Title: Dreams
Rating: R, for all sorts of reasons
Note: Hey, thanks for all the input. You guys are great. To Imzadi, I haven't exactly decided to add Lindsey (he'd be good) yet, although if I did, it would be later. I've been trying to figure out a good way. So stay tuned. Also, there is implied death of major characters, since several of the great reviewers have asked. I haven't decided which to bring back yet, although some will be alive even if Wesley thinks they are dead. But these first large sections only deal with four major characters. So don't think that your favorite is dead until the very end. Finally, lots of angst in this story. And some implied violence. So if that doesn't agree with you, I'm sorry. That's why I rated it R to be sure. No one has complained so far, just a warning.
P.S. It will be awhile before I introduce the big bad. If anyone has any ideas on who or what that should be, just let me know, cuz I haven't quite decided yet.
P.P.S. To everyone who lives in the areas I'm using in my story, I hope I got topography and such correct. I love the area and vacation there many times. So I hope I didn't step on anyone's toes. Thanks.
Chapter Two – Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice
Wesley chose one of the room closest to the door, but with no window. It could potentially be a trap, but he wanted to be able to have a light on that night. He needed to plan where he would go next.
Going into the bathroom, he used the facilities and then set about trying to clean his extra clothes. Two tee shirts, two long sleeve shirts, a sweater, three pairs of underwear, and an extra pair of jeans, black. He thought they were black since he couldn't remember when the last time he cleaned them.
He actually was in the right mind when he'd grabbed a small container of detergent at the last stop. Setting about washing, he thought about his journey over the last three months. Depressing, filled with heartache, he wondered how he kept going. No friends, no family, nothing to live for and the western part of the United States taken over by demons. What more could happen to him?
He had tried so hard to fight that first month. Alone though, he could do nothing. So he ran, as fast as he could.
Making his way to Canada had been his goal. They had closed their borders, keeping the demons out with powerful magicks. And keeping many refugees from pouring in too. So he either had to make it there or across the United States to the Colorado Rockies.
That's where the United States military had taken their stand. The rest of the west was a no man's land. Everyone for themselves. Oh, there had been evacuations, many people had gotten out. But many had perished. Including all of his friends. Gunn, Fred, Lorne, Cordy, even Angel were now all gone.
So he kept moving, hoping to get out of this hellhole. If he could, he might be able to help, at least a little. As he hung each garment to dry, he thought about his childhood home. Would his parents know or even care what happened to him? His father would probably call him a failure for not stopping the uprise of the demons.
And he would have been partially right. The moment Jasmine had been killed, something upset the balance in the world. Some humans had become more aggressive and so had the demons. Things went from bad to worse.
They couldn't keep up with the cases they had. Kill one demon, another one even more vicious took its place. It was like Los Angeles had become the Hellmouth, which was now closed, thanks to the slayer and her friends.
What had he done wrong, he kept thinking? Jasmine was evil. Trying to control everyone. Eating humans to maintain her power. Things had been peaceful, yes, but everyone had lost the right to choose.
Connor in the end was the one to kill her. Her supposed father, although he doubted that was the case. She just used him to come into the world. And Cordelia. She had never woken up. Angel had died trying to save her comatose body. He hoped that at least she had been spared any suffering. The rest had been cut down too quickly. And he had been alone ever since.
Some would have called it luck. He just thought that he had been damned to eternal hell on earth.
After he finished washing and wringing out his meager supply of clothes, he broke out the can of beans and filled his water jug at the sink. Settling down on his makeshift bed, he pulled out the map of California he had found in the SUV.
It had taken him nearly three months to reach this desolate place. Didn't seem like he'd made that much progress. But considering the amount of walking he had to do after crashing his motorcycle, he shouldn't have been this far. He was damn lucky the demon that was after him at the time hadn't decapitated him.
Looking at the map, he saw that the next town looked like Lone Pine. He'd scope out the town tomorrow to see if it had been overrun with demons and if he had the chance of finding food.
