Féileacán

By The Brat Queen

---

Angel woke with a start.

It was late. Well past sunset, even though the weather made it impossible to tell that simply by looking out a window. It was raining. Not a downpour, but a steady fall of moderately sized drops that made everything wet and cold.

Angel pulled the thick, fringed curtains aside, looking out into the streets below. Cars passed, people scurried into shops, life, such as it was, continued.

He turned away from the window. A small fire burned needlessly in the fireplace of his bed and breakfast bedroom. He walked past it, going directly to his suitcase. The mattress creaked as the heavy luggage was placed on it. Angel cracked the lid open. Inside was a cornucopia of weapons: stakes, throwing stars, axes, swords, and the dagger.

Angel stripped off his shirt and began to load up. The suitcase was emptied as weapons vanished into pockets or hidden folds of clothing and stakes were strapped to his wrists. The dagger slipped into a sheath that rested on his hip.

He slammed the luggage lid closed, shoved the suitcase back under the bed, pulled his shirt back on, and got ready to leave.

Halfway to the door his eyes fluttered closed. He heard a voice, softly accented and familiar:

I'm sorry. I should go.

"Yeah, Wes," Angel said as he left the room. "You should."

---

Watch the Credits

• Episode 6.22: Féileacán
• Written by: The Brat Queen
• Edited by: Mad Poetess and Jane Davitt
• Produced by: The Brat Queen and Flaming Muse

---

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"It's not up for discussion!"

The four of them were gathered in the living room of the bed and breakfast. They circled a coffee table like points of a compass: Angel, Connor, Spike, Illyria. Angel and Spike glared at each other from opposite ends of the long side of the rectangle. They were too far away to hit one another without breaking furniture, but neither of them looked as though they cared about that kind of obstacle.

"You're not doing this alone," Spike said, in response to Angel's last rejoinder. "If you don't want to talk about it, that suits me fine. Tired of your yapping anyway."

"I am going." Angel folded his arms, tension radiating from every pore. "I am going alone, and I am finishing this, and nothing that anyone here says will make a difference."

"What if we want to help?" Connor asked.

"You cannot," Illyria said.

"There." Angel jerked his head in Illyria's direction. "Thank you. Nice to hear someone agreeing with me. You can't. Because it's too dangerous, and I'm forbidding it."

"Like you can forbid me to do anything?" Connor asked. "You're not my - well, okay, you are my father but - "

"This is not the time for that particular argument, Connor."

"You physically cannot," Illyria said, looking as though she was perhaps a half-second away from knocking their heads together Three Stooges style. "The Plain of A Posse Ad Esse exists behind barriers that none save a chosen few may cross."

"What is this bloody - " Spike made a random circling gesture with his hand " - passable essence anyway?"

"For as long as I live," Angel told him, "I will never stop making fun of your Latin skills."

"Big talk from the vamp who's only bucking to live a few more hours," Spike shot back at him.

"If you think annoying me is the way to change my mind about that - "

"Guys!" This time it was Connor who got in between them, holding his hands up as though to push them into separate corners. "Trying to save the world here. Maybe we could at least pretend some of us are heroic enough to - " Connor stopped. He frowned, looking at Angel. "What's Spike talking about?"

"Nothing," Angel stepped away from the table. "As usual."

"He's trying to give up the game," Spike said, following on Angel's heels. "Cash in his chips. Go home early. Go on, tell him. Tell your boy how you're planning on leaving him."

"Shut up, Spike!" The vehemence from Angel was so sharp and sudden that they were all silenced by it. Angel looked from one to the other, his eyes flashing. "What? What do you want of me? The world is ending, again. It's up to me to stop it, again. So excuse me if maybe I'm tired of doing speeches of pep and platitudes beforehand. Why can't I just go and fight the bad guy, huh?"

"Is that what you're doing?" Connor's hair had fallen into his face, framing his brow like a dark spider web. "Fighting the bad guy?"

"What else have we been talking about?" Angel asked, but he didn't meet Connor's look in return.

"He's being an idiot," Spike told Connor. "He gave me the big speech last night. Thinks this is the end one. Thinks he's not coming out of this. And he signed away the - "

"Finish that sentence and your final words will be muffled by my fist," Angel warned him.

"Shanshu." Spike gave Angel a smug look. "Like I ever listen to you."

"And yet last night you paid attention."

"No, no." Connor shook his head. "This is nuts. We'll fight Wes and stop whatever he's doing and then we'll deal with this. This isn't a final anything. If you've made it through every other apocalypse and even that alley - "

"Actually don't know how we got our asses out of that one," Spike muttered.

"Doesn't matter," Connor said. "You did then, and you'll do this too. Because we've got..." He faltered. "Um... teamwork? And... co-operation? And... okay, maybe I don't know any pep talks outside of old Mr. Rogers reruns, but I'm on the right track here, right?"

"Your words are meaningless," Illyria said. "As is your sniping. None may get into the Plain who do not belong to those that own it."

"Great, fine," Connor said. "Who owns it?"

"Wolfram & Hart." Angel had moved off into a dark corner. He stood with his back to the wall. "It's a mystical - "

"Let me guess - plain?" Spike asked.

"You have to defeat Wesley inside of their corporate jet?" Connor asked.

"Not plane," Angel said. "Plain. You know, like a flat stretch of land?"

"Doesn't sound very difficult," Connor said. "What's the worst Wes can do? Knock you down and get grass stains on your clothing?"

"It's Angel," Spike pointed out. "Ruined fashion is his Achilles' Heel. Right after mucking about with the hair gel."

Angel looked to Illyria. "You want to explain it to them?"

"At the dawn of what your kind laughably calls the universe," Illyria said, "there existed the chance for all things to be. All possibilities were possible. Until creation itself occurred, destroying all of infinity minus one. This world. This reality. What you know as life."

