::.. Witlingville ..::

Notes: Dark AU, Spander with Wesley.

The Assistant part 14

He comes to with a disorienting sensation of weight traveling down his body and centering in his feet. He's in the elevator, he realizes. They're going up.

"What--" He finds strength in his legs, and reaches for the wall to support himself. Someone's holding his elbow, keeping him upright. "What happened?"

"Fucked if I know." That's Spike. Wesley turns his head and finds that Spike is standing beside him, looking taut and holding the crossbow. "The building's still sealed, yeah?"

The building... Wesley realizes he can't feel his hands or feet. He's beginning to shiver. The wards sealed the building as soon as Angelus entered. The only person who can remove them is Wesley, and they're still in place, but for some reason it's freezing in the elevator. His blood is turning to ice. He's going to faint.

"Wesley." Spike sounds very far away, and angry. "Is it still sealed?"

He thought he'd said so. He nods.

"Fucking hell...Watcher. Is it sealed or not?"

He didn't nod; he only meant to. He's floating inside his own body, unable to make the connections work. It shivers on its own. He can hear a quick clacking sound, like teeth chattering. Suddenly, he remembers the hole in Angelus's cage. But the building is sealed, he can't get out.

Something smacks him in the face, which brings things back in a roar. He opens his eyes and finds Spike standing in front of him, the elevator doors open behind him, everything blurry and familiar.

"It's sealed," Wesley gasps.

"I know," Spike says, looking concerned. "You said that."

"Then why did you...you hit me."

"You wouldn't bloody shut up about it."

Wesley blinks dumbly. Spike's gaze moves from his face to a spot over his shoulder. "Come on."

"Where are we--what--" Wesley tries to make his legs work, without success. He's shivering so hard he can barely speak.

"And don't be stupid," Spike says, walking out of the elevator and down the hall. "Or I'll drop you down that shaft and let Angelus have you."

Wesley turns his head. Xander is standing behind him, holding him up by his waist and elbow. It doesn't appear to cost him any effort to do it.

"Jawohl, mein Fuhrer," he mutters, and glances at Wesley. "Nice job, Wes. Way to liven things up around here."

"Where I can see you!" Spike yells from the hallway. Xander rolls his eyes and hauls Wesley out of the elevator before he can say anything to defend himself.

They go to the security room. Spike flips switches until everything's online, then stands back and studies the screens. Xander drops Wesley into a chair and goes over for a look.

"Where's the basement?"

Mutely, Spike points at the screens. Xander frowns. "They're dead."

"I see that." Spike tries the switches again, then shrugs. "He killed them. Or they went out when the Watcher blew everything up."

Blew everything up? Wesley tries to ask, but his mouth still isn't working. Spike looks over at him anyway, his expression assessing now.

"You going to live?"

Wesley concentrates on making his mouth work properly. He's getting some feeling back in his fingers and toes. Pain, mostly. "Yes."

"Good." Spike looks back at the screens, running a finger over them in rapid sequence, then coming to a sudden stop. "There--what the hell is he in, a service elevator?"

"That is some crappy reception." Xander leans in and studies the screen, then runs a hand nervously over the back of his head. "So, we're leaving, right?"

Spike gives him a you idiot look. "The building's sealed."

Xander stands up fast, his whole body tensed. "Wait, whoah--you mean nobody can leave?"

"We need weapons."

"We need to unseal." Xander turns to Wesley, his face a little askew, his eyes wide. "Wesley, hey, how about a little unsealing? For old time's sake?"

Wesley wraps his arms around himself and squeezes, for warmth and to make the shivering less obvious. He's covered in blood, he realizes. From the bag he used to counter the cycle. It's wet and cold, and it stinks. "I can't."

"Weapons," Spike says again, starting for the door.

"Fuck weapons!" Xander snaps. "You already shot him once, and notice him enjoying the Muzak. Wesley--" He turns and leans over to give Wesley a direct, pleading look. "Come on, Wes. There's gotta be some way to do this."

Even Spike seems to pause, listening and hoping. Wesley shakes his head. "It doesn't work like that. I'm sorry."

"Don't be such a nance," Spike says to Xander. "Come on. And bring him."

"Where?"

"The training rooms." Spike's halfway out the door. Xander grabs Wesley under his arm and starts to follow. Wesley forces his jaw to unclench enough to let him speak.

"No--the library."

Spike and Xander pause. Spike raises an eyebrow.

