Angel. (broodypants) wrote in welcomethreads, @ 2013-07-08 23:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | angel, wesley wyndam-pryce |
Who: Angel and Wesley Wyndam-Pryce (both from the Buffyverse).
What: This doesn't look like hell... But appearances can be deceiving. In more ways than one.
Where: Starts somewhere outside; ends up at Wesley's apartment.
When: Evening, to avoid the sun issue. (This could be one of those dimensions where the sun doesn't harm him, but I'd have to check with mods so let's just be safe and say the sun has set already.)
Warnings/Ratings: At least PG-13, I'd say. There is mention of violence, as Angel is being transported from the middle of the huge series-ending battle in his universe. He's also under the impression that someone has stolen his best friend's face, so he has some heated words about that and makes some threats of violence.
Status: Incomplete.
When he had planned for this fight, Angel had envisioned a lot of ways it could end. Granted, most of them involved his death at the hands of a dragon or demon or some fresh new form of hellspawn he'd never encountered before, but there were a few variations in which he survived. In which Los Angeles actually made it through the battle. In which he got to go on long enough to watch his son grow old (from a safe distance); in which Gunn made it to a hospital and recovered; in which they discovered Wes had never actually died; in which Cordy and Fred and Doyle and everyone else he'd ever loved came back to life; in which everyone lived happily ever after and even Spike somehow managed not to be a total ass. He'd allowed himself to indulge those fantasies briefly: after all, it was his last day on earth.
But even in his wildest imagination, he never expected... this.
In fact, he didn't even know what "this" was. One second he was leaping up to slice the head off a reptilian creature with spines down its back and way too many slimy horns -- and then the next thing he knew, he was crash landing in the middle of a very quiet, very demonless street. He'd suspected the Senior Partners would play tricks on him, but sending him to what appeared to be a peaceful town didn't exactly seem like their MO. A hell dimension would've made sense. That, he could've handled. Wouldn't have been the first time. But what was he supposed to do here?
He'd been bracing for a demonic horde to come barreling around the corner at any moment, but instead he was met by... a welcoming committee. Which really just creeped him out even more, although he put on his poker face, divulged only the bare minimum (his name was one thing, but nobody here needed to know he was a vampire), and got away as quickly as he could. He didn't know anyone here, which meant he had to regard them all as potential enemies. He wouldn't tell them that, of course, wouldn't raise anyone's hackles if he could avoid it, but everyone in this town was guilty until proven innocent as far as he was concerned. The world was too dangerous to give people the benefit of the doubt. Letting his guard down could get him killed. And while he'd already made his peace with death long ago, he needed to survive this experience so he could get back to his team.
That, more than anything, was what bothered him. The being away; the not knowing. What was happening to Gunn, Illyria, and Spike right now? God, what was happening to Connor? Without Angel there to fight the good fight, who would keep the army of hellish beings from expanding outward and threatening his kid? So much for helping the helpless... Now he was the helpless one. And he hated that feeling. He started to think maybe this was hell, after all. Or limbo at the very least.
And then, because he just hadn't had enough crap piled on him today -- he found out someone was going around claiming to be Wesley. A more optimistic person might have taken heart at the idea of their dead best friend turning up alive, but Angel was not what anyone would describe as optimistic. First Lindsey used Doyle's name to trick Spike into doing his bidding, and now this? Was dredging up dead friends to torture Angel the theme of the year in the evil community or something? He'd given Lorne the task of killing Lindsey, but if 'Wesley' turned out to be a faker too, he would personally rip the impostor's throat out. And he would enjoy doing it.
He didn't know exactly where this 'Wes' (he wouldn't, couldn't allow himself to entertain the possibility that it was the real Wes, not until he had more to go on) was staying, but there were only a few main options. All the new arrivals to town seemed to be staying in one of two apartment buildings, and the apartments already had names engraved on the doors. Creepy, again, but at least it was convenient for him right now. He had tunnel vision as he searched the name plates on each floor; if they didn't say "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce" he just kept moving without even noticing what they did say. He could come back and investigate more thoroughly later. Right now he had a more pressing mission.
Finally he found the room he was looking for. Without any particular regard for the building's other residents, he pounded a fist loudly against the door. "Open up!" he called, the adrenaline coursing through his body. He didn't bother identifying himself, because the real Wes would've recognize his voice and a fake one probably wouldn't be too eager to see him in his current state anyway. Not that it would stop him. He may have been unable to enter private residences, but he could damn sure knock the door down if he had to. He didn't even care if it ruined his cover as a normal human being. He'd spent too long here feeling helpless. It was time to take control back. Exposing an impostor seemed like as good a way as any.
He'd thought this day -- this whole life -- would end with the Senior Partners raining hell down upon him. But if someone turned out to be impersonating Wesley? Angel was going to be the one raining hell down on the guy. Not what he'd been expecting when he told his team to go to work, but hey. He'd adapt.