"Yeah, because my life's been real simple and singular." Connor rolled his eyes. "I'm on which set of memories now?"

"The impressions that flicker through the cells of your brain are not dimensions," Illyria said. "They are real only to you, meaningless to everyone else."

"So how does this A Pas - " Spike scrunched his face up as he tried to get the wording right. "A Pis - A - this place, connect with all that?"

"As this realm came to be," Illyria said, "the infinite chances became finite. What could be turned into what was. The scope of the possible narrowed to a single point. One location in which what could be still had the ability to become what is."

"And they put that here," Spike said dryly. "In Ireland."

Illyria cocked her head at him. "Cleveland has a Hellmouth."

"But why do that at all?" Connor asked. "Why would the Powers create this world but leave a spot where somebody could undo it all?"

"Not the Powers," Angel said.

"The Wolf, the Ram, the Hart," Illyria explained. "What you have termed to be evil."

"If good's what made the watch," Spike said, his expression showing that he began to understand, "evil's what wants it smashed."

"Their first true influence on this reality was to halt the progress of creation," Illyria said. "To deny the ability for the plan to be finished and for destruction to take hold."

"Now Wes wants to take control of that," Angel said. "He's going to go into the Plain and rip the world apart."

"He doesn't do things halfway, does he?" Spike said, almost admiringly.

"So we stop him," Connor said. "What's the big deal?"

"He has already begun the process," Illyria said. "It cannot be stopped - "

"Until either he or I are dead," Angel finished. "Maybe both."

Connor blinked at him. "No offense, but aren't you both already dead?"

"Gone," Angel said. "Truly. No longer walking and talking or - whatever."

"But we got you the nifty dagger," Connor said. "Remember? Kills unalive CEOs for good?"

"It's not that simple." Angel was quiet, almost lost to the shadows as he spoke.

Connor stared at him. He swallowed. "Okay. I think maybe we're all forgetting the beauty of my teamwork plan."

"You're not listening." Angel pushed himself away from the wall. "Wolfram & Hart owns this place. Only members of Wolfram & Hart can get into it."

"You quit!" Connor said. "How are you any more a member than - than Spike is?"

Angel pulled his shirt open, exposing the brand that was on his chest. "Circle of the Black Thorn. I may not work for them, but I am them. Wesley has to be stopped, and the only one on Earth who can do it is me."

"I can't accept that." Connor shook his head.

Angel shrugged, buttoning up his shirt again. "You're going to have to."

---

The drizzle had not let up by the time they found their way to the Plain. They parked the rental car along a dirt road and then squished their way through fields of water logged grass.

"Must remember to thank Percy for getting my clothes all muddy," Spike said as he lifted the hem of his coat.

"Nobody said you had to come," Angel reminded him.

"What if he runs out while you're still in there?" Connor asked. "What if he's got the entire place surrounded by guards and booby traps? What if he puts a spell on the clouds so they rain down holy water? You need backup."

"I need for this to be done." Angel shoved his hands into his coat pockets, staring directly in front of him.

"Your task will not be easy," Illyria said. "The Plain is not for feeble minds to comprehend."

"Just once," Angel said conversationally, "I wouldn't hate it if you could help without insulting my intelligence."

The look Illyria gave him made it clear that she would not be doing that any time soon. "Infinity is something that only gods can comprehend. Any who are lesser than they will be overwhelmed. The Plain will confuse and disorient them. What is real and what is not will cease to matter. All will seem to be what is."

"Day just keeps getting better and better." Angel stepped carefully around a puddle. "Any advice?"

"Do not lose sight of what you truly want." Illyria's blue eyes were keen and unblinking. "Your mind, your perception is all that you can control. Be that and that which you long to be. The rest is meaningless."

A blast of wind hit them. They came to a stop. In front of them was the rest of the field, only it was dry and not being rained on, as though an invisible barrier protected it.

"This must be the place." Spike looked from left to right. "Not seeing anything like a door."

"I think I just go forward," Angel said.

"You sure about that?"

"No, but if I'm wrong I'm betting the look on my face is going to be real funny."

"You should - " Connor shifted uncomfortably. "Before you go, you should wait and - "

Angel put a hand on Connor's shoulder. He felt the wrinkles of Connor's jacket under his fingers. He looked at his son, wanting to tell him everything and knowing that not a single word would be meaningful enough.

For a second Angel thought about changing his mind.

He shoved himself away from Connor and ran through the barrier before anyone or anything could stop him.

---

Outside in the rain Connor, Spike, and Illyria looked down at a pile of weapons on the ground.

It was everything Angel had armed himself with, except the dagger.

"Yeah," Spike drawled, "who didn't see that coming?"

Neither Connor nor Illyria raised their hands.

---

---

Angel stumbled as he came out on the other side of the barrier. The wind had vanished, leaving him in peace, stillness -

- and inside of a theater lobby?

Angel whirled around. It wasn't the Walden. It was someplace different. It took a moment before Angel could put his finger on how: it was a theater for plays, not movies. There were no movie posters up on the walls, no counter selling candy and soda. Instead it was elegant, more dignified, and in better repair than he'd ever gotten the Walden to be.

"O... kay," Angel said. He'd turned a full circle and not seen anything unusual other than the location. He looked up, as though that might help, but only found recessed lighting.

"Hello?" He looked around again, in case his noise attracted anyone. "Anybody here?"

There was a sound. Angel cocked his head, focusing on it. He made himself very quiet as he tried to track it down.

He passed through a pair of swinging doors and came upon a booth that read "Will Call" at the top of it. Behind the glass was a man with blond, highlighted hair, a grinning, angular face, and a sharp grey uniform like the ones that were worn by theater employees back in the 1920s.

The man's head was bowed as he was reading a newspaper. A cigarette dangled from his lips.

