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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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2020-11-04
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A lesser evil...

Summary:

Disclaimer: Joss & Mutant Enemy.
Summary: A dark look inside of Wesley's head...

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

A lesser evil...
by Scorpio

There was a core deep inside of him that was cold and hard. He knew this and he accepted it without qualm. After all, it wasn't his fault really. He didn't create that callous center of his being, he just... nourished it. It took a lot more than just a simple decision to turn Wesley Windham-Pryce into the unfeeling hunter he was today.

The early, and to date, largest part of his life had been spent playing the victim. First it was his father, a bitter and angry man whose unthinking mixture of abuse and neglect taught him just how painful pain could be. Not to mention that Wesley had learned at his knee just how much pain he could suffer through and survive.

Then, it had been the other boys at school with their endless games of torment and power. He'd perfected the art of submission and subservience. He'd come to almost *thrive* on pain and humiliation, exalting in his desire to please and to serve. He felt a twisted sense of *pride* when he'd be claimed as the property of one strong willed and popular boy or another.

Then the Watcher Council, with their superior attitude and aloof contempt as they dangled rewards and praise just out of reach, like a carrot before a stubborn and particularly stupid donkey. And Wesley had been so wrapped up in his attempts to shine as the *perfect* little Watcher, the *ultimate* tool that he hadn't even realized that he'd lost his sense of self behind.

That had all ended quickly enough in Sunnydale however. That small and deceptively quaint town had turned his world upside down along with many of his long held views. Those children who faced *real* danger, faced *death* on a daily basis had no need, nor any time to coddle and pamper a well trained lap-dog. And that had been exactly what Wesley Windham-Pryce had been. The Council's fetch and carry 'Yes-Man' and he had been *proud* of that fact.

His aloof pride and distant superiority had shattered into a thousand putrid pieces in the face of practical realism, cynical experience, blinding courage and unending physical danger. He watched a young boy get physically abused on a regular basis and refuse to give in or give up. He watched a young girl offer love and acceptance to a young man with a life-time curse of brutal hunger. He met a man who gave up his hard earned title and position to follow his personal principles and he saw an eternal creature of the night gain a soul. He'd watched two Slayers, one inherently good and one inherently evil, battle with their place in the world alongside of the demon's who tried to tear it down.

In the end he had lost everything that had been important to him his entire life only to find out that what he had cherished was nothing more than a fleeting illusion and a pack of lies he'd *wanted* to believe. With no road home and no where to go, he had wandered lost and alone for quite a while. Learning and re-learning *who* he was and what he was meant to be.

What he had learned was how *not* to be a victim. To not be the one to feel the hurt and the pain and the shattering horror. He had taught himself how not to feel at *all*. And he did this by studying people.

So, now here he was working for Angel in L.A. as an ex-Watcher and rogue Demon Hunter. And still he refused to be the victim. Not to Angel or Cordelia or even Gunn. It was simple actually.

They each had this... *idea* of just who he was. None of them had it right, of course, but that was okay. Wesley wasn't too sure he *wanted* any of them to know him that well. They were happy with their illusions of him and he knew how to work with that to his advantage. He knew just how to manipulate them and push their respective buttons. He knew how to get them into position to best suit his needs. To manipulate them into *not* hurting him anew.

Angel was easy. The vampire's soul was a gentle one and he had a vast need for acceptance. However, his passions were driven and fueled by his demon. By Angelus. Manipulate Angelus and you could effectively control Angel. He routinely did it a hundred times a day without even thinking about it. Case in point, calling Angel a bloody wanker will be enough of a shove to get him to put on a bright pink motorcycle helmet that makes him look like the magnificent pouf his Childe Spike claims him to be. Conversely, a stuttering and hesitant voice that hinted at past pain brought out the vampire's protective instincts while affording Wesley's thought's a bit of privacy. After all... it's not nice to poke at another man's pain, is it?

Cordelia? Simple really. The woman had a compassionate side, but that was buried deeply under years of practice at being a very shallow and self-centered princess. Used to being the leader and not the follower, all he had to do was lead her mind gently in the right direction until she came to the conclusion he wanted her too. Once her mind was set on the proper course, it took a lot of effort to stop her from seeing it through to the end, much to Wesley's silent delight. Of course, sometimes her unbelievably dense skull wouldn't even let an idea seep into her brain, but he got around that by getting the other's to agree with him and Cordelia had *always* buckled under peer pressure...

As for Gunn, well that took a different path to tread, but one just as simply laid out as the others. He turned the man's pride against him and played up to his unspoken fears about not being formally educated. A hint that Wesley had some arcane or esoteric secret and the subtle suggestion that if Gunn were *man enough* to handle a task than everything would turn out okay kept the bigger man spinning in the direction that he wanted. Gunn underestimated just how deadly Wes could be even as he hung from every word Wes uttered.

Stranger's were the easiest of all. Since they had no pre-conceived expectations, he simply showed them what he *wanted* them to see and then played the role he had cast himself in. Friend. Foe. Lover. Teacher. Aloof scholar. Whatever suited his purpose at the time.

It was a delicate balance and a fun bit of sport that gave him unacknowledged thrills, but in the end, it was worth it. He *refused* to be someone else's toy ever again. He would *not* be the willing victim in life. The way that he saw it, he had two choices. He could barricade himself in and shut off all real or meaningful contact with everyone all together, or... he could keep on fighting against the darkness in the world while manipulating both friends and strangers alike into a position that he deemed safe for himself. He knew in his heart that both options were inherently *wrong*, but in an odd sort of practical way, he had chosen the lesser evil...

 

END

Notes:

This orphaned work was originally on Pejas WWOMB posted by author Scorpio.
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