"There are...weapons there. A few. And I need books." His fingers are cramped into hooks against his ribs. He has no idea how he'll turn the pages.

"Nice thought," Spike says, mind-reading. "But you're not in any shape to do more mojo."

"Xander's right. Weapons won't help."

"They will if we use them right."

"Spike. We don't have time."

They stand looking at each other, Xander holding Wesley up, glancing anxiously back and forth between them. Spike looks worse than Wesley's ever seen him. He supposes he must look about the same.

"Okay," Spike says at last. "But you'd better have some really good books."

They run. Xander carries Wesley, awkwardly but with no indication of difficulty. Spike makes slightly better time, carrying only the crossbow. As they pass the door to the training rooms, he pauses long enough to bend the handle into a silver tangle.

"What the hell--?" Xander stops short, staring at it.

"You want him in there, picking and choosing?" Spike starts off again, full tilt. Xander lingers a moment, Wesley dangling off his arm.

"We have to go," Wesley says. Xander gives a single, full-body shudder, like the one he gave in the elevator a millennium ago. It feels like a horse, shaking off a fly.

"If this doesn't work," he says, turning his head and meeting Wesley's eyes, "I'm going to try to kill you, okay?"

Wesley swallows. "Xander--"

"Yeah, thank me later."

They set off again.

The library door is standing open; as soon as they cross the threshold, Spike barks, "Shut that!"

"Shutting! Jesus." Xander kicks the door closed, slaps the deadbolt on, and heads for Spike, who's rifling the drawers of Wesley's desk. "Where to, Wes?"

"German, fourteenth century." He tries to nod at the shelf, but Xander's already walking. Of course he knows the floor plan. It seems like years ago that he worked here, but it was hardly more than a week. "The Schwarzhund girdle book."

"Check." Xander lets Wesley fall into a chair, and continues on to the shelf. Wesley feels himself sag inward, like an old man propped up and abandoned. The pain in his hands and feet is the pain of feeling returning after frostbite. It tingles and aches. He's still shaking, but his mind feels more orderly now. The girdle book has an offensive that might work, if he can make the gestures properly. He's not sure he can. He tries flexing his fingers, and the pain brings tears to his eyes.

"Here." There's something shiny in front of his face--a flask. Spike's found whiskey in the desk. Gratefully, Wesley takes it. "Got a blanket around here anywhere?"

He shakes his head, then tips the flask up for a drink. Whiskey spills down his chin, but some goes down his throat, half-choking him. His sinuses feel scalded. He coughs, wipes his mouth on the shoulder of his shirt, and waits. Warmth blooms in his belly. Better.

"There's a coat--" He gestures vaguely at the wall behind the desk. The closet there has a few leftovers, mainly things of Fred and Gunn's that he's never had the time or heart to throw away. Spike roots through and comes back with the heavy old pea coat. It was Gunn's, once upon a time. Spike helps Wesley get his arms into the sleeves.

"Schwarzhund girdle book, who gets it?" Xander slides the book onto the table in front of Wesley, and undoes the leather ties with fast, trembling hands. "Okay, Wes. Work your magic."

"Turn to the diagrams--" Wesley reaches out, but Xander's already flipping.

"Not going to blow up again, is it?" Spike's keeping a wary distance, still holding onto the crossbow. Wesley looks at him.

"What happened down there? What did you see?"

"You went spastic, Angelus went spastic, then suddenly there's a big hole in the floor and everyone without a soul gets out of jail free."

Wesley frowns. "I don't understand."

"Harris's chains fell off, and the cage blew up."

"Blew--" Wesley stops short, realizing.

"Um, not to interrupt." Xander's pushing the book at him. "But could you maybe get on this?"

"It was the blood," Wesley says. "The blood is the key, it creates the breach."

"Uh-huh." Xander inches the book closer. "Casty-cast, yeah?"

"There was blood on the bars of Angelus's cage," Wesley says to Spike, already turning to consult the diagram. "From the bag Xander threw. The counter uses blood to break the ward. The bars must have broken as well."

There's a pause. When Wesley looks up, Spike is giving Xander a narrow look. Xander is studying his feet.

"If we get out of here in one piece," Spike says heavily, "We're going to have a little talk about impulse control."

"There must have been blood on Xander's chains," Wesley says, going back to the book. "From his wrists, or..." He trails off, absorbed in the offensive. "I need your lighter, Spike."

