Archive of Our Own

come morning light

He doesn’t expect to wake up.

The man who injected him with the syringe didn’t seem like the type to leave survivors. But even so, his last thoughts were of the voicemail. How it could exonerate Annalise. All of them. They could get away. 

If so, he would die okay. Not happy, not answered. But okay. What he left behind would be better. His friends would be better off without him, anyway. All he caused them was trouble. The least he could do was give them an out. 

But then— 

“ Aa— Connor! ” he gasps as his eyes fly open. Connor’s over him, pressing on his chest with so much pressure he thinks he might die again. He coughs. There’s a weird smell in here. “ Connor— stop ,” he chokes out. 

“ Wes !” Connor all but yells and— actually hugs him, despite him being flat on the ground. His vision is blurry, but it’s clearing up. There’s a sharp pain in his chest but he barely registers it. “Wes— you’re— you’re okay, you’re alive— you— I didn’t— you’re—” 

“Connor,” he says again and he hears the door open. “We— we have to get out of here. There’s someone—” 

“I know, the gas,” says Connor, looking around wildly. “Can you get up?”

“I don’t know, but just— get out of here!” Wes tries to push him off to no avail. His senses are clearing fast— they don’t have a lot of time. There’s someone else here. One of them should get out here alive. 

“God no. After I just saved your life, I’m not leaving you here to die,” says Connor more firmly than he’s ever heard him say anything in his life. “Hold on.” He gets to his feet, shuffling around him before he grabs his arms. Now, Wes starts to breathe a little quicker. The open flame is flickering dangerously, the air smells thickly of gas so much so that he thinks it might kill him again. Something in his chest is killing him. Everything is far too much, but Connor starts to drag him out, anyway. 

“Wes?” He hears from upstairs. Laurel. Laurel . 

“Connor— Connor, it’s Laurel,” he says, but his voice is a rasp and he’s not sure he hears him. They’re almost out the door. “Connor, Connor, Laurel is here !” 

Either Connor ignores him, or can’t hear him. He still can’t move. This is bad. Even if they get out, there’s no guarantee they’ll survive the blast. But Connor’s moving him with such a speed, that he thinks there might just be a chance. But Laurel’s inside— Laurel’s inside a house that’s about to blow up. 

“ Connor !” 

The cold air hits him like a bullet and he starts coughing. Connor’s still dragging him at what feels like a very fast speed, as the house starts to disappear behind him. Time is moving slowly— maybe it’s not moving at all. There’s no way they should have been able to get out of here so fast. Or maybe he’s just skin and bones to Connor and that’s why they’re already out. Maybe Laurel has time to get out, maybe he can go back for her— 

BOOM . 

Suddenly, Connor’s over him again. Covering him like he deserves his protection. He holds his breath and Connor holds him tight like it’ll stop a fire. He can feel the heat on his feet, on his hands. But he just might live. But someone else might not. Time is speeding up again. The cold air that took him out of reality is combatted by the explosion that threw him back in. Everything hurts, everything is heavy. He can’t breathe. 

“ Laurel! ” he screams, and then it all goes black. 

… 

“Wes? Wes!” Connor shakes him again. He stirs just about before going quiet again. Connor checks for a pulse again. This time, he feels it. It’s probably not as fast as it’s supposed to be, but he’s in law school and not med school for a reason. It’s there, he’s alive. They’re both alive. 

Someone did this to him. Someone probably still here. He should run, run, far away. Wes is alive, he’s okay. He’ll be okay. He can leave him here. He saved him. 

Connor laughs, a little giddy despite the house that’s felt more like a home than anywhere else in the past year has is burning down behind him. Wes lies in front of him, looking far too calm for a situation like this. But then again, it seems like he almost died, so can he really judge right now? 

He decides yes, he really can. Just like Waitlist to— 

He can’t even finish that thought. Because Wes is alive. He’s alive, he’s so wonderfully alive, Connor wants to scream it for the world. Wes is alive . 

A lot of things have happened to him in the past year. But nothing compared to what he found in the basement ten minutes ago. God, ten minutes? Has it only been ten minutes?

Get it together, Walsh , he thinks after a minute. Someone did this. Someone tried to kill them— tried to kill Wes . And probably Annalise. And all of them. He needs to get out of here, he has to get out of here. He stands up, looking down at Wes. He’s breathing, and Connor really — like, what would happen if he left? Realistically. He would probably survive. And he could get out of here. Because God knows with what Keating has going on, this is all going to fall on their shoulders just like the house is crumbling before his eyes right now. 

Laurel , Wes’ voice snakes through his head because of course it does. Of course now is the time he decides to develop a conscience. 

“Shut up,” he says to Wes. “What was I supposed to do? She wouldn’t hear me, she has a better chance of surviving up there. We would’ve died. You would’ve died if I hadn’t saved your sorry—” He’s cut off by something cracking inside. They’re still too close. 

No one can see you , says a voice in his head that sounds strangely like Michaela’s. God, when did he start letting these people get into his head. His eyes dart around. He can see the front of the house. Sirens sounding, but none here yet. But there’s a single car in the front. One that’s not ever there. 

He looks back down at Wes. 

Damn it . 

Where the hell is he supposed to take an unconscious classmate with him without raising suspicion? Neither of them can stay here, but where is he supposed to go ?

He doesn’t have much time. He dials the only number that he can think of. 

“Connor? What is it?” Annalise picks up the phone, slurring her words. 

“It’s Wes.” 

There’s a silence, a quick shuffle from over the phone. Murmured voices as news is checked, texts are read. The thirty seconds feel like an eternity. “Connor, it’s Bonnie.” 

“What do I do?” he asks, and the lump in his throat returns. “Tell Annalise to tell me what to do.” 

“What happened?” 

“There’s a fire, Wes— I don’t know what’s wrong with him— But he’s— I need somewhere to—the house is burning down, we’re outside.” He pauses, deciding it’s better to confess now. “Laurel’s still in there. The police are on their way, I hear sirens.”

Another pause, murmurs from the other side of the phone. “Stay put. Someone will be there in two minutes,” says Bonnie in that annoyingly clipped, confident tone. 

“Okay, should I—” 

“ Is he alive!? ” Annalise’s voice. It’s shaking. “Connor.”

