Chapter Text
Prophecies were notoriously unreliable. Tricky things, like Faustian bargains or monkey paws. Wesley could have told him that, if he and Angel had known each other in 1997.
Instead, there was Whistler. Offering him a purpose. Pointing him towards a girl.
She was brimming with potential, power she hadn’t begun to realize, according to the demon. She would be his path to redemption, if he let her. The girl would save the world, and she would need help to do it. Angel could make the difference between the defeat of evil and the end of everything.
Later–much later–Angel would think of so many questions he could have asked and didn’t. Why him? Why her? What exactly had Whistler seen, or been told, with his gifts, that made him so certain?
At the time, though, Angel hadn’t asked nearly enough. Though he was skeptical, long past believing his afterlife could be redeemed, he saw the newest Slayer in a Los Angeles graveyard and he knew two things.
The first: Whistler was right. This was where he needed to be.
And the second: he would have to be very, very careful.
Strong, blonde, and always ready with a retort, she was just his type. He could practically hear Darla's voice in his head, mocking him for his immediate interest--the way simply seeing Buffy reminded him of how it used to feel, to have a heartbeat.
She was so alive, unburdened by the weight of her destiny. He could tell that she was different. Not just from other young women he’d known, but from other Slayers. This one was special.
And as much as he needed to make amends for his existence, Angel also liked the idea of being special. Especially after everything he’d done. If he could do more than atone, actually play a larger part in the world’s fate–not just avoid humans, but save them--he would be a fool not to. Right?
So he followed her to Sunnydale. He watched. He waited. When the time came, he helped. And helping Buffy put him in the middle of her friends, her Watcher. More humans who needed saving.
Including Willow.
Mortal, as fragile as the rest of them…but she was special too. Angel sensed it immediately. Tucked that knowledge away, not sure what to do with it.
It wasn’t as though he and Buffy had friendly chats about her life, or the people in it. It wasn’t as though Willow herself seemed aware of her power. And he didn’t have any reason to bring it up. In Angel’s experience, magic was more dangerous than useful, especially directed at him. So he kept a watchful eye on the Slayer’s best friend, the quiet redhead with fierceness at her core.
When she began to approach him, he found it hard to keep her at a distance. It was nothing like Buffy; he felt pulled to the Slayer, an unavoidable attraction. A terrible idea.
But Willow had questions. She was trying to arm herself with knowledge, an impulse he understood. With Buffy considering him an ally, he was safe, in Willow’s mind.
He didn’t want to explain how wrong she was--to lose the trust she placed in him. The innocence there. It had been a very long time since innocence stared him in the face and called him friend.
A vampire working with a Slayer was unheard of, Angel knew that. As rare as a vampire with a soul.
But if anything could be stranger than that, more difficult to believe, and to trust...it might be a vampire who fell in love with a witch.