2,372 words
November 24, 2006
Written for Secondalto in the maleslashminis' Angel round. Request found
after the fic.
* * *
Darkness. He remembers the darkness. The cold dank box holding him hostage. He's shivering. Voices, blinding light, so close.
Hunger. Deep-seated hunger. Months now since he's eaten. A tantalizing smell, fresh air. Voices and screams, surrounding him.
Warmth. Something warm, filling him, but it isn't enough, never enough. The smell is stronger, over him, and he pulls it in. It's hot, alive.
Breathing. Someone's breathing, moaning. So close. The smell, the taste, the touch, the sounds, everything is coming back into place, and he can see.
Wesley. But all he knows, all Angel knows, is hunger and pain and bliss.
"Still here?"
Wesley looked up to find Gunn in the doorway. He didn't answer.
"You know he won't disappear if you go home for a while, right?" Gunn walked in and sat down on the chair closer to Wesley's. "Shower, food, sleep? All good things, man."
"You don't understand, Charles."
"No one can understand everything, English. Some things are better left not understood."
Wesley sighed, turning back to the figure on the bed. "We should all be dead."
"But we ain't."
"I was dead." I remember the knife plunging into my stomach, Wesley said to himself, unable to put the thoughts into spoken words, the pain, and the knowledge that it was done. That I was done.
"Yet here you are, wasting all your time being alive staying in this damned hospital." Gunn leaned on his knees and looked sideways at Wesley, concern clear on his face. "You ain't any good to him, running yourself to the ground. We survived. For what reason, we won't know if we keep worrying ourselves about him."
Wesley turned to Gunn and watched him for a moment. "The Powers decided to intervene for the first time in generations. That is why we're alive, Charles; there isn't anything to research or any more powerful reason. Angel did something that prompted the Powers to act, and save this sorry world, and us with it. Time was bent back, I was revived, you were healed, and Angel-"
"Is human, in a coma, and not likely to come out of it any time soon." Gunn stood and looked down at the bed before he turned back to Wesley. "Get your act together, bro. If you keep looking at this living thing like a curse, you'll just sink back into whatever funk you were in before the battle." He grabbed Wesley's shoulders. "You died; they brought you back. There's a reason for that, beyond the part where they wanted to save us all from doom. We're here for a reason, and I'm pretty sure it ain't to watch over Himself. He'll wake up when he's ready to face the fact that he ain't dead."
Wesley sighed again and took Gunn's hands off his shoulders. "And I'll walk out of here, when I'm ready to face the fact that I am not dead either." He hoped Gunn could hear what Wesley wasn't ready to say. He had nothing to live for before, and the fact that he'd survived hadn't suddenly given him the will to live.
Gunn slumped down on the chair with a thump. "All right, man, I'll just have to keep you company for a while."
"Thank you."
Laughter. He remembers hearing them laugh, and he smiles. Her laugh. His. He remembers them like it was yesterday. Maybe it was.
Hunger. Not his this time. The smell of freshly cooked food drifts closer still, and he follows it, knowing he'll find the source of the laughter.
Friendship. He doesn't deserve it. He knows, and yet, he lets it happen. Lets them find their way in. Lets them stay.
Betrayal. It comes later, much later, but it comes. It's inevitable. He is who he is.
Wesley. But all he knows, all Angel knows, is hunger and pain and peace.
"How is he?"
They always asked him the same question. Whenever they showed up, leaning in the doorway of the room where Angel still slept, they would ask him, and he wouldn't answer. There wasn't anything to say. Wesley could, potentially, say 'the same', but it seemed futile. It was implied in his silence.
Buffy slipped further into the room and sat in the chair Gunn was in just that morning. "I brought some food. Burgers, figured you'd be hungry." She always brought food with her. Gunn found it amusing; Wesley was thankful. He never remembered to eat, and it was a good thing that she did.
"Thank you," he said, looking at her with a soft, sad smile on his lips. She understood him better than Gunn did. She understood why he couldn't leave, because she had been there, years ago, unable to leave Angel's side for the same reason as Wesley.
"Giles says he's finally got a hold of Willow, they're gonna be here tomorrow, see if there's anything they can do."
"Thank you." It often felt like that was the only thing he ever said to her.
"Hey, he saved the world, it's the least we can do." She let the rest hang in the air between them: 'it's the least we can do after doubting him.'
Wesley heard it. Everybody had doubted Angel at least once in their lives. Wesley hadn't been the first.
Buffy never stayed long, but the silence that always stretched between them was never uncomfortable. Wesley was thankful for that as well.
Fear. For himself, for his friends. It surrounds him, coats his very being. The world is collapsing, and it's his fault. It always is.
Hunger. For flesh, not food. He hungers for touch and taste and smell. He hungers for the one person he can never have and never trust.
Cold. Shivering. He sees, but he can't feel. Not anymore. There is fire. It doesn't help. It's inside that he's cold.
Hope. To right the wrongs. To change the past and erase his mistakes. He hopes.
Wesley. But all he knows, all Angel knows, is hunger and pain and longing.
"Hi."
Wesley looked up from the book in his hands. "Connor." It was the first time the boy had come. Wesley had expected him earlier.
Connor slipped into the room as quietly as he could, and stood by the bed. He wasn't looking at Angel. "Is he-?" He sighed and didn't finish his question.
But Wesley understood. "He's alive. Human." He didn't tell Connor that Angel was barely hanging on to the life he'd been gifted with. That he'd fought for. Angel was battling demons in his mind, and was probably unaware of anything that was going on in the real world.
"How?"
"A prophecy."
"It's always prophecies with these guys, isn't it?" Connor sat down on the chair; for a moment, Wesley could see the young man he had been; tormented and hanging to sanity by a thread, and then it was gone. "I never-never really understood why he did it. Until now."
"He cared for you more deeply than he'd ever cared for anyone."
Connor shook his head. "No-or yeah, okay, he did. But it wasn't just me. He felt responsible for what happened to you. He never hated you. He couldn't."
Wesley nodded; there was nothing he could say to that, because he knew Connor was right. Angel's initial anger had been genuine, but the grudge he'd held had been brought by pride more than anything. "He wanted to make things right for you."
"For me, yeah, and for you. He wanted you to stop-hurting. He didn't make that decision just to save me; he made it to save both of us. Give you and me another chance at life."
"And I-" Wesley sighed. He hadn't seen it like that before, had only felt Angel's betrayal so acutely that it had obscured the rest. Angel had cared. Enough that he'd played with all their memories to help Wesley forget, to give them another chance at friendship-or more. There had been more at stake than simply saving the life of his son.
"It's not too late," Connor said, softly. "You'll take care of him."
You always do. Unsaid, perhaps, but Wesley heard it all the same. "And you'll come back to visit."
"Yeah. He needs us."
That was why Wesley stayed.
Pride. Penetrating every inch of his being, every bit of his soul. Such pride in this small child. So much love.
Hunger. For more than what he has. He smells and he wishes for food and flesh-touch and taste. He watches and he hungers.
Love. Everyone around him, filling him with this feeling he thought lost forever. It's there, inside him, he doesn't know how to live with it, but he does.
Lust. The body and the mind; so beautiful and eager. He wants. Mine.
Wesley. But all he knows, all Angel knows, is hunger and pain and want.
"Wesley."
He was sleeping, dozing off. "I'm sorry," he said, sitting up straighter and rubbing his eyes. "Is it done?"
"Yes," Willow said softly. Her hair was long and paler than Wesley remembered. She was different, more powerful, in control. "I think this will help. It'll take a few hours to know for sure."
Wesley stood and leaned over the bed, watching Angel's face which was still impassive and lax. Not even sleeping, but gone. "Perhaps you should get some rest," he said to Willow. "I'll stay."