"Um." Angel stepped forward. He spotted the man's nametag. "Hi, Andy."

"Something I can do for you, pudding?"

Angel blinked. The voice sounded familiar and yet... He shook his head.

"You tell me," he replied. "Where am I?"

"Lost, but you didn't need me to tell you that." Andy tapped off the ashes of his cigarette over a crystal tray that was on the counter near his paper.

Angel squinted but couldn't make out any of the words. It was as though the text was nothing but random, meaningless symbols. "I came looking for the Plain - "

"Which rains but mainly in Spain," Andy quipped. "Yeah, you found it."

"You said I was lost."

"That, too."

"Look." Angel rested his hands on his side of the counter. "I'm having what you might call a really long... hell, life. Right now I want to do my job, defeat the bad guy, and call it a done deal."

"Sorry, kid," Andy told him. "We don't do endings here. Not our area of expertise."

"Why am I not surprised the forces of evil don't want to help me?" Angel asked.

Andy frowned. "Why do you think I'm evil?"

Angel silently indicated Andy's cigarette.

"One of these days symbolism is going to get you killed." Andy waved the cigarette in his direction.

"I'm starting to reach the point where I don't care who dies today," Angel said. "That, by the way, would be a hint as I said it while looking meaningfully in your direction."

"Don't shoot the messenger." Andy flipped a page in his newspaper. "Or, in my case, the gatekeeper. I'm not the one you want here; I just get you to the other side."

"Fine, whatever," Angel said. "What am I supposed to do? Buy a ticket?"

Andy pointed up at the Will Call sign. "Show your ID, get into the show. See what I did there? With the wordplay?"

Angel jerked his shirt open, exposing the brand. "There? Happy?"

"Would be if I'd had a camera handy." Andy leaned up and as far over the counter as the glass allowed so he could get a better look at him. "Somebody's been working out."

"Still haven't been given a good reason not to kill you."

"Oh here, Mr. Fussy." Andy shoved a ticket through the half circle opening at the bottom of the glass. "Step through the doors and enjoy the performance of your life. Or unlife as the case may be."

Angel looked at three doors all in a row. He rolled his eyes. "Let me guess: whichever door I choose decides my destiny."

"Yeah." Andy crushed his cigarette out. "Or it's theater entrance, men's room, ladies' room. But you keep on with your little theory. Here's a hint: choose unwisely and your destiny will be to get kicked out while half-dressed women scream and shout for security."

"I'm killing you after," Angel decided.

"You're so certain you're going to survive this?"

"No," Angel said as he pushed through the theater doors, "but I know I don't care."

---

The punch sent Angel reeling. He fell backwards, landing with an "Oof!" into one of the dark brown velvet chairs in the otherwise empty auditorium. Twenty rows in front of him was the stage, where Spike, Fred, and Connor continued to talk about the case, only now it was as though they were in a play.

"I should have known." Wesley came into his line of vision. He was standing one row in front of him with only a chair in between them. Clean shaven, he was dressed in black slacks, a deep purple v-neck sweater, and a long black trench coat. "Couldn't resist, could you? Just had to stick your nose in where it wasn't wanted."

"You're trying to end the world, Wesley," Angel said. "Stopping you? Kinda my job description."

"Quite certain of that, are you?" Wesley placed his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, leaning forward to be at eye level with Angel. "You're confident you have the right of it?"

"There's something else you can do on this Plain besides end the world?" Angel challenged.

"Actually, yes," Wesley said. "But I was asking about your job. If I recall correctly, you've tried to end the world yourself from time to time - "

" - which leads me to wonder if this is true heroics on your part or simple jealousy," Wesley finished.

Angel tore his eyes off of Wesley long enough to look around. He'd heard Spike's voice, he knew that he'd heard it. And yet Spike remained on stage, currently listening to Connor give a soliloquy about the missing person and how his family wanted him back.

"Whatever you're doing," Angel said, "I'm going to stop it."

"Which doesn't answer my question."

"I don't have to answer your anything," Angel stood up, getting into Wesley's face. "You wanted to fight me? You want to take me down? Fine. I'd love to see you try."

"You don't know what I want," Wesley told him.

This time Wesley reacted to the voices. He jerked away, looking to see where they'd come from.

"What is that?" Angel demanded.

"How very like you to go charging in without having done any research," Wesley replied, but a waver in his voice indicated he'd lost some of his cool. "What, did you decide that since you didn't have a book boy anymore that you could skip ahead to the part where you hit people and that would take care of everything?"

"If you insist." Angel aimed his fist directly at Wesley's face.

"No," Wesley said, and it was as though the world around them listened to him. Time slowed, the air itself becoming rippled as a punch that should have been at vampire speed all but froze as Wesley dove out of the way.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped. Angel's fist hit nothing but air, and Wesley was now standing to his left.

"That isn't how this is going to work," Wesley told him.

"Really?" Angel decided to take a chance. "What if I say yes?"

This time the punch connected. The hit was so accurate and true that it was as though time and space had warped specifically to make sure that it happened. Wesley fell into the aisle, scrambling to get back on his feet.

"Looks like you're not the only one in charge here," Angel said.

"You're meddling with things you cannot possibly comprehend," Wesley said.

"You would be amazed at how tired I am of people telling me that I'm stupid," Angel said. "Only in your case when I beat the crap out of you for it, it'll actually do something."

"For once I'm not speaking of your intelligence." Wesley angrily swiped the front of his coat down, clearing it of dust from the floor. "I'm speaking of this place, of forces that you cannot possibly - "

Angel frowned at the familiar male voice. "Was that - "

There was no warning at all as one of the chairs came flying at him. It hit Angel directly in the chest and face, temporarily stunning him.

"I've worked too hard for this," Wesley said before sprinting towards the stage.

