CHALLENGE: atsendofdays
EPISODE: AtS 4.06 - 'Spin the Bottle'
TITLE: Uncontrolled Circumstances
AUTHOR: Eloise
RATING: PG13
CHARACTERS: Wesley
DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own them. I just play with them.
NOTES: AU set for AtS S4 "Spin the Bottle". Quotes and refs from that ep, as well as BtVS ep 'Bad Girls'. Huge thanks to lonelybrit for encouragement, enabling and sterling beta work.
"I have, in fact, faced two vampires myself. Under controlled circumstances, of course."
(Wesley Wyndam-Pryce: "Bad Girls")
Uncontrolled Circumstances - Part III
"Tell me again why we're doing this?" Nigel hissed in a furious undertone. He was so close behind Wesley he was practically treading on his heels.
"We need to draw them out. This will only work if we play on their terms." Wesley could almost feel the indignation rising in the other boy.
"So we're the bait?"
"Essentially. Well-armed bait, though." He grinned reassuringly as Nigel tightened his deathgrip on his stake. There was a movement behind them, and they spun to face the enemy.
"And what do we have here?" The accent was pure mockney; Wesley heard cultured undertones in the drawled sneer. The vampire was dressed in a voluminous white blouse, and the tight black leather trousers he favoured reminded Wesley of his brief encounter with Angelus. This vampire was either drawing heavily on the Byronic ideal of being mad, bad and dangerous to know, or he was just a big fan of duran duran.
"Snacks. At last, I'm bloody starving." The other vampire's ensemble was pure 'Madonna – The Early Years'. She wore the lace and leather look of 'Like a Virgin', but understandably devoid of the whole crucifix motif.
"Back, you foul creatures of the night!"
Wesley and the afore-mentioned creatures of the night turned to stare in fascination at Nigel, who clutched his cross in trembling fingers.
"Oh, look! He's got a cross and he's not afraid to use it," the male vampire sneered nastily.
His female companion sniggered obligingly. "They're pretty, Shaun. Can I have some fun with them first?"
"Now, Tracey, I've told you before, it's not polite to play with your food."
From his accent and speech structure it was clear that Shaun was public school bred and slumming it; but it was fairly obvious the female was not quite in his social class. Tracey was the linguistic opposite of her companion; the thin veneer of Received Pronunciation doing little to mask the flat nasal vowels of her natural accent. She was reasonably pretty, in a rather obvious way; blonde curls, full lips, and eyes that were a disconcertingly bright shade of blue.
Wesley heard a clatter beside him, and glanced at Nigel, who had dropped his cross and was moving towards Tracey as if in a trance. Bugger. He should have guessed. The Council couldn't just use ordinary vamps. No, they had to find ones with mesmeric capability. Then release into a room full of hormonally susceptible seventeen year olds and simmer gently. Bastards.
"Nigel, look at me!" he hissed under his breath. Nigel wavered and broke eye contact with Tracey long enough to glance at Wesley. "Run!"
He had sufficient sense to obey. Wesley turned back to face the vampires, purposely avoiding Tracey's gaze. She moved closer to him.
"What's the matter, my sweet? Don't you like pretty girls?"
Wesley smiled in spite of himself, as Tracey sidled up to him, brushing her hand across his thigh. As subtle as a brick wall across a motorway. Lilah could give this girl lessons in seduction.
"Or maybe he prefers pretty boys." Shaun stepped closer and Wesley made a conscious decision not to look into those brown eyes. How very forward thinking of the Council to offer opportunities for death and destruction regardless of sexual orientation.
Tracey was getting impatient. "He doesn't seem very scared, Shawn."
"The other one was terrified." Shawn licked his upper lip thoughtfully. "Maybe we're not the first vampires he's met." He took a step closer and placed his hand on Wesley's shoulder. "Maybe he's a regular Van Helsing," he whispered mockingly.
Wesley remained very still, willing the vampire to believe that he was totally in his thrall. He tilted his head back slightly, exposing just enough of his jugular to entice Shawn closer. As the vampire leaned in, Wesley raised his hand and squeezed the tiny plastic bulb of the novelty ring he was now holding. A jet of holy water shot out and hit Shawn in the eye.
He shrieked a curse and clapped his hand over his eye, all thoughts of feeding forgotten. "You little bastard! You'll pay for that."
