Meant to Live

Title: Meant to Live (1/?)

Author: Gillian

Pairing: Jack/Will, more possible later on

Rating: R

Warnings: Complete and total AU. Child Abuse. General Angst. If it’s not your thing, be elsewhere.

Disclaimer: Belongs to the big eared one himself. If I owned either of them, I wouldn’t be writing, believe me…I would be taping them and sending copies out to my slash-loving friends. As things stand, I’m just writing out my fantasies.

Beta: spikedvengeance

Feedback: Does a duck with one leg swim in a circle?

Summary: Will comes home a bit late…

Author’s Notes: My very first fic. Hopefully it will be well accepted. Please read and review, as it fuels my muses. Or more accurately, when I don’t write, it causes my beta to send the boys over to me in interludes she likes to call “When Pirates Attack.” So, please, help me out. Lyrics and title are from Meant to Live by Switchfoot
******* denotes scene change or passage of time. “speech” ‘thoughts’/emphasized word/ flashbacks.

Fumbling his confidence
And wondering why the world has passed him by
Hoping that he's bid for more than arguments
And failed attempts to fly, fly

We were meant to live for so much more
Have we lost ourselves?
Somewhere we live inside
Somewhere we live inside
We were meant to live for so much more
Have we lost ourselves?
Somewhere we live inside

Dreaming about Providence
And whether mice or men have second tries
Maybe we've been livin’ with our eyes half open
Maybe we're bent and broken, broken

We were meant to live for so much more
Have we lost ourselves?
Somewhere we live inside
Somewhere we live inside
We were meant to live for so much more
Have we lost ourselves?
Somewhere we live inside

We want more than this world's got to offer
We want more than this world's got to offer
We want more than the wars of our fathers
And everything inside screams for second life, yeah

We were meant to live for so much more
Have we lost ourselves?
We were meant to live for so much more
Have we lost ourselves?
We were meant to live for so much more
Have we lost ourselves?
We were meant to live
We were meant to live


There was a thud as the boy’s body hit the wall. His head snapped back and connected hard. He slid to the floor in a daze, leaving upset pictures in his wake.

‘Not again,’ he had time to think, right before hands appeared at his neck, pulling him to his feet once more.

“You stupid, ungrateful little shit!” His father’s fingers dug into his shoulders painfully, causing Will to flinch. He looked up at his dad for the first time since getting home that night. The rage Will saw in his drunken glare made him shrink back in fear.

“I-I’m sorry. I l-lost track of time. The librarian said she’d tell me when it was 9, but she never came back,” Will fumbled his excuse.

“Lost track of time?” his father roared, “I told you to be home at exactly 9:30, and I damn well meant it!”

“I’m sorry,” Will repeated, beginning to panic.

“I’ll teach you to be sorry, you fucking moron!” With that, his father released the hold he had on his shoulders and backhanded him across the cheek. Will fell to the side with a pained cry, raising his arms to protect his face from the next blow. Fists continued to rain down on his head and shoulders, and he tried desperately to curl up into a ball to avoid at least some of them.

‘It wasn’t always like this,’ Will thought to himself, ‘Not before.’

**************************************************************

A little boy with a mop of brown curls giggled as his mother tossed him the ball yet again. He caught it in his pudgy, six year old hands and cocked his arm to throw it back.

The boy paused and dropped his arm to his side. He turned to his father who was sitting on the patio in a lawn chaand and with an excited smile said, “Daddy, watch!”

Bill looked up from his newspaper to see his son looking at him with deep brown doe eyes. He grinned at the boy before folding up his paper and setting it next to him on the table. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the summer sun.

“I’m watching, Will.”

“Are you ready, Daddy?”

“I’m ready when you are, kiddo. Go ahead.”

The boy turned back to his mother who had watched the exchange with a warm smile gracing her lips. Her auburn hair glinted in the light as she looked at him encouragingly.

“I’m gonna throw it now, ok Mommy?”

“It’s ‘going to’, sweetie. Toss it to me, Will.”

With a look of intense concentration, Will focused on throwing the red ball as far as he could. He released it and watched it fly directly into his mother’s waiting hands. With a whoop of success, he ran to his father and launched himself into the strong arms.

“I did it! Did you see? Did you see?” the boy exclaimed as he pulled back to look at his father excitedly.

“I saw it Will. It was the most perfect throw I have ever seen.” Bill looked up as his wife, Lily, walked over to them, still carrying the small ball. She looked at them with adoration clearly written on her face.

“My two boys,” she said, bending down to pick Will up off of his father’s lap and giving Bill a kiss on the forehead, “What am I going to do with you?”

