This is the last chapter of this story, and it's rated R for a reason. Please be aware of this, and don't read if R rated things bug you.
That said, I hope you enjoy it! :) Disclaimers and the like are in previous chapters.
**
Wesley woke with a small start, not sure what had woken him, but he instantly noticed that Spike was gone. He blinked the sleepiness from his eyes and rolled over, sitting up as he did so, wincing when his feet touched the cold floor. He stared at the door they'd come through earlier and realized suddenly that something was different - off, somehow. Wes found that he was suddenly afraid to turn around.
A rustling sound behind him finally made him look, and his heart constricted in his chest. Somehow the other half of the room had transformed into a hospital room. One wall was covered with x-rays, and the small bed was surrounded by monitors and other equipment. Wesley stood slowly and made his way over. Everything about the room was as he remembered it, from the small crack in the wall opposite the bed to the distinctly medicinal smell that hung in the air
A perfect replica of himself was lying in the bed sleeping, and Spike was standing beside him, staring at the scruffy face intently. He didn't look up when the real Wesley stepped up beside him, though a small shudder coursed through his body.
"I don't know which one to believe," Spike whispered.
Wesley tore his eyes from his replica's face to look at Spike questioningly. "What do you mean? I'm the real Wesley, Spike."
The vampire finally looked over at him, and Wesley thought that his eyes looked darker than before. "How do I know, though? This place...you could be in my head entirely and I'd never know it."
"Hey," Wesley replied, and he took Spike's hand, squeezing lightly. "I'm real, alright? And I've no intention of leaving you. Besides," he motioned to the bed with his free hand, "This already happened to me."
Spike reached out and almost touched the bandage around sleeping Wesley's throat, and then turned and did the same to Wesley's scar. "How?"
"Long story," Wes said, repressing a shiver at the hesitant touch. He took a small step backwards, pulling Spike with him. He didn't want to run or make any other movements that would startle Spike, but he had an overwhelming urge to get away from his past.
Spike moved to put on his shoes, stepping into them slowly, and his eyes never left the Wesley on the bed. Wes, despite his desire to get as far away from here as he could as quickly as possible, knelt to lace up Spike's boots for him. When he finished, he sat back, looking up at the other man.
"Ready to go?" he asked, and when Spike nodded he stood. "Hey," Wesley whispered as he reached up to touch Spike's chin. "Over here. I'm right here."
Spike finally tore his gaze from the bed, meeting Wesley's eyes a little uncertainly. "Here," he repeated, whispering almost inaudibly. His eyes dimmed a little and he furrowed his brow. "Cecily?"
Wes shook his head, cupping Spike's chin lightly. "She's not here, Spike, but I am, and I want to help you." His eyes flickered to the bed. "But first I think we ought to get out of here."
"Okay," Spike agreed after glancing between the Wesleys. He took a deep, unnecessary breath and started for the door, and Wesley could almost see the vampire steeling himself for what lay ahead of them. It was a reassuring sign, Wes thought, and he slipped an arm around Spike's shoulders.
As he reached out to open the door, it flew open, and Wesley had to jump back to avoid being hit. Spike was pulled violently from him and tossed out the door. Wesley was too busy grasping for Spike to see who the new person entering the room was. The door slammed as he reached for it, and disappeared, the edges melting into the wall until there was nothing there.
He stared at the wall for a moment, swallowing when he turned around and his fears were confirmed.
Angel was in the room now, standing beside the bed and staring down at the form lying in it. He began to speak, and though his words were too soft for Wesley to hear them, he remembered the words clearly enough. They had burned themselves into his mind.
And then, more quickly than he remembered, the pillow was in Angel's hands and pressed against his twin's face. He was struggling weakly against the attack and machines began to beep urgently. Wesley realized that he was expecting to see orderlies and doctors rushing in to his rescue - but there were no doors. No way for anyone to come to his aid. No one to save him - except himself.
Wesley dashed forward, around the bed, and sped up, leaning into the run a little as he was intent on tackling. He opened his arms, wrapping them around Angel - but he kept going. He stumbled a little as he passed right through the vampire, and threw his arms up to protect himself from the medical equipment he was falling towards. He fell right through that, too, and groaned when he hit the floor hard.
A red light began to flash somewhere and Wesley rolled over, nursing what was probably a sprained wrist. Angel was still there, as was the pillow, and as Wes stood slowly he could still see himself struggling a little.
