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darklordofthesimp · 2 years ago

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Reconcile (John Price x Reader)

Anything Verse

Summary: When a Task Force 141 sniper is rushed into your surgery at the end of your shift, you know you're in for a rough night.

A/N: OOOH a Price fic?? In the Anything Verse?? Wish me luck. I'm so sorry if he's OOC I know nothing.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Description of Injury, Allusion to PTSD, Swearing.

The day you met Captain John Price was not a good day. It had been one of the worst shifts of your career, actually.

"Get them straight into surgery!"

You were no stranger to the horrors of war. Every twisted wound, every deformed face, every tragic passing of a young soldier reminded you of why you enlisted.

"Vitals are dropping!"

You remembered the trolley squeaking as you rushed a twisted, limp body to surgery. The shouts of your nurses all worked in tandem to inform you of the signs that this soldier was dying before you.

"Birdy!"

You recognised the callsign, horror prodding at your lungs. Forcing down your realization, you focused on the man screaming behind you. He was larger than life, bounding down the hallway after your team. He bellowed the callsign again, his voice desperate as it climbed over the chattering of your medics, begging for a response.

The body on the bed said nothing.

"They're critical!"

The body on the bed barely breathed.

As you disappeared into the surgical ward, your heart held captive by anxiety, you risked a glance over your shoulder.

The man's eyes were bloodshot, wild in a way that only love could cause. There was a soldier who held a firm hand to his chest, reminding him that 'Birdy' was going somewhere he couldn't follow.

His gaze followed the trolley until the doors closed on him.

John Price had been watching on with the eyes of a man that was already mourning.

____

Twelve hours.

Twelve hours spent trying to save a life because of miscommunication

The team had been swapped out on the sixth hour of surgery, your secondary group scrubbing in at around 0100 hours. You didn't take the break.

Your hands shook as you pushed the doors open, emerging from the surgical ward like you'd just crawled off the battlefield. Your knees were weak, barely holding your body up as you trekked down the hall.

Images of the crumpled sniper flashed across your vision like a stop motion film, reminding you that although you'd saved their life- this wasn't the end of their struggle. Your heart bled for them, bled for the person that they would have to become to survive this.

"How are they?" The words attacked you from the side, throwing you off balance as you flinched away. Trying to catch yourself, your arms flailed and a gasp ripped from your throat. You were dizzy, exhausted and low on all forms of fuel, you were definitely going to hit the deck like a sack of shit.

"Jesus-" A pair of rough hands shot out to grip your shoulders, pulling you upright and steadying you on your feet. You raked in a breath, tilting your head up to glare at the culprit.

It was the man from earlier.

"You fuckin' serious?" You tried to straighten up as you growled the words but there was no venom behind them. You didn't have the energy for that, and as you looked into the haunted eyes before you, you knew that he didn't have it either.

"Sorry." It was muttered as an afterthought, bloodshot eyes barely focused on your features, as though he was looking at you but not actually seeing. "Is Birdy okay?"

You sighed deeply, scrubbing at your eyes with the heel of your palms. If you rubbed hard enough maybe you could chase away the crippling exhaustion.

"Yeah," you rasped. "Someone really did a number on 'em though."

The man's face grew stormy at the words, his jaw clenching. You knew then that there had been no justice for the sniper, that their assaulter had escaped the clutches of the infamous 141.

"I want the report." The man stated simply, his tone carrying the familiar weight of authority.

You raised an eyebrow.

"Are you Birdy's chain-of-command?" You queried, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Captain John Price," he nodded.

John Price.

He was something of a legend within the unit, the forefront of Task Force 141- the leader. You would have been in awe had he not looked like a pathetic shell of the man he should have been.

Your eyes trailed his figure, stopping at his hands with a startled gasp.

"Whose blood is that?" You stepped forward, suddenly on alert. You dragged your gaze over his shocked features, analyzing for injury and wounding.

"Bit of mine," he rasped, eyes wide as he took in the state of his skin, "...mostly Birdy's."

You could have left him there. Your shift had been over 15 hours ago and you were planning on going home and stuffing your gob with whatever you could get your hands on.

The Captain wasn't your responsibility.

But the broken man before you was.

"Come with me," you murmured softly, taking a step towards the door. Price didn't move, that thousand yard stare drifting over the entrance to the surgical ward. His body might have been here but his mind was far away.

You'd seen it millions of times, yet every instance still rips on your heart.

Gently, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist. Cerulean eyes snapped to meet yours, wide and hard. He gripped your offending limb with his free hand and your heart hammered in your chest. The Captain was fresh from war, blood smeared across his jaw and dried under his nails, he was unpredictable.

Your hand trembled in his but you didn't loosen your grip.

John Price was a large man, broad shoulders and a presence that demanded your attention. He was a combatant, he'd been through hell and back and willingly made the journey thousands of times.

When you dealt with soldiers like this, there was always a security detail to protect you in case they snapped. It was common, it was understood- survival instincts and adrenaline doesn't just disappear overnight.

But you were alone.

And Price's grip tightened.

"John," you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady but failing. The words wobbled and your body tremored but your gaze remained consistent. Your eyes appealed and pleaded, fixated on the bright blue of his own. "John, let me help you."

His eyes flickered down to see where he held your hand.

Then he released a breath.

"I'm so sorry," Price murmured, broken and small.

You offered a genuine smile, breath settling as relief flooded your chest. "You're okay, John. Come with me."

You told yourself to say his name often, reminding him of who he was and where he was. It was your job to ground him, to patch him up- body and mind. His grip on your hand loosened but he didn't let go completely, his shaky inhale telling you that he was overwhelmed.

He wasn't used to being rattled.

Captain Price wasnt supposed to ever get rattled.

John followed you into your office, letting go of your hand to close the door behind him instinctively. Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden isolation, you weren't meant to be alone with a volatile patient. When he turned to face you, he raised a brow at your hesitance.

"Would you prefer I kept the door open, Doc?"

You swallowed thickly, controlling your breathing as best as you could.

"It's not a problem," you lied.

There was a soft snort, the first sign of humor you'd seen in him. John opened the door back up, resting it gently against the stopper as he offered you a meaningful glance.

"For my ease of mind," he joked dryly.

Your lips twitched upward and you ducked your head.

"Thanks," you whispered quickly before clearing your throat. "And they call me Saint. Not Doc."

"Saint," John trialed the word on his tongue. "Fitting."

You rolled your eyes light-heartedly before gesturing to the tap and basin at the back. "Clean up a little while I prep."

The Captain offered you a nod, sobering as he moved to the sink to scrub the blood off his hands. You prepared your equipment, pretending not to notice the way his body shook as scraped the blood off his skin.

He was there for longer than he needed to be but you didn't push. You wouldn't rush him, there was nothing more important than letting him watch the crimson stained water disappear down that drain. The way he stared at his hands, those unsoiled palms raised upright, it had you thinking that he could still see his sniper's blood tattooed across his fingers.

When John finally sat down, his face was drawn and solemn. You took in a sharp breath, taking the anti-bacterial wipe and approaching the Captain slowly until you were inches away.

His gaze lifted to watch you through his lashes, the scent of gunpowder, sweat and blood rolling off of him in waves. You were used to it, it was a smell that you'd gotten used to over the years.

"I'm going to wipe the blood from your face and sanitize your wounds," you stated clearly, breath trembling as his attention fell to your lips.

John said nothing for a long moment, leaving you inches from him, praying to God that he wasn't going to snap.

"Yeah," he finally rasped.

You set to work, ignoring the way his eyes followed you emptily. You wished there was emotion behind it, you wished you could say that he was leering, but the Captain was watching you work as one would watch a plain car go by: no thoughts, simply caught by the movement.

Thousands of conversation starters fought for use, they begged to be spoken out into the small space between you. All of them fell short, nothing could drown the silence of his grief.

"Will Birdy recover?"

You were startled by the question, fingers brushing against the heat of his skin as you flinched. His eyes were glued to yours. They waited hungrily for a response, watching carefully for any indiscretions that could give away a lie.

"Yes." You replied simply, moving to continue your work.

"Saint." The Captain's fingers reached upward to grip your wrist gently, lowering your hand from his face. You took in a sharp breath, eyes narrowing. "That's not what I was asking."

The look John gave you was intent and revealing, stripping the veil from your answer. You were bare for him to see, inches away with no room to hide from his gaze. His hand was hot against your skin, burning every square inch that he held.

You knew what Price was truly asking. You knew that you'd hadn't answered the question he was offering, hidden behind smoke and mirrors.

Will Birdy forgive me?

You sucked in a breath, bringing a hand to softly rest against his shoulder.

"Yes," you said again.

Only, this time, you lied.

#john price x reader #john price #peepaw price #price mw2 #john price mw2 #john price cod #cod x reader #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2

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aspiringwarriorlibrarian · 6 months ago

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I feel like a lot of people just conflate "anti-imperialism/non-imperialism" with "morally clean and pure", and that's a large chunk of why people have a conniption about the idea of having to work with complex systems that are filled with unfair and unjust elements, but at the same time is the only major way to enact any meaningful change since most of the alternate solutions require just as much sacrifice, if not more so, to enact with as little guarantee of success.

Like it or not, there is no alternate solution to the trolley problem that doesn't come with its own evils, downsides and moral consequences. EVERY choice that involves the real power to change society is inherently going to dirty your hands no matter what, so you might as well pick the one that causes the least amount of damage, not just what makes you feel good at the expense of everyone else.

Yeah, that nails it. Imperialism is well-integrated into society, and there is no way to yank it all out in one clean pull. It has to be removed surgically, and surgery is also bloody.

