Summary: Wes has possessed Travis a grand total of three times. Oneshot. Demon!Wes AU.
Warnings: Possession.
Disclaimer: I neither own nor am affiliated with Common Law in any way.
Demon!Wes AU is a byproduct of tumblr ramblings between allthatisbizarre and mizufallsfromkumo. Thank you for letting me play in your sandbox.
OOOO
Trust Fall
"To be trusted is a greater compliment than being loved."
—George MacDonald
XXXX
Wes has possessed Travis a grand total of three times.
Which is a number that seems to surprise people. Travis isn't entirely sure why. Because…Wes is a demon, and demons possess people, he supposes. It's kind of what they do, alongside the chaos and destruction racket.
But Wes totally isn't like that. He wouldn't just go around randomly stealing other people's bodies. Besides, he's got a body of his own, a body-fide human vessel with no soul in there to claim ownership, so there's no reason Wes would want to take Travis's body.
And if Wes ever did decide Travis's body was one he wanted, well, he would probably stop eating delicious things like cheeseburgers and go the whole healthy rabbit-food route, and Travis is not down with that. Tears would be involved. Better for all parties if they just skipped that entirely.
So yeah, it's only been three times.
XXXX
The first time is because Travis is extremely stubborn.
XXXX
"No." Travis scowls at his partner and crosses his arms. "No way. You're not going in there alone."
"Travis," Wes says slowly, eyes flickering black and back again the way it does when he's annoyed. (Travis totally claims it's like the demonic version of a twitching eye. Wes usually smacks him a couple times for that.) "We've talked about this. You can't come in with me."
"That doesn't mean I'm going to sit out in the van, Wes!" They've been arguing about this for fifteen minutes. Normally one of them would have given in by now. Not this time.
"It's not safe, Travis!"
"Can't be anything worse than what we've already dealt with!" They've been through a lot of shit over the years, and Travis knows they can handle anything that comes their way. Together.
"This is different, Travis!" Wes throws his hands up, eyes flickering again. "You can't just go waltzing up to a high-level demon and ask for information!"
"Exactly!"
"No!" Wes stomps up, looming in Travis's space, and they may be about the same height but when Wes's eyes are black and he's thrown himself into a snit like this, it's like he towers over Travis. "You're not listening! You can't go in there! You are human. You. Cannot. Go. There."
Not for the first time, Travis feels a recoil at the pointed reminder that he's only human, not a big bad super-demon like his partner. Like usual, Travis doesn't dwell on it.
"Too bad." Not intimidated by Wes's attitude in the slightest, Travis jabs Wes's chest. "You're my partner and I'm not letting you go in there alone. So come up with a different plan."
Wes glares at him, jaw clenched tight, but he doesn't offer up any other suggestions.
XXXX
In the end, Travis is the one who come up with the solution. He happens to walk by Captain Sutton's office when the captain is listening to one of his motivational tapes. (Travis dearly hopes it was a motivational tape, because the only other reason he could imagine the captain listening to something that uses the phrase "become one" is one of his sex therapy tapes, and that is brain bleach territory.)
He ends up rushing across the room, smacking his hands on Wes's desk, and crowing triumphantly, "It's so obvious, you just possess me!"
Wes stares blankly at him. "Excuse me?"
"Me, Wes, you possess me! Then you don't go in there alone without backup. I'll be your backup!"
Something runs across Wes's face, a series of emotions too quick and complex for Travis to parse out. Then Wes purses his lips and very slowly sets his pen down, with the exaggerated motions that suggest he's really not very happy right now.
"I'm going to enunciate this clearly, so you understand me the first time," Wes says, rising to meet Travis's gaze dead-on. "No. Absolutely not."
That's when the yelling starts.
XXXX
Travis eventually wins. It takes four hours and the captain's intervention, but Travis gets his way. He doesn't care how dangerous Wes is making it out to be, Wes is not going in there alone. Travis won't let his partner go in there alone. That's all there is to it.
