Originally written for the One Sentence Meme over on glee_cross_meme
back in April. I kept meaning to post it over here. I've made a couple small edits, but it's pretty much the same. Original post can be found here
When You're Going Through Hell
If Connor’s life had even been remotely normal, they never would have met at all.
After Los Angeles fell and only his dad and him walked away alive, they relocated to Cleveland. There hadn’t really been anywhere else for them to go. His dad had lost everyone that walked into that battle with him. Wesley had never even made it to the alley. Gunn bled out in minutes. Spike was staked in front of his dad. Illyria just...disappeared in a flash of blue that killed the second dragon that had shown up out of nowhere.
Everyone was gone and the Slayers came with help too late.
These days, his dad stayed holed up in the office Giles had allotted him. The lights stayed off except for the one on the desk and he just sat there.
Connor could only take so much before he had to get out of there. He got it. He’d shown up just in time to watch the look of horror and pain flash across his dad’s face as Spike turned to dust, and he’d spoken with everyone after the move. His dad and Spike may have fought tooth and nail, but they were family and now Spike was gone.
He tried not to think about his dad hiding away in his office when his son was still alive. Was he not enough? Maybe he had been once upon a time, but he wasn’t three months old anymore. He’d been sixteen and he’d made mistakes that he still had nightmares about.
Connor didn’t spare the others more than an assurance that he’d call them at some point before he hopped on Faith’s spare bike and left. If they needed him, Willow could whip up a location spell.
He drove until he hit Lima and kept driving until he found the bar. The place was half empty, but he didn’t expect anything different in a small town on a Wednesday night. There was a kid at the bar, too young to be in here, let alone to be nursing a beer that Connor doubted was his first. He couldn’t have been any older than eighteen (if even) with a Mohawk on his head that Connor rolled his eyes at as he sat down next to him. Signaled to the bartender to get them both another of what Mohawk was drinking.
The kid snorted and downed the rest of his beer before he looked at Connor with eyes that he knew all too well. He’d been through something. Connor wasn’t sure what, but there was a darkness there. “S’been hell.”
Connor hummed in agreement. “Bet my hell was worse.”
They fucked in the back of the kid’s pickup. Drove into the park hours after it had closed and fucked until they couldn’t move. They slept there that night, curled up, naked, on the uncomfortable bumps of the truck bed. Puck slept with his head pillowed on Connor’s chest. Connor’s arms stayed wrapped around Puck’s waist.
Maybe he could stay in Lima a little longer.