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vahalia-cress · 6 days ago

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⸸ Means to an End ⸸

DWC Nov 2024Day 7: Peculiar / Theory

It was difficult to clear her head when distractions were everywhere, the only place she found herself was wading through decisions, choices, and regrets and finding a place to settle her grief properly. Perhaps in time, she’d find the space to express loss and to find healing to move on – but what would healing be if she was still faced with the very reality of contending with the folks who had put her in that position to begin with?

There was only room for vengeance now. Calculated, surgical, meticulous planning and delegating.

The harmony of the violin continued throughout the foreign halls of the Whitlock estate as Vahalia played eloquently. Something she had not done in several months but still her fingers and hand played the strings like each note carried a hidden word. A hidden feeling, words unspoken that clutched at her heart. The stringed melody filling quiet halls if only to make the space feel more natural; less alien in nature.

The night before she managed to weasel into a game of poker with Abel which after a slew of drinks had quickly become more of a game of guts and chance. Long into the night they played as she found parts of Abel beginning to open and crack, winding into the fabrics of who she thought him to be.

As suspected, a troubled young man with the desire to be more than he was, but simply lacked the dedication to build upon himself. Wading through brothels and courtesans to dull his loneliness despite having a wife and children. People drank for a slew of reasons but Vahalia easily suspected it was simply to find a numbness, blocking out residual feelings for what he had experienced in his life – over time it simply became a habit he easily fell into.

It was easy to distract with charm, she had done it many times in the past, playing and preying on the vulnerabilities of men.

She never claimed to be a good person, but sometimes there were measures she found to be a necessity to get the results of an outcome she wanted.

As she played, distant sounds of yelling echoed through the halls. At first, she suspected them to be passionate words carried on strong tones until the shatter of something carried through the rooms. In an instant, the harmony she had been playing ceased and she curiously stepped from the threshold of the parlor.

It was Kalem and Abel.

Following the voices she stepped into the dining hall with instrument and bow in hand, unsure on what they had been arguing over but it can come to near blows as she spotted the shattered fragments of glass near the hearth, the tablesettings toppled to the floor with the runner tangled around the back of a chair.

Neither of them seemed to notice her as the scuffle began and in a split second she had a decision to make, Kalem who had been taller of the two jostled Abel by the collar, the two men coming to physical blows in the very room that often had been reserved for gatherings – a space for family and friends to take respite in one another.

Her feet moved and before she could calculate a proper decision she had already been wedged between the two men and forcing them apart, her body blocking Abel as her hand held out to Kalem who froze mid-strike upon seeing Vahalia, “What is going ON?!” she bellowed at the two.

The pair breathed heavily and as Abel angrily tugged his jacket proper, his face red her spoke through grit teeth, Go ahead brother.” he snarled.

“A brotherly disagreement.” Kalem huffed and when is chest heaved he lowered his fist and made for the trolley, combing his hair back from his brow, “Little shit thinks just because you and I are embarking on something he doesn’t agree with, he has the right to make demands.”

“You’re a selfish prick, Kalem!” Abel spat, “You dictate the rest of mine and Volricc’s lives with a swish of a pen all while ignoring your own duties and simply have been blinded by your desires! You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Rich coming from a man who does no thinking at all.” Kalem sniped, his gaze cutting to Abel with a dry warning as he supped from the rim of the glass he had in hand. Better to refresh and cool his temper than to fly at Abel once more with Vahalia caught in the crosshairs.

“You are brothers.” Vahalia interceeded, “You might not ever get along or like one another but that isn’t a reason to come to blows.” seeing that Abel had been out of striking distance, her arms lowered to uncover the second son from Kalem's further lashing, “To quarrel is natural.”

Abel glanced to the back of Vahalia’s head, the same woman he had been skeptical of had just willingly thrown herself into the frey and blocked Abel from the oncoming punishment of Kalem’s fury. Tongue slipped over his front teeth and he swallowed down what remained of his adrenaline and anger; spite lingering somewhere in his words.

She knew her words were heeded, enough for the brother’s to properly separate themselves from one another. While Kalem drank this water, Abel had meandered to the side table where he fetched his glass of amber liquid – no doubt scotch or whiskey he chose to drown himself in.

“Marry her if you must, but your desire has not been unnoticed brother and Volricc will have issue with this when he returns. You and I both know that it isn’t I you have to worry over. Your decisions lack tact.” Abel seethed into his glass.

“You forget my first marriage was out of necessity Abel, same as yours, same as Volricc’s. I do not make such a decision solely out of want but necessity this time.”

“Yes, to the very person who slew our sister.”

“And we slew hers!” Kalem hollered in Abel’s direction, glass of water slamming to the trolley as if he was ready to take another lunge at Abel despite Vahalia’s presence.

“And if the world goes blind on Ophelia’s behalf, then so be it.” the second son snapped.

“Enough!” Vahalia bellowed with authority and she eventually looked over her shoulder to Abel, “Do you dislike me so?” she asked, her voice gentle.

There was an awkward silence that hung between the three and Abel scoffed, “No. That is part of my frustration. You’re evidently a charming woman and fun company but our family is splintered, Lady Cress and I wish not to see it more so that your presence brings ruin upon what’s left of the fraying threads we already have. Volricc will not concede to this.”

“He doesn’t have to nor is he any authority for me to need his input.” Kalem spoke through a tense jaw, his hand tight along the handle of the drink trolley, “Until I am deep in the grave, you forget that the responsibility of this house falls to me.”

“I have not forgotten, Kalem.” Abel huffed again, finishing his drink in a heady swallow, amber contents fueling his stomach with an easy burn. Settling down the glass he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“My family is splintered as well, Abel. We are both holding on to grief that is each other’s doing, a mistake both our houses have made and not one we can undo – rather than war ourselves extinct then we must put past differences aside and turn a new leaf.” Vahalia spoke and behind her light golden eyes, Creature snickered, she could feel his excitement, causing him to bristle.

Her mask remained.

“Fine.” Abel rocked on his heels, “You both can enjoy explaining that to Volricc and see how far that gets you.” turning, he made his way out and closed the door behind him with a little bit more force; as expected.

Quietly Vahalia turned back to Kalem as she settled the instrument and bow along the cleared table, “Are you alright?”

“Quite.” Kalem sighed as he looked to his knuckles, flexing them several times, “It is a good thing you stopped us. I let my anger get the best of me. Sometimes Abel needs the sense knocked into him.”

“I know the type well.” Vahalia replied, speaking low as she skirted towards Kalem and took up his hand to inspect his knuckles.

As Kalem spoke the Lady Cress went about plucking a towel from the edge of the trolley and filling the center with ice from the bucket, “He is correct. Much of my struggles are yet to come. He’s been writing Volricc and I suspect it will only be a matter of days or a week at most until he rear’s his head.”

Pressing the makeshift icepack to Kalem’s knuckles, she cradled his hand, “Family squabbles aren’t easy. Especially for those in the position you and I hold.” she whispered, “There will be push back but we should endeavor to navigate the turbulent water’s the best we can. For the best possible outcome. We can speak with Volricc, I can only hope he has forgiveness in himself to look past the transgressions as I have and we can all move forward as a united front.”

Kalem’s vibrant green eyes darted down and over Vahalia’s face as he watched her tend to his knuckles. The skin hand not yet broke but she nursed him all the same. She did not move or speak again until Kalem’s other hand lifted to nestle in along her sable hair and ear, fingers drawing over the slightly pointed apex of the appendage.

She made it seem so easy.

When their eyes met he drew in and captured her lips in a kiss, a breath shared between them as somewhere in the motion the trolley had been abandoned and the towel fell to the floor, ice rolling over the carpet.

In a flurry of skirts and Kalem shoving the chairs out of the way, he fed from her taste, pressing her against the table where the two began to lose themselves in one another. Even her breaths and subtle coos of affection drove him mad, the touch of her hand to his chest, the other finding its place at his jaw...

How long had it been since he felt a woman's touch?

Words were lost to the silence when Kalem gathered her skirt's hem to hike it further along her thighs. Disappointment of the explosive argument that unraveled moments before now circumvented the edge of his mind, losing himself to the touch and whims of the affections of the woman within his grasp.

He wanted this.

It wasn’t duty or necessity. It was a desire as Abel claimed but he didn’t care and certainly wasn't about to tell his brother that he was right.

No restraint.

For the Writing Challenge by: @daily-writing-challenge

#Stories #Blurbs #dwc november 2024 #dwc2024 #Day 7 DWC

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themanitself · 1 month ago

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†𝖗𝖔𝖈𝖐𝖆𝖇𝖞𝖊 𝖇𝖆𝖇𝖞†

01/02(you are in here)

୧ ‧₊˚ 3rd person's POV ⋅ ☆

____ awakens inside the test tube, she tried banging her hands at the hard glass, she tried pushing the lid off, she tried everything but give up, Nothing worked in the end, she finally gave up and waited for any person to open the tube.

Her eyes blurred up a little, her tears joining with the liquid protecting her. God, her mother must be so worried and her brother must be scared right now. She couldn't even say a proper goodbye to her loved ones.

She just sat in there, hugging her knees while her tears keep on just escaping out her eyes.

She couldn't do anything but stare at the iron door for hours, pacing around the tube she was stuck in. Finally hearing a lot of footsteps she couldn't help but get near the glass and waited for the door to open.

The door finally opens, some scientists walked inside the room and towards their designated spot. ____ banged her hands once more to get the scientists attention, all of the scientist focused on their task and ignored the noise that the girl makes.

