Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. Angel: The Series was created by Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt. Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke.

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Connor dreamt of a rain of fire, and it felt so real that when he woke up he could still smell the acrid smoke. He sat up in his bed, half expecting to see his room above the museum, and Cordy sleeping beside him. Instead, he saw his dorm room. Books and papers were piled high on his desk, and his hamper was overflowing with dirty clothes. He reached for the picture of Tracey that he kept on his bedside table, glancing at the clock next to it. It was 2 am, and Connor knew from experience that he wasn’t likely to fall back to sleep. The nightmares had been getting worse, and Connor hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in weeks. It was less like he was dreaming about his best-forgotten past and more like he was reliving it. Usually once he was awake, and could see and touch and smell things from his life as Connor Reilly, he could bring those memories back into focus and push the others away. But it was starting to get difficult to tell the two sets of memories apart, as ridiculous as that was given their contents. He stared at the picture of Tracey for a moment, then put the picture back and got out of bed.

Moving stealthily so he wouldn’t wake up his roommate, Connor dressed in jeans and a green hooded sweatshirt and crept noiselessly out of the dorm. The night air was cool, and Connor took a deep breath, hoping it would help to clear his mind, but something smelled off. He stopped walking, and sniffed the air. Blood. The smell made his stomach churn, but he was grateful for that. It would be so much worse if it smelled good to him. If it smelled like food.

He followed the scent to its origin, which turned out to be a dead girl. She was blonde, but whether she’d been pretty or not was impossible for Connor to tell, because there wasn’t much left of her face, or of the rest of her, for that matter. She looked like she’d been eaten, although by what Connor didn’t know. His stomach churned, and he backed slowly away.

Slowly congealing blood pooled next to the dead girl, and suddenly another memory hit Connor with the force of a blow. He remembered dragging a blonde girl to her death, and laying his hand in the blood that had pooled next to her corpse, and for a moment the featureless dead girl in front of him took on the face of the girl he had murdered. He could almost feel the blood on his hands, and he quickly stumbled away from the girl as far as he could get before he threw up in the bushes.

After he managed to calm himself down, he found a pay phone and called campus security, but he made sure he was long gone before they arrived.