Title: The Outcasts
Author: FerretGirl
Pairing/Characters: Wesley/Spike, Faith, Willow.
Rating: PG13 to NC-17
Disclaimer: They boys and girls are not mine, I'm just playing with them.
Summary: A second chance, a new beginning?.
Spoilers: AtS S1 to 4, BtvS S3 and S5/6 I guess. At the beginning S4 of AtS and S7 of BtvS, Joss and I go our separate ways
again.

A big thanks for my beta's miniera, and eloise_bright for their help and encouragement.

This chapter is rated R for violence and torture people!



The Outcasts



Willow was starting to panic. Never before had she wished more that Wesley was here. And wasn't that a strange occurrence, given their past in Sunnydale. But she did wish it. Not only because she was worried sick about Wes, but also because she was having a hard time calming down Spike and Faith. Wesley had proven to be far better at that task. Taking a few deep, calming breaths she turned toward the discussion, or rather shouting match that her two friends were having with Captain Traxda.

"Why the fuck can't we go after that ship?" Faith demanded to know, hands on her hips, looking very intimidating.

Spike growling and prowling close by didn't help matters. Most of the crew of The Cynosure had wisely either moved to a safe distance or completely out of sight.

"They took Wes!" Spike yelled. "We're going after them and getting him back *now*!"

"We can't," Captain Traxda tried to explain again calmly, reasonably. It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay reasonable. He understood these two and their need to rescue their friend, but they really needed to calm down.

Spike and Faith both started to talk at once, trying to outshout each other, both looking very close to hitting something, or someone.

"Guys!" Willow shouted. She had enough. This wasn't helping them, and it certainly wasn't going to help Wesley. She turned to Traxda, after giving both her friends a scolding look. "Why can't we go after The Tormente?"

Captain Traxda pointed up toward the sails. "We have no wind," he said, glancing at Faith and Spike. If they wouldn't have been quite so busy with their shouting, he could have told them that about an hour ago.

"Then how did The Tormente get away?" Willow wanted to know.

"They cheated," Captain Traxda said. His entire posture and the tone of his voice spoke of disapproval.

"They what?" Spike asked, having calmed down a bit. "How's that?"

"They used their mage to create wind and get away," the Captain explained. "It is against the code of the sea," he huffed. "But what else can you expect from a gang of pirates."

"Pirates?" Faith asked, not that this new information actually surprised her. "If you knew they were pirates then why did you help them?" She sounded angry again, rage flaring up anew.

"They were carrying the flag, it is the code of the sea," Captain Traxda said as if stating the glaringly obvious.

"Whatever!" Spike said waving his hand dismissively. "How do we go after that bloody ship, since obviously you people don't cheat."

"Uhm..." Willow raised her hand tentatively as if asking for permission. "I...I can call the winds you know. A-and get a locator spell going to find out where they went."

Both Faith and Spike turned to look at her, relieved. They both felt more then a bit foolish, because they should have thought of that, they should have though of Willow's abilities.

"That is if the Captain doesn't mind," she said, giving the Traxda a look that spoke volumes. He'd be very sorry if he did mind.

"You can do that?" the Captain asked, obviously impressed. These people kept surprising him, there was more to these four than met the eye.

Willow nodded and concentrated. She breathed in and out, meditated, calling upon the energy of the planet. She felt a pang in her chest as she remembered that it had been Wesley who had taught her these meditation techniques.

A soft wind started to blow over the ship. Willow opened her eyes and looked at the Captain. "So?" she asked, "We're doing this?"

Traxda nodded briskly and turned on the balls of his heels, stalking toward the helm of the ship. "Hoist the main sail!" he barked toward the crew.

"Hoist the sails! Hoist the sails! Scrub the poop-deck!" Jeremiah agreed. "Hurry! Hurry!"

"Can you this Wills?" Faith wanted to know, staying close by her friend.

"Yes," the witch answered softly. "But I won't have much energy left for healing, I'm not that balanced yet." They were both thinking the same thing. Healing was going to be needed if their worst fears came true. Thank god there was a doctor on-board.

"Just get us to that bloody ship fast Red." Spike said. His voice was rough and tight with the emotions he was trying to suppress. He feared the worst as well.

