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Lost and Found

 

Lorne: “If Sahjhan and that lady lawyer pulled off their feeding plan, you’d have Connor’s blood on your hands.”

Angel: “Don’t I anyway?”

Lorne: “No! You think there is something more you could have done? You did everything you could with the knowledge you had. Just like Wesley. You know, maybe the way to start forgiving yourself is by starting to forgive him.”

From ‘Forgiving’ Written by Jeffrey Bell

 

Part One

 

As they approached the Hyperion, Gunn couldn’t believe his eyes. He, Groo, and Angel had dealt with a nest of uberskanky Skeltor Demons, the kind of gut-wrenching, wing-it-by-the-skin-of-your-teeth-and-last-lucky-swing-with-an-ax battle that had left them all cut, bruised, and none too good-tempered. They had sent Angel home as soon as the fight was over, pointing out to him that the sun was going to be up any minute and he needed to get back to the sewer route before that happened unless he was really eager to make like a pile of burning dust. Gunn and Groo had done the clean up and were now wiped and aching; Angel was presumably already back in the hotel and probably also wiped and aching; vamp super-strength or no vamp super-strength. And now here was the last person on the planet who ought to be outside the Hyperion, sitting by the doors, apparently waiting for them.

 

What part of ‘You’re a dead man, Pryce!’ had Wesley, the multi-linguist, failed to understand?

 

“Damn!” Gunn shouldered his axe and sprinted up the stairs, Groo following him in some confusion. Sharply, Gunn said to Wesley: “You’ve got to get away from here before Angel sees you…” As he drew closer he noticed that there were several things wrong with this picture; like the fact that Wesley’s eyes were closed and he wasn’t so much sitting outside as slumped against the doors, and the fact he was wrapped in a stinking blanket like a wino.

 

The concern was instinctive, something that no amount of telling himself this man was no longer his friend, could suppress. “Wes…?” Gunn crouched down by him and put his hand on his shoulder. Wesley’s head lolled back, revealing a face that had taken the brunt of someone’s fists. His skin was greyish white under bruises, cuts, and stubble, with terrible shadows under his eyes. “Wes…?” he repeated urgently, but the man’s eyes didn’t open, and for a second he thought he was dead. The not yet entirely healed wound at Wesley’s throat stopped Gunn from putting a hand there to feel for a pulse, but he put his palm in front of Wesley's mouth and felt warm air tickle his skin.

 

“Is he yet breathing?” Groo enquired.

 

“Not for much longer if Angel finds him. What in hell made him come here?”

 

“Does not his appearance suggest that Angel has already found him?” Groo suggested reasonably.

 

Gunn folded back a corner of the blanket and winced. Wesley seemed to be naked under it and he’d taken what looked like one hell of a pounding. If this was Angel’s handiwork then he’d worked fast and real thoroughly before dumping him out here like so much trash. But that still didn’t explain why Wesley had come here in the first place; unless he’d been jonesing for a quick death or at least serious amounts of pain.

 

The door from the hotel opened; Angel saying in confusion, “What are you two…?” Then his gaze fell on Wesley and he got a look that was way more serial killer than champion of the people. “What the hell is he doing here?”

 

“You don’t know?” Gunn demanded. “You didn’t talk to him?”

 

“Why would I talk to him?” Angel was looking dangerous. “Why is he here, Gunn? Did you invite him here? Is this some attempt to…?”

 

“No.” Gunn held up a hand. “I told him to stay away. He knows what you’d do to him if… I don’t know why he’s here.”

 

Groo gazed up at Angel in confusion. “If it is not you who has reduced Wesley to this condition then who has done so?”

 

“Maybe he got drunk, walked into the wrong bar. Maybe he was trying to get himself killed.” Gunn shrugged. “Someone’s done a number on him. Angel, why don’t you just go back inside and I’ll call a cab, get Wesley taken home, and I swear I’ll tell him if he ever shows his face here again…” He looked up at Angel, wondering what he was going to do if Angel couldn’t restrain himself. He and Groo between them might be able to hold him off, but it only took a second or so to snap a human neck when you had all that freaky vampire strength.