"When'd you get so strong?" Angel asked, noticing where Wesley had ripped the chair right out of the floor. He gave chase, dogging at Wesley's heels as he climbed the steps towards the stage and -

The world tilted, jerking Angel out of the Walden lobby and depositing him into what looked to be a dark hallway somewhere in the recesses of the Plain's theater.

" - find out," Angel muttered unnecessarily, but he was too disoriented to cut the sentence off.

He tried to get his bearings. Familiar voices, both male and female, whispered around him, accompanied by flashes that could have been people he knew except they moved too quickly for him to be certain. His skin tingled.

It had been wrong. He knew that. No matter how much he'd liked seeing Fred again. No matter that he could hear her voice now, whispering through the air, making him want to turn back and join her.

"What I want," Angel reminded himself. "Focus. Nothing's real except me, and what I want. And what I want is...."

He trailed off. What did he want? To stop Wesley, of course, but it didn't feel like the right moment to try that. He wasn't ready. He didn't know what was going on. So in terms of what he wanted right now he needed something to get him ready.

What had Wesley said back in the auditorium?

"Research," Angel murmured. He cleared his throat and then raised his voice to be sharp and commanding. "I want somebody who can tell me what's going on."

Absolutely nothing happened in response to that.

"Uh - please?" Angel tried.

Still nothing. Angel waited a beat longer just in case something had changed and he wasn't aware of it. It didn't look like it, though. The hallway remained dark, and even the flashes and whispers had faded.

"Okay," Angel said. He began to examine the doors. "Maybe there's a library, or a scroll, or better yet somebody I could beat up in order to - "

A blinding flash of light made him cover his face protectively. The wall in front of him warped and twisted, taking away the doors he'd been looking at and replacing them with more walls, more surfaces, more shapes, until the entire mass shuddered, the light faded, and revealed...

A souvenir stand?

"I don't have to be here today," the girl behind the counter told him. She was a demon with pink and purple spotted skin, pointed ears, and thick, long brown hair. Unlike the man at the Will Call booth, she wore more modern clothing: a red and brown striped long-sleeved shirt, brown corduroy pants, and a polyester vest of the same grey as Andy's uniform had been.

Her nametag read 'Tyler'.

"You here to help me?" Angel asked.

"It really looks like that, doesn't it?" Tyler replied. She gave him a big smile and then shook her head in the negative. "But no. I don't help people. Helping people only encourages them to come back and ask for more favors. Also, it encourages them to talk to me which - " She made a face. " - no."

"Can't say I don't sympathize."

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Angel came up to the counter. Underneath it was a glass-enclosed display that contained T-shirts, mugs, key chains, and various stuffed animals. "Look, just tell me what I need to know."

"That hairstyle is so not working for you."

"About this place," Angel finished, shooting her a glare.

She shrugged. "What don't you know? You got here, which means either you tripped somewhere and it's been one funtacular day for you, or you came here on purpose, which means you know what this is."

"The Plain of A Posse Ad Esse," Angel said.

"See?" She patted him on the arm. "What do you need me for? Now go away."

"What are the voices?" Angel asked. "What's with the flashes?"

She heaved a put-upon sigh. "I don't suppose I could interest you in buying a DVD that explains everything?"

"Less than you'd think."

"Fine," she pushed back from the counter and went over to a poster board that read 'The Plain of A Posse Ad Esse' in big blocky letters. She gestured towards it like a game show hostess. "An ancient place, the Plain's name means - "

"From possibility to reality," Angel translated. Off her look he said, "What? I know Latin."

"And yet still bothering me," she pointed out. She dropped her hands down to her sides, her whip-like tail swishing with annoyance.

"I need to know how it works," Angel told her. "I need to know how to stop Wesley."

"Can't help you with the second one," Tyler said. "That's your gig. Me, I can't be bothered to - what's the word I'm looking for? Oh yeah, care."

"You know about it though?" Angel asked, realizing his request hadn't surprised her. "Where is he?"

"Slow down, sport." She motioned for him to be still. "One question at a time for the girl whose tip jar is remarkably empty."

"I could throw it at your head if that'd get you to talk faster."

Tyler leaned against the counter, resting her weight on her right elbow. "Anything that is possible can become reality. The voices and flashes that you see are realities that have been created, or could be created."

"Where I just was," Angel said. "That's a reality."

"Yes," Tyler said, drawing the word out over several syllables to indicate she felt that he was one of the slower people she'd ever had to deal with. "Here, everything is. You can make reality out of whatever you want to be."

Angel's eyes narrowed. "What's the catch?"

"Besides one wrong word and you rip apart the fabric of time and space as you know it?" Tyler shrugged. "Gosh, I can't think of any."

"But not everything does that," Angel said. "You and I are talking and nothing's happening."

"We're not at the core," Tyler explained. "Out here it's just wisps of the possible. You can change things, but you have to want them bad enough. The closer you get to the core, the more you can change. Get close enough and all you'll need to do is think it to be it. That'd be a really bad time to have a stray thought about turning into a marshmallow peep, by the way, just in case you were wondering."

"That's where Wesley's going," Angel said. "The core."

"The light dawns." Tyler jerked her thumb towards a door that said 'Employees Only'. "Can I go now? Because I haven't had a break in minutes."

"How do I stop him?" Angel asked.

"Once you get to the core," Tyler said, leaning forward as though worried someone might overhear them, "you hang a right, a left, then another right. The password is 'Freedom' and the spell it will activate is called 'What did I just say about this not being any of my business?'"

"Does the sarcasm help?" Angel asked.

"Passes the time." Tyler shrugged.

"So you're neutral or - okay, apathetic," Angel said. "You could still give me some tips and tricks."

"Huh, speaking of tips." Tyler held up the empty coffee can that was serving as a tip jar.