____ didn't gave up and continued banging her hands on the glass. The door reopens revealing five guards, ____ stopped hitting her hands on the glass as she saw the guards walking towards her.

The one guard went to the machine and scanned their key card at the blue screen, the lid of the tube made a clank. The other carried her body that was struggling to get out of the guards grasp. She was injected something to calm down, and she did. Some liquid splashed and dripped as ____ got out of the tube.

She just escaped the tube, but now she was praying that she'll survive the hell that was waiting for her. She prayed to God or anyone up there, to live another day and to guide her away from the evil in the place the experiments call hell.

'ˢᵃⁿᵗᵃ ᴹᵃʳⁱᵃ, ᵐᵃʸ ʸᵒᵘ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵍᵘⁱᵈᵉ ᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ˡⁱᵍʰᵗ, ᴰᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵃᵇᵃⁿᵈᵒⁿ ᵐᵉ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃʳᵏ.'

They put her on a hospital bed and strapped her in, the bed was soaked wet as ____ layed there unmoving. She couldn't move, she could only shake her head as the bed was pulled out the room.

'ᵈᵉᵃʳ ˡᵒʳᵈ, ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᶠᵒʳᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵐᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵐʸ ˢⁱⁿˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ˡᵉᵗ ᵐᵉ ˢᵘʳᵛⁱᵛᵉ ᵃⁿᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ᵈᵃʸ ᵒⁿ ᵉᵃʳᵗʰ, ᴵ ᵖʳᵃʸ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᶠᵒʳ ᵐʸ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ. ᴾˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ˡᵉᵗ ᵃⁿʸ ʰᵃʳᵐ ⁿᵉᵃʳ ᵗʰᵉᵐ, ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵃᵐᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵃᵗʰᵉʳ, ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵒⁿ, ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒˡʸ ˢᵖⁱʳⁱᵗ, ᴬᵐᵉⁿ.'

The way there was quiet, the silence was loud scaring the paralized ____ as she finishes her prayer. She can't do anything now, but wait for her fate that was worse than death.

They passed through various room, the wheels of the bed rolled and rolled all over the floor. ____ couldn't help but tear up fearing on what might happen to her.

They reached out an enormous door, the guards stopped and scanned their card on the screen. The door slides open and the guards continued their dissent before stopping again.

There stood the scientist who experimented on her just yesterday, the head scientist. He stood there looking quite impatient as he couldn't stop tapping his shoe on the floor.

He finally noticed the five guards and the unmoving ____ on the hospital bed, the guards left the two alone.

The scientist walked towards her way, pulling the medical trolley with him. She noticed the items on the trolley, there layed a surgical kit with 6 vials, the half of it was empty while the others were full and lastly on the side was a pill container with sleeping pills filled to the brim.

The scientist took the pill container on the trolley, it's name "Zolpidem" written in the middle. ____ can't help but shake and struggled as the scientist gets near, she closed her eyes as the scientist harsh hand opened her mouth and forced the pills inside her mouth.

____ almost choked as the pills went to her throat, her eyes tearing up at the scientist harsh way of feeding her the pills. Her gurgles got even louder as the scientist shoved another, her saliva and tears stained her face.

She felt so dizzy and her breathing pattern grows weaker and weaker by the second, the pill was finally kicking in. Her entire body just stopped moving and stayed still, her mind and body was relaxing just like a porcelain doll.

'ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ɢᴏᴅ ɪɴ ʜᴇʟʟ.' was her last thought before finally succumbing to the darkness.

The scientist took the surgical knife and began to cut by the guide of an imaginary line, the unconscious girl bled and her face slightly scrunched up due to the pain.

Tears escaped the girls closed eyes, but the man just continued and finally placed the bloodied knife on the trolley. The scientist just continued his work that almost took him nine whole hours to just finish.

The poor girl's body was full of scars, a different scientist had to bandage up her whole body to avoid infecting her wounds.

The scientist almost gagged, just seeing the brutal and bloody scar's on the girls body made them sick, but they have to hold it in.

Aefter that they had to put the unconscious girl on one of the biggest testing area, where two 'failed' experiment are. They looked at the girl curiously.

The girl was still unresponsive, still laying on the cold floor. Her form was slowly turning into a mutation of both jellyfish and shark like creature.

The two nudge her trying to wake her up.

Yet nothing seems to wake the girl up, worried they tried shaking her. Still didn't worked.

Maybe attacking her will work? No.

They gave up and just waited for the girl to wake up, they stayed by her side protecting her unconscious body to any scientists that might harm her.

The scientists watching this on the glass took notes of the protective behavior of the two, writing each and every detail in a clean sheet of paper and laying it down on the table before watching what might unfold next.

The girls face was relaxed, almost as if she's home with her mother and brother just with her, she smiles subconsciously while a single tear escaped her eyes, Knowing she can't ever escape this hellish place plated in the cold iron underwater where no daylight could ever shine.

˖°🌊🎐𓇼⋆🦪₊

⋅˚₊‧ ୨ᴱⁿᵈ ᵒᶠ ⁰²୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

🅿🅴🆁🆂🅾🅽🅰🅻

🅷🅴🅰🅳🅲🅰🅽🅾🅽

(None at this moment)

ᴵ ᵗʳⁱᵉᵈ ᵐᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ⁿᵉʷ ᵃʳᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʲ-⁴⁹

ˢʰᵉ ˡᵒᵒᵏˢ ʷᵉⁱʳᵈ ᵒⁿ ᵗʰⁱˢ ˢᵗʸˡᵉ😞

#pressure #sebastian pressure #sebastian solace #sebastian roblox #reader insert #reader x sebastian solace #roblox pressure #sebastian x reader #oc x canon #my art #artists on tumblr

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miss-anthropyxx · 5 months ago

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Abdomino-pelvic impalement x3 in a 17-year-old who somehow managed to not die

[Original medical journal case report] [Credit to how this was found]

A 17-year-old female fell from second floor directly over iron rods of an under-construction building at midnight. Although three iron rods penetrated inside her body, she was conscious and oriented but cried in pain. Neighbours cut the rods from the iron pillar with drilling machine and shifted the patient from accident site to the emergency department of our hospital which took 5 hours. During this interval, she was in sitting posture and could not lie down fearing additional trauma due to the penetrating rods. On examination, she was conversant and had a pulse rate of 126/minute and pallor. Two iron rods could be seen penetrating her abdomen and pelvis while the third one went through and through her gluteal region [Figure 1].

A part of her cloth also went inside the path of the iron rods. Blood clots could be seen at the entry and exit wounds. Abdomen was not distended, and child had passed clear urine once on her way to the emergency department. There was no evidence of any injury to the chest, head, neck, spine or the extremities. At arrival, along with the primary survey, an intravenous line was secured to start fluids, antibiotics and analgesics. Tetanus toxoid and tetanus immunoglobulin were administered. Simultaneously, samples were sent for routine blood investigations and cross match. Haemoglobin was 8.9 and haematocrit was 27. Chest, abdominal and pelvic skiagrams were taken to assess the passage of the rods and any bony injury. One of the rods could be seen penetrating through the right iliac bone. Another rod went through and through the ascending colon just distal to the ileo-caecal junction and also the right iliac bone. There were no major vascular or urinary injuries. All the solid organs were spared. Resection of the jejunal segment containing the two perforations was done followed by end-to-end jejuno-jejunostomy.

Patient was shifted to the operation theatre and was put in left lateral position between the operation table and shifting trolley, so that the rods came in between the trolley and the operation table. In this position, patient had induction of anaesthesia using 100% oxygen for 3 minutes followed by Etomidate (100 mg), Fentanyl (75 mcg) and Succinylcholine (75 mg) [Rapid sequence induction], followed by intubation using cuffed oro-endotracheal tube of size 7.0. Following this, patient was maintained on Oxygen, Air and Sevoflurane, then patient was shifted to operation table in sitting posture and surgical procedure was started. Rod in the gluteal region was removed first after increasing its entry and exit wounds slightly. It was seen to pierce only the gluteal muscles. The passage was washed with hydrogen peroxide and saline and packed with betadine-soaked gauze. She was then turned supine and laparotomy was done through midline incision. One of the rods was seen to pierce the jejunum twice at approximately 30 and 40 cm from the duodeno-jejunal junction [Figure 2].

Ileo-ascending anastomosis was done after excision of the caecum along with the perforated ascending colon. No orthopaedic intervention was needed for the rod penetrating the right iliac bone. Tension suturing was done after insertion of drains in pelvis, right and left paracolic gutter. She received three units of packed cells in the peri-operative period. Patient was transferred to the Intensive Care Unit post-operatively and was there for 5 days following surgery for intensive monitoring and management. Antifungal agents were added when positive fungal blood culture was seen following fever on 3rd post-operative day. Patient passed flatus on 5th post-operative day and tolerated oral food from the next day. Drains were removed on the 5th post-operative day. Wounds over gluteal and iliac regions were conservatively managed on dressing and antibiotics. The total duration of hospitalization was 24 days and patient were discharged with advice of daily dressing of these wounds. First follow-up was after 15 days of discharge and subsequent two follow-ups were after one and three months of discharge. She has been asymptomatic on follow-ups. Figure [3] shows her scars after 3 months of discharge from hospital.

