Chapter I: "You call this an Apocalypse?"

Wesley found, much to his surprise, that he slept remarkably well that night. Surprising considering how tumultuous his thoughts had been the past few days, and the myriad of emotions he was feeling after signing the contract to betray Angel…but no, he wasn't going to think of it that way. He'd signed the contract to help not just L.A but the world, to make sure that they all got to breathe another day, and went on blissfully unaware that there was a whole other world out there, and, most importantly, that some of his friends might manage to survive this thing. Which they wouldn't have had he not signed. So perhaps that was the reason for his great sleep. He downed a very strong scotch on the rocks before getting into bed and was almost asleep before his head hit the pillow. And he dreamt the dreamless sleep of the young or the innocent. And so he felt rather good in the morning. He showered, shaved, dressed and breakfasted and then went to work.

Gunn was the first one he encountered. "D-day Wes. You ready?" He asked. Not surprisingly nobody could refer to what was going to happen that day because this was meant to be a super-secret thing. And the tension in the air because of that only would have strengthened the illusion that Angel and his sidekicks were still angry at one another after the day befores fight.

"As ready as I'll ever be." Wes responded.

In his office he stood by the window, watching the world go by below for quite awhile. He was making a habit of doing this and he wondered, briefly, whether it was at all megalomaniac of him to look down on L.A and think "I saved you!" He felt a little bit like a king surveying his kingdom. If he hadn't put pen to paper- well, blood to paper if you were going to be pedantic about it- all this, all signs of life, would be gone by this time tomorrow. It was a strange feeling to be so relaxed and calm, so sure of himself, after so many days of agonized soul searching and wrestling with his internal demons. And he knew it was all from him making the right decision. It had given him this newfound sense of…well…pride in being the only one who'd been asked to do the right thing and making that call on his own. It was egotistical and he knew that of course but he felt rather chuffed about him having been the subject of a prophecy. Normally they were reserved for supernatural creatures. Like Angel who'd had a few of his own.

But his happiness at this fact was soured by the knowledge he couldn't tell any of his friends about this prophecy. The wording on his contract had been clear- tell anyone about the Trio and you'd suffer instant death. And no doubt the manner of that death would be one of most painful going round. It reminded Wes of high school history back in England and he learnt that the penalty for a sentry falling asleep on duty during times of war was death, that the soldier would face the firing squad. And what had bothered Wes was that he'd actually thought it made sense, in a cold kind of a way.

After the Apocalypse failed to get off the ground, the senior partners were stopped from raining hell and hopefully all of his friends and co-workers survived they'd be asking questions. They'd no doubt want to search for answers but there weren't any answers readily available unless you really knew where to look so they wouldn't find any. And they'd probably rely on him to look for the answers in the books and ancient texts and he'd just come up empty handed and, subtly, suggest that it's a good thing that they lived to fight another day and save innocents from demons and keep the world as much to rights as they could. Basically not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Wesley had kept secrets before and he'd keep them again no doubt.

Everybody on the team had their different roles. Some were more important than others, some were more dangerous, some people were petrified about what they were doing, others were sure it was just the right thing to do and willing to go out fighting, doing a good thing.

Wes just prayed everyone followed their instructions to the letter and that the Trio were lighting quick to intercede and take down the Circle of the Black Thorn hastily and efficiently to minimize the casualties and increase the chances of his friends all surviving the Apocalypse.

As Wes opened the main door of the apartment building and stepped down the three concrete steps he felt the cold breeze hit his face and he took a deep breath, and then another. Slowly exhaling he rubbed at the knot in his neck with more than necessary vigor; some might even say ferociousness. The fresh air helped his mood improve marginally.

What had been fury and worry had been downgraded to anger and concern. And what bothered him the most was the way his body and mind had reacted when they'd entered Spike's apartment and seen Illyria lying there.

Wes had been the first to reach her, and he'd asked anxiously if she could hear him? When she responded he'd still gathered her into his arms and held her close as Spike, Gunn and Lorne talked, his ears half listening to the conversation, and half busy with the blood that was pounding in them. He'd felt his heart skip a few beats when he first saw the condition of Illyria; he'd been petrified she was gone forever- more, that Fred was gone forever. Then he'd been worried about Illyria's condition. Then worried that they were maybe doing the wrong thing following Angel.

