Hell's Rejects

DEDICATION: For Dot, Meg, Pete and Vic: who understand that this is mild compared to what I could have (and have) written. You gusys are the bestest.

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

"I cannot believe you let my prized pet get killed! He broke her in half, damn him!" He paced his chamber, eyes glowing red with fury and hatred. "What kind of morons do you have working for you, anyway?"

The seven of them kept their heads bent submissively, reprisals foremost in their thoughts. "There was no way we could have foreseen this," the tallest male snivelled.

"Oh, give me a -- ! Arggghhh! If you hand me the idiotic excuse that they're just humans, I will see to your punishment myself!"

The first female lifted her head defiantly. "Seriously, Samael, they are just humans."

"Like Hell! One of them gets those stupid visions to help people. Please note, she is still running around with her eyes attached. One of them makes a living out of killing my minions. Who in Hell is that third one? Plus, all of them used to work with that wipe, Angelus. They are not just humans, and they killed my pet! I want this taken care of!"

One of the other, shorter males looked up. "What do you want us to do about it?"

"Well, shit, Ashmodai. You're the Prince of Vengeance. Go out and wreak some vengeance! Take your slut friend here with you and have her drain him dry. I don't care! Just make it painful! Damn, I hand raised that demon. Make him suffer like she did!" Samael left the room with a cloud of anger still hovering around him.

"Right," Ashmodai said to the demon on his left. "Come on, Na'ama. Let's go catch some revenge."

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

Wesley put the business card in his wallet, since one never knew when a contact would become useful. He looked up as soon as he heard the office door close, his jaw dropping in absolute astonishment. Before him stood the most stunning woman he had ever seen in his life: a drawing from one of the science fiction comics he'd covertly read as a teenager -- only realistically proportioned -- brought to life and in his office. Taller than Cordelia, she wore a short, black leather skirt and a silk periwinkle blouse that set off her intense, blue eyes. Her long, golden hair cascaded in soft waves down to the middle of her back. Suddenly, his mouth seemed parched.

"May I help you?" he croaked.

"Yes. I've been told that you can help with unusual cases."

"We do at times, I suppose." Nothing was coming out the way he wanted it to.

"May I?" she asked, directing her gaze to the chair across from the desk.

"Oh. Oh, yes. Forgive my manners. P-please do," Wesley stammered. He felt like a silly pre-pubescent boy again.

She sat in the chair and crossed her long legs. Leaning forward to give him a most captivating view, she began her explanation. "Something has been lost. It belonged to my boss. He's given me two days to make things right, and if I don't ..." She shrugged her shoulders.

Wesley diverted his gaze upward and looked into her eyes. "What is it you seem to have lost?"

"A treasured item. Not worth much really, but my boss is very fond of it. A favorite of his that he's had for decades. If I could take you to where it was seen last, perhaps that would help?"

Wesley licked his lips and swallowed to relieve the worsening dryness. "Certainly. Let me just leave a note for my associates and we shall be off."

Na'ama smiled.

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

"Wesley! Hey!" Cordelia slammed the door and threw her purse on the desk. "Just great. No one's here."

Seeing that there were no lights flashing on the answering machine, Cordelia sat behind the desk and looked around for a sign someone had even bothered to show up in the office. Grumbling under her breath, she noticed Wesley's wallet.

"Silly man," she said, tossing the wallet into her purse and picking up the pad of paper that had been lying next to it. "Well, that's just peachy! He goes off with a client and doesn't even leave a name. Now, how am I supposed to write up an invoice -- gaahhhh!"

Cordelia collapsed in pain.

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

Wesley thought something about the alley looked vaguely familiar, but assured himself that all big city American alleyways tended to blend together into a single generic alleyway after one's seen more than a few. "You say you lost it in there?" he asked, pointing straight ahead.

"Yes. Just the other night."

"Do you recall where?"

"About ten feet in front of where you're standing now."