"I'm really wanting you to go away now," Angel said.

"Works for me." Tyler gave him a jaunty salute as the souvenir stand shifted and both she and it vanished.

"I'm really wanting a simple solution to this whole problem, and maybe a scotch and soda when I'm done," Angel said. He wasn't surprised when no response came in return.

"I want the core," he tried. Then he immediately clarified, "I want to know the way to the core."

The light dimmed and then reformed to create two lines on either side of the carpeted floor. Soft blinking indicated which direction he should walk in.

"Okay," Angel said. He stood up straighter. "This is good. This is progress. This is me talking to myself because I have no idea what I'm - "

"Stop it!"

A jolt landed Angel back into the hallway. "What the - "

"Stop it right now." Wesley stalked out of the darkness. If looks could kill, Angel would have been dust. "Do you think you can distract me by changing my reality? I know what I'm here for. I won't be distracted."

"Really? Huh." Angel pretended to think about it. "Because isn't the core that way? As in, the opposite direction from where I'm standing?"

"This isn't a battle you want to have," Wesley told him. "I know this place. I know the power that it contains."

"I met the souvenir girl," Angel shot back. "I think I've got the gist of it."

"You don't know anything." Wesley turned on his heel and walked away.

"Really getting tired of that particular song, Wes," Angel said, following him. "Why don't you sing me a new one? Like why are you here? What are you trying to accomplish?"

"What is that?" Angel demanded.

"None of your business," Wesley shouted back from over his shoulder.

"You dragged me in here," Angel said.

"I did no such thing!" Wesley turned to face him. "You decided, as you always have, to do whatever you bloody well pleased and to be damned to the consequences."

"Is that what this is about?" Angel asked. "Consequences?"

"Yes, Angel." Wesley laughed, stopping long enough to look back at him. "Please, by all means keep asking me why I've come here. Perhaps after the thousandth time you'll trick me and I'll confess my evil scheme. If you're lucky, I'll even do it in a helpful monologue which reveals my one fatal weakness."

"You're right." Angel clenched his fists. He wanted to hit something, but he knew that wasn't the way. Not yet. He looked around at the hallway, searching for an opening. "You won't help me. But I know someone who would."

Fear darted through Wesley's eyes as he guessed what Angel was about to do. "No!"

"Wesley!" Angel shouted as he ran directly towards the wall and into -

"He'd know better than to be vulnerable to such desperate tricks." Wesley's voice shattered the world around Angel. "And he would be damned sure he could control the Plain better than anyone who followed him. Fire!"

Preternatural speed and instinct were the only things that allowed Angel to dive through an open door and get away from the wall of flame that Wesley sent searing through the hallway.

"Somebody's been reading his Sorcery for Dummies," Angel said.

"Anything can happen here." Wesley appeared in the doorway. A glowing ball of flame began to form in his hand. "I don't need magic, I only need will."

"Well, there's a tip you shouldn't have given me," Angel told him. "Chains."

Cuffs appeared from out of the floor and ceiling. They moved snakelike down the walls, grabbing Wesley by the ankles and wrists.

"Good." Angel advanced on him. "Now you're going to stay still and tell me what it is you're trying to break."

"I knew that!" Angel snapped. He grabbed Wesley by the shoulders, shoving him for good measure. "What? Am I even supposed to be surprised that as soon as you died you betrayed me?"

"I wish you hadn't said that," Wesley said quietly.

"What?" Angel asked. "Did I figure out some deep dark secret?"

"No," Wesley said. "But you did make me want to truly hurt you."

"You didn't before?" Angel asked.

Wesley's eyes glittered with anger. "Not like this."

"My turn for 'no'." Angel shoved Wesley. The chains had vanished, and the two of them were back in the hall. "You think that's going to get me? Vampire, Wes. With a soul. I have photographic recall of every thing that's ever gone wrong in my life, and I live with that each and every day. A little stroll down memory lane is not gonna cut it."

"Fine," Wesley said. "Let's try something different."

---

The sound of Angel's screams echoed down the hallway as Wesley ran from the reality he'd shoved Angel into.

Wesley wasn't wholly satisfied with this as a solution, but it kept Angel out of his hair long enough for him to race to the core. He had to do this. He had to, and he had to do it immediately. Any longer and he himself would get lost to all of the possibilities. One stray thought and he'd be snatched away, trapped in some timeline because a stray thought plunged him into -

Wesley gasped as the reality faded. He rubbed his eyes.

"No, no good," he muttered. "Have to concentrate. I can't be distracted by - "

"You're not here," Wesley snapped. He whirled around, as though he could challenge the shadows for daring to make him think Angel was nearby. "I got rid of you. As I should have. You never could keep your eye on the game. If I'd had half a mind I would have done it years ago. Perhaps right before Connor was born, when I was stupid enough to think that you and I could ever be - "

---

"No," Wesley snarled out through gritted teeth. He closed his eyes, clenching his fists until his knuckles were white from the pressure. "I won't be distracted. I know what I want."

Wesley ran down the hallway, getting closer to the core.

---

---

The flashes of light and sound became worse the closer Wesley got to the core. He rubbed his temple with his hand, struggling to get his bearings.

"Focus," he told himself. "There's only one thing here that you desire."

"Really?" a familiar voice asked as a figure stepped out of the shadows. "And it's me. Wes, I'm touched."

Wesley's head jerked up. It couldn't be. He'd shoved Angel into a reality that the vampire couldn't escape on his own. There was no possible way for him to -

- the light improved, and Wesley saw the evil glint in those brown eyes.

"Angelus," Wesley said.

"The one, the only." Angelus took a mocking bow. "Only in this place that's not true, is it? Huh. Wonder what the world would be like if there were five thousand of me?"