Bill looked up at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Make us some lunch?”

“Yeah, Mommy! Can we have macaroni and cheese?” Will asked with a pleading expression. She glanced back and forth between the boy in her arms and the man sitting in front of her before shaking her head with a sigh.

“You two would be lost without me.” She replied, setting Will down. She gently took his hand and led him into the house, smiling as he described his throwing success once more. Bill stayed seated, watching them walk to the kitchen. As the voices of the two he loved more than anything faded, he slowly stood from the deck chair, stretching his back and removing the kinks.

“Yeah, we would be.” He followed his family in through the screen door, closing it silently behind him.

***************************************************************

As a foot connected with his midsection and he was torn from the memories, a cry was ripped from Will’s throat.

“Please! Daddy, stop!”

Bill’s arm froze mid-swing. He looked down at his only son, curled up on the floor below him, trembling in fear and pain. He dropped his fist and straightened himself up.
Will’s eyes remained scrunched closed in terror. When the blows stopped, he waited a moment before slowly opening them. His eyes burned with the threat of tears, and his vision blurred due to the moisture. He looked up at the vague outline of his father, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

As Bill watched Will in agony on the floor, his mind was filled with thoughts of chubby cheeks, dimpled grins, and playing in the yard on a hot summer day.

“Get out of my sight,” Bill growled, stalking back into the living room. Will watched him crack open yet another beer and settle himself in front of the television once more. He slowly put his feet under him and suppressed a whimper as his ribs sent a twinge of discomfort to his aching head. He hobbled painfully but silently up the stairs to his bedroom. As he gently lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, he sniffled and wiped half-heartedly at his nose.

The beatings had begun almost 5 years ago, when he was only twelve years old. At 17, he was now very good at plastering a fake smile on his face and acting like nothing was wrong. He had quickly become good at hiding the bruises and cuts. A long sleeve t-shirt or sweater was all it took to convince most people that he was fine; a normal teenage boy with normal teenage problems, like homework and girls. However, he was a straight-A student, and homework was, quite literally, the least of his problems.

There was only one person who knew about the regular abuse. Elizabeth Swann was his best and only friend. They had known each other since he was 5, right after he and his family moved from England. They were fast friends and were inseparable whenever possible.

Lizzie stuck by him when his mother was killed suddenly by a drunk driver, and when his father started drinking because of the pain of her death. She was there for him when his once loving father turned cold and uncaring. She was there the first night he climbed out his window and ran to hers a few houses down, climbing the tree outside and tapping on the glass, waking her. She had run to the window and helped him inside, taking his hands and leading him to the bed. When asked what was wrong, he broke down, sobbing. Lizzie had pulled him into her arms, rocking him back and forth, listening as, in between ragged breaths, he told her that his dad had struck him. She gripped his chin and forced him to look up at her, gasping as she saw the rapidly forming bruise marring his cheek. She clutched him close to her chest, whispering words of comfort as he cried himself to exhaustion.

That was the first and only time he had shed tears because of his father, but it was only the first of many times he would run to her window in the dead of night, needing a friend; the only one he had.

As he sat on the bed thinking, planning his nightly escape to Lizzie’s, he listened for any sign of movement from the sitting room downstairs. His father normally lumbered up to bed around 11, so all he had to do was wait until then. Will sighed, then instantly regretted it when he was reminded of the pain in his midsection. He slowly picked himself up and made his way to the back corner of his room where he searched through his dresser drawers for a clean t-shirt and pajama pants. He trudged back to his bed and shoved them into his messenger bag, along with his books for school. He walked, dragging his feet as he went, to the door opposite his dresser, leading him directly into his own bathroom.

As he entered, he flicked on the light switch, cringing when the bright light assaulted his tired eyes. Blinking rapidly, he stood in front of the mirror, silently observing his reflection. He cocked his head to the side, peering closely for any sign of bruises. Will was once again amazed that there was no discoloration marring the olive skin of his face. He chuckled bitterly to himself, thinking ‘Well, at least there’s nothing to hide.’

However clear his face was, his hair was another story. He patted ruefully at it before sighing, realizing it for the lost cause that it was. He reached back and slowly pulled the hair tie from his tangle of chestnut curls, wincing as it caught in a snag. Once the offending band was removed, he set it on the edge of the counter and pulled his brush out of the drawer next to the sink. After the knots were gone and his hair was smooth once more, Will took the tie and put his shoulder length locks back into their signature ponytail.

