Author: Roseveare, t.l.green@talk21.com
Rating: PG-13 (for violence, bad language and bad jokes)
Summary: "Of all the options I was weighing for the evening, being held captive by gangster demons alongside *you* was not exactly a feature on my list..." Wesley and Doyle are having a Really Bad Day.
Background: An episode of Angel: the Cyber Series, set in an alternate universe where Hero never happened. In the previous episode, Doyle almost died from a demon illness caught off Dinah, the demon child Cordy has been looking after. Wesley showed up in LA but has not yet met the AI team, only Harry. Read previous stories by various writers at http://www.haelen.org/cleocalliope/atcs/
Disclaimer: Joss and co own all Angel the series characters and concepts, not me. I make no profit from this. Yadda, yadda, yadda.
Author Note: Roseveare attempts to write action comedy. And original Buffyverse characters. Ye gods... just shoot me now.
Note: Marlon the demon would like to thank his agent, his mum, the inspirational stars of all those old classics, and the other nice people who made his guest starring role possible.
Rogue Demons
Part 1
"So, you're telling me your store was robbed by...demons?" Angel repeated, unable to keep an edge of scepticism from his voice.
His client, a grey-haired, respectable-looking businessman in his forties who wore a suit with a nametag on the lapel - "Roland Bates, Store Manager" - and a stressed expression, nodded. "That's right. I wouldn't have believed it, and I was there, but..." He shrugged and ran his finger along the edge of the video cassette he'd brought which rested now on the desk between where they both sat. "Here's the proof. The CCTV camera caught the whole thing. They didn't seem to care, but on the other hand who could I show it to? The police would laugh me right out of the station. Too easy to hoax video footage these days. It was my good fortune that I heard about you - you do believe me, don't you, Mr. Angel?"
"It's just Angel." He laughed quietly, and tried to change the sound into a cough so as not to offend Bates. "Look, I do know these beings exist, although I'm not sure why they would want to go in for shoplifting household electrical goods... let's watch the tape."
He picked up the tape and inserted it into the video machine he'd brought into the office at Bates' request. Ran through Cordelia's instructions carefully in his mind before attempting to switch it on.
The screen remained a fuzz of defiant static. Angel shrugged helplessly at Bates. "I'm sorry. This machine hates me. I'll have this in just a moment."
Bates leaned forward and stabbed a finger at the control pad on the front of the VCR and it whirred into action.
"Thanks." Angel shuffled back out of the way of the screen as it flared into life. In the hazy greyscale image, Mr Bates could be seen walking down a row of washing machines in an empty store with a clipboard in his hands. The timer in the corner of the display read 11.04. Just after closing time, Bates had said.
As Angel watched, a group of four demons of varying breeds crashed through the closed doors in the background, sending shards of glass and metal everywhere. Something bounced off the camera lens, but it didn't harm the recording or obscure the picture for more than a second. Mr. Bates spun around, and looked aghast. One of the demons gestured threateningly in his direction with four-inch claws, and its lips moved soundlessly. Mr. Bates stood very still as the four demons proceeded to clear out the store.
As the scene quieted again upon the demons' exit, he reached forward and flicked the off switch. "Okay," he said. "So demons robbed your store. Has this... happened before?"
"To me, no. But I did some asking around myself, when I initially thought there was nobody I could go to. And it seems there might be others these creatures have hit. A few reasonably large stores have shown a big discrepancy in their takings, very abruptly, like someone had just walked in and taken a chunk out and they hadn't done anything about it. Here, I drew up a list. It's all based on the finance and other business rumours at the moment, you'll have to go talk to people if you want to verify it." Bates opened the briefcase which had sat quietly beside him throughout their discussion and handed over a file.
"Wow," Angel said, opening it up and staring at the pages of neat figures. "You've been busy. Well, I assure you we'll try our best to do something about this."
He thought about the set-up. There were four demons on the video footage, and Bates had mentioned earlier that they had driven away in a van, which they'd used to transport the goods, which obviously hadn't shown up on the CCTV recording. So there were at least five in this gang. And from the organised way they'd operated on the film, Bates was right and they'd done this before. It was a pretty major operation, then.