~*~*~*~


Wesley woke up in a world of pain. He'd known pain before, more times then he'd cared to remember. But he couldn't quite remember being in this much pain. His entire body ached, hurt, and burned.

With some effort he lifted up his head. He sighed in disappointment and despair when he found he was still where he woke up the last time. It hadn't been a nightmare, he was still on The Tormente.

The sun was still scorching his skin. He was only wearing what passed for underwear in this dimension. But modesty was the last thing on his mind right now. Survival was the first thing. And this surprised him. It wasn't all that long ago that he would have welcomed death with open arms. When exactly this had changed, he wasn't quite sure, but he was sure it had something to do with three other people.

Three people he worried about. What had happened to them? Where were they? Where they safe?

His wrists were bound and he was dangling from a pole that was slammed into the mast of the main sail, toes barely touching the wooden deck below. There was something slowly trickling down his arms. Painfully he lifted his head higher to look up at his wrists.

The ropes that bound him, were cutting into his flesh, so deep that blood was flowing out of the wounds. His hands were swollen and purple, no feeling left in them. Trying to flex fingers he could no longer feel proved futile.

Thirsty, he was so thirsty. How long had he been hanging here? It must have been quite some time. His skin was blistering from the extreme heat of the sun on his exposed flesh. His head was pounding, one eye was almost swollen shut and he could feel more dried up blood on his face. He recognized the sharp pain in his torso as broken ribs. He had no doubt this was all the result of the beating he had received the last time he had woken up.

He remembered one of those ratty men had stopped him on The Cynosure, asking a question. Naive as he was, willing to help them with whatever problem there might have been, he had followed him. As a result they knocked him out and he woke up here, on The Tormente. Why he was here, he didn't know.

"Well, well, lookie here who honored us with his waking presence again."

Wesley's eyes tracked to the left and looked straight into Captain Bully's face. The stench coming from the man made him sick. The stench coming from the ship made him want to vomit. He recognized that smell. It was the smell of death, of decaying bodies.

"It's a pity we had to damage you, pretty boy," The Captain smirked, moving the point of a blade over Wesley chest, pressing into the skin hard enough to leave a small trail of blood. "You would have brought us a good price at the slave market."

The knife moved up to trace the scar on Wesley's throat. It was an effort not to swallow reflexively. But he found he couldn't actually swallow, his throat was dry and it felt like he had been eating glass. Very much like it had, just after Justine had slit his throat.

"But at least we've got our revenge on that bastard," Bully continued. "That'll teach him to treat me the way he did."

"And that bitch!" a small, nasty looking man spat from behind the Captain.

"Yea," Bully grinned. "That'll teach them not to mess with my crew; cuz then I'll mess with what is theirs."

Wesley still said nothing, eyes moving slowly from one man to the other, with a look he knew could freeze fire. The others were safe then, he thought. Otherwise they would be here.

It was obvious that this Captain Bully wasn't one for mind games. Wesley even wondered if the man had a brain. No, this man was one for physical violence, reveled in it, felt empowered by it. No wonder he disliked or even hated Faith and Spike so much. They radiated power without even having to resort violence, even when they could. Willow radiated the same power.

"What's the matter," The Captain drawled, tracing the knife over the scar again, this time leaving a small trail of blood behind. "Did your tongue dry up?"

Wesley looked from one man to the other and then smiled. Because for the first time in a very long while, he knew, he just knew, his friends were coming to get him. They weren't going to leave him here, not a chance, no way, no how. And just thinking about that, made the pain hurt a little less and his grin grew bigger.

"What are you smirking at?" Bully demanded to know. "Something funny? Care to share, cuz I don't see anything funny here for you!"

"He's making fun of ya Captain! He's laughing at ya!" the ratty man squealed, cradling his broken arm to his chest. "Ya gonna let him get away with that?"

Captain Bully's eyes narrowed as he watched this strange man. This creature, this low-life was actually laughing at him! "Get the whip!" he bellowed, shaking with rage.

The small ratty man was only too happy to oblige. He quickly came running back with a leather whip in his hand, gleefully grinning at Wesley as he handed it over to his Captain.