("Fine," Wes snaps when he finally gives in, arms crossed and eyes a solid annoyed black. "Whatever." Then he stomps off in a huff and refuses to speak to Travis for the rest of the day.)
But Travis won and Wes finally said yes, which means he's finally going to find out what being possessed is like. Which wouldn't be nearly as interesting if it were anyone else but Wes doing it.
But it is Wes, so it's all cool. Kind of exciting, really.
"Are you ready for this?" Wes asks, sitting across from Travis.
Travis shifts, mimicking his partner's position with his feet flat on the floor and his hands on his knees. "Yeah," he nods.
Wes still hesitates. "Maybe you should close your eyes."
"Wes, just do it already."
The demon exhales huffily and closes his eyes. He breathes out, a steady exhale that goes on and on, long after anyone else would have inhaled, and black smoke curls out of the corners of his mouth. But this isn't ordinary smoke—this is a living, sentient thing, twisting through the air in ways smoke was never meant to. It makes Travis uneasy, shivers skittering up his spine, because there's something just plain wrong about the sight, something that makes his very being shudder away.
Travis is totally cognizant that this is his partner, that Wes would never hurt him. But his mind is going Wrong, wrong, this is WRONG, and goosebumps rise all over his skin.
He knows it's Wes, and Wes will never hurt him. But Wes is also a demon, and his body knows instinctually that this is something that should never be on this earth.
Travis grits his teeth and stands his ground. The smoke-that-is-Wes writhes its way across the space between them, curling to a halt in front of Travis, but never actually stopping, twisting and swirling midair like some demonic piece of art.
One thin tendril of smoke reaches out, brushing against Travis's lips, a light, hesitant touch. Travis can't help the thin, nervous smile that crosses his lips. "Hey, baby." He licks his lips, lets his mouth fall open. "Anytime you're ready."
The smoke curls into his mouth, a gentle, barely-there caress that tastes of burnt cinders and ashes. And then there's no more hesitation, just a quick rush into him, and Travis can feel his throat seizing up, his lungs clenching, trying to choke, to expel the foreign substance inside him, but he can't, can't move, can't even breathe—
The essence of Wes sees through him, into him, taking control of…everything. Because he can't even breathe, and that's so anathema he can't help it; he panics.
Shh, Travis, it's alright. There's a presence, not so much a voice as a feeling, reverberating inside his skull. It's okay. You're okay.
And Travis knows it's just Wes, knows Wes has control now, but that's wrong and his body knows it, rebels against it. Mostly it's the not-breathing thing freaking him out.
Wes says, Oh. Right, and he suddenly inhales, a great, big breath, and it's so weird because he's not the one doing it at all. Sure, Travis isn't consciously in control of his breathing most of the time, but now he can't control it even if he wanted to and that's really kind of freaky.
Better now? Wes asks, and that's weird, too. Not just hearing Wes in his head, but feeling him, a diaphanous heat inside his brain, taking control of him in every way.
It's strange and wrong and Travis isn't sure he likes it.
We can still call this off, Wes offers, and that, that's what makes Travis relax. Wes asked. No other demon would bother.
This is Wes.
I'm good, Travis tells his partner. He can still feel Wes's reluctance, can almost sense the way Wes is holding himself back, moving carefully so as not to burn Travis's brain right out of his skull. (Which Travis appreciates.)
But it's okay. It's Wes, and Wes wouldn't hurt him. Travis has every faith.
You're a very strange human, Wes mutters, rising to his/their feet, and wow, that's odd, feeling his body moving without actually doing anything. I should have just done this without you.
Naw, Travis quips, You would have missed me too much.
Grumbling, Wes rolls his/their eyes, and they walk out of the room. Together.
XXXX
The second time, Travis can't walk.
XXXX
Everything is so hazy and strange, it isn't until Wes leans over him that he even realizes anyone is in the room. It is possible that Wes is just a hallucination, but just in case he isn't, Travis gives him a slow, lazy grin and slurs, "Heeeey, Wes!"