And now what was bothering him most of all was that he'd been worried for Illyria. Not just for her as who she could possibly be once the Trio resources were at his disposal, but for her as she was, all Blue and supernatural. Some would say there was nothing wrong with his feelings, that being concerned for another person (or sort of person) was a human characteristic and not being concerned about someone's misfortune would be more of a problem. And they'd be right, in theory at least. But what was bothering Wes was more that he realised in those few moments of terror, that he cared for Illyria. As she was, rather than as she had been or maybe could be. That was enough to scare the heck out of him.

He strode to the car, yanked the door open, and got in. He went through the motions routinely- closing the door, putting his seatbelt on, turning the key, putting the car in gear and checking his rearview mirror before indicating to pull out from the street. But when his eyes met another set of eyes in the rearview mirror he made a sort of yelping noise of shock.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you to check your car's backseats and front before you got inside it? To make sure no dangerous boogeyman was lying in wait?" The owner of the strange eyes inquired. He had a sharp accent and Wes pinged it as Scottish, probably on the border of England's territory.

Wes went to turn his face around but he was stopped with the pressure of cold steel against his neck. The stranger could move faster than light, or he'd had his hand by the headrest of Wes's seat already, anticipating that Wes wasn't going to just nod politely and continue to drive. "Don't. Just drive."

"Where?" Wes asked.

"Wherever you're heading. I won't take up much of your time." Scottish man said.

So Wes drove- he pulled out of his parking spot and headed south. "Who are you?"

"Hmm…You don't need to know who, specifically. Just that I'm a representative of your last employer." Scottish man replied.

"Watcher's Council." Wes said, a statement rather than a question. He simply knew it was true.

"Precisely. Well the new version of the council rather." Scottish Man confirmed.

"And you're here for…" Wes trailed off.

"Your help." Scottish man said simply.

Wes laughed bitterly. "Oh and now you're all sugar and spice and all things nice. Last I heard you considered we were all sell outs and thought that by working at Wolfram and Hart we were the devil incarnate." He said.

"I'm not entirely convinced you aren't. Unfortunately the council needs your help." Scottish man said.

"With all due respect- actually no, bugger that, without any due respect- what makes you think I'd even want to help you, let alone consider it? You abandoned us." Wes said, heatedly.

Scottish man snorted. "Oh that's a bit drama queen of you Wesley, don't you think?"

"No, I bloody well don't think! You can huff and puff-"

"And blow your house down?" Scottish man interrupted.

'Take a ticket mate and get in line. We've had a previous offer.' "You can threaten me, hell you can even beat me black and blue but you're wasting your time. No deal. There will never be a deal between me and the Watcher's Council again." Wesley finished.

Scottish man was silent for a good minute or so and Wes was beginning to think he wasn't even going to reply. "You do remember that you were the one to quit the council, not the council quitting you."

"My memory's quite fine, thank you. I'm speaking more about Angel Investigations. I'm a big boy, I can handle having my old bosses think I've turned evil, but when you put innocents in danger-"

"Innocents in danger? How?" Scottish man interrupted.

Wes took a deep breath. Careful, careful. Today was far too precarious to go mouthing off and giving any information away. No matter how provoked. "By walking away. You made it clear you didn't approve one bit and that's your prerogative. Everyone is entitled to their opinions. Even when they're the wrong ones…like yours."

"For what it's worth there was a minority in the council- myself amongst them- who doubted that you'd all turned bad. But that's neither here nor there. Your council needs you Wesley Wyndham-Price." Scottish man said.

Wes thought of the poster he'd seen in history books from America in the early days of their entry into the war, with the man pointing a finger and telling people that your country needs you. "Damn! I forgot to renew my council membership. My bad. I guess I can't be of service. Terribly sorry old chap and all that…"

"Oh for god's sake. Cut it out Wesley. You're acting like a spoilt little brat." Scottish man complained.

"And also I don't think I put much stock in a Watchers Council who recruits Andrew." Wes added.