 

Angel’s expression was wavering between murderous and confusion. “Why is he wrapped in a blanket?”

 

“I don’t know. We just found him a few seconds before you did.”

Angel took a step closer and Gunn braced himself, waiting for that lash out of insane violence again. Angel sniffed the air curiously, then abruptly bent over Wesley and sniffed him again, then recoiled. He looked at Gunn in disbelief. “Christ, Gunn… Why did you…? How could you…? Even I wouldn’t…”

 

“What are you talking about?” Gunn demanded. He looked back at Wesley who was still slumped unconscious against the doors, left eye swollen closed, cheekbone bruised, cuts everywhere, forehead, bridge of his nose, mouth, cheekbone, bruises around his throat. When he lifted back the blanket tentatively, definitely not up for seeing Wesley in the altogether but wanting to know just how far those bruises extended, he saw that they were everywhere, ribs, arms, legs, and the ones on his arms were brutal, deep cuts and bruises as if he’d been tied up, and teethmarks, those unmistakable dual puncture holes that could only mean one thing… He hadn’t been turned – too warm for that, and his pulse was still…pulsing, but he’d been up close and personal with vampires recently and there was only one in the city of Angels that Gunn knew of who would beat him and feed from him but leave him alive afterwards.

 

“You fed from him?” he demanded of Angel in shock.

 

“How could you…?” Angel was still gazing at Gunn as if he were some kind of monster. At that accusation, he looked back at Wesley in disbelief. “No, of course, I didn’t. I haven’t touched…” As Gunn showed him the bite marks on his arms, he crouched down next to him and sniffed him again, grimacing as a wave of odour hit him like someone had just reached out and punched him. It occurred to Gunn that he couldn’t smell any alcohol, just sweat and… Oh no, no, no, that was what Angel was recoiling from.

 

Angel sniffed again and then looked back at Gunn in confusion. “It’s definitely you…”

 

“It definitely isn’t,” Gunn told him forcefully. “I haven’t touched him. You were with me all night until you came back here, and Groo was with me from then on. I’ve seen Wesley once since… since it all went down, and I never laid a finger on him. And, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m not a vampire.”

 

Groo was examining Wesley’s bruises carefully. “I think that his ribcage may have suffered some injury. There is heat here.” Gunn looked down at Groo’s hand on Wesley’s side and felt something flicker inside him. The bruising was particularly bad there, black and midnight blue, and his ribs looked lumpy and out of shape. He could see the top of his scar, where he’d been shot, the edge of the scar those stitches had left, the ones he’d popped in the office that time when Angel had… Groo added quietly: “Some of these injuries are older than others. No one could have done this to Wesley over the course of only one hour of your time. And, look here – “ He held up Wesley’s thin wrist and displayed a circle of bruises that went all the way around a deep cut, the skin swollen. “He has been bound.”

 

Gunn kept looking at that arm, so damned skinny, so damned…fragile. That was what he’d always thought about English. Maybe because the first time he’d laid eyes on him he’d been lying in a hospital bed hooked up to all kinds of machinery that they only saved for the serious patients; the ones no one was too sure were ever going to be waking up. Too fragile to be useful had turned into just fragile enough to get himself shot saving Gunn’s ass, and then he’d become something it was Gunn’s job to protect, to keep safe. His clever skinny white friend in a wheelchair, who had to be carried in and out of cars and in and out of buildings and who always said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and liked his tea out of a teapot and could always tell if you cheated and used a teabag, but who would take on a demon from his wheelchair if he had to and who could always do the research, however hard it was. He had loved that guy like a brother. Then they’d gone to another world and the guy who needed protecting had turned into the guy who was in charge, who made his own decisions, sent men to die if he had to; someone Gunn wasn’t so sure he knew, but still loved, still wanted to keep safe. Except that guy had betrayed them all when it mattered most, and wrecked everything they’d all worked so hard to build up and was gone now; lost. Lost for good. Except he was here, where he had no business being, smelling like he had no business smelling, and someone had hurt him real bad and then dumped him here for them to find. Was Wes a message now? Kind of ironic if they were trying to send Angel a warning by beating half to death the guy he’d tried to kill. Or was this some kind of freaky demon offering? Don’t stake us and we’ll take care of your problems for you? Here’s one we did earlier…

 

“Maybe someone with a grudge against the firm didn’t hear that he’d left it,” Gunn said helplessly. “Decided to take their problem out of Wesley’s hide.”