#medical gore #cw: gore #gore #impaled #impalement #medical journal #surgery #flesh #organ #wound #serious injury #personal

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medilabware · 7 months ago

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Surgical Instrument Trolley

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#crash cart trolley #emergency crash cart trolley #medicine crash cart #emergency equipment trolley #emergency crash trolley #emergency drug trolley #dressing trolley #surgical trolley #surgical instrument trolley #ot instrument trolley #oxygen cylinder trolley #hospital emergency carts

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xamaxenta · 4 months ago

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SABO BEING KNOWN FOR INTERREGATIONS AND HAS A TEETH NECKLACE basically his go to move in interrogation is yanking teeth and he always keeps them in his stash and has a necklace of all his favorite victims teeth-

i am becoming unhinged WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!

OH? ????Hello anon you’d like to discuss the intricacies of my favourite whiteboy bastard !!!

Perhaps not a necklace thats crude even for Sabo, would you be open to considering his toothy trophy being a decorative piece like artfully laid out he has charts… data if you will on which ones prompt the most interesting results (information)

tooth pulling imo plays off better as a psychological tactic more than a guarantee, i love the idea of Sabo utilising it as a threat more so than an act he particularly enjoys

But hes not just a barker hes got the bite and the grip strength to prove it, so imagine him getting chummy with his target

Hes been seated beside them for a while now, no amount of banter or threats to their family or personal general safety is budging them so he stands up with a crisp sigh and strides off stage right to return wheeling a very

Ominous steel cart, you know the one those surgical trolleys

And laid out are his tools, most are just medieval barbaric imitations of generic forceps which is all hes really gonna need tbh but its about PRESENTATION

And beneat the tray of tools is a neat velvet display of all the past teeth hes harvested

He smiles, not a single. Tooth of his own missing oh hes fucking rubbing it in isnt he? Gets personal again like ah, Major corporal blahblah was it? You know ive dabbled in minor surgery before and suturing isnt really my thing, field medicine is guerilla warfare in of itself, medically speaking and im better at fishing than casting heh.

Hes so funny lol laughs at his own joke as he busies himself with the trolley

So theres a choice here, game start! You could pick the easy way out sell out, save yourself your bonney lass and the baby youve got on the way or we can do this the less than profitable way which is i gather some down payment but trying to hear you through the snot, blood and tears will be excessively annoying and taxing for me yknow?

Mismatched eyes crinkling up hes really a devil in disguise 🥰

#tw: torture #tw: teeth pulling #I GUESS???#xam screams about bonkers stuff

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merciawintersageposting · 3 months ago

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A little more head canon- this time about how Rook met the Companions at the Necropolis🐦‍⬛🗡️☠️

Part 1: The Magpie.

Power is the same everywhere. Especially among the dead.

The Grand Necropolis, Maker’s Mile in common, was where the wealthy dead found new life under the careful stewardship of their equally privileged caretakers. The so-called Mortalitasi. In these grand halls, the spirits of the poor are an afterthought for most, or an encroaching blight to others.

Just like home, Rook noted warily.

They pass quietly through grand romanesque archways and stone-paved hallways in a minder’s drab brown clothes. Invisible in the bustle of spirits, guards and minders. Their head respectfully bowed under a cowl, the only sound that of the rattle of a silver trolley on wheels. It’s such a thing to be seen by many and yet remain invisible to most, as servants often are. But then crowd cover is a shield- and Rook moved with the purposeful walk of a servant headed to complete an errand.

Most Crows count themselves as carrion makers, but Rook’s specialty was of a different variety. Less sanguine, more…surgical and acquisitive. Amidst all the rumors and speculation about the Crows, you’ve likely heard whispers of the ragazze. A pitiable pun, but the Antivan root word for “youth” is gazze, or Magpie. Trained from toddling to adulthood as the wily procurers of shiny objects, they are taught to fetch and retrieve for the guild. Curios. Information. Secrets. Birds of prey collared by short leashes and even shorter lives. Rook is one of their number.

Whispers of conversation, long past and curiously present, flow around Rook through the skeletal interior of the Necropolis. Traveling along the artfully sculpted ribbed dome toward shelves filled with noble bones in noble tableaus. All leading to the offices of the Mourn Watch.

Normally this corridor is silent as a tomb, the only indications of life the mottled marble plaques above each door inscribed with the names of individual Watchers. The living stewards of the mostly departed.

Today however, voices carry from the office of Professor Emmrich Volkarin. Rook had expected a few disruptions. Patience is not a virtue for a Crow after all. Simply the cost of doing business. So they waited in the wings, and listened.

An upper class tenor voice said something they couldn’t quite make out- something about a text, the undead, and the Fade, but the man was speaking too animatedly for Rook to catch it. This, they were certain, was the Watcher in question.

“We know the Necropolis is next, Professor.” Harding cut through the professor’s academic soliloquy.

At this Emmrich deflated- and sat down heavily in his office chair, fingers steepled.

“It’s all rather apocalyptic,” Emmrich said, and then more decidedly, “Manfred— this calls for tea.”

The skeleton’s unearthly green gems glittered with banked sass.

“But of course. And will his lordship also require shortbread?” the skeleton riposted in the most affected and crusty accent he could muster.

Emmrich pursed his lips, accustomed as he was to their dynamic.

“As you may recall, I rang last time. And you drew tails this morning.” Emmrich replied.

“Pity that,” Manfred tutted in false sympathy, “but don’t get up on my account, think of your knees.”

“…and Manfred-“ Emmrich ignored the barb and continued abashed, “about the biscuits...”

Manfred pulled the brown velvet bell pull at the doorway while the glittering gems in his eye sockets rolled so loudly they creaked.

“We were saying Professor—“ Varric interjected, clearing his throat as he had little stomach for pleasantries today. He shared this trait with the Crow leaning on the wall beside him. But the only sign of impatience Lucanis had shown so far was the occasional grimace at the chatty professor.

And then a little interruption changed everything. The knock at the door for tea came far too soon. All eyes snapped toward the archway.

Varric would later call what followed Mayhem at the Mortuary.

For more, here’s Part 2.

#emmrich volkarin #da4 #dragon age: the veilguard #lucanis dellamorte #varric tethras #lace harding #emmrich the necromancer #dragon age #datv #rook #antivan crows #canon shmanon #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #da4 emmrich #the magpie #oc #antivan crow #vetta de riva

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rock-and-compass · 13 days ago

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Angel - Episode 5.11 – Damage

Precursor - I wrote about the fifth season of Angel many years ago - probably around the time that the season 8 comics were first being published. I originally published these meta essays over on LiveJournal and I've decided to re-post them (as written), mostly for archival reasons. I love season 5 of Angel. It's such a shame it got axed before it could get the envisioned 6th and 7th series

Once upon a time there was a little girl called Dana. She was a nice, normal little girl with a nice, normal life. But when she was ten years old her family was brutally murdered. Dana was abducted, imprisoned for months on end during which time she was abused and tortured by the killer. Somehow, she managed to escape but she was never the same again. She was damaged beyond repair. The kindest thing that could be done for Dana was to put her in an institution and keep her sedated to give her poor, tormented soul some peace. Somewhere, deep in her numbed brain, she dreamed. She dreamed dreams of girls and monsters and heroics and death. Those dreams stayed locked inside. She was safe in her tranquilised refuge; safe from monsters and murderers and molesters and…dreams. She was safe for fifteen years. And then, suddenly, things changed. . . Damage is an episode about consequences, seen and unseen. It’s about the past, present and future colliding, intersecting, converging, reminding us of the influence each one exerts over the other, of choices made, of roads taken, of regrets, of mistakes and how we are complex products of these interactions. As Darla once said with great effect:

“What we once were informs all that we have become.”

Damage opens with a minor crisis at a psychiatric ward. There has been a mix-up with the medication; Phillip has been given Thorazine, a sedative, instead of his usual Lithium. The doctor on call wants to know who got the Lithium by mistake. His question is answered by the sound of crashing and banging coming from one of the rooms. The banging stops. With the silence the doctor and nurses breathe a sigh of relief. It's short lived. At the far end of the corridor a door is thrown violently off its hinges to reveal a crazed young woman, breathing heavily and looking menacing. She walks from her cell towards the doctor and his assistants. They back off; keen to get away from the dangerous patient. The girl sees a hypodermic syringe in the doctor’s hand, senses danger and attacks. She punches and orderlies as the doctor retreats. A guard tries to retaliate but makes no impact on the girl. She sees a surgical implement, a saw, on a nearby trolley; she grabs it and cuts purposefully into the neck of one of the men. The clearly audible cracking and crunching of the bone and cartilage leaves no doubt, she has decapitated him. With bloodied fingers she ritualistically draws five lines down her face. It’s primitive and brutal.

Gunn walks the corridor of Wolfram and Hart like he owns the place, cell phone glued to his ear, legalistic jargon rolling off his tongue. He’s confident, Über confident; so confident that he’ll take on the District Attorney to win his case. Fred wonders if this is wise, but hey, what’s a D.A. compared to the power of Wolfram and Hart? Gunn was given the power of knowledge by the firm and he’s proving himself the most adept of the former Angel Investigations team at embracing, not only the gift but the opportunity that the move to Wolfram and Hart afforded. He tells Fred that half the cases that cross their desks are settled on the golf course and never see the inside of a courtroom:

Fred: Nine holes instead of a jury of your peers. Just what the founding fathers had in mind. Gunn: Well, sometimes you gotta work the system before it works you

And Gunn’s certainly working the system. Not for him are trivial ideals such as the constitutional right to legal voice and the principles of democracy. He’s got power; he made a choice to use it. But still he feels the need to defend his belief, his faith in what they are doing:

>Gunn: Look, I know our move to Wolfram & Hart hasn't been all flowers and candy, but we've been able to do some serious good while we're here. Lives saved, disasters averted, with all our fingers and souls still attached. End of the day, I'm thinking we made the right choice.

