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Tavros Crocker was only 5 when his uncle John had asked if he was being abused.
The question had hung in the air, and settled deep inside Tavvy's soul, but he wanted to ignore how those words seemed to make something click inside his brain. Gamzee wasn't touching him, no. But a few things were starting to make sense now he'd been asked, and it frightened him.
"I do see why you would think so" Tavvy said slowly, watching as John's face fell more, "It does seem like the sort of thing that would happen to me eventually, does it not?"
And John had lost it. He'd tried to take Tavros home with him, tried to save him from his misery of a life. And Tavros had wanted him to. He wanted so badly to leave this mansion and never come back, leave this house of empty halls, cold walls and a lingering loneliness that he'd always known. Uncle John was kind, and Harry Anderson said he was a good person.
It didn't work out, blowing up as his mother discovered the kidnapping attempt, as all his family came in and refused to believe John was only trying to help. And she'd punished Tavvy for even entertaining the idea of going home with him. Because she'd given him everything and he was being such a selfish ungrateful little boy.
Stuck in his room, Tavros had time to think over what John had been assuming, his brain picking apart his relationship with his uncle Gamzee. He hadn't been touching him, no. Not...sexually at least. It seemed so simple and innocent until now. Small brushes on his leg, a hand always on him somewhere, eyes lingering far too long. Coming in his room late at night when he was trying to sleep. The sickly addicting Faygo they'd drink together as Gamzee spoke about his religion, sitting Tavros on his lap.
Was he a horrible person for the disgust that he felt thinking on those moments? He could hear his mother's voice in his head.
How dare you assume he's trying to hurt you. Hasn't your uncle been through enough without you villainising him?
Maybe she was right. Gamzee had helped raise him, when his mother was too busy, when his father was off on "business meetings" or getting drunk. He knew his father tried his best, and he was present in his life, at least more than Jane. But he was a busy man too, who'd mentally clocked out of life years ago. He loved Tavros, and Tavros loved his dad. But he remembered more times being around the clown than his own parents.
So selfish, Tavros. Pull yourself together.
Tavvy stood under an awning of a shut cafe, drenched to the bone and shivering as he clutched his phone. He'd snuck out to go to the park. No one would've noticed he'd been gone anyway, and no one cared enough to keep an eye on him unless he was needed. So he'd snuck out past his mother's security measures and walked to the park 10 minutes from his house. He'd planned to meet Vriska but she hadn't answered his messages, so he just slid down the slide and sat on the swings all alone. And that's when the rain started.
It was light at first, just a few droplets falling down and dropping against his glasses. And then it grew heavy and flooded the park, soaking his clothes through. His hair stuck to his face, his vision blurred from the water battering on his lenses, and his new shoes coat covered in mud. He'd ran towards the street and hid under the first shelter he could find shivering, barely able to fumble with his phone to call Jake.
It rang.
Rang...
...
No answer.
He tried again.
Ring...
Ring...
Tavros frowned as it once again went to voicemail and bit his lip. His mother would be in meetings, and she was mad at him so she might not even send one of the many staff who made sure he didn't get lost along the way. Staff who raised him more than his own mother did. Better than...uncle Gamzee.
Gamzee...
Biting his lip harder, Tavros begrudgingly opened his chat with Gamzee. And against his better judgement, ignored the sickly feeling that something didn't feel right. He was cold, and soaked through, and even if the clown had consistently given him reasons to fear him he was still family. Mother said he needed to give Gamzee more of a chance, and that he'd slip up now and then. His father said Gamzee was a joke of a clown (and then laughed at his pun), and that he intentionally gave Tavros peanuts. Tavvy wanted to believe it was accidents. He wanted to believe his anxiety was just getting bad and that's why he had started to feel so uneasy around him. That John had put bad ideas in his head. But deep down he'd known. He'd just been trained to ignore his instincts in favour of everyone else, after all, he was just a people pleaser and a political pawn just like his father.
