When the World Ends

There was once a time when Wes would have followed him to the ends of
the earth. All Angel had to do was ask. He would have been by his side,
crossbow in hand, and ready to give his life to 'fight the good fight'.

Not any more.

Too many things have happened. Too many good people have already lost
their lives in this battle. Cordelia. Doyle. Lilah. Fred. Each one has
given their life in the name of this impossible battle they're
fighting.

Wes doesn't believe in 'the good fight' any longer. How can anything be
good when it takes your own goodness in the process? But he agreed to
Angel's insane plan nonetheless. He's been through eight years with the
man, and he cannot desert him now. Not even if it means his own death
sentence.

But it's different this time. Not even Spike is capable of cracking
jokes, and they're all more on edge than ever. His entire existence is
consumed with researching different hopes they have of battling various
demons, learning the weaknesses of the Circle of the Black Thorn, and
just generally messing with the events that the Senior Partners have
already set in motion. Wes can barely remember the last time he smiled,
or laughed, or had a decent night's sleep without the dreams. He knows
it was when Fred was still alive, but he can't remember specifics.
Every day blurs into the next.

He doesn't know how he ended up here. He's surprised he remembers where
'here' is. It's a place he frequents when the insomnia sets in for
extended periods of time, and he can't take being around his barely
lived-in apartment or the buildings of Wolfram and Hart. It's not able
to be found very easily, though he imagines that if one tried for an
extended period of time, it could be found by Wolfram and Hart. He's
sure he's run into a couple of the other employees here, not that they
acknowledge each other's presence or anything.

He sits in a corner table, nursing a scotch. The accents he picks up
sound mostly British, but he rationalizes that it's just his homesick
brain overcompensating. No one comes over to him, because he's giving
off his "stay the hell away" vibes that he's patented while working
with the master of solitary brooding himself, Angel.

Therefore, Wes is justifiably surprised when a man sits down next to
him. The stranger is a bit older than him, possibly a bit younger than
Giles. He's met Rupert once in a while in here, and been introduced to
some of his friends, but Wes has never met this man before. He is
dressed more normally than most of the denizens of this pub, who are
wearing some sort of robes. Wes has seen stranger sights, but he will
admit to a certain degree of relief that this man is wearing simple,
though threadbare, blue jeans and a button-down white oxford.

"You look like the weight of the world is on your shoulders," he says,
in a British accent laced with an undertone of French.

It's been a long time since Wes made a habit out of checking out other
men, but he feels a compulsion to study this one. The man is around his
own height, with slightly overlong hair the color of a good brandy shot
with silver. No stranger to lack of food himself, Wes knows the man has
probably not had a decent meal in a few days. But he has a pair of
amber eyes that seemed to bore right through him, and to Wes's
experienced senses, feels more animal than human. A lycanthrope, most
likely, but this man feels less inclined to violence than others of his
condition that Wes has come across.

Wes realizes he's staring, and recovers his bearings. "You have no idea
how right you are."

The man smiles, and reaches out a hand. "Remus Lupin."

"Wesley Windham-Pryce"

Mr. Lupin - whose name's meaning is not lost on Wes - motions over to
the bartender. "Tom, another scotch for Mr. Windham-Pryce here, and a
firewhiskey for me." The stooped man at the bar pours their drinks, and
makes his way to their table.

"Please," Wes says, accepting his second drink. "It's Wesley, or Wes. I
don't usually go by my surname much these days."

His companion smiles. "Wes it is. Call me Remus." He takes his own
drink from the bartender, and begins rooting through his pockets for
suitable payment.

Tom, the bartender, stops him with an outstretched hand. "Remus, you
know your money's no good here. 'Specially with what's going on with
You-Know-Who." Wes was completely lost, but Tom continued. "It's on the
house. Give Dumbledore and Harry my best. 'Spect they'll need all the
luck they can get."

Remus seems to find nothing strange about this instruction and takes it
in stride. "Thanks, Tom. I'll tell them when I get back to Hogwarts."
The bartender waved back at them, and returned to his post. Remus turns
back to him and smiles slightly at Wes's look of utter confusion. "From
the look on your face, I take it that you have absolutely no idea what
you've stumbled upon."

"Not a clue," Wes agrees, taking a gulp of Scotch and settling in for
what he knows is going to be an interesting story.

