Disclaimer: Not mine.

Dead Man Walking

By Alkeni

Chapter 4: Eventful Summer I

Angel was missing. Presumed dead by many of the minor players out there in the supernatural underworld of Los Angeles, but Wesley had his doubts.

In the week since the last confirmed sighting of the ensouled vampire, Wesley had acquired a new weapon – a collapsible sword. He'd not encountered another Immortal yet – as far as he knew. Certainly no one had come gunning for him – or swording for him, as it were – and his head, but he was unwilling to become complacent. As it was, at this moment, he had something of a purpose now, and dying – as much as part of his still welcomed it – was not on the agenda. He needed to determine what had happened to Angel and Cordelia.

It wasn't that they had once been friends. He was quite past that by this point. Endless self-reflection had taken care of that. But the fact remained that Angel was a Champion for the Powers that Be, and Cordelia was his Seer. Angel needed to be out there, fighting the good fight, and Cordelia needed to be at his side, helping him.

His first order of business had been the need to find a way to carry a sword around without drawing too much attention to himself. He'd found and located an arms-dealer named Emil who not only provided him with the more modern weaponry he normally dealt with, but with a sword that did indeed collapse back into a wrist-guard like device. He'd tested it against some vampires – his newfound immortality did allow him to take previously insane risks, like marching right into a nest – small nest – and opening first with bullets and then with his sword. It certainly could decapitate them without any difficulties.

With the issue of a sword handled, Wesley needed to get down to finding both of his former – decidedly former – friends. He already had an idea of who was behind the disappearance of Angel. Justine. The woman was not only a complete idiot, but she was also fanatically loyal to Holtz, through a combination of believing in his mission, and a twisted sense of love. Either she was acting on Holtz's orders – Wesley presumed the old vampire hunter would have come back from the Hell Dimension he fled to Connor with if he was still alive by that point alongside Angel's son – or she was continuing 'the fight' in a misguided attempt to 'finish' Holtz's work. Either way, tracking her down became his primary purpose.

Well, actually, first he'd made finding Cordelia his first goal, in part because her visions might come in handy tracking down Angel. Unfortunately, he'd hit some insurmountable roadblocks in that endeavor very quickly. Cordelia had completely and totally vanished from her car in the middle of heavy traffic, with no signs of having actually left the car. He'd gone over it with a fine tuned comb – magically speaking, using a few magical detection items – and found that there were no signs of anyone or anything portalling or teleporting into or out of the vehicle. After paying for three different – though all failed- locator spells, he came to the conclusion that either she was alive, but not in this dimension, or she was dead, and her body was not in this dimension. The only person – well, think, really – he could imagine that might have any further answers was Dinza, the Dark Demigod of the Lost, and even as an Immortal, he was still to alive to enter her presence – he'd tried, just to be sure.

One more reason to find Angel, it seemed.

It wasn't that hard to track down Justine, really. It was a simple proposition. Justine, as he'd suspected, was still hunting vampires, despite the fact that she was the only one of Holtz's former team still alive. It was simply a matter of patrolling around vampire-heavy areas and waiting until he saw her. He finally did find her on the tenth day after Angel's disappearance in an alleyway, struggling one-on-one with a fledgling vampire. She was holding it off, but she was also having difficulties getting her stake into it:

Both of her hands were being held by the vampire as they fought a sort-of morbid push-pull tug of war with each other. Twisting her arm in around to a degree that had to be painful, she wrenched her stake-less hand free from the vampire's grip and pulled – of all things – a water pistol from her pocket. Before the vamp had a chance to react, or laugh, she'd sprayed the contents of the weapon into his face. The scream coming from the undead told him all he needed to know about what had been inside the weapon.

A Holy Water Pistol. Quite a good idea, when you get down to it. At least, if you're not immortal... Wesley himself had the freedom now, thanks to his immortality, to take insanely stupid risks, especially against vampires, since his blood would kill them anyway. It wasn't just freedom, but a total unmooring from caution. He knew only time he would need to feel particularly cautious was when around or near enemies who had the strength to rip his head off, or if they had any sort of edged weapons that could sever his neck. And even then few would know to try it.

The Vampire itself staggered back, clawing at its burnt face instinctively, leaving it wide open and practically begging for a staking. Justine was more than happy oblige it.

From her perch on a nearby roof, Wesley began to clap, slowly and steadily. Justine looked around hurriedly for the source of the clapping – never a good sign when you're fighting the forces of darkness, after all – and pulled a gun from her coat, firing it in the general direction of the sounds.

By sheer dumb one-in-a-million luck, the redhead's bullet caught him directly in the heart.

Fuck. Time to die. Again. And at Justine's hands again at that. Everything went black.

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Justine watched in surprised Amazement as the body tumbled from the nearby roof to fall on the ground just ahead. She'd actually hit and killed the person – or at least wounded them enough to knock them off the roof...

As she got close to him, she saw that he was definitely dead. The bullet had gone clear through his chest. Talk about lucky. She turned over the body and to her great surprise – though not with any concern – realized that it was the vampire's friend, Wesley, who she'd rescued Connor from. Though, from what Connor had told her, it wasn't likely Wesley and Angelus were friends anymore.