"Overrun with arrogant pompousness, one assumes." Wesley whirled around, looking for an out. He saw nothing except the exact same hallway he'd been in prior to Angelus's arrival. "This - this isn't right. You're not real."

"Everything's real here, remember?" Angelus took his time closing the distance between them. "That's why you had such a hard-on for this as a vacation destination. Word to the wise, though? Don't discount Monte Carlo. I know it's not Vegas, but it's got charm."

"You are not real," Wesley told him. "You are a figment of some spare possibility that flittered through my mind. If I will it hard enough you'll go away."

"How is that will, Wes? Good and hard? 'cause - " Angelus ran a hand down his own chest in a parody of a beefcake pose. " - I feel gosh darned real to me."

"This is a trick," Wesley said, backing up. "I didn't ask you to be here. I don't want you here."

"Pop quiz, hotshot." Angelus snapped his fingers at him. "Two men rub the lamp, but one of them swears he didn't summon the genie. So where did the magic carpet come from?"

"You're a raving lunatic."

"Doesn't mean I'm less real."

"Angel would never summon you," Wesley snapped. "He abhors you, as do all of us."

Angelus put a hand over his heart. "I'm touched. Really. Your love washes over me like a cool summer breeze. But you're still wrong."

"Under no circumstances would he ever - "

"He would if you forced him to."

Wesley faltered. "How did I - ?"

"Bored now," Angelus sing-songed, then shot his hand out in a punch before Wesley could even see it coming.

The impact of the blow was enough to send Wesley flying across the hall. He landed against a side table, grunting with pain.

"Boy, are you dumber than advertised," Angelus told him. "You come here, to this place, and don't think for a second that I'll take full advantage of it?"

"You don't know how it works." Wesley struggled to stand up. "You need desire, you need will."

"I'm nothing but will, baby." Angelus spread his arms wide, as though to proclaim his own wonderfulness. "Pure evil, not that 99.44% crap like you get with most vampires. As for want? I want like you can't even dream of. I could take this place and mold it to my very being long before you even knew what hit you."

"What's stopping you then?" Wesley asked. "Don't tell me you were seduced by the souvenirs."

"Unfinished business," Angelus replied as he hit Wesley again. "You've been a thorn in my side for a long time."

"I'm flattered." This time instead of trying to get off the floor Wesley aimed a kick for Angelus's legs. "Although clearly I'll have to try harder."

Angelus avoided the kick easily and aimed one of his own at Wesley's stomach. "Here's the problem, Wes. I am Angel's wants and desires. I'm what makes him ache inside in all the most interesting ways. Not for the Manilow crap, that one's all him. But for the good stuff, like sex, drugs, and rock and roll? Oh yeah. That's me."

"Fascinating." Wesley rolled over so that he could look up at Angelus. "If I willed hard enough for you to find a therapist would you bore them with this information, or do you consider it to be a special gift for me?"

"Be nice to me, Wes," Angelus warned him. "I'm the reason you're alive right now."

"Why? Because you'd never kill someone with a simple death blow when talking them to death remains an option?"

"Because he wants you dead, moron." Angelus grabbed him by the throat, slamming him down onto the floor. "Angel's aching for it. Feel that? That is a dagger in my pocket, though admittedly I personally am happy to see you. Get Angel in here for two seconds, and he'll kill you for good. The kind where no contract can save you."

"You starting to get a headache from all that?" Angelus asked, looking around to see where that particular flash had come from.

Wesley struggled against Angelus's grip. "You won't win."

"I always win," Angelus reminded him. "I'm always here. And you gotta ask yourself: how much is soul boy into the heroing if he let me out to play? Used to be a time when he'd die first. Now it's like he takes me out for walks every other Tuesday."

"He hates you," Wesley gasped, starting to see stars from the pressure Angelus applied on his throat.

"True, but irrelevant," Angelus said.

"I'll kill you if I must." Wesley tried to knock Angelus's hand away.

"That's what I always liked about you, Wes." Angelus grinned down at him. "You're the funny one. You know you can't kill me without - "

"No, no, no!" Angelus darted his head around, looking for any sign of the reality that had just danced by them. "Oh, no. You don't get to trick me with that one. If you want Faithy here you'll have to - wait, why am I letting you bring Faithy here?"

Angelus tightened his grip on Wesley's throat. "No way. Not happening. Though it is a shame. You and I could've had some fun. You want to be evil, I am evil. You want to be punished, I have no problem with you calling me 'Daddy' while I've got you over my knee. I'd call it a match made in hell except that's such a cliché."

"Won't... let you...." Wesley managed to whisper as his eyes fluttered shut.

"Whatever." Angelus gave a final squeeze and then let go. "Boy, did you turn out to be a disappointment. Hey, stupid, did you forget that you can control reality here? Plus you were already dead. No way you had to die again unless you wanted to. And if you did, then why not let me do it in one of my more unique ways? I know this trick using a dull knife and a grapefruit that - "

Angelus paused. He realized Wesley's body had vanished. "Okay, that can't be good. Wes? Wesley? C'mon. I was kidding about the grapefruit. You know, mostly. Why'd you have to run off like that?"

"I don't know." A gunshot went flying past Angelus's ear. "Maybe because I needed a change of clothing?"

Two more shots were fired. Angelus dove out of the way and then blinked as he saw Wesley. It wasn't the Wesley he'd choked. It was a younger one. Scruffier. It was -

Angelus looked in the direction of the glimpse of Faith he'd just gotten.

- Wesley from two years prior.

"Interesting choice," Angelus said.

Wesley replied by firing again. He was holding a Glock in each hand and looked as though he didn't mind if he pulled the triggers on them all night long. "Get out of his body, you perverted bastard."

"News flash," Angelus said as he leapt out of the way of the bullets. "It's my body too! If you want your so-called buddy Angel back you'll have to - "

"Soul," Wesley snarled, dropping one gun as though he could push the reality forward with his newly freed hand.