Picking up his toothbrush, he began the nightly ritual of preparing for sleep, humming softly to himself as he cleaned his teeth. He spit the mouthful of toothpaste into the sink and rinsed with a small cup of water. After crumpling the paper cup and tossing it into the waste basket under the sink, Will retrieved a small wash cloth and wetted it with warm water. Holding it open between his two hands, he pressed the cloth to his face, soothing and relaxing himself in the process. He stood there, head leaned back with the cloth resting gently on his cheeks for a few moments, before he tilted his head forward and let the washcloth fall into the sink with a quiet plop.

Will glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall noting that it was almost 10:15. ‘Only 45 more minutes to go. I took a shower this morning, so screw that; I don’t need another.’

Flicking the light out in the bathroom, he turned and walked back into the middle of his bedroom. Looking around, Will figured the best thing to do now was sit and wait. He lowered himself to the bed once again. He sat, leg bouncing, fingers tapping a steady rhythm on his kneecap, humming the tune from earlier, for only a few minutes before quickly realizing that just sitting about would not do. Sighing, he reached for his nightstand, grabbing the book that sat precariously on the edge. He opened it, pulled out the bookmark, and settled in to read.

************************************************************************

Will set the book down next to him on the bed, tilting his head side to side in order to crack the stiff joints. He rubbed his tired face and eyes with his hands. He dropped his head back down to the pillows and stretched his arms up above him, crossing them and resting the interlaced fingers of his hands on top of his chest. Will stared up at the ceiling, memorizing every crack and shadow.

‘Man, these books are the best…Tolkien was a genius.’

Will had been a fan of the books since he was a kid. They provided a means of escape from everything, spiriting him away from all of his problems to a world full of heroes and adventures. When he thought of tiny Frodo, and his hobbit companions doing whatever it took to allow peace to reign, it gave him the courage to be strong, to do what /he/ had to do. He always looked up to Legolas the most, finding in him a worthy idol that didn’t exist in his real life. He was everything Will wished he could be; strong and brave and passionate. Legolas never let anything get to him, no matter what. He put on the cold mask of apathy and fought as hard as he could. ‘I wish I was like that. Plus, there is no way he isn’t shagging Aragorn. Lucky elf.’

Will had known he was gay since he was thirteen. He and Lizzie had been watching Benny and Joon, an old Johnny Depp movie, in his living room. When Sam started making the bread rolls dance, he thought it was oddly cute. When Sam did the mime show with his hat, he found it strangely appealing. After Sam and Joon had sex on the couch, Will knew that was it for him. He had a crush on Sam, a man. He had inhaled sharply, causing himself to breath in a piece of popcorn. Lizzie had looked over at him and, seeing him choking, promptly whacked him on the back. He coughed up the offending kernel and turned to her with wide eyes. She started to get worried and asked him what was wrong. All he said was, “I’m gay,” before she burst into laughter. When he asked her what was so bloody funny, she had looked at him completely seriously and said, “I know,” before dissolving into giggles once more. After the initial identity crisis that inevitably followed, it had never been an issue with him again, but he was terrified of telling his father. He thought he probably never would. Lizzie was the only one who knew, and according to her, she had known even longer than he had. She once told him that her first clue came when he still wanted to play Barbie when they were nine. The fact that he wanted to be the Barbie because she had brushable hair was just a bonus hint.

Suddenly, Will heard steady thumps on the steps leading upstairs. ‘Shit- dad.’ He launched himself off the bed, suppressing a groan, and flipped the main light off. He hopped back on the bed just as he heard his father top the landing. He scurried under the covers fully clothed and squeezed his eyes shut, pretending to sleep. Will heard the doorknob turn and the door slowly being pushed inward, a slight creak marring the otherwise smooth transition. He sensed his dad’s head poke in through the crack.

“Damn right you’re asleep. Bastard kid.”

Will cringed at the tone but otherwise made no movement. He let oubreabreath he didn’t realize he had been holding when his father moved back out of the room, closing the door behind him. He waited patiently for the telltale signs that his father was in bed, the door shutting, the dresser drawers opening and closing, and the most obvious, the loud snoring that carried throughout all of the upstairs rooms. He waited a good ten minutes before cautiously getting out of the bed, grabbing the already packed messenger bag off the floor as he moved silently to the window in the darkness of his room. Will quietly pulled the storm window up and carefully dropped his bag out ow, ow, ow, where it landed on the ground many feet below him. He climbed with practiced ease out the window, grasping the ledge as he lowered his body as far as he could. Will glanced over his shoulder and seeing the tree outside his window right next to him, he grabbed at the nearest branch. As his fingers closed around the rough bark, he swung his body fully into the tree and climbed stealthily down.

Once he reached the ground, Will shouldered his bag and set off down the road to Lizzie’s.

~tbc~