Wesley walked forward, mentally counting the paces as he stepped, scanning the ground for anything unusual. "And how can I recognize this ... thing?"

"You've seen it before."

Wesley turned and faced the blonde. "Pardon me?"

"You're the one who lost it."

"Madam, I have no idea what -- " Wesley stopped and looked around. The hormonal haze that seemed to have descended upon his usual rational thought processes lifted and he realized he did indeed know this passage.

Two nights ago, he and Gunn had come across a dragon-like demon. Not a terribly large one, certainly not a bright one, but one that had been attempting to make a teenage runaway its midnight snack. After rescuing the young boy, Gunn and Wesley temporarily incapacitated the demon, but while they were busy deciding how to best dispose of the unusual creature, it attacked from behind. Having had no choice, and having acted entirely on reflex, Wesley struck it on the back with a heavy metal rod, snapping its spine in half.

The nature of the lost treasure, its owner, and the purpose of the 'case' became clear to Wesley in a blinding flash. Just as something hard and metallic collided with the base of his skull.

"All yours, Ashmodai."

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

"What do you mean, she's not all here?" Angel asked.

"She came in alone, crying. She told me she's looking for him, but that she can't do it alone. I explained to her that whoever she's looking for isn't here, but she's acting like she's drugged. She's over there, Angel."

Angel glanced across the room to where Cordelia was sitting, holding an empty glass. Sighing resignedly, he walked over to her table.

"Cordelia."

Cordelia looked up at Angel with an expression of deep despondency that shocked him. Slowly, he sat down across from her.

"Cordelia, who are you looking for?"

"Not you," she whispered.

"Fair enough, but who?"

She glared at him. "You care, why?"

"Don't play games with me. I don't have the time."

"I need someone who'll make the time. You're obviously not that someone. I told you I wasn't looking for you." Cordelia stood to leave, but Angel grabbed her wrist. She looked down at his hand then at his face. "Let go of me," she said coldly.

"What's gotten into you?"

"Let go, Angel," she said, jerking her arm free. "I have to find my friend. He's missing."

"Who?"

"Why do you care? You fired us, remember? You publicly humiliated us, remember? Right now Angel, I need a friend who cares enough to help me. I don't think you qualify. Apparently, no one here does."

Angel watched as she left the crowded room.

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

Wesley found himself lying on his back, staring up at the red ceiling. Something was definitely not right. He tried to block out the excruciating pain behind his eyes, but to no avail. He swallowed convulsively, then tried to calm his racing heart.

"Think he's awake yet?" he heard someone off to his left ask. He tried to see the owner of the sepulchral voice, but the shooting pain convinced him to not move his head so quickly, if at all.

"Looks like it. Why don't you go see?" he heard the woman from the office answer. Of all the stupid things to do, and Wesley could no longer recall all the stupid things he had done, not getting her name was moving straight to the top of the list.

Wesley sat up slowly, groaning as the throbbing in his head intensified with each movement. He surveyed the area before him: completely free of vegetation, the ground was covered with fine red silt -- redder than any clay or sand he'd ever seen -- a sure sign that there was more than oxidized iron in this soil. Gingerly, he turned his head to regard the sculptures surrounding him. All were from the same black marble; all were cut in very angular, sharp lines. They looked more suitable for building a wall than as sculptures, but they were placed randomly around what seemed to be a courtyard inside a cavernous structure.

"Where am I?" he wondered aloud, closing his eyes and combing his fingers through his hair, trying to massage some of the pain away.

"Hell! Don't you know?" replied the masculine voice. Wesley shook his head in reply. "Look at me," he heard, "do you know who I am?"

Wesley gradually lowered his hands and took in the creature that had materialized as it spoke, from the feet up. By the time he reached its face, he knew.

"Ashmodai," he gasped and saw his future dissolve before his eyes.

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

Angel knocked on the apartment door. From the other side, he heard a muffled "Gunn?"

"No, it's me, Cordelia. Angel. Open the door."

"Go away."