"I'll teach you a lesson boy! One you ain't gonna forget soon." Bully walked around Wesley facing his back, raised his arm and with an incredible loud crack the leather whip connected with Wesley's bare back.

Gritting his teeth, Wesley's head dropped forward, his entire body tensing. He was still able to smirk through the shallow pants he was breathing as the instrument ripped away the skin on his back and legs, blood flowing down onto the deck.

"I'll make you scream, pretty boy! I'll make you pay, you and those friends of yours!" Bully yelled, raising his whip to tear into the flesh of Wesley's back over and over again.

Wesley felt a boot connecting with his stomach, and last thoughts before the peaceful blackness enveloped him again were of Spike, the girls, and the fact that he hadn't screamed. He was rather proud of that achievement.

~*~*~*~


Spike was pacing around the deck of The Cynosure. They'd been following the Tormente for two days now. Getting closer, but not close enough. He was worried, afraid, angry, and he didn't know how to deal with these feelings. It had been over a century since he had them. Now they were slamming into him at full force. It was one of the first times that he started thinking that getting his soul back had been a bad idea.

Except it wasn't. If he didn't have his soul, he wouldn't have had strong feelings. He wouldn't have worried about his friends, he wouldn't have been afraid for Wesley's life. he wouldn't have felt the strong love he had for Wesley. He wouldn't have known the joy and warmth that came from being a family. It was just hard to find a balance in between those feelings, and without Wesley around, it was twice as hard.

A hand touched his shoulder and rubbed it gently. "We'll get him back, and we'll kick some pirate ass," Faith told him.

"That Bully is mine," Spike growled.

"Our first priority is to get Wesley of that ship, anything else comes after that," Faith warned.

"Yeah," Spike agreed, "I know." He turned to look at Willow.

She was standing in the middle of the ship, concentrating hard. She had one locator spell going and was using the elements of the planet to call wind and move the ship. Sweat was dripping down her face, her body tense.

"How's Red holding up?" he asked.

"She's getting low on energy but she says we're getting close. We should catch up with that ship sometime during the evening. Which is good, cos then we got the darkness to cover us." Faith said, looking over at Willow worriedly. She was afraid for Wesley, but worried about Willow. It might be too much for the witch, but she trusted Willow to tell them if she couldn't handle it anymore.

At that moment Willow opened her eyes and the wind dropped to a soft breeze. "We're close," she announced. "We'll have to wait here till nightfall."

Both Faith and Spike turned to look into the direction Willow pointed. They could barely make out the shape of a ship in the distance, and only because of their super senses.

"Can you feel him?" Spike asked, not needing to explain who 'him' was.

"Yes," Willow smiled, happy to find out Wesley was still alive. But then her smile faded. "He's holding up, though it's getting harder."

"How long before nightfall?" Faith asked.

"A few hours," The Hulk rumbled from her left. "When you go over there, I'll be going with you. I want to help," he told them, making clear that refusing said help would not be an option.

"I get feeling we'll be needing some help," Faith smiled gratefully at him. "A few hours," she muttered.

She could only hope they wouldn't be too late, having only a vague idea of what might have been done to her Watcher. She swallowed the bile in her throat as she remembered what she had once done to her Watcher. Quickly pushing that thought away, she moved to get ready for the rescue. Thoughts like that wouldn't help her now, nor would they help Wesley.

~*~*~*~


"You amaze me with your ability to find new ways to disappoint me, Wesley."

Wesley blinked but kept looking down. He knew that voice, he feared that voice, he hated that voice. But that voice couldn't be here. Not here, not now, not in this dimension. It was impossible, though not surprising. Not really.

Painfully Wesley lifted his head to look at the owner of the voice. It annoyed him to notice that the man wasn't even sweating, even when he was wearing the customary Watchers uniform in the form of a tweed suit. Then Wesley berated himself for that thought, after all the man wasn't real, was he?

"You are given a new chance, again, and what do you do? Hm? Answer me son," Roger Wyndam-Pryce said, his voice conveying disgust and disapproval.

Wesley just kept staring at the man, unsure of what to do. Years of drilling made him automatically stand up straighter. Only he couldn't stand up, his toes were barely touching the ground he noticed. And where did all that blood on the deck come from? He'd have to look into that later.

