"Wow, Wes, you look almost as bad as me. Same guy, I assume." Gunn said groggily from his hospital bed. The right side of his head was bandaged entirely; Wesley could only guess where the bullet went in.

"Yeah, he decided to go traditional with me."

"Listen, Wes, I know it wasn't you. The guy could do faces pretty well, but the eyes gave it away."

"Wes gave me the lowdown on this demon. If we can find him, should be able to kill him without too much trouble."

"Yes, that will be hard part. Obviously he's not through with whatever game he's playing, so it'd certainly be better to find him before he strikes again." Hearing himself say the words, set off an alarm in Wesley's head. "Angel, I left Cordelia alone at the hotel, maybe you better- "

"I'm gone." Angel said, finishing Wesley's thought.

"I should probably come with you, Charles has a couple things he needs, and I think these clothes are starting to meld with my skin. Lorne, you wanna come with?" Fred said, from the chair she had slept in for the past 2 ½ days.

"Sure, honey, I think I'm having the same problem. These suits just aren't made for vigils."

"I'll be back in a little bit, Charles." Fred said, kissing his forehead. Wesley winced a little at the sight, he was still a little bitter, but recent events had made him almost forget. Almost. He was happy she was happy, though. He felt sick at the thought that he had caused her such pain and anguish.

Fred and Angel left, leaving Gunn and Wesley, alone. He knew he had to tell Gunn, but he wasn't sure how he was going to do it.

"Gunn, I'm sorry. It's my fault you're lying in this bed."

"It wasn't you Wes, I know that. You had nothing to do with it, man. Just because some demon decided to mimic your face, doesn't mean that you're responsible."

"That's the thing, though, I am responsible. That demon attacked you because of me." "What?" Gunn asked, clearly confused.

Wesley knew this wasn't going to be easy, but he trudged through the story once again.

Wesley had gone into more detail, than he had with Cordelia, but when it was all said and done, they had come to some understanding. It wasn't too long ago that Gunn's former crew had nearly killed them all at Caritas, so Gunn could relate.

"So how we gonna go about killing this guy? We are gonna kill him, right?"

Wesley nodded his head, deep in thought.

"I mean I know he used to be your friend and you kinda screwed him, but he's definitely gone off the deep end."

"Yes, he's clearly become a threat."

"So how we gonna take care of him, boss?"

"We have to find him first. Cordelia's working on that, checking out hotels and such, but I can't imagine it's going to be easy. I would say set a trap, but we still don't know what his agenda is."

"Well, I don't think it's a coincidence that he posed as you and tried to kill me. He probably was hoping I'd die and you'd go to jail."

"I ruined his life, I suppose he wanted to return the favor, but now?"

"Now maybe he just wants to take you out."

"Perhaps, but. it just doesn't seem like John. John was the smart one. He always had a plan."

"Maybe he lost his patience after being locked up by the Council."

Wesley's cell phone rang, interrupting their conversation.

"Hello"

"Wesley, this is your father, we need to discuss some things, would you meet me at my hotel room as soon as you can?"

Wesley walked out of Gunn's room, not wanting him to hear his one- sided conversation with his father. "Father, I'm in the middle of something here, could it wait until tomorrow?"

"Wesley, need I remind you who is responsible for you not sitting in a jail cell at this moment?"

"No, of course" Wesley answered, dejected. "Yes, I understand, it's just."

"Just what? What can be more important than family?" His father said sternly.

"Nothing, I'll finish up this meeting and then I'll head right over."

"Good."

Wesley hung up and came back into Gunn's room.

"Who was that?"

"My father. He came to town when he heard of my arrest, I'm afraid something's come up. Are you all right here?"

"Sure thing, English, you take care of what you need to. Besides, the doc said that the police were coming by to get my statement, and they might get a little twitchy with you here."

"Police? What are you going to say?"

"That it wasn't you. Besides that, didn't get a good look at him," Gunn smiled smugly.

"Of course. Remind me to give you a raise when all this is over."

