The Right Path

[secondalto.livejournal.com]

Rating: PG-13
Characters: Wesley, Lorne
Summary-Wesley returns to Caritas

Spoilers-Up to S3 of BTVS, ATS: Redefinition

Disclaimer: Joss and all the others own them, I just borrow for fun

Feedback: equals happy muse, happy muse equals more stories
Author's Note: This was my first gen fic, one of the few I've written. It was also my first attempt at writing Wesley.  I'm also proud to say it won Runner-up in the best Wesley category of the second round of the Serenity on The Hellmouth Awards.

 

Even after the PTBs sent Cordy the vision and they'd saved the girl, he had to know. All the insecurities were still there. No matter where he went, how he dressed, what he called himself, he was still Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, failure. So here he was, back at Caritas, prepared to sing for The Host. As he debated between Cat Stevens and Harry Chapin, he had second thoughts. Maybe he should have worn the tweed or even the leather. He felt vulnerable in the simple button down polo. Maybe he should have worn a jacket. A kind of armor to still the blows that were sure to come. But he needed to find out, was all this a waste of time? What was his path? He was about to tell the bartender his choice when a green hand closed the song book.

"No need darlin'. You don't need to sing."

Wesley looked up into the red eyes of The Host. All the surrounding noise seemed to quiet, including the vampire murdering "My Generation."

"But, if you're going to read me..."

"Not a problem kiddo. Got plenty off all three of you while you paraded through Queen's greatest hits. But before I begin, you might want something stronger." He nodded to the beer Wesley was nursing.

"No, I'm fine thanks. Just tell me."

"Okay, don't say I didn't warn you. You're on the right path."

Wesley spurted beer all over the bar. The bartender just wiped it up and placed a glass of scotch in front of the nervous Englishman at a nod from The Host. Once Wesley was recovered, he indicated that the empath should continue.

"As I was saying, right path. Though I never figured you for a Watcher. That was a surprise."

"Ex-Watcher, I was fired. Couldn't handle either of my Slayers."

"Pish, tosh, doesn't matter what a bunch of stiffs across the world say, you're a Watcher, always will be, it's in your blood."

Wesley just shrugged and sipped the single malt.

"Besides, those Slayers looked like a handful. The first one, Buffy, a valley girl name if I ever heard one..."

"She's stronger than you think."

"I'm sure, anyway she was never yours. I get the vibe that it was this Giles guy all the way. If those two are ever in L.A. send them my way; that's a pair I'd love to read."

Wesley made a noncommittal noise.

"As for the other one, she had problems of her own. You were never her target, just a convenient punching bag. Don't blame her, she'll be okay."

He'd rather forget about Faith and what she'd done to him. He'd carry the scars, physical and mental, forever.

"But enough about the past; you want to know about the future. You want to know if you did right by hooking up with Angel cakes and his lot. You just keep doing what you think is right. I don't see everything, but what I do see is rightness. Your path may not be bright and straight, in fact I see darkness ahead. But it's the right path for you, so don't fret."

The Host patted his hand and left. He let everything sink in. He became aware again of the noise in the bar. He stared at the amber liquid swirling around the glass. So he wasn't a failure after all. He took that knowledge and knew what he had to do; he would fight on without Angel. A strange sense of peace fell over him. He was on the right path. The Host's prediction about darkness didn't matter to him.

He swallowed the last of the scotch, the burning in his throat a comfort. Time to go home; there was a busy day ahead for him. He wasn't a failure. He was a Watcher. A rogue demon hunter. A hero. He was Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.