Willow shook her head slowly, sinking down on the chair. "You always stay, Wes, maybe you should-"
"I've eaten and showered, Willow, I'll be fine." He had left for an hour that morning, while Gunn had been there. He'd tried to stay away longer, sleep, but he'd been unable to close his eyes and was drawn back here in the end. "I'll be fine."
Willow smiled at him and took his hand, tugging him back into the chair. "At least go back to sleep. I'll wake you if something changes."
Wesley nodded, eyes closing before he could even think about it. "Don't forget to turn the lights off." He wasn't making any sense, and it didn't matter.
Light. It's close, so close. He reaches out to it, can almost touch it. Soon. Soon he'll be ready. Strong enough.
Hunger. Powerful, so powerful it hurts. He wants, he needs, he craves. Food, flesh, more. It's tearing him apart, from the inside.
Scent. Over him, inside him, everywhere. It fuels the hunger, and the craving, and the need. This scent, so familiar, so close. Right there.
Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Coating every bit of his body, every bit of his soul. His soul.
Wesley. But all he knows, all Angel knows, is hunger and pain and life.
He's breathing.
Wesley woke up with a start. He was alone in the room. A bag from the coffee shop lay on the table. Buffy had been here; Willow, surely, was with her, gossiping as two friends who hadn't seen each other in months were prompt to do. Wesley turned to the bed. For the first time since he had been admitted to the hospital, Angel was restless.
Wesley stood and leaned over the bed, hands on either side of Angel's shoulders, watching the fluttering of his eyelids and the twitching of his mouth. He was struggling to wake.
Maybe you should kiss him, you know, like Sleeping Beauty.
Gunn had been joking, of course. He often was. He figured it would help Wesley smile, perhaps see life as it once was, pain and experiences aside. It worked more often than Wesley was willing to admit.
Maybe you should kiss him, you know, like Sleeping Beauty.
It seemed ridiculous, insane, perhaps even amusing, if you cared to look at it from that angle. Perhaps Gunn hadn't been far from the solution after all. A kiss.
Would it wake him? Pull Angel out of the dreamlike state he was in? Back into reality...
Was reality worth it?
Maybe you should kiss him, you know, like Sleeping Beauty.
Wesley licked his lips. It was worth trying. Perhaps. Just like every possibility was worth trying, no matter how insane or improbable.
This could be the only moment alone Wesley had for quite some time.
Maybe you should kiss him, you know, like Sleeping Beauty.
Wesley did. He bent down his head, and brushed his lips against Angel's. It was soft and barely there, but it was a kiss.
Nothing.
Wesley watched Angel, and nothing changed. He tried again, pressing his lips down harder. He could feel Angel's breath mingling with his own. Angel was breathing. Of course, Wesley had known, had seen Angel's chest moving with each slow breath. This was different. This was confirmation.
"Wesley."
It was whispered, barely audible, but Wesley pulled back, and Angel was blinking. Dazed. "It worked." Like Sleeping Beauty.
"Wesley." Angel was shaking, but he reached up and cupped Wesley's cheek. "You're alive."
Wesley laughed, his first laugh in so long that he couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like this. "So are you." He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, and he bent down again. It was a sloppy kiss, all teeth and spit and want. Wesley finally understood. He pulled back, euphoric. "We're alive."
There is pain and hunger. There is longing, and want. There is bliss, and peace. There is life. They're alive.
Angel craves the smells and the touches and the sights and the sounds and the tastes. Of him. Of Wesley.
They all come. Gunn, Buffy, Connor, Willow-and all the others. They come and laugh and talk, but all he knows, all Angel knows, is Wesley. Here, alive, in Angel's room, in Angel's arms.
In Angel's bed. Yours. Mine.
It's insane what being dead, and then reborn will make you realize.
He says "Wesley," and he thinks 'I love you.'
Male character they want paired with Angel: Wesley
Things they want in the fic: one of them gets hurt, the other takes care of him; a sloppy first kiss
Things they *don't* want in the fic: vamp!Wes, no biting, no non-con
Preferred maximum rating: the higher the better