She didn't notice the blue lighting dancing across the exit and entry wounds as she searched the man's pockets for money. As she pulled out his wallet though, his left hands snaked up and wrapped itself tightly around her throat.

"That hurt." Wesley opened his eyes and flicked his wright wrist, a blade coming out of his sleeve, which he held to her abdomen. "That's twice you've killed me, Justine. Anymore and I'd think you didn't like me." Justine tried to gabble out words as she pulled at the hand on her throat, but Wesley pressed the sword through her shirt, almost breaking skin. "Now, now. None of that." He noticed she was turning a shade of blue. "Oh dear. You're choking. You're dying. Can't have that yet, now can we?" He loosened his grip a little, but she didn't try anything – with that blade at her stomach she'd be split before she could do anything anyway, making it a futile gesture.

"Imm...Impossible. ...Killed you!" She gasped out.

"Twice, actually. I actually died in the park too, when you slashed my throat and stole Connor. But funny thing death and dying – namely, I can't." He paused and cocked his head a moment, as if considering. "No, I lie. I can die. I just don't stay dead. Unfortunately, I don't think the same can be said for you, and besides, there are far worse things than death, so I suggest you behave yourself." He transferred his grip from her neck to the front of her shirt and pulled her up with him.

He retracted his sword and removed a small talisman from his pocket. Justine tried again to break free, but he just slammed her against the wall. "I'm in no mood for games." He held up the talisman, made from the fingerbone of an Enthrepis Demon. "This is going to allow me to ask you three questions, and despite yourself, you're going to have to answer me with a yes or no, regardless of if you want to. After all, I need to know if I'm wasting my time, or if you're of any use to me alive. Because believe me, if I find out you're of no use to me, I will make your death a work of art. And any good piece of art takes time – perhaps...a year, maybe?" He snapped it and released the magic. Blue mist flew into Justine through her mouth and nose. "Now...Is Angel alive?"

"Yes." She said her tone level, despite her continued struggling.

"Do you know where he is?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to be co-operative and tell me up front of your own free will without coercion?"

"No." The spell released, Justine punctuated that word by spitting in his face. Unfazed, Wesley wiped off his face and in a smooth motion continuing form that, balled his hand into a fist and drove it into her side, hard. Justine didn't scream or make any noise, to her credit.

"Well then. You'll live to see tomorrow, at least."

"I'll never tell you anything about Angelus." Justine said, sincere bravery in her tone. Well, sincere fanaticism, anyway. It was easy to mix the two up.

"Oh, you will." He wrapped his now free right hand around her throat again, pressing hard slowly, so as to choke her just enough to render her unconscious. As he waited, he spoke again. "I was once told that there were five major torture groups – blunt, sharp, hot, cold and loud. Faith Lehane was distinctly unimaginative, if brutally direct and ruthless. By the time I'm done with you, you'll wish I'd used one of those five on you." Finally, he saw her slip into unconsciousness and he let go of her throat.

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Fortunately, Lilah wasn't waiting for him outside of his apartment when he returned with the still-unconscious Justine. Not that they hadn't been together in the last ten days. They'd slept – well, they hadn't slept at all, and Lilah had left when she was done every time – together eight of the last ten days. Wesley had given up trying to figure out why. There were reasons, yes, but even then, they shouldn't be enough for him to sleep with the enemy.

Except that Wolfram and Hart wasn't the enemy, in the same way it once had been. Lilah's efforts to recruit him for her firm were going to fail, no matter how much the color of his 'hat' darkened, for one simple reason: Apocalypse was not on his to-do-list. The world wasn't perfect. Far cry from it. But even in the unlikely – though growing increasingly likelier – event that he slipped from gray into full on black, he wasn't going to be at all interested in destroy the world. He could increasingly see this hypothetical 'evil' self going back to England and massacring the entire Watchers' Council, or heading up to the prison where Faith was being held and killing anyone who got in his way of getting to her – to kill her. And that did more than scare him – it just about terrified him, in that small corner of his mind he'd taken to storing his conscience. But destroy the world? No. The world had too much to offer in the way of enjoyment on a variety of levels for even an irredeemably evil version of himself to fancy destroying it. And at the end of the day, Wolfram and Hart was working, ultimately, towards apocalypse.

As he pondered Lilah and whatever it was he had with her, he was also proceeding with his work. Namely, chaining Justine up in his recently sound-proofed closet. With some duct tape on her mouth, his work was complete, for the moment, until she woke up. The chains were on legs and attacked to a collar he'd fixed on her neck, eliminating almost all her freedom of movement, even within the small confines of his closet. Her hands had been bound behind her back with stiff rope.

Torture with the 'five major groups' was a quick and dirty method that was unlikely to yield results when the person was of strong will or possessed deep fanaticism or loyalty. More likely, the torturer was going to kill the subject before they got any information if they stuck with such crude methods. The lights in the closet were left on, and Justine was left without a bucket or the like with which to relieve herself as well. Isolation, lack of any freedom of movement

When he brought her food several hours later after she finally awoke, it was in a bowl. He unceremoniously ripped the duct tape off of her mouth. "Are you ready to tell me about what you did with Angel?"