Spike drops it onto the table without asking what it's for. Wesley fumbles it up with numb fingers, and strikes the flint experimentally. The first try doesn't work, but the second one catches. Good enough. He needs--

"My knife. In my pocket. And a bullet, I need a bullet."

"In my desk," Xander says, heading for the smaller desk against the opposite wall. "I had a few in the drawer."

"You had bullets in your desk?" Spike asks, rooting through Wesley's pocket without hesitation. "What the hell for?"

"They were cool." Xander jerks the desk drawer open and rummages through. Then suddenly he stops. His head lifts, and he looks toward the door. The skin of his face rumples.

At the same time, Spike draws his hand out of Wesley's pocket and stands up. He puts the pocket knife quietly down on the table, and picks up the crossbow. His eyes are trained on the door.

"Sorry, Watcher," he says. "Looks like you're not going to get your chance after all."

Wesley swallows. In the thin space between the floor and the base of the door, he can see a patch of darkness.

"Get over here," Spike says softly, and Wesley realizes he's speaking to Xander. "Get the Watcher behind me."

Xander doesn't move. Wesley forces himself to put his hand out and pick up the pocket knife. It's small and heavy, warm from his own body heat. That's strange, when he feels like he's freezing.

There's no possible way to complete the spell in time now, but he bends his head anyway, and starts making the gestures.

There's a knock at the door. Three solid taps. Xander jumps.

"Get over here," Spike hisses, taking a step forward. "Harris. Xander."

Xander whimpers.

Beyond the door, Angelus says, "Hello?"

That starts Xander moving, back across the floor to where Spike is, dropping the bullet on the table in front of the book. Wesley tries to ignore both of them. He's halfway through the gestures, and he can feel the building energy.

"Wes?" It sounds like Angel. He ignores it. "Wes, Spike...open the door. I'm not...I'm not Angelus. I'm Angel."

"There's a stake in the Watcher's desk," Spike mutters. "Get it."

Xander gets it and comes back.

"I don't know what's going on," Angelus says. "I don't know what happened. I'm sorry. I can't even... Wes, I don't know what happened. I swear to God, it's me."

It's distracting, and he can't afford to be distracted. He glances at the door. It's just wood; Angelus could have broken it in by now. Why wouldn't he? Why would he stand in the corridor, begging for entrance, when he knows they must be laying plans against him?

Wesley's hand pauses, and he stares at the door.

"What?" Xander's voice is rough, demonic, fearful. "What's going on, why are you stopping?"

Wesley frowns and picks up again. "I'm not." It's hard to make his hands do what he tells them to. The coat helps, but he's still freezing. He might be botching it anyway, the way he's shaking. No point in thinking like that, though. "Give me the lighter."

Spike reaches down and hands it to him. Wesley takes it on the gesture of supplication and strikes it neatly, miraculously, changing weakness to strength. Then it's useless, and he drops it. "The knife."

He uses the knife to cut the air in the direction of the door, three times each direction. Little precise strokes, amazing if you know how little he can feel his fingers. Behind him, Xander shifts anxiously.

"Wes. I don't know what I can do to convince you. I told you it was the Verran cycle. I don't know why the bars broke. I didn't plan it. I swear to God."

"The bullet," Wesley whispers. Spike gives it to him. Wesley puts it in the air, pointing at the door. It hangs there, building force.

Now it's just a matter of a few words, a final gesture. Wesley takes a deep breath, glances up at Spike, and calls, "Angel?"

There's a long pause. The air seems to shiver.

"Wes." He sounds defeated, exhausted. "Please. Let me in."

"I'm injured," Wesley calls. "I can't move. Break the lock."

Xander gives a low, bubbling snarl. Spike smacks him in the back of the head, and he stops. The doorknob turns, then stops.

"Okay," Angelus says. He sounds like a man who's accepted the terms of a long, damning contract. "Okay, Wes. Whatever you want."

The doorknob turns again, and keeps turning. There's a loud crack. Then the door opens with a jerk, and Angelus is standing on the threshold. He looks at Wes first. His face is white, drained, miserable. He looks at Spike, then at Xander. The sight of Xander seems to give him intense pain.

Then he looks at the bullet, hovering in midair. His expression changes to something like gratitude.

It's Angel. Wesley knows it is. But he can't know it is, not really, so he says the final words and makes the gesture, and the bullet becomes a blinding spear of light, hurtling into its target.