Truth Denied
folder
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male › Spike(William)/Xander
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
64
Views:
22,768
Reviews:
75
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Buffy the Vampire Slayer › Slash - Male/Male › Spike(William)/Xander
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
64
Views:
22,768
Reviews:
75
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 7
Pairings: Spander (eventually)
Appropriate Ratings: NC17 overall but this chapter... Hard R. Possibly NC17, though doubtful
Warnings: Past abuse of the familial nature of the worst kind.
Disclaimers: Not my characters. I make no money off this, I'm just playing. I promise to give them a bath and thorough cleaning when I’m done! Joss Whedon is my lord and Master. All hail Joss Whedon.
Short Summary: Xander remembers the hardest part of his childhood.
Beta: Tamakin Any errors are mine and mine alone.
Comments keep my muse well fed.
A.N. ~ IMPORTANT!!!! I know I've said this before, but now is a good time to say it again. This is NOT A FLUFFY FIC. The boys will suffer and cry, there will be angst and past trauma's comming to light. There is non-graphic, but extreemly traumatizing and easily triggering past abuse about to be mentioned. You have been warned, VERY clearly.
----------------------------------------------------------
Xander stayed in bed all the next day. He hadn’t gotten a single minute of sleep; he was locked in a memory loop of the dance and the way he ran out afterwards. He replayed everything and each time felt the blinding panic clawing at him, making it impossible to think, to breathe. He couldn’t see himself doing anything other than what he’d done; there was nothing else he could have done.
He hugged his flat pillow to his chest, trying to hold back tears and failing, the soft sobs tore at him as everything slowly forced its way out of him. When the storm had passed he rubbed his nose against the pillow and realized he had to move now. There was no way he could find a job and earn enough in two weeks to pay for two months rent. He was about to be homeless, penniless, jobless, and once again totally alone. Maybe he could gather the courage the ask Spike for some of the tip money from last night. It’d help him pay for a motel room or something for a few nights. A motel room that didn’t require a credit card check. Or a credit card. Yeah, that’ll be easy.
Xander curled up tighter into himself, settling himself for a good long wallow in his misery. Life had never treated him lightly, but now there was just no denying how much life was out to get him. Nothing had come easy or without challenges, but he’d always thought someday… someday he’d be able to say that his life was finally alright. He’d always hoped he’d be able to look back at his past and not flinch because it helped shape him into the wonderful person he was.
So far every time he looked back he kept wondering if it was really that bad… because now was so much worse. Exhaustion finally claimed him, and he fell asleep without even noticing it.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“You little faggot! I saw you playing with Willow’s dolls, I saw you playing with their hair, no son of mine is going to grow up to be a nancy boy, no way in hell!” Tony Harris struck out with a heavy meaty hand. His palm connected solidly with his son’s cheek, sending him flying to land on his side on the bed.
Xander frantically thought back, trying to remember the transgression, and whimpered. Willow had asked him his opinion on what kind of soap would be best to use on her dolls ice cream covered hair, since he was a boy and therefore dirty he had to know everything about soap. Her reasoning was slightly convoluted but she’d stuck stubbornly to it even though he told her he had no clue. Finally, he’d fingered the dolls hair, felt the yarn roll between his fingers and told her his mother always used laundry detergent with his yarn sweater. She’d run off happily to give her rag doll a much needed bath.
Xander didn’t even notice his father towering over him till he dragged him up off the bed by his belt, keeping him turned so he faced it. Xander fell forward, off balance from the abruptness of his father’s directional pulling, his hands falling flat on the comforter with a grunt. His father didn’t appreciate that.
“You whore! You filthy fuckin’ WHORE! You wiggle your ass in my face after playing with your faggoty dolls? You fuckin’ slut, I bet you’ve dreamed about it, I bet you want it. You do want it, don’t you boy? You fuckin’ faggot!” His father stripped him with rough hands, punching and kicking him when he struggled, when he screamed, when he begged his father to stop.
His father just told him to take it like a man.
Xander didn’t understand why his father thought being a faggot was bad, or why he thought raping him would teach him a lesson, or how “taking it like a man” made any sense, but his father didn’t answer his questions, or offer any explanation.