So he ignored the sickly feeling he got when Gamzee picked him up, and the tightness in his chest when he got into the car alone with him and the clown insisted on putting the belt on him. He tried to ignore it when he walked into his bedroom and Gamzee tried to "help" him take off his wet clothes. He tried not to argue too much as he politely asked his uncle to give him some privacy.
Tavros Crocker tried to be a good boy, he really did try.
But nothing ever came out on his favour.
As he tugged the soaked sweater off his head, half tangled in the sleeves, he heard the door click. And then lock. And all of a sudden...he was so aware of how silent the house was. He slowly turned, the overwhelming anxiety and dread consuming him as he saw Gamzee grin at him, his tall dark figure approaching.
His own words from that day ran in his ears: "It does seem like the sort of thing that would happen to me eventually...does it not?"
He didn't want it to though.
Uncle John...I want to go home.
"Let me motherfucking help, you little motherfucker" Gamzee snorted as he approached, and Tavros just froze up. He was terrified, and didn't know what to do. Tears immediately clouded his vision, and hopelessness joined the sickening cocktail of emotions.
No one would come if he screamed anyway...why waste his breath?
His mother would be so angry at him, or she'd just scoff and tell him something like "Tavros darling, Gamzee is trying his best to be better. Why won't you just help him?" He felt like she loved that troll more than him. But that was just the story of his life...everyone had someone, but that someone wasn't him.
His father wouldn't be home for a few more hours.
All he knew was to be silent, to listen to what he was told, to not embarass the family. To not break his poor mother's heart with his failure. Never in his life had he been allowed to be his own person. None of his opinions and views were his, he had no control anywhere in his life.
Tavros stared at the sticky faygo stain in his carpet, unable to will himself to move. He didn't know how long he'd been there, his head had felt like it was being held underwater. Fuzzy, heavy. Unable to think.
Gamzee had left a while ago and yet still the weight persisted. It was like his whole body was made of lead, aching and heavy and exhausted. The back of his arms stung and felt sticky with blood, the back of his head ached from claws in his hair, his lip and nose hurt from being pushed into the covers. As if he'd make a sound anyway. Every part of him burnt and hurt, and he tried not to focus on the feelings below his waist, the pain and the soaked skin. He tried not to feel the cold that seeped into him from soaked sheets that he couldn't bear to look at, or imagine the maids finding.
At some point he'd finally managed to roll onto his back with a wince, and stared up at the glow in the dark stars above his head. His father had placed them up there when he was 3. They were now peeling and some had already fell off, leaving a ghost of a star imprint behind in the paintwork. Jane had hated it, but she had better things to do than pick them back off so let it go.
Tavvy shut his eyes and listened to the rain hammering down outside, the distant rumbling of thunder, and took a deep breath. In...out...in....out. Jake had taught him breathing exercises when he'd had a panic attack at Harry's 4th birthday party. He couldn't remember a time where he'd never been anxious. The pit in his stomach didn't leave, no matter how hard he tried to calm himself. He swallowed to sooth his dry throat, or to sooth the nausea. Neither worked.
With a sigh, he slowly willed himself to sit up, the cold air nipping against his bare flesh. His body still felt heavy, and his head felt fuzzy like it was full of cobwebs. He glanced down at his bed, frowning as he saw his purple sheets soaked and stained with dark purple and red. How would he even hide that?
Shakily, he pushed himself off the bed, holding onto it for support as his legs trembled, and bit his lip as he felt what had been done to him drip down his legs. He felt so disgusting, the need to wash himself outweighing the cloud of exhaustion.
Stripping his bed off, he took the mattress sheet off and wobbled to his bathroom that was connected to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him. He tossed the sheet on the floor, planning to try and wash it out in the shower, and if it didn't come out he'd just empty an entire ink pot onto it and throw it. After turning the shower on and letting it warm up to the temperature he liked (nice and hot), Tavvy climbed into the bath and sat down, letting the warm water rush over him. He hadn't realised how cold he still was from being caught out in the rain until now.