"Travis." Wes starts patting him down, running his hands all over Travis, and if Travis were thinking a bit more linearly he would totally make a snide comment and maybe leer a little. "Travis, what's wrong? Where are you hurt?"
Hurt? No, man, he's not hurt at all, everything is great and wonderful and Travis is flying. But Wes is still looking for wounds and he is all worried and upset so Travis tries to come up with something.
"I can't feel my legs."
"What?" Surprisingly gently, Wes starts jabbing his legs and sides. "You have spinal damage?"
What? "What? No, I'm fine. I—I am so high right now."
The hands stop, and then Wes's face is back, looming larger than ever in front of Travis's. His eyes are black; Travis blinks and finds himself falling, spiraling into a darkness that never ends. It makes him kind of nauseous.
Wes groans and pulls back and Travis can breathe again. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me." The hands are back, dragging him upright, and the world spins around him, a dizzying ride that makes his stomach churn again.
"Ifffff I throw up'n you, 's totally not m'fault."
"Goddammit, Travis, we don't have time for this."
"What? Why?"
"Because the building is burning!"
That's when Travis notices the smoke. It's thick and acrid and fills his nostrils, and now that he's noticed it, he's not sure how he could have ever missed it. "The hell?" He turns a wobbly scowl on his partner. "What did you do?"
Wes has the decency to look a little sheepish. "They didn't know I was a demon, and I may have been a bit, ah, overzealous in my attempt to get to you."
It takes a while for that to make sense in Travis's drug-addled brain. While he's doing so, Wes hauls him out of the room and into a hall that is very smoky and oh, wow, that's hot. Like actual literal heat.
He grins soppily up at Wes. "You went nuclear on their asses."
"Damn straight I did." Wes looks down one end of the hall, then the other. "Right. Remind me again: you can't walk through flame, can you?"
Travis lets his head droop and his body droop and pretty much everything droop. His body feels weird… "No, Wes," he mumbles, tongue thick, and he's not even sure anymore if Wes can understand him. "Squishy humans don' like fire."
"Right. New plan." Wes hustles him back into the room and plops him down in the chair and that's right where Travis started so he supposes this is a hallucination after all. A shame, really. He'd liked this much more than the cartel guys hitting him and dosing him with psychotropics to make him talk.
He tries to imagine the cartel guys if they'd snatched Wes instead of him, and he snickers. There'd have been nothing left when Wes got through with them.
"Travis. Travis!" A hand smacks his cheek. Travis groans and feebly bats the hand away, or tries to. Nothing seems to be working right and he still can't feel his legs.
"Travis." The hand is back, harder, and Travis opens his eyes to glower at the cartel crony. But it's Wes instead, fathomless black eyes staring at him, and hallucination or not, this is much more preferable to being beaten up.
He gives Wes a slow smile. "Hey baby."
The face Wes makes is a lot closer to a grimace than a smile. "Hi, Travis. I need you to let me inside of you. Travis—focus, Travis."
Travis blinks and focuses.
"Travis, I need to be inside of you."
Travis snickers.
"Yes, hilarious, I know. Will you let me possess you?"
"Sure." Travis closes his eyes, relaxes into way Wes is cupping his face. "Whatever you say, baby."
Something explodes nearby. Travis isn't too concerned. That's probably the drugs.
Wes heaves a great big sigh, his You're so annoying and I don't know why I put up with you, you great big idiot sigh. "The things I do for you," he murmurs with all sorts of fondness demons probably aren't supposed to show. But this is Travis's hallucination, so he allows himself to bask in the warm glow of affection.
Then Wes's lips are on his and Travis's eyes snap open, because woah, wait, this is not how the hallucination is supposed to go. And then there is something crawling inside his mouth, like ash and—Travis isn't entirely sure what brimstone tastes like, but it's probably just like this. The smoke sweeps down his throat, diffuses through his body, curls around his brain like a fire just this side of being too hot.
As he watches, Wes's body slumps to the floor, an empty shell, and Wes takes control.
"Oh, this is not going to work," Wes snaps, and that's a new experience, hearing his own voice when he's not saying the words.