Scottish man paused a moment. "Oh, Sunnydale Andrew?" He laughed. "He's hardly a watcher of anything. There's a delicate situation that called for someone like him so we inducted him but, when he stops being valuable in the near future, we'll ship him out. Maybe give him a token role with a little responsibility but he won't be invited to Watcher's Retreats or meetings."

Wes hated the feeling that coursed through him then: pride, relief, and pettiness. Andrew had been able to manage a rouge slayer but put him up against a real demon and he'd run screaming like a girl. Yes he'd been there for the battle against The First a year ago, and had acquitted himself surprisingly well, but he wasn't exactly tough. Which was why it had really irked Wes to see Andrew in his new role not long ago.

Even Angel had commented on it once Andrew'd left for England. He'd said "If Andrew's the new breed of Watcher then we're all screwed." Wes had smiled and Angel had added "Feel better Wes? Knowing that the council are scraping the bottom of the barrel in trying to recruit new members when the old ones were either dead, in hiding, or working in different areas? Yes, I saw the look on your face. I think somebody needs a hug…let me hug you Wes. I won't tell anyone if you want to have a little cry. Emotions' making a comeback on men lately."

"When you've finished gloating." Scottish man said.

Wes shifted in his seat, his face feeling the hot burn of embarrassment. "Listen, I'm really in the middle of something very, very important, very dangerous-"

"The Drogyn that disappeared from the apartment back there? Since when are they so dangerous?" Scottish man enquired.

"He's not. It's…complicated." Wes replied. He had no intention of going into anything with the stranger. He'd tell him he was snowed under with work and to come back and see him tomorrow. More fool him when tomorrow didn't exist if the Trio weren't quick enough to stop the apocalypse.

"The man that took him didn't give off any aura of a supernatural being. In fact he appeared human from where I was watching. But there was something about him…and your lost demon pal went with him more than willingly. I actually got the impression the two were pals." Scottish man said.

Wes raised an eyebrow. He'd reached a street where he'd normally turn right towards Wolfram and Hart but, instead, he went left. He'd just keep driving until he could ditch his unwanted stowaway passenger and get back to work. "What sort of something about him exactly?" He asked. Curiosity will kill the cat, Wes, he reminded himself, but his curiosity was piqued. As it was about what the man was there to ask Wes to help with.

"I don't know. Do you believe in auras Wesley?" Scottish man inquired.

Wes started to say no, but then instead said "I wouldn't discount them completely. After all most people would think a vampire or demon doesn't exist either and they'd be wrong."

"I can see auras. They tell you a lot about a person. For instance someone who is pure white is angelic soul, pure innocence and love. A blue soul is one filled with sadnesses, probably having done some bad things or seen bad things done in his or her time. Someone who is green is someone who is conflicted, wrestling with a big decision that could be vital. Someone who is pink is someone who is deceiving everyone, even their family and friends, and who is a traitor and knows it but feels no real conscience problems- if they did they'd have a purple tint to their aura."

"Fascinating. What's this got to do with what you saw?" Wes asked. He resisted the urge to ask what colour his aura was- it could be blue, pink, maybe a little bit of green too. With all the emotions running through him it would probably be a murky brown colour.

"Your human friend's was grey. I saw a bit of the black- which meant he's got some evilness inside- but mostly grey. Which means he's not what he seems to be and while his body is putting up a good façade and fooling everyone, it's all a lie." Scottish man said.

Wes wanted to ask him to get moving. He had an Apocalypse to get to after all. He opened his mouth to do so but his visitor got in first.

"We've been receiving some strange information the last few days. From sources, otherworldly or human, as well as changes to texts. Something big is going down." Scottish man told Wes.

Wes was glad he was facing the windscreen rather than the other man- although he did have a good poker face. He'd fleeced Angel and Gunn on many an occasion. "What sort of big? And where is it supposed to happen?" He asked, casually as possible.

"End of the world big." Scottish man said.

Wes forced a laugh. "So it's the end of the world. Again. Frankly you'd think the evil powers would realise all attempts to end the world are futile and get a new mantra."

Scottish man laughed too. "How many for you?"

"Oh all up about ten. I dare say you've seen even more." Wes said.

"Thirty-nine. Forty counting this one." Scottish man said.