 

“You don’t understand,” Angel said tautly. “I can smell who did this to him. It’s all over him. He stinks of it.”

 

“Stinks of what?” Gunn demanded, even though he knew what Angel was going to say, knew it exactly, because he could smell it, too. Come. He smells of come. That was what Angel was going to say, throwing the word out like a challenge so Gunn couldn’t go on in denial.

 

Instead, Angel looked him in the eye and said: “You.”

 

“No way!” Gunn rose to his feet furiously, hands balling into fists, because how dare Angel even suggest that he would ever do that to Wesley; not the sex, fuck the sex, and yeah, he knew Cordy would be all over that statement, but this wasn’t about sex, this was about making him…holding down and hurting and…no way, just no way, ever, would he… He wasn’t the guy Billy Blimm’s blood had made him and he didn’t do that; didn’t have a murderous fury inside him that could only be doused by someone else’s pain. He wasn’t one of the monsters they went out there to fight, and he would never do that to another living thing, let alone someone who had once been his best friend. Then his anger cleared enough for him to see that Angel wasn’t throwing out accusations. Angel was kind of in shock.

 

“And me.” Angel looked down at Wesley in confusion, his anger if not evaporated at least temporarily in abeyance. “We did this to him, Gunn, you and me. Except…”

 

“Except we didn’t,” Gunn finished, now as confused as Angel.

 

“Shall I send for some conveyance to have him removed from Angel’s sight?” Groo suggested. “Although I grieve that his actions have caused you and my princess so much distress, I do not share your anger towards him. Perhaps you would permit me to accompany him to some place of healing?”

 

Gunn reached up to wrap the blanket around Wesley more warmly, not sure why he was doing it, just finding that he had to. Hearing the shot in his head; Wesley asking him if anyone else was cold. But, no, that was the past, and nothing was owed now. All debts were cancelled; all loyalties and all friendship as well, because Wes had crossed a line when he took Connor that could never be uncrossed. “Maybe that would be a good idea. Take him to the hospital. Let them patch him up.”

 

“No.” Angel was implacable and his expression was hard to read. “There’s something wrong here. Something that doesn’t make sense.”

 

“He needs medical assistance,” Groo said reasonably. “I do not think it would be humane of us to ignore his injuries.”

“I’m with Groo.” Gunn gave Angel a look that he hoped told him he wasn’t going to be swayed on this. Whatever Wesley had done; however badly he’d fucked up; he was hurt and he needed some care.

 

“He’s been tortured,” Angel said it flatly. “And it happened over days, not hours. Maybe a week.”

 

Gunn realized he hadn’t been letting himself think about what this meant; Wesley looking and smelling like this, but now Angel had spelled it out it was making him feel sick. Tortured for a week. The words were banging around in his skull like a fly inside a locked room; the second they started to make sense was the second he was going to have to barf. “I’m calling 911.” Gunn reached for his cellphone.

 

Angel grabbed it from his hand. “And not just tortured. I can smell it on him. Smell your come and my come. All over him, Gunn.”

 

Groo looked shocked. “You are honourable men. I do not believe that you would…”

 

“I’m telling you, he was –”

 

“No way in hell!” said Gunn forcefully. “Neither of us touched him. Your spider sense is off, Angel. You’re – smelling him wrong.” And don’t say that word; not about him, and not about me. Not ever.

 

Wesley’s eyelashes flickered and he opened his eyes. He looked even more crappy with his eyes open, they were bloodshot and the expression in them was so haunted it took all the self-control Gunn had not to start telling him that everything was okay, they were going to take care of him, he was among friends. Except he wasn’t; he was among ex-friends and the vampire who had recently tried to make him eat a pillow and probably still wanted to.