"Angel," Wesley said, walking up to the side of the bed. "Angel, stop it."
His words didn't seem to have any effect. Wesley reached out and tried to touch the hands holding down the pillow, but his fingers just went right through them. He waved his hands around, but nothing was tangible. Not Angel, not the equipment, not even himself.
"This - this isn't real," he whispered. He backed away and as he did the urgent beeps turned into one long tone. "Not real," he said again, more loudly. "Not real, none of this happened." He bumped into the wall behind him and blinked, but he didn't look away from the scene before him.
Angel gave the pillow one last shove before he stepped back as well. The pillow fell to the floor with a soft thump. Wesley could tell that the other version of himself was dead. The face was ashen, eyes closed, and Angel reached over and touched the cheek almost delicately.
"A traitor's death," Angel said.
Wesley slid down until he hit the floor, his hurt wrist all but forgotten. "Not real, not real, this isn't supposed to happen," he whispered, and then it started all over again.
**
Spike stared at the door as it disappeared. Angel had thrown him out. Angel was here, and he had made everything worse. Spike pressed a palm against the blank wall, wondering if he'd still be able to hear Wesley. He pressed his ear against the wall, then, and didn't hear anything, but it reminded him of something. Something he couldn't quite place, something that was cold and...
Angelus.
Spike shivered a little and closed his eyes. Angelus always took him this way. Behind his eyelids he could see the stone wall of the mansion in Sunnydale. He could feel it, too, colder than his skin.
Angelus had picked him up by the front of his shirt and held him up against the wall, since he couldn't hold himself up on his hurt legs.
Chains, there were chains he remembered, and he unconsciously moved his arms up, mimicking the position he'd held that night. He was chained up so that Angelus could make the most of it and use his hands for other things.
It wasn't a frenzied, needy fuck, either. Angelus had taken his time, biting and teasing and cutting. Spike remembered that his wrists had started bleeding before Angelus had even undressed completely. Even then everything was painfully slow: the hurting, the touching, the fucking.
It was torture and Angelus had known it. Spike pressed his fingertips against the wall and wondered if the scratches he'd made were still in the stone wall of the mansion. They had been pretty deep, considering he hadn't had much of in the way of fingernails before, and afterwards they'd been bloody, the nails broken down far below the tips of his fingers.
Other times had been different. Always against the wall, but sometimes it was faster. Sometimes Dru watched, and sometimes their victims did. It was always about dominance, though. Always about Angelus asserting his ownership.
Spike slid to the ground, his arms wrapping around his head as memories flashed through his mind. So many of them were bloody. Spike cringed and curled up more, whimpering softly.
Hurting Buffy was there. And then - then, somewhere, Angel was screaming. Angel, chained up and bleeding and screaming, and Spike could remember the sick pleasure that had come from that and how much it had turned him on. He'd been in charge, that time.
All of the people in South America were there - an entire town in one case. Dru cutting them up while Spike watched, and sometimes vice versa. All of the people in Sunnydale. So many of them screamed, too.
Spike cried out as he lost himself completely to the horrors in his mind.
**
Wesley was shaking uncontrollably and he hadn't moved from his place on the floor against the wall. After Angel had made sure his effigy was dead, he'd disappeared through the wall, and a moment later everything was back to the way it had been. Wesley on the bed was alive, and the heart monitor showed a pulse.
Angel came stalking through the wall where the door had been, the same way he had before, and came to rest beside the bed. He began to speak - the same words he'd said before, the same words Wesley had memorized. He didn't think that anything had changed, it was all so - familiar.
This time, though, instead of grabbing the pillow, Angel reached into his jacket and pulled out a stake. "I can't help but think," he said, "that what you did was evil. You murdered an innocent child, Wesley." Angel sat down on the edge of the bed, idly tossing the stake from one hand to another. "You stole my child, Wes. My son."
Angel reached over and caressed the other Wesley's face tenderly. "I can't think of anyone who deserves this more." He stood up and with a small frown he drove the stake into the man's heart.
Wesley clamped his hands over his ears, trying to keep out the sound of his own hoarse scream.
**
Spike was killing his first slayer again. Drinking her blood, fucking Dru on the floor while the girl lay dead beside them. He was shaking - all these memories were almost too much for him.