"With all due respect if you came to see me every time someone tried to end the world we'd be best buddies by now. Hell if you came to see me every time someone was a genuine threat to the world as we know it too, rather than just a demon or two with powers trying to bring about the end of the world, raise Satan, enslave the human race, threaten us with George Bush Junior…well, you get the picture." Wes said. He was proud of the even tone of his words. When this thing was over and the dust had settled he thought he might take a trip to Vegas and try his luck against gamblers at the casinos.

Scottish man sighed. "So you haven't heard anything about the world ending in the City of Angels?"

Wes pretended to think, and then shook his head. "No. And if there were we'd definitely have heard of it. If not at Angel Investigations then, most certainly, at Wolfram and Hart where, let's face it, there is some seriously dark energy still floating around from the time before Angel signed on the dotted line to get the organisaion."

Scottish man sighed. "Yes I suppose you know about the power beneath your building."

"Power?" Wes repeated.

"Yes. We know that the Indian's considered it to be a sacred site. They had lots of stories about the power and strange things happening in the vicinity. They never went more than about five or six kilometers- or miles I suppose I should say- near it. And their story's date from pretty much as long as anyone had been in the area so the general school of thought is that whatever power was in the area was before the Indian civilization. No wonder Wolfram and Hart decided to build there, tap into the energy likely enough. But I don't need to tell you about that building. I'm sure you can tell me stories…matter of fact that's sort of why I'm here."

'Finally. I'm getting bloody sick of people appearing suddenly and giving me all sorts of cryptic clues but not many answers.' Wes thought. Out loud, however, he said "And?"

"The Council needs you." Scottish man said.

Wes blinked- well at least it was short and sweet. "Sorry, kind of busy right now. But leave your name and number and I'll be sure to get back to you when I can…if I feel inclined which, considering the Council's treatment of us, is rather unlikely I must say."

"Do you know much about battle history, Mr. Wyndham-Price?" Scottish man inquired.

"What I learnt in my O level history. And then what I studied at the council." Wes answered.

"In battles it was customary to send out a few people before the king and his entourage and the army proper. To scout out as much information as possible- get the lay of the land, see how the enemy was positioned and armed, sense any weak spots, and basically then return with the information for those who were in charge of military strategy. Right now I am that forward party. I'm letting you know that the council needs your help and they will get it." Scottish man said. His tone was perfectly friendly, but Wes felt a slight chill go down his spine.

"If I don't come willingly?" Wes asked.

"So long as you come that's not a problem." Scottish man said.

"Funny…I didn't think the Watcher's Council was one of those organizations where once you were in, you were in for life. Like the mafia. People have retired before so why not me?" Wes asked.

"You're making a mountain out of a molehill here Wesley. You're making it sound like we're the enemy." Scottish man said, actually sounding a little hurt.

"If it walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck…" Wes said.

"We're not asking for your blood or your life or a sacrifice here. We simply need your help on something." Scottish man said.

"Why me?" Wes asked.

"You're the only one. I'm not at liberty to disclose any details right now." Scottish man said.

"Now you get official." Wes muttered.

"Suffice to say it's vital." Scottish man added.

"Everything always is with the Council." Wes said.

"Maybe but we're the good guys here, Wesley. We don't ask to have these responsibilities; we simply accept them with good grace and discharge our duties honourably. You'll be needed for no more than a week, you'll be financially compensated incredibly generously, and you'll be free to come back to your life here- if that's what you chose to do. And, most importantly, we'll owe you a favour." Scottish man said. He said the last sentence quickly, as though it pained him to say.

And Wes understood the importance of that. And the power. And the advantages. A favour from the Watcher's Council was rarely ever invoked. They must really need him. And Wes knew, without any thought, what he'd ask for in return. Willow Rosenberg. The world's most powerful witch. If he could find a spell for Fred's return to her body he'd likely need power to grant it. And even if it wasn't a spell it might be wise to have someone like her standing by. Which was how he knew, right then, he'd do whatever the Council asked of him. But he deliberately played cool. "I can't guarantee I'll come willingly."

"I wouldn't expect you to and if you did I'd be somewhat disappointed in your Council training." Scottish man said, with a laugh.

