Still more dribbles

[thebratqueen]

LJ being devony but still wrote a dribble.



A constant rapping sound tore Wesley out of sleep. He grabbed his glasses and quickly belted on his robe, stumbling across the dark bedroom to open his door.

"Lydia?" he asked, blinking in surprise to see her.

She looked upset. Her hair was mussed. A few strands had slipped out of her usual bun. "It's Angel," she said.

Wesley immediately ran for the stairs, mentally cursing all the while. How long had it been? It was dark out, had an entire day gone by?

Lydia kept close to his heels. "He attempted it again. With his hands. They think he was trying to - "

"Get to his heart," Wesley immediately guessed. He left the first staircase and went to another, the one that went all the way into the basement. With each step he felt a pang of guilt - he should have been there, he should have stopped it.

The litany in his head immediately quieted when he reached Angel's cage.

As before, the vampire was curled up in the far corner. Wesley immediately tried to asses the damage. He could spot only glimpses, but the hints of blood and torn skin were more than enough to paint a picture.

Angel's hands batted at the air. He shook his head, muttering to himself in words Wesley could barely understand. Then, with a suddenness that made Wesley jump, he roared into life, clawing at his chest and tearing open the barely-healed flesh. "No. No. No."

"Angel," Wesley said. He came right up to the bars and slapped them, ignoring Lydia's attempt to pull him out of the way. "Angel."

"I'm sorry," Angel moaned, and Wesley knew better than to assume the words were directed at him. "Stop - please. I didn't - I'm sorry."

"We may have to tranquilize him," Wesley told Lydia.

She nodded, then frowned. "Travers won't allow it much longer."

Wesley snapped his attention towards her. "Pardon?"

"I overheard him," Lydia said, pitching her voice lower. "This afternoon. If he must be drugged the entire time Travers wants him given over to research. Or - "

"That's not an option," Wesley said. He hit the bars again. "Angel!"

"I can't," the vampire pitched forward, arms wrapped around his stomach now as though he might be sick. "I - I can't. I tried."

"What's he talking about?" Lydia asked.

"It doesn't matter," Wesley said. He refused to give the cause of these visions anymore power than they already had by actually acknowledging them. "Angel, can you hear me?"

Angel's head jerked up. He stared at Lydia. "You. God, I - I never meant to kill you."

Lydia shook her head at once. "He never laid a hand upon me, I swear it."

"I know," Wesley said. He felt sick himself for a moment. How was this the same man he'd left just that morning? The one who'd kept him company all night with talk of music, and books and movies. Come 6am it had been Angel himself who'd gently insisted that Wesley retire. And now - "He's not seeing you. He doesn't see either one of us."

"Mad?" Lydia asked, mouthing the word more than speaking it.

The question hung between them for a long moment. Wesley wished he had a definitive answer. "Possibly haunted. Ghosts. Demons."

"Here?" Lydia's hand gestured to the walls around them, taking in the whole of the Council. "But we've protections, barriers - "

"None of which apply here," Wesley reminded her. "Else he'd never have survived this long in the first place."

"We could do new ones," Lydia said. "Something to bar any interference. Put a stop to this."

"Forbidden," Wesley said, flatly, having fought that battle already. "He is a vampire. We do not protect them."

"But couldn't we -"

Wesley raised a wry eyebrow. "As though any form of magic would go undetected?"

"Oh," she said, deflating.

"Didn't - didn't - " Angel was mumbling. He'd pressed up against the wall again. His fingers tugged at the stones as though trying to pull something from them. Wesley could see blood begin to fleck the walls.

"Poor dear," Lydia murmured. "He's been like that since the laboratory."

Again Wesley snapped his attention to her. "What?"

"Since they worked on him," she replied.

"They - " Wesley bit off the urge to swear. "They can't have done that. I forbade it. He's not strong enough!"

"We don't protect vampires," Lydia reminded him, quietly.

Wesley came closer to the bars and truly looked at Angel. "He's paler than a phantom. Get some blood. He's probably starving."

"Of course," Lydia said. She ran to the door. "Er - animal or human?"

"Whatever's faster," Wesley told her. "And heat it up."

She nodded, then disappeared.

Wesley knelt down. "Angel?"

To his surprise, the vampire turned. In a voice so soft and uncertain it might as well have been a breath, Angel asked, "W-Wesley?"

"Yes," Wesley said at once. He leaned forward, trying to encourage the eyecontact. "Angel, it's me. Can you - "

Angel crawled towards the bars, the very picture of a wounded animal. True enough, Wesley saw him test the air as though getting a scent. "Wesley."