He supposed it was fairly clever, all things considered. The demons would figure they could get away with this because nobody was going to be able to take their complaints anywhere they'd be believed. There was nothing to stop them. But still... "Why would demons get involved in something like this?" he wondered aloud, still unable to keep the amusement from his voice.
Bates shrugged, not seeming to mind. He evidently understood that it was a fairly odd situation. "Beats me," he said, "but I'm willing to pay you in order to see them stopped. You don't have to get all of the goods back, but this-" he hesitated. "Not that getting as many of the goods back as possible wouldn't be appreciated. I mean, I'm going to have a hell of a job claiming for insurance on this."
Angel nodded. He hoped Doyle was feeling as recovered as he'd been insisting he was, because he was going to need him to ask around his contacts for this one. Word of an operation like this should have gotten around the demon community, and Doyle would be able to dig out the information much quicker - and more peaceably - than he would himself.
He suppressed a smile. In fact, he rather thought that Doyle would welcome a chance to escape from Cordelia's recent smothering concern for a while.
"Cordelia, please don't take this the wrong way, but do you have any friends that aren't dead or demons?"
"Uh... sure, Wesley." She raised her eyebrows at him. "Unless there's something you're not telling me as well?"
"No, no, I'm not a demon," he stuttered, awkwardly half-laughing. "Although I'm delighted to hear you still think of me as a friend."
"Well... barely," she said, with a sappy grin.
Doyle had sat down again and was currently pretending to ignore the exchange while watching them covertly from behind the sports paper, feeling his hopes begin to sink. Just when he and Cordelia had been getting somewhere, her previous date had to walk in and ruin it all. And it just had to be a tall guy with a fancy accent and wearing a suit, no less.
After a few initially promising hiccups, the conversation had taken a worryingly friendly turn, as they questioned each other about their current lives and recent history, and now the pair were chatting happily away, leaving Doyle feeling forgotten on the sidelines.
Wesley sipped his coffee, frowned at it, and said, "I think there may be something wrong with your coffee machine."
Cordelia looked at the machine, lifted the lid and peered inside. She shrugged. "Nope, it's fine, I guess it's just 'cause you usually drink tea it'll taste funny - sorry about that, by the way. If you're going to be coming round a lot, living in LA now, I can make sure we get some in."
Doyle choked, and turned it into a coughing fit. Cordelia directed an 'I-told-you-so' glance at him, evidently taking it as remnant of the demonic fever he'd recently suffered. She rolled her eyes at Wesley. "He's sick," she explained. "Not that he'll accept that."
Wesley nodded distractedly. He was looking unconvinced by her theory about the coffee, shaking the cup slightly and studying the liquid swirling around within. He took a long gulp, with an air of getting the torture over with quickly. Doyle experienced a moment of rather evil satisfaction watching his face twist as he swallowed. He gingerly set the cup down.
"Well, it's been good to see you. I hope I shall see you around again sometime. Of course, I don't know how long I shall be in LA." He straightened his jacket and struck what was presumably meant to be a manly pose for effect, "A rogue demon hunter leads an eventful life, you know."
Doyle lifted the paper up higher to hide his smirk.
"Sure." To his delight, the swagger seemed to pass over Cordelia's head without notice. The guy still had some work to do in the area of looking impressive and dangerous. "But, hey, aren't you going to wait to say hi to Angel when he's finished up with this client? I mean, I know you got him beat up by the Watchers Council and all but I'm sure he'd be delighted to see you too."
Doyle forgot about pretending he wasn't watching them, letting the paper fall from his face in his astonishment. Right, now he definitely wasn't liking this guy. He hadn't heard that story before; he was gonna have to ask Angel about it.
"Um... I don't think so," Wesley said, smiling uneasily. "I, ah, think I'll just go. Angel must be a busy... man... now. I shouldn't like to get in the way."
"Okay. Hey, how about you come around this evening? To my place. We can talk some more, catch up on everything. Is 7pm good for you?"