Tavvy sighed and tried to relax his muscles as he cuddled his knees to himself and shut his eyes, trying to let the water wash away the tension and the awful feelings against his skin. But it didn't fix it. He stayed like that for a moment, before he opened his eyes and dared to look down at his legs. Purple and red. On his skin, washing down the drain.
He squeezed them shut, then opened them again analysing the damage on his arms instead.
Bruises had begun to form, mainly around his wrists and his upper forearms. But it was mainly harsh scratches from claws, some angry red against his pale skin, and some bleeding quite badly. Gamzee had held him down...and Tavros wasn't even fighting him. So why had he hurt him so bad? They stretched around from the back of his arms where he'd been pinned.
His stomach twisted, and he grabbed his sponge to try and clean himself up. He needed to get rid of the blood, to feel clean. But his skin was so sore, that the soap and the sponge just burnt as he scrubbed. And scrubbed. But the feeling of his hands and claws remained.
Then, he began trying to scrub away at his legs, desperate to get rid of the purple and the blood that kept running. But his legs were stained as if he'd spilt ink on himself, and the discolouration was a cruel reminder of what had been done. He hadn't even realised he was crying, until his own sobs hit his ears, echoing through the lonely bathroom.
His heart pounded in his chest, and his stomach continued to twist itself into a knot. And Tavros leapt out the bath to his toilet, throwing up violently. The tears kept coming, and coming. The sickness grew, the panic set in, and he let out agonised wails.
But no one heard.
No one came.
The abuse persisted for years, and Tavros just pushed through like he was taught. Even if his mother would care, he was frightened to dissapoint his parents. Gamzee had often sought out Tavros when they were fighting, claiming he had to get it from someone. If Jane cared...She'd never forgive herself for it. But Tavvy didn't have much in his heart left to believe she loved him. He knew she'd pick her career over him every time. And if there was a risk of such news getting out she would bury and burn it like it never happened, like the bedsheets Tavvy destroyed the first time it happened.
And his father already had so much to deal with, he didn't want to add onto that. Jake spent a lot of time at the pub, or laying in bed either drunk or nursing a hangover, or in his "business meetings" as his parents insisted. But Tavvy didn't know any meeting that could possibly take place in the spare bedroom. He knew his dad was basically a sexual product to be used for Jane's campaigns, he'd figured it out after the 3rd year of being treated the same by Gamzee. He just didn't want to know what was happening in that room, that could cause Jake to immediately drown himself in intoxication afterwards. The wrestling show, the acts he put on before her speeches and the posters were enough. He'd often heard people laugh about him, assume Jake liked the attention. But Tavvy had seem him half passed out on the kitchen floor bawling about how he'd dreamed to be an adventurer, and why had his life gone so wrong, enough times to know better.
"I'm supposed to be a God, for crying out loud. I...I want to go home. I want my island, and my pumpkin patch and...I miss Dirk!"
He'd once wailed as Tavvy dragged him to his lonely little bedroom, tucked him into bed, and cuddled him to sleep. It should've been the other way around, but he loved his father. And besides, no one else looked after him either.
Gamzee had eventually coined the term "Moirails" to define their relationship, and used it to blackmail him into acts he didn't want to do. But Tavvy didn't see the point. He'd never refused Gamzee. He never fought anyone. The first and only time he'd tried to squirm away and scream for his dad, he'd been nearly choked unconscious with how furious Gamzee had gotten.
YoU mOtHeRfUcKiNg BeLoNg To Me, LiTtLe FuCkEr. dOn'T yOu FoRgEt
He'd heard all the tricks before. Gamzee either forced him outright without asking, or he'd beg and beg and try to convince him that all he had to do was just lay there or open his mouth, until Tavvy just nodded quietly and let him. He'd lead him away to Tavvy's room, a secluded area of the house no one went to, or the bathroom by the dining area. He'd been told that really, he'd been consenting so there was nothing to tell. That he was just learning about love and life. That Jane would be super upset he was doing adult things so we need to keep it super secret.
