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Bittersweet Symphony (The "Nobody Singing to Me Now" Remix)
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cof_remix.
Title: Bittersweet Symphony (the "Nobody Singing to Me Now" Remix)
Author: Sroni
Fandom: Angel
Rating: I guess PG-13? No worse than was on the show.
Disclaimer: Characters from Angel are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, and the WB.
Original story: “A Shadow of Myself” by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sevendeadlyfun
Bittersweet Symphony
(The "Nobody Singing to Me Now" Remix)
Dying was supposed to be easy. Be here, close your eyes, stop breathing, maybe let out a last shuddering breath, and that was it.
Months before, he'd watched the woman he loved die, and it hadn't looked easy at all. She'd fought it as best as she could, and the others went out to try to stop it while he stayed with her, tried to ease her through the suffering as much as he could, but in the end, it had been painful and he hadn't been able to protect her from it.
He would have moved heaven and earth and hell and everything in between to prevent it, if he could have, but he'd failed her.
Compared to that, dying himself was the easiest thing in the world.
"Lie to me." A last request for a dying man, a last chance to see a face he'd never see again and had long since lost hope of seeing it when he'd all but banned the godking in her body from wearing her face around him. A lie, a game of make believe that he'd grown out of playing a long time ago, one last chance but one he didn't deserve, knew he didn't deserve, and the pain of the lie hurt much more than the knife that had killed him, more than the pain in his chest that stabbed with every breath.
A last breath, a last touch, then no more pain.
Yes. Dying was much easier than living, and easier by far than living in a world without her.
Two years before his death, he had betrayed everyone he held dear, everyone he trusted and everyone who trusted him. He'd thought he was doing the right thing, the necessary thing, he'd thought he was preventing a worse heartbreak and pain later, but he put his trust in the wrong person - and wasn't that just the story of his life right there? - and he'd hurt good people who'd deserved better than his actions and failure.
He'd betrayed everyone that mattered to him, but he'd believed he was doing the right thing.
He had no such belief now.
He wasn't doing the right thing. He wasn't doing a good thing. He had agreed to the deaths of people who mattered to him, and for all that they (most of them) would likely not survive the night even without his intervention, their blood would be on his hands, and he wouldn't be able to wash that off. Maybe they would have gotten through the fight ahead of them. Now they wouldn't have the chance, because of a choice he'd made, and he still couldn't bring himself to regret making it.
Gunn went down first, blood loss and previous injuries proving to be too much for him to last long in the battle, but he made his short time count. He died in a bloody alley. but not before a vampire forced her blood down his throat.
Spike was next, his blond hair making it easy to spot where he was, throwing elbows and fighting dirty and just enjoying the fight itself, and one second he was fighting and the next second his blond hair and ever present leather coat were dust riding on the wind. He couldn't muster up a lot of care about Spike's death, to be quite honest. Mostly he thought "This one will likely stick this time," owing to the nature of the deal he'd made with the metaphorical devil.
(Across the city, leaving LA true to his word, a drunk co-ed ran a red light and struck Lorne's car. He died alone.)
Lorne's was the death he felt the most guilt over. The others likely would have died, deal or no deal, but Lorne could have gotten away, could have set up a new life for himsef. Lorne...
Well. What's done is done.
Angel took the dragon down. But he did it from the air.
Not even a vampire could survive that fall.
Illyria cut a bloody swath around her, and lasted long enough to not be felled by an enemy.
She lasted long enough for the deal to take effect.
He could tell by the way she faltered mid-strike, and appeared next to her, an insubstantial shade that was nevertheless her downfall. "I feel like I should say that I'm sorry," his voice was more matter of fact than anything else. "But that would be a lie. For what it's worth, though, it wasn't personal."
"Do you believe that she will thank you? That she will be happy you made such a choice?" Cold blue eyes stared into his while blue leeched from her hair, leaving brown in its wake. The godking knew the taste of betrayal and knew the flavour of this particular brand of it. Illyria might not know the details, but the godking obviously knew the basics of what he'd done.
"No." His response was quick, but with an air of acceptance and resignation. No, he knew that if she ever became aware of the circumstances around the deal he'd made that she would not thank him, not be happy, never forgive him, and quite possibly hate him forever for doing it in the first place. He was sacrificing people that mattered to him, people who had befriended him and respected him when he hadn't believed himself worthy of either. People that trusted him. And yet, he hadn't hesitated, didn't regret it, and couldn't regret it.
Not when the result was her alive.
He could have handled her death, if that had been all it was. He could have handled knowing that she was somewhere else, and that she was happy and safe wherever that somewhere was. But for her to no longer exist, for her to have simply been obliterated by the godking's return... that had been unacceptable and unbearable.