He sighs. “He’s alive, Annalise. He’s breathing, he’s just not—” 

“Stay with him.” It’s like she can read his mind. “Don’t leave him, Connor. Stay there.”

“Someone will be there in two minutes.” Bonnie again. “Just stay there.” The phone clicks, and they’re gone. 

He has an instinct to throw the phone onto the ground, but he knows that won’t do him any good. Instead, he pulls Wes a little farther away from the burning house. He doesn’t know how either of them are still alive— he just hopes Laurel is. 

There’s too much blood on his hands already. 

The car is gone, it’s gone. They don’t have to hide, but Connor still feels watched. He looks down at his watch. It’s only been 46 seconds since Bonnie hung up. 

“This is so typical of them, you know,” he says to Wes who still looks way too peaceful for whatever is going on. “Annalise acting like— like we’re her sons or something. You, especially. Are you her son? I wouldn’t even be surprised.” Wes— obviously— does not respond. 

Connor checks if he’s breathing again, his pulse. He has burns on his feet and hands from the explosion, and he’s sure he has some, too. He felt the heat— the force of it— all over him when he jumped over Wes. But he can’t feel anything right now. He just can’t. 

Where is Bonnie’s guy ?

Where were the rest of them? Surely Annalise told them all to come to the house. Surely they all got the same message from her. But it was only Wes— of course— and he expected Michaela. But no one. Just Wes. Then him. Then Laurel. 

He shivers even in the heat of the fire. This is bigger than before, he can feel it. There’s something different about this time. It’s worse than Rebecca or Sam or Sinclair or even Annalise. There’s someone else involved now. There’s someone else in the game. 

He should’ve gone to med school. Then at least he could’ve done something about Wes lying in front of him. CPR again? No, he’s breathing this time. That doesn’t make sense. 

“Connor?” he hears a too familiar voice. Oh no, God, anyone but him . “Connor!” 

“Over here,” he says, accepting his death by his hand— inevitably. 

Frank emerges from the shadows. He doesn’t have a beard or hair anymore and it throws him off for a second. But when he speaks again, he knows for sure it’s him. He takes one look at the two of them before steeling his visage. “Help me with him.” 

…

She’s arrested, because these people would do anything to arrest her after what she’s been doing to them this past year. Not even— ever since she got to Middleton. She’s quiet in the cop car. Way too calm for this situation. They say there’s a body covered with a sheet, but Annalise knows that’s someone just trying to get her to go down for it. There’s no body. No one was in there.

No one knows anything. She knows, because she’s Annalise Keating. And it’s her house that caught fire. And if they want to arrest her for that and for a first degree murder that hasn’t even occurred, let them. She’ll do what she always does— win. 

Wes . He almost died. Because of her. Because she wasn’t there. She listened to the voicemail before she got arrested. There was someone in there, someone who wanted him dead. She could’ve helped him. She could’ve saved him. 

Thank God Connor did instead. 

She had Oliver wipe her phone. If anyone ever heard that voicemail…she can’t let Wes go down for everything. She just can’t. Not when he just barely got out of her house alive. She has to see him— she needs to see him. She needs to tell him something, something that she’s never had the guts to tell him to because she’s scared. Why? Who knows?

“What are you charging me with?” she asks, sitting at the interrogation table, like she has hundreds of times before. 

“Arson and first degree murder,” says the prosecutor, and she resists the urge to roll her eyes. 

“With what evidence?” 

“We can’t tell you yet,” he says coolly. “Anonymous source.” 

She calls Bonnie from jail, filling her in. She’ll be released tomorrow. They can’t charge her for murder without a body, and they can’t charge her for arson when she has an alibi. 

God , she shouldn’t have sent that voicemail, though. Technology truly ruins things. 

She sits in jail for one night, not sleeping. Bonnie comes, explains some things. But it’s easy. There’s no murder for her to be charged with, and anything else they might have will just fade away. 

They’ll slander her in the media, ruin her reputation. Try to pin everything else on her. But it doesn’t matter. None of that matters. 

At least Wes is alive. 

…

“ The body of law student Wesley Gibbins has been found at the scene of the Keating house fire. Another student has been found and is in critical condition. Authorities are waiting to release the name.” 

“Unidentified body found at the scene of the Keating fire, which Annalise Keating is currently under investigation for.” 

“Fire on campus is said to have dire consequences .” 

“ Bonnie! ” Michaela all but screams when they see the news. They’re all waiting in the hospital room. Oliver, Asher, Bonnie, and her. Laurel is in surgery. Wes and Connor are nowhere to be found. Annalise has been arrested. Her mother is sitting in her house, probably burning the plane ticket she put in her hands, and now Wes is dead . “How could you not tell us?”

Bonnie looks around conspicuously. Asher’s hiding his face in his hands, Oliver’s on the phone with Connor— or trying to be. But Michaela only has eyes for Bonnie. “How could you not tell us? How could you just let us wait like this?”

“Michaela, you don’t understand—” 

“No, you don’t understand,” closer to screaming this time, but people are looking. “You let us—” 

“Give me some time and I will explain everything,” says Bonnie, and her phone rings. She picks it up, but walks over to the other side of the waiting room to answer it. Michaela has half a mind to string her neck right now. 

“It can’t be true, right?” says Asher quietly. “One source says it was him, another says it was unidentified. It’s not true.” 

“Of course it’s true,” Oliver whispers. “Wes was the only one there— Connor, pick up your damn phone .” 

Michaela paces back and forth across the hospital waiting room. no one’s even giving her a second glance anymore. First Laurel, now Wes. What’s next? They’re all going to go to jail— 

Actually, that’s probably next. Annalise is already there. She can feel the very fragile threads that have been tying everything together since last year snap one by one. But even after all of this, all the fear, all the sneaking around. She never actually believed that one of them would die . Annalise wouldn’t let that happen. Especially to Wes. Even after everything he’s done, she would never let Wes d— 

She’s about to go rip Bonnie a new one when her phone rings. 

“It’s me.” 

“ Connor ?” 

“Shh, don’t let anyone hear you.” 

“Sorry,” she says, and moves to the other side of the room. Oliver’s too busy on his phone to even notice. “What’s going on? Where are you? Did you hear about—” 

“I’m safe,” says Connor. “We’re all safe. Don’t worry. I wasn’t supposed to call anyone, but I knew you would be freaking out.” 

