Somewhere Over the Rainbow

AUTHOR: JENAY (aka Jill)
SUMMARY: Only three made it through the portal back to the Earthly plane.
POSTED: 29 Sep 2004
CATEGORY: None included
CONTENT/PAIRING: C/W Friendship, C/A eventually
WARNINGS: None Listed

Somewhere back over the rainbow lies a land where humans are treated as slaves and the hell-beasts run the government.

Somewhere back over the rainbow I was once their princess and stupidly handed over the crown to a mighty warrior named the Groosalugg.

Somewhere back over the rainbow two men and a karaoke loving demon are being held captive all because of me.

They’re trapped.

Wesley took me and the new girl Fred over to England to his parents’ estate. He keeps asking me when I want to go back to Los Angeles. I keep telling him never. I don’t want to go back to LA. Not now and maybe not ever.

Sure, it was the city where I reunited with Angel, and met the guy who gave me a precious gift: Doyle. There were some parts of LA that I loved and others I hated.

Giles is visiting right now. Trying to help Wesley and his father, Roger figure out how to open the portal back up. Fred, with her brainy and crazy ideas, is trying to help as well.

Something about hot spots and formulas and a lot of mumbo jumbo that only Wesley could understand. So, they’re trying to find a way back over the rainbow.

Last night I sat out on the greens of the estate and just stared up at the sky.

I kept wondering if Angel could see the same sky or not. And I kept thinking about that silly childhood rhyme, starlight star bright. My mother’s housekeeper would tell me stories about the rhyme and wishes actually coming true.

Last night I wished for an Angel.

Fred wished for a Lorne.

Wesley wished for a Gunn.

And together, we all wished for a rainbow.
Week Two

He was always there to catch me when I fell. This time Giles and Wesley barely caught my head before I came crashing into the ground.

I miss him catching me.

The visions are getting worse. My brain feels like its going to explode. Thousands of bolts of electricity ricocheting off of each rounded corner of my cerebrum. Yeah, it hurts and they’re killing me. Thank you Doyle.

Yes, thank you Doyle.

I dreamt of him last night. Angel too. We were solving a case, of all things. Like the good all days, if you can remember those. I woke up pouring in sweat because like all my dreams nowadays, it was either Angel or Doyle who ended up dead. Last night they both ended up dead. And I was left alone.

Like I feel now. Alone. It’s lonely and dark.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Wesley, I know he will always be there for me. He’s made it that point every night when we go on our walks around the estate. Last night was the north garden. He kept reassuring me that he and his “team” were working on the “cure”, so to speak. But without Angel, it feels like there’s no tomorrow with me; for me.

Without Angel there is no need for my clairvoyant self. No need for a seer for a champion. No need for me to go on with fighting the good fight.

The good fight…heck, I was going to leave that up to Buffy, but like Giles told us, she’s gone too. Now, back in Sunnydale, all we have is super-witch Willow to protect us. In LA, there is Faith, but being behind bars kind of puts all of us in a rut.

Last night in the gardens, Wesley wished for a rainbow for me.

And again, I wished for an Angel.


“Gunn, shut up already!” Lorne yelled at the street fighter who was determined to rip the steel bars that were unbreakable even by Angel out of the miniature window.

Lorne kept himself in the right dark corner, rubbing his temples and calculating how much longer it would take Wesley to open up another portal.

Angel was hovered in another dark corner, watching Gunn return to his daily task and thinking the same thing as Lorne.

“Yo, Green, shut yo’ mouth. You wanna get ou’ of here, right?”

“We all do Gunn.” Angel said, darting his eyes a little to get any point across to the anxious and angry Gunn.

“Then we need to find a way out. And, unlike you two sorry-asses, I’m gonna do something about it.”

“Gunn! Give it up! The only way we’re gonna get out of here, is for a portal to open up right here, for Mr. Mighty Warrior with a Vengence against Angel to all of the sudden have a change of heart, which I might add is very slim, and the only other way we’re getting out of here is if we die. And I’m betting on the last one!” Lorne yelled at him, standing straight up and then sitting right back down in a huff.

Angel kept observing. He wanted to get back to Earth as much as them, maybe even more. He wanted to get back to Cordelia. The words kept running over and over in his mind, whether his eyes were closed or not.

“Cordy, go. I’ll be right behind you!”
“Don’t argue. I promise, I’ll be right behind you. Just go.”

The moon was rising in the hell dimension and for once he was thankful. That way he could see the stars. The stars that Cordelia had once told him that she still wished on. Every night, whether rain or shine.

Angel got up off the hay-stacked floor as Gunn retreated from the tiny window so his friend could look out. Angel had developed a routine and if Gunn or Lorne got in his way, the Vantral would come out to play.

Looking up into the dimly starlit sky, Angel recited the words in his mind praying his wish would be heard. Starlight, starbright…

Part Two

The morning was muggy. Still is. I’ve made a good decision that Wesley should make the coffee from now on. His mother made a full breakfast complete with toast, bacon and eggs.

The eggs. They were good, don’t get me wrong. But they weren’t Angel’s.

Fred and I share a room and last night she told me her stories. Her crazy, whacked out, things that would only happen on the Hellmouth type stories. And if I was from any other part of the world, I would think they were just stories. But I’m from Sunnydale. And I believe them.

She started rambling on about one of her theories this morning about more hot spots and numbers being represented by letters and all that other mumbo jumbo that Wesley still needed to explain to me.

But he assures me that she’s helping though. And I’m glad.

I don’t know for what yet — her craziness or her braininess — or maybe it’s just her friendship right now, but I’m glad she’s here. Wesley and her give me something to hope for.