He remembered the first time Angelus ever took him. It was the first time he'd ever really been touched that way before - he was a silly little dreamer when he was a man, and not allowed to touch as a vampire. He tried to seduce Drusilla once, soon after he was turned, but Angelus had dragged him out into the hallway before anything could happen.
He couldn't remember what had been said, but supposed it didn't really matter. Touch had always meant more to him anyway, and there was plenty of it that night. Angelus had, naturally, slammed Spike face first into the wall and torn his clothes off violently. He growled something like "you're mine and you fuck when I let you," and then he'd slammed into Spike hard and fast, until Spike screamed, and then Angelus bit him. When Spike's legs gave out, Angelus left him there, laying shivering on the floor in a pool of his own blood.
"You deserved that," Angelus had said. Spike remembered that much.
Spike still made overtures at Dru, and got fucked every time Angelus found out about it. There were a lot of scratch marks in the halls where they had stayed.
**
"This is what child murderers deserve," Angel whispered, and then pulled the trigger. Wesley watched a fan of blood erupt from the bed, and Angel's rather satisfied smirk.
His twin screamed hoarsely again and arched off the bed, writhing a bit as he died, and Wesley covered his head with his hands, resting his forehead against his knees. He almost believed it, everything that Angel had said to him.
He did believe it. He'd hurt his best friend, he'd ruined people's lives because he'd been too scared to tell them about what he'd found.
Not scared, he hadn't been scared. But he hadn't done what he should have, and now the child he loved and would have helped to raise was dead. And he was being punished for it.
Angel disappeared and the room reset once again. Wesley rocked back and forth a little, trying to think, trying to forget the way he looked when he died. He'd never known that a person could be so expressive, though he thought maybe it made sense, since he'd died so many different ways.
Angel came back in, and Wesley sighed and rested his head back against the wall as Angel gave the same opening speech again. He wished that would change, at least, instead of the method of death. It was getting frighteningly violent - every time was more bloody then the last.
This time, Angel pulled a dagger from the folds of his jacket and began to cut idly into the Wes-on-the-bed's skin. "This," he said, adding a little pressure and making Wes squeak with pain, "is what you deserve."
Wesley looked up at that, narrowing his eyes a little. Angel kept saying that. This is what you deserve.
Did he though? Did he deserve to die horribly?
Something his child-self and Cecily had mentioned before came back to him - something about forgiveness. He had to find it, he had to - to forgive himself.
"You deserve every scar that I give you. You deserve to bleed to death; you deserve to be in hell." Angel was cutting more intently, and the man on the bed was squirming with discomfort.
"No." Wesley stood up and took a deep breath. "No I don't."
Angel glanced up at him then, a small smile touching his lips, but he continued to cut.
"No, I don't deserve to die. I don't deserve to be hurt like this." Wesley took a step forward, holding his injured wrist in his other hand. "I may deserve a lot of things from you - in fact, I know that I do - but death is not one of them." He took another step, holding his head up. "I am the only judge in this place, and I say that you have to leave now."
Wesley walked forward until he was standing at the bed. Angel was looking up at him curiously, but Wes ignored him, looking down at the pained face of his twin. "I forgive you," he whispered. "I forgive you, because you know that what you did was not out of evil intent. You know that you meant only good to come of your actions."
He would have gone on, but the world around him began to evaporate. He shook his head, looking around frantically. "No! No, I can't leave without Spike, I won't. He needs me."
The world disappeared completely, and Wesley found himself standing alone in a gray room. He looked around for an exit, feeling along the walls for some sort of opening or soft spot. He hadn't gotten far when Cecily walked through the wall beside him, and as he watched she shifted until she was his child-self again.
Little Wesley smiled up at him and reached for his hand. "Do you think that you can help him, Wesley?" he asked.
Wes nodded, accepting the hand and crouching down in front of the child. "I do. I honestly do. I want to try, at least."
"There is one way that you can be with him right now, and one way only. You must understand that it is very unlikely that it will work."
Wesley nodded. "I accept that. I know that he'll listen to me, he has to."
"Very well," Little Wesley said, smiling a little. "Best of luck to you."
The child snapped his fingers, and the gray room disappeared, replaced instantly with a darkly lit hallway. It was rather fuzzy, but Wesley could see someone moving a little ways down. As he moved forward he realized what it was - it was Spike and Angel.