Aw, hell, that's all I need. Doyle rustled his paper pointedly in angry protest, but she either didn't get the message or she ignored it. Either way, she made no attempt to rescind her invitation.
"Certainly," Wesley said, with a slight stutter, beaming. "That would be delightful. I... don't really know many people in LA. It's been a while since I enjoyed some friendly conversation."
"Great! I'll see you later, then." Cordelia wrote her address down on a scrap of paper and handed it over with a smile, and Doyle felt a sick feeling in his stomach that had nothing at all to do with his recent illness.
She walked Wesley out, and Doyle listened to their muffled voices continuing their chatter for several minutes in the outside the door before finally he heard the door close and then silence.
Cordelia returned, and she looked happy. Doyle studied her grimly. So this was it, then. "Well, that wasn't as horrible as I expected," she said.
"Oh, no," Doyle agreed sarcastically, emerging from behind his paper and setting it aside on the floor. "I could tell you were just loathin' every minute of the guy's presence. What was that about him gettin' Angel hurt? Why'd you have to invite him over?"
"And what's that supposed to mean? He's Wesley, it's not like I'm going to go off and get fleshy with him over a cup of English Breakfast. Besides, I thought you wanted to lend a hand to Angel on this case. So it won't bother you since you'll be investigating."
"Oh, so now you're all right with me riskin' my neck, now it's convenient for -"
She looked at her watch impatiently, brushing off his protest. "Oh, god, is that the time? Look, I really have to go back and take care of Dinah. Phantom Dennis is very well-meaning, but I don't think it's good for a kid to be raised by a ghost, and I've been leaving him to babysit a little too often - don't you dare repeat that to him, mind, he likes Dinah and he's very sensitive about, you know, being dead."
"Yeah, and speaking of which, I could've done without you tellin' Wesley about the demon thing, too," Doyle said, unable to keep the trace of resentment from his voice.
"I'm sorry, but I for one think it's best he knows. I mean, you go all spiky when you sneeze, for a start, and imagine if he was around to see that happen and thought 'aha! a demon's killed Doyle and taken his place, I better dispose of the fiend'. That would really suck, right?"
"You think that ponce could take me?" he asked indignantly.
"Oh, please. Enough with the macho posturing already. Besides, he might get lucky."
Doyle muttered under his breath, "So long as he doesn't get lucky with you." Which was, in retrospect, a mistake.
She glared at him. "I did hear that. And since when were we even an item? I don't recall us ever being an item. You were sick, I looked after you. Don't count on it becoming a theme. You know, if I wanted to pick things up with Wesley again - and I so don't - then I could do it quite well enough without your permission, thank you."
Angel chose that moment to step out of his office. Their new client hovered a few paces behind him, and he nodded politely to Doyle and Cordelia before the vampire showed him to the door and saw him out, repeating assurances that they'd do everything they could on his case.
"Doyle," Angel said apologetically, turning back to them once he'd gone. "I need you to do a few things. Nothing particularly strenuous, just research some stuff. Ask around your contacts after recent demon activity. If you wouldn't mind - you are all right now, aren't you?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, man." He shot a sour, disenchanted glance at Cordelia, who shifted on her feet and wouldn't meet his gaze. He turned his own eyes firmly away from her.
Angel frowned, noticing the tension, and then sniffed the air and his frown deepened. "Was someone here?" he asked.
"Just Wesley," Cordelia said, picking up her jacket and heading for the door. "I have to get home to look after the munchkin. I'll see you later. Or tomorrow. Oh - and I have an appointment tonight, so if any demon stuff happens, I'm so not available. Right?"
"Uh, okay. Cordy-" Angel began to yell after her, then sighed as the door slammed closed and he realised he was speaking to the air. He turned to Doyle. "Wesley? He was here?"
"Yeah." Doyle rolled his eyes. "Look, man, just how close were they in Sunnydale?"
"I'm not certain. I know it was... brief. She thought he'd gone back to England, but apparently he's parted ways with the Watchers Council. I shouldn't worry about it, Doyle. I'm sure it's nothing. In case you hadn't noticed, she kinda likes you now."
Doyle snorted, unconvinced. "Nothin'," he repeated. "Sure. Let's get to work on these demons, then."
