenance, and tried to understand what had happened. The return of his soul had been the result of a curse the Kalderash gypsies had laid on him, their revenge for the death of their most precious and beloved daughter. A deserved punishment, Angel had no doubt, but it had left him adrift and alone, with no place to belong, and no purpose to his existence. He was something that had no right to exist. A demon and a human, two separate entities, forced to share one body, leaving the human part of him clinging precariously to the ragged edge of sanity.
From time to time he’d tried to fit in among humans without then discovering what he was, but that was difficult, since he had neither reflection nor heartbeat. It was also unwise, since the proximity of humans was a constant temptation to the demon that still existed inside him, and although he’d done his best to resist, perhaps inevitably, he’d eventually given in and fed from a human. The guilt and horror that had overcome him afterwards had been enough to drive him into the shadows, shunning company of any kind, surviving on the blood of rats, when he was able to catch them.
He'd been in New York, lurking in dank, garbage-strewn alleyways, weak and starving, mostly failing in his effort to catch enough rats to sustain him, and wondering why he even bothered, when Whistler had found him, mocking him for how pathetic he’d become. He’d deserved the mockery, because it was no more than the truth; he’d fallen as low as it was possible to fall while still retaining some small sense of identity.
Still, despite how filthy, worthless, and disgusting he was, Whistler had dragged him to L.A. and made him witness the next Slayer being called to her destiny, a young girl who, unlike other Slayers, was completely unprepared for what she’d be facing. She’d somehow fallen through the cracks, been missed, overlooked, and as a result she’d had no training, had no awareness of demons and vampires, no fighting skills, nothing. Never had the mantle of Slayer fallen on someone so unready.
Angel’s cold, dead, unbeating heart had been deeply moved by her plight, and for the first time in centuries, he’d found it in him to care about someone other than himself. Buffy Summers was going to need all the help she could get, if she was going to have any chance of surviving for more than a year or two, and more than anything, Angel wanted to be there for her, doing whatever he could to ease the burden that had been laid so unexpectedly on her slender shoulders.
Whistler had worked him hard, training him day after day without a break, getting him fit and healthy enough to be worthy of fighting alongside the Slayer, but Angel threw himself into it with a will, seeing a way that he could at last begin making amends for all the evil he’d committed over the course of more than a century. He didn’t care what he had to do, what trials he had to endure, what sacrifices he had to make, he’d do whatever was asked of him willingly, and without hesitation, because a chance like this was unlikely to ever come again, and he couldn’t afford to waste it.
Redemption was probably still far out of his reach, but if he fought on the side of good hard enough and for long enough, maybe eventually he would be able to wash at least some of the bloodstains from his soul. He certainly wouldn’t be losing anything by trying, and if it meant he could make life even a little easier for Buffy Summers, then whatever the price, it was one he was ready and willing to pay. Perhaps by fighting evil he could at last become the man he’d never been when he was alive, no longer a wastrel but someone his long-dead father might have been proud to call his son.
The End