"When will this be, exactly? We've got some very important work on and I'm sure you're anxious to get back to your sources in Europe about this end of the world nonsense. Be there in case someone makes a move against the council again-"

"We've taken precautions now. Not ever will anything like The First, like anything, take us…out, as American's like to say. And timing isn't known to me. Maybe in two weeks, maybe in two months. And, until then, I'll say goodbye old chap. You can drop me off just here." Scottish man said.

Wes obliged and pulled to the curb out the front of "Starbucks."

"I'm suddenly in the mood for overpriced, not exactly great quality, oversized novelty coffee." Scottish man said.

"Try the grande." Wes said.

Scottish man didn't reply but he removed his hand, and blade, from Wes's throat where he'd kept a very tight hold the entire drive. Wes thought about retaliation- let the man open his door and get his arthritic body out of the car and then get out himself and slam the man to the ground. But he couldn't. Because today was D-day. So, hating what he considered might be perceived as weakness, Wes let Scottish man alight, then drove off himself.

"Damn it all to hell!" Wes said angrily, thumping his hand hard against the steering wall. What was going on these last few days? Lilah, the prophecy, his signing, Angel's plan, the fight where one way or another people were going to die- be they demons, be they from their side, be they innocent civilians caught up in the mayhem before the Trio stepped in…and now, this. A recall to the Council for some job only he could, supposedly, perform. Was peace and quiet too much to ask for? Well, relative peace and quiet considering his occupation. He made a turn and headed back to Wolfram and Hart.

He wondered whether Illyria had healed completely yet after his tonic. He wondered how Gunn, Spike, Lorne, even Angel were spending the day that could be their last. And how come he hadn't gone to a bar and ordered the most aged, most expensive scotch by the glassful. Or smelt the flowers, or gone sky-diving. But had no real, completely truthful answer. Other than the fact that if things went the way he hoped, by his signing the contract, this wasn't going to be his last day. He prayed he hadn't been just taken for a ride.

The same few words had been running over and over in Wes's mind for almost forty-five minutes:

Angel saying "This may come out a little pretentious but…one of you will betray me." Wes feeling like he'd been stabbed. Spike eagerly putting his hand up like the suck up in the front row at Wes's high school (Wes had been in the last row, but only because they were seated in alphabetical order and as far as "W" went he was the last name on the list; no "X", "Y" and "Z" surnames in his form) to say "Wes." Wes feeling like he couldn't quite catch his breath properly. A further explanation making him manage to breathe and even get out a wry "That's not very flattering." Angel responding that it would get him in the door.

Now he had to play his part, cross his fingers- and his toes- that everyone else played theirs, that the Trio were as good as their word, and that he wouldn't be the only one standing in the alley by the Hyperion later that night.

Wes looked at his watch. Almost time. He had a dinner party to get to. He wondered whether he should have worn black tie. He'd been bought up in a home where dressing was almost as important as brushing one's teeth morning and night. Taking a deep breath he moved forward.

"I'm curious." Slurp of soup. "Mmm. What makes you think I won't kill you where you sit?"

Wesley looked down the length of the table at Cyvus Vail, trying very hard not to look at what he was eating which, if he had to guess, was organs of some poor sod. And blood, it appeared. "Because you're smarter than the others. Smart enough to have your doubts about Angel, and rightly so. He's…unpredictable, and worse, he has a conscience."

Wes didn't have to try too hard to get the words out. He wasn't an actor, although he'd had a small role in his high school's performance of "Macbeth." But he could put enough into this since he still felt uncertain about what was going to happen and his part in it. Namely his betrayal of Angel. No matter how he tried to justify it he knew it would haunt him in the future, and keep him awake many a night too most likely.

"Well you make a very persuasive argument." Vail said, wiping his mouth again. His napkin was white which wasn't a very good colour if he intended to try and wash it after his meal. Maybe he threw them away. Or maybe one poor servant had to wash blood stains out of all sorts of things in this mansion.

"Wait. It gets better." Wesley said. Under the tabletop he opened up his hand, which had been clenched so tightly into a fist it had left little crescent shapes from his nails where they'd pressed against the soft skin of his palm. And in his palm a fireball began to form.

