WesleySlashFicathon
May. 29th, 2004 05:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonlettuceThis is for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
alias_lilacgirl, who asked for a story with Giles, fire and set in Sunnydale. I hit the first two, but this isn't in Sunnydale. If I pout prettily will you forgive me for the Sunnydale thing?
Fall of the House of Atreides
By Claire
The fire is still burning when they finally find him, plumes of smoke rising up to the heavens like prayers of supplication.
"Wesley?"
Her voice is as soft as her touch, fingers resting lightly on his shoulder, more carefully than he would have expected from any of them, especially her.
"Hello, Buffy."
He turns to look at her, almost mesmerised by the way the red flame reflects off the blonde and lights the blue in her eyes. He thinks he should tell her how beautiful she looks, but the tears spill out from her eyes, and the question dies on his lips.
He reaches out, fingertips swiping through the warm trails over her cheek. Part of him wants to match her tears with his own, but he's done so much crying lately that he knows there's no tears left in his body, not now, not ever.
"Please don't."
Because there's nothing here worth crying for, no one worth any tears. Because if he can't cry then why should she be given the right to. She turns away, shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly and he feels a sudden need to gather her into his arms. Feels the Watcher in him want to comfort the Slayer before he banks it down.
And then he doesn't need to be there because Giles is, hand on Buffy's shoulder before he turns his attention to Wesley.
"Wesley, we need to leave before anyone comes."
"No one's coming."
He made sure of that. Made sure with vows and words and blood and the tattoo on his skin that still itches.
"Yes, they are." Giles kneels in front him, fingers under his chin forcing him to look at the other man. "The wards will be down in less than ten minutes, and then everyone in the village will see the fire."
Wesley digs his fingers into his thigh, channelling the anger back into his own body instead of out at Giles.
"You have no right."
This is his night, his need. Giles has no right to interfere. Doesn't understand why Wesley needs this. But Giles is ignoring him, turning to the Slayer still staring into the fire.
"Buffy, go back with the others, I'll take Wesley to mine."
He's only half listening, wondering how many others came with them, why they'd thought they'd need them. It's only him there, after all.
"I should stay and help."
Wesley wants to tell her that there's no one to help, but no words seem to be able to make it past his throat. She won't find anyone because he didn't leave anyone. Made sure of that before he ever put petrol and match to wood, before he watched the house he grew up in devour itself in heat and flame.
He'd watched his father's blood run over his skin and it felt nothing like ash. He can still feel it slipping through his fingers, painful as glass and tasting like the redemption he'll never have.
Giles's voice shakes him out of his thoughts. "You can't stay, it'll raise too many questions." Because Giles is nothing if not a realist.
"But I could-"
"Buffy." Giles looks at her, and eyes with flame dancing in them meet blue. "There's no one left to help. Not in there."
And maybe Giles understands it after all.
Wesley doesn't complain as Giles pulls him to his feet and manoeuvres him towards the car waiting on the road before bundling him into the passenger seat. The car starts to move, and Wesley keeps his eyes on the flames long after they've vanished in the distance.
He doesn't know how long they're driving before they finally stop.
"Come on."
And Wesley follows. Out of the car and into the house.
"Sit."
Obediently, like a puppy. Or a faithful servant. And the bile that he's held back for so long threatens to come up.
"Drink this."
A glass is pushed into his hand and he swallows the liquid without question. The scotch burns on the way down, searing his throat.
"What happened?" Giles sits next to him; hand resting on Wesley's arm, comforting in a way he didn't think was possible anymore.
He doesn't answer, just closes his eyes against the images not knowing if he can give voice to them.
Angel. His father. And his life exploding before him in a cloud of dust.
He looks at Giles and he's moving before he can think. His mouth finds Giles's, fierce and desperate. And for an instant he can feel Giles responding, lips opening, and need *there* before it's gone. He moves forward again, whimpering in frustration and anger when Giles's hand rests on his shoulder, heavier and more insistent than Buffy's ever was.
"Wesley, stop. You don't want to do this."
He doesn't want to do a lot of things. He doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to keep seeing ash in the shape of a man fall to the floor, doesn't want to remember his father's smiling face telling him it's all for the best. He doesn't want to remember any of it, and if this is the way to stop it then he doesn't care how wrong it feels.
"Please."
Because he's not above begging, has done it so many other times in his life that surely one more won't mean anything.
But Giles doesn't move, just rubs his thumb across Wesley's face smearing the smudge of ash Wes can feel there into a streak. He grabs at the other man's wrist before he can move his hand away, fingertips running over the stain left on Giles's thumb.
"It doesn't come off, you know." He's tried. Tried with water, with soap, with scrubbing his skin until the blood welled and ran, and still the stains remain.
Gently, Giles pulls his wrist out of Wesley's grasp.
"It'll come off, Wesley, you just have to give it time."
But Wesley doesn't know if he has time left.
"I don't know if I can." Voice barely above a whisper.
Giles doesn't reply, he simply moves closer. Arms encircle him, tightening their hold when he turns into their embrace. With his face buried in Giles's shirt he lets the tears he didn't think he had anymore come.
And all he has is the remembrance of ash.
End
The masterlist for the ficathon is here. All Wesley! What more could you ask?
alias_lilacgirl, who asked for a story with Giles, fire and set in Sunnydale. I hit the first two, but this isn't in Sunnydale. If I pout prettily will you forgive me for the Sunnydale thing?Fall of the House of Atreides
By Claire
The fire is still burning when they finally find him, plumes of smoke rising up to the heavens like prayers of supplication.
"Wesley?"
