: FR15 (for imagery)Synopsis
: At the end of season 7 Willow awoke the power of the Slayer in every potential and the question became: Are they ready to be strong? Note
: This was beta’d by the wonderful Copper
a long, long time ago. This story deals with child abuse
and is a non-crossover with original characters. If that’s not your cup of tea please don’t read.Strength
She didn’t remember what her father looked like but she remembered his scent. The aftershave and soap could never reached the layer of ash that had settled beneath his skin or the smoke that fused with his hair. She knew he had been a fireman and that her brother said he was taller than the apple tree in their backyard. His arms just as strong as the limbs that they used to climb in the evenings before he
Their mother had remarried after nearly nine years of running through several ‘Uncles’, the ‘Uncles’ with their false smiles and empty promises. The men who made her mother cry and her brother lash out in anger. She hated her ‘Uncles’ and at times she hated her mother more.
The woman who fell for the shiny teeth and sweet words. The woman who kept a silver flask in her purse for special occasions and had hard eyes and harsher words for the children that looked like one she had lost. She was a stranger.
Her brother’s cries of pain reached the girl’s ears and she wrapped her hands around them as her new father
brought his belt up and over his shoulder. Again. The stain of tears came to her cheeks as her mother lay unconscious, safe in her blankets of depression and alcohol.
The girl winced at the meaty sound of the metal clasp meeting with skin. Her brother gave another strangled cry and her world exploded. She felt the sweeping warmth engulf her thin frame and she rose from the corner of the room, her back still pressed to the peeling wallpaper. The tips of her fingers tingled and the clogging smell of alcohol and smoke overpowered the olfactory center of her brain. Tears filled her eyes as she suppressed the urge to lose what little she had eaten that day.
Her bare feet were silent as she walked across the carpet and felt the warmth take root in her chest. Her fear of this man diminished as she grew closer and saw how his arm tired from the abuse of her brother. Her blood.
The girl’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared as she scented the urine that permeated the air and degraded her sibling further.
Rage blossomed beneath the flame in her chest. Her eyes darkened and the warmth tightening her skin, making it itch, began to chill, harden. Ice formed in its place as her mind spiraled with the thoughts of how to stop him. Destroy the man that had taken their horrid life and made it worse. Made it unbearable.
The girl’s arm shot out and caught the leather strip on its backward swing. The man turned his head, his face an inhuman mask and tried to yank the belt back. The man’s words were meaningless noise now. Her brother looked up, his eyes clear and his back deformed with multicolored bruises and broken skin.
The Slayer spoke, her voice a soft whisper, the words she had wished to say since a few weeks after the man moved in.“Get the hell away from my brother.”