"Forgotten your lessons boy? Do I have to remind you again?" His father moved closer, his boots echoing on the eerily quiet ship.

There was no one around, Wesley noticed. How odd. He concentrated on his father again, knowing full well that if he didn't there would be hell to pay. Though he would have never thought it, being locked in the cupboard under the stairs was starting to sound oddly appealing. At least is was better then what he was currently going through.

"Dilly dallying around with that slayer tart, that incompetent witch and a vampire. Another Vampire, boy?"

"He has a soul," Wesley managed to get passed his swollen, parched lips. He could feel several cuts opening up again.

"That doesn't change the fact that he's a foul creature. You are always so naive, so stupid. Why did I even bother trying to train you? A complete waste of time to try and make something out of a natural born failure," Roger scoffed.

Wincing at the familiar words, Wesley did his best to hold his head high. To find that it was becoming increasingly difficult. The words stung, like they always had. But they didn't hurt like they had done before. Again, odd.

"I'm sorry," Wesley whispered, the words tumbling out of his mouth automatically. Years of saying the same thing time and again to this man, made him say these words without thinking.

"For what? For being born?" his father asked harshly, pacing up and down before him. "A little too late for that, isn't it?"

Trying to follow his father with his eyes was making Wesley dizzy. And what was he sorry for, now that the question was asked. For never being good enough? Hardly his fault. For messing things up royally? Yes, that was his fault, but he was only trying to do the right thing. For being a disappointment? To whom exactly. Not to Spike, or Faith, or Willow. And really, that was what mattered to him right now.

"Actually I'm not," he rasped, looking the image of his father straight in the eye.

Roger Wyndam-Pryce turned around sharply, ice cold blue eyes boring into Wesley. "You think I don't know? You think I don't know about you and that...creature?" he spat.

Wesley didn't flinch, didn't back off, he just gazed levelly at his father. "I love him, and I don't give a rat's arse what you think about that."

He did flinch when his father raised the oh so familiar hand and he did flinch when it came closer to him, but he didn't back down. He kept looking right into his father's eyes.

Gasping he looked up startled, only instead of his father, the ratty looking man was laughing at him, showing off a row of rotting teeth. In his hand he held an empty bucket.

It was then that Wesley felt the salt water seeping into his open wounds. God it hurt! He wanted to scream, yell, curse. But he didn't. Looking down he could see the salt sea water mingling with red blood. His own blood

Looking up he fixed the nauseating man with an ice cold glare, rivaling that of one Roger Wyndam-Pryce.

"Thought you could do with some cooling down," the man said, giving him a nasty smile.

"Fuck that," a new voice whispered from above.

Indeed, Wesley thought and then frowned, hurting every known and unknown muscle in his face. That voice sounded familiar too. Without lifting his head, he glanced upward, as much as he could with one eye almost swollen shut.

Jeremiah was sitting on the mast, fairly close by, looking curiously down at him. "Sod it," he told Wesley seriously.

Wesley's eyes drifted back to the nasty little man again, who was looking at him suspiciously.

As the salt water bit into his skin, into cuts, bruises and blisters, he thought of his friends. Close by now, coming to get him. It felt like coming home, it felt safe, this is what friendship was, it felt right.

And Wesley smiled.

"Ye can wipe that smile of yer not so pretty anymore face!" the nasty little man barked. "We know's they's coming! We's ready for them." he said.

Wesley's smile faded. Suddenly, despite the sun burning and blistering his skin, he felt ice cold. His friends were coming, he knew that and so did everyone aboard The Tormente. They were going to walk right into a trap. Because of him, because had been stupid enough to get captured. His friends might get hurt, killed even because of him. His fault, his failure. Father had been right...again.

"Let's see how ye're gonna hold up now, pretty boy," the ratty man said, pulling out a cane from behind his back.

The blows came unexpected. In his stomach, on his back, his legs, his arms. Bruising, tearing, re-opening older wounds. But all Wesley could feel was fear. Fear for his friends, ice cold in his stomach.

And for the first time since he'd been forcefully brought on-board The Tormente...Wesley screamed.

- TBC

2004 by FerretGirl