Some serious good, even if the rules have to be bent to achieve it. For Gunn, the end justifies the means. But Angel’s not so sure. He’s back to thinking they made a mistake in coming here. The events of Soul Purpose have got him wondering, thinking, got him looking inward and not liking what he sees. Got him questioning why they are there – yet again. And yet again he can’t enlighten his team. That would necessitate a rather awkward explanation. Leading to all kinds of “you did what to our memories?!” But the truth is safe for the moment. They are all too preoccupied with Eve and her suspected betrayal to question Angel about his concerns with their tenancy at Wolfram and Hart. The rest of the team wants her fired, can’t believe that Angel hasn’t done it already. Gunn warns against such rash action using lawyer-talk words like ‘alleged’ and ‘evidence’ and the promise of a long bloody fight with her if they make a premature move. And that hits home. She’s not the ideal person to let loose with a burning grudge. She knows a thing or two about Angel and his awkward secret that he really doesn’t want to become public knowledge, ever. He concedes that Gunn’s safely-safely approach is their only option. Harmony breaks into the deliberations with news of an escapee from a psychiatric hospital. It’s of concern to Wolfram and Hart because of the suspicion that the patient in question is demonically possessed. They’ve had a few of these cases before, it requires finesse, so Angel will handle it. He goes to the hospital alone to assess the situation.

At the hospital two lifts open in perfect unison to reveal not only Angel in one, but Spike in the other. It is a great analogy for the rest of the episode and indeed Spike and Angel themselves, arriving at the same destination from very different routes… but more on that later. The coincidence makes Spike laugh and wonder if Angel is checking himself in after the little parasite messed with his brain. Angel finds no humour in the situation:

Angel: What are you doing here Spike? Spike: Didn't get the memo? Hero of the people now. Angel: Oh, then go and annoy them. Spike: When I'm done. Heard one of the simples went for a stroll. Angel: And I'll get her back without your help. Spike: Goody for you, 'cause, uh, not offering it. Angel: Look, shouldn't you be out in the streets, you know, protecting the city from people like you? Spike: Go where I'm needed. Angel: Well, which isn't here.

In just five lines of dialogue Angel manages to speak five phrases of dismissal to Spike. He makes it patently clear that he doesn’t want his wayward ‘grandchild’ anywhere in the vicinity of his person, has no faith in his ability to do the job and expresses his doubt that Spike has changed at all. Despite his best-efforts Angel fails in his objective. Spike stubbornly stays though now with a freshly fueled desire to prove the old bastard wrong. Again. They both get shown the escapee’s room. The walls are covered with child-like drawings of monsters and beasts, many of whom are being confronted by a lone girl. The doctor explains the circumstances of the case:

Doctor: She was a special case. Her family was murdered in their home when she was 10. Whoever did it took Dana... and tortured her for months. She was found one day naked and bleeding, wandering the streets. Barely functional, nearly catatonic ever since…. Several months ago her condition changed. Increasing levels of agitation accompanied by explosive outbursts of inhuman strength.

Spike decides on demon possession as the likely explanation (although why he doesn't hit on the obvious answer is a bit frustrating, character-wise). The doctor ridicules the suggestion, and Angel agrees that he’s not helping, consequently Spike rushes off with no forethought as to what he’s actually going to do, just determination to find the girl, to show Angel what he’s made of, the impetuousness of youth in action. Angel is not so easily satisfied. Experience tells him there’s more to know and he wants the full story and he needs to help her, because she’s a little girl robbed from her family, taken into hell, deranged by the experience. To Angel, at this moment, she’s not Dana, she’s Connor, lost and needing to be rescued. It cuts too close to home.

One of the nurses turns out to be a fount of information. It seems that the doctor has videotaped all his sessions with Dana and she’s only too happy to show him if it means she can get her foot in the door at Wolfram and Hart, that’s why she tipped them off in the first place.

As Angel watches videos, Dana stands in a grocery store eating cakes straight from the packet. The clerk tells her, quite nicely, that she’ll have to pay for them, but Dana has no patience for the interference. She grabs his arm and twists it obscenely until it breaks, sending the unsuspecting boy to his knees in pain. Completely immune to the fact that she’s just maimed the store clerk, Dana walks over to the clothes section. She selects jeans and a black t-shirt. Looking at the t-shirt triggers a flashback, a memory of a man also wearing a black t-shirt, walking past a cringing little girl, walking to a tool bench, looking at various, bloodied implements, choosing a saw, standing over the little girl with the promise of threat and menace. An armed security guard corners Dana, points his gun at her nervously. He doesn’t want to hurt her. Dana has no such compunction. As soon as she feels threatened, she reacts. It’s instinctive. Trouble is she hasn’t the capacity to distinguish between help and harm. And as she leaves the supermarket wearing her freshly appropriated clothing, we see that her saw, the one she took from the hospital, is covered in fresh blood. We don’t think the security guard survived his encounter with Dana.

On the doctor’s videotapes are recordings of Dana during her therapy sessions. She’s wild and uncontrollable, so much so that she’s straight jacketed. She spews forth frenzied, unintelligible rants in a multitude of languages. She’s like a caged animal. She does seem possessed. Then they come to a segment that Angel understands; it’s Romani. He understands it all too well and it brings enlightenment, helps him understand what they are dealing with. So, Dana morphs again, metaphorically speaking. No longer his relinquished son, suddenly she’s taking him further back, right back to a Gypsy girl, to a curse and the very beginnings of ‘Angel’ as opposed to ‘Angelus’ and she’s why he has to do what he does. Make amends, balance the scales. She’s the embodiment of victims' past – every single one of them.

The police have swarmed to the supermarket. Ambulances are in attendance too. But there is no sign of Dana, just the bloody mess she left behind. Spike arrives, assesses the scene quickly, surreptitiously drops to the pavement, touches the blood, inhales the scent and walks away. He’s got vampire senses and he’s not afraid to use them. Angel takes a much more detached approach. He calls Wesley, orders back-up; a ‘technical assault team’ with a ‘non-lethal ordinance’. Angel has Wolfram and Hart resources and he’s not afraid to use them. Was there ever any other way?

But Spike finds her faster - wants to fight the demon out of the poor, mistreated little girl. He slips into game face, which as it turns out was not the best move to make. Angel reveals to Wesley that Dana is not possessed, she’s not a demon, in the videos she was yelling about being chosen. She’s a vampire slayer.

Dana looks at Spike and smiles; it’s a little maniacal sure, but it exudes confidence. He’s toast. She has no fear. She was born to kill these fiends. She’s a slayer. Spike and Dana fight. He still thinks he’s trying to get a demon to appear. But she knows the rules. She grabs a splinter of wood and tries to plunge it into his chest. He grabs her hand and prevents the piercing. She speaks to him in Chinese, words he’s heard before. He even replies with the exact same words he used over one hundred years ago, “Sorry love, I don’t speak Chinese”, but still he doesn’t realise, doesn’t make the connection with what has gone before. He doesn’t realise that he’s been thrust back in time and is fighting his slayer from the Boxer Rebellion all over again. This one has a different outcome. Spike ends up being thrown out a window, landing with a thud and a shower of glass on the concrete below as Angel finally arrives on the scene.

Somewhere between that alley and the Wolfram and Hart office Angel tells Spike exactly what the problem is; a psychotic slayer:

Angel: And you let her get away. Spike: At least I was trying to stop her. Angel: Oh, how'd that work out? Spike: At least I know the game, now, don't I? I killed two slayers with my own hands. Think I can handle one that's gone daft in the melon.

Those slayers are still his claim to fame, even with the soul. They are something that even the great Angelus can’t boast. Once it was about killing them, chasing the most challenging fights, fights with no certainty of victory, for the sheer thrill. Now he’s saying he can find Dana because he knows slayers; knows them better than Angel. But Angel doesn’t want his help:

Angel: You're not handling anything, Spike. OK? Wes contacted Rupert Giles. He's sending his top guy to retrieve her

Notice that word ‘retrieve’ - “He's sending his top guy to retrieve her”, we’ll come back to that later too. They enter the conference room. Wesley, Gunn, Fred and Lorne are already assembled. Oh, and Rupert Giles’ “top guy” is none other than Andrew, one time third of the evil trio who was reluctantly adopted into Buffy’s gang after he expressed willingness to alter his wicked ways. Andrew spins around in his swivel chair and is stunned to see Spike. He’s happy to see Spike . . . okay ecstatic might be more accurate:

Andrew: Spike? It's you. It's really you! My therapist thought I was holding onto false hope, but... I knew you'd come back. You're like... you're like Gandalf the White, resurrected from the pit of the Balrog, more beautiful than ever. Ohh... he's alive, Frodo. He's alive.

Andrew holds Spike in an emotional embrace, touches his face in awe and wonder then hugs him again and Spike … lets him. No words of rejection, no words designed to humiliate. Oh sure, Spike’s a little discomfited by this public display of affection but he doesn’t tell Andrew to stop. He endures it with good grace. Angel watches all this closely, with a guarded expression on his face. Here he is forced to see another perspective of Spike via someone who loves and values him, who is happy that he has managed to defy the ultimate death. And it has to be said, the comparison to Gandalf from the Lord of the Rings trilogy is priceless. Gandalf, a hobbit loving wizard, prone to bad habits that prevented his ascension to higher status until the sacrifice of his life to save his companions allows him to finally move from ‘grey’ to ‘white’. That someone, (including by implication Buffy) might view Spike as this glorious is strange and disturbing to Angel. It’s yet another contradiction to his staunchly held belief that Spike is incapable of change and that the whole ‘good’ Spike is nothing but a charade. Additionally, it’s also a little bit more confirmation of all those subconscious fears he's been feeling - fears of irrelevancy, failure, fears he’s been battling since he made the deal with Wolfram and Hart, that were exacerbated by Spike’s big comeback. Andrew, of course, wants to know how this is possible, but Angel, not wanting to be reminded of Spike’s other claim to fame, tells them to save the trip down memory lane for later.