Cordelia had been surprised by how the encounter with Wesley had gone. When Harry had mentioned he was there in LA, she had actually been dreading the possibility she'd run into him again, had been expecting it would be uncomfortable and stir up complicating things, debris of their attachment in Sunnydale. But she'd been surprised to find it was quite the reverse. She'd felt all that slide behind them as they talked, the baggage disappearing.
They'd both been going through stressful times in Sunnydale, she supposed, and had seen in the other exactly what they wanted to see and nothing more. Now? - now it was good to realise she had one more friend than she'd thought.
The day was brightly sunny, and while that might not be a good thing if you were Angel, Cordelia was enjoying it as she walked down the road which led to her apartment building, where wide gardens faced onto the street providing pleasant surroundings. She tried to push her irritation at Doyle and how he'd made her lose her temper to the back of her mind.
She was, she had to admit, somewhat amused that Doyle seemed to feel threatened by Wesley of all people - not that there was, like, anything to threaten, because there was nothing at all, obviously, except in Doyle's imagination.
Let him sweat, she thought, as she turned up the sunny path approaching her apartment block, reaching into her purse for her keys. He hadn't told her he was a goddamned demon for three months, after all.
And, speaking of demons-
She frowned at the specimen with the alligator-like snout which had emerged from its hiding place in the shrubbery at the side of the path.
She only hesitated a moment - and that was with surprise that the creature would approach her in broad daylight, even though nobody was looking. She was so accustomed to thinking of herself safe in the sunlight, but of course it was only largely vampires who couldn't go out in it. For most demons it was merely a precaution thing, against being seen.
And when she recovered her wits, it wasn't her keys that she pulled out of her purse.
She sprayed the mace into the demon's face, and when it yelped and raised its clawed hands to its eyes, she threw all her weight behind a shove that landed it in the middle of a patch of flowers. She sprinted away towards her apartment, cursing her heels. She thought she could still hear the demon sneezing even as she slammed the door behind her and locked it.
Her initial thought was for Dinah. From the door of the child's room Cordelia could see she was there, sleeping. She ran over to the little girl, paranoia seizing her, just to check she was really sleeping. Was relieved to see her chest still rose and fell with breath, and she looked unharmed.
Cordelia dived for the phone, and it floated to meet her half-way, courtesy of Phantom Dennis. She stabbed at the keypad, pressing the receiver to her ear and trying to catch her breath enough to talk as she listened to the ringing.
"Uh, Angel Investigations. We help... people."
She huffed at Angel's mangling of the catch-phrase she'd thought up for them, and was about to berate him extensively for it when she remembered why she was phoning him. "Angel! A demon just tried to jump me outside my apartment. In broad daylight!"
"What kind of demon?" Angel was abruptly all business-like concern.
"Well, it looked kind of like one of the Ninja Turtles but with a big alligator snoot -"
"Ninja Turtles?" She'd lost him.
"Jeeze! I know you're an undead creature of the night and all, but how could you possibly have escaped - never mind. It was a six foot green reptile with kind of a shelly armour. And an alligator snoot. And, apparently, hayfever."
"Uh..."
"Angel, why would this thing be after me?" she asked, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice, feeling the aftermath of shock from the sudden attack. "Am I in danger? Will it be back? I mean, the door's locked and this place is pretty secure, not to mention it having Ghost Protection. But Dinah's here too - sleeping, right now. Is she in danger? Is this something to do with her? Is this something related to your case?"
"I don't know," he said, sounding a little overwhelmed. "Cordelia, calm down. I think you'll be safe enough for now, and if anything happens you can phone the police: the attention should make this demon scarce pretty quickly. Doyle's already left here, and my mobility's limited in the daylight, so I'll have to take the sewers, but I'll get there as soon as I can. I've got a video I'd like you to take a look at, and I don't think you should risk leaving your apartment."
"Huh?" She stared at the receiver in puzzlement. "I know how I'm always telling you to lighten up already, but is this any time to be watching movies?"
