Wesley was dead. All those years fighting, striving to find his place in life, trying to find a place unlike the Watchers Council or Sunnnydale where he wasn't mocked and laughed at, where the people could tolerate him for more than five minutes at a time, a place where he had friends, real breathing (or not, as the case turned out to be) companions who he could talk and laugh with and who appreciated him for who he was.
And where had that got him? Had his last five years in L.A really been worth it, what had he really learnt? That he was a coward that betrayed his friends and slept with the enemy? Or that he was a hero, a man who fought for what was good and right and did all he could to protect those dearest to him?
Though, considering his situation at this point in time, did it really matter? Did it really matter whether he had been warm, loving and brave or a cold, heartless weakling? Because, either way, he was still lying here, on the dirty, cold stone floor, blood still seeping steadily from the large gash in his stomach, his body already cold from lack of beating heart, left to rot slowly from existence, forgotten about in the mists of time. Angel wouldn't come, or Gunn or Illyria and defiantly not Spike, they were all to busy, fighting the good fight, winning the battle, to collect the body of a lonely, fallen soldier.
After, all Wesley, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, was dead now.
At least, that's what he thought.
I know, I know, it's short, I was going to do this bit and the next bit where Wesley realises that in fact, he is not as dead as he thinks, in the same chapter, but I'm a bit short on time at the mo and thought it would be quite good to have this as a kinda teaser for the next chap.
Ok, next chap (which will be up shortly) Wesley is resurrected, chap after that, our two favourite boys find each other again and lots of lovely slash ensures.
Please review my humble excuse for a chapter, would be greatly appreciated