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Lost Boys	By : Spacey Category: Angel the Series > Slash - Male/Male > Angel(us)/Wesley > Angel(us)/Wesley Views: 2496 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own AtS. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Title: Lost Boys

Disclaimers: All hail King Joss and his overlords at Mutant Enemy.
Spoilers: Hum…up to and including parts of Seasons 1-3 of Buffy, 1 of Angel
Summary: There’s a new guy in town, and he needs Angel’s help.
Ratings Note: PG-NC-17
Pairing: Wesley/Angel

Author's Note: I’ve intentionally mangled the events of Season 1 to my liking-so sue me. Wait! Um, just kidding Joss…I’m really a poor schoolteacher so don’t sue. Also, Lost Boys constitutes Part 1 of the Crossroads Series.

Acknowledgments:
Feedback: scarletsfiction@yahoo.com

Chapter 4

"Naw, kind of, uh, warthog-like. Probably hanging around kids or weak men…." Gunn trailed off when he heard what he was saying.
"I’m telling you man, we don’t have any weak men here. You know better than to ask that." Goldie’s eyes glittered without humor.
"I didn’t say your boys were weak. I’m askin’ if you seen a demon like the kind I’m lookin’ for." But Gunn could tell that he wasn’t getting through. Goldie wasn’t going to be giving any information tonight. He stared at Gunn until he turned abruptly and walked away.
As Gunn made his way to his truck, he noticed a rather disgusting demon lurking in the ally.
"Hey, don’t worry about Gino, man. He’s cool. We use him for stuff, you know? Like when we need information." Gunn was startled to find the source of the voice was a young man, maybe thirteen or fourteen. "So, you’re Charles Gunn." The kid appeared to be considering something. Finally he said, "I thought you’d be bigger." Gunn chuckled. "You laughing at me?" The youth narrowed his eyes defensively.
"Naw, man, I ain’t laughin’ at you. It’s just,…nothin’. Hey, do you know anything about warthog lookin’ demons called Feeders?"
The boy shook his head, no.
"How about the Dak’tari?"
Another shake. "You should probably ask Gino, though. If it’s a demon you’re lookin’ for and all."
Gunn thanked the kid and then crossed the street. Gino’s ripe smell assaulted him before he got within five yards of the demon squatting in the narrow ally.
"So, Gino, I hear you’re the guy to talk to if I need information."
"You heard right. Gino’s the man to know. ‘cept when he’s not the man to know, you know?" The demon cackled at his own attempt at a joke while Gunn tried to hold back his dinner.
"I’m lookin' for a Dak’tari. At least one, possibly more." Gino stared at him. "Has a kid with him. At least one possibly more," Gunn repeated. "Is any of this makin’ sense? Feeders?" Gunn was getting a blank look and was preparing to give up entirely when Gino finally spoke.
"Oh, FEEDERS. I thought you said Feelers. Feeders, got it, got it. Feeders. Yes, I do believe I know what you’re looking for. Rather unsavory types. Never cared for them. Smell, you know."
"Yeah, I know the feeling," Gunn answered, taking in the puss-filled scabs that covered the upper half of the demon’s body. "Can you tell me where they are?"
"I can do better than that. I can show you. For a price, of course."
"Of course."

*****

With three contacts down and only one more to go, Wesley and Angel were discouraged.
"I simply don’t understand how it is that no one has heard of these demons. If they’ve begun bringing their victims here to feed, as we predicted, it seems as thought they would be more than noticeable, yet no one seems to—"
"Have a clue what the hell we’re talking about?" Angel finished.
"Yes. Precisely."
The men sidestepped a broken beer bottle and made for the curb in the less-than-friendly neighborhood. Wesley stole a quick glance at his vampire companion. He had been prepared when they left the office that some violence might be in order. The Watcher’s Council had trained him well on extracting information from unwilling subjects. But so far they had had no need. All of Angel’s sources seemed to respect him a great deal--one even gave them pie, which now sat in the contented ex-Watcher’s belly.
Wesley stole another glance. Another quick glance. Wesley’s train of thought came to a shuddering halt. God, what was he doing?
"Maybe we’re on the wrong track. Or maybe the Dak’tari have gotten to them first. Frightened them or cast a forgetting spell. I don’t know." Angel and Wesley approached the small, squat house that was last on their list. The vampire continued, "And let me do the talking while we're here. Jackel isn’t always forthcoming with his information around strangers--especially foreigners."
"That’s ridiculous! I have no cause to harm him. And you’re as foreign as I am. I seem to remember *you* crossing an ocean or two in your day. Does he know *that*?" Wesley fumed.
"Just let me do the talking." Angel rapped at the door. When no one answered the door, the vampire moved to the window, peering through the blinds.
"There doesn’t seem to be anyone home, Angel. Perhaps your contact realized you had brought a *foreigner*." Wesley spit the last word out with disgust.
"You really are sensitive, aren’t you? Look, he said he would be here. He may be a demon and a xenophobe but he always keeps his word. JACKEL!" Angel cupped his hand around his mouth and shouted through the window. A muffled crash from inside nearly brought out Angel’s game face. The door was suddenly opened and a rather small, human-looking man stood in the doorway.
"Angel. Come in, come in. So sorry to, uh…keep you waiting. Does your friend need to be invited?" Wesley marveled at the smooth way the demon addressed the sticky question.
"No, Jackel. He’s human."
"Ah,…huuuuman," the demon drawled unpleasantly.
"Yes, we’re here on business and we don’t have a lot of time."
"Of course, of course. Come inside. " The demon led them into the wide entryway. To the right, Wesley could see a kitchen, and a living area through an open door to the left. A narrow arch at the back of the entryway led to what appeared to be another large room, though dark and unrecognizable. "Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea? A soda? O-positive, perhaps?"
"No, we wanted to know…"
"How about a nice Chardonnay? 1946? Excellent year for—" Jackal was babbling nervously. Even Wesley could detect the agitation in the demon’s voice. Once again, there was a muffled crash, this time from the darkened room.
"You have visitors, Jackal." Angel’s lips were pursed tightly.
"No, no I don’t. I have no idea what you are talking about. Why would you ask me such a question?"
"That wasn’t a question." Angel’s hand moved swiftly to the short sword he carried under the long coat. Sensing Angel’s movements, Wesley removed the blade he wore under his own brown corduroy coat.
Caught in a lie, Jackal decided to change his approach. "I don’t want any trouble here, Angel. These guys just want to ask you a few questions. You know, about some of their friends you and your pals whacked a couple of weeks ago. Just a nice talk—" Jackal’s last words were drowned out as the entryway was plunged into darkness.
The attack came swiftly. From the already darkened back room, four Lacourian demons emerged with their claws extended. The two men knew that, though relatively slow moving, the Lacourian’s claws were lethal and could slash both flesh and bone with ease. Angel managed to dodge the first two demons but the third one nearly slit him from throat to balls. Shuddering, he looked at Wesley in alarm, but was surprised to discover the Englishman holding his own. Wesley leaped onto the nearest demon and, with the large knife in his right hand, began using it to plunge shallow cuts into the Lacourian’s thick hide. Taking his cue, Angel leapt onto another Lacourian and wrapped his arms tightly around the head. With superhuman strength, Angel twisted and a satisfying crack echoed through the room.
The vampire dispatched another demon with similar ease while Wesley continued to stab at the Lacourian, finally slitting its throat. The dead demon crashed forward, sending Wesley sprawling. Sensing his chance, the remaining demon pounced on the ex-Watcher. Slashing with its powerful claws, Wesley felt his flesh tear. Blood began to seep from the wound on his belly; a surprisingly soggy crimson streak on his otherwise pristine blue shirt.
Raising its claw again, the demon prepared to administer a mortal blow. With a sickening thud, Wesley watched as the demon’s forearm tumbled to the carpet, oozing black viscous fluid over his wounded body. A second blow to the Lacourian’s torso left the beast bisected and as the two grisly parts joined the first on the hall carpet, Wesley was rewarded with the sweet sight of Angel and his sword.
The vampire reached out a cool hand. The other man could do no more than press his palm to it and allow himself to be dragged to a standing position. The wound kept him doubled over for several moments before he stiffly straightened his back and sheathed his knife.
"Well that was…" Wesley struggled to find the right word. "…bracing."
"That was *strange*. Jackal isn’t the most reputable demon I’ve worked with, but…where *is* Jackal?"
Both men’s eyes swept the small chamber.
"I believe your fair weather friend sensed a change in ‘atmospheric conditions’." Wesley chuckled softly to himself, then winced. He was in tremendous pain, but he would not look at the wound now. That was for later. Later, when he was safe in the small, shitty apartment where he spent his days and most of his nights since he had come to L.A. Later, when he could peal back the torn cloth and weep noisily to himself and pretend that someone cared that he was hurt.
"How bad?"
"I’ll manage."
Angel eyed the other man anxiously. Wesley was wounded--that much was obvious--but his coat swung in front of the damaged area, blocking his view of the injury. He could smell the blood, though. Rich and coppery, it sang to be sipped. Lapped up. Consumed. Angel shifted uncomfortably.
"Are you sure?"
"I said I’d manage," Wesley replied sharply.
Angel was slightly taken aback by his response, but one glance into bitter blue eyes told him not to press the issue.
"Okay. Well, it’s almost midnight. We should probably get back. Cordelia will be worried."

*****

Back at Angel Investigations, Cordelia *was* worried. The Midnight Mauve nailpolish that the woman at the cosmetics counter *swore* would go with the lipstick was, tragically, far too pink to come close to anything like matching. Now she would have to either buy a new nailpolish or find a way to lighten the lipstick. That was the problem when you left major cosmetic decisions to people who worked on commission. You never knew—
Cordelia collapsed to the floor, hands lacing into her long hair. Screaming pain and white-hot agony…then…
…pictures…images…
"…demon…a demon…thick hair…Miss Piggy face…and…fear. Children--not many, maybe four?…."
"…and painting...painting something big..."
…and then something familiar….black shirt…smooth head…dark skin…
…Gunn.
Cordelia pulled her head to her knees and wept.
TBC...
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Lost Boys