*******************************************************************

Remus spends the next hour or so telling him about the magical world,
and Wes is astounded to realize that he is indeed in Britain . . . just
on a different plane of existence. He's not entirely ignorant about
their culture, though, as he's come across references to Voldemort and
Hogwarts in both his Watcher training and his research at Wolfram and
Hart. He'd always thought this place was part of that world, and his
suspicions were confirmed.

Wes returns the favor by telling Remus about his time with the Watchers
Council, his time on the Hellmouth, his adventures as a demon-hunter
(which Remus seemed exceedingly interested in), and his latest tenure
with Wolfram and Hart. The issue of lycanthropy comes in when he tells
of Buffy Summers and her friends in Sunnydale. Remus seems on edge at
first, as if he's expecting to get a drink thrown in his face and
slapped, but Wes assures him he's had firsthand experiences with
werewolves. When Wes tells him about Oz, Remus mentions a friend of his
in Chicago who ran a sort of shelter for werewolves. It's worth a try,
even if it doesn't exist in his reality. Wes makes a note to email
Willow in Cleveland the next chance he gets.

"I've got a question, Wes."

"What is it?" Wes asks.

Remus fiddles with his drink napkin, and then looks up. "When I first came
up to you, and said that you looked as if you had the weight of the
world on your shoulders, what did you mean when you answered that I had
no idea how right I was?"

Wes sighs. He hates burdening people with his problems, but Remus'
question is an honest one.

"My friend - the vampire, Angel? He's come up with this bloody insane
plan to kill all the members of the Circle of the Black Thorn, which
will then garner the attention of the Senior Partners. They're this
group of powerful people who control the apocalypse."

Remus looks understandably confused. "They control the apocalypse? But
from the stories you've told me, shouldn't this be just another mission
for you guys?"

"We stop apocalypses already in motion, Remus. We've never tried to
stop one before it starts, and the Circle of the Black Thorn work a
little differently than most of your run-of-the-mill demons summoning
the end of the world." He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them
to rest directly on Remus' - steel blue meeting sharp amber. "This will
require my going up against the spellcaster of the Circle, a man named
Vale, whose power sets even Angel's teeth on edge. In the best-case
scenario, I will be able to sufficiently injure Vale enough to affect
his power. If I fail in injuring or killing him, everything else is
worthless, because Vale can manipulate memories and make the rest of us
forget we even tried stopping the Circle."

Remus just stares at him. "He can affect temporal memory? And this is
all to kill a bunch of people who think they control the end of your
world?"

"They do control the apocalypse. This coordinated strike is our only
shot at wiping out the Circle. Of course, this doesn't eliminate the
threat of the Senior Partners."

"The group of all-powerful beings who control every single plane of
existence, right?"

Wes sighs. "Correct."

Remus' eyes widen. "And here I thought we had it tough. Voldemort's
evil enough, but nowhere near all-powerful."

"Oh, you haven't even gotten to the best part.", Wes says, running a
hand through his hair and leaning toward Remus. "The Senior Partners
cannot be defeated, at least, not by an ex-Watcher, a street-smart
vampire hunter turned lawyer, an ex-goddess who used to rule three
different planes of existence, two ensouled vampires that bicker like
an old married couple, and a Pylean demon who moonlights as a lounge
singer. By attempting this strike, we're going to be drawing their
wrath directly upon us. What the Senior Partners cannot control, they
destroy. In all likelihood, this is my last night alive."

"Merlin's left ball, Wes . . . that's a suicide mission."

A wry smile slides across Wes's face, and not just because of the
creative euphemisms employed by his werewolf companion. "You don't
say." He takes a drink of his Scotch, and swallows. "I suppose that's
why I'm so melancholy. I swore that I'd follow Angel anywhere, and I
knew that very well could mean giving up my own life, but I didn't
realize that day would come so soon."

Remus nods. "I don't think either of us did." Wes gives him a quizzical
look, and he breaks into a soft chuckle that reminds Wes of the Scotch
he's finishing off. "Settle in, Wes. You told your reason for the
weight of the world resting on your shoulders, and now it's my turn."

*******************************************************************

When Remus finishes his story of Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, and
Voldemort, Wes has to admit that they're in the same boat. "So you and
this Severus person are the proverbial wolves in sheep's clothing?"