Spike cried out, and Wesley ran the rest of the way to them, gasping a little when he saw what Angel was doing to the other man. It was his Spike, he could tell - he looked over at Wesley as Angel came, and he was crying.
Angel - or, Wes supposed, this was probably Angelus - hadn't seemed to notice him, but he could see Spike's eyes light up a bit when he recognized him. Angel sneered and shoved Spike hard before walking away without a second glance. Wesley caught Spike as he began to fall.
"Spike, are you - what is this?" he asked softly, smoothing Spike's hair back.
"It's what he does to me. It's - it's - " Spike coughed and couldn't seem to finish. He buried his face against Wesley's shoulder and held on to him. "This all happened when I was - when I didn't have the soul," he explained after a minute. "But I don't know how to make it stop."
"I know how," Wesley told him, and nodded a little when Spike looked at him disbelievingly. "I can get you out of here, but - "
He was cut off by a loud scream. Spike gasped and tried to escape Wesley's embrace, and when Wes looked behind him he saw why. Angelus and Dru and Darla and Spike were all tearing up a family. It was horrible - there was blood everywhere, and they were all having what seemed to be the time of their lives.
Spike wrenched himself out of Wesley's arms finally, and started to run off, though he didn't get very far before he tripped over his undone pants and fell down. Wesley hurried over to him, lifting him up and fixing his pants for him.
"Spike, you need to not think about - about that sort of thing, alright?" Spike looked confused, and so Wes continued. "I need you to think about when you were a human. Think about something when you were alive that made you happy - a good memory."
Spike still looked uncertain, but he closed his eyes and Wesley could see him trying. The scene around them began to change, and they were sitting outside suddenly. Wesley looked around and saw that they were sitting beside a creek, surrounded by sunshine and trees. William was sitting on a rock not far from them, scribbling in a little book.
"Good! Good, Spike, look." Wes pointed at William and made sure that Spike followed his gaze. "You see that? That is you, now. That's all that should matter to you, do you understand?"
Spike looked like he did, but he shook his head a little and moved closer to Wesley, glancing up at the sky.
"You are William, now. You, William, never hurt anyone. You loved life, you see? You revered things and were sweet and beautiful, and that hasn't changed." Wesley glanced between them, his eyes bright. "The demon did things in your body, but he never, ever controlled you, William. Now that you're back, you can do good again. You can be as alive as possible, in this body."
Spike was staring at Wesley with a strange look on his face. "I'm - you called me William."
Wes nodded and cupped Spike's cheek lightly. "That's who you are, now. You have all these memories, but they aren't yours. Only things like this are." Wesley motioned to the scene around them, and to the figure who was still scribbling away on the rock. "You deserve this memory, nothing else."
Spike nodded and looked resolved for a moment before he smiled. "I deserve this. I didn't kill anyone." He looked a little sheepish and buried his face against Wesley's neck. "I'm a good person."
Wesley grinned and held Spike close, watching as the world began to dissolve again. "You are a good person."
And then the world turned black.
**
When Wesley opened his eyes he was reaching across a table in a bar, for something that Spike was holding out to him. He blinked several times, staring at Spike, who was looking at him with the same amount of confusion.
"Did that actually happen?" Wes asked as he dropped his hand.
Spike shrugged a little and slapped some coins onto the table. "I think it did. But I guess I'd better get going."
Wesley frowned and shook his head. "What? Go where? What are you talking about?" He put down the payment for his own drink and then stood up, motioning for Spike to follow him. "We didn't go through all of that just to leave each other, did we?"
"I don't know," Spike said, starting for the door. He glanced sideways at Wesley and then ahead again. "I like your company a lot, though."
Wesley smiled at that and, when they were alone on the street, he wrapped his arm around Spike's waist and held him close. "I like yours too, William. You're a good man to know."
He led the way to his hotel, and was rather pleased that Spike didn't question it. "Do you want a shower or anything?" he asked as he unlocked the door.
"A shower would be nice," Spike said. Wesley paused when he felt a hand on his arm. "But I want something else, first."
Wes turned to look at him curiously. "What?"
"This," Spike whispered, and he leaned forward, brushing his lips against Wesley's with a soft sigh. Wes gasped a little as well, but quickly wrapped his arms around Spike's waist, pulling him close as he deepened the kiss.
This, he thought, made it all worthwhile. Spike felt perfect in his arms and pressed against him, and Wesley was suddenly very much looking forward to the future.
