Title: Even You
Author: Brenda Antrim
Email: bren@bantrim.net
Rating: R
Spoilers: For War Zone and That Old Gang of Mine.
Disclaimer: 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. Miami. Stupid sonovabitch. A thought flashed through his head, wonder what Lorne saw there? then disappeared. Didn't matter now. The little blue guy who'd been peeing his pants all night turned into a two story high bug and bit the man's head off.

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