The Ghost that Wanders Without Rest

Summary: It's Wesley's time to die; yet he can't. In working for Wolfram and Hart, Wesley had a contract just as every other employee did. In the fine print of this contract, it states that if Wesley is to die of unnatural causes then he will remain a ghost for all eternity. So Wesley is the ghost that wanders without rest.

Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own anything. Angel is property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, therefore nothing is mine. Only the story.

Rating: M – just to be sure. Possible language, violence and mature themes.

Chapter One: Death Becomes Him

Wesley heard silence around him. He looked up at the ceiling, unable to move. His eyes flickered, his mouth twitched, but he couldn't move any of his limbs. He tried to speak, but no sound came out.

He was completely unaware that Illyria had just killed Vail, and had left. He was completely unaware of what was happening outside in the alley, not knowing anything about the fight that was about to take place.

Then he was able to move. It was an unexpected surprise as he struggled to move and suddenly his arm just sprang up into the air. He smiled, success at last. He only then realised that there was a problem.

He had just died. He clearly remembered it, and thought that it was stupid that he was even contemplating the idea that he may not be. He watched the love of his life hovering above him as he faded away.

But if he was dead, then why wasn't he in Heaven? Why was he still here? He pulled himself to his feet and looked around. The room was the same as how he'd left it only minutes ago when he died.

When he died. The idea of his death suddenly plagued every corner of his mind. He couldn't understand it. Why was he still alive, if he just died? How could he still be standing here if technically he shouldn't be?

He looked down at his feet to find his body was still there.

'What?' He asked himself, surprised. The body slowly began to shimmer away into the nothingness. 'No!' Wesley dived to the floor, grasping at his own corpse. It slipped through his fingers like it was nothing. Like it wasn't even there. Or he wasn't even there.

Suddenly, everything fit. Him dying yet still being here, him not being able to touch something solid and him taking the job at Wolfram and Hart the year before. He put two-and-two together and came up with a simple answer.

The same fine print on his contract as was on Lilah's when he tried to set her free. He was a ghost, a spirit that belonged to Wolfram and Hart. He was nothing else.

He got to his feet again and paced over to the window. The glass was shattered; leaving jagged sharp shards sticking out in random places ready to catch the first thing that went through it. He looked out the window, down to the alley below. There was nothing.

Illyria must have gotten out of the building through this window, Wesley thought to himself. He leant out the gaping hole in the wall and looked down. There was a landing several metres below, about 4. He could, without too much trouble, make his way down to that landing. He had to follow Illyria.

Author's Note: a strange little idea I got. I don't know if it will be any good. Here's hoping.