make it excellent

[madimpossibledreamer]

this could probably be seen as this ‘verse’s version of Slayer’s Mad Whelp’s To Build a Home, only it’s not as stable a situation. It’s a little elaboration, really, on themes in stolen inheritance and son of a gun. As such, there are warnings. He’s trying to take care of himself, sort of, but he’s a complete disaster, and only about half of that is Constantine’s fault, the poor kid.

porting to Ao3 is going well!  though, uh.  there's a lot.
 

Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Constantine|Hellblazer
Summary: Giles looks after Xander, as much as he's allowed.
Word Count: 1448
Rating: Teen, with the warnings. because it wouldn't be constantine or hellblazer without the warnings
Warnings: underage drinking, mental health issues, themes of self-harm, vague discussion of familial abuse (the Harrises), both of which of the latter are pretty strong in the chosen song for this fic (but “I need your love the most when I least deserve it” and themes match the general state of him). Viewer discretion advised; take care and seek help if you need it!

         Giles sighs when he finally opens his door and sees the blond teen curled up on his sofa. He looks cold.
         He’s never given Xander a spare key, but that doesn’t seem to have discouraged him any. He seems to have picked up on the Hellblazer’s clever fingers, picking the lock or jimmying a window. Giles would put a stop to it if he’d seen any sign of the boy helping himself (or, rather, Willow) to books of magic. Surprisingly, he hasn’t, although it’s not uncommon to come back and find pages and pages of scribblings detailing Xander’s thought process as he attempts to work through a new spell or tries to catalogue the information he’s learned about a new demon or the like. He’s at his most honest in these pages, despite the fact (or perhaps because?) he knows that Giles occasionally reads them. He’d been reading Willow and Constantine as the warnings they were, trying to be as conscientious as he could.
         It’s harder to gather anything of importance, with a few exceptions. Xander, it turns out, is the type to complain irritatingly about things that don’t truly matter. Willow, Giles suspects, would worry and start prying too much if Xander said nothing, so he makes it a point to fuss and/or annoy so as to convince one to look no further. He’s at his most annoying when he most truly needs help, but can’t and won’t ask for it. It’s a typical magician’s trick, really, a misdirection to control the attention of onlookers. And, sadly, it works, even when the audience happens to be looking for said trick. In quiet moments, like this, Giles can think and observe as needed, and to some extent, Xander wouldn’t come here and leave himself vulnerable if that possibility bothered him. While awake, even if Rupert knows exactly what the teen is doing, he gets annoyed anyway.
         It doesn’t help that Xander, surprisingly, turns out to be clever and observant. It’s not new, exactly, but the aftermath of Halloween sharpened that edge to a keen blade that could cut himself or others. Beforehand, Xander had sometimes not realized before he said something thoughtless, most of it more accident. Now, there’s the odd occasion, but he’ll also recklessly throw himself in harm’s way, give others reasons not to look too closely, but also sometimes to distract them from their pain. To sacrifice himself in effigy as the bloody scapegoat, a metaphoric ritual that gains power in repetition. The implications are troubling.
         His father is abusive, while his mother is neglectful. The full extent of that abuse he’s never let Giles see. In fact, he’s only ever hinted and let the librarian infer from there. He suspects that Xander is stacking the deck precisely so that Giles won’t have to report the abuse, simply because he doesn’t have concrete facts (as if the police would take such a report seriously in this town, anyway). Carefully, thoughtfully in a way placing them in a situation where Giles can offer support but isn’t forced to take action. The librarian hates it, but admittedly can see the logic behind the thought process.
         There have been...occasions. Occasions where he looks particularly sore, or in the light of morning there’s a bruise not gained through patrolling the previous night. He jokes about being clumsy. Certainly, the fact that the boy stashed some concealer in the bathroom and is an expert hand in knowing how to use it is an alarming fact, and with the way he downplays it and distracts, for example, alluding to an attempt to make breakfast that never actually took place but had caused quite a bit of panic about possibly setting things on fire, suggests that this is important. The ‘right thing to do’, however, is significantly more complicated than that.