"Fat chance," Angelus replied, batting the ripples of reality away from him as though they were no more than an errant fly. "There isn't a damned person alive or dead who wants me souled more than I don't want to be. If you want Angel back you'll have to try harder."

"I'll do whatever it takes," Wesley promised.

---

---

"What's it going to be, Wes?" Angelus asked. "You're already losing pretty hardcore. My advice? Quit while you're ahead. If you're very, very nice to me I might make your final death not as itchy as it could be."

Wesley shook his head. "This isn't what I want."

"What do you want?" Angelus asked. "C'mon. It's the million-dollar question, right? Why not tell me? I promise to keep the secret."

"Not this." Wesley turned to walk away.

Angelus caught him by the wrist. "Don't piss me off, Wesley. I'm the only reason you're alive right now."

"So be it," Wesley said, and shot him in the hand.

"Okay," Angelus muttered as he closed his eyes and willed his hand to heal. He looked in the direction Wesley had vanished in as soon as Angelus had let go. "That's a level of torture I can get behind. Let's settle this, friend to friend."

---

The closer they got to the core the more reality began to warp and bend around them. Wesley, now back to looking just as he had when he'd entered the Plain, walked with slow and difficult steps, not unlike someone who was fighting against a strong wind.

Behind him Angel had no such difficulty.

"Knife," he said and sent one flying towards Wesley's head.

"No." Without turning around, Wesley twisted out of the way before the blade could connect.

He glared over his shoulder at Angel. "Stake."

"Fire," Angel replied, setting the stake ablaze before it could get near him. He stalked forward, filled with determination. "This ends. Now."

The world around them warped and shimmered but otherwise stayed the same.

"You're not going to stop me," Wesley told him. "I've come too far!"

"I know how far you've come," Angel said. "I know what you've done."

"You don't understand what's going on!" Wesley had to shout to be heard above the din of overlapping realities.

"I don't have to," Angel replied. "Whatever it is, whatever you're doing, it's wrong.

"Things aren't as simple as all that," Wesley told him.

"Nothing ever is," Angel replied. "That doesn't give you the right to decide reality for everyone else in the world."

"Excuse me?" Wesley gave a cold and bitter laugh. "Who, exactly, is choosing to lecture me about changing reality for simple needs?"

"Connor was different!"

"Connor was no such thing!" Wesley looked livid. "Connor was a selfish goal that you allowed yourself to indulge in. I was happy to support you - "

"Which you showed so well with the whole kidnapping thing."

"To save him from you!"

"Which wouldn't have been necessary if you'd at least tried talking to me!" Angel snapped. "Christ, Wes. Should I have ever been surprised that you betrayed me? Did you ever have faith in me?"

"I had every amount of faith in you," Wesley said. "I always had faith in you."

"Which is why you went evil."

"Which is why I did what I had to do!" Wesley shouted, then stepped back, looking stunned that the words had left his mouth. He shook his head. "No. No. I'm ending this. Now."

The world around them warped, but Angel ignored it. He wanted one thing in that moment and one thing only. He closed his eyes, reached out, and felt his hand grabbing Wesley by the front of his shirt.

In his other hand, Angel held the dagger that would kill Wesley, once and for all.

"You don't know what you're doing," Wesley told him.

"I know that if I slip this into your ribs, at least one of my problems is solved," Angel replied.

Angel held Wesley's shirt in a tighter grip, shaking him to get his attention. "What is all that?"

"Nothing you need to see." Wesley closed his eyes and began to mutter under his breath.

"No." Angel slammed him against the wall. He looked around, trying to find the reality that danced by them moments ago. "Show me! Show me what's in that - "

"No!" Wesley shoved Angel. "I will not let you - "

"Show me," Angel snarled.

The realities washed over them one after the other, each setting off the next until it became impossible to know where one began and the other ended. Somewhere deep inside of himself Angel could feel the chaos. He could feel madness start to overtake him. But he didn't let go of Wesley. He would stop this. He had to stop this.

Death would end it all. Kill Wesley and the spell would be broken. At least, the spell that allowed Wesley to be in the Plain would be broken. Angel would be lost, but it was an acceptable goal. Sacrifice was a necessary part of it. It was the price he paid to save the day. It was a price Angel knew he could afford.

He pulled the dagger back, readying the killing blow.

"Stop," Angel told the world around them. Everything froze. The lights, the flashes, the realities that surrounded them, even Wesley.

Angel stepped back. The dagger hovered in the air, right above Wesley's throat.

"This...." Angel shook his head. "This isn't right."

There was a pregnant pause, as though there should have been a reply to what Angel had said only none were forthcoming.

Angel nodded, not surprised by that. He looked at all the realities that surrounded him, picked one, and walked right into it.

---

---

Noise and sight were reactivated with a rush as Angel reappeared where he left off. The dagger was at Wesley's neck, the world around them was a complete and utter chaos of overlapping realities, and Wesley was struggling in his grip.

"I won't let you do this," Wesley told him.

"I have to," Angel said. He dropped the dagger. "This is what I want."

The fangs came out before Wesley could say anything. Angel met Wesley's eyes for just a moment, then bit into his neck.

He remembered what Wesley's blood tasted like. As he drank, the reality of that washed over them, making the room flicker between the hallway and the ship that Wesley had used to save him. But it was different now. Then Angel had been hurt, starving, and in desperate need of rescue.

Now he was saving someone else.

Angel drank, pulling at the wound he'd created in Wesley's flesh. Wesley pushed against him, trying to get away, but then stopped as Angel's strength overpowered his own.

"Angel," he whispered, whether to stop him or to encourage him Angel couldn't tell.