Travis isn't entirely sure what Wes does, but all of a sudden he is stone-cold sober and holy shit, not a hallucination and the building is on fire.
Weren't you given a talk about this? Travis demands as Wes stands them up. The demon steps right over his empty body and heads for the window. I distinctly remember the words 'acceptable use' and 'excessive force' used in conjunction. Not in a positive way, either.
"Whatever." It's amazing how pissy Wes can get when his actions are called into question. "Okay, hang on." Without further ado, he punches the window right out of the frame, which is totally cool and Travis would be way more impressed if Wes didn't immediately climb onto the sill.
Wow, that's quite a ways down.
Wes, Travis calls, keeping his voice light, Whatcha doin?
"Getting you out of here."
By jumping and breaking both of Travis's legs, apparently.
"Oh, don't be stupid, Travis. I've walked away from bullet wounds. A little height is nothing."
Well. That's a little reassuring. Not.
Seriously, man, don't break my body. And what about your body? He can't look back, but if he could he totally would, because Wes's body is just, like, lying on the floor and did he mention the building is burning?
"Eh. It'll keep." Wes crouches on the sill, a crazy grin crossing his face, and Travis never really forgets that his partner is dangerously, recklessly unstable, but it's a bit different when the demon is riding his skin. "Are you ready?"
No! No, no, no—aaaaagh!
It does not escape his notice that Wes laughs the entire fall.
They land hard. Travis can literally feel something in his leg snap. Wes mutters a quiet, "Oops," and Travis just wants to smack him. (He doesn't. Aside from the whole control thing, Wes is currently in his body, so that would amount to smacking himself and that's just stupid.)
I hate you. I hate you so much.
"Walk it off."
I cannot just walk off a broken leg, Wesley Mitchell! Travis rants as Wes sprints across the pavement towards the line of police cars and ambulances. Wes, as usual, ignores him.
He skids to a stop in front of a pair of alarmed-looking paramedics, which would totally make sense if they saw Wes throw himself out of a fourth-story window and then run fifty yards like he's totally okay.
"Take care of my partner," Wes orders, and the paramedics look suitably scared enough that Travis wonders if his eyes are black too. How cool would that be?
Then Travis's head snaps back and Wes floods out of him, pausing briefly in the air above the ambulance before zipping back towards the burning warehouse. And oh, wow, so Wes didn't make him sober, Wes just made him unable to feel the effects of the drug, because Travis is totally not sober anymore. And thank god for that, because his leg crumples beneath him and if he weren't so high that would really, really hurt.
Flat on his back, staring at the smoky sky while the paramedics panic and rush around him, Travis sighs. "I'm gonna kill 'im," he mumbles fondly.
Then he passes out.
XXXX
Travis smells him before he sees him, a stench like charbroiled steak wafting through the doorway moments before Wes steps into the room. Travis can't help staring at his heavily-bandaged partner.
"You smell like barbeque."
"Thank you," Wes snaps sarcastically, easing himself into the bedside chair. Travis continues staring. Between patches of bandages, he can see reddened, blistered skin. Like the worst sunburn times ten thousand.
"Are you okay?"
"The fire got there before I did. Could have been worse." Wes waves a dismissive hand, and Travis has to shake his head. If Wes were anything than what he is, he probably wouldn't even be conscious. Instead, he's walking around and snarking, and in a week he'll probably be totally fine. "How are you?" his partner asks, which is really nothing more than a formality because he's already picked up Travis's chart and is flipping through it.
"You broke my leg, you fucker." Travis scowls at the cast on his left leg. He's gonna be on crutches for months. More importantly, he's gonna be on desk duty for months. He hates desk duty. "I hate you."
"I saved your life, stop complaining." Wes scowls down at something in Travis's chart. "And stop getting in trouble."
"That's rich, coming from you." Travis leans back in his pillows, watching his partner. Wes mutters under his breath and flips to the next page in the chart, wafting another hint of burnt meat Travis's way. He groans.
"I'm never gonna eat barbeque again."
