TITLE: Denial, Repression, Sublimation

AUTHOR: Scorpio

SERIES:The Truth about Xander's Road Trip

RATING: PG-13 to possibly R

CATEGORY: Co-Authored, AU

PAIRINGS: Xander/? [none *this* week]

FANDOMS: Buffy: the Vampire Slayer

SUMMARY: What Really happened to Xander while he was on his road trip!!!!!

[Week 3 of his adventure, Xander finds himself driving his Uncle Rory's car to his planned destination of Los Vegas and finds that all is not well... in his own mind.]

WARNINGS: Angst, amensia, hurt/no comfort, stream of consciousness...

DISCLAIMERS: We intend no copyright infringement by the use of characters and of settings from of this show.We write for the entertainment of ourselves and those who take the time to read this.

FEEDBACK: Only if you wish...

ARCHIVE: Yes to anyone who plans to archive the entire multi-authored series, as well as The Nesting Place, which archives all of my personal fic.

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The Truth About Xander's Road Trip 2: Denial, Repression, Sublimation

By Scorpio
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A vague sense of unease settled over Xander as he downshifted in order to more easily navigate the tight twists and turns in this portion of the near deserted road. Stoically, he ignored the unease as nothing more than a by-product of growing up on the Hellmouth, a place where being alone was often dangerous.

But that's what this whole trip was about. Being alone, or more to the point, being on his own. There was a difference. Slight, but profound. He was trying to prove to himself, as well as his friends, that he *could* do it. That he *was* able to survive without them there to prop him up.

Of course, down deep he knew that he could do it. After all, how hard could the rest of the world be?He had been born and raised on the Hellmouth, and what's more, he had spent the last few years battling the denizens of the night. He figured that life elsewhere would be a piece of cake.

Unfortunately, his friends and family felt otherwise. His parents were the worst, or at least, the most blunt about it. They had both assured him that he was going to get murdered by some homophobic gay-basher, and when that finally happened, his mother would enjoy the free food the neighbors would bring and his father would enjoy the three days with pay he would get from the company for 'bereavement'. His Uncle Rory had just threatened to kill Xander himself if he let anything happen to his car.

Buffy hadn't been around to tell her about the trip and Willow hadn't so much been concerned with *his* safety and happiness as she had been with her own. Giles had been half understanding and half worried about the 'rashness of this fool idea' as he so delicately put it.

Turning off of the back county road and onto the entrance ramp to the interstate that would take him towards Nevada and his ultimate goal of Los Vegas, Xander tried to push the thoughts of his friends and family behind him. Thinking about them wasn't the distraction from his growing sense of unease that he had hoped it would be. On the contrary, he was beginning to feel even worse. Instead, he let his thoughts drift forward in time.

Slowly picking up his speed now that he was on the smooth interstate highway, Xander tried to bring to mind his last encounter with his Uncle Rory. Oddly, he couldn't. He *knew* he must have seen him before he left because he was driving the man's car, but he couldn't remember picking up the vehicle or talking with his Uncle.

A little sliver of fear seeped into his feeling of unease, strengthening it and allowing it to grow. He could clearly remember his 'going away party' at Angel's old mansion. He could even remember getting dropped off at the Bus Station to wait for the R5 that would take him to his Uncle's neighborhood five miles outside of town. And that's where his memories just… stopped.

Xander shifted in the driver's seat, silently assuring himself that he *wasn't* squirming from tension and mild fear. Instead, he probed at his memories, trying to figure out this mystery.

Okay, he could track everything up to the Bus Station. In fact, he could even remember sitting down at the right bench waiting for the overdue bus. And then… his next clear memory is sitting behind the wheel of Uncle Rory's car, driving down the highway with the windows rolled down and a classic rock station tuned in on the radio.

There was *nothing* in his memories between sitting down on the Bus Station bench and sitting in the drivers seat of Uncle Rory's car. He didn't know when the bus came, nor did he remember arriving at his Uncle's house and being handed the keys to the car, yet it *must* have happened. However, he could not pull up any shred of memory about it. There was just this black wall of… nothingness when he tried to remember.