"Well, I can't find any sign of a demon around here now," Angel said. "Although, granted, I can't do as close an examination of the area as I'd like while it's daylight."
"You think I scared it off?" Cordelia was sitting on the couch with Dinah hugged in her arms. The little girl was wide eyed. Earlier, when he'd first arrived, Angel had witnessed Dinah, scared by the siege atmosphere and in tears, asking Cordelia if they were coming for her - to receive the reply that if they were then she would get to watch mama kick their asses all over the apartment.
Personally, he thought that Cordelia had probably not only scared it off but psychologically scarred it for life.
"I think you should stay on your guard," he said. "But for now, I think it's gone."
"So why would these shoplifting demons be after me, anyway? I mean, the guy only came to us today about this case."
Angel nodded, thinking. "Maybe it's just coincidence. All we can tell from the tape is that this is the same type of demon as one of those from the gang. But it could be a different demon, and this could be about something else entirely."
"Or...?"
"Or... maybe Mr Bates was followed to us?" he suggested hesitantly. "He said he'd been investigating before he contacted us - maybe he'd aroused their suspicions. I have to admit, the attack in daylight matches the style of this gang. They're not afraid of being seen. They rely on the fact that people won't believe."
"That still doesn't explain why they'd want to grab me." She stared at him for a minute, as the realisation crossed her expression, and he winced in anticipation of the impending eruption. "Oh, that's just great! How cliche can you get? They want a hostage so the fierce vampire won't splat them into little demony stains on the ground, so they just saunter over to grab the helpless girl assistant..."
"Their mistake," muttered Angel.
"Excuse me!?"
He changed the subject quickly, "Well, you've got the herbs that should keep that Kesh demon away, so you're safe enough here from him at least. As for the rest, there's not a lot more I can do while the sun's up other than research. Unless you feel like coming back with me to drive the car?" he added hopefully.
"What, you think I'm going to crawl through those yucky sewer tunnels with you? As if. And I'm not going outside alone while that thing might still be hovering around in the sunlight where you can't reach. Anyway, Dinah needs her dinner and Wesley's gonna be here in just two hours or so and - hey, I did book this evening off, remember?"
"All right." Angel sighed. "I'll keep trying to trace these guys. You'll call me if anything happens?"
"Oh, boy, yes." She hesitated. "Angel - what else are you worried about?"
"Not worried precisely," he said, pausing in the doorway. "It's probably nothing. I'll let you know if it isn't."
But, as he exited the apartment keeping a wary lookout for the demon, he thought that, his dismissive reassurances to Cordelia aside, he'd be a whole lot happier if he had some way to get in touch with Doyle.
The band of demon shoplifters appeared to have been annoyingly discrete within the demon world if not the human one, Doyle thought, as he trudged into the smoky little demon bar in which he hoped he should find the next contact on his list. So far, all he had been able to determine were vague hints and rumours. A couple of contradictory speculations as to where the base they were working from might be, which he'd noted down without much faith, but nothing more than that.
His next contact was more likely to know than most - but from past record, considerably less likely to tell. Garson had given him the runaround a few times with various false reports, and the only sure way Doyle had discovered to get the truth out of him was to drink him under the table and hope he'd still have enough wits about him to ask, and Garson enough to answer, by that point. But that was a lengthy process and one that was going to be problematic today.
He approached the counter, and it took an effort to resist the automatic impulse to take a seat and order a bottle of something. Despite his insistences to Cordy and Angel, he still felt slightly weak and he seemed to tire easily. He hadn't covered half the ground he'd usually manage in an afternoon yet and he was exhausted already. If he didn't pick up the pace soon, he'd never be in time to meet Angel back at the office at 7pm to go over their findings as he'd arranged.
Not that Angel would find it particularly unusual if he were late. He'd probably just assume that the temptation of trolling that many bars had proved insurmountable. It wouldn't exactly be the first time.
"Hey, Gus," he said to the slime demon behind the bar, who nodded his antlered head in greeting. "Know where Garson is?"
"In the back." Gus pointed towards the doorway which led into the games room. As Doyle turned to head over there, the bar-demon called after him, with scepticism, "Not ordering today, Doyle? You ill or something?"