XXXX
The third time, Wes saves Travis's life.
XXXX
Travis has never honestly given much thought to the question of which is faster, a speeding bullet or a demon in smoky cloud-form. It's never really come up. If he had pondered the question, he probably would have bet on the bullet, because while he's only ever seen a few demons outside of whatever random vessels they're traipsing about in, they've never seemed all that quick.
Travis has severely underestimated Wes's resolve to keep him alive.
What's faster: A speeding bullet or a terrified demon?
The demon, by about half a second.
Travis hasn't even stopped choking from Wes's frantic invasion when he feels the bullet tear through his chest and explode out of his back. He collapses to the ground, and he can feel Wes scrabbling inside his head, rushing to stop the blood and the breathing and whatever else won't work now that Travis's heart is a pulpy mess.
He can feel himself fading, despite Wes's efforts, and lets out a small apology.
Don't you fucking dare. It feels like claws dig into him, claws made of fire latching onto the very essence of what makes him Travis Marks, pain like nothing he's ever felt, nothing he has words for, and he screams but only inside his head.
The grip loosens a little, but hangs on, tighter than he'd like. Sorry, sorry. But you're not going. I'm not letting you go.
Travis can feel his body shudder, eyes snapping open, and then Wes rises, leaps to his feet and starts moving towards the shooter with eyes black as death, but he doesn't pay much attention. Because Wes may have loosened his grip, but it still hurts, a raging, piercing ache tying him to a body that's already ruined beyond repair.
He should be gone, shouldn't be here, but he can't, and it burns.
Sorry. I'm sorry, Travis, but I'm not letting you go.
XXXX
It's two weeks. Two weeks in and out of the hospital, two weeks with Wes's body in a tray in Jonelle's morgue, two weeks where Wes fiddles with things that shouldn't be fiddled with and convinces Travis's body to remake a heart. It shouldn't be possible, but it seems to be working—the doctors can't explain it, and Travis would laugh if he could. The ways of heaven and hell are beyond mortal men; there's no explaining Wes.
Two weeks.
Travis is in agony every second.
I'm sorry, Travis. Just hang on. A little bit longer.
It all becomes a blur, days mixing into another. Time becomes meaningless. All there is, is pain, a constant piercing ache that runs through every fiber of his being.
It's okay. I'm sorry. I can't let you go. Not yet.
He is vaguely aware of his body moving, doing things, speaking to people, but it's a distant realization. It has nothing to do with him.
He curls up on himself, but it doesn't ease the pain.
I'm sorry, Travis. I'm so sorry. Just hold on. It won't be much longer.
XXXX
The first thing he notices is the lack of pain. His world has coalesced into tiny pinpricks of fire—the absence is a shock to his system; his eyes snap open and he flails, gasping for breath, trying to understand this new sensation running through him. No, not new, but a lack of, and he can't wrap his brain around it.
Someone leans over him, a blonde head with bright blue eyes, and a cool hand presses against his forehead, smoothing back his hair. "It's okay, Travis," the voice says, familiar in every way, a voice Travis knows down to his very soul. "It's okay. Just breathe."
Because it seems like a good idea, Travis does.
It helps.
"There we go. It's okay. It's all going be okay. Just breathe."
XXXX
Travis finds Wes up on the roof, sitting on the edge with his legs dangling ten stories above the pavement.
"Don't jump," he calls tonelessly from the stairway.
Even from here, he can see the way Wes tenses, and for a half-second Travis thinks Wes really will jump, just to avoid him.
But then Wes forces himself to relax. "You're up," he says without turning around. Despite the light tone to his words, Travis can still see how Wes is clutching the edge of the roof, and he sighs.
"Are you going to avoid me forever?" Three days since he woke up alone in his head, days of tests and that particular poking and prodding all doctors seem so fond of while they check out his (newly regenerated) heart, and he hasn't seen Wes since he first opened his eyes.
Wes has totally been avoiding him. Travis just isn't sure why.
"I haven't been avoiding you," Wes says.
