Hereafter
He's had moments of doubt before.
In the four years that he's known the guy, they seem to have come up more and more.
Never felt worse about one than he does right now. Because looking to his side, and seeing Wesley there makes him doubt. And it makes him wonder, just where are they?
Gladiator's the first thing that comes to mind. Sitting there early one morning, the buzz of a case wearing off, Angel gone before dawn and Cordelia rolling her eyes and stomping off when Wesley's constant mentions of historical inaccuracies got to be too much.
And they'd sat there and watched the last scene run. Elysian fields, golden hay brushing at your fingers, loved ones waiting for you.
It was a stark contrast to what he'd had to offer when one of his crew had asked about it. Didn't help that they usually asked right after he'd gotten someone killed. But even with excuses dead is dead' was still bleak.
Then and there, it changed for him. Hoping that maybe, at the end of it all, there'd be fields waiting for him. Alonna on the horizon, the crew at her side and smile on her face. It was all he wanted.
All he needed.
It all comes folding back in on him. Things flooding and overlapping each other, washing away and staining. Memories.
Wesley.
Stealing his girl.
Stealing Angel's son.
Sending him to Hell.
Saying he loved Lilah.
Stabbing him.
Going to Holtz before he came to them.
Dead according to Illyria.
So, if they're dead, and the man who did all that is at his side, what does that say about where they've wound up?
Talked to Fred about it once, too. After Gwen and what happened there, it was bound to come up. And Elysian fields became Texas. Alonna and crew became Me and You.
And right then, pressed in close in the cab of his truck, faint sound of one of those country bands she loved filling the air, it was all he wanted, then.
All he needed.
But he sold his soul for that truck.
Slipped a stake of wood deep into Alonna's chest, watching as she burst into dust, acrid scent of her clinging to him for hours.
Left the crew.
Let them die.
Left the girl.
Let her die.
Snapped a man's throat.
Sold out for super-powers on a road paved with good intentions.
So maybe he belongs right at Wes's side, burning in the Hell's they've made themselves.
But he wants-- needs some certainty.
Vampires with souls. Rock-solid Gods in bodies that used to giggle if you got just the right spot below her ribs. Demons from other worlds. Savage, feral boys. Through it all, seems like only he and Wes were human in the end.
So he guesses it makes sense that they'd stick together after it was over. No Shanshu for them. No higher destiny and purpose. No complications.
And as it folds in on him, the puzzle pieces itself together.
Slipped down the same murky roads.
Good intentions, bad results. Trying to save the world and they just fucked it up worse.
It makes perfect sense.
There's warmth in his palm. Wes's hand in his. Certain of it.
Flashes come with the warmth.
Long nights spent drinking.
Someone taking a bullet for him.
Standing side to side, weapons in hand, ready to face whatever comes at them.
Inside jokes when others were on the out.
Wesley.
And that's all he needs to take the first step into the cold white nothing. All he needs to face wherever they are.
All he wants.