She lets out a quiet, mirthless, laugh. “Oliver’s called you, like, seventy times.” 

“Unfortunately, Oliver can’t keep his mouth shut.” She can’t help but agree. “But you can. Bonnie will explain everything as soon as she gets Annalise out.” He sighs, and she can almost see him rubbing his hand over his face. “I hate to say this, but just go along with her plans— willingly, okay? Don’t question them.” 

“Is— is he okay?” She doesn’t bother to clarify who she’s asking about. “Because Laurel is going to be out of surgery soon and I have to have something good to tell her.” 

He sighs again. “I—” He cuts himself off, a muffled voice coming from behind him. “I have to go, Michaela. But don’t freak out. Everything’s fine.” He hangs up before she gets the chance to say anything. 

Everything’s fine? We’re all safe? What does that mean , God, Connor. Can’t even give a straight answer. But despite that, Michaela feels some of the pressure from her chest loosening. 

“Wesley Gibbins— ” 

She blocks it out, walking back towards them. Meggy’s talking to Asher, Oliver still trying the phone. 

“Connor, please, just pick up. Wes is— we don’t know what Wes is. I have to know you’re okay. Call me back.” He hangs up again after leaving what Michaela thinks is the thousandth voicemail in ten minutes. “Was that him?”

“No,” she lies easily. “Any news?” 

“Meggy’s talking to Asher, but Bonnie’s disappeared. I think she went back to…” 

His voice phases out of her head as she adjusts some things. She knows more than Oliver right now, more than Asher, but probably not more than Bonnie. And Bonnie’s gone now, so that means she is in charge. She glances back down at her phone, hopeful for a text from Connor, but nothing. 

She trusted him when they killed Sam. When Rebecca disappeared. When they were all in lockdown in Annalise’s house. The rest of them have filtered out because no one cares about her like Connor does. Maybe no one else ever has. He called her because he knew that she would handle it the best out of all of them. Make conclusions that make sense from a few words. He’s safe, but he’s restricted. Someone is with him. Maybe Wes, maybe Frank. She lets out a breath she hasn’t realized she’s holding, and steels herself. 

She has to trust him. She has to trust Annalise— because unfortunately— it seems that that’s the only thing that ever gets them out of anything.

“...Michaela, Michaela, are you listening?” Oliver waves his hand in front of her face like she’s gone into some sort of trance. 

She shoos it away. “Yes, what?”

“Bonnie called me. Said she couldn’t get through to you.” He pauses, showing her a text from a blocked number. “I think we have to go.”

…

Fire. Flames. Smoke, all over him. He can’t move. He’s paralyzed. There’s no one to help. The flames burn his feet, his hands. There’s something making him feel out of his head that’s not the fire. He can’t think, he can’t even feel anything except pain. Except fear. This is it. This is how he dies. He tried his best, he tried to fight him off. He tried to fight— where did he come from? It’s a fire— there’s someone stabbing something into his neck. He pulls it out, but it’s already half empty and he knows what that means. He can’t breathe. He can’t move. He can’t think. All he wants to do is scream, but he doesn’t even know if he can do that — 

“Wes, Wes, wake up!” Connor. Again. He’s shaking him, less roughly than last time. He never thought that he would twice in his life be so relieved to see Connor. “You’re dreaming.” 

“I was?” he asks, but his voice comes out hoarse. “The fire, the guy—” 

“You were screaming,” says Connor, sitting up on the other side of a couch. Oh, that’s where he is. “You okay?”

Wes blinks once, and suddenly there’s a lump in his throat. Oh, God, he does not want to cry in front of Connor. Enough has happened tonight already. “I think? Where am I— where are we?” He tries to get up but Connor just shakes his head at him. 

“Don’t. We still don’t really know what happened to you. We were hoping you could fill in some of the gaps.”

“We? Who else is—” 

“He’s awake?” A familiar voice. He doesn’t see anyone right away until he comes right in front of him. He needs someone to explain everything to him now . 

“How did I get here?” Wes demands, although he wishes his voice sounded a little more authoritative. “What’re you doing here— where’s everyone else, where’s Laurel ? And Annalise, I called her but—” He cuts himself off, holding a hand to his head. He’s never had a migraine before, but now it feels like someone is ripping open his skull with a meat cleaver.

“Relax, Wes,” Connor says quietly. Wes has never seen him so… so easy. Subdued. Like the night they killed Sam. Part of it, anyway. “You’re safe.”

Wes shakes his head. “No— not with him here. He— Connor you don’t know—” 

“Calm down, kid,” says Frank. “You don’t know anything. Now, you two are going to stay here until Annalise gets out of jail—” 

“Why is she in jail?” he asks, pushing away whatever weight’s on him. A blanket, probably, but his brain isn’t fully catching up to reality yet. “Why should we trust you?” He sits up and tries his best to ignore how it makes his head swim more. 

Frank glances at Connor who glares at him a little. There’s the Connor he knows. Frank— Frank is the reason this is all happening. He thinks. Yes…yes, he wouldn’t have been involved in the Mahoney case if Frank just kept his gun to himself. Focus , he tells himself. 

Why is Connor being so nice to him, anyway? He didn’t want to help last week, but now he’s conveniently here when everything’s awful? What does— 

“I’m sorry about last week,” says Connor. He’s sitting with him, Frank’s gone. When did Frank leave? Where is he ?

“How did you—” 

“You just said it, Waitlist.” There goes that look on his face again. 

Wes holds his head in his hands, trying to make sense of it all. Connor pulled him out— he knows that. But he’s not like this because of a fire. No, someone…someone he can’t recognize stuck a needle in his neck after sneaking up on him. They fought. He asked why, who he was. But no answers. And he thought that was it. That should’ve been it . But he’s here. 

“Chill,” he tells him. “Frank’s gone. I called Bonnie and Annalise and they must have sent him—” 

“No, no, Annalise would never have sent Frank. Not after what he did.” His head is still in his hands. It’s the only way he feels like he can think a little bit. “He—” 

“Whatever he did, she must be using him now. I pulled you out— right before the house went up in flames. Do you remember?” 

He nods. “Why is Annalise in jail?”