The End.
That said, I hope you enjoy it! :) Disclaimers and the like are in previous chapters.
**
Wesley woke with a small start, not sure what had woken him, but he instantly noticed that Spike was gone. He blinked the sleepiness from his eyes and rolled over, sitting up as he did so, wincing when his feet touched the cold floor. He stared at the door they'd come through earlier and realized suddenly that something was different - off, somehow. Wes found that he was suddenly afraid to turn around.
A rustling sound behind him finally made him look, and his heart constricted in his chest. Somehow the other half of the room had transformed into a hospital room. One wall was covered with x-rays, and the small bed was surrounded by monitors and other equipment. Wesley stood slowly and made his way over. Everything about the room was as he remembered it, from the small crack in the wall opposite the bed to the distinctly medicinal smell that hung in the air
A perfect replica of himself was lying in the bed sleeping, and Spike was standing beside him, staring at the scruffy face intently. He didn't look up when the real Wesley stepped up beside him, though a small shudder coursed through his body.
"I don't know which one to believe," Spike whispered.
Wesley tore his eyes from his replica's face to look at Spike questioningly. "What do you mean? I'm the real Wesley, Spike."
The vampire finally looked over at him, and Wesley thought that his eyes looked darker than before. "How do I know, though? This place...you could be in my head entirely and I'd never know it."
"Hey," Wesley replied, and he took Spike's hand, squeezing lightly. "I'm real, alright? And I've no intention of leaving you. Besides," he motioned to the bed with his free hand, "This already happened to me."
Spike reached out and almost touched the bandage around sleeping Wesley's throat, and then turned and did the same to Wesley's scar. "How?"
"Long story," Wes said, repressing a shiver at the hesitant touch. He took a small step backwards, pulling Spike with him. He didn't want to run or make any other movements that would startle Spike, but he had an overwhelming urge to get away from his past.
Spike moved to put on his shoes, stepping into them slowly, and his eyes never left the Wesley on the bed. Wes, despite his desire to get as far away from here as he could as quickly as possible, knelt to lace up Spike's boots for him. When he finished, he sat back, looking up at the other man.
"Ready to go?" he asked, and when Spike nodded he stood. "Hey," Wesley whispered as he reached up to touch Spike's chin. "Over here. I'm right here."
Spike finally tore his gaze from the bed, meeting Wesley's eyes a little uncertainly. "Here," he repeated, whispering almost inaudibly. His eyes dimmed a little and he furrowed his brow. "Cecily?"
Wes shook his head, cupping Spike's chin lightly. "She's not here, Spike, but I am, and I want to help you." His eyes flickered to the bed. "But first I think we ought to get out of here."
"Okay," Spike agreed after glancing between the Wesleys. He took a deep, unnecessary breath and started for the door, and Wesley could almost see the vampire steeling himself for what lay ahead of them. It was a reassuring sign, Wes thought, and he slipped an arm around Spike's shoulders.
As he reached out to open the door, it flew open, and Wesley had to jump back to avoid being hit. Spike was pulled violently from him and tossed out the door. Wesley was too busy grasping for Spike to see who the new person entering the room was. The door slammed as he reached for it, and disappeared, the edges melting into the wall until there was nothing there.
He stared at the wall for a moment, swallowing when he turned around and his fears were confirmed.
Angel was in the room now, standing beside the bed and staring down at the form lying in it. He began to speak, and though his words were too soft for Wesley to hear them, he remembered the words clearly enough. They had burned themselves into his mind.
And then, more quickly than he remembered, the pillow was in Angel's hands and pressed against his twin's face. He was struggling weakly against the attack and machines began to beep urgently. Wesley realized that he was expecting to see orderlies and doctors rushing in to his rescue - but there were no doors. No way for anyone to come to his aid. No one to save him - except himself.
Wesley dashed forward, around the bed, and sped up, leaning into the run a little as he was intent on tackling. He opened his arms, wrapping them around Angel - but he kept going. He stumbled a little as he passed right through the vampire, and threw his arms up to protect himself from the medical equipment he was falling towards. He fell right through that, too, and groaned when he hit the floor hard.
A red light began to flash somewhere and Wesley rolled over, nursing what was probably a sprained wrist. Angel was still there, as was the pillow, and as Wes stood slowly he could still see himself struggling a little.