"Have been," he agreed mildly, without breaking his stride. He couldn't deny, he was tempted, but he suspected that if he had even one drink, he'd be asleep in the corner. And that wasn't really something he wanted to risk in this place, which was one of the rougher demon hangouts on his program. In a place like this, with certain of the clientele, being a hybrid was as likely to get you beat to a pulp as if you were a human walking in there.
He found Garson in the back room easily enough. A scruffy individual of indeterminate species, who could have been a particularly ugly human except that he stank of demon - and that was 'stank' in the completely literal sense. Doyle held his breath as he approached the guy, who was currently playing at crashing rather unconvincing computer representations of cars on an ancient slot machine.
"Hey, Garson," he said.
"Hey." He didn't look up from the game, eyes remaining determinedly focused on the screen. Doyle watched over his shoulder as another digital vehicle fizzled out in an explosion of green pixels and Garson swore as the screen flashed up 'Game Over'.
"Hard luck. Buy you a drink?"
"I guess." He sounded reluctant, knowing very well that the exchange was, as always, information.
They returned to the main room and to the counter, where Doyle ordered and received a number of strange glances at his own request for plain water. Which he needed, actually - his mouth fell dry and it seemed very warm in that room.
"You weren't kidding," Gus remarked with a bark of laughter. "You really must've been ill."
"Yeah, you do look a bit pale," Garson said, as the bar-demon moved away to serve somebody else. "Must've been serious. What was it?"
"Uh, somethin' called... Khualah?" Doyle struggled over the pronunciation. "Now, what I wanna ask you 'bout -"
Garson's reaction astonished him. The demon jumped up from his seat and backed away. "Hell, Doyle, get away from me. I know a guy died of that."
"You do - he did?" Doyle yelped. He felt decidedly grey at the idea, and wondered if maybe Cordy hadn't been right after all, about convalescing for a while longer. "I thought it was just, like, demon measles."
"Look, pal, you may have grown up in a world where immunisations and medical attention were at your beck and call, but for those of us who aren't quite so human that ain't the case, and I happen not to have had that particular disease. It's bad enough in kiddies, but in, say, the more mature demon..." He drew one hand in a line across his throat.
Doyle swallowed. He guessed Harry hadn't known all the facts, or she'd been playing it down, when she'd explained what had been wrong with him. He realised that his own reaction wasn't helping and made an effort to calm down. "Cool it, Garson, man, it's all right, I'm not contagious or anythin'. I've been laid up with this thing for almost two weeks. It's way past the point where it's communicable. D'ya really think I'd be here otherwise?"
"I guess..." The small demon returned to his seat but kind of leaned away from him as though still not convinced, avoiding any direct contact, and seeming to sway back slightly every time Doyle so much as breathed out. "Let's make this quick, though, right?" he asked pleadingly.
"Okay. Gang of shopliftin' demons. Know where they hang out?"
Two minutes later, Doyle was heading out of the bar with an address, and musing that almost dying of highly contagious demonic illnesses had its hidden uses after all.
Wesley hugged close to the shadows outside the bar, nervous of the area - not to mention the demon types he had seen through a crack of visibility at the edge of the smoked-out windows.
He hadn't consciously made the decision to follow Doyle. After leaving the Angel Investigations office, he'd hung around across the street for some time, wondering what to do with the rest of the day now. Cordelia had been kind enough to invite him over to her place later, but until then, he didn't really have anywhere to go. He'd seen Cordelia leave and then, about ten minutes later, Doyle had come out. Wesley's feet had started moving without instruction from his brain, and he'd trailed after the half-demon when he headed off down the street.
He figured he owed it to her, especially since his own demon-hunting skills were not currently otherwise employed, at least to make sure her trust in this demon fellow's benign nature was justified. Unlike Harry Doyle, he found himself quite unable to believe that any demon meant well; even Angel had had to be cursed in order to do good. As for Ms Doyle... well, she had been tricked into marrying him - yes, he had finally made the connection between her husband's reported illness, and their shared names, while he was coming down in the elevator - and that considered she was hardly impartial. It was only natural that she would want to believe in this creature's essential good nature. He supposed at least he understood now why she was so fierce in her defence of demons, the poor woman.