Angel wanted to talk to him, possibly to say things that were reassuring and comforting. But he didn't dare stop himself now. He kept drinking, focusing his will on the one thing he wanted as soon as he drained every last drop of blood out of Wesley's body.

"Angel," Wesley said again, this time with his voice shaking from nerves. He clung to Angel's shirt, gripping it as though afraid he might fall.

Angel wrapped his arms around him, keeping him upright. One hand was on Wesley's shoulders, the other at the small of his back. They moved together, swaying like dancers, with Angel's lips and tongue never leaving Wesley's neck.

"You can't," Wesley said, breathlessly. His hands were kneading at Angel's shoulders. "This - you can't - "

Angel responded by increasing the pressure. Wesley's blood rushed into his mouth. Dimly, Angel heard someone moaning but couldn't tell if it was Wesley or himself, or both.

"Angel, I - " Wesley slumped as the last of his blood left his body. His eyes rolled up into his head as weakness overcame him. "Angel - "

Angel gently guided him down onto the floor. He supported Wesley by holding him by the arms. "You're dying. For real this time. You were only alive as long as that contract allowed you to be."

"How - " Wesley frowned, even though he was growing fainter by the moment. "How did you - "

"I know what you said." Angel leaned in so that Wesley could hear him over the roar of realities that were swirling around them. "I know that you're tired. Thing is, I'm tired too. But you're right. I can't quit."

"Have to - " Wesley swallowed, wincing with pain as he did. " - fight."

"I do," Angel agreed. "Only thing is - I can't do it alone."

Wesley's blue eyes looked up into Angel's own. He tried to speak but no words came out.

"I know what reality I want to change," Angel said. He put his hand over Wesley's heart. "I want you alive again."

For a moment there was nothing, as though Angel's words had fallen on deaf ears. Then there was a flash of light as a jolt of energy raced through Angel's body, into his arm, and out of his fingertips and into Wesley's chest. Wesley spasmed, grabbing hold of Angel as his body jerked, his head fell back, he cried out as though it were impossible for him to stop and -

Angel smiled, feeling the results under his palm.

- and Wesley's heart began to beat once more.

It was a long moment before either of them could speak.

"Angel." Wesley looked at him with a combination of bewilderment and disapproval. "Of all the things - you can't ask for anything else now."

"I know," Angel said. "Neither can you. Which is why we have to talk fast."

Wesley frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I broke your contract," Angel said, "and created my own reality. It won't be long before we're shoved into that. But there's something you have to know first."

Wesley held onto Angel's forearm, keeping him from removing his hand from where it rested on Wesley's chest. "Whatever you've done, whatever you think you did, it's not that simple. This entire place is a monkey's paw. Even the most cut and dried desire has ripples, aftereffects - the world you created - "

"I know what I created." Angel knelt down in front of Wesley. "But what you need to know is that I did it because - because - "

Wesley looked at him expectantly.

Angel felt the words on his lips. He was so close to saying them, and yet in that moment he knew they weren't the right words to say.

He went for option B.

"Because you're the only one who can save me," Angel said.

"What?" Wesley sat up, gripping Angel tighter. "Angel, what on earth are you talking about? What did you do?"

"You said you didn't want to be a failure anymore," Angel spoke fast as the wind picked up. The façade of a theater began to fade, replaced by the darkness of the open plain. "Then don't fail me now. I changed one thing. I saved you. Now it's your turn."

"Angel," Wesley grabbed on to the front of Angel's shirt and refused to let go. "No. I'm still here. The Plain still has us. It's possible that I could - "

But there was a clap of thunder, a flash, and then Angel was gone. Wesley was alone, sitting on his hands and knees in the soaking wet grass. Not a single solitary person was around except -

Hamilton appeared, framed by the almost blinding glare of the White Room.

"For the record," he told Wesley, "it would be a mistake to assume that the Senior Partners hadn't planned this from the start."

Then the window into that reality closed and Wesley was left alone in the dark.

---

"You all right for this?" Spike asked, keeping his attention directly on Faith.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Faith gave a jerky shrug, the gesture as much about twitching her coat into place as it was about disclaiming any problem with the idea.

"Shared history," Spike pointed out. "Little bit of bonding with you both to all reports. Plus there's that mutual redemption society that you had going."

"Which he gave up," Faith reminded him.

"You could still forgive him," Connor said. "You could still give him a second chance."

"He had plenty of chances," Faith said as she picked up a crossbow. "He turned his back on them. He turned his back on us, Connor. Now he's making with the big time evil, and it's up to me to stop him."

Connor made a face. "You sound just like - "

"Who?"

"Nobody." Connor played with the paperwork from the missing person's file rather than make eye contact with anyone in the room. "Forget it."

"No." Faith crossed her arms, standing in front of him. "Who?"

Connor flipped open the folder, revealing the missing person in question. "Wesley. You sound just like Wesley, okay?"

"Connor!" Fred gave him a scolding look.

"It's true," Connor said, defensively.

"So what if it is?" Faith asked. "Doesn't change anything. Doesn't mean the job doesn't have to get done."

"Thing is, what if he's right?" Connor appealed to all three of them. "He used to fight with us. He used to be our friend. Maybe - maybe he does know what he's talking about."

"Connor." Spike reached over to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know it's fun to believe in fairy tales, but in this business you've got to know them from reality. Wesley's off his rocker. No two ways about it."

Connor refused to be swayed. "But - "

"No 'buts'," Faith said as she put extra stakes into her pockets. "The truth is what it is. Wes is the enemy now, and it doesn't matter how many times he tries to convince us. There was no such thing as a vampire named Angel. There's no soul, there's no curse, there never was, and if we don't take the son of a bitch down Angelus is going to destroy everything."

"I still say Wesley might be right," Connor muttered.

Faith gave him a commanding look. "Get over it."

THE END