Title: Building of the Façade

Era: Intertrilogy (8 BBY)

Characters: Wes Janson; Falren Janson (OC brother); Dalrina Janson (OC mother); Kargir Janson (OC father); Deirean (OC friend)

Ships: None

Genre: Angst/Drama

Summary: Growing up in an unstable home and environment, Wes learns to hide his true feelings behind pranks and humour from his elder brother.

Disclaimer: Playing in George's sand box. And besides, if I really owned Star Wars, there would have been more written on pilots, and NJO wouldn't have destroyed so many characters. Oh, and DN would have been burned waaaay before it was ever published. is feeling cynical

Notes: 'cause I'm feeling sadistic and evil. WARNING: Alcohol abuse and domestic violence within. Oh, and Wes is meant to be about 9 here, his brother is 15

Part One: Attacks

Crash.

The sound of the plates smashing in the kitchen and the raised voices that followed woke the nine-year-old from his restless slumber with a jolt.. Across the room from him, his older brother poked his head out from his blankets.

"What do have here? A sudden meteor shower? A wild animal attack?" he joked despite his sleepiness. "Oh, just an argument." Falren rubbed his eyes and rolled out of his bed, heading for his little brother's bed. Said brother was crawled into a ball with his quilt covering his head in a vain attempt to block out the noise, and to hide his fear. The fifteen-year-old sent a silent curse to his father. This was his fault. He was the one who had turned this into something like a family ritual, but not the type that would ever be mentioned, mind you.

It was always the same. Once the argument had started, no one in the house would sleep. The noise alone enough to keep the two boys awake, but the worst was when, after taking out his frustrations on his wife, Kargir Janson would then try the same on his sons.

Oh, he didn't hit them where a bruise would be seen, he just hit where the blow would hurt even more, or bruise less, and where people wouldn't see.

Hearing the sobs of his mother, and the initial argument winding down, Falren lay down on his brother's bed, hugging Wes as he did so. "Just keep pretending to be asleep, Wes, don't get up okay," he whispered. The mound of blankets that was his little brother nodded then went still.

A minute or so later, the bedroom door was slammed open. Kargir Janson lumbered in, bringing the stench of strong spirits with him.

"Wha' cha doin' over there, ya stinking kid?" he growled drunkenly at his eldest son.

Getting up off the bed, Falren tried to wrestle his face into a calm mask. "Wes had a nightmare earlier, so I soothed him." Actually he's having a nightmare right now: you. Pity we can't wake up and you'd disappear.

The older man advanced towards the bed, "kriffin' wimp, both of ya," he snarled. When Falren didn't move out of the way, he raised his hand. "get outta my way, boy, that kid needs ta learn."

The teenager didn't budge. "No."

Lashing out, Kargir punched him in the stomach and tried to go around him. But the fact that Falren had twisted out of range meant that Kargir was propelled forward when he was trying to go to the side. His drunken state didn't allow his brain to process this properly, or at the right speed, and as a result he fell over. Unfortunately, this only served to make him angrier than ever.

With a snarl Kargir leapt for Falren. This time, Falren didn't twist away; he met his father face on. The first blow from Kargir punched all the air from his lungs, then the pummelling of his lower back, chest, and backside started. Falren yelped in pain, knowing that the more pain he showed, the quicker he'd finish, and if he was satisfied, or drunk enough that he'd collapse, he'd leave Wes alone. Instead Falren tried to take it for him.

But Falren never submitted fully, he always made sure that he at least got some punches of his own in. And in recent times, Kargir had emerged looking worse and worse. This time, Falren saw an opportunity to end this night's fight and took it eagerly. As he smashed the heel of his palm into the older man's forehead, he saw Wes poking his head out of his blankets.

Kargir dropped like a stone, completely out of it. Wes scrambled out of bed and ran to rummage through his secret compartment underneath the bed. A few seconds later, Wes emerged with some bacta paste and a couple of bacta patches. Smiling painfully, Falren hobbled over to the bed and let Wes carefully apply the paste to some of the more tender spots.

"Thanks, little bro," Falren winced, as Wes found a slight cut on his back.

Wes flashed a smile that mimicked his brother's. "Well, if I can't help you initially, at least I can help afterwards." The words were almost casual humour, but the look on Wes' face belied that evaluation.

Falren's mouth twitched at that. Hiding behind humorous words, something he'd been doing for so long that it was second nature now. And now Wes was picking it up too. Mentally, Falren shrugged, if it kept both of them going, it couldn't hurt. "But both of us felt like this," he gestured at himself. "Who would be doing your job?" Wes shot him a grateful look.

Once Wes had finished doing what he could, they both crawled back into their own beds; not sparing a second thought to their father sprawled on the floor.

Well?

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