He knew the truth for himself, as well. He would have damned the entire world to hell if it had meant she would exist somewhere again.
No, she wouldn't forgive him. Nor should she. But he could handle her hating him, because if she hated him, it meant that she existed, that she was again, and he would sacrifice anything and everything for that one goal.
Illyria faded while he watched, not dispassionately, bit with neither pity nor regret.
If circumstances had been different, he could have come to care for the godking. He could have loved Illyria, tried to fix the broken pieces of her, taught her more about the world as it was now. He'd felt out of place so often in his life, and he had a soft spot for people who needed mending. But they hadn't been different, and he would never be able to forget, and never be able to not hate the creature that had destroyed the woman he loved.
Illyria faded in the rain, and left Fred in her wake. "Wesley? What's going on? I was in my apartment and now..." She looked around, trying to piece things together.
"I don't have time to explain. But I need to tell you that I love you. I should have told you that when I first realized, and I should have told you every day in between, and there is not a thing that I wouldn't do for you," Wesley's words came out in a rush, because he didn't know how much time he had left. "You died, more than died, and that was unacceptable. I found a way to undo the wrong that was done to you."
Her eyes had changed while he spoke, at first soft around the edges, but as he'd continued they'd gone harder and he could tell that Illyria had left some memories with her.
It was too much to hope that Illyria had kept the nature of the deal away from Fred, and he could tell by the way she was looking at him now that she knew, and his original hypothesis that she would hate him was, in fact, a proven theory now.
He disappeared from the street, reappearing elsewhere, and knew that his time was up.
But that was all right. He'd told her what he needed to. He'd done what he'd needed to.
He'd damned his soul in the process, but he'd lived the worst hell he could think of for months already, lived in a world where she no longer existed. Anything else would be a pale imitation.
And he could live with that.
cof_remix.Title: Bittersweet Symphony (the "Nobody Singing to Me Now" Remix)
Author: Sroni
Fandom: Angel
Rating: I guess PG-13? No worse than was on the show.
Disclaimer: Characters from Angel are property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises, Sandollar Television, and the WB.
Original story: “A Shadow of Myself” by
sevendeadlyfun(The "Nobody Singing to Me Now" Remix)
Dying was supposed to be easy. Be here, close your eyes, stop breathing, maybe let out a last shuddering breath, and that was it.
Months before, he'd watched the woman he loved die, and it hadn't looked easy at all. She'd fought it as best as she could, and the others went out to try to stop it while he stayed with her, tried to ease her through the suffering as much as he could, but in the end, it had been painful and he hadn't been able to protect her from it.
He would have moved heaven and earth and hell and everything in between to prevent it, if he could have, but he'd failed her.
Compared to that, dying himself was the easiest thing in the world.
"Lie to me." A last request for a dying man, a last chance to see a face he'd never see again and had long since lost hope of seeing it when he'd all but banned the godking in her body from wearing her face around him. A lie, a game of make believe that he'd grown out of playing a long time ago, one last chance but one he didn't deserve, knew he didn't deserve, and the pain of the lie hurt much more than the knife that had killed him, more than the pain in his chest that stabbed with every breath.
A last breath, a last touch, then no more pain.
Yes. Dying was much easier than living, and easier by far than living in a world without her.
Two years before his death, he had betrayed everyone he held dear, everyone he trusted and everyone who trusted him. He'd thought he was doing the right thing, the necessary thing, he'd thought he was preventing a worse heartbreak and pain later, but he put his trust in the wrong person - and wasn't that just the story of his life right there? - and he'd hurt good people who'd deserved better than his actions and failure.
He'd betrayed everyone that mattered to him, but he'd believed he was doing the right thing.
He had no such belief now.
He wasn't doing the right thing. He wasn't doing a good thing. He had agreed to the deaths of people who mattered to him, and for all that they (most of them) would likely not survive the night even without his intervention, their blood would be on his hands, and he wouldn't be able to wash that off. Maybe they would have gotten through the fight ahead of them. Now they wouldn't have the chance, because of a choice he'd made, and he still couldn't bring himself to regret making it.
Gunn went down first, blood loss and previous injuries proving to be too much for him to last long in the battle, but he made his short time count. He died in a bloody alley. but not before a vampire forced her blood down his throat.
Spike was next, his blond hair making it easy to spot where he was, throwing elbows and fighting dirty and just enjoying the fight itself, and one second he was fighting and the next second his blond hair and ever present leather coat were dust riding on the wind. He couldn't muster up a lot of care about Spike's death, to be quite honest. Mostly he thought "This one will likely stick this time," owing to the nature of the deal he'd made with the metaphorical devil.