 

The man cradled his obviously very painful ribs, even breathing in and out clearly hurting them. “Is Fred okay…?” Wesley croaked hoarsely. His voice was barely above a whisper, his breathing sounded laboured, like there was stuff in his lungs that had no business being there, and Gunn looked again at the bruises marking his slashed throat. They were bad. It was all bad. They had taken on two-headed fire breathing sewer dragons and come away looking a lot better than Wes looked right now.

 

“Yes, the vodka worked. She’s fine. Why are you here? And what the hell happened to you, man?”

 

“Not the… Angelus… Did Angel become Angelus…?”

 

“We already covered that at the hospital, Wes,” Angel said crisply. “If you remember, I told you I was still me just before I gave smothering you to death my best shot.”

 

Wesley licked his cut lip. “If you’d given it your best shot, I would be dead by now.” He focused on Gunn again. “Is Cordelia…? Is she alive? Is Fred alive?”

 

“They are both alive, Wesley,” Groo told him earnestly. “Can you tell us how you came to be in this condition?”

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Wesley darted a haunted look at Angel, flinched as Gunn automatically reached out to offer him a hand. “I need to go home.”

 

“You’re not going anywhere.” That was Angel and Gunn was right there with Wesley’s shiver of instinctive fear. When Angel spoke in that I’ll-pull-your-goddamn-head-off-if-you-even-think-about-arguing tone it was difficult not to just give in, particularly if you were Wesley and Angel had already demonstrated he was more than happy to kill you.

 

“Angel…” Gunn gave him a warning look, hoping he wasn’t going to have to fight him because although he would put up a good showing they both knew Gunn couldn’t take him if Angel really meant it. “Wes has been through enough. Let’s just get him…”

 

“Upstairs.” Angel jerked a thumb at the hotel. “In a bed with no fire damage. We need to find out what happened.”

 

“No.” Wesley flinched away from Angel’s hand.

 

“It’s not up for discussion,” Angel told him flatly. “You’re staying here until you tell me what happened to you. And if you give me any argument you are going to be meeting Angelus.”

 

Wesley gazed up at him, looking scared and defiant at the same time. Hoarsely, he croaked, “I already have.”

 

Angel nodded. “That’s what I figured.” He caught Wesley under the elbow and hauled him to his feet.

 

Gunn hastily took his other arm and held up a hand.  “Groo and I can handle it.”

 

“That’s okay.” Angel opened the door and gave Wesley a rough tug inside. “I can manage.”

 

Wesley stumbled but stayed on his feet, trying to pull the blanket around himself while the world obviously swooped and swayed all around him.

 

“What is this object?” Groo asked Gunn quietly and Gunn looked down to see a plastic bag lying close to where Wesley had been slumped.

 

“Bring it,” Gunn suggested, then hurried after Angel, who was still yanking Wesley along by one arm at a pace that had the obviously dazed and battered Wesley stumbling in confusion. Gunn took Wesley’s other arm and glared at Angel; kind of hating him a little right now although he would have been hard put to say why. “Careful.”

 

“He can walk.” Angel hauled Wesley towards the staircase. “Right, Wes?”

 

Gunn saw Wesley duck his head, clearly unable to meet Angel’s eye. His ‘yes’ was a hoarse whisper, contradicted a moment later when his legs gave out and he would have hit the ground hard if Angel and Gunn hadn’t both instinctively tightened their grip. Angel gritted his teeth and then said more reasonably, “Can you walk?”

 

“Yes.” Wesley kept his head ducked and Gunn didn’t need to have vampire senses to feel the confusion and pain coming off him in waves. This close up too, he had to admit, that Wesley smelled a lot like sex; the way Gunn smelt when he masturbated; like old come and fresh come and sleeping on the damp patch stinky. Unless Wesley had been moonlighting as a renter on Sunset Boulevard there couldn’t be a good reason for him to smell like that. And come to think of it that wasn’t a very good reason either.

 

Angel said conversationally, “You’re not leaving here until you tell me what happened to you.”