Andrew, ever the storyteller, gives the group the low down on slayer mythology. Nothing they didn’t already know, except for a deeper explanation of the phenomenon of slayer dreams (as shown in the original film of Buffy the Vampire Slayer) and how potential slayers experience vivid dreams of the heroics of slayers past as preparation for the possibility of becoming the one and only Chosen One. Dana is therefore at the mercy of her dreams. She has no capacity to separate fantasy from reality, dream slayers from herself, past from present.

Andrew’s approach to Angel and his people does him no favours. He adopts his storytelling persona, imparts information that is known, cheekily denigrates Wesley and his ex-watcher status. It is quite clear that he is not Giles’ ‘top guy’ and Team Angel must suspect that they have been fobbed off with a substitute. Angel is openly sarcastic while the others snicker and roll their eyes at his antics. Lorne gets the discussion back on track by asking:

Lorne: Uh, wait. So if there's only one slayer, what is little miss whack-your-head-off doing scampering around?

But hang on, didn’t Lorne spend a good portion of the season four episode “Orpheus” (A4.15) nursing Faith, a second vampire slayer, as she fought the effects of a powerful demon drug? Is this forgetfulness a consequence of the memory wipe or an inelegantly phrased inquiry as to Faith’s possible demise? (Or, the short memory of the script writer?) To answer the question, “Little Sunnydale surprise” Spike supplies with a nod of his head towards Andrew, encouraging him to continue with his tale:

Andrew: Six months ago, Buffy, Vampyr Slayer extraordinaire, had her lesbian witch make with the beaucoup de magie. One light show later... Angel: All the potentials become slayers.

It is open to interpretation as to whether Angel knew about the ‘Sunnydale surprise’ beforehand. If his words are read as completing Andrew’s explanation then, he does indeed already know about it but has failed to share this information with anybody in his team, not even Wesley, who as a former Watcher would naturally be interested in such a huge development. If his words are translated as anticipating the rest of Andrew’s sentence, then this means that he didn’t know and that he’s only learning about it now along with everybody else. This would also mean that Buffy hadn’t told him - Told him about Spike’s demise, but not about the expansion of the sisterhood. Either way, kinda big details are being left out by somebody. Wesley is full of admiration for the strategy describing it as ‘brilliant’. But then by wondering how hundreds of slayers could possibly receive their proper training without the aid of the Watcher’s Council betrays his stance on how the Watcher-Slayer dynamic should work. Once a Watcher…

But Wes need not worry; Mr. Giles and a few key Sunnydale alumni have been busy rounding up the recently chosen. Andrew claims Dana is an anomaly that no one could have foreseen but that’s not strictly true. Surely the possibility that not every potential was equipped for a life of Slayerdom should have occurred to them? During season seven of Buffy the potentials that arrived at Revello Drive came from very different spheres of life, different circumstances. Transfer this to a world scale, post-empowerment and it is not only possible, but indeed likely that some chosen ones would have problems or issues that make them unsuitable for the duty. And, hey, does anyone remember an ‘anomaly’ called Faith? Surely her history alone made the possibility of a ‘Dana’ or others like her a realistic consideration.

What we are really seeing here is the consequences of the Sunnydale spell. In season seven, Buffy came up with the idea of empowering the potentials as a last resort. She had a mission and that’s all that mattered. Her need was immediate. Magically activating the Potentials allowed her to wage war on behalf of the world. She gave a stirring speech, offered them a choice, and gave them power. That was fine for the girls who were there, in the living room with Buffy but the spell was far more far reaching, affecting girls all over the world and therefore so are the consequences. Dana is one exploration of this, ‘The Chain'' written by Joss Whedon (Dark Horse Comics, Season 8, #5) is another in which the unnamed Slayer specifically says she didn’t get a choice, she got chosen. The empowerment spell was not all cake and ice-cream because, as Spike once warned, there are always consequences with magic. Unfortunately for Dana, the result of the empowerment is that she’s no longer an innocent victim, kept quiet and safe in her hospital ward, now she is a murderer, a super strong killer with no moral boundaries. Her power has allowed her to choose (with her impaired capabilities) not to be weak, but in doing so she chooses to use that strength to kill.

So, when they put all the information together, Dana’s sudden awakening, the super strength, the dreams, the languages, the instinctual ability, it all makes perfect sense:

Spike: Explains why that skirt was yapping at me in Chinese. Must've thought she was the slayer I took out back in the Boxer Rebellion.

Causing Angel to take a pot shot from his vantage point way, way up on the high moral ground:

Angel: You mean the slayer you murdered.

Like he’s innocent of heinous crimes just because he hasn’t killed a slayer! It’s like the proverbial pot calling the kettle black. And one might argue that in the case of slayers, at least Spike went for targets that knew the score, could fight back, defend themselves, and had a better than average chance of actually winning. And for Spike, with the risk came the thrill. Not like Angelus who chose his victims for entirely different purposes. Different routes, same objective, even when they were evil. Spike excuses his past actions by virtue of the fact that he didn’t have a soul then to which Angel replies:

Angel: Right, 'cause having one now is making such a difference

It’s the ultimate insult. The denigration of his hard-won soul is too much for Spike to take and once again, Angel’s slur drives him from the room. He leaves the corporates to it, determined to get the job done himself. To his credit, Angel seems to realise that he’s gone too far. He follows Spike into the foyer to stop his rash departure, arguing that they are the last two people who should be confronting Dana because she is a slayer who doesn’t understand the existence of good Vampyrs, and that she exists solely to kill their kind:

Spike: Dance of death. Eternal struggle. Right. Got it.

He’s danced this dance before; it’s all he’s ever done.

Angel: You will...when she's staking you in the heart.

And if we suspected it before, thought we sensed the echo, now we’re certain. A conversation had in a mineshaft over a hundred years before still resonates with meaning and significance all the way here in the twenty-first century:

Spike: Yeah, you know what I prefer to being hunted? Getting caught. Angelus: That's a brilliant strategy really... pure cunning. Spike: Sod off! Come on. When was the last time you unleashed it? All out fight in a mob, back against the wall, nothing but fists and fangs? Don't you ever get tired of fights you know you're going to win? Angelus: No. A real kill. A good kill. It takes pure artistry. Without that, we're just animals.

The threat of a stake doesn’t deter the impetuous Spike. He quickly corrects Angel’s misconception that he doesn’t know what he’s dealing with:

Spike: What do you want me to do? Go all boo-hoo 'cause she got tortured and driven out of her gourd? Not like we haven't done worse back in the day. Angel: Yeah, and it's something I'm still paying for. Spike: And you should let it go, mate. It's starting to make you look old

One can’t get his eyes off the victims, only with the soul they afford no pleasure; it translates into infinite remorse, it drives his quest for redemption. The other can’t spare a backward glance. The thrill was in the chase, the fight and besides, that guy, the one who did that bit-o-bad, he simply doesn’t exist anymore, won’t return, no need to look back is there, can’t change it anyway. Again, we have a situation in which Spike and Angel could learn a lesson from the other. Angel is too fixated with what he was, what he still could be. While for Spike the occasional look behind him would subdue that well practiced arrogance and increase his compassion for the helpless he’s trying to help.

Dana is down at the docks. She’s alone and she’s scared and remembering the past; a dark room, a metal box, herself as a child, screaming. The memories upset her. A dock worker sees her, asks her if she needs some help. He’s trying to help but Dana doesn’t understand. At Wolfram and Hart Angel has the team on deck but its slow going:

Angel: M-maybe Spike was right. Maybe we should just get out there and find her.

Okay, so when Spike’s not around Angel can admit he’s not a complete moron and also, maybe, he’s just a little bit envious, that Spike’s out there working the streets while he’s constrained by his gilded cage. But Fred asks a pertinent question. Then what? What do they do with her once they’ve found her? It does raise the question of what Spike will do with her once he finds her; suspect he didn’t think that far ahead. He’s too determined to prove a point to think about minor details like how to restrain a psychotic vampire slayer. Even with Wolfram and Harts copious resources there is no quick fix, no way to find the girl with any precision. Lorne suggests talking to the house where it all began, Dana’s childhood home. Angel wants to get Andrew in on the plan, but he is nowhere to be found. Andrew, of course, has followed his hero.

Spike: What are you doing out here, Andrew? Andrew: This is where the action is, bro, on the mean streets. Can you dig it?

Spike makes one attempt to get Andrew to go away because there is no time for games, this is a serious situation, but Andrew argues that he’s changed too. He’s stronger, faster, 82% more manly but ruins the effect by tripping over Dana’s latest victim (the unfortunate dock worker) and going to jelly.

At Dana’s house Angel and Lorne have enlisted the services of a psychic to communicate with the house. He touches the walls and feels fear, pain and anguish, sees flashes of Dana’s parents and a baby sibling being tormented and killed. He needed them to suffer. And for a fleeting moment we feel the presence of Angelus, another killer who needed his victims to suffer. They share a modus operandi. The psychic continues. He sees a flash of a little girl, trying to be invisible, silent as she hides under the bed, but the predator senses her all the same. Suddenly there’s the shadow of a little girl in a coal bin trying to be quiet (Crush, B5.14) and do you have any idea of what he’s done to girls Dawn’s age (Never Leave Me, B7.09). It’s not difficult to realise that Dana could be the product of Angel or Spike. That Dana is a prime example of the handy-work they used to undertake, that they were experts in the art of killing. It’s easy to forget what they were, back in the day, but Dana reminds us. It can be uncomfortable having a couple of vampires as the central heroes of the text. But the psychic is able to provide one last pair of clues – molasses and a basement.