"Damn straight. We're talking about medical bills, pain and suffering, hazard pay-" Gunn said, only half-joking.

"I suppose I asked for that. All right, I'm leaving. Tell Fred I'm sorry I couldn't stay."

"Be careful, man."



Wesley arrived at the hotel in one piece. Ignoring the nurse's warning not to operate a vehicle after a blow to the head like his was foolhardy, but he didn't have time for doctor's warnings. He was fine, though, just as long as he didn't stand up or move his head too fast. It was a Marriot, no surprise to Wesley, his father, not the richest man in the world still had a businessman's taste in travel: only the best. Wesley knocked on the door of the top-level suite, only to notice that the door jam was in place and he entered the room.

"Father?", he called out timidly. He entered the living room of the large suit, and that's when he saw it. His father on the ground. Unconscious. Wesley knew it was a trap, he didn't go over to his father as instinct dictated. He had to get out, he was too vulnerable here. Too late again, was the last thought Wesley had, as a painful blow to the back of his head sent him sprawling to the floor, and into darkness.



He came out, slowly, becoming aware of things a part at a time. Voices came first. He concentrated on that to get his bearings, but as he became more aware he realized it was television. Then, he opened his eyes. He was in a different room, although the stylings suggested that it was the same hotel. He noticed that his hands and feet wouldn't move. He soon deduced that they were tied to the chair he was sitting in. His shirt was gone, he noticed as well. As he was contemplating where his shirt had gone to, movement in the corner of his eye sped up his awareness, John, in his human persona, came into full view. There was pot with a dark liquid in it on the floor in front of Wesley and several ancient books spread over the coffee table.

"Sorry it had to come to this, old chap, but..no wait this is exactly what I planned," he said marking Wesley's forehead with the dark liquid from the pot.

"A mistaken identity plot would have been far too simple for you, John."

"Ahhh.you're beginning to put the pieces together. About time. I rather think you would have seen it miles away," he said smugly, now painting a circular symbol on Wesley's chest.

"You shot Gunn, to make it look like I shot him, but not really because you didn't wear blue contacts. Rather simple, but effective move. You knew Gunn would wake up or eventually they would find out the truth. You attacked me so as to look like your original plan to send me to prison failed and now you just wanted me dead, but if you wanted to kill me, it would have been done already, so what's the real game, John? Bore me to death with your mind-numbingly insipid term papers?"

"Good idea" John said, ignoring the ex-watcher's pointed insult "But no, Wesley, I'm not going to kill you. I thought you gave me more credit than that. I'm a good man remember? Or at least I was until the Council decided that I wasn't. But, make no mistake, you will die. The most painful way imaginable: at the hands of your friends. But don't worry about them. They'll have a new and improved Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, to lead them, " he said shifting to Wesley's face. Wesley noticed now that his visage was a spot-on match, including the blue contacts.

He picked up a gourd and one of the books from the table. Wesley recognized it as one of his books. Wesley started to protest, but was cut off by John chanting from the book. Wesley recognized the dialect, but it wasn't one he was particularly familiar with. He could pick out a couple words. "Corrupt.demon.transform". That was enough for Wesley to figure it out.

"I hear the transformation is quite painful, lasting about 5 hours. Too bad I won't be around for most of it, but I do have an unconscious father to attend to. Your friends will show up here, about the time you are able to break your restraints, with your demon strength. Not enough to beat the vampire, though, I'm afraid. And I imagine he'll be mighty teed off, after you shot his friend and all."

Wesley was speechless. His mind racing, trying to find a solution to this puzzle.

"Oh, one last loose end to burn or tie up whatever these Americans say. So many damn clichés," his identical twin said flippantly.

"Any last words?"

He grabbed Wesley's jaw hard. Wesley tried to resist, but he was still a little weak from his numerous blows to the head. John pulled open Wesley's mouth and sprayed a substance from a small white container down his throat. It burned Wesley's mouth and throat and he tried to spit it out, but it continued to burn. Wesley tried to speak, but no sound came out.

"Wouldn't want you ruining a perfectly good plan with a heartfelt speech proving you're really Wesley?"

