Title: Medias in Res
Rating: PG-13 // FRT
Characters: Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Faith Lehane, OC demons for Faith’s personal abuse, mentions of Sam and Dean Winchester
fic_variations Prompt: fever (#2)
tamingthemuse Prompt: Bullock
Content Warning: Spoilerish through 510: Abandon All Hope.
Summary: Coming back from the dead is not an easy process.
Author’s Note: The start of a new series I’ve been tossing around. Will most likely eventually be Buffyverse/CSI:NY/Supernatural. Just an idea, and my brain is on crack, so just bear with me.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of the Buffyverse or Supernatural. They belong to Joss and Kripke, I’m just playing.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce hadn’t had the luxury of the funeral.
Los Angeles burned soon after the Circle of the Black Thorn was killed, forced to rebuild on ashes, and Wesley’s body burned with it. Not that he really cared at the time—Hell was proving to require much of his attention. However, it did mean that there was no body for the people who needed him to work with. They had to used their magic to rebuild him from scratch and that, not only took time, but was also incredibly, excruciatingly painful.
Coming back from the dead is also nearly impossible to have it done perfectly. There is always something that goes wrong, and in Wesley’s case, it was a dizzying, blistering fever. It was so intense that he could barely even think most of the time, but the demons who brought him back—God only knows how—didn’t care. They just sat him down in front of the scrolls and ordered him to translate, not telling him who or what they were for. Not that he was of the mind to ask, mind you—he was just grateful to be out of the hellhole that Wolfram and Hart had stuck him in after his death and he would do whatever they asked, but if his brain wasn’t working, his brain wasn’t working. The fact that his brain wasn’t working was even more evident by the fact that he passed out right when they put him in the chair.
So when he couldn’t sit, they had a demon make him.
Being possessed was odd, to say the least. At first he remembered nothing, just the feeling of someone sorting through his brain, looking for the relevant information in order to decipher whatever they needed to decipher, but eventually he felt himself coming back into focus. It took him a moment through the haze to realize that he had control of all his facilities, but he could still feel the demon sitting the pit of his stomach, keeping him awake and focused. The problem was, he had no idea why.
“What is going on?”
“We need these scrolls read.” The demon in front of him shoved the old papyrus closer to him, not enough to damage, but hard enough so that they moved. “They’re written in Sanskrit—or at least, we assume so. Whoever hid them, the smart son of a bitch, decided to enchant them so that only humans could read them.” The demon gave him a sickening smile. “We need you to tell us what they say.”
Wesley’s eyes moved slowly, glancing over each face in the room and then to the paper, where he could see the glimmer of the glyphs crossing the page. “And why should I do that?”
“Because if you don’t, we’ll send you back to that Hell pit we pulled you out of.”
There was the slight push of fear against the back of his mind. He didn’t want to go back to Hell, but he wasn’t about to give them what they wanted. His eyes wandered back to the glyphs again, reading them over and picking up select words but trying not to allow his brain to put them together. He could still feel the demon feeding off his knowledge, and he didn’t want to give them too much ammunition. “The problem with picking a man like me is that that may not be enough motivation. I’d rather go back to Hell than give you what you want.”
“I don’t think you understood me,” the demon replied, leaning forward to get in his face. “You will tell me what it says. Or I will do what they did to you in Hell while you’re still alive, and then I’ll kill you.”
Another glance. More words. He knew he was tempting fate with getting more information, especially when he knew it was highly likely he wouldn’t make it out of this place alive, but his curiosity was getting better to him. It didn’t take him long to figure out exactly what these scrolls were about, and the moment he knew all the details, the demon inside him knew it too. He could feel the thing inside him start to surge forward, making as though he was going to regain control. Wesley tried to fight him, trying to keep control of his body and who he was, but it was fighting a losing battle, and he knew that the minute the demon possessed him.
The door in the back of the room banged open just as Wesley felt his last vestiges of control slip through his fingers and everything fell into black.
It took some time for him to recover from everything the demons had done to him. Exorcisms weren’t an easy thing to survive, and given his current condition, he was surprised that he had. He spent a few days slipping in and out of consciousness, not coming to long enough to actually realize what was happening around him, but still coming to at least a little.
When he finally managed to open his eyes again, he was greeted with the white-washed walls of the hospital room that only seemed to brighten in contrast to the black biker boots resting on the edge of the bed next to him. His eyes took a moment to focus before following them up the leather clad legs to Faith, who was leaning back in the chair next to. She looked slightly annoyed as she used the remote in her hand through the channels in the room.
“Hospital cable sucks, yo,” she muttered as she finally gave in, turning off the power on the TV and just tossing the remote down on the bed. “Why does everything have to have fucking Sandra Bullock?” Her eyes started to wander around the room, looking for something to do, and when she spotted Wesley awake, a large wolf grin split across her face. “Look who decided to rise and shine. How’re you feelin’, Wes?”
It took him a moment to attempt to speak, his throat feeling like sandpaper. “Like someone attempted to pull my internal organs out through my mouth.”
She nodded slowly, sliding her legs off the bed, and making her way to the sink. “Yeah—apparently exorcism do that sometimes. The demons that’re around these days are getting harder and harder to kill.”
He waited until she came back with the cup of water from the sink, letting her use the controls to push him into a sitting position. He took a long sip from the cup, letting it wet his throat so that speaking was easier. “Been brushing up on your Latin?”
“C’mon. This is me. Punching, yes; words, not so much.” She flashed him that same grin, before settling back into her seat again. “I had some help.”
He nodded again, taking a few more sips as he tried to process everything. He felt safe with Faith, despite their history, but he still couldn’t shake the impending feeling that something was wrong. “How did you know where I was?”
Faith was quiet for a moment, before leaning back against the chair. “I didn’t. It’s a real long story, Wes, but we’re in the middle of a total shit fest.”
“The Apocalypse,” he sighed. “I’m aware.” He was quiet again. “Has Death been released yet?”
“According to the help, yeah. In Cathrage, about two months ago.”
Wesley nodded for a moment, before starting to push himself up. “Is the help still here?”
“Crashing at a motel outside of town. They said they’d stick around till you woke up, but they were pretty anxious to get out of here and try and tail the demons who managed to get away. From what they were implying, it seemed like these guys were packing a pretty powerful punch.”
“They aren’t wrong.” He pushed away from the mattress a bit, trying to see if he could sit up on his own. “Faith, we need to go. Now.”
“Me breakin’ you out.” She grinned again. “Guess this makes us even, huh?”
He couldn’t help it. He smirked. “Let’s get me out of here first, and then we’ll discuss what makes us even.”
She laughed, before getting up to head towards the door and get a better look at what she was dealing with. “Alright. Fair enough.”