Even You, a Gunn vignette by Glacis. Rated R, spoilers for War Zone and That Old Gang of Mine. No
copyright infringement intended.
He never thought he was anything special.
It was just, he was hacked off, and he could do something about it, so
he did. He couldn't save everybody. Did his damnedest to keep his crew in one
piece and learn what he had to in order for them all to make it through. Did
what he needed to do to stop the killing on the streets.
What he had to do to keep his sister safe.
'Course, he didn't. Ended up losing her. Ended
up holding onto a body shaped like hers that was cold as a grave, hair that
smelled like that stuff she put on it when she could get her hands on some, the
stuff that made it shiny even when she wasn't out in the sunshine. Like she couldn't be, once the bloodsuckers got to her. To get to him. Ended up crying inside where nobody'd ever know and putting a stake through the middle
of her chest. Heard her say, "Charlie?" in that little girl voice
told him some part of her got killed with the monster they'd made her. Killed by him. Nobody else heard that.
Sometimes he could pretend he hadn't, either. 'Til
he laid down to sleep.
Weird shit happened in LA all the time. 'Specially
where he came from. All the time.
Came from.
He looked at the paper lanterns hanging on wires above the street
outside the pit that used to be Lorne's place, and wondered where he was now.
Wasn't where he came from, that was for damned sure.
His crew wasn't his any more, as much his choice as theirs, made in a split
second. Came from his gut.
Gut told him the monster still knew the rules, and the crew didn't care.
The monster still laid his life, or his ass, anyway, on the line, while his
brothers killed for the sheer joy of getting their rocks off. Didn't matter to
them anymore what they were doing wasn't making the streets safe.
It was taking them back into a war zone, putting the neutrals dead on
the side of the enemy.
Gunn'd always known it
wasn't Us and Them. It was Us
and the Enemy. The Enemy was the ones who killed Us.
So he did everything he could to kill the Enemy first. The Enemy wasn't a dude
trying to clean the streets up, who cared if he had fangs? Yeah. Angel was a
monster.
But he was still stepping up to die to keep the innocents safe. Not like
the ones who used to be his family. The ones who now killed
the innocents.
When Us became Them, who was the Enemy?
But they weren't all Them. They weren't all the Enemy. They were still Us.
So he kept his mouth shut. Hadn't known how to deal with it, stay tight with
his brothers and keep on the mission. He'd kept his council, gone his way,
tried to deal, and just about ended up getting everybody killed.
Everybody, except the Us that was the Enemy.
No loss.
His crew ... where he came from ... his ex-brothers? Went
home. Wes waited for him. He didn't look at Wes. Wes didn't look at him.
English's voice was soft, and his words hit Gunn like blades. Yeah,
divided loyalties were a bitch and a half, and ever since he'd fallen in with
Wes and them, nothing was simple. Loyalty's easy when
there's just black and white, protect or die. All them
shades of gray, all they did was mess with a man's mind.
Truth sucked, sometimes.
Then Wes looked at him, and his eyes felt like hands, touching Gunn's
face, then slapping him. Hard. So, if he held back
again, Wes'd kick him out, huh? Wouldn't stand for nobody jeopardizing the crew.
"Even you."
World of grays in that. World of promises, not all of 'em good, a lot
of 'em more like a threat. Wes was a harder guy than
he looked, Gunn knew that, knew, too, that he only showed his steel when his
back was against the wall. Didn't get his back up often but when he did, people
got hurt. Including Wes. Gunn saw pain and
determination and courage and stuff he didn't want to think about when Wes
looked at him like that.
He didn't say anything. Nothing to say, and Wes knew it. Wes' eyes went
past him and Gunn heard somebody come out of the club. He looked over at the
pasty blur of Freddy staring at them through the back window of the cab, and
wished fiercely that they were someplace private, with no blood on either of
them, nobody watching them. Just him and Wes and a bed, or a
wall, or a floor. Just Wes, steel in his hands, soft
mouth and warm pale skin rubbing against him. Just
them, no confusion, no gray.
No choices.
No time. He caught Wes looking at him, flash of hot now, and knew he
wasn't the only one wishing for it, and that made it a little easier. Then Wes
turned and got in the cab, and Gunn turned around. Instinct took him over to
where Angel leaned up against some crates, looking at him. No judgment he could
see in those dead eyes. Didn't know why he expected there would be.
Probably because he was judging himself, and wanted
to put it on somebody else. Angel was good for
that. He could carry it.
Still, he found himself apologizing, kind of, for what he said. How he'd
put Angel down, cut him down to stall it out, not really true, that they weren't
friends.
"You meant all of it."
Another damned truth slapping him in the head, and he didn't need this.
'Cept Angel wasn't pissed. Gunn nodded slightly,
accepting the slap and hitting back with his own truth. They weren't friends,
but they might be. Wasn't Angel's fault, wasn't Gunn's. Just what was.
"I've got time." Yeah, Angel had that. If
nobody put a stake through him first. If they made it through the fight,
and Angel got what he wanted, and Gunn got what he wanted.
He used to know what that was. "I proved you can trust me." When he dropped the stake. When he made
his choice, between the family that didn't understand the mission, and the
monster that did.
"No."
For half a second, he wished he had that stake back. Wasn't sure what
he'd do with it, shove it up Angel's tight white ass, blunt end first, maybe.
Then the words sunk in, the words after no, and he was glad the stake
was still lying on the floor in Lorne's trashed club.
Angel would trust him when Gunn had to kill him.
And did.
It was a long walk home. He knew eyes watched him from the alleys, some
human, some not. Nobody said nothing, nobody came up
on him. He got home, locked the door, curled up on the bed and tried not to
sleep. Body ganged up on his brain and he was dreaming before he knew his eyes
had closed.
Angel, coming at him, not Angel. A stake in his hand, again, only this time Wes was behind him, and the
monster was coming at them. His fist came up. The weight of
Angel's body against his, the madness clearing from Angel's eyes and the
gratitude and hatred in them right before they turned to dust.
Turned away, dropped the stake, and Wes caught
him. Held onto him, held him up, said crazy English things at him made no sense
and touched him until he came. Wes smelled good, like sweat and leather and
salt water, and felt good shaking against him. Then big blue eyes looked at
him, looked through him, melted into brown. Whispered,
"Charlie?"
And there was dust all over him where she used to be, and Wes was gone.
Angel would trust Gunn when he killed him. Alonna had
trusted him to protect her. Gunn didn't know if he trusted himself at all.
Alonna. Had she been
grateful when he killed her? Hadn't sounded like it. Sounded
betrayed. He came awake with his fist in his mouth, screaming her name
against his skin, blood on his teeth and his knuckles. No pager this time, just
English's voice in his head.
"Even you."
He wasn't hacked off any more. He was just lost in a bunch of grays,
stuck in a world cut in half by Venice Boulevard, no damn idea which half he
belonged in or if he belonged anywhere any more. Nothing to
hang on to. Nobody to trust.
Pager beeped and he jumped. Licked his hand absently and checked the
number. Not the office.
Wes. At home.
Gunn looked around his place, shoved his feet in his boots, grabbed his
jacket and his ax, and headed out the door.
Maybe one he could trust. Who could trust him.
end