Remus laughs, a more carefree sound than he has a right to make. "I
suppose you could say that." He finishes off his drink. "Severus and I
tolerate each other about as well as Angel and that Lindsey person you
mentioned. But we're going to have to do everything we can to keep the
other alive long enough for the spell to take effect."

"The spell that will anchor Harry to the ancient magic his mother
invoked?"

"Yes", Remus nods. "Severus and I are the only connections to his
mother he has left. I knew Lily very well in school, and Severus is
apparently related enough to her to count as blood kin. Second cousins
three times removed or something."

Wes shakes his head. "So you're expected to keep each other alive and
unnoticed under the nose of Voldemort? Because Severus was once one of
his followers and he thinks he controls the werewolves?"

"That's about it.", Remus says, brushing off his left sleeve with an
air that almost convinces Wes that he's unaffected by this. Almost
being the key word, because Wes sees something in Remus' eyes that he
knows quite well. It's the look of a man who is intimately acquainted
with death, and who welcomes a fight such as this as a reminder that he
still lives. Wes knows this look because he sees it every time he looks
in a mirror.

"So what happens when the spell takes effect and Harry doesn't need you
anymore?" Wes has to ask, and immediately regrets it as Remus' eyes
become shadowed with pain. He's right in his assessment of the werewolf
then - the man knows almost as much about death as Wes himself does. He
holds up a hand to stop Remus from speaking and answers his own
question. "You're ready to die, aren't you? This is as much a suicide
mission for you as it is for me."

Remus looks as if he'd like to reassure him that he has no plans to
die, but reconsiders. He finally speaks a few moments later, in a soft
voice. "I've been ready to die for sixteen years. I thought I had a
reason to live once again last year. I was actually making plans for
the future when normally I wouldn't have cared if I lived to see it."

"What happened?"

"It . . ." Remus falters. He closes his eyes and opens them again,
locking them with Wes's. Wes doesn't let anything but what he hopes is
compassion enter his gaze, and he supposes Remus must trust what he
sees in Wes's eyes, because he renews his efforts at speaking. "He
left. He died, like everyone in my life eventually does. I'm a
werewolf, Wes. If I were left to live what others would deem a normal,
happy life, I'd live to two hundred and twenty - nearly twice the
normal wizard's lifetime. And I'd be miserable beyond belief."

Wes knows what he means. If he were unlucky enough to be born into
Remus' world, he'd be wishing for death too. Especially if he had lost
someone like he knows Remus has. "I don't need to ask you who you lost.
Whoever it was, you loved them. I hear it in your voice."

"How did you know?"

Wes gives him a wry smile. "Because I know exactly how it feels." His
eyes turn to steel blue as he remembers the agony he feels every time
he sets eyes on Illyria. "I know what it's like to love with your
entire heart; to believe if only for a moment that the world is
perfect. I know how it feels to look into the eyes of the person you
love, and know you are loved just as much in return."

He pins Remus with a flat stare. "And I know what it's like to watch
that person die, while you're left alone as always."

Remus doesn't speak, and he doesn't have to. Both men know that this
very well is their last night on earth, and they're going to be
spending it exorcising a few personal demons in a room upstairs. Remus
knows that it's been a while for Wes since he's been with a man, and
doesn't get offended when Wes asks him to go easier on him. And Wes
pretends that he doesn't hear when Remus calls out the name of someone
else, or bites his own lip lest he give in to the urge to tear at Wes'
neck. Much later, Wes doesn't lie, and say he didn't enjoy it. Remus
doesn't lie either, and pretend he didn't need it. If they can't be
honest now, when are they going to get the chance?

*******************************************************************

Reckoning comes, and Wes wakes in his cramped apartment. He rolls off
the couch, and picks up the ringing phone. It's Angel, calling the gang
together for their final assignments. He knows that despite this being
his last day on earth, he's not going to do anything different. At
least, that's what he tells himself before Illyria shows up. She can
appear so much like Fred that not even her parents can tell the
difference, and he swears to himself that he won't lie to himself this
way and pretend he's spending his last day with Fred. Fred, as well as
the memory of her, deserves better than that.