 

Gunn darted a worried glance at him. He couldn’t read Angel right now and didn’t know what he was likely to do next. That had happened to most of the people he knew recently. Wesley had gone from being Old Reliable to secretive psycho Lorne-bashing baby kidnapper boy; Angel had pretended to be willing to forgive Wesley just so he could get him alone in that room and try to smother him. Even Cordelia had gone all demon floaty super powers girl on them. Groo and Lorne were making more sense to him, and they were from a demon dimension. No wonder he was loving Fred so much more than the rest of them.

 

Wesley said hoarsely, “You have no right to keep me here.” Speaking was obviously hurting him, hurting his ribs, hurting his throat.

 

“Tough.” Angel yanked him on up the staircase.

 

“Angel…” Gunn hurried to take Wesley’s weight on the other side. The man couldn’t make the stairs; that was pretty obvious, so he either let Angel haul him up them or he helped carry him, which at least gave Wesley some kind of illusion of control over the situation. “You can’t keep him prisoner…”

 

“Oh, you’d be surprised what I can do.” Angel looked at Wesley again. “Right, Wes?”

 

Wesley shivered but didn’t answer.

 

Angel continued with a horrible cheerfulness that wasn’t fooling anyone, “Back in the day…”

 

“But you’re not ‘back in the day’,” Gunn told him flatly. “And if you start acting like you’re ‘back in the day’ you’re going to find yourself on the pointed end of a stake.”

 

“I don’t have a son right now because Wesley has a problem with communication. That’s a problem I’m going to help him solve.” Angel hauled him around the corner and up into the first floor corridor; Gunn having no option but to help support Wesley’s other side.

 

“Slow down,” he hissed at Angel, adding a mental you son-of-a-bitch. Wesley’s feet were trailing along the carpet and he was shaking with exhaustion and pain.

 

“Yes. I think that’s a very good idea.” Gunn looked up to find Cordelia and Fred standing in their path, arms folded, Cordelia looking implacable and Fred looking worried.

 

Angel faced her without a flicker of shame. “It isn’t what it looks like.” His tone suggested that even if it were he wouldn’t feel bad about it.

 

“Good,” Cordelia retorted. “Because what it looks like is you and Gunn kidnapped Wesley and then beat the crap out of him.”

 

“That is not true, princess,” Groo assured her earnestly. “Your friend Gunn and I found Wesley together already in this condition.”

 

“Oh, we did much worse to him than that.” Angel faced her implacably. “Just not yet. That’s why I need to know what happened.”

 

“You’re not making any sense,” Fred told him. “Did you and Charles…?” The look she darted at Gunn pleaded with him not to have been a party to this.

 

Gunn said, “I didn’t touch him.”

 

“Not yet.” Angel hauled Wesley up as the man slumped against him. “Stay awake, Wes. You’ve got some ‘splaining to do.”

 

Cordelia didn’t step aside. “I need to hear it from you, right now. Did you or did you not do this to Wesley?”

 

“No,” said Gunn.

 

“Yes,” said Angel.

 

Wesley raised his head with an effort, saying wearily, “It wasn’t them, Cordelia. Please, can you make them let me go home?”

 

Angel gave him a little shake that made him clutch at his side and gasp with pain. “If you’re the ghost of Christmas future, Wes, you’re damned well going to tell me how I avoid spoiling life for the Cratchits.” He jerked his head at Cordelia and Fred.

 

“Not future,” Wesley slumped in his grip, head hanging, words barely managed through gritted teeth. “Different world… Didn’t happen here.”

 

“Didn’t or hasn’t yet?” Angel demanded. “You did a spell, didn’t you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Angel shook him as Wesley’s eyes closed, making him flinch. “Stay with me.”

 

“Stop it,” Gunn told him shortly. It was too much, seeing Wes like this, not the guy in his apartment, all bitter and angry, a stranger who stank of whisky and self-loathing, and flat out invited Gunn to see him as the enemy; this was vulnerable, in-pain-but-trying-not-to-show-it Wes; this was someone with his friend’s face, hurting.

 

“Yes.” Cordelia stepped forward, eyes blazing. “I’m as angry with Wesley as anyone else here for what he did. If he wasn’t bleeding all over the carpet I’d be happy to kick his ass straight out of this hotel and to tell him to never show his face here again. But as he is bleeding all over the carpet, I suggest you start showing some humanity right now or I may have to start glowing in a bad way.”