"Angel," Wesley said, walking up to the side of the bed. "Angel, stop it."
His words didn't seem to have any effect. Wesley reached out and tried to touch the hands holding down the pillow, but his fingers just went right through them. He waved his hands around, but nothing was tangible. Not Angel, not the equipment, not even himself.
"This - this isn't real," he whispered. He backed away and as he did the urgent beeps turned into one long tone. "Not real," he said again, more loudly. "Not real, none of this happened." He bumped into the wall behind him and blinked, but he didn't look away from the scene before him.
Angel gave the pillow one last shove before he stepped back as well. The pillow fell to the floor with a soft thump. Wesley could tell that the other version of himself was dead. The face was ashen, eyes closed, and Angel reached over and touched the cheek almost delicately.
"A traitor's death," Angel said.
Wesley slid down until he hit the floor, his hurt wrist all but forgotten. "Not real, not real, this isn't supposed to happen," he whispered, and then it started all over again.
**
Spike stared at the door as it disappeared. Angel had thrown him out. Angel was here, and he had made everything worse. Spike pressed a palm against the blank wall, wondering if he'd still be able to hear Wesley. He pressed his ear against the wall, then, and didn't hear anything, but it reminded him of something. Something he couldn't quite place, something that was cold and...
Angelus.
Spike shivered a little and closed his eyes. Angelus always took him this way. Behind his eyelids he could see the stone wall of the mansion in Sunnydale. He could feel it, too, colder than his skin.
Angelus had picked him up by the front of his shirt and held him up against the wall, since he couldn't hold himself up on his hurt legs.
Chains, there were chains he remembered, and he unconsciously moved his arms up, mimicking the position he'd held that night. He was chained up so that Angelus could make the most of it and use his hands for other things.
It wasn't a frenzied, needy fuck, either. Angelus had taken his time, biting and teasing and cutting. Spike remembered that his wrists had started bleeding before Angelus had even undressed completely. Even then everything was painfully slow: the hurting, the touching, the fucking.
It was torture and Angelus had known it. Spike pressed his fingertips against the wall and wondered if the scratches he'd made were still in the stone wall of the mansion. They had been pretty deep, considering he hadn't had much of in the way of fingernails before, and afterwards they'd been bloody, the nails broken down far below the tips of his fingers.
Other times had been different. Always against the wall, but sometimes it was faster. Sometimes Dru watched, and sometimes their victims did. It was always about dominance, though. Always about Angelus asserting his ownership.
Spike slid to the ground, his arms wrapping around his head as memories flashed through his mind. So many of them were bloody. Spike cringed and curled up more, whimpering softly.
Hurting Buffy was there. And then - then, somewhere, Angel was screaming. Angel, chained up and bleeding and screaming, and Spike could remember the sick pleasure that had come from that and how much it had turned him on. He'd been in charge, that time.
All of the people in South America were there - an entire town in one case. Dru cutting them up while Spike watched, and sometimes vice versa. All of the people in Sunnydale. So many of them screamed, too.
Spike cried out as he lost himself completely to the horrors in his mind.
**
Wesley was shaking uncontrollably and he hadn't moved from his place on the floor against the wall. After Angel had made sure his effigy was dead, he'd disappeared through the wall, and a moment later everything was back to the way it had been. Wesley on the bed was alive, and the heart monitor showed a pulse.
Angel came stalking through the wall where the door had been, the same way he had before, and came to rest beside the bed. He began to speak - the same words he'd said before, the same words Wesley had memorized. He didn't think that anything had changed, it was all so - familiar.
This time, though, instead of grabbing the pillow, Angel reached into his jacket and pulled out a stake. "I can't help but think," he said, "that what you did was evil. You murdered an innocent child, Wesley." Angel sat down on the edge of the bed, idly tossing the stake from one hand to another. "You stole my child, Wes. My son."
Angel reached over and caressed the other Wesley's face tenderly. "I can't think of anyone who deserves this more." He stood up and with a small frown he drove the stake into the man's heart.
Wesley clamped his hands over his ears, trying to keep out the sound of his own hoarse scream.
**
Spike was killing his first slayer again. Drinking her blood, fucking Dru on the floor while the girl lay dead beside them. He was shaking - all these memories were almost too much for him.