Before Wesley could even fully react to that horror, a reverberating pain swept through his body, unlike anything he'd ever felt. If someone could tear apart his body and still leave him alive, Wesley was sure this would be what it felt like. He would have screamed his lungs out, but he couldn't make a sound.

"All right. I've got to be going. Enjoy your death."



Wesley wasn't sure how much time had passed since John had left, it seemed like an eternity, but that was probably because of the pain. He could feel himself changing, but he was afraid to look down at his chest. He had to know though, how far along the transformation had gone.

It must have been a while, his chest was now humanoid with a mottled green complexion resembling John. He knew it was still dark outside. Through the muddle of pain, Wesley had come up with something resembling a plan. If he could just stay in his restraints, Angel wouldn't kill him right off. Would he?

Suddenly another wave of pain passed through and Wesley lurched over, unable to express it with a groan or scream. He clenched all his muscles, instinctively retreating to a fetal position. He tried the concentration exercises he had learned with the Council, retreating to a safe place, his grade school library, among the stacks, delving into a chimerical world far from England and his father.

Eventually, the pain subsided to a lower grade, and when Wesley came back to reality, the chair he was tied to was broken and he was on the floor. So much for that plan, now he had to settle for plan B. Run for his life.

Too late for that, as a loud bang in the other room signified that Angel had arrived. His only option was to barricade the door until he could come up with a better plan. He blocked the door with the coffee table, before the first bang came. He picked up the TV with relative ease and put it on the table. The door moved a couple inches with the second, and louder bang. Wesley knew Angel would break it down soon and he was effectively trapped.

His mind raced as he tried to figure a way out of this. He could try and fight Angel off long enough to get away, but there were a million ways that could go wrong.

He was a Yersai, maybe he could shape shift long enough to keep Angel from killing him. Wesley tried to do his face in the mirror, but all that resulted was a freakish humanoid face with yellow hair. He tried again and got something even more strange looking. He had read books on this and knew there was a trick to this. What was the word that Yersai were trained to focus on? Tracoratum? Tracajarie? Tracajersie. Of course, the Gashundi word for transformation. Before Wesley could chide himself for not knowing it sooner, the TV fell on the carpet with a thud and the door flew open.

Angel broke through carrying an ax. Cordy followed after him with a crossbow in hand. Wesley looked around for a weapon to no avail. Angel lunged at him and Wesley dodged, barely missing the wrong side of the ax. The lunge threw Angel slightly off his guard and Wesley put in a right jab before backing away again. Angel took another swing with the ax directly at Wesley's head and Wesley blocked it with his arms at the handle of the ax, but the force was too much and he fell to the ground, tripping on his discarded shirt.

Angel saw that his opponent was effectively beaten and put his foot on Wesley's chest to hold him in place to make sure this blow was the last. Wesley had one last chance as he tried to shift into his former visage. Angel stopped mid-swing and lifted his foot slightly from Wesley's chest.

"Angel, what are you doing, the guy's a shapeshifter remember?" Cordy said, pointing her crossbow at Wesley who now actually looked like Wesley.

"Sorry, just threw me off for a second." Angel said rather casually to Cordelia. "Hey, that's pretty good, not gonna fool me though."

"Angel wait, look at his chest," Cordelia said, noting the distinct scar where he was shot last year.

"What?" Angel said, confused for a moment. "Oh, god, Wes is that you?"

Wesley shook his head in affirmation, and motioned toward his throat.

"Sorry about that." Angel said, helping Wesley up from the ground.

Wesley grabbed a pad of paper and pen on the dresser and wrote feverishly. Angel and Cordelia waited patiently.

John did a spell. Think it's reversible, but first we have to find him. Where is he?

"He went with your father to the hospital, one of the snitches told me he was holed here."

Wesley and Angel exchanged a look. "Let's go."

"Here, you might want this, Wes." Cordelia handed him his shirt.