Travis scoffs, crossing the roof to stand behind his partner. "For a demon, that was the shittiest lie I've ever heard. Wanna try again?"
Wes's shoulders curl in, the tension running through him again. Like a bowstring about to snap, a hurricane about to be unleashed. Like it's taking everything he's got not to just leap off this building and run away before Travis can catch him.
And Travis doesn't understand.
He sighs, turning and plopping down beside Wes, feet firmly planted on the roof. Since Wes isn't going to say anything, Travis goes first.
"Thank you."
Impossibly, Wes manages to get even tenser. He looks like he's about to snap in half. "For what?" His voice is a harsh rasp, as though he's about to cry. Travis isn't even sure demons can cry.
"For what? I would have thought that was obvious. For, you know, saving my life."
Wes clenches his hands, and concrete actually crumbles beneath his fingers. "You were in agony for two weeks."
"Yeah." Travis can still remember it, a pain deep inside his skin. Sometimes he still aches; this morning he spent ten minutes searching his body for claw marks before remembering that nothing would show on his skin. "But you saved my life."
Wes makes a short, sharp sound, disbelieving. Travis sighs and leans over, pressing his shoulder into Wes's. "Dude, you rebuilt my heart. You should have been there. The doctors' faces were hilarious—apparently hearts are one of the few things the body shouldn't be able to remake. You kept me here, and now I'm alive when I shouldn't be. I'm okay with that."
His partner shakes his head furiously, and more concrete crumbles beneath his hands. "I hurt you."
"To save me."
Wes's reply, when it comes, is so soft Travis has to strain to hear it.
"You're the only one I don't want to hurt."
Travis sighs, tilts his head back to look up at the dark sky. The lights from the city wash away the stars, until there's nothing but an endless black night. It reminds him of Wes's eyes. Eyes that haven't looked at him since he walked up here.
"You wouldn't have done it if you didn't have to. I know that." He bumps Wes's shoulder again, which is just as stiff and unyielding as before. Travis doesn't let that deter him. "Just like I know if I fell off this roof right now, you would swarm down my throat before I hit the ground. You'd keep me safe."
There's a long pause. Then Wes shifts and says, "Maybe you should go stand by the stairwell…"
"Wes." Travis chuckles, drop his forehead against the demon's shoulder. "Wes. I'm okay. You saw to that. It's all okay."
Wes stares at the parking lot below, gravel spiraling from the crushed concrete under his hands. "Why are you so…?" He sounds lost, like he can't even comprehend why Travis isn't mad right now. It makes Travis's heart break a little. Big bad scary demon, but the intricacies of humanity still confuse him.
"I trust you." It's probably the first time he's ever said it aloud, but he always sort of figured Wes knew.
On second thought, he's not sure why he figured that. Wes is a demon. Trust is probably a completely foreign concept to him.
"I trust you, Wes," he repeats firmly. No doubt, no hesitation.
He thought Wes knew.
"Why?" The word is barely a whisper, little more than the breath whispering between his lips.
"Cause you're my partner."
"I'm a demon."
"And you're a pain in the ass and batshit insane. Doesn't mean I don't. You're my partner. We couldn't work if I didn't."
Wes doesn't say anything for a long time. Then, "That's all?"
"Doesn't need to be anything more." Travis sighs and closes his eyes. He doesn't know if he's getting through, if Wes even understands what he's saying. But it's out there, now. "I trust you, Wes. You didn't do it just to hurt me. I'm okay."
Finally, finally, some of the tension eases out of Wes's body, and he slumps, head falling so his cheek rests on the top of Travis's head. "Thank you."
Travis smiles. Score one for the tiny squishy human. "Thank you."
They sit like that for a long time, ten stories above the ground, but Travis isn't afraid for a second.
OOOO
I love this fic. I didn't think I would love it as much as I do, but I really really do. I hope you like it as much as I do. Seriously, I think this is my favorite demon!Wes story I've written so far.
Reviews, comments, and constructive criticism are always welcome. Let me know what you thought!
Until next time~!