*~*~*

In another part of the universe, Remus blinks his way to consciousness
in his solitary bedroom at Grimmauld Place. He's pretty much taken it
over, and sometimes he can almost convince himself that he can't smell
Sirius' signature scent over everything. His fire blazes orange, and he
plucks the piece of parchment out of the fireplace. It's Dumbledore, of
course, and he wants Remus at Hogwarts as soon as possible. It will
probably take most of the day for he and Severus to set the spells and
charms in place for Harry's protection. He will try and keep from
thinking of Sirius, especially when faced with his last glimpse of
Hogwarts - the place where they began, and fittingly, everything would
end.

*~*~*

Wes stares into Vale's emaciated face, and remembers a time when he
would have sold what little was left of his soul for even a fraction of
Vale's power. It takes nearly all of his innate talent and years of
studying to keep the defenses intact. He is thrown backwards through
expensive decor, and his blood is shed by the sheer force of the
wizard's power. As the blood drips down his face, Wes ignores Vale's
taunting, and inwardly cheers when he actually knocks the old man off
his feet. He can't even suppress his shock when the old man vaults
right back up again. Vale may appear ancient, but his magic packs a
hell of a punch Wes has never felt before.

*~*~*

Remus almost wondered if the saying weren't true - speak of the devil
and he shall appear - because the only reason Voldemort had found out
how to get through Hogwarts' wards was when Harry had spoken the name
while discussing the wards. The creature had taken up residence in the
boy's head, and it had taken nothing short of the combined powers of
Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall to force him out. But Harry was
still safe, because he and Snape were still alive. His companion locked
eyes with him, and Remus found himself remembering a time when this
would have been impossible. It seemed fitting that the only time he and
Severus Snape saw eye-to-eye would be the day of their deaths.

*~*~*

Wes saw it coming, but it didn't matter. Illyria was on her way, and
she would make sure Vale did not survive. But when the edge of power
cut through him, and left him bleeding on the floor, he couldn't help
the cry that slipped from his lips. Vale went down under Illyria's
wrath, and Wes was sorely tempted to break his promise. He hadn't
counted on his emotions rubbing off on her, and as the indigo hair and
skin went back to chestnut brown and peach, he couldn't stop the tear
that slipped down his cheek.

*~*~*

Remus was still standing, still on his feet, as he faced Lord
Voldemort. He knew this was how James had met his end, and how Sirius
had met his, and he'd be damned if he weren't going to do the same.
Voldemort circled him, asking how a mere creature could have thought he
could face down a wizard such as he, and Remus bit back the derisive
laughter. He answered him in a calm voice, simply saying that it had
worked so far. He heard the curse, of course, but as the green light
surrounded him, the world slowed and Harry's shocked face flashed
before his eyes, Remus couldn't help but feel a little surprised. As he
fell, he knew he would land next to Severus, and Remus just prayed that
their sacrifice had been enough to defeat Voldemort.

*~*~*

Wes gasped as Illyria/Fred held him close.

*~*~*

Remus' eyes widened as the curse came nearer.

*~*~*

A lightning bolt cracked the sky/room, and green light covered their
vision.

*~*~*

Illyria/Fred disappeared, and for some reason, Wes caught a glimpse of
a crimson-eyed man and a black-haired boy staring at him - one in
triumph, one in horror. The man hissed in glee as the boy screamed
wordlessly in pain and rage. And for some reason, he kept hearing a dog
barking . . .

*~*~*

Voldemort and Harry disappeared, and Remus almost believed he was
hallucinating, but he could feel a woman's arms around him, and hear
her softly accented voice over the cackling of a wizened creature
standing victorious in front of him. And her hair kept turning blue and
brown in turns . . .

*~*~*

Everything faded to black, as the woman's hair turned to a final
chestnut brown and the black dog straightened into a tall dark-haired
man. The man and woman stood side by side at the edge of their vision,
and opened their arms in welcome.

"Missed you, Moony."

"Oh, Wesley, I told you I wouldn't leave you."

And for Remus Lupin and Wesley Windham-Pryce, the world came to an end.

*~*~*

I'm gonna rock you like a baby as the cities fall
We will rise as the buildings crumble and watch it all
Miss the burning, we'll be churning, you know love can be our wings
The passion rises up from the ashes, when the world ends . . .

*******************************************************************

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