From the people and places the half-demon had visited these last few hours, Wesley was becoming increasingly concerned that Cordelia - and maybe Angel, too - was being duped.
Take this demon bar, for example. Wesley had watched in disbelief as Doyle walked unharmed and apparently unconcerned through the ranks of some of the most vicious fiends of the demon world, even greeting a couple of them with a brief exchange of words or a friendly pat on the shoulder. It was impossible, he thought, that anyone who was accepted in this place should be up to anything good.
He saw Doyle stand up from his conversation with the more-or-less human looking Hraki demon - who actually seemed to be afraid of him, a fact which especially worried Wesley, knowing what that particular breed were capable of - and walk towards the exit. Quickly, Wesley backed away from the window, tripping over the garbage littering the floor of the alley outside the bar's back door, and hid out of sight in the shadows.
A few seconds later, Doyle emerged from the bar, staggering slightly on the threshold and catching hold of the edge of the door for balance. Yes, the effects of his illness were definitely no ruse, Wesley noted, thinking that the knowledge might come in useful.
The half-demon recovered himself and started to walk briskly away. There was something in his manner that spoke of a job completed. Wesley wondered what foul schemes he could have been up to.
He let Doyle hurry past and waited several seconds to allow him a good lead before he started to follow. Although it was daylight, and a sunny evening, in all the tall buildings and narrow streets which dominated this area of the city the sun only reached the ground in thin, rare cracks and shadows were abundant. There was no shortage of hiding places. He supposed that would be why the demons favoured this area.
He supposed that would be why he had failed to notice the two which melted out from the shadows to block Doyle's path, although they must have been waiting there for the half-demon to come out of the bar for some time, even as Wesley had himself.
They must have known Wesley was there, too, because he hadn't made any attempt to stay hidden from other eyes behind him when he'd been peering through the windows of the bar. But even if he was in danger, he stood there and watched dumbly as the two demons - both large, fierce creatures - jumped their clearly outmatched prey.
Doyle ducked under one's grasping, clawed hands, and the other's fist clipped the side of his head, sending him staggering. He only just kept his feet. But he'd managed to evade them, and he turned around and sprinted back in the direction he'd come.
There was no chance for Wesley to move out of the way. The running half-demon crashed straight into him and the next he knew he was on the floor of the alley, with Doyle's weight sprawled across him, pinning him to the ground. His head spun from the impact with the concrete and his vision was blurry: he reached a hand up to confirm that his glasses were gone. Green-blue eyes stared at him incredulously out of the face that was inches from his own. "You!-"
The next moment, he found a scrap of paper shoved into his hand. "I don't know what the hell you're doing here, but get the hell out now and get that to Angel," Doyle growled, before rolling away from him. With the weight restricting his movement gone, Wesley frantically felt around for his glasses, shoving the scrap of paper into his jacket's breast pocket to free up both hands for the task. He found them and replaced them even as he pulled himself upright, preparing to make a run for it.
After all, it was what the fellow wanted, and he didn't feel much like sticking around. What could he do, unprepared, unarmed? And if, as he suspected, the half-demon was up to no good being here in the first place, why then he hardly merited Wesley's aid anyway.
Doyle had taken half a dozen running steps when one of the demons tackled him and brought him down again. Wesley was astonished to see the demon haul up by the throat a spiky creature that seemed to have appropriated Doyle's clothes. He backed away several steps, and the spiked demon's eyes settled on him and it yelled, in Doyle's voice, choked by pain and more than a little irritation, "I thought I told you to run?"
Wesley, not quite able to tear his eyes away from the reality of this creature who purported to be Cordelia's friend, nevertheless staggered backwards faster.
The demon cursed and flung the spiky creature headfirst into a wall. The spikes and the green faded away from human skin upon impact and Doyle sagged motionless to the ground. The demon started towards Wesley. Its companion was already moving.
He didn't need any more encouragement to turn his back and run for his life.
But by then, of course, he had run out of time.