They give me dreams of an Angel where he doesn’t die. Or he doesn’t tell me to go on without him. There are no stars out at the moment, but I still wish.

All because of another superstition that Giles told us about last night. His necklace theory of course. Legend has it that if your clasp touches the charm, you have to make a wish or bad luck will ensue.

Somehow, I don’t think that I could have anymore bad luck come my way, but there’s always that possibility.

“Cordelia!” Wesley calls out my name from three floors down. It sounds urgent, but I like to hear him yell just once more just so I know he still wants me with him.

“Cordelia!” Yep, he still wants me with him. Good. Hopefully, praying so, they found a hot spot.



The wooden door opened from the outside, alerting the three ‘prisoners’ to the arrival of another Constable or Priest, most had been reinstated by the Groosalugg since the Princess’ leap of faith into the portal. He had not honored her wishes. He hadn’t even started to take a look at her proclamations.

Angel barely moved. He was tired and didn’t want to hear any more of the Groosalugg’s demands of them. He didn’t want to go out into the sunlight and look upon the place where Cordelia was taken away from him. Again.

“Get up, monster.” The Constable demanded, throwing down a pitchfork, so stupidly in front of Angel’s feet.

“Make me.” Angel muttered under his breath as he twisted and turned to see the green color of the Constable’s face surrounded by a black hood with gold beads sparkling in the sunlight.

“The Groosalugg will see you now.”

Part Three

It’s raining outside. Something that I’m not entirely used to yet.

Rain. Water falling from the sky so the earth can live.

Wesley is still in his research mode this morning and here I am staring out a glass wall with pellets of water ricocheting off of it and writing my inner most thoughts to a piece of paper that has been crumbled up in my pocket since five thirty this morning.

He says that they’re getting somewhere. He just doesn’t know where yet.

Hopefully he’ll know soon, because I’m getting ancy and I just need…really need Angel.


Okay, hot spots. That’s the subject of the day.

Well, at least for me it is. I was always pretty good in school. I mean, I wasn’t the straight A valedictorian that Jonathan was or the salutation like Willow but I was smart.

Scratch that. Am smart. I made A’s and B’s, some C’s so technically I was considered the “average” student. But let’s face it, there is nothing average about me.

Getting back to the subject: hot spots. Fred and Wesley have been explaining this to me all day and here it is now, nine at night and I’m just now coming to understand it. Plus, with Fred asleep over on the other bed, it kind of makes it easier to think. I’ve learned things about Fred too. First rule: She likes to talk.

Okay, so mystic energy plus Pylean mumbo jumbo equals portal opening up so I can just jump in it and get my guy…er…guys out.

And that’s all I care about.

Now if only Wesley could locate one. England seems to be cold all over.



Blood. He needed blood. Warm, O-positive, cinnamon hinted pig’s blood. In the mug that Cordelia had bought him just because he needed a new one after he threw his against the wall and smashed it into a million pieces that she cleaned up.

Gunn stared out the miniature window again. He had been standing up for two straight days, just staring out into the castle grounds with the demons going about still selling “cows” to each other and treating them as slaves.

Proclamations and Reconstruction was all a big lie.

Angel turned his attention back towards the door. He could hear the guards talking of a celebration. And a sacrifice.

Just what they needed.

Part Four

Wesley is immersed in his books again. They’re spread out all over the floor and he’s jumping from book to book cross referencing one term with another and it’s making me all very dizzy. Mrs. Pryce is watching as intently as me and very interested in how limber Wes has become.

Fred is sitting in front of the fireplace, with her legs scrunched up to the rest of her body and watching the flames blaze in front of her. The fire is tall, shimmering and reflecting the heat against us all. As Fred stares, I can see Angel calling out for me.

I always try to shake it off, but somedays I can’t. It just won’t let me go.

I keep thinking that I shouldn’t have gone. Of all the times to actually listen to him and I choose that one time where he was at the most risk and me the most at risk of losing him.

I keep rerunning his words in my head:

“Don’t worry about me; just get that girl out of here.” He said, looking deep into my eyes.
“Angel, please…”
“Cordelia, please. Just keep her safe.”
“I can’t leave you.”
“Cordy, get somewhere safe because there is no way in this hell that I am losing you again.”

And everytime I see those eyes piercing my own, I start to think of all the other scenarios that could’ve happened. And that whole thing about losing me again, I don’t think he ever lost me. All that time that Gunn, Wes and I were on our own, I never stopped thinking about him. How he was, what he was doing and who he was obsessing over at the moment…you know, all those things that best friends wonder about each other.

Getting up out of Mr. Wyndam-Pryce’s smoking chair, I walk myself over to the gigantic castle like windows and look up at the blackened sky.

Every night the sky is different here, stars shift and sparkle different, but each night I find the same star that I’ve been wishing on for…let’s see, it’s been at least two months now…and I still wish for the same thing.

An Angel.



Funny thing about sleeping on hay: you kind of get used to it after a while. Hay in his hair, over his clothes and cushioning his gluts was about the best thing about this place.

Sacrifice. Ritual. Celebration. Feast.

Angel’s thoughts kept going back to the guards’ conversation. Sacrifice. Ritual. Celebration. Feast.

“How long did it take y’all to find a hot spot last time?” Gunn voiced, standing by the window and directing his question to Lorne.

“Don’t look at me. I wasn’t compliant with this whole mess in the first place.” Lorne said in his defense.

“But you are the one who found the hot spot.” Gunn insisted.

“No, Aggie did. Why and how did I turn into the bad guy?!” Lorne stood up from his shaded corner.




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