TITLE: Darkness of the Past

AUTHOR: Erin Giles

RATING: PG-13 some of the later scenes

SPOLIER WARNING: None really.

DISCLAIMER: Sadly, everything belongs to Joss Whedon (God) The Wb, Mutant enemy.yada yada yada.

SUMMARY: We finally find out what happens to Wesley when he was a child. Well we find out what I think happened to Wesley as a child.

NOTES: Set in the middle of season two about a week after Wesley calls home.

Dedicated to my new beta Ria

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Chapter 1 ~ Family

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"Who are these voices in my head, I can't go on like this, living like the dead, I haven't slept so long, feeling sad I dread, I'm talking to myself."

"All Messed Up" Sum 41

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Wesley's eyelids dropped heavily in the dimly lit office. No one had been in today, there was no reason to be, but Wesley was here all the same.

He knew that if he went home he would be faced with an empty flat. Cold blue walls as cold as he felt inside. Books that were as boring as him. His past in boxes out of sight. His present a fading picture on the windowsill. His future the closet, locked and unreachable without the key.

"Please father, no."

He shuddered as he closed the book he had been reading and pulled himself to his feet, running a hand across his five o'clock shadow that was now nearing more of a five-day shadow. He rubbed the back of his neck as he turned the light out in the office, leaving it. He grabbed his coat and proceeded to put it on. He paused at the counter, about to turn all the lights out. Suddenly reconsidering, he thought to himself, he could sleep on his desk, no one would mind. No one would notice. The sun had just set, but there hadn't been anything on the streets for a long time.

What would it matter if he had not gone home for nearly a week now? Ever since his phone call to England to wish his father a happy birthday he had not been home.

He didn't care to go back and find the mouldy half-eaten sandwich.

The dishes unwashed in the sink.

The dust collecting on the open book.

"A young man's dwelling place is what reflects him most. His appearance tells everything about him. A well kept house is a sign of a well kept man that will one day have a good wife to come home to who will look after him. You remember that son."

"I will sir." Wesley said to the person in his head. There was no one in the Hyperion to hear him.

"You will what son?" Wesley looked up as the doors swung closed behind a smartly dressed man, wearing a suit in pristine condition even though he had spent a good nine hours on a plane from London. Wesley's eyes widened in horror,

"Father?"

"The people at your apartment said that I might find you here, very rude about it though. No manners or respect for their elders. And what is all this about you being in a hotel. I thought that you were supposed to be a detective agency. I would say there is something fishy about this." Wesley's father took a couple of steps into the hotel and down the stairs,

"Your mother did not want to come. She does not care much for flying." Wesley continued to stare at the man, thoughts whizzing through his head.

"W - why are you here?" the man's eyes glinted with venom as he moved towards his son. He hit him across the head. Hard.

"Forgotten our manners have we? Predictable." He frowned looking at Wesley, who was holding his head,

"Spending too much time with your American friends and not enough time in your father's company. Still, we will see to that soon. I plan to spend some time with you. After your call last week I thought that it would be good to see you in action. In your new roll." He said a sarcastic tone to his voice. Something about his voice said he didn't believe what Wesley had said about being in charge,

"Sir I did . . . didn't know yyyyou were coming, I . . ."

"Oh do stop bumbling about like an idiot Wesley. Remember to pronounce your T's as well. And dear me it is just too common for you to shorten your words such as 'can't' and 'didn't'. Did your mother and I not teach you anything?"

"Sorry Sir." Wesley eyes lowered away from the older man's and his hand moved away from his stinging check.

"Perhaps I can take you out for breakfast and we can talk over why you are visiting?" he asked, looking at his father's feet,

"No thank you. I do not wish to eat the gruel that the American's use as a poor excuse for food." Wesley swallowed nervously.

"Perhaps we can eat at your apartment? That is assuming that you have food in your apartment. The people there said they had not seen you in a week." Wesley swallowed again, not saying anything.

"What is the matter boy? Cat got your tongue?" Wesley's father's hand came up and struck the man across the head again,

"Speak boy." Wesley still felt like the little boy cowering away from his father,

"Speak!" the man bellowed, hitting him again, sending his glassing skidding across the floor. Wesley moved after them, but soon realized his mistake as his father came to stand in front of him.

"Don't you move when I'm trying to talk to you." Wesley knew his father was angry now. He was speaking colloquially, his accent slipping. He struck another blow to Wesley's head that would have knocked him off his feet if he had been the boy he once was. It sent Wesley staggering, moving backwards, away from him,

"Y . . . esss sir." Wesley mumbled,

"What was that?" the man said moving after him, hitting him again, making Wesley's head spin,

"Speak up boy."

"Yes sir." Wesley said, letting his pained eyes meet his father's angry ones.

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Angel rolled out of bed, pulling his trousers on as he did so. He could hear the commotion downstairs, the shouting of a man, yet he did not know who it was. There was not anyone there to shout at either. He pulled yesterday's shirt off a chair and took off out his room. He started heading down the corridor and started to sprint. He reached the top of the stairs, seeing Wesley crouching on the floor.

"Wesley?" he said running down the stairs, only to bump into a man dressed in a smart suit.

"Ah, you must be the infamous Angel?" the man held out his hand to him. Angel took it frowning, as he continued to watch Wesley who was replacing his glasses, not meeting his eyes. He turned back to the suited man,

"And you are?"

"Mr. William Wyndham Price. Wesley's father." He said with a fake smile on his face.

Angel continued to shake his hand before he pulled it away suddenly remembering what he had heard, turning back to Wesley,

"I heard shouting." The older man stepped forward, towards Wesley,

"Just a little misunderstanding." He said ruffling Wesley's hair. Wesley flinched,

"Is that not right son?"

"Yes sir." Wesley said, looking rather dejected.

Angel was not convinced. Maybe it was something about Wesley's appearance, but then he had been like that all week. Or maybe it was the now purpling area of Wesley's jaw, but he couldn't question Wesley now.

"Well son. How about we go for that food you suggested. Nice to meet you Angel, I'm sure we will cross paths in the next few weeks." Wesley followed like a tamed dog, stopping at Angel for a moment.

"Call me if anything comes up." He said before moving after his father. Angel watched them leave before continuing to button up his shirt. Something was not right.