“I don’t know. But Bonnie said she’s getting out in the morning.” 

“Is Laurel okay?”

“She’s alive.”

“The others?”

“Also alive.” 

Okay. That’s good…that’s good. Everyone’s okay. Annalise…Annalise has to be okay, he’ll do it himself if he has to. Everyone’s alive, Laurel’s going to be okay. It doesn’t stop his head from trying to murder him or the pressure in his chest to stop building, but he thinks he might survive this. “Are you okay?” he finds himself asking. 

Connor pauses. “I’m fine, man. I should be asking you that.” 

“You saved me,” Wes says, daring to lift his head. “Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’?” Connor almost sounds offended. “I wasn’t just going to let you die down there, Wes. No matter what’s happened.” 

“It would’ve been easier if you just left me there.” He doesn’t look at him, staring straight ahead at the ugly green wallpaper wherever they are. He hasn’t been here before. He doesn’t even know if they’re still in Pennsylvania. For all he knows, Frank could’ve kidnapped them and taken them somewhere far far away just to kill them. No loose ends. 

“What’re you talking about?” asks Connor, annoyance edging into his tone. “You wanted me to leave you there to die?”

“You should’ve gone for Laurel, not me.” Damn it, there’s still a lump in his throat. Why can’t he just be strong for once?

“I took a chance, Laurel could move. You— you—” Connor breaks off, turning his face away. “I thought you were dead, man. I really— and then I heard a bone crack, I thought I—” He breaks off again.

“Everything bad in your life is because of me, a point you’ve made—” 

“ I don’t care — I didn’t— I didn’t mean it.” His voice shakes, and Wes feels a little less bad about the lump in his throat. “I never meant it, Wes. It’s my fault for sticking around, Annalise’s fault for hiring us all. Rebecca’s fault for making you think she loved you. Bonnie’s fault for being Bonnie, Frank’s fault for killing your dad— I don’t care if it’s your fault. I’m just…” He trails off.

There’s silence between the two of them. Wes knows this, he knew this. But somewhere along the way, he forgot. A million other things in his life that he just took all of Connor’s words at face value. 

They’re all just scared. Every single one of them. Ever since Sam’s murder. Connor was the only one who didn’t have direct contact with the body until after he was dead that night. He was just there. He’s wanted out for a long time now, but no one is letting him. And when he tried, a week later, Wes almost died. 

He would feel bad about guilting him if he could let one other thing into his brain right now, but it’s hard enough keeping one thought in there. “I’m sorry,” is all he says.

Connor lets out a quiet, mirthless, laugh. “Whatever, man. I just— we’re safe here, okay? Bonnie worked something out with Frank, he’s just on his own okay? This is all her plan.” Wes knows he doesn’t mean Bonnie. 

He sighs. “Okay…okay. Are we still in Pennsylvania?”

“We’re right near Middleton.” 

“Right, okay.” He tries to push himself up with his hands, get to his feet. That’s what bodies are supposed to do, right? Walk like normal, think like normal. He needs a phone or something. He needs to—

“Woah, hey.” Suddenly, Connor is standing right up beside him. “Sit down, man. You’re still not, you know, good.” 

“I have to talk to Frank,” he mutters. The room is spinning again. “I have to— I have to—” 

“Just sit down, Wes,” says Connor, and he feels his arm around him. “You’ll have time, you’re gonna be okay. Someone else was in here—” 

“Someone else knows? Where is he?”

“He was just some guy Frank knew. But look, everyone’s okay. So just lie back down for a little while.” 

Connor sounds so convincing, Wes thinks this is why he must’ve gone to law school. He clearly has a penchant for persuasion. Or maybe he just doesn’t need that much persuading right now. He stumbles back a few steps before essentially falling back onto the couch. He looks down at his hands. They’re wrapped in white. 

“I thought it wasn’t the fire—” 

“You ask too many questions, Waitlist.” Connor shakes his head. “Just…give it a few minutes. You still have to fill us in on some stuff, too.” 

Wes nods, finally listening. He doesn’t want to, but he knows that if his head doesn’t clear up, he’s going to perhaps die for real. He curls in on himself on the couch— which is not very comfortable— but he’s slept on worse. Connor throws the blanket back on him before laying on the other side. 

“Wake me if anything happens, Connor,” he says, and he’s sure it’s coming out mumbled, but he needs to make sure. “Promise me.” 

“I will,” he says, his voice a little thick, still. “I’ll wake you if anything happens. Just…just don’t go screaming in your sleep again.” 

“I won’t.” He hopes so, anyway. 

…

She’s released— she has to be. You can’t charge someone for a murder without a body, and you can’t charge someone with arson when they weren’t even home when it happened. The alcohol in her blood might be a problem, but she’ll deal with that later. 

“Laurel’s out of surgery, the rest of them are waiting at the hospital,” Bonnie tells her as they walk out of the police station. Annalise resists the urge to turn around and make them look at her free face one last time. They’ll truly stop at nothing. 

“Still?” asks Annalise, the bright morning sun shining in her face. Probably feeling way too satisfied for someone whose house just burned down. “I thought you sent them the address.” Although, she has a feeling Connor already called Michaela. 

“They were going to, but then the nurses told them it would just be a few minutes. And then it wasn’t, but they’ve been there all night,” says Bonnie. She looks exhausted— and she has the right to be. She’s been running around town all night, from the police station, to the hospital, and to the apartment they’re on their way to right now. “I said we’d pick them up. They’re still worried about Wes. I was hoping…” She trails off as they get to her car, slipping into it. “I was hoping you could just tell them.”

“They have to see, we can’t say anything.” Annalise glances down at her phone. “Not until we’re in the clear. We’re taking them there, anyway.” 

“And Laurel?” Bonnie pulls out of the parking lot. Annalise knows she probably should have offered to drive, but she has to call Nate. Get their stories straight. 

“She can come if they’ll let her out.” 

“She thinks he’s dead.” 

“We have to fix this first,” she says firmly. “I know it sounds awful, but we have to get everything right or else we’ll all go to jail. Wes included. Besides…who knows what Laurel knows, anyway?”

They drive in silence to the hospital after that. She needs one day— one day — to put this all together. But first, she has to see him. She has to see him for herself. Bonnie has Frank wrapped around her finger (and maybe the other way around, but Annalise can’t think about that right now), and everything’s going to fall into place. 

Bonnie pulls up in front of the hospital and sends a couple texts. A few minutes later, the three of them come barrelling out of the double doors. They open to the doors in the backseat, piling in, with Asher in the middle. 

“Are they okay?” Oliver asks immediately, shutting the door. Annalise nods to Bonnie who keeps driving. “Where’re you taking us?”

“How’d you get out of jail? What’s going on?” asks Asher at the same time.

Michaela is oddly silent, confirming Annalise’s suspicions about Connor not being able to keep his mouth shut. She texts Nate, hoping her silence will be an indicator for them to shut up and wait, but it’s not.

“Laurel’s out of surgery,” says Michaela, which quiets the questions. “We told her you were calling us and we would text her good news. So you better give us good news, Annalise.” 

Asher lets out a low whistle, and without even turning around, Annalise can tell that Michaela looks proud of herself. She rolls her eyes. “You’ll all have your answers in an hour. We just have to be careful until everything gets sorted.” 

“Where’re you taking us?” asks Oliver. 

“To a safe place.”

…

A knock on the door. Connor opens his eyes, glancing at the time. It’s morning— later than he usually wakes up because of endless law school classes. Wes is sound asleep on the bed. He’s breathing softly, evenly. He only had to wake him up once . Not for news, but so he would stop twisting in his sleep.  

Frank came into the room not long after Wes fell back asleep last night, motioning for Connor to help move him. They woke him up, leading him to a tiny bedroom with a twin bed. Connor fell asleep on the floor almost right away, but he couldn’t sleep through the night. He gets up again, a hand on his wrist to make sure he’s still alive. Just like he has on and off. All night. Frank assured him that he would be fine, and that he’ll be alright with some sleep, but Connor couldn’t help himself. He sits on the edge of the bed.

(Seeing him lying so still on the floor, Connor’s never been so terrified in his life—) 

There’s a knock at the door. Oh, right. That’s why he woke up. “Frank?” he calls to no response. Sighing, he gets off the bed. Typical of Frank to leave them alone when they don’t even really know where they are. It could be anyone at the door. Someone coming to finish the job. He furrows his eyebrows, glancing back at Wes. He grabs the blanket he was using and throws it over him, shutting the door behind him. 

“Who is it?” he asks before opening it. He looks around for something he can possibly use as a weapon, but the only thing that he can see is a tiny vase holding a single flower. Like that’ll do much. 

“It’s Annalise.” 

Connor deflates a little, letting out another sigh. He never thought he would be so relieved to hear those words. He opens the door to not only be met by Annalise, but Oliver, Michaela, Asher, and Bonnie. 

They all start talking at once. 

“What is this place?” asks Asher, barging his way in. “Looks awful. Look at that wallpaper.”

“Thank God you’re okay,” Michaela says at the same time, flinging herself at him. “Never call me so cryptically again.” 

“You’ve just been hanging here and you couldn’t give me a call ?” Oliver exclaims. 

“Where’s Frank?” Bonnie asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“Where’s Wes?” asks Annalise, and they all fall silent. 

Connor can’t stand the way Michaela’s looking at him right now or how she was sounding on the phone last night. Asher’s staring at him like he wants to know all his secrets, and Oliver’s looking at him like he’s about to tell them Christmas is cancelled. He looks away from all of them. He glances at Annalise who nods. 

“He’s— he’s here,” he says, finally. “I don’t know where Frank went, I just—” 

“ Oh my God, have you been hiding him here this whole time? ” Michaela shoves him away, thereby ending their hug. 

“You couldn’t pick up your phone to at least tell me that he was alive ?”

“Wes!” That’s Asher. “I knew it— I knew he couldn’t be dead. Not with all the sources not getting their stories straight. Another win for me.” 

“You’re saying that you won about guessing about our friend’s life ,” says Michaela with a disapproving stare. Connor missed it even if it was just for a night. 

“Is he okay?” asks Annalise in her usual clipped tone. But he doesn’t forget how scared she sounded last night. How desperate. 

“I think so.” He shrugs. “He was really confused when he woke up last night, but he’s been sleeping since then. Frank got some guy to come in here and give him something, but—” 

“What happened to him?” Michaela cuts him off. “Was it the fire?”

“No, I was there before— hey, where’s Laurel? Is she okay?” 

“She’s fine, she’ll get out tomorrow. They want to keep her for observation,” she replies. “I should text her—” 

“Don’t.” Annalise grabs her phone from her hand, holding it up in front of all of them. “Listen to me, all of you. None of this leaves this room. As far as the world is concerned, Wes is most likely dead. And until we figure out who wanted him dead, we stay quiet.” 

“Wait— why would someone want Wes dead?” asks Asher. “He’s, like, the nicest one out of all of us.” 

“He did kill Sam,” says Michaela. 

“ We killed Sam,” says Connor.

“And shoot Annalise,” Oliver adds, and they all stare at him. 

“How did you know about that?” asks Bonnie. 

Oliver shrugs. 

“Focus, people. Until we can convince the right people that he’s dead and that he’ll be safe, his existence doesn’t leave this safe house, okay?” 

Connor watches Annalise as she speaks. He’s watched her a lot this past year. Not in a creepy way, but because of the way she commands a room even when she can barely command herself. This Annalise sounds completely different than the one he spoke to on the phone last night. She goes on about keeping it quiet, explaining that she has a possible lead and it’s not to do with the Mahoneys, but something different. Frank and Nate are looking into it. But she’s been exonerated, and soon, everything will go back to normal. They just have to hang on. 

“What about Laurel?” Michaela says again, persistent as she is. “Can I at least tell her in person? She’s probably freaking out.” 

“We’ll bring her here tomorrow,” Bonnie says. “It’ll be the easiest for everyone.” 

“Who do you guys think did it?” Connor can’t help but ask. If he can get his hands on who tried to kill Wes— he’d do a lot worse than braining the guy with a trophy. “If not the Mahoneys, who? Who else would want to kill him, Asher’s right. Honestly, the people with the most motive to do it are all here.” 

Everyone falls silent at that— even Annalise. Surely it’s not like they haven’t all thought it. Connor’s been running it through his mind all night. Wes is so…he’s so insignificant, or so he thought. He figured it was the Mahoneys. They find out about an illegitimate— Black — son, and they go trigger crazy. But if Annalise is saying it’s not them, then who? Then why?

“Like I said, Frank and Nate are on it,” says Annalise firmly. “Right now, we have to focus on keeping him here. Safe.” 

“So to do that, we’ll need one of you guys here with him whenever you can. It’s best if someone else keeps an eye on him,” says Bonnie, rolling her eyes. “No one knows about this apartment, either. It’s under my sister’s name, I haven’t lived here in years.” 

“Bon, I sincerely question your choice of interior design.”

“Asher.”

“Sorry.” He pauses. “Can we see him?”

“See who?” Everyone turns around at once. 

It’s almost comical, but Wes grins bigger than Connor’s ever seen him. 

…

“ Wes! ” Asher cries, running over to him in the tiny apartment. “I knew it, I knew it, I told them— I knew it, I knew you couldn’t be dead.” 

“Asher, I—” He’s cut off by Michaela throwing herself over him, wrapping her arms around him so tight, but he doesn’t care— if not a little thrown off. “Michaela, I’m— I’m okay.” 

“I know,” she whispers. “I just— I didn’t know, and Connor was being vague, and I just— I just kept thinking about the jewelry and if you ever gave it Laurel, and stupid things like that. But it doesn’t— you’re okay? You’re actually okay?”

If he’s honest, he barely remembers the jewelry right now. But he knows Michaela took great pride in helping him pick out some good stuff for Laurel. He wraps his arms around her right back. “I’m okay.” 

Asher throws himself over the two of them, joining them even though Connor’s watching. “I knew you weren’t dead, I was right.” 

“Thank you for believing in me?” he says with a slight laugh. His head’s still a little murky, but it’s clearing up more and more. Oliver walks up to him, giving him an awkward pat on the shoulder. But at least Frank’s not here. At least they’re all here. Except…

“Where’s Laurel?” he asks as Michaela and Asher get off him. There goes the pain in his chest again, but he just ignores it. He’ll never give this up for anything. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” says Bonnie— because apparently she’s here, too. “She’ll come tomorrow.” 

Wes nods, and Connor comes up to him, looking a little disheveled. He’s been with him all night, but he has the same look on his face as the others do. “Sorry about last night,” is all Wes can think to say. “I was—oof—” Connor wraps his arms around him like Michaela did. 

“I’ll kill you for real if you ever do that again,” he says, a tad quietly. Asher’s already turned back to Bonnie, but Michaela is listening— he can tell. 

“Got it.” He must’ve terrified him last night. He doesn’t remember a lot from when he woke up, just that Frank was there for a minute, and Connor was there— stayed with him, even when he didn’t have to. He remembers…”Thank you.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“What happened?”

“Why’re your hands all wrapped up?” 

The questions keep coming but they sort of roll over him. He pays them no mind— he thinks it’s by choice this time— as their voices fade into the background. She has to be here. It’s a tiny apartment, he can’t miss her. Where is she? Bonnie’s here. He needs to tell her, he has to find her. Make sure everything’s okay. She didn’t come home— thank God she didn’t— but he has to know if she’s okay. 

“Was Annalise in jail?” he asks no one in particular. “Or was that a— a dream?”

Bonnie nods. “She was, but she’s out now. She’ll explain later, she just left. Had to go meet Nate and Frank.” 

“ Frank ?” he asks disgustedly. Bonnie will know, right? Bonnie knows why Annalise doesn’t trust Frank— why none of them should. 

“She knows what she’s doing, Wes,” says Bonnie, and she looks at the time. “Look, you should all get out of here. Well, one of you should stay. But you all have class. Except Oliver, I guess.” 

Once again, the complaints and voices start up all at once. He tries not to wince at the noise. Are they always this annoying? Him included? No wonder Annalise has to drink all the time. He leans against the wall, rubbing the side of his head. He looks down at the white wrapped around it. Asher’s right— why are his hands all wrapped up? Connor got them out before the fire started, but— oh . He stumbles back, but tries to make it look like he’s just stepping back. 

Wait. Doesn’t he have to go to class, too? And why does one of them have to stay with him?

“Um, hello?” he says, and everyone goes quiet. That’s weird. “I’ll go with them, I’m not staying here just because of all…this.”

They all look at him like he’s an alien, and all of a sudden it feels a lot more familiar. “Or at least go home, or something. I’m not just going to stay in this random apartment.” 

“I’ll stay,” says Connor to Bonnie. “My class got cancelled, anyway. And there’s a burn mark on my shoulder that is making me feel like I should sit on your sofa and watch TV all day.” 

“You sure?” she asks him. 

Connor nods. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll explain everything.” 

“Explain what ?” Wes asks. “I—” 

“We’ll come back later, Wes,” Michaela promises, squeezing his arm once more. “Don’t worry, everything’s— she’s going to do what she always does. And fix everything.”

Annalise . His mind keeps letting things slip out. Where is she? She was here, and then she’s not. God, he needs to catch up. 

Everyone says their goodbyes— a lot less enthusiastic than their hellos, but promises to come back as soon as they can. Asher hugs him again which is a weird feeling, but he doesn’t hold it against him. Bonnie murmurs something to Connor, and then also takes off. She says she’ll come back with proper food in a little bit. 

Connor shuts the door and locks it before turning back to look at him. 

“ What is going on?”

“Sit down, I just found out myself. Basically, everyone thinks you’re dead, and until we find who tried to kill you, Annalise wants it to stay that way so they can’t do it again.” 

Wes sighs, putting his fingers to his temples again. “Slower, and more thorough.” 

He rolls his eyes, laughing a little. “This is why you’re Waitlist.”

…

Annalise makes her way back to the apartment two nights later, right after they’ve identified the man who tried to kill Wes. Nate and Frank found him almost that same night and had him tied up in the basement ever since Frank disappeared that morning. When she met with Laurel and showed her a picture of him— Dominick. Just because the only thing he said was that he worked for a company. It’s only tangentially related to Laurel’s father, but she had to check. He didn’t like Frank, so maybe…

Laurel recognized him right away, and it all came together after that. Frank and Nate…she’s not sure what they did to make him agree to their terms. Plausible deniability , she thought, but she made sure she had a moment with him. 

( “I already agreed to your guys’ terms,” the man said, looking a little bloodied. 

“I know,” she says, keeping her voice even. She was silent for a couple of minutes. It’s the best way to make anyone uncomfortable, and this man deserved it more than anything. Well, maybe not more than a certain Castillo she’d be coming after when she got the chance. 

“What is it, lady? I don’t got all day. If you keep me any longer, I might rethink some of those terms—” 

“If you ever come here again, send anyone again, work for Castillo again, look at him again , then you won’t have to worry about terms anymore.” She pauses, grabbing his face. “If you ever come near him again, I’ll bury you .”)

And so, he’s already on his way to tell Castillo exactly what he needs to hear. She climbs her way all the way up the stairs— the stupid elevator is broken— feeling somewhat pleased with herself. Between this and A.D.A. Denver going down for every thing he ever did to her, things were looking up. She’ll go home for a bit after she does this. Or maybe not. 

Whatever happens, she has to do this first. 

She knocks on the brown door with the faded 308 etched into it. She hears cautious footsteps on the other side. 

“Annalise?”

“It’s me.” 

It’s Connor again— surprisingly. He’s taken a lot of the time here with Wes, volunteering before the others even got the chance. He lets her in, looking better than she saw him last. The terrified look in his eye has subsided, and he looks almost happy. 

“Did you…” He trails off. “Did you do it? Did you find him?”

She nods. “Frank and Nate found him, and…persuaded him to agree to our terms. He’s safe now. We’re all safe.” 

“And the D.A?” Word really travels fast even though everyone she’s told, she’s been telling to not pass along easily heard information. 

“Won’t bother us, anymore. Pinned the fire on Dominick, and without a body, there’s no murder charge to be charged,” she explains. “We did it.”

“No, you did it,” he says. 

She sighs, shaking her head. Sure, she did it. God knows why she’s still a savior in all their minds. Even after they all tried to tear her to pieces the other week— she’s gone soft. “Where is he?” she asks. 

“He’s sleeping. I’ll just grab my stuff and go, you can babysit him for a while,” he says with an eye roll, but Annalise just follows him. It’s a tiny apartment, but it’s bigger than Wes’s own. Maybe he can stay here, even after all this. Somewhere she knows he’ll be safe, where she can protect him like she promised to do ten years ago. 

When they get to the room, it’s clear that only Connor— and maybe Oliver— have been sleeping on the ground rather than Michaela or Laurel. But the more Annalise looks around, it’s just Connor’s stuff. She replays what they’ve been telling her the past couple days, unable to hold onto anything except to do with Dominick. 

“You’ve been staying here quite a bit, haven’t you?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. 

He shifts on his feet a little. “Well, uh, no one’s really too keen about sleeping on the floor or the God awful couch out there. So, you know, I just…” He trails off, running a hand over his shoulder absentmindedly. 

“How are you?” she finally asks, her gaze trailing to Wes asleep for a moment before back to Connor. “Laurel was telling me how she wanted to stay, but—” 

He walks around the small room, starting to clear up his stuff. “I just thought it would be easier, one person. There’s already so much going on, you know. And Michaela might have an aneurysm if she skips another class.” 

“That’s not what I asked—” 

He grabs some trash, throwing it out as he speaks. “—And he keeps thinking Frank is going to come back, which he won’t, but obviously, the others don’t really know about Frank— he told me, I’m sorry, and I just—” 

“Connor, stop .” 

He does, finally. Wes stirs a little in his sleep, murmuring something, but doesn’t wake up. Connor visibly tenses. “Look, you weren’t— none of you were there that night.” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” she says. “If I had been there, maybe—” 

“None of you saw him like that. He wasn’t— he wasn’t breathing , he wasn’t moving. And I just thought of all the times I wished he’d just shut up and in that moment, I wished I could take it all back. I wished I had helped with the Mahoneys instead of leaving you guys on your own, I—” Connor breaks off. “I had to see this through.” 

Annalise walks over to him, places a hand on his shoulder. She doesn’t bother to speak, because Connor will get over it— he did the right thing at the end of the day. He saved him, looked after him instead of the others. He’s seen his part through, now it’s her turn. It’s all of their turns. 

“Go home, Connor,” she says softly. “You’ve done your part. Go to Michaela or Oliver— or even to class, I know it wasn’t actually cancelled the other day.” 

He’s quiet, but nods. Wes stirs again, murmuring something more harshly this time. 

“Does he do that a lot?” Annalise asks as Connor starts to grab some of his stuff. “Talk in his sleep?”

“Better than when he was shouting,” he mutters. 

Annalise turns to look back at Wes. He doesn’t look as peaceful as he did when she walked in, but turns back to Connor. “Come back with the others later— tomorrow, if you can. You all need to study or get some sleep or whatever.” 

He nods again. “I’ll tell the others.” He makes his way for the door, and Wes stirs again. She gets up this time, sits on the edge of the bed, moving her hand back and forth across his arm. 

“Who’s Christophe?”

Annalise pauses— last time she said that name, it was the only thing that was going to save her from the boy lying down next to her. “Why do you ask?”

Connor shrugs. “He says a lot of names. Ours, yours. I recognize all of them, but not Christophe. I tried to ask him, but he brushed me off. Said it wasn’t important.”

“I haven’t heard the name,” she lies. “From him, anyway. Probably just some random friend.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “Right. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll bring the others.” 

“Right.” 

He leaves for real then, and she lets out a long sigh as she hears the front door lock click. She’ll sit here until he wakes up— he stills under her touch. She’ll stay here all night if she has to.

She has to tell him something that she wanted to tell him a long time ago.

…

When he wakes up, the first thing he notices is the weight on his bed. There’s someone else here with him. Connor’s usually on the floor. Staring at him. It’s gotten kind of weird, but he doesn’t bother to comment on the weirdness that’s been following him ever since the fire. No, this is someone else. Someone familiar.

“Annalise?” he asks, his voice still thick with sleep. 

“I’m here,” she says, and he feels her hand move from his arm.

She hasn’t been here except for that one second he barely saw her, and now she’s at his bedside? He half expects her to take off again— he wouldn’t blame her. First her husband, then shooting her, and now getting her house burnt down? It doesn’t matter what she’s done to him, he’s levelled the score within a year. He takes a minute, but then he sits up. 

His hands and feet aren’t wrapped in white anymore, but they have burn marks on them. Not worse than the one on Connor’s shoulder, but still enough that they twinge sometimes.

“How’re you feeling?” she asks. 

He thinks for a moment, rubbing his face once. His dreams were filled with the fire, it takes him a second to remember how to breathe. “Okay, I think. I think I’m okay.” 

“That’s good,” she says. 

There’s an awkward silence between the two of them. Nothing like the silences when he would come over after class, have dinner with her. They would lapse into silence then, too, but it was a different kind. They were just in each other’s presence, and that was enough. Wes thought it would always be enough, but right now, she…she looks uncomfortable. Like she doesn’t want to be here. 

She probably hates him. There’s only so much he can get away with, only so much he can do to her, to hurt her, before she lets him loose. He doesn’t deserve her protection anymore, he’s not sure he ever has. 

“I’m sorry about the fire—” 

“I have to say something,” she cuts him off, looking straight ahead. “There was a time when I never thought I would get the chance to say anything to you again, so listen to me. Please.”

It’s moments like these that make him wonder how anyone who knows her can hate her. When the rest of them were all coming at her, telling her exactly what was wrong with her. She knows already, and he knew that. She gave them their time to say what they wanted. He didn’t take it then because he’s already said enough horrible things to her, and he doesn’t need to say more. He doesn’t regret it, but he knows it’s her time now. He just nods. 

“Ever— ever since your mother, the Mahoneys, the baby, all of it. All I’ve wanted to do is protect you, Wes. That’s all I ever wanted to do. I kept tabs on you, tracked you from foster family to foster family. Thought about you— worried about you.

“Something about you just stuck in my brain ever since I saw you finding your mother, ever since I caused your mother to—” She cuts off there. Sighing, before she continues.

It feels like a closing statement in court. Wes rubs his hand over his eye, and he sees tracks on Annalise’s face.

“I wanted to protect you. To try and give you a home, to try and support you so you could have a better life. A better life because that’s all your mother wanted for you. That’s all she wanted for you. And instead I destroyed it time and time again—”

He looks at her, but she still looks at the wall. “You didn’t—”

“Just let me finish.” She takes a breath. “And I kept asking myself, why all this for him? I’ve probably hurt more kids. Get you off the waitlist, bring you inside my home, try to give you some semblance of a family— I could never figure out why I wanted to do it. Out of guilt? But I could just never get you out of my mind…maybe it’s why I never wanted to try again with Sam.

“But I…you’re not a stranger, Wes. You never were to me. You…you’ve always felt like a son— my son. Even after everything— maybe especially because of everything, but…

“You’ve always felt like my son.” 

A beat, two. Everything flashes in his mind in half a second. Coming home to find his mother on the floor, bleeding out. The trophy in his hands, hitting Sam’s head with a force he didn’t think he was capable of, shooting Annalise with shaking hands, a syringe in his neck. A fire. 

“All…all I’ve done is cause you suffering,” he starts. “How can you still say all that after everything?” he whispers.

“Because it’s true,” she says, and she finally, finally looks at him. It’s like the sun shines when she smiles at him. “Because I don’t care what you’ve done, because at the end of the day, there’s no one else I would rather go through that with. I don’t care what you’ve done, I care that you’re here . All I’ve been doing these past two days is finding out who did this to you and making sure they’ll never come near you again. And…I realized. I may have lost my son that day, but…” 

He can’t. He can’t be this important to someone who he’s— to anyone. He tries to make himself believe what she’s saying. She can’t possibly mean it, but he finds it taking root in his mind awfully fast for someone who blames himself for every bad thing that’s happened to them in the past year. Ever since he came back into her life. 

“...but I found you.”

She cups her hand over his cheek, thumbing off tears he doesn’t realize are there. And for a moment, everything seems simple. He’s alive, she’s alive. They both…they both have each other. They both have a family. But it’s not that simple, nothing ever is.

How can she forgive him so easily? Like it’s nothing, like it’s breathing. He’s never thought he deserved this, but she’s giving it to him so easily. Without strings, without conditions. He’s just here . 

“I don’t…” Her hand drops from his face, and he almost misses the contact. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever protected me like my mother did…except for you.” He watches her smile, and can’t help but return it. Because it’s true. Ever since he was twelve and up until last year, he never had someone to look after him, to protect him. From anything— he was always on his own. She pulls him closer; he doesn’t mind.

But ever since he came to Middleton, to her class, to her house, it’s the one place he could’ve called home more than anything. And maybe it was because he was just staying there a lot, or because he liked the big house— the kind he never got to stay in growing up. But it’s that same feeling of home he has right now, with her, in this dingy apartment. 

He’s been wondering how he’s supposed to just go back into the world after everything. So much has happened, he feels like he’ll shrivel in the sun like a vampire if he tries to go out and be a normal person again. So much has changed, and yet so much is the same. Perhaps he can have the home he never had as a child. It doesn’t matter where it is, but as long as the right people are there with him, then it will become one. More than a temporary place with fingernail scratches on the wall or a burnt husk of a manor, but something real. Something permanent. 

“You ready to finally get out of here?” she asks after a minute, and stands up. 

He follows suit, and for the first time, it doesn’t make his head swim to move so quickly. “He’s gone? Who was he?”

“Laurel will fill you in on everything,” she says, opening the blinds of the room. They’ve been keeping them closed under orders from— assumedly her— but she lets the sunlight in. “And then we have a case tomorrow. I’ve already got something lined up. You better start looking into it if you want to make first chair again. God knows Michaela would do anything to get to it first.”

“How? Weren’t you just in jail—” 

“I took care of everything like I always do,” she says. “It’s time to come back to the land of the living, Wes. Are you coming or not?”

He grins, and for the first time, with the sun shining, Annalise here, Connor, Laurel, Michaela, Asher all waiting for him, it’s like there’s a million possibilities. A million things to do. They survived, survived again. Who knows what will happen next time— because there’s always a next time— but right now, right here, with her by his side, he doesn’t care about next time. He just cares about right now.

Wes Gibbins walks away free, alive, with Annalise Keating by his side like she always is.

end