(Across the city, leaving LA true to his word, a drunk co-ed ran a red light and struck Lorne's car. He died alone.)
Lorne's was the death he felt the most guilt over. The others likely would have died, deal or no deal, but Lorne could have gotten away, could have set up a new life for himsef. Lorne...
Well. What's done is done.
Angel took the dragon down. But he did it from the air.
Not even a vampire could survive that fall.
Illyria cut a bloody swath around her, and lasted long enough to not be felled by an enemy.
She lasted long enough for the deal to take effect.
He could tell by the way she faltered mid-strike, and appeared next to her, an insubstantial shade that was nevertheless her downfall. "I feel like I should say that I'm sorry," his voice was more matter of fact than anything else. "But that would be a lie. For what it's worth, though, it wasn't personal."
"Do you believe that she will thank you? That she will be happy you made such a choice?" Cold blue eyes stared into his while blue leeched from her hair, leaving brown in its wake. The godking knew the taste of betrayal and knew the flavour of this particular brand of it. Illyria might not know the details, but the godking obviously knew the basics of what he'd done.
"No." His response was quick, but with an air of acceptance and resignation. No, he knew that if she ever became aware of the circumstances around the deal he'd made that she would not thank him, not be happy, never forgive him, and quite possibly hate him forever for doing it in the first place. He was sacrificing people that mattered to him, people who had befriended him and respected him when he hadn't believed himself worthy of either. People that trusted him. And yet, he hadn't hesitated, didn't regret it, and couldn't regret it.
Not when the result was her alive.
He could have handled her death, if that had been all it was. He could have handled knowing that she was somewhere else, and that she was happy and safe wherever that somewhere was. But for her to no longer exist, for her to have simply been obliterated by the godking's return... that had been unacceptable and unbearable.
He knew the truth for himself, as well. He would have damned the entire world to hell if it had meant she would exist somewhere again.
No, she wouldn't forgive him. Nor should she. But he could handle her hating him, because if she hated him, it meant that she existed, that she was again, and he would sacrifice anything and everything for that one goal.
Illyria faded while he watched, not dispassionately, bit with neither pity nor regret.
If circumstances had been different, he could have come to care for the godking. He could have loved Illyria, tried to fix the broken pieces of her, taught her more about the world as it was now. He'd felt out of place so often in his life, and he had a soft spot for people who needed mending. But they hadn't been different, and he would never be able to forget, and never be able to not hate the creature that had destroyed the woman he loved.
Illyria faded in the rain, and left Fred in her wake. "Wesley? What's going on? I was in my apartment and now..." She looked around, trying to piece things together.
"I don't have time to explain. But I need to tell you that I love you. I should have told you that when I first realized, and I should have told you every day in between, and there is not a thing that I wouldn't do for you," Wesley's words came out in a rush, because he didn't know how much time he had left. "You died, more than died, and that was unacceptable. I found a way to undo the wrong that was done to you."
Her eyes had changed while he spoke, at first soft around the edges, but as he'd continued they'd gone harder and he could tell that Illyria had left some memories with her.
It was too much to hope that Illyria had kept the nature of the deal away from Fred, and he could tell by the way she was looking at him now that she knew, and his original hypothesis that she would hate him was, in fact, a proven theory now.
He disappeared from the street, reappearing elsewhere, and knew that his time was up.
But that was all right. He'd told her what he needed to. He'd done what he'd needed to.
He'd damned his soul in the process, but he'd lived the worst hell he could think of for months already, lived in a world where she no longer existed. Anything else would be a pale imitation.
And he could live with that.
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This was absolutely heart-breaking.
Great work taking on Wesley's POV.
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You did a very good job of selling something I’m not sure I believe. Wesley changed enormously during his time with Angel, probably most of it during the two final seasons (though the foundation was laid in Season 3). Could he have reached the point of killing all his friends to bring back the woman he loved? It’s plausible … but, as I said, I can’t really believe it. Maybe I just don’t want to.
All the same, you definitely did the work to make it convincing. His guilt over Lorne, Illyria’s familiarity not only with betrayal but with types and flavors of betrayal, even the final observation that Wesley didn’t fear eternal torment because he’d already been living it … this was fine work, and original thought, and a solid result.
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If it helps at all, I'm not necessarily saying that I think Wesley would absolutely make a deal with the devil to bring back Fred at the cost of his friends; just that in this little world I created, he did, and does so without regret but plenty of remorse.
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Here from buffyversetop5
RE: Here from buffyversetop5