With a frown on his face, Xander turned down the volume on his radio and rolled up the window in favor of the air conditioning on low. He didn't want any distractions while he figured this out. Growing up on the Hellmouth and knowing what he did about it, he had learned, often the hard way, that odd happenings and the unexplainable were usually the result of something evil. If something Hellmouthy had happened to erase his memories, he wanted to know.

Twisting his lips into a slight and cynical smirk at the irony of his own thoughts, Xander snorted and then took a deep breath, trying to relax the tension that he was feeling. Carefully and with great concentration, Xander thought back to what he could remember last. Sitting on the bench at the Bus Station.

Crinkling up his brow and frowning in concentration, Xander *tried* to remember. He tried to force the memories he *knew* were hidden behind that mental black wall to rise to the surface. He pushed and probed at the memory block, trying to visualize himself sitting on that bench, his backpack by his feet on the ground. He remembered the dimly lit lights and the feeling of frustration as he realized the bus was late.

Frowning even more, he pushed at his memories a bit harder. Suddenly, he had the vague impression of a young man, more a boy really, sitting down beside him. He couldn't see the boy's face, nor hear the sound of his voice, but he could distinctly feel his unwelcome presence at his side.

A quickly as that blurry half-formed memory surfaced in his mind, he felt a shock of almost overwhelming panic grip him tightly. Cold sweat broke out along his forehead and down his back even as the hairs on the back of his neck and along his arms stood up on end. His mouth went dry and his heart began to pound in his chest He started to pant with quick shallow breathes of air that wheezed in and out of his lungs. He was taken with the violent urge to just *run* and to *hide*, but he didn't know *why*.

His hands trembling violently even as his knuckles turned white from the fierce tightness of his grip on the steering wheel, Xander *flung* his mind away from the memory of the Bus Station and the mysterious stranger. Instead, he focused his attention on the road and his Uncle's car. Forcing himself to take deep calming breaths, he chanted a silent mantra inside his head. 'It's okay, everything's fine. It's okay, everything's fine. It's okay, everything's fine.' Eventually, his fear lessened and blind terror and panic receded, leaving him tired and more confused than before.

A tiny little sliver of his brain told him that the sudden panic attack at the first sign of a memory and the selective amnesia were due to some mental or emotional trauma. They were, most likely, related to something that his mind was desperately trying to repress. He knew, down deep, that it was something that he would eventually have to force himself to deal with. But not right now. Not while driving down a lonely strip of highway at 85 miles per hour.

Hoping to distract himself and to sooth his tattered nerves, Xander turned off the air conditioning and rolled down the window to allow fresh air to blow in upon his face. Then, he reached out with one hand and fumbled around in his backpack for a bit until he came across his small selection of cassette tapes. Choosing one at random, he popped it into the tape player and focused his attention on the pounding beat and pulsing rhythms of Eve 6.

Part 2

By the time that Xander had passed the third off-ramp he had come to a decision. He had to stop driving. He had to find a place to stay. Somewhere. Anywhere. It didn't really matter.

His nerves were too jumpy and his mind was too stressed to drive. He had caught himself driving 45mph in the fast lane at one point. And if that wasn't dangerous enough, at another point, he'd found himself doing an easy 70mph in the slow lane. He was going to get himself and others killed at this rate.

Oddly enough, just having made that decision seemed to ease his emotional discomfort. It was as if taking charge of the situation and dealing with it in a calm, rational manner made him *feel* in charge and in control. It didn't really matter that it was a bit on the silly side and that he couldn't explain his unease or his random panic attacks. The fact that he was *doing* something about it was... comforting.

In a way, Xander felt that this made a strange sort of sense. He never was a very introspective type of person. He was more of a "man of action" kinda guy. Hence the Road Tripping deal. He wanted to "find himself", fine. But he'd do it while on the move, dammit.

Now this.

A big black hole in his memory and the creepy sensation that something *bad* was out there looking for him. All in all, it wasn't *too* surprising that he'd been suffering from the "wiggins", was it? Xander didn't think so.

So... now he was just waiting for the next exit to come across the horizon. Exit 24b if he wