Course of Action - PG - AtS/Pendragon books crossover
This may be a bit rough around the edges... And probably won't make sense to anyone but me :P Seeing as I'm the only one I know who's read the Bobby Pendragon books by D. J. MacHale. But I wrote a ficlet that crosses AtS over with Pendragon. I've mentioned wanting to do this. Wes is Press Tilton in my world :P The other peculiarities of the Pendragon universe will be explained as the story continues (assuming it does). Check it out if you're interested.
Course of Action
an AtS/Pendragon crossover
rated: PG so far
disclaimer: AtS belongs to Joss Whedon, et. al. The Pendragon world belongs to D. J. MacHale
set: in an AU of book 5; Season 3, AU beginning with "Loyalty", for Ats.
---
He’d known it would happen, eventually.
The battle for Halla had taken a wicked turn. One after another, the territories were teetering towards the brink of chaos. Three Travelers - three - had been killed, in quick succession.
Wesley could sense the beginning of the end approaching. Soon the battles would all be won, or lost. Soon a Traveller would be needed to face St. Dane once and for all. And as many times as Wesley had faced the beast himself, before… He’d always known he would not be the one to defeat him.
Wesley would be the one to find the Traveller who would. Find him and train him - or her - to be Wesley’s successor as Traveler of the joint territories.
It was the identity of that one that Wesley had not known. Hadn’t even imagined. He’d never considered the possibility that the child would come from so close to home. It had seemed so unlikely.
But then the boy had been born. And Wesley had only taken one look at him before he’d realized-
“I come in supplication.” Wesley knelt before the Loa, seeking - as he had since the beginning - for some miraculous proof that he’d somehow gotten it wrong. For some reprieve from the course of action he knew he would have to take. If Connor was the one. “Begging for answers to questions only your power can reveal.”
“You have answers, human,” the Loa replied. “You search now only for the question.”
“The prophecy concerning Angel and his son…” Wesley began. “It isn’t authentic.”
The Loa was silent. The knot of dread at the pit of Wesley’s stomach did not lessen.
“But it doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “Whether it’s authentic or not. Whether it will happen- Or not. It doesn’t matter. Does it?”
“You wish for me to speak on the significance of issues concerning the mortals of this dimension?” The Loa was growling in impatience and slighted dignity.
Wesley stared at it. “Do you think that I’m a mortal of this dimension?” he asked simply.
The Loa fell - again - silent.
“I wish for you to speak on the possibility… Of saving Halla. Without sacrificing Connor.”
It was the first time Wesley had ever spoken of his duty as a Traveler to anyone - anything - who was not a Traveler, an acolyte, or a Keeper themselves.
“If the boy remains with his father…”
“Yes?”
“Halla will fall.”
The words could not have been more piercing.
Wesley swallowed, eyes briefly closing. He forced them open again.
“And Connor?”
“Will die at his father’s hands.”
Wesley started. “He-”
“The first portent will shake the earth. The second will burn the air. The last will turn the sky to blood.”
“Portents,” Wesley repeated, dully.
“Earthquake, fire, blood. Be heedful of the signs, human, and trouble the Loa no more.”
And then the Loa was gone. The unremarkable man-made form of its manifestation left, lifeless, in its place.
Wesley knelt, overcome by the implications of what the Loa had revealed.
Within days he had seen his signs. He removed his ring from the pocket it stayed hidden within while Wesley was in his “home” dimension. He drove his SUV down to eighth street and waited in the subway station until he was alone, save for a single station attendant and a homeless man begging for loose change.
A twenty took care of the homeless man.
Then Wesley approached the station attendant.
“Good evening,” he said smoothly, to the middle-aged woman reading a dog-eared paperback in her little booth.
“Good-”
The woman looked up to see Wesley looking back. Se stopped speaking the moment Wesley’s eyes met her own.
Wesley smiled, grimly. “Do you see that over there?”
The woman looked in the direction Wesley was pointing. Of course she saw nothing. “What-”
“Don’t take your eyes off of it.”
The woman’s eyes grew glassy and her voice sounded thin. “What…” She looked again.
Wesley walked away, in the opposite direction. Confident he would not be seen jumping down onto the subway rails. He followed them until the ring on his right hand began to hum, its clear stone glowing faintly.
Then he stopped. And looked up at a door set into the wall of the subway tunnel, like a service entrance. Except that it blended in with the shadows and cement of the tunnel too well to have been seen had it not been glowing, around its edges, the same luminescent glow as Wesley’s ring.
Wesley entered the door.
When he came out the other side he took the motorcycle waiting for him to the LAX, and caught a flight to New York.
His destination was a quaint-looking home in a suburban neighborhood in Pennsylvania. With a “For Sale” sign in the yard, having newly been marked “Sold”.
Wesley showed up at the front door - his motorcycle waiting in the drive, his face unshaven and his clothes rumpled - and knocked.
A kind-looking young woman answered. Her smile was at once friendly…and wary. Wesley imagined he was quite a sight to see.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Mrs. Pendragon. We spoke over the phone. Tilton. Press Tilton.”
“Mr. Tilton.” Recognition entered Mrs. Pendragon’s expression. And skepticism. She was undoubtedly thinking, ‘You don’t look like a social worker.‘
“You’re here from the adoption agency?” she asked.
Wesley smiled.
[ end. ]
ETA: :P I made some Wes-as-Press icons. So here they are:
Course of Action
an AtS/Pendragon crossover
rated: PG so far
disclaimer: AtS belongs to Joss Whedon, et. al. The Pendragon world belongs to D. J. MacHale
set: in an AU of book 5; Season 3, AU beginning with "Loyalty", for Ats.
---
He’d known it would happen, eventually.
The battle for Halla had taken a wicked turn. One after another, the territories were teetering towards the brink of chaos. Three Travelers - three - had been killed, in quick succession.
Wesley could sense the beginning of the end approaching. Soon the battles would all be won, or lost. Soon a Traveller would be needed to face St. Dane once and for all. And as many times as Wesley had faced the beast himself, before… He’d always known he would not be the one to defeat him.
Wesley would be the one to find the Traveller who would. Find him and train him - or her - to be Wesley’s successor as Traveler of the joint territories.
It was the identity of that one that Wesley had not known. Hadn’t even imagined. He’d never considered the possibility that the child would come from so close to home. It had seemed so unlikely.
But then the boy had been born. And Wesley had only taken one look at him before he’d realized-
“I come in supplication.” Wesley knelt before the Loa, seeking - as he had since the beginning - for some miraculous proof that he’d somehow gotten it wrong. For some reprieve from the course of action he knew he would have to take. If Connor was the one. “Begging for answers to questions only your power can reveal.”
“You have answers, human,” the Loa replied. “You search now only for the question.”
“The prophecy concerning Angel and his son…” Wesley began. “It isn’t authentic.”
The Loa was silent. The knot of dread at the pit of Wesley’s stomach did not lessen.
“But it doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “Whether it’s authentic or not. Whether it will happen- Or not. It doesn’t matter. Does it?”
“You wish for me to speak on the significance of issues concerning the mortals of this dimension?” The Loa was growling in impatience and slighted dignity.
Wesley stared at it. “Do you think that I’m a mortal of this dimension?” he asked simply.
The Loa fell - again - silent.
“I wish for you to speak on the possibility… Of saving Halla. Without sacrificing Connor.”
It was the first time Wesley had ever spoken of his duty as a Traveler to anyone - anything - who was not a Traveler, an acolyte, or a Keeper themselves.
“If the boy remains with his father…”
“Yes?”
“Halla will fall.”
The words could not have been more piercing.
Wesley swallowed, eyes briefly closing. He forced them open again.
“And Connor?”
“Will die at his father’s hands.”
Wesley started. “He-”
“The first portent will shake the earth. The second will burn the air. The last will turn the sky to blood.”
“Portents,” Wesley repeated, dully.
“Earthquake, fire, blood. Be heedful of the signs, human, and trouble the Loa no more.”
And then the Loa was gone. The unremarkable man-made form of its manifestation left, lifeless, in its place.
Wesley knelt, overcome by the implications of what the Loa had revealed.
Within days he had seen his signs. He removed his ring from the pocket it stayed hidden within while Wesley was in his “home” dimension. He drove his SUV down to eighth street and waited in the subway station until he was alone, save for a single station attendant and a homeless man begging for loose change.
A twenty took care of the homeless man.
Then Wesley approached the station attendant.
“Good evening,” he said smoothly, to the middle-aged woman reading a dog-eared paperback in her little booth.
“Good-”
The woman looked up to see Wesley looking back. Se stopped speaking the moment Wesley’s eyes met her own.
Wesley smiled, grimly. “Do you see that over there?”
The woman looked in the direction Wesley was pointing. Of course she saw nothing. “What-”
“Don’t take your eyes off of it.”
The woman’s eyes grew glassy and her voice sounded thin. “What…” She looked again.
Wesley walked away, in the opposite direction. Confident he would not be seen jumping down onto the subway rails. He followed them until the ring on his right hand began to hum, its clear stone glowing faintly.
Then he stopped. And looked up at a door set into the wall of the subway tunnel, like a service entrance. Except that it blended in with the shadows and cement of the tunnel too well to have been seen had it not been glowing, around its edges, the same luminescent glow as Wesley’s ring.
Wesley entered the door.
When he came out the other side he took the motorcycle waiting for him to the LAX, and caught a flight to New York.
His destination was a quaint-looking home in a suburban neighborhood in Pennsylvania. With a “For Sale” sign in the yard, having newly been marked “Sold”.
Wesley showed up at the front door - his motorcycle waiting in the drive, his face unshaven and his clothes rumpled - and knocked.
A kind-looking young woman answered. Her smile was at once friendly…and wary. Wesley imagined he was quite a sight to see.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Mrs. Pendragon. We spoke over the phone. Tilton. Press Tilton.”
“Mr. Tilton.” Recognition entered Mrs. Pendragon’s expression. And skepticism. She was undoubtedly thinking, ‘You don’t look like a social worker.‘
“You’re here from the adoption agency?” she asked.
Wesley smiled.
[ end. ]
ETA: :P I made some Wes-as-Press icons. So here they are: