Wesley for xxdownandout End of S3
He once had it all: friends who cared about him, a job that he loved, a life that fulfilled him. And then it all came crashing down on his head. First, a baby came into his life: Connor, Angel's son. A baby that was literally impossible, born of two vampires. A baby that everyone wanted, that they all were willing to protect with their lives. Then came a prophecy: the father will kill the son. He was so certain that it had to do with Angel killing his own son. Wesley went to everyone and did everything he could to try and prevent it. Finally, he came to the conclusion that he had to take Connor away. If he did this, he could spare Angel the hell that he would go through for killing his one child, the person he valued most. Of course, he had botched that plan as well. Justine came behind him and slit his throat, stealing Connor right out of his arms.
His hand went up absent mindedly to the still red scare on his throat. It didn't ache like it did when he first came home, well, not physically, anyway. Still, it burned in his mind like a Scarlet Letter, the physical presence of his betrayal of all of his friends and, most of all, Angel. He didn't blame the man for trying to kill him; if only he had been allowed to finish the job. Wesley wished that he was dead most of the time, but just didn't have the will in him to go and do it himself. Although right now he was getting a good start on drinking himself slowly to death.
He was on his third whiskey right now, in some random bar in LA. He wasn't sure which one it was tonight. It was a different one every night. All he wanted to do was drink the pain away, but he hadn't quite pulled that off so far. He was going to keep trying, though. He was going to try until he succeeded, even if that turned his liver to stone in the process. Not like he had anything or anyone to live for anymore.
"Do you want a refill on that?" the bartender asked him. He hadn't even realized that he had finished off the drink. He simply nodded, and the bartender topped him off. So, another night taking a ride home in a taxi then? He might want to die, but he wasn't going to kill someone else by hitting their car head on. Besides, the drunk driver usually lives, and that was the last thing that he wanted.
((Open to Buffy))
His hand went up absent mindedly to the still red scare on his throat. It didn't ache like it did when he first came home, well, not physically, anyway. Still, it burned in his mind like a Scarlet Letter, the physical presence of his betrayal of all of his friends and, most of all, Angel. He didn't blame the man for trying to kill him; if only he had been allowed to finish the job. Wesley wished that he was dead most of the time, but just didn't have the will in him to go and do it himself. Although right now he was getting a good start on drinking himself slowly to death.
He was on his third whiskey right now, in some random bar in LA. He wasn't sure which one it was tonight. It was a different one every night. All he wanted to do was drink the pain away, but he hadn't quite pulled that off so far. He was going to keep trying, though. He was going to try until he succeeded, even if that turned his liver to stone in the process. Not like he had anything or anyone to live for anymore.
"Do you want a refill on that?" the bartender asked him. He hadn't even realized that he had finished off the drink. He simply nodded, and the bartender topped him off. So, another night taking a ride home in a taxi then? He might want to die, but he wasn't going to kill someone else by hitting their car head on. Besides, the drunk driver usually lives, and that was the last thing that he wanted.
((Open to Buffy))