Her voice is as soft as her touch, fingers resting lightly on his shoulder, more carefully than he would have expected from any of them, especially her.
"Hello, Buffy."
He turns to look at her, almost mesmerised by the way the red flame reflects off the blonde and lights the blue in her eyes. He thinks he should tell her how beautiful she looks, but the tears spill out from her eyes, and the question dies on his lips.
He reaches out, fingertips swiping through the warm trails over her cheek. Part of him wants to match her tears with his own, but he's done so much crying lately that he knows there's no tears left in his body, not now, not ever.
"Please don't."
Because there's nothing here worth crying for, no one worth any tears. Because if he can't cry then why should she be given the right to. She turns away, shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly and he feels a sudden need to gather her into his arms. Feels the Watcher in him want to comfort the Slayer before he banks it down.
And then he doesn't need to be there because Giles is, hand on Buffy's shoulder before he turns his attention to Wesley.
"Wesley, we need to leave before anyone comes."
"No one's coming."
He made sure of that. Made sure with vows and words and blood and the tattoo on his skin that still itches.
"Yes, they are." Giles kneels in front him, fingers under his chin forcing him to look at the other man. "The wards will be down in less than ten minutes, and then everyone in the village will see the fire."
Wesley digs his fingers into his thigh, channelling the anger back into his own body instead of out at Giles.
"You have no right."
This is his night, his need. Giles has no right to interfere. Doesn't understand why Wesley needs this. But Giles is ignoring him, turning to the Slayer still staring into the fire.
"Buffy, go back with the others, I'll take Wesley to mine."
He's only half listening, wondering how many others came with them, why they'd thought they'd need them. It's only him there, after all.
"I should stay and help."
Wesley wants to tell her that there's no one to help, but no words seem to be able to make it past his throat. She won't find anyone because he didn't leave anyone. Made sure of that before he ever put petrol and match to wood, before he watched the house he grew up in devour itself in heat and flame.
He'd watched his father's blood run over his skin and it felt nothing like ash. He can still feel it slipping through his fingers, painful as glass and tasting like the redemption he'll never have.
Giles's voice shakes him out of his thoughts. "You can't stay, it'll raise too many questions." Because Giles is nothing if not a realist.
"But I could-"
"Buffy." Giles looks at her, and eyes with flame dancing in them meet blue. "There's no one left to help. Not in there."
And maybe Giles understands it after all.
Wesley doesn't complain as Giles pulls him to his feet and manoeuvres him towards the car waiting on the road before bundling him into the passenger seat. The car starts to move, and Wesley keeps his eyes on the flames long after they've vanished in the distance.
He doesn't know how long they're driving before they finally stop.
"Come on."
And Wesley follows. Out of the car and into the house.
"Sit."
Obediently, like a puppy. Or a faithful servant. And the bile that he's held back for so long threatens to come up.
"Drink this."
A glass is pushed into his hand and he swallows the liquid without question. The scotch burns on the way down, searing his throat.
"What happened?" Giles sits next to him; hand resting on Wesley's arm, comforting in a way he didn't think was possible anymore.
He doesn't answer, just closes his eyes against the images not knowing if he can give voice to them.
Angel. His father. And his life exploding before him in a cloud of dust.
He looks at Giles and he's moving before he can think. His mouth finds Giles's, fierce and desperate. And for an instant he can feel Giles responding, lips opening, and need *there* before it's gone. He moves forward again, whimpering in frustration and anger when Giles's hand rests on his shoulder, heavier and more insistent than Buffy's ever was.
"Wesley, stop. You don't want to do this."
He doesn't want to do a lot of things. He doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to keep seeing ash in the shape of a man fall to the floor, doesn't want to remember his father's smiling face telling him it's all for the best. He doesn't want to remember any of it, and if this is the way to stop it then he doesn't care how wrong it feels.
"Please."
Because he's not above begging, has done it so many other times in his life that surely one more won't mean anything.
But Giles doesn't move, just rubs his thumb across Wesley's face smearing the smudge of ash Wes can feel there into a streak. He grabs at the other man's wrist before he can move his hand away, fingertips running over the stain left on Giles's thumb.
"It doesn't come off, you know." He's tried. Tried with water, with soap, with scrubbing his skin until the blood welled and ran, and still the stains remain.
Gently, Giles pulls his wrist out of Wesley's grasp.
"It'll come off, Wesley, you just have to give it time."
But Wesley doesn't know if he has time left.
"I don't know if I can." Voice barely above a whisper.
Giles doesn't reply, he simply moves closer. Arms encircle him, tightening their hold when he turns into their embrace. With his face buried in Giles's shirt he lets the tears he didn't think he had anymore come.
And all he has is the remembrance of ash.
End
The masterlist for the ficathon is here. All Wesley! What more could you ask?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-05-29 11:06 am (UTC)That was excellent. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Poor Wesley!
no subject
Date: 2004-05-29 12:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-29 03:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-29 03:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-29 07:46 pm (UTC)Angel. His father. And his life exploding before him in a cloud of dust.
Just so very final. Beautiful angst.
no subject
Date: 2004-05-30 12:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-30 12:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-05-30 12:18 pm (UTC)Thanks, babe :-)
no subject
Date: 2004-05-30 07:12 pm (UTC)So, so unbearably sad. Wonderfully written though, never given quite the full story, but given enough to begin to understand what happened. And certainly given enough to know how Wesley's father effectively killed two people that night.
Well done... I think... **cries some more**
no subject
Date: 2004-05-31 10:30 am (UTC)Thanks, LB :-)
no subject
Date: 2004-06-01 09:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-06-09 12:35 pm (UTC)