"Open the door, or I'll do it myself." Angel waited, but the door remained closed. "Dammit, Cordelia!" He grabbed the doorknob and tested it. Bracing himself, he got ready to kick the door, but it opened on its own.

"Thank you, Dennis," Angel acknowledged as he crossed the threshold. Dennis responded by slamming the door soundly behind him.

Wrapped up in a lightweight cotton blanket, Cordelia was sitting in front of her picture window, staring outside. Angel crossed the room and bent down next to her. She kept her eyes focused on the vista.

"What's going on?" Angel waited while Cordelia continued to stare ahead. "This silent treatment isn't going to help whoever you're looking for." The silence continued. "Fine, Cordelia," Angel said as he stood up. "If you want to play it this --"

"Wesley."

He walked in front of her and bent back down. "How long has he been missing?"

"Since late this afternoon. Four hours, I think."

Angel's patience snapped. "Cordelia!"

"I had a vision," she whispered through the tears. "He's in trouble. I can't do anything to help. They want to kill him. I'm useless."

Angel cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to face him. "Who wants to kill him?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know! I don't know!"

"Then, what did you see?"

"Wesley on the ground, dying. Sculptures. The ground was red. That's all."

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

Ashmodai was standing at his full height but still had to crane his neck to look up at Wesley. "See," he said, "it goes this way. You've killed one too many times. Picked on the wrong demon and now, ... well, now you're in Hell."

Wesley knew there was no way he could argue a defense. He had been trained to hunt and kill demons; that was an indisputable fact. That he had become relatively successful still shocked some people. Often himself included.

"Now, both you and I can agree that some of them deserve to be culled. You save us time with those. However, some are quite valuable and you seem incapable of discriminating between the two."

Wesley watched as Ashmodai paced back and forth. Instinctively, he wanted to run; intellectually, he knew he stood no chance of escape or survival. He was completely abandoned.

"The other night you killed one of Samael's pets. Personally, I think she smelled, but," Ashmodai spread his hands out and shrugged, "who cares what I think. And she wasn't housebroken, either. However, that is hardly a justification for execution."

"She was trying to eat a human."

"Your point being? Look, that's what we do. We tempt, we destroy, we eat. You know that." He looked at Wesley and begrudgingly gave him credit for not begging or attempting to flee. "The problem is, human, you've been sentenced to die like the demon you killed: beaten into submission and snapped in half. It's my pleasure to carry out the sentence."

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

They'd moved to the dining table. Angel stood in the small kitchen looking for tea bags or a teapot. "Was it his blood?"

Cordelia was still crying, rocking back and forth in hopeless desperation. "I don't know. I don't know."

"Snap out of it, Cordelia. This isn't helping. I need more."

"Why?"

"To find him." Angel came in and put the mug of hot tea on the table. "Drink this."

"Why do you want to find him?"

Angel shook his head and ignored her question. "Just drink. What do you mean 'sculptures'? An art museum?"

Cordelia looked at the tea. "No. They were ugly."

"Could you draw them for me?"

"Maybe. I can try. There's paper by the telephone."

Angel brought the paper and a pencil to the table. He sat back down and watched while she sketched. "What color were they?"

"Gray, dark. Maybe black."

"How do you know Wesley was dead?"

"Dying. I just knew."

"The ground was red, you said?"

"So was the ceiling."

"Red?" Angel's head snapped up as he asked. "But not the same color. Lighter, like fire. Not blood."

Cordelia handed Angel her sketch. "Yeah. Like molten lava." She watched as he slowly lowered his gaze to the paper.

"I know where he is, Cordelia." She heard the heaviness in his voice.

"So, let's go get him out."

"It's not that simple." Angel lifted his eyes. "The only out I know of is if they kick you out."

Cordelia blinked in disbelief. "No out?!"

"No, Cordelia. He's in Hell. Ashmodai's provenance."

"Who's Ashmodai?" her voice rising to a hysterical shriek.

"A demon," Angel said quietly. "In charge of vengeance."