Wes threw Vail's body across the dining room and he hits the wall and slides down, collapsing in a pile on the floor.

"Your influence on this world is over. The rest of the Circle with wither and die…" Wes said as he walked slowly towards him. Another fireball began to form in his palm. "Like you're about to."

Vail looked at him condescendingly which only served to annoy Wes that bit more. "You don't know who you're dealing with, do you, boy?" He said, groaning as he got to his feet.

Before Wes could respond in any way Vail held out his hand and summoned Wes's fireball into his hand, and then extinguished it. "I mean, really. I crap better magic than this. Now let me show you what a real wizard can do."

Wesley bit his lip hard to try to keep himself from crying out in pain, but he can't suppress everything and he groaned quietly. He'd found himself held in the air by Vail's magic. He thought about the blood contract he'd signed- would it count for anything if he died right here, right now, by Vail? He sent a quick prayer to God that even with his demise the Trio would still step in to halt the apocalypse and save the people he loved as well as many innocents.

Vail walked around Wesley, with a smirk on his face. "Did you really think you had a shot at this? I can bend the very fabric of reality to my will. Your parlour tricks will never kill me, boy." He laughed.

'Boy? What's with the 'boy' all the time?' Wes wondered. It made him think of the two men who had called him boy before, repeatedly. The first was his headmaster at boarding school. But then he called all the kids "boy"- it was just the way he said it that had annoyed Wes, a kind of patronizing, disdainful, bitter, pitying tone. Which was why the next person to call him boy had received a bit of a fight. It was during his Watcher's Council training and Wes'd had responded to the taunt during a fighting class with a barrage that had left the other man flat on his back and had earned Wes an "A" in that subject. And now here was Vail calling him "boy" again. That wasn't going to go unpunished.

"Then I'll just…have to do this…the old fashioned way." Wes snapped, taking out his switch-blade, popping up the knife, and lunging towards Vail, trying to stab him.

Vail stopped him. "Yes…I suppose we will." He said. He summoned a large knife from the wall to his hand and then thrust it into Wes's stomach.

Wes gasped as Vail turned the knife. In his line of business he'd suffered injuries before, and indeed injuries that had hurt like hell and had been very serious, but for some reason this knife wound hurt more than he'd felt. It was as if his stomach was on fire, the pain radiating up and down his body. But Wes still managed to conjure another fireball in his palm. This time he put everything he had into it- all his strength, knowing it could be his last stand, as well as using everything that was flashing through his mind (his mother, graduating the Watcher's Council, his first charge's Buffy and Faith, Fred, Fred and him, his colleagues and friends at Angel Investigations and the contract he'd signed) to make it bigger, hotter and more lethal than his other efforts. It exploded, the force of it sending Vail across the room into a wall- ironically almost directly opposite where Wes had been thrown against earlier- and knocking him out. His unconsciousness meant that Wes was released from his grip, suddenly, and he was dropped from the air, managing to land a little unsteadily on his feet.

For a few moments he felt triumphant: who's the boy now? But then the pain in his stomach, in fact most of his torso, overtook anything else. This was bad. Very bad. He felt his legs give way beneath him, and he was covered in sweat and beginning to shake from the shock of the injury. But, amazingly, just as he was about to collapse, something saved him. Illyria rushed into the room and caught him in her arms before kneeling beside him on the floor. Wes thought it was a great move and wondered whether he could teach her to play baseball. In the scenario running through his mind though he was surprised to note that Illyria wasn't as Fred, she was the same blue menace she was now. But he didn't have the energy to keep thinking that. He thought, instead, about the contract and wondered how the others were going with their missions now?

"Wesley. This wound is mortal." Illyria said.

Wes touched the wound and was rewarded with a stab of pain. "Aren't we all? It was good…that you came." He said, with a small smile.

Illyria played it down. "I killed all mine, and I was…" She appeared to be searching for the right word.

"Concerned?" Wes suggested.

"I think so. But I can't help. You'll be dead within moments." Illyria said. She didn't mince her words but then she never had so Wes found that oddly comforting right now. "Would you like me to lie to you now?"