Both vampires were now in full game face and ready for a fight. Wesley turned and ran through the stacks, confident that the vampires were in pursuit. He rounded the corner at the end of the stacks and ran into the study area. He could see several of his classmates crouching on the mezzanine level; others were hiding under the desks, clutching crosses so tightly that even he could hear the blood pulsing in their wrists.
He signalled to Hughes on the mezzanine level, and the first wave of their attack began, rudimentary waterbombs sailing through the air to explode on the unsuspecting vamps. The acrid smell of burning flesh quickly began filling the room. Condoms filled with holy water might be crude, but they were also highly effective. The vampires snarled, flailed and quickly beat a retreat in the direction of the stacks, desperate to get out of range.
Wesley lifted his hand and half a dozen boys crawled out from under the desks and blocked the entrance to each stack with crosses brandished in shaking hands. Wesley smiled a little proudly. They might be novices in the area of vampire slaying, but they stood their ground with quite convincing bravado.
As the shaking subsided, the boys began to advance, driving the vampires back into the centre of the study area. Nigel reached their captives first, armed with the sharpened stake. The penknife blade had proved quite useful after all. Both vampires looked badly burned and, understandably, irate. In his determination not to make eye contact with the female vampire, Nigel was faced with another dilemma. He pressed the edge of his stake against her breast, and then froze in panic-stricken embarrassment.
Wesley sighed deeply. Ah, yes, what we need now is some adolescent sexual frustration to add a degree of gratuitous tension to the proceedings.
"Nigel, stake her." He kept his voice very calm.
"Wesley, I c-can't. She's got...well, you know..." he made a helplessly ridiculous gesture with his hands that was the international sign for breasts.
"Oh, for God's sake, she's a bloody vampire. Just stake her."
Nigel took a deep breath and shoved the stake home as hard as he could, then produced what could only be described as a high pitched squeal of exhilaration when Tracey crumbled into dust in front of him. There was a stunned silence for a few moments and then to Wesley's amazement his classmates began to applaud the still bewildered Nigel, even while the other vampire was still on the loose. The term 'idiots' didn't really seem strong enough to describe them. Wesley kept his eye on Shawn, as he took advantage of the distraction and moved back towards the stacks.
"I say, that was quite impressive, ffoulkes!" This from St John-Smythe, who had actually set his weapon down to applaud Nigel properly. Shawn was nothing if not an opportunist. He was badly burned, but not quite down for the count just yet. He seized St John-Smythe around the neck, pulling him onto his toes, and exposing his jugular.
"Right, I want to make a deal." He looked to Wesley, clearly recognizing him as some kind of authority. Perhaps because he was the only one who hadn't stopped to congratulate his friend.
Wesley took a step closer, and mentally calculated how many feet he was from the vampire. If he could just get a bit nearer...
"That's far enough." There was real desperation in Shawn's voice. "You come any closer and I snap his neck." St John-Smythe gave a tiny squeak of terror as the vampire pulled his head to the side in order to demonstrate his willingness to carry out his threat. Wesley stopped and kept his arms loose at his sides.
"Here's what I propose." The vampire's voice was shaking, and he was almost as terrified as the boys in the room. "You've proved you can do it. You killed Trace. You let me go and I'll leave. Quietly. Make it seem like you killed the two of us. Your teachers will never know, I swear."
Wesley folded his arms across his chest. "Can't do that. Sorry." He ignored the look of disbelieving horror in Smythe's eyes.
"I'll kill him, you know I will." The vampire's voice was half-pleading, half-threatening.
"Go ahead. We can't let you escape, surely you understand that?" There was a collective gasp from the others.
"Wesley, this is serious," Nigel was suddenly by his side, his hands still trembling from his first kill.
"He's going to kill Cuthbert!" Bentley major's face was white and he too was shaking.
"I'm well aware of that, thank you. And you think if he gets out of here, he's going to keep his word and bugger off?" There were nods and sounds of assent, and a half-choked sob of agreement from the hapless St John-Smythe.
"I'm not sure if you're all aware, but this is a vampire we're talking about. A soulless demon, a creature of the night, the spawn of Satan." Wesley looked around the group. "Is this ringing a bell with any of you?" he sighed.
"I have to say, I object to the spawn of Satan thing. As far as I'm aware I have no personal connections with Lucifer." Shawn tightened his grip on St John-Smythe's neck. "Last chance, watcher boy."
Wesley shrugged his shoulders and unfolded his arms, taking the final step necessary to move into range. Then flicked his wrist up and felt the mechanism of the switch blade shift. The thin stake shot out of his cuff and hit the vampire in the heart. A moment later, St John-Smythe was lying on the floor, coated in a fine layer of dust and blubbering like a baby.