"Go to hell." She said, determined fire in her eyes.

"I figured you'd say that." He put the bowl on the floor next to her, and started to close the closet door.

"Are you going to untie my hands?"

"Wasn't planning on it."

"Then how am I supposed to eat?"

"You're a bitch. Figure it out."

"Kinky. You do this with all your girlfriends?"

He'd need to deal with the snark at some point as well. Work before pleasure. And using the more crude and immediately deadly methods of torture on Justine before killing her would certainly be cathartic. He could turn Faith's petulant little outburst to productive use too. He closed the closet door – first the bars, then the actual door – without responding.

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It took only two weeks to get Justine to spill – everything. Two weeks of sleep deprivation, thanks to the constant lights and the fact that the way she was chained didn't exactly lend itself to restfulness. Two weeks of humiliation from the way he forced her to eat and drink. And two weeks of sitting and sleeping in her own filth.

He'd added insult to insult by 'rewarding' her 'good behavior' with a bucket, and allowing there to be some slack in the chains. The fury in her eyes at the constant humiliation was still annoying, and now that he knew everything, he could be as brutal as he wanted to be – though some small part of him was holding him back from doing anything, just yet.

He knew everything. How she had killed Holtz and framed Angel. How she and Connor had taken him out into the ocean, sealed him in a metal box, and then shoved him off into the sea. Unfortunately, she couldn't give him more than a general area of seacoast, and there might have been some drift, but still, Angel wasn't going anywhere.

What to do about Connor had left him with some questions, but he'd decided it was worth the risk. And to a degree, he didn't care. Connor would be particularly unlikely to kill humans, and he'd be especially unlikely to kill Gunn or Fred – and thus remove their potential usefulness as helpers of Angel – if he didn't think they knew what he did to his father. Besides, Fred's hypocrisy was getting to him. Twice now she'd called, begging him for help – finding Angel, finding Cordelia, helping them with the fact that the three of them – even accounting for Connor's superhuman strength, speed and senses – were utterly incapable of carrying on as they were. Fred wanted his help.

Hi, Fred, see this slash I got on my throat trying to save Angel's son? Here's a lemon slice. Go to town. He hated to admit it, but it hurt, the first time she called. It really had been like lemon juice, or worse, on an open wound. Emotionally speaking, anyway.

Lilah had been there, the second time he'd refused to help. They'd just been getting started, when the phone rang. The lawyer had pouted when he'd stopped to answer the phone, but that wasn't his problem.

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

"Wesley-" It was Fred's voice.

"Fred, we've been over this. I don't care what happened to Angel, I don't care about what happened to Cordelia, and I'm not interested in helping you. Whatever friendship we might have had is long gone. I believe you were the one that ended it. Do the words 'don't come back to the hotel' ring a bell?"

"Wesley, you have to-"

"I have to what?" His voice was no longer level. He was angry. How did she have the nerve to ask? Was this...helpless hypocrite really the girl he'd been wanting to give his heart to? "What is it I have to do? Help the people who turned their back on me? You made your choice. And you certainly didn't sound that broken up about it at the time. The milk has been spilled and the bag is devoid of cats. Lie in the bed you've made. Pick your metaphor. I. Am. Not. Interested. In. Helping. You. The pair of you sicken me. I'm not here for you to turn on when you feel like, and yet be there when things get tough and you need help because you're too incompetent to handle anything for yourselves. Frankly, at this point I'm regretting telling Gunn how to save your life, when every drop of moisture was being drained from your body by that Sluk. I should have let you die. Certainly Gunn would have been too stupid to figure it out on his own."

He could actually hear Fred reduced to tears on the other end of the line. And...God help him, he felt...happy about it. Unloading all this, getting something back at his former friend like this gave him an intense sense of satisfaction.

"For someone as intelligent as you, your deficiency in understanding when a door is closed and never to be opened again is astonishing. Do not call me again." He slammed the phone on its receiver.

"Wow...you've certainly come a long way from Mr. Watcher, Wes." Lilah said. "I like it. I was half-expecting you to threaten to kill her." She smiled brightly. "I think we're making progress."

"Don't be so smug, Lilah." Wesley said. "I was betrayed by them as much as I did any betraying. Of course I'm going to hate them – especially after they come crawling to me for help, like I'm just waiting here for them to take me back or something." He shook his head. "Still not interested in the end of the world." He pulled her back onto his lap. "Now, as I recall, you told me anger was a much bigger turn on than love. And I have a lot of anger to work off right now."

Lilah smiled in that sexy way that never failed to get a jolt out of him. "I like the way you think."

Author's Note: Coming up next chapter: Wesley takes his first head, and starts to put together his own team. As for Wesley's hostility to Fred, personally, I think its an entirely reasonable reaction, when looked at it from his perspective, especially figuring in the increased alienation he's feeling due to his immortal status, the hypocrisy Fred is showing (she is the one who said 'don't come back to the hotel'), and the fact that he did in fact DIE, there in the park. Intellectually, he knows they didn't - couldn't - know he died, but emotionally, its not just that they left him there TO DIE. They left him there DEAD.