 

Fred gave Gunn a look that made him feel snail-size. “I can’t believe you dragged him all the way up here in this condition.”

 

“This is where the beds are.” Angel looked between them without a flicker of guilt. “I thought he’d rather lie down than fall down.”

 

“He should be in a hospital,” Fred told him.

 

“He can sign himself out of a hospital,” Angel said it as if it were obvious. “And he would do three seconds after we dropped him off there. He’s not letting any doctor examine him, are you, Wes?” He gripped the man by the shoulders and gave him another shake that made him flinch and barely stifle an exclamation of pain but did jolt his eyes open. “Now, how about you all get out of our way and let us get Wesley to a nice soft bed?”

 

“If you hurt him…” Fred was trembling with indignation and Gunn felt a spasm of something that felt a little like jealousy. He had a sudden memory of Fred clinging so tightly to Wesley’s hand in Caritas.

 

“I can’t hurt him,” Angel told her quietly. “There’s nothing left to do to him that hasn’t already been done.”

 

That made Wesley make the effort to haul his head back up. “No,” he said hoarsely. “You haven’t…”

 

“Haven’t turned into Angelus and killed Fred and Cordy?” Angel demanded. “Because that’s kind of what I’m hoping to avoid, Wesley, so I’d appreciate some help with that.”

 

“It didn’t happen here,” Wesley whispered again; voice a soft croak.

 

“You already said that.”

 

“Because it’s true.”

 

“Came with a timeline, did it? Your trip to the wrong side of reality?”

 

Wesley gazed up at him out of bloodshot eyes. “Yes.” He coughed, putting a hand up to his mouth. Blood spattered on his palm but he didn’t seem surprised, more interested in clutching at his ribs as each cough tore through him. Gunn exchanged a horrified look with Cordelia.

 

“We need to call an ambulance,” Gunn said urgently.

 

“Now,” Cordelia agreed.

 

“It looks worse than it is,” Angel insisted brutally. He hauled him down the corridor, not seeming to care that Wesley’s feet were trailing. Gunn hastily caught his other arm and held him up, darting Angel a look that he hoped made his feelings clear – not that Angel seemed to give a crap about anyone else’s opinion right now. “What aren’t you telling me?” Angel enquired.

 

“You don’t need to know.”

 

Angel looked across Wesley’s hanging head to meet Gunn’s eye. “Gotta say I don’t appreciate you still being such a stubborn little son-of-a-bitch, Wes. I was hoping trying to make you eat a pillow might have made my feelings about that pretty clear.”

 

“I’m not your problem any more.” Wesley seemed to be clinging to consciousness by a fingernail but there was something resolute even in his exhausted body and hoarse whisper of a voice. “You’ve all made that abundantly clear.”

 

Angel hauled him over to the bed and dumped him unceremoniously on the mattress. Wesley cried out at the contact and Fred said reproachfully, “Charles!”

 

“It’s not me.” He elbowed Angel, hard. “Cut it out, you bastard.”

 

“Guess what?” Angel ignored them all to address Wesley, who was trying to keep the blanket wrapped around him as he struggled to turn over onto his side. “You’re in luck. I just made you my problem all over again. And you don’t get out of here until you tell me what you did and what I did and what Gunn did and why we did it and how we stop any of it happening here.”

 

Wesley gazed up at him, blood trickling from his mouth where his lip had broken open again. He wiped his blood-stained hand on the stinking blanket wrapped around him, his gaze defiant. “Already taken care of.”

 

Angel gazed at him for a moment and then pulled back the duvet on the bed, tipped Wesley unceremoniously under it, then yanked the blanket out of his grip, rolling him over onto his back as he did so. Wesley cried out again and Cordelia marched forward to give Angel a look that was far from friendly.

 

Angel met her gaze levelly. “If we let him go home he’ll take an overdose. If we take him to the hospital he’ll sign himself out and walk under a bus. If you want him dead then call him that ambulance.”

 

“If you weren’t the only person in this hotel who really wants him dead, I might be more convinced you have Wesley’s welfare in mind,” she retorted.