         If he reported it to the authorities, the boy would be put in the system, and Social Services in Sunnydale seems to be run more akin to the police than, say, the hospital. He can’t guarantee it would not be the equivalent of a death sentence. He could recommend the boy for future Watcher, but he’d be taken away, as Giles already has an active Slayer assigned, and it’d be considered a ‘distraction’.
         It’s probably physical, and recontextualizes the fact that Xander has yet to complain about being tossed around by, say, vampires. He has what seems to be an entirely nonexistent self-esteem, plastered over with the sharp wit and dry humor and when necessary provoking anyone around. He jokes around about being unwanted but takes the little things—like Giles buying a new toothbrush—as welcoming. It’s rather, the librarian suspects, like being slowly adopted by a skittish feral cat. Quick moves, too much questioning, or, say, if he finally made a spare key would be considered threatening, but allowing him to fall asleep on an old ratty couch and not making too much of a fuss about stolen food allow him to feel comfortable. He seems sadly content to merely exist nearby those he cares about.
         Or...well, the alcohol. Xander makes sure that Giles is never home when he’s stolen a bottle, but the librarian can put the pieces together. He’d started to leave out the bottle he’d pilfered, a move that worried the librarian briefly before he realized this, too, is a sign of trust, however small. A ‘I might be hungover in the morning’ warning. A sign he trusts Rupert to make sure he’s breathing before retiring to his own bedroom.
         All the Watcher can guess is that he’s chosen his vice with a care that seems uncharacteristic. It appears the blond, as a teenager, is a lightweight, although if he keeps it up his liver probably won’t be happy. He’d carefully avoided smoking, though it’s clear he still sometimes wants a cigarette. There’s been no evidence of sex, although the boy now flirts with practically everything that moves and apparently is considered irresistible by several of the non-human inhabitants of Sunnydale. When it comes to magic, he drowns himself in the research and runs headlong to his own limits and no further, only pushing them when he gets the sense Giles believes he’s ready to move on. Willow, surprisingly, given her previous position of careful student, would be the one more likely to summon a demon, if the Watcher were forced to choose between the two. Xander allows himself the indulgence of being the punching bag for friend and foe alike, the pain something to take the edge off other cravings, and perhaps as a proxy for self-harm that he can justify to his own conscience—or, more likely, to the single adult figure he trusts and his friends. For someone who appears to be reckless, though, he does a good job not pushing himself too far past his own limits. He will relentlessly poke at them, to learn what he’s working with, but he’s not one to tempt fate. It’s not as if the soul of Constantine still lives in the teen, but part of him still sees the body not as his own and therefore falling under the category of ‘protecting someone else’, though it’s merely a theory.
         The other day, he’d gone through the entirety of Giles’ music collection, rearranging it in some way that made sense only to him. Apparently he’d even tried out the record player. If it goes anything like his VHS collection, it will take at least a month before the boy starts poking around, the occasional question about why this release and not that one, can the librarian play this or that song on his guitar that had stood out to the curious blond. That kind of nosy yet standoffish affection is quickly becoming familiar. While he might not have a son, not in blood or in name, he might have ended up with one anyway.
         Today, Giles thinks with a smile, returning the bottle to the cabinet, must have been a good day. Xander had barely touched the bottle, and his sleep looks more peaceful than usual. Perhaps he’d put a lock on the cabinet. It’s not as if Xander couldn’t simply pick it, but perhaps the challenge could distract him just enough to take the edge off, encourage him to drink just that little less, given that the boy enjoys problem-solving and testing his skills.
         He snuffles and snuggles into the blanket Giles tucks around him, the slightest of smiles tugging at his lips. He’s never bothered using one when he falls asleep on the couch, but never says a word about waking up with one.
         “Good night,” the Watcher whispers before retiring for the night.