After his paltry dinner, he settled down with the one of two books he had managed to bring with him. His magicks had gotten stronger in the past couple of months. Practice made perfect.
Since he was feeling stronger, he first conjured up a spell to protect the vehicle parked outside. Then, he worked on one to protect himself inside. It hadn't failed him yet. By the time he finished with the two, his body was exhausted even more, if that was possible.
The sun had gone down, so he decided to make the trek upstairs to the shower. Hopefully, there would be enough light to shower by. Taking a slightly damp pair of boxers, a flashlight, shampoo, and his weapon, he slowly ascended the stairs. He checked everything again, in addition to taking another look outside.
The moon cast a glow inside. The mountains looked absolutely luminous. Maybe he'd disappear into them and never come out again. Who needed companionship?
Looking in the mirror at his rough face, he knew he craved companionship. It had been grating on his nerves that he hadn't spoken to another human in almost two months. His vocal cords had become somewhat gravelly from their non-use.
He craved to have someone to converse with, to touch. He even thought about finding a dog just to have something to talk to. All were a liability he could not afford to take on.
Hell, the last person with whom he had spoken had died while he screamed to duck. He had tried to save the young girl, but the demon was too fast. In the end, he killed the creature with a crossbow shot to its neck. The girl died moments later in his arms, in agony. He hadn't even known her name.
He couldn't protect another human now. It would be too painful. But looking in the mirror now, could he go through another day, week, or month without it. His mind had started playing tricks on him. Insanity couldn't be far away.
Shaving slowly and methodically, he didn't want to cut himself to maybe invite infection. He never knew when he'd be able to shower again. Then he stripped his filthy clothes off.
Lean, mean fightin' machine, Gunn might have said if he had survived. Wesley had to fight to survive every day. He'd never been as skinny as he was now, nor never had as much muscle as he had now.
As he turned the water on and waited to see if it turned hot, he looked at all the scars he had obtained over the years. The scars that had turned his former lover Lilah on beyond belief. She'd been into pain a little too much for his taste, but he'd played along all the same.
It would be like playing connect the dots on his skin with all the scaring. His neck wound, to all the little ones Faith had made, to the gunshot scar on his abdomen. His legs didn't have as many and he couldn't even count the ones on his back.
Takes a licking and keeps on ticking, Cordelia had once said about him.
The water at least had turned warm. He stepped into the flowing water and sighed. It felt good to become human once again. He soaped up with leftover soap in the holder, then soaped up again.
He saw the two fairly long hairs that had stuck to the soap. Someone, some woman probably had used the shower. Must have been a while ago and she must have had a key. So he paid it no mind and scrubbed his body and hair once again.
Finally, after the water turned cold, he shut the tap off. He'd make do without a towel. It felt so wonderful not to be sticky and dirty, he really didn't care for the luxury of being dried off.
After slipping on the clean boxers, he looked in the mirror once again. Semi-human once again. He brushed his teeth with the new toothpaste he had looted earlier.
Things were looking up for the lonely man in the middle of nowhere, trying to get out of hell.
He checked things upstairs again (never can be too paranoid), and then quietly made his way back downstairs again. He ran through his checks again, including looking out at his SUV. Everything seemed calm. Maybe he'd actually get a little more sleep tonight.
He just wished the hairs on the back of his neck would stand down. Paranoia had become a way of life for him.
And if that didn't hinder his sleep patterns, he was sure his dreams would. They'd been vivid, gory, and all too real. The demons would morph into his friends, and then back again. The slayer would torture him again, and then rip his head off. He never knew who would die in his dreams, but in the end it was always his fault. Then he'd wake up, sometimes screaming, most of the time his heart beating faster than humanly possible.
He washed out the rest of his clothes, and then bedded down for the night. Pulling out his only other book, he sat down on his bed to read. This was the only thing that kept him sane.
He had always enjoyed Shakespeare "Much Ado About Nothing". Re-reading it out loud let him use his voice, which was a comfort.
Act 3, Scene IIIWesley read down to the place where he had stopped.
Dogberry
Are you good men and true?