It was over quickly, his father’s alcohol drenched breath covered his face as he lay there, in shock. He was bleeding, and in so much pain. He didn’t move for hours, couldn’t, and when his mother finally found him she’d cried and cried. She cleaned him up as best she could and tucked him into bed. He didn’t get an infection that time, and that was good, because his mother couldn’t have taken him to the hospital. Not like that. He’d spent three days out of school and the two days of the weekend all curled up in bed. His father didn’t visit or seem to notice, and his mother acted like he just had the flu.
It hadn’t happened again for so many years Xander had almost convinced himself that it had never happened. His father was still heavy handed, still left bruises and burns and the occasional broken bone… but that didn’t happen again.
It was his sixteenth birthday, his mother had actually tried to bake him a cake. It was from a box and burned on the outside and batter on the inside, but it was the thought that counted. His mother had actually remembered his birthday, he was so happy. She’d given him a pudding cup with a candle in it that morning at breakfast and Xander had nearly burned himself trying to save the pudding, so he’d thought that was it for his birthday celebrations… but this was so much better.
If his mother hadn’t made an effort, he never would have known it was a special day. Xander knew that as soon as he heard his fathers footsteps come up to his door, and that forever tainted his happy memory of that day.
Xander clenched his eyes shut tightly, trying to pretend he was asleep, trying to pretend this was all a dream, but his father’s breath assaulted him once more, and once more the father violated the son.
Xander had hid it from his friends with many pain killers and his distractingly cheerful babble. He didn’t want to think what his friends would think of him if they knew, he had never let them know, he never could. He was used to hiding the proof of his father’s strict and heavy handed upbringing from his teachers, from his friends. This wasn’t that much different. It never was.
After his sixteenth birthday the rape’s became much more frequent, his father’s fetid breath heralding yet another assault night after night after night. Every night his mother fell into a drunken stupor before his father, his father came to his room for a little visit. A little quality time.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Xander sat up with a start, his heart beating heavily in his chest, threatening to explode out of him in a bursting fountain of crimson. His jaw was locked, his lips were pressed tight, holding back the screams he’d been beaten to keep from spilling. When he finally recognized where he was, when he was, he fell back onto his bed and sobbed openly.
Maybe “now” really was a lot better than “back then”. Maybe… At least back then he had a roof over his head and food more often than not.
He curled tightly around his grumbling belly, trying to quiet it through sheer willpower alone.
Yeah… right… that’ll work…
Appropriate Ratings: NC17 overall but this chapter... Hard R. Possibly NC17, though doubtful
Warnings: Past abuse of the familial nature of the worst kind.
Disclaimers: Not my characters. I make no money off this, I'm just playing. I promise to give them a bath and thorough cleaning when I’m done! Joss Whedon is my lord and Master. All hail Joss Whedon.
Short Summary: Xander remembers the hardest part of his childhood.
Beta: Tamakin Any errors are mine and mine alone.
Comments keep my muse well fed.
A.N. ~ IMPORTANT!!!! I know I've said this before, but now is a good time to say it again. This is NOT A FLUFFY FIC. The boys will suffer and cry, there will be angst and past trauma's comming to light. There is non-graphic, but extreemly traumatizing and easily triggering past abuse about to be mentioned. You have been warned, VERY clearly.
----------------------------------------------------------
Xander stayed in bed all the next day. He hadn’t gotten a single minute of sleep; he was locked in a memory loop of the dance and the way he ran out afterwards. He replayed everything and each time felt the blinding panic clawing at him, making it impossible to think, to breathe. He couldn’t see himself doing anything other than what he’d done; there was nothing else he could have done.
He hugged his flat pillow to his chest, trying to hold back tears and failing, the soft sobs tore at him as everything slowly forced its way out of him. When the storm had passed he rubbed his nose against the pillow and realized he had to move now. There was no way he could find a job and earn enough in two weeks to pay for two months rent. He was about to be homeless, penniless, jobless, and once again totally alone. Maybe he could gather the courage the ask Spike for some of the tip money from last night. It’d help him pay for a motel room or something for a few nights. A motel room that didn’t require a credit card check. Or a credit card. Yeah, that’ll be easy.
Xander curled up tighter into himself, settling himself for a good long wallow in his misery. Life had never treated him lightly, but now there was just no denying how much life was out to get him. Nothing had come easy or without challenges, but he’d always thought someday… someday he’d be able to say that his life was finally alright. He’d always hoped he’d be able to look back at his past and not flinch because it helped shape him into the wonderful person he was.