"Yes." Wes said. He blinked, painfully. Damn it Lilah- where were the Trio when they were needed? If she didn't come through with her promise he was going to hunt her down in the afterlife and make her pay. When he managed to open his eyes he saw Fred's face, looking down at him, stroking his cheek tenderly.

"Oh, Wesley. My Wesley." Fred said, trying to smile through her tears.

"Fred. I've missed you." Wes whispered weakly.

Fred kissed his lips gently, twice, sniffed, and kissed his forehead. "It's gonna be okay. It won't hurt much longer and then you'll be where I am. We'll be together."

Wes wet his lips and croaked out, "I…I love you." He felt the moment he gave up on the Trio's stepping in in time to save him, but he hoped they still saved everyone else.

"I love you. My love. Oh, my love." Fred smiled through her tears.

Wes felt the moment his life force left. But, strangely, he still saw things.

He saw Fred lay him down, gently placing his head on the floor, and manage to clear the tears from her eyes, and stand. He saw Vail conscious, on his feet, standing behind Fred. He tried to cry out, to warn her, but he couldn't. He saw Vail approach Fred. And say "How very touching his meaningless death was, but this fight was never for mortals." He saw Illyria, as Fred still, turn to face the demon who taunted her to take her best shot, little girl. And he saw her swing a powerful punch at Vail's head, transforming from Fred to blue menace Illyria in mid-swing, as Vail's head shattered with the force of her swing. He wanted to say that's my girl, but still couldn't speak.

And then, suddenly, he was somewhere else. There was lots of bright, white light, and there were lots of voices. He tried to sit up and look around but was too sore. "You're in twilight, Wes." A man's voice said. It was familiar but in his painful and weakened state Wes couldn't identify it.

"He's here." The man said.

"The other one's already been and gone. He's passed. It was too late." This time from a woman.

"So it be. So it was always meant to be." The man said. He peered closer at Wes. "I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt. It's the only way I'm afraid."

Wes blinked at him in acknowledgment.

And then there was the pain- if he'd thought he was sore before he was kidding himself. It was agony and he couldn't help it; he threw his head back and screamed. Over and over.

He heard the woman's voice again. "And another. But he's meant to pass as well."

Wes was still screaming. And then, suddenly, the pain was completely gone. He reached out to tentatively touch his wound. And there was none. There was no blood soaked top, no sharp pains, no feel of a wound at all.

"He's needed back down there now." The woman said.

And then, again just as suddenly, he was somewhere else again. But, like before, he couldn't move, or speak, just watch. He was in the lobby of Wolfram and Hart. Hamilton was dead; Angel and Connor were standing there. And then the building began to rumble and move. It was a bit like an earthquake only it lasted a lot longer than any quake would. Some of the building began to collapse and some of the debris fell on top of Angel. Angel and Connor argue before Connor leaves. And comes back with Eve. She wants to know about Lindsay and Angel tells her, without actually speaking the words, that he's gone. Eve seemed to collapse in upon herself.

And then Wes was somewhere else: the alley behind the Hyperion.

He looked anxiously to see who was there too. Angel was there. And then Spike stepped out of the shadows. A few moments later Gunn arrived. But he didn't look good. He was pale and sweating and Wes saw that he was bleeding. He tried to move forward, to tell them he was there, to help, but he was stuck in the one place. Damn this stupid contract if he couldn't help the people he cared about. Wasn't that the point of the bloody thing?

Then Illyria arrived too. And she told them Wes was dead.

"I'm not dead! I'm right here!" Wes yelled. The words actually came out but nobody seemed to hear them.

Watching his friend's reactions to his "death" was a strange feeling. Wes imagined it was a bit like being able to attend your own funeral and see how it went, who came, and what they said. Angel looked heartbroken, Gunn cried, and Spike hung his head.

'Huh. They do care.' Wes thought. It was about then that he realised what was happening in the world around them. It was thundering loudly, raining heavily, and there were sounds that sent shivers down Wes's spine. They were sounds of glee, and the retaliating sounds of utter terror from people seeing things they'd never believed existed. There's a crowd approaching them, backing them against a chain link fence, keeping them in position. And the crowd is big- bigger than when England won the soccer world cup, bigger than when The Beatles packed out Wembley Stadium. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of demons of all sorts, shapes, colours, sizes and genders. And, above them, a huge winged dragon flies angrily overhead.