He remembered the first time Angelus ever took him. It was the first time he'd ever really been touched that way before - he was a silly little dreamer when he was a man, and not allowed to touch as a vampire. He tried to seduce Drusilla once, soon after he was turned, but Angelus had dragged him out into the hallway before anything could happen.
He couldn't remember what had been said, but supposed it didn't really matter. Touch had always meant more to him anyway, and there was plenty of it that night. Angelus had, naturally, slammed Spike face first into the wall and torn his clothes off violently. He growled something like "you're mine and you fuck when I let you," and then he'd slammed into Spike hard and fast, until Spike screamed, and then Angelus bit him. When Spike's legs gave out, Angelus left him there, laying shivering on the floor in a pool of his own blood.
"You deserved that," Angelus had said. Spike remembered that much.
Spike still made overtures at Dru, and got fucked every time Angelus found out about it. There were a lot of scratch marks in the halls where they had stayed.
**
"This is what child murderers deserve," Angel whispered, and then pulled the trigger. Wesley watched a fan of blood erupt from the bed, and Angel's rather satisfied smirk.
His twin screamed hoarsely again and arched off the bed, writhing a bit as he died, and Wesley covered his head with his hands, resting his forehead against his knees. He almost believed it, everything that Angel had said to him.
He did believe it. He'd hurt his best friend, he'd ruined people's lives because he'd been too scared to tell them about what he'd found.
Not scared, he hadn't been scared. But he hadn't done what he should have, and now the child he loved and would have helped to raise was dead. And he was being punished for it.
Angel disappeared and the room reset once again. Wesley rocked back and forth a little, trying to think, trying to forget the way he looked when he died. He'd never known that a person could be so expressive, though he thought maybe it made sense, since he'd died so many different ways.
Angel came back in, and Wesley sighed and rested his head back against the wall as Angel gave the same opening speech again. He wished that would change, at least, instead of the method of death. It was getting frighteningly violent - every time was more bloody then the last.
This time, Angel pulled a dagger from the folds of his jacket and began to cut idly into the Wes-on-the-bed's skin. "This," he said, adding a little pressure and making Wes squeak with pain, "is what you deserve."
Wesley looked up at that, narrowing his eyes a little. Angel kept saying that. This is what you deserve.
Did he though? Did he deserve to die horribly?
Something his child-self and Cecily had mentioned before came back to him - something about forgiveness. He had to find it, he had to - to forgive himself.
"You deserve every scar that I give you. You deserve to bleed to death; you deserve to be in hell." Angel was cutting more intently, and the man on the bed was squirming with discomfort.
"No." Wesley stood up and took a deep breath. "No I don't."
Angel glanced up at him then, a small smile touching his lips, but he continued to cut.
"No, I don't deserve to die. I don't deserve to be hurt like this." Wesley took a step forward, holding his injured wrist in his other hand. "I may deserve a lot of things from you - in fact, I know that I do - but death is not one of them." He took another step, holding his head up. "I am the only judge in this place, and I say that you have to leave now."
Wesley walked forward until he was standing at the bed. Angel was looking up at him curiously, but Wes ignored him, looking down at the pained face of his twin. "I forgive you," he whispered. "I forgive you, because you know that what you did was not out of evil intent. You know that you meant only good to come of your actions."
He would have gone on, but the world around him began to evaporate. He shook his head, looking around frantically. "No! No, I can't leave without Spike, I won't. He needs me."
The world disappeared completely, and Wesley found himself standing alone in a gray room. He looked around for an exit, feeling along the walls for some sort of opening or soft spot. He hadn't gotten far when Cecily walked through the wall beside him, and as he watched she shifted until she was his child-self again.
Little Wesley smiled up at him and reached for his hand. "Do you think that you can help him, Wesley?" he asked.
Wes nodded, accepting the hand and crouching down in front of the child. "I do. I honestly do. I want to try, at least."
"There is one way that you can be with him right now, and one way only. You must understand that it is very unlikely that it will work."
Wesley nodded. "I accept that. I know that he'll listen to me, he has to."
"Very well," Little Wesley said, smiling a little. "Best of luck to you."
The child snapped his fingers, and the gray room disappeared, replaced instantly with a darkly lit hallway. It was rather fuzzy, but Wesley could see someone moving a little ways down. As he moved forward he realized what it was - it was Spike and Angel.