No one ever suspected a thing, not them vanishing together, or the blood stains in his room and in his clothes, or the purple stains, or the night terrors that had plagued him for years.
Jake clearly knew something was wrong, but he couldn't tell what. It killed Tavros to lie to him. But what could he say? What could he do?
The abuse only stopped once Jake had finally decided to leave, and had taken him to live with his uncle John. It seemed almost ironic to be here nearly 10 years later.
John had noticed how awful both Crockers looked, but especially how much worse Tavros looked since last he saw him. He was thin, his clothes slightly too loose on him, his eyes dull and exhausted both physically and emotionally. It was the look of a kid resigned from life, a kid who'd seen the horrors. John recognised it in himself years ago when he was on the ship with Jade. He had frowned at it, but hadn't said anything as Jake picked up some alcohol and Tavvy excused himself to his new room.
Tavros had spent a few hours just sitting on the bed, feeling like he was intruding. He wasn't hungry so he eventually decided to go to bed, not wanting to go down and see his father's depressive intoxicated spiral. Sweet dreams didn't find him, only purple and a tall slim figure with horns, sharp claws and a suffocating feeling.
cOmE oN bAbY i'M fEeLiNg AlL sOrTs Of MoThErFuCkInG fEeLiNgS rIgHt AbOuT nOw. i MiGhT jUsT sNaP aGaIn. dO yOu WaNt Me To MoThErFuCkInG hUrT yOu?
His door had opened as he woke up screaming, and Tavros had half expected to see tall slim horns. But instead he saw his father, but...not his father. Jake didn't wear blue.
"Tavvy?" John asked gently as he walked over, sitting on the side of his bed. Tavros trembled, staring at him with wide frightened eyes, "Nightmare?"
The boy nodded sniffing, trying to bite down tears. Not allowed to cry. Not here.
John frowned and carefully reached to hug him, feeling how the teen immediately tensed in his arms at first before collapsing into him. He softly rubbed his hand against him soothingly, cradling him close as he rocked him just as his own dad used to. Tavvy slowly relaxed and buried his face into his pajama shirt, before he just broke down sobbing. John let his nephew cry for as long as he needed to, resting his head against him with a small sigh.
It took nearly 5 minutes before Tavvy choked out "I want...to tell you something...but I'm not allowed..." And John's stomach twisted in dread.
"You can tell me anything Tavvy"
Tavros sniffed, gasping through his sobs. He wasn't allowed to tell, but he was so so exhausted and John had already guessed it before it happened. He had tried to save him assuming he was being assaulted. Uncle John was safe.
So he told him about Gamzee, about the first time it happened, the coercion, the threats, the punishment for trying to scream, the nightmares. And John had just held him listening carefully, acting like an anchor as the child sobbed out years worth of abuse. He was angry for him, angry at Jane and angry that such a sweet kid could fall through the cracks for so long. All his life Tavros had blended into the background. If it weren't for his mothers career where he was forced into the spotlight, no one would ever know he even existed. He was mad at Jake for not walking out sooner, and mad at himself for not trying harder.
Once Tavvy was done, he just sobbed harder into John curling into a small ball, and John just continued to rock him "Thank you for telling me Tavvy...that was so brave of you. I'm proud of you ok? I know that was hard. I'm so so sorry that happened. You didn't deserve any of that abuse, you didn't deserve any of what happened in that house. I'm sorry I didn't try harder to save you. I failed you, we all did"
Tavvys wide eyes looked up at him, glazed with tears and exhaustion, looking like no one had ever said anything so kind to him before "Uncle John..."
"No, no please. We failed you, someone should've seen it sooner. But Gamzee can't hurt you anymore ok? I won't let him hurt you"
And for once in his life, Tavros felt safe, and able to relax.