An Abused Heart
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Lost Boys or Buffy. I don't own Xander either.
An Abused Heart
Xander Harris huddled in the dark corner of his room, mindful of all noises that floated to his ears. He ached all over, blood pouring from a cut over his right eye, tears welling up, making the brown orbs glassy and dull.
His hands shook as he staggered to the bathroom that joined his room. He took a small wash cloth and started to clean the cut, one of many that he had sustained during the fight with his dad.
All he had done be late home from school, that was all, and his dad had gone nuts. He choked back a sob as the wounds stung as she cleaned them.
Grabbing the roll of bandages he tightly bound the wound across the top of his arm, a decision forming in his mind. He had to leave this place, to never come back.
He sighed. How was he going to cope? He was only sixteen, and he had many cuts and bruises that need to be healed, but that could be done later. Now he had to collect his things.
He shuffles through to the closest, rifling through until he found a long leather duster. He would need it for later. Taking out his red t-shirt and black jeans he completed the look with heavy black boots.
He brushed his hair back and stuffed all that he though he needed into the pockets of his duster, he needed to travel light. Opening the window as quiet as he could he jumped the short way down. He knew that his dad was asleep, he always was after he had given Xander a beating. But none of that mattered now.
He took one last look at the place he had called home for so many years, and silently left it behind. Past was past, after all.
The Boardwalk was crowded with people, and Paul didn't know if he could take it any longer. He was alone this night, the others had gone out to hunt and he wasn't hungry.
Something had told him to stay.
He didn't know what, but he knew that it was important, whatever it was. He shook his blond head in exasperation, wandering the Boardwalk as he always did.
Something shimmered across his perception causing him to stop, breath caught in his throat. Quickly his sharp eyes ran over the many people, most of them unimportant and unworthy. Until they rested on the form of a youth.
A youth that radiated sorrow, pain and mourning. His stomach clenched and he could sympathize with this young mortal. The youth stank of abuse, and Paul could see the wound on the boy's head and the bruise forming below it.
His anger soared, sure, this was a mortal, but who cared? He was in the same situation that he himself had been so many years ago. Before he had met David.
The boy wore a long black leather duster and black jeans. Paul slowly approached the youth, knowing how traumatic abuse was.
The youth gazed at him, the brown orbs dull and glassy and Paul delved into his mind to discover his name. Alexander. Preferred Xander. But he did not get far in his examination, for young Xanders mind went blank and he collapsed in his arms.
Paul quickly scanned the area, to see if anyone was watching. Discovering no one was, he picked up Xander, not surprised at how light he was and returned to the cool darkness of the cave.