Heroes
I've always had a certain...curiosity about what it meant to be tasted by a vampire. I think all up-and-coming Watchers grow a sort of morbid fascination with the fiends that we fight against. After dedicating so much of one's life to studying and learning and coming to know these creatures, well. It gives one a different view of them.
I'd become almost fond of them by the time I'd come to Sunnydale for my first -rather unexpected- Watcher assignment.
By the time I came to LA and into the service of Angel Investigations, I was in love all over again.
Such raw power, such poise, such complete animal magnetism.
It's quite enough to make one believe in the concept of thrall despite all the courses one dutifully undertook that state the contrary.
I might have been first in my class, but that was before I'd met him.
Angel.
Angelus. Former Scourge of Europe. The creator of killer intimacy.
I've never been so overwhelmed in my life. That is the long and short -or rather brief, but that hardly has the same ring to it- of it.
I do not regret the choice I made. I do not regret the blood lost to his hellish thirst.
I only regret the lack of fangs. The lack of frenzy. The lack of--of---of lust, I suppose I should say.
In my most unsettling fantasies, he -Angel, no other, I'd never, not ever want such a thing from any animal- holds me in place. One large hand cradles my fragile human skull while the other spans the vulnerable distance between my shoulder blades, feeling my heart pound with every harsh draw on my blood.
My blood which is not too thin.
Angel drinks deep of my blood and I can not help the sense of awe, of power, of pride even that overtakes me as I realize that once, to save him, it had taken the blood of a Slayer -one girl in all the world, chosen to fight against evil and be the protector of humanity- yet now it takes only me. I'm Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, ex-Watcher, one-time rogue demon hunter, and current employee of a vampire with a soul. The vampire with a soul. I am no one, yet Angel. Angel is unique.
A hero.
Angel's mouth with its surprisingly soft lips and hint of death suckles deeply at my offering wound. I'm beginning to feel out of control in a way that I've never fully experienced before. Laughter bubbles out of me before I can curb the impulse and finally I get a taste of edge as Angel growls and draws even harder. His hands clamp on my body, bruising my pale flesh.
I'm giving my life's blood to save the life of a hero. Does that make me a hero in return?
I'm laughing and I can't stop. I press my cheek to the harshly styled hair of his head and let my mirth bubble over us both. He lets me rock him even as my thoughts grow sluggish and I begin to feel faint from the blood loss.
Let him take it all, if he needs it. For once, I will be a hero. I'll save him. I've always loved him, everything he stands for, everything that he is, I have loved it all. Loved him completely.
I, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, shall be the hero's hero tonight with my blood which is not too thin to stand the test.
My heart, however, is a weaker organ than should be allowed to hold up all my convictions. My pulse grows thready and I can feel my valves shudder-stop-open-closing in my chest on every ordinary lubdub, lubdub beat.
Angel's growl was meant to subdue me, but the sound he makes now is meant for other reasons. He's coming around and I can feel the planes of his face shifting back into a human guise. I make a token protest, but my arms are so heavy that I cannot quite make them reach around him. I'd hold him in place if I could.
Stay. Take what you need from me. Take it all. All that I am is yours if you need it. Let me be your hero tonight.
"Wesley! Oh no. No, no, no. You shouldn't have. Wesley, can you hear me?"
Angel's spluttering in my face, gasping as he tries to find the lingering traces of life still in my shaking frame. Given that I have always been trim, I am accustomed to being a bit chill, but it seems that I am to learn a new kind of chill. Cold down to the bone, in fact.
I can taste the metallic flavor of my own blood from where he's flecked my face in his zeal to get free of our unholy embrace. I wonder if he knows how much I can enjoy his touch. How much I could enjoy it if he'd let me. I wouldn't be a sycophant if I were informed beforehand. I'm as informed as any lover he could ever hope to find. My father always knew.
"Wesley! Why did you do it? Why! I could have. It wouldn't have mattered. There had to have been another way. Wes!"
I'm laughing again even as he shakes me. Is this what they mean by 'shaking some sense into someone'? I never realized. I can't help but laugh as I realize even Spike had known about me.
"I'm a pansy, didn't you know? I'd do anything for you. You needed," I can't talk anymore for gasping. The amount of energy it takes to even breathe is incredible. I thought it would be quite a bit more painless, really.
Angel was right: it's no fun to be a hero. I'm glad I only had to do it the one time.
"Shh, I'll make you better. You're a fool. I didn't need this. Not this, Wes."
Angel sounds bitter, but my eyes are so heavy that I can't keep them open to see his face. He pushes his arm at me and I want to protest, want to tell him that it's my turn to be the hero, but I'm choking on the bitterest blood I've ever tasted. It's like nothing I've ever tasted and it's drowning me.
Slowly, I feel strong enough to fight him from me, spray blood in his face this time and I'm babbling, but I can't stop myself.
"I wanted to save you! You're a hero. I could be your hero. The world needs---needs heroes."
Angel falls limp atop me and the groan that he emits sounds bitter, disillusioned, and frustrated all at once. I want to comfort him, but I can't seem to remain conscious.
When I come to, I am not a hero. I do not believe that I ever thought I could be a hero. I feel very tired and drained rather in the same unfortunate vein as an empty blood bag from Angel's source supplier. Frankly, I have never imagined feeling as I do.
Fred looks up from her notes, owlishly blinking at me from behind her unattractive spectacles. She still manages to look adorable and enthusiastic and I can't help but feel a twinge of frustration at her mere presence.
"Why did you do that? What you did for Angel?"
I sigh, but I know that I will answer her because she deserves it.
"The poison was going to kill him. He needed blood and he needed it to be freely given. I had both those things available to me at the time."
I shrug slightly and even that small movement makes me ache as though I have attempted to perform the motion with the world balanced atop my shoulders, like Atlas or some other such Titan which I am not. She notices my wince and offers me the shyest smile I have ever seen. I wish I could love her so much that it's a physical pain that blots out my actual bodily aches.
"Why do it though? You couldn't have known that it would save him or that it wouldn't kill you."
I don't prevaricate well under ordinary circumstances and these circumstances are far from ordinary. I answer in the only way I know how: with the truth.
"The world needs its heroes."
Fred softly answered, "And you had to be his? Was it worth it?"
My answer was as easy the second time as it had been the first.
"He was worth it."
I only hoped that when sundown came, so would Angel, and maybe, possibly I might tell him that very same thing. Even saviors need a hero sometimes; I only hoped Angel would be interested in allowing me to be continue to be his.