Dana descends some stairs to a dingy, dirty basement. It’s a place she knows. She has returned to the scene of the crime, to where her pain lives. She goes to an old vent, removes the grill and retrieves a metal box. In the box is a collection of vials and hypodermic syringes. As she looks at the contents of the box she has a flash of memory, of a man taking a needle, preparing it for use. ”Let’s try the blue one this time”, says her captor as he kneels before a trembling little Dana. And then we see what we’ve been half expecting. Her tormentor is Spike.

Andrew and Spike walk along the docks and finally we get some news on the Scoobies, even if it is just a smidgen. Xander is in Africa, Willow is in Brazil. Giles is most likely in London, judging by the Union Jack on Andrew’s sandwich bag. Andrew asks what blood smells like; Spike tells him it is metallic, like sucking on a penny. But it’s not the topic of conversation that’s interesting here, it’s the communication. Andrew asks a question, Spike answers. No sarcasm, no annoyance, just honest answers. It allows Spike to ask about the one person he really wants to know about:

Spike: So, uh...you heard from Buffy lately? Andrew: Yeah. Of course, uh...she's in Rome. Dawn's in school there. Italian school.

Apparently she was rounding up slayers in Italy and decided she liked it. She needed a break from California. And the other Scoobies, judging by the far-flung locations of the globe they are all residing. Then Andrew realises:

Andrew: …Wait a minute. She doesn't know you're alive, does she? Spike: I don't think so. I mean... I don't know. Does she? Andrew: No. N-no. She can't. I mean... I—I would've heard about it. We would've had a conference call. Why haven't you told her? Spike: "Hello, Buffy. It's Spike. I didn't burn up like you thought. How are things?" Andrew: Uh...do you want me to tell her? 'Cause I—I'm really good with those...uh, delicate personal— Spike: No. Don't tell her. I'll take care of it.

But he doesn’t. Spike doesn’t tell Buffy that he’s alive and other things get in the way, and we’re left with the assumption that Andrew does in fact spill the beans because by the time Spike and Buffy do come face to face once more, she knows and has known for some time (Season 8 #36/37). So, they continue to walk the mean streets together. Dana watches them from a rooftop very much as Spike did to Angel in `In the Dark” (A1.03). The hunted has become the hunter.

So, what we really have here is a study of two relationships. Two sets of metaphorical brothers if you will. The first Angel and Spike have a long and checkered history. It’s a relationship that has been founded on a hierarchy, a dominance-subservience dynamic that has tainted the whole connection. It’s competitive, it’s untrusting, it’s sometimes violent. It brings out the worst in both Angel and Spike. Angel is always at his petty best, his most arrogant, his most dictatorial when Spike is in the room. And Spike, well he is just painfully obnoxious, annoying and snarky whenever Angel is in the vicinity. We know it’s just Angel that brings out these traits so profoundly. The writers have been at pains to show us this. His dealings with other people, with Fred, with Pavaynne, with Eve, with Lindsey and with Andrew demonstrate this. When he’s interacting with others, good, bad or indifferent, then we get to see the real Spike, Buffy season seven Spike. The really affecting aspect of Spike and Angel’s relationship is that, beneath the surface, beneath the cycle of rejection, vicious words and taunting there is real longing. While this is particularly obvious on Spike’s side it’s not completely absent from Angel either. Spike longs for recognition and acceptance from Angel, wants it more than just about anything. Angelus was always a source of inspiration to the younger vampire and the addition of a soul, and a change of team hasn’t changed that. But for Angel, Spike has the potential to be an ally, someone who understands what it means to be a vampire with a soul in this world of evil. He is a source of hope that the demon inside can be defeated, he is a son to be proud of, he’s a legacy… and yet, Angel cannot bring himself to see anything but what was. Angel has his blinkers on and refuses to take them off, so the relationship is prevented from moving forward because of Angel’s steadfast refusal to accept that Spike has changed and acknowledge him as an equal. So instead, it stays mired in the same repetitive, unproductive pattern of butting heads, mocking and denial.

In complete contrast to this is the Spike and Andrew dynamic. Spike and Andrew’s relationship is of a shorter duration and is certainly not as intense as Spike and Angel’s is, but it can still teach a lesson or two. Spike first encountered Andrew when he asked Warren Mears to examine his chip in “Smashed” (B6.09). Unbeknownst to Spike, Andrew, Jonathan and Warren had recently decided to team up to become super villains and take over Sunnydale. Andrew made no impact on Spike whatsoever, but the vampire left a strong impression on Andy. In “Entropy” (B6.18) when the trio see a video feed of Spike and Anya engaged in sexual intercourse, Andrew’s first observation is that Spike is ‘so cool’. Later when he’s doing the First Evil’s bidding in “Sleeper” (B7.08) he dresses like Spike to build confidence, long leather duster and all. In “Never Leave Me” (B7.09), Spike, himself under the influence of the First, takes a great hulking chunk out of Andrew’s neck. For the remainder of the season, they are two of the many house guests at Revello Drive, Andrew as a ‘guestage’ and Spike as the basement dwelling vampire in residence. In Empty Places (B7.19) they are sent on a covert mission together to find out more about the evil Caleb. Where others at the house lose patience with Andrew easily, Spike displays tolerance and fortitude (except when it is finally exhausted by a not very inspiring game of 'I Spy'). There is a lot of sub-textual empathy there too. Both know what it is like to be rejected, outsiders on the periphery of the Scoobies. Andrew lives vicariously through popular culture and Spike, the television addict, gets all those references, understands why he does it – he just keeps his inner geek on a much tighter leash than Andrew does. You see, in Andrew, Spike sees his human-self reflected. Andrew is what William would have been had he been born 150 years later. Where William expressed himself through bad poetry, so Andrew expresses himself through analogy with comics and films; each is a geek, but one that is a product of their time. This connection, this similarity is particularly strong in this episode. The physical resemblance between Andrew and Spike, (in the flashbacks to 1880 in Destiny) the hair, the colouring, are too obvious to ignore. Andrew here is Spike’s metaphorical little brother and Spike could give Angel a lesson on how this brother thing is done. Patience, kindness, acceptance, honesty; these are the things that productive relationships are based on and Spike and Andrew show it.

Angel is back at the office and believes the key to finding Dana is to know more about her abductor, his name, his past, his whereabouts. Meanwhile Andrew and Spike have followed the trail of Dana into a dead end. Dana appears, knocks Spike aside and as Andrew is about to shoot her with a tranquiliser dart, knocks him out cold with a swift kick. Dana turns tail and runs out of the alley. Spike gets to his feet and chases after her. Dana lures him into her basement. She stands on the far side of the room looking nervous, scared. Spike tells her that he’s got her scent locked in, could track her for miles. “No escaping” Dana observes. “No escaping” Spike concurs. But exactly who’s not escaping is not so clear. No escaping for little Dana chained in the basement, no escaping for Spike who has been deliberately lured there, no escaping for slayer Dana who is a danger to herself and anyone unlucky enough to cross her path. This basement is the point of convergence for so many past events, it’s no wonder the roles get a bit confused.

In his approach to Dana Spike is surprisingly calm and gentle. He doesn’t want to hurt her, he even tells Dana he used to date a girl who wasn’t all there to try and gain her confidence, put her at ease. He also tries to explain why she has the visions, why she’s confused about who she is. But Dana is beyond comprehending any of this, she has too many personas fighting for control, confusing her:

Dana: Heart...and head. Have to get home. Doesn't hurt if you hold still

She talks as the slayer she is; a slayer past; as victim; as predator. And for Spike it’s not that much better. For him Dana represents mad Drusilla, the Chinese slayer, Niki Woods and Buffy all rolled into one. All these women who’ve in some way shaped and defined who he was, challenging him to redefine who he is now. Dana recognises him as what he was:

Dana: William the Bloody. Spike: No. No. No. That's not gonna lead anywhere good. You want to focus on what's real.

You want to focus on what’s real. Sure, it’s real enough that he killed the slayers once upon a time, but that Spike, that William the Bloody, simply doesn’t exist anymore, is not real anymore. This Spike, the real Spike is trying to help her; will help her if she’ll let him. But Dana is beyond help. She repeats the actions of her abductor. She drugs Spike, chains him up and tortures him, takes him apart bit by bit all the while repeating her tormentor's words – ‘don’t cry, they can’t hear you. Daddy’s gone. He can’t hear you. Piece by piece, yellow makes you weak, brown makes you sleepy.’ But then she says “Can’t hurt me anymore” and that’s the real Dana speaking. She’s trying to rewrite history, change it; make everything better.

At Wolfram and Hart they are still looking. Tactical are following the body trail but so far haven’t found her so Angel orders aerial surveillance, thermal imaging in to help to find her. The team decides to look at old city maps, for a distillery that might account for the smell of molasses. But none of it is necessary. Andrew appears:

Andrew: We were attacked. I think she got him. I think she got Spike.

Spike wakes. He is groggy but not confused. He knows that Dana has done something to him, though he’s not sure what. Dana still parrots her abuser telling Spike that if he stays quiet she’ll let him go. She’s holding her trusty saw again, looking a bit confused:

Dana: Losing all your pieces. Not weak….Can't touch me anymore.