"Okay. You take the 30,000 on the left…" Gunn said, very weakly.

Illyria looked at him. "You're fading. You'll last ten minutes at best." She warned.

Gunn stood up, not without difficulty. "Then let's make 'em memorable." He said.

Angel stepped forward. Spike, Gunn and Illyria followed. Spike was on Angel's right side. Angel was flanked a step behind by Gunn on the right, and Illyria on the left. They stare at the horde of demons approaching them in the alley.

Wes tried again, desperately, vainly, to move. He had to help his friends. He had to fight with them. It's not fair. Is he meant to just stand here and watch his friends get killed? Was his contract for nothing? Because if his friends die it may as well have been.

Spike said, flippantly almost, "In terms of a plan?"

Angel answered matter-of-factly. "We fight."

"Bit more specific." Spike instructed.

Angel stepped forward, hefting the sword in his hands. "Well, personally, I kind of want to slay the demon." He said. As the demon horde closed in to attack he added "Let's go to work", swinging his sword in a manner that suggested he'd had plenty of practice.

Again Wes tried to move, to fight with his friends, but it was all to no avail.

The air was heavy and dark, the demons were crowing, people were screaming from other places nearby, and the ground began to shake again. This time was even stronger than the last time. And concerted. It continued, wave after wave, for about a minute, throwing everyone off balance- demon and demon-fighter alike. Buildings in the alley began to show signs of cracks, and things began to fall from them- bits of their outside.

Then it stopped and the demons kept coming. Wes tried to move as his friends stepped forward to face the horde and fight.

And then, again, everything changed, and Wes was somewhere else. He was beginning to get dizzy from this.

He didn't know how he knew, but he knew the apocalypse was over.

He was back in the lobby of Wolfram and Hart. And everything was as it had been before the scene he'd witnessed earlier where the senior partners had begun to throw down their weight. The lobby was intact, people were going about their business as if it were just another work day, and the world was bright and happy and Wes knew that it was as if the apocalypse had not even existed in the first place.

And now he could move. He turned around. And came face to face with a couple of his friends, all with puzzled looks on their faces.

Illyria was there, but she was unable to stand and, from the state of her clothes and person, as well as the blood seeming to seep from every pore, she was not well. Wes was worried…not just because he might not be able to bring Fred back if Illyria died, but for her as well.

And Angel was there. He looked decidedly rumpled and a little bit worse for wear but his body was already healing from any wounds he'd sustained in the fight. He was looking at Wes with shock. "What on hell…?" He managed.

Wes shrugged. And saw that Lorne was standing there too. It was hard for a green demon to look pale or green but Lorne managed it. He kept looking at his hands with distaste, and began to absently rub at them, in a washing manner. He kept doing it until Wes stepped over to him and took the two hands in his own. "Out damned spot." Wes said.

Lorne took a deep breath, then nodded, and when Wes released his hands he clasped them together over his chest, calm to some degree.

"They call this an apocalypse?" Angel demanded.

Wes knew that the senior partners didn't think that, and that it was only the Trio's contract with him that stopped everyone from dying and innocent civilians being killed across the globe as the demons took over and life was forever altered. For the worst.

Angel's puzzled and concerned eyes met Wes's and the two shared a moment of confusion before Angel took a deep breath. "Lorne, Wes, help me get Illyria upstairs to my office. We need to treat her."

As Wes and Lorne obeyed and they got into the elevator and began to ascend Angel voiced what they were no doubt all thinking. "Where are Spike, Gunn and Lindsey? What about Harmony, Hamilton, Eve? What about Conner?" Angel asked.

Nobody answered for a long moment.

Then Lorne spoke, quietly, and said "Lindsey's dead. And once we get sorted here I am off to New York. I couldn't live with myself for what I did if I was a human, but as an empath…it's almost unbearable."

"You sure he's dead?" Angel asked.

Lorne glared at him, with distaste and maybe even a bit of hate, in his eyes. "Yes." He snapped, shortly.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER TWO.