Spike cried out, and Wesley ran the rest of the way to them, gasping a little when he saw what Angel was doing to the other man. It was his Spike, he could tell - he looked over at Wesley as Angel came, and he was crying.
Angel - or, Wes supposed, this was probably Angelus - hadn't seemed to notice him, but he could see Spike's eyes light up a bit when he recognized him. Angel sneered and shoved Spike hard before walking away without a second glance. Wesley caught Spike as he began to fall.
"Spike, are you - what is this?" he asked softly, smoothing Spike's hair back.
"It's what he does to me. It's - it's - " Spike coughed and couldn't seem to finish. He buried his face against Wesley's shoulder and held on to him. "This all happened when I was - when I didn't have the soul," he explained after a minute. "But I don't know how to make it stop."
"I know how," Wesley told him, and nodded a little when Spike looked at him disbelievingly. "I can get you out of here, but - "
He was cut off by a loud scream. Spike gasped and tried to escape Wesley's embrace, and when Wes looked behind him he saw why. Angelus and Dru and Darla and Spike were all tearing up a family. It was horrible - there was blood everywhere, and they were all having what seemed to be the time of their lives.
Spike wrenched himself out of Wesley's arms finally, and started to run off, though he didn't get very far before he tripped over his undone pants and fell down. Wesley hurried over to him, lifting him up and fixing his pants for him.
"Spike, you need to not think about - about that sort of thing, alright?" Spike looked confused, and so Wes continued. "I need you to think about when you were a human. Think about something when you were alive that made you happy - a good memory."
Spike still looked uncertain, but he closed his eyes and Wesley could see him trying. The scene around them began to change, and they were sitting outside suddenly. Wesley looked around and saw that they were sitting beside a creek, surrounded by sunshine and trees. William was sitting on a rock not far from them, scribbling in a little book.
"Good! Good, Spike, look." Wes pointed at William and made sure that Spike followed his gaze. "You see that? That is you, now. That's all that should matter to you, do you understand?"
Spike looked like he did, but he shook his head a little and moved closer to Wesley, glancing up at the sky.
"You are William, now. You, William, never hurt anyone. You loved life, you see? You revered things and were sweet and beautiful, and that hasn't changed." Wesley glanced between them, his eyes bright. "The demon did things in your body, but he never, ever controlled you, William. Now that you're back, you can do good again. You can be as alive as possible, in this body."
Spike was staring at Wesley with a strange look on his face. "I'm - you called me William."
Wes nodded and cupped Spike's cheek lightly. "That's who you are, now. You have all these memories, but they aren't yours. Only things like this are." Wesley motioned to the scene around them, and to the figure who was still scribbling away on the rock. "You deserve this memory, nothing else."
Spike nodded and looked resolved for a moment before he smiled. "I deserve this. I didn't kill anyone." He looked a little sheepish and buried his face against Wesley's neck. "I'm a good person."
Wesley grinned and held Spike close, watching as the world began to dissolve again. "You are a good person."
And then the world turned black.
**
When Wesley opened his eyes he was reaching across a table in a bar, for something that Spike was holding out to him. He blinked several times, staring at Spike, who was looking at him with the same amount of confusion.
"Did that actually happen?" Wes asked as he dropped his hand.
Spike shrugged a little and slapped some coins onto the table. "I think it did. But I guess I'd better get going."
Wesley frowned and shook his head. "What? Go where? What are you talking about?" He put down the payment for his own drink and then stood up, motioning for Spike to follow him. "We didn't go through all of that just to leave each other, did we?"
"I don't know," Spike said, starting for the door. He glanced sideways at Wesley and then ahead again. "I like your company a lot, though."
Wesley smiled at that and, when they were alone on the street, he wrapped his arm around Spike's waist and held him close. "I like yours too, William. You're a good man to know."
He led the way to his hotel, and was rather pleased that Spike didn't question it. "Do you want a shower or anything?" he asked as he unlocked the door.
"A shower would be nice," Spike said. Wesley paused when he felt a hand on his arm. "But I want something else, first."
Wes turned to look at him curiously. "What?"
"This," Spike whispered, and he leaned forward, brushing his lips against Wesley's with a soft sigh. Wes gasped a little as well, but quickly wrapped his arms around Spike's waist, pulling him close as he deepened the kiss.
This, he thought, made it all worthwhile. Spike felt perfect in his arms and pressed against him, and Wesley was suddenly very much looking forward to the future.
The End.