"Yes," he said again. He wasn't sure where this was going, but at least he could confirm it. "I'm right here."

Angel was right in front of him now. He spoke in a whisper that Wesley had to strain to hear. "I can't - they won't stop. They won't leave me alone. I - I - "

"Ignore them," Wesley said. "You have to. It's the only way."

"Trying," Angel said. He flinched, as though someone had grasped his shoulder. "She won't be quiet. She says - "

"I don't care," Wesley told him. "She's not important. You've better things to do than coddle some spirit with nothing but practical jokes on her mind."

"I can't," Angel said. He pressed his hands to his ears. "Wes, please - make it stop. I want - I just want it to stop - "

"It will," Wesley promised him, making his voice as reassuring as he could in spite of the fact that he was making up every word as he went. "You only need to be strong. You can do this, Angel. You've survived Hell and these accomodations. I know you can handle it."

Angel's hands curled into fists. Wesley wondered if the vampire was strong enough to actually crush his own skull with the right determination. "Won't shut up. Just keeps talking and talking and - "

"Talk to me, then," Wesley told him. "Come, we'll continue our conversation from last night. I believe we were making fun of Dante."

"Here," Wesley looked up to see Lydia pressing a large mug of warmed blood into his hands. "I hope that's the right temperature."

"I'm sure it is," he told her. He held the cup out to Angel. "Drink. It'll help you feel better."

Angel shifted forward. He reached out for the mug then stopped, his hand too shakey to even attempt to grasp it. "I - I can't."

"A straw?" Wesley asked Lydia. She nodded, then immediately produced one. Wesley took it but glanced at her quizzically.

"I thought you might need it," she said. She motioned towards the doorway. "I should - I could try to stay if you need but I'm expected at the meeting and - "

Meeting. Wesley dimly remembered some all-staff affair they were expected to go to. "No, go. You're right. They'll suspect something if you're gone."

She stepped away. "I'll tell them...?"

"That I'm fixing their error," he replied.

She nodded, then left.

Wesley put the straw into the mug and held it out again. "Here. Drink it slowly. I can get more if I need to."

Angel shifted forward and attempted a sip. A few drops spilled onto his mouth and he sat back to lap at them. "She's - girlfriend?"

It took Wesley a moment to translate that. He held the straw still as Angel bent down to drink again. "No. Watcher. She has a particular interest in your family, however."

Angel continued to drink but managed to give him a curious look.

"Spike," Wesley clarified.

Angel sat back again, leaning his head against the bars. "Not his real name, you know."

Wesley did, but he wanted Angel to keep talking. "Oh?"

"Yeah," Angel said. He took a few more long pulls of blood. "Named himself that. Accent's fake too. But so's mine."

Wesley held the straw out again, encouraging Angel to finish it. "You faked your own accent?"

"No," Angel shook his head. The movement was sluggish, as were the words. Wesley realized the vampire was becoming sleepy, much like an infant after having a meal. "Just... not Irish."

"With all that time in the States I expect you would pick up new speech patterns," Wesley agreed.

Angel drained the last of the blood, then wiped his mouth. The gesture smeared a drop across his lips and Wesley felt the urge to clean it. "Yeah. Something like that."

Wesley put the mug down, hoping the motion would inspire Angel to follow it. "You must have a great many interesting stories about Spike."

"Some, yeah," Angel said. His eyes drooped then, with them, he slumped down further, finally lying on the floor. "Could tell you... tell you lots."

"I look forward to it," Wesley said. He thought about it for a moment, then asked, "Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"Why - why did you notice me? How did you know that I was real?"

"You're you," Angel said. He pillowed his head on one hand, the other aborting the motion to help when the chain held it back. "Wouldn't... couldn't make somebody like you up."

"Oh," Wesley said. He wondered if that was an insult or a compliment. "I see."

Angel's voice slurred as sleep finally overcame him. "Always know you, Wes."

"You as well," Wesley said, although he wasn't sure if that meant anything under the circumstances. Regardless, it hardly seemed to matter as Angel had finally dropped off into slumber.

Wesley watched him, disliking the tiny twitches that suggested torments still going through him. On the other hand, he'd never known the vampire to get a truly peaceful night's sleep since his arrival so Wesley dared to hope things were normal.

The shivering, however, was mostly new. Knowing fully well it would probably make little difference he sat up, unbelted his robe, then slipped it through the bars. After a few tries he managed to flick it in the air in just the right fashion to let it fall down and drape over the vampire's shoulders.

That done, Wesley wrapped his arms around his own now-bare chest and sat quietly beside him as Angel slept.