So far every time he looked back he kept wondering if it was really that bad… because now was so much worse. Exhaustion finally claimed him, and he fell asleep without even noticing it.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“You little faggot! I saw you playing with Willow’s dolls, I saw you playing with their hair, no son of mine is going to grow up to be a nancy boy, no way in hell!” Tony Harris struck out with a heavy meaty hand. His palm connected solidly with his son’s cheek, sending him flying to land on his side on the bed.
Xander frantically thought back, trying to remember the transgression, and whimpered. Willow had asked him his opinion on what kind of soap would be best to use on her dolls ice cream covered hair, since he was a boy and therefore dirty he had to know everything about soap. Her reasoning was slightly convoluted but she’d stuck stubbornly to it even though he told her he had no clue. Finally, he’d fingered the dolls hair, felt the yarn roll between his fingers and told her his mother always used laundry detergent with his yarn sweater. She’d run off happily to give her rag doll a much needed bath.
Xander didn’t even notice his father towering over him till he dragged him up off the bed by his belt, keeping him turned so he faced it. Xander fell forward, off balance from the abruptness of his father’s directional pulling, his hands falling flat on the comforter with a grunt. His father didn’t appreciate that.
“You whore! You filthy fuckin’ WHORE! You wiggle your ass in my face after playing with your faggoty dolls? You fuckin’ slut, I bet you’ve dreamed about it, I bet you want it. You do want it, don’t you boy? You fuckin’ faggot!” His father stripped him with rough hands, punching and kicking him when he struggled, when he screamed, when he begged his father to stop.
His father just told him to take it like a man.
Xander didn’t understand why his father thought being a faggot was bad, or why he thought raping him would teach him a lesson, or how “taking it like a man” made any sense, but his father didn’t answer his questions, or offer any explanation.
It was over quickly, his father’s alcohol drenched breath covered his face as he lay there, in shock. He was bleeding, and in so much pain. He didn’t move for hours, couldn’t, and when his mother finally found him she’d cried and cried. She cleaned him up as best she could and tucked him into bed. He didn’t get an infection that time, and that was good, because his mother couldn’t have taken him to the hospital. Not like that. He’d spent three days out of school and the two days of the weekend all curled up in bed. His father didn’t visit or seem to notice, and his mother acted like he just had the flu.
It hadn’t happened again for so many years Xander had almost convinced himself that it had never happened. His father was still heavy handed, still left bruises and burns and the occasional broken bone… but that didn’t happen again.
It was his sixteenth birthday, his mother had actually tried to bake him a cake. It was from a box and burned on the outside and batter on the inside, but it was the thought that counted. His mother had actually remembered his birthday, he was so happy. She’d given him a pudding cup with a candle in it that morning at breakfast and Xander had nearly burned himself trying to save the pudding, so he’d thought that was it for his birthday celebrations… but this was so much better.
If his mother hadn’t made an effort, he never would have known it was a special day. Xander knew that as soon as he heard his fathers footsteps come up to his door, and that forever tainted his happy memory of that day.
Xander clenched his eyes shut tightly, trying to pretend he was asleep, trying to pretend this was all a dream, but his father’s breath assaulted him once more, and once more the father violated the son.
Xander had hid it from his friends with many pain killers and his distractingly cheerful babble. He didn’t want to think what his friends would think of him if they knew, he had never let them know, he never could. He was used to hiding the proof of his father’s strict and heavy handed upbringing from his teachers, from his friends. This wasn’t that much different. It never was.
After his sixteenth birthday the rape’s became much more frequent, his father’s fetid breath heralding yet another assault night after night after night. Every night his mother fell into a drunken stupor before his father, his father came to his room for a little visit. A little quality time.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Xander sat up with a start, his heart beating heavily in his chest, threatening to explode out of him in a bursting fountain of crimson. His jaw was locked, his lips were pressed tight, holding back the screams he’d been beaten to keep from spilling. When he finally recognized where he was, when he was, he fell back onto his bed and sobbed openly.
Maybe “now” really was a lot better than “back then”. Maybe… At least back then he had a roof over his head and food more often than not.
He curled tightly around his grumbling belly, trying to quiet it through sheer willpower alone.
Yeah… right… that’ll work…