"Y-You utter bastard, Pryce," he wailed, tears streaking though the ash on his face.
And you're a bloody fool, Wesley thought, but he kept his mouth shut. The other boys were beginning to gather themselves, and Nigel was still beside him. He laid a shaky hand on Wesley's arm.
"That was...quite convincing." He shook his head in disbelieving admiration. "I really thought you were serious, Wes. I thought you were going to let him die. But of course you wouldn't have."
Wesley looked at his friend's expectant face and didn't have the heart to disillusion him. "Of course not," he lied glibly and adjusted his shirt cuff over the firing mechanism. "You did well, Nigel."
Nigel was torn between embarrassment and delight at Wesley's praise. "Um, thanks. But I was awful. If it wasn't for your encouragement..." he looked down at his shoes, his face scarlet. Wesley gave his shoulder a gentle pat, suddenly remembering what good friends he and Nigel had been. When (definitely when and certainly not if) things returned to normal, he really should look Nigel up, perhaps to reminisce over a pint. He rather liked the idea.
Wesley Wyndam-Pryce woke up, and then sincerely wished he hadn't. He ached. Everywhere. In fact, he would be hard pressed to single out which part of him ached most. On reflection he decided it was his head. The red hot needles jabbing into his eyeballs vied with the slow drilling of his back teeth (without anaesthetic) for the coveted title of 'Most Painful Area of Wesley's Anatomy 1987'. Someone drew the curtains and Wesley decided the eyes had won.
"Wesley! Come on, you have to get up! We can't be late for breakfast again. Harrington will have your hide."
Wesley opened one eye very carefully, and through a haze of agony he saw Nigel hovering above him. Nigel looked rather the worse for wear himself, his eyes rimmed with red; his freckles contrasting starkly against his pallid cheeks. Wesley tried vainly to remember what had happened last night. He had a vague memory of a nightmare, where he had been locked in some sort of godforsaken hotel with a group of rather uncouth strangers and forced to battle a vampire of great cunning and strength. He couldn't quite recall the end of the dream, though.
"What time is it?" he croaked weakly.
"Almost quarter to eight. You've got fifteen minutes."
Wesley threw back the covers and leapt out of bed. It took a moment for full awareness of his discomfort to register, but when it did he clutched his head in an attempt to prevent his skull exploding.
"What happened to me?" he groaned, flopping back down on the bed and massaging his temples.
"Get dressed," Nigel ordered tersely. "I'll fill in the gory details while you get ready. How much do you remember?"
Wesley considered this as he unbuttoned his pyjama top. "Not much, I'm afraid. There was, perhaps, a vampire?"
"Two. We dusted them."
Wesley blinked and reached for his glasses. "We did?"
Nigel seemed to be losing patience. "You know we did, Wes. That was yesterday afternoon. I meant last night."
"What happened last night?" He tried not to sound overly eager.
"You're serious? You really don't remember?" Nigel's eyebrows disappeared into his fringe. Then he looked at his watch. "Come on, get a bloody move on!"
Wesley finished buttoning his collar and fiddled with his tie until Nigel grabbed his shoulder and pulled him out of the room. They made it to the refectory with a couple of minutes to spare. Wesley glanced furtively at the staff table and was rather dismayed to see that Dr Harrington was studying him thoughtfully.
When they sat down after grace, Wesley began to notice a subtle shift in the atmosphere at the sixth form table. His classmates were speaking in hushed tones; occasionally pausing to stare at him and shake their heads in wonderment.
"Nigel, come on. What did I do last night? Why is everyone acting so strangely? Was there a spell?"
"You don't remember the Spread Eagle, do you?"
Wesley drew himself up. "That's out of bounds, Nigel, surely you know that?"
Nigel choked and sprayed a mouthful of Rice Krispies over Bentley major. "I distinctly remember telling you that last night. I think your exact words were 'Bugger that, Nige, I need a bloody drink.'
"I was drinking?" Wesley's voice rose to an indignant squeak, and Nigel elbowed him in the ribs rather unnecessarily hard. Wesley fought to regain his composure. "Are you absolutely sure?"
"Five pints of Sam Smith's." Nigel worked steadily on the Rice Krispies.
Wesley sighed softly. "Oh dear. That would explain the slight queasiness I'm currently experiencing." He eyed his bowl of greyish porridge with growing unease, suddenly regretting his breakfast choice.