 

“I don’t,” Angel assured her. “I have yours and Fred’s, not to mention Gunn’s. Because, last time I checked Gunn wasn’t a vampire and he didn’t fuck his friends for fun. Not against their will anyway. And not after burning his initials into them with a hot – what was it, Wes? Coat hanger?” He lifted up a corner of the duvet and Gunn saw the ‘G’ on Wesley’s right ass cheek; his very bruised ass.

 

Seriously worried he was going to hurl, Gunn quickly yanked the duvet out of Angel’s hand and over Wesley and turned to Fred; wondering if what she was seeing right now was the guy she’d had to hit with a chair leg to stop him from killing her. “I didn’t do that. I would never do that.”

 

“Not while you’re human and have a soul.” Angel reached down and hauled Wesley up the bed, stuffing a pillow under his head and covering him with the duvet in a way that seemed as uncaring as possible yet nevertheless meant that Wesley was arranged a little more comfortably than he had been before.

 

“You don’t need to worry.” Lying on his front, Wesley pressed his bruised cheekbone against the cool linen of the pillow as if he hadn’t felt anything soft touch his body in a very long time. “It was a different world and we’re already past the point where it diverged from ours. I just needed to be sure....” And then his eyes closed and Gunn saw him slip into something that was either sleep or unconsciousness from sheer exhaustion.

 

Gunn turned to Angel in angry confusion. “What the hell is going on?”

 

“I don’t know.” Angel nodded at Wesley. “But he does. And I’m going to make him tell me.”

 

Cordelia was gazing at Wesley as if everything hurt. “What do you think happened?”

 

“I think he tried to undo what he did. Tried to go back to a time before he took Connor but something went wrong with the spell and he ended up somewhere else instead.”

 

“Another dimension?” Cordelia’s eyes widened in understanding. “Like the one that skanky evil Willow came from that time?”

 

“Maybe.” Angel continued to gaze at Wesley with an unreadable expression on his face. If he hadn’t known better, Gunn would have said that was a flicker of concern in his brown eyes. “Or he went forward instead of backwards, and the dimension he visited was the future. Either way I need to know for sure.” He reached forward and lifted the duvet off Wesley’s now naked body; letting them all get a good look at the mottling of bruises, the burns and welts across his back, the grip marks on his hips. “Because this looks like a future worth avoiding to me, wouldn’t you agree?” He covered him back up and Gunn looked around to see Cordelia, Fred and Groo all with their eyes averted and grimacing.

 

“He needs to sleep,” Cordelia said stoutly. “Whatever happened to him, and wherever it happened to him, it clearly wasn’t a day at the funfair. If you won’t let him go home and you won’t let us call him an ambulance, the least you can do is leave him alone.”

 

“Sure.” Angel shrugged, face still unreadable. “I’m good at that.”

 

“So, get out of here and leave him alone.” Cordelia marched to the door and held it open.

 

Gunn was positively eager to get away from his battered and naked once-friend and especially that incredibly disturbing ‘G’ on his ass. Fred gave Wesley a look of such compassion and anxiety that he was torn between loving her more for being so loyal to the screw up that was Wesley even after what he’d done and getting another twinge of anxiety about her maybe having more in common with Wes than him. Groo had already politely taken his leave, but when Gunn looked back, Angel was still standing by the bed looking at Wesley’s bruised cheekbone and black eye with an unreadable expression on his face.

 

“Angel…?” Cordelia warned.

 

Angel abruptly spun around and walked out of the room. “You might want to get him some painkillers,” he said as if he didn’t care. “Some bandages might not be a bad idea either.”

 

“I’ll take care of it.” Cordelia looked across at the man on the bed and her face softened. “I’ll take care of him.”

 

“Yes, we will.”

 

Gunn found that Fred was standing there with her arms wrapped around her chest, looking at him and Angel as if she didn’t like them very much. He tried to take her hand, “Fred, we didn’t do anything to Wesley…”

 

“We did everything to Wesley,” Angel returned.

 

“Not this version of us,” Gunn retorted.

 

“Not yet,” Angel said enigmatically.