Spike lifts his arms to reveal that his lower arms and hands have been sawn off. This is vengeance pure and simple. Dana has been wronged and, by sheer luck she was granted the power to fight back, to get revenge on the man who destroyed her. Now she’s able to fight back against her childhood weakness, against the fact that she was powerless:

Dana: No more daddy... no more mommy... no more hands. Can't touch me ever again.

But Spike doesn’t know what she’s talking about. He never touched her and he tells her so. Dana punches him for his insolence:

Spike: Stop. Stop. You got it wrong. Your brain's all jumbled. I never hurt you. It wasn't me. I've done my share of bad, but you're not one of 'em. It's someone else. You've got me confused with another man.

Spike admits he’s done wrong but he won’t wear the blame for Dana’s abuse. He doesn’t extend to her the right of judgement, that distinction he already gave that to another slayer, while he was chained in another basement, but that slayer offered mercy and faith whereas this one can only show malice. Spike tries to explain, that her memories and dreams are mixing, confusing her. Dana seems to comprehend. She listens, has some flashes of memory of Spike carrying her across the room but that memory is replaced by another, another man carrying her exactly the same way, another man, not Spike. But she still has memories of Spike. She speaks in Chinese again.

Spike: Yeah. That's what you're remembering—other slayers. Dana: You killed her. Spike: yes, but… Dana: You killed them both. Spike: That and worse. But I was never here.

In that moment, Dana understands, has a moment of clarity. She understands that she is not the other girls she sees in her dreams. They are separate and distinct. Now she is just a slayer and Spike is a vampire who has just made a very dangerous admission. She is a slayer and she intends to punish him for killing those girls, her sister slayers:

Dana: Doesn't matter! Head and heart. Keep cutting till you see dust.

Before Dana can finish him off Angel arrives and forcibly thrusts her across the room. Angel tries to reason with her:

Angel: Dana...look, I'm here to help you. The man who tried to hurt you? His name is Walter Kindel. He tried to rob a liquor store 5 years ago, and the police shot him. He—he's dead, Dana.

For Angel the all-important scales are balanced. The man who hurt Dana has received his just rewards. He’s dead. He can’t hurt her anymore. It should be simple, but it’s not. Dana is angry, she’s not weak anymore. She’s strong; slayer. A slayer with no rationale for what she does or why except for personal pain and an intuitive urge to kill the monsters, kill them all... and so she attacks. She lunges at Angel and they fight. At an opportune moment Angel holds Dana tightly and signals to Wesley to pump her full of tranquilisers. Only when Dana is under control, only then does Angel look at Spike, see his predicament and instantly orders medical aid. Fred sees Spike into the ambulance. He’s lucky; Wolfram and Hart have access to all kinds of medical procedures that will make re-attaching his hands a snap. Wesley and Angel emerge next with Dana, sedated and restrained on a gurney. Where they are taking her, what they are going to do with her is not made clear. It doesn’t matter. Andrew arrives on the scene saying he’ll take it from here:

Angel: What? Andrew: Totally appreciate your help on this one, big guy. Never could've found her without you, but you got enough problems of your own to worry about. Angel: Get outta the way, Andrew.

But, that was the deal wasn’t it? Rupert Giles sent his top man to retrieve Dana, not Rupert Giles sent his top man to help catch Dana. Retrieve: to get back, regain, recover, reclaim. Angel knew this was the plan, so when did he change his mind? When he saw that Andrew was obviously not the ‘top man’ promised? When he saw that Andrew loved Spike?

“She’s one of ours, she’s a slayer”, Andrew says. He draws a line, divides them but Angel’s not buying it. That’s not how it works, Angel rescues, Angel helps the helpless. He doesn’t just do the retrieval work for others, and he certainly doesn’t hand them over to the likes of Andrew! But Andy has more balls than Angel gave him credit for. He won’t step down; he faces off with Angel:

Andrew: No. I don't think you... heard me, Angel. Think we're just gonna let you take her back to your evil stronghold? Well, as they say in Mexico... No. We're not...gonna... let you.

Angel is equally as stubborn. He refuses to turn her over voluntarily. He doesn’t consider Andrew worthy or capable. But Andrew has backup. A dozen young women, slayers all, emerge from the darkness to stand behind him. Angel is still dismissive, Andy’s out of his league, doesn’t know the score. He’ll just clear this with Buffy. To which Andrew delivers his knockout argument, the fatal truth:

Andrew: Where do you think my orders came from? News flash—nobody in our camp trusts you anymore. Nobody. You work for Wolfram & Hart. Don't fool yourself... we're not on the same side. Thank you for your help... but, uh...we got it.

Now that’s a kick in the guts he wasn’t expecting. The girl, the slayer, who set him on his path, gave him direction after countless years of aimless wandering in the wilderness; Buffy doesn’t trust him anymore because he works for Wolfram and Hart. That’s his problem. That’s the big problem he has to worry about. That his tenure at Wolfram and Hart has compromised him, made him untrustworthy even to those who had seemingly unshakable faith. That’s how far he’s come, or been taken, so far now that he’s facing in the opposite direction to Buffy and her people; they’re on opposite sides of the line. Big problem indeed. Angel is crushed to realise it, he can’t even argue. Andrew takes Dana into the care of the Chosen sisterhood.

Buffy has a very strong sub-textual presence in this episode. Andrew brings her with him when he arrives at Wolfram and Hart. She’s walking on the docks with Andrew and Spike too. She’s all Spike wants to know about, yet he won’t allow himself to reconnect. But she’s with Spike in the basement as he’s chained up, maimed, damaged and judged. She provides a positive image to Dana’s negative. And she’s there, bold as brass, almost tangible as she withdraws her trust from Angel. This last act caused much discussion within fan communities. Many wondered why Buffy would not help Angel when he was obviously in trouble, some even speculated that Andrew was lying, spurred on by his loyalty to Spike, and that Buffy and Angel’s relationship was business as usual. In reality, the loss of Buffy’s allegiance is not so surprising. Angel has told no one the real reason that he is at Wolfram and Hart. He’s had memories wiped to ensure that it stays a secret. This would include anyone in Buffy’s camp who knew about Connor (Faith and Willow certainly, the others, no definitive confirmation is ever given). So as far as Buffy is concerned the fact that he is working for Wolfram and Hart, evil incorporated, makes him untrustworthy. They may suspect an ulterior motive, or a reason behind the move, but because Angel hasn’t shared any information, they can’t afford to take the risk. The season eight comics have revealed that Buffy is viewed as a wanted terrorist and that they are experiencing some problems with a few of the newly chosen. At this stage Buffy has to be especially careful of whom she trusts, and Wolfram and Hart are not a first-choice ally, even with Angel in charge of one division. Wouldn’t the senior partners love to co-opt a few of those slayers for themselves? Very dangerous indeed. Buffy is right to be cautious and once again, we are shown the dangers, the consequences of poor communication.

Angel goes to the hospital and finds Spike, hands freshly reattached, in a reflective mood. He says the pain he’s experiencing is just what he deserves:

Spike: The lass thought I killed her family. And I'm supposed to what, complain 'cause hers wasn't one of the hundreds of families I did kill? ...... For a demon... I never did think that much about the nature of evil. No. Just threw myself in. Thought it was a party. I liked the rush. I liked the crunch. Never did look back at the victims.

Fist and fangs, back against the wall…

And finally, Angel gives a little in return, completes the connection, tells Spike some truth about himself:

Angel: I couldn't take my eyes off them. I was only in it for the evil. It was everything to me. It was art. The destruction of a human being; I would've considered Dana a masterpiece.

A good kill, it takes pure artistry…

What we once were informs all that we have become, yup, Darla really was onto something there. Spike asks after Dana to which Angel admits:

Angel: I don't know. Um, Andrew and the slayers took her. Didn't trust us to help her

Us? Doesn’t trust us? That’s not strictly true, is it? It wasn’t Andrew that didn’t trust, it was Buffy and it’s not ‘us’, it’s you. Just you Angel. She doesn’t even know Spike is alive, though one suspects it wouldn’t make a difference. Spike doesn’t work for Wolfram and Hart. Angel does.

Spike: Andrew double-crossed us? That's a good move. Hope for the little ponce yet

Spike is just happy to be included in the ‘us’ with Angel so he can overlook the untruth, though he is genuinely proud of Andrew’s move. Well, that’s what big brothers do; they take pride in the actions of the younger one. Trusts Andrew to get her some help:

Spike: Though the tingling in my forearms tells me she's too far gone to help. She's...one of us now. She's a monster.

Angel is indignant on Dana’s behalf. She’s an innocent victim in all this. She’s helpless – it’s not her fault. To which Spike replies:

So were we... once upon a time.

Don’t misunderstand this statement. Spike’s not arguing that he and Angel are blameless for their actions because they were once the innocent victims of Darla and Drusilla. He’s saying that it’s possible to be both. That just because Dana started out as an innocent it doesn’t mean she’s not capable of monstrous deeds too. He doesn’t idealise his helpless the way that Angel does.

So as Damage closes, we leave Angel at very low ebb. Hope has receded completely, he is alone, isolated and mistrusted by his symbolic saviour. He knows he’s got a big problem but has no direction to get himself out of the labyrinth. His compass needle is spinning too fast. He needs . . . someone to get him back on track . . .

He needs . . .

Cordelia.

Next up - 5.12 - You're Welcome

#Angel #Angel season 5 #Damage #Spike #Rock and compass watches Angel #episode analysis #buffy #byvs #Andrew #episode discussion #Angel the series

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