John watched as the only thing he had ever had to resemble a father slept. Wesley's father had treated him like a son, even as he rejected his own.Wesley was probably dead now, John thought. He knew the old John would have felt guilt or remorse, but all that was left in him was bitterness; bitterness at working so hard for something only to have it taken away, bitterness at believing that he could make it without anyone ever finding out, and bitterness in believing that if they did, maybe it wouldn't have made a difference. He would have been a good watcher, he knew it. Wesley may have failed, but he knew he wouldn't have. Wesley's father stirred from his sleep, breaking his chain of thought.

"Wesley?"

"I'm here. You're safe, dad."

"I was attacked by-"

"John Beckham. Yes, I surmised that much. He's the one behind all of this mess."

"Blimy evil creature. I'm surprised the Council let him go so soon."

"I heard he escaped, actually. As I am no longer in their employment, I guess they didn't feel obligated to inform me."

"Yes, quite likely. He deceived all of us, you know? I actually began to take a liking to that bo-", the elderly man stopped himself from calling John a person. "Well, it was all trick. Just to infiltrate the organization, mess things up a bit, your uncle informed me of that much."

"Father, do you think he ever meant any of things he said, about wanting to help people?"

"No, aren't you listening, boy? It was all lies. That's what demons do, they lie and they steal and they kill. No exceptions. You saw yourself the evil in him, he nearly killed your coworker. You learned in your Watcher's school about all the evil creatures in this world. John was and still is one of them."

"Do you remember that Christmas when mum died? John helped us with the funeral arrangements and he was even a pallbearer."

"Just lies, all of it." He said in a soft whisper. His eyes watered slightly as the memory of his wife's death came back to him.

John got up from the chair. "Well, he's been taken care of. My employees have most likely already disposed of him. Charles woke up and has cleared me so the charges should be dropped, soon," John said, barely keeping his composure.

"Well then, I guess I'll be heading home, I don't suppose I could convince you to come with me."

"Goodbye, father, have a nice flight."

John walked out of the room, not looking back to what he was leaving behind. It was long gone from time and space, and he couldn't bring it back. John had tried to find a reason or way to feel trust or love again with Wesley's father, but the elder man's humanity was there, glaring in all its ugliness. John had denied it, he had fought it by trying to assume Wesley's persona, but it was impossible. He hated humanity, in all its forms, so much that he wouldn't even stay in the room long enough to extinguish the old man's life. As he clutched the book he had stolen from Wesley's apartment, a slight smile cracked his face. Even if his plan had failed and Wesley was alive, he would at least feel what John felt everyday. Maybe after Wesley lost the vestiges of his humanity in a couple months, John would come back and they'd be friends again. If he wasn't already dead. The demon walked out of the hospital free from the din of human lights, voices, faces and into the rising daylight.

Epilogue:

"Wesley, are you sure about this?" Angel asked seriously.

"Yes, those notes are practically the same as the text, just missing a few extraneous lines. We have all the ingredients. It should work," Wesley said, his throat still raspy, covered in a dark viscous liquid, wearing only his boxers.

"All right, here goes," Angel began reading from Wesley's 3 year-old notes. John had underestimated his meticulousness in taking that book. The ex-watcher had long developed the habit of making notes while he read. It just happened that Wesley had read several passages on Yersai after discovering that his roommate was such a creature. One of the passages happened to be the reversal spell for transforming someone into Yersai. Angel finished the chant, and looked up from the notes. "Well?"

"You look good, the hair's a little mussy from that potion you were covered in, but other than that, good as new." Cordelia stated affirmatively.

"Yeah, nice, peach tone to the skin. No trace of green." Angel confirmed.

"Good. Did any of our sources pan out on John?" Wesley said, dressing himself from behind the counter at the Hyperion.

"No, apparently he's gone out of L.A. for good. He threw up a couple flags getting the stuff together for that spell, but too late to stop him I guess."

"I don't know about y'all but I say the less we hear about that guy, the better. One smart-ass British guy is about all I can handle," Gunn said, entering the hotel gingerly with Fred's support.

"Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, smart-ass British guy, accept no substitutes." Cordy said positively.