Title: Shock
Fandom: AtS
Pairing: Wesley/Spike
W/C: ~ 850
Summary: Spike cares for Wes after he’s been tortured by demons.
Warnings: injury, schmoop
A/N: written for my hc_bingo card, which can be found here:
http://verucasalt123.livejournal.com/173540.html#cutid1 They’d gotten to Wesley in the nick of time, Angel and Spike making short work of his captors once they’d found out where he was being held. Spike took out the last one with his bare hands, snapping the demon’s neck almost hard enough to tear off its head.
Once the room was clear, Angel moved in to help remove the restraints from Wesley’s unconscious body. He backed off, though, hearing Spike’s growl at his approach. That protective (possessive) streak was in full force, and even Angel didn’t want any part of being on the back end of it.
Wesley’d been gone nine and a half hours, and Spike had been frantic. Now that Wes was in his sight again, he wasn’t as relieved as he hoped he’d be, even though he could tell from the minute he got there that Wesley was still alive. After removing the bonds, he moved on to inspecting wounds. Cuts and bruises were the most visible, so many of them Spike lost count. What had him more worried were three other things: the device over to the side of the room which had an obvious purpose, the burn marks on Wesley’s torso and the bottoms of his feet, and the sound of his still dangerously erratic heartbeat.
Whatever information the demons wanted, Wes hadn’t given it to them as a result of kicks or punches, so they’d tried another method of torture.
Electrocution.
Clearly, that hadn’t worked either, because the bastards didn’t look like they were anywhere near through with Wesley when Spike and Angel had arrived on the scene.
Spike gently moved Wesley’s head, lifted it up a bit, trying to rouse him. Wesley opened his eyes, seemed to try speaking but all that came out was a low groan.
“Shhh, don’t talk, love. I’ve got you, gonna get you out of here, yeah?”
Wesley tried to move, just slightly, but ended up flopping back down with a bitten-off scream. His eyes slipped closed once more.
“No, no more of that, be still”, Spike whispered. He got his arms underneath Wes and lifted him, slowly, as carefully as possible.
Angel made sure the way was clear as Spike carried Wesley outside, settling in the back of the Plymouth with Wesley’s head in his lap. They’d both determined that Spike could care for him now that his heartbeat had started returning to somewhere near normal, so the hospital visit was skipped and they went straight home. Fred met them there with all the medical supplies they would need.
Spike thanked Angel and Fred, then showed them out before returning to the bedroom where Wesley was hooked to an IV and finally starting to regain consciousness. He was at the bedside in a blink, wanting his face to be the first thing Wes saw when he opened his eyes.
Wesley blinked several times, then settled his gaze on his lover. “Spike”, he whispered, a question in his tone.
“Course it’s me, you’re home now, you’re all right.”
Moving his hand, Wes noticed the IV. “I’m all right?” He’d clearly noticed now that his speech was a bit slurred.
“You will be. Fred told me you’d need this, it’s, uh…electrolytes, I think. And a painkiller. Was hoping you’d sleep a little while so I could get you patched up.”
Speaking again, another whisper, Wesley asked “How bad?”
No use in lying to him, Spike figured. “You’re banged up some, but these burns…they won’t go away for a while, and we’ll have to make sure to change the dressings and re-apply this cream. Also, you’re, ah - well, you’re going to have to rest, your muscles are weak. Gave us a bit of a scare, darling.”
“Sorry”, another whisper, then a sharp intake of breath. “Hurts. My feet hurt.”
“That’s where the current came out, I suppose. I’m going to take care of you, though, you know I will. You’ll be up and around again before you know it.” Well, no harm in lying a little, not for right now. “Just relax, let me get started here.”
Spike was gathering first aid supplies when he realized Wesley’s eyes fluttering again. There was a slow, quiet “Thank you” before his breathing evened out in what Spike knew was a gentle sleep. The painkillers were doing their work.
Setting about cleaning up the cuts on Wesley’s face, Spike found himself humming, and then quietly singing a silly little nursery rhyme, like a lullaby, as he moved on to caring for the burn marks.
Little star that shines so bright, come and peep at me tonight,
For I often think of you in the pretty sky so blue.
Little Star! O tell me, pray, where you hide yourself all day?
Have you got a home like me, and a father kind to see?
The satisfaction of having ended the creatures who’d caused Wesley’s pain melted away into the satisfaction of knowing he could be there to make Wesley whole and healthy again.