"No, the whiskey chasers would explain the slight queasiness, Wes." Nigel managed another spoonful of cereal.
"Ah. Was I, by any chance, possessed?" It seemed the only logical explanation. He had no memory whatsoever of dusting any vampires, or sneaking down to the village local for what sounded like a rather heavy session.
"I've been wondering about that myself." Nigel reached across the table and poured himself cup of tea. "When you kissed Sally, I just thought you'd cracked under the strain."
"I kissed her?" Wesley couldn't keep the astonishment out of his voice. The landlord's daughter, Sally, worked part-time in the local fish and chip shop. The sixth form were allowed into the village every second Friday, and Sally's presence in the chippy guaranteed a large Academy clientele. She had a figure of almost Hellenic proportions, and the fact that he had kissed her unnerved Wesley quite considerably. Thus far, his experience of intimate contact with the opposite sex consisted of whiskery embraces bestowed upon him by maiden aunts who possessed more facial hair than himself.
"Snogged her, more like," leered Hughes, who had been eavesdropping on their conversation.
Wesley felt his cheeks redden, and he turned his attention to his porridge, stirring it vigorously.
"And then there was that darts match. How much did you win again?" Bentley major this time, leaning over to elbow Wesley in the arm.
"Thirty-five quid." Nigel smiled rather proprietarily. "Those local boys never stood a chance."
"Thought we were going to get seven shades of shite beaten out of us, and then Head Boy here comes up with the masterstroke. Drinks on him for the rest of the night. Bloody brilliant, Pryce." Cates lifted his teacup in salute.
"Which would have been fine if the Professors Bruner, Cruickshank and Dr McCrea hadn't called in for a swift pint," Nigel added.
Wesley felt as if someone had poured a glass of ice water down his neck. "I didn't... tell me I didn't, please."
"Oh, you bought them a round, Wesley. You raised your bloody glass to them." Nigel demonstrated with his teacup.
"Yeah, I think you were three sheets to the wind by then." Hughes nodded decisively. "That was when you made that stupid bet."
Wesley almost didn't want to know; the smirks on the faces of the boys at the table were so smug. "Tell me," he whispered glumly.
"You bet us all fifty pounds that the next active Watcher would be Rupert Giles." The ludicrousness of the idea set them all sniggering. Wesley lowered his head into his hands.
The end of breakfast was signalled by Dr Harrington, and the boys stood for the closing grace. As the headmaster swept out of the refectory, he paused at the sixth form table and nodded pleasantly to Wesley.
"I'll see you in my study, Wyndam-Pryce."
"It just remains for me to congratulate you, Wesley. I have always had the utmost confidence in your intellectual abilities, but I feared you didn't possess the leadership skills necessary to carry out the duties of an active Watcher. Your performance during the practical test was exemplary, and it's clear to me you do indeed understand the true nature of leadership."
Wesley knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't seem remember how to close it. Dr Harrington gave a decisive nod. "The ability to make the hard decisions is a rare one, Pryce. You displayed grace under pressure, and I have no qualms in recommending you for an Academy scholarship to Oxford, with a view to active Watcher duty.
Wesley blinked slowly, not sure if he was hearing the Headmaster correctly.
"I will be writing to your father to inform him of my recommendations. I'm sure he'll be extremely proud of you, Wesley." Dr Harrington paused and his eyes seemed to twinkle just a little. "Of course, I see no point in mentioning last night's little escapade in my letter."
"Thank you, sir." Wesley released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and looked at Dr Harrington with something akin to worship. He was turning to leave when the Headmaster spoke again.
"Ah. Before you go, Pryce, there is the little matter of an appropriate reprimand for last night's infraction. You recall, I presume, our brief discussion of the subject yesterday?" As he spoke, Dr Harrington lifted a cane down from the top of the cupboard.
Wesley nodded dumbly and stared in horror at the man. Surely he couldn't be serious. He was Head Boy. The Head Boy didn't get caned. He opened his mouth to protest, but managed only a pathetic squeak.
Dr Harrington raised an eyebrow. "I see I will have to refresh your memory. I have a reputation to uphold, you understand. It would not do for me to make idle threats. The Americans have a saying; connected with baseball, I believe. Three strikes and you're out." He paused for dramatic effect, which was considerably heightened by three taps of the cane against his palm.
"And you, Mr Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, are most definitely out. Assume the position."
Wesley sighed and bent over the desk. Whatever the hell he'd done yesterday, he really hoped it was worth it.