Verges
Yea, or else it were pity but they should suffer salvation, body and soul.
(He'd love salvation right about now. To get out of this hellhole.)
Dogberry
Nay, that were a punishment too good for them, if they should have any allegiance in them, being chosen for the prince's watch.
And on and on he read. He laughed in places, contemplated the lessons in others. So enjoyable, he thought he was in a different place, different planet. He would have much preferred growing up in the time of Shakespeare. They had slayers back then too.
After a while, he knew he'd be tired enough to drop off to sleep. And he did, but not before putting his sidearm under his pillow and setting the crossbow at the ready right beside him on the floor.
Sleeping fitfully, several hours later Wesley thought he heard a sound, but knew his spell was still in effect. He drifted back off to sleep (that sleep deprivation catching up with him), enjoying a rather erotic dream involving Lilah and lots of chocolate.
Bloody hell, he should have trusted those hairs on the back of his neck as the tip of an arrow pointed at his throat. One false move, and the person above him would fire. Luckily he hadn't been startled by it.
He could hear a human breathing above him. By the sound of it, probably female.
"Don't move," the female finally grounded out. Not used her voice much either, he thought.
"I'm not a threat to you." He hadn't moved a muscle. There was no way he'd get to either of his weapons in time.
The female laughed softly. "That's what they all say."
"In the morning, I'll pack up my things and leave."
"You'll leave now."
Now that was not in the game plan. There was no way he'd pack up in the middle of the night. The first roaming vampire in the vicinity'd spot him.
"That is something I'd rather not do."
The female raked the tip of the arrow a bit across his throat to make the threat even more real. He needed to diffuse the situation right away.
"I have things to trade," he told her. "Maybe we could work out a deal."
Wesley almost hit himself on the head in stupidity. She had a crossbow for goodness sake. Not many people carried them. Only a handful of people in the world even knew how to use them.
"Are you a slayer?" Whatever had possessed him to ask her that question agitated her even more. Her arms trembled. One wrong move, he told himself.
"What? How do you know about slayers? Who are you?"
The girl above him was on her way to hysteria. He'd touched a very raw nerve. Taking a chance on telling her his name might be his only chance at survival.
"My name is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. I was a watcher once upon a time."
A flashlight shone from above, blinding him. The figure immediately removed the weapon. He could hear the girl start to sob. He couldn't see her, but she obviously recognized him. Since he didn't know whom he was dealing with yet, he still treaded lightly.
"What's your name?"
The girl moved the light to shine it on her own face. That face was fairly clean and oh, so young, probably not even out of her teens. It took him a moment to recognize the face.
"Dawn Summers," they both said at the same time. Dawn put the flashlight down on the floor, her hands shaking too much to hold it. It gave him more illumination to see her.
"What? How did you come to be here?" So many questions he wanted to ask her. But he knew he wouldn't get any at the moment. The girl was sobbing uncontrollably.
Wesley wanted to take her in his arms to comfort her, but he just didn't know how. He finally put his hand on her arm, trying at least to calm her.
Her bare arm was warm and soft to the touch. It startled him at first, touching another human who wasn't dead.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she wailed when he did. Then she ran.
Wesley followed her with the flashlight, not wanting her to leave him. She was easy to track, since she kept saying "Oh God," every few seconds.
"Dawn, wait," he implored.
She entered a back room, and then went through another smaller door. He had missed it in his searches since a desk hid it. Stupid mistake.
He peered in, seeing her crawling over supplies and bedding. It looked as though she lived in some kind of utility closet or storage room. And it looked as if she had been there for quite some time.
"I'm not going to hurt you." He reached out his hand to her.
"You're not real. I'm hallucinating. This isn't real." Her body shook as she swayed back and forth on her knees, covering her ears with her hands.
"Dawn, I'm real. I'm here right now." Is this how he would be in time? Not able to distinguish between reality and fantasy.
"Hold my hand and I'll keep talking. I'll show you I'm very real. You're not dreaming."
The girl slowly inched her hand out to his. She brushed her fingertips against his.
TBC