"Vengeance for what?! This is Wesley! What could someone want vengeance for?"

"You tell me. What demon has he killed lately?"

"A couple of vampires." Suddenly, her eyes opened wide. "Wait! There was one they were talking about last night."

"What kind?"

"I don't know. They way they described it, it was more like a dragon from a movie."

"Where?"

"Gunn would know."

Angel stood up, leaving the drawing on the table. "Find him and then call me with directions."

"Where are you going?"

"I have to get something." Angel pulled the door open. "Call me and then you two meet me wherever that took place."

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

Ashmodai moved forward and hurled Wesley into the cluster of marble sculptures. He heard the sickening thud as Wesley's body bounced off the stone and fell to the ground. Damn if this one isn't resilient, he thought to himself. He knew the human's head had been resonating with pain before he'd even started in on him. Just die already, Ashmodai ordered silently.

Wesley had attempted to defend himself in the beginning, but it quickly dawned on him that it was impossible with the discrepancy between their relative strengths. His jaw had been dislocated with Ashmodai's first punch. With a twitch of his tail, Ashmodai had snapped Wesley's leg in two places. With a flick of his wrist, Ashmodai had sent Wesley flying across the courtyard.

Now, Wesley could feel his strength -- rather, what was left of it after an hour -- draining out of his body. He closed his eyes and waited.

Na'ama appeared and put her hand on Ashmodai's arm, halting what was to be the final blow to the human's skull. She pulled him to the side and whispered in his ear.

"What?!" he screamed, turning scarlet with anger. "Again?! Who in Hell is calling the shots, anyway?!"

Frustrated, Ashmodai walked over and hovered over Wesley's body. "You left her to die in that alley. She died pathetically, alone, her body and spirit broken. We found her the next day. Time for you to know how it feels, human."

Wesley's last thought before the blessed blackness swallowed him, was an inconsequential matter. A trivial thing, surely.

He'd forgotten his wallet on the desk in the office.

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

"Where now?" Cordelia asked.

"One more block."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. Is he going to show?"

"He said he would. He also said not to hope for too much."

"Then why waste our time? We could be looking."

"He said there'd be clues."

As they neared the alley, they spotted Angel's car. Gunn slowed down, but Cordelia dragged him along. Angel got out and approached the two of them.

"This it?"

"Yeah," Gunn answered brusquely. "Down there. Eating some kid. What're we looking for?"

"Anything. I've already walked around, but couldn't see anything unusual."

Cordelia pointed down the alley. "Then what's that?" she asked.

Angel turned to his right, Gunn to his left, and they both peered into the darkness.

"Shit!" Gunn yelled.

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

They'd been upstairs in recovery for three hours, and the nurses had accepted from the beginning that the brunette was determined to stay, all night if she had to, until they let her in to see him. She went to the desk every five to ten minutes for an update. Finally, she cornered one of the doctors who allowed her five minutes.

Cordelia sat down next to Angel. "The doctors say that he's lucky."

"Yeah," Angel agreed. "They've no idea how lucky."

"Why?"

He turned his head to look at her. "Why what?"

"Why didn't they kill him?"

He shrugged. "Who knows?"

The ward nurse came up and said that, despite hospital rules, if they didn't say anything, they could each see him for ten minutes. Cordelia squelched her impulse to run into the room and told Angel to go ahead.

He walked into the room and gazed woefully at the hospital bed. The IV dripped steadily, pumping badly needed fluids and painkillers into the beaten and bruised body resting sedated under the covers. A compound fracture in the left tibia had been promptly set, the badly sprained right ankle immobilized, the right shoulder popped back into place and held there with a sling. Both eyes were going to be swollen closed for the next few days, and the dislocated jaw had been wired shut. Four ribs were either cracked or broken, one lung punctured, a myriad of contusions, but miraculously, there'd been no more serious internal injuries.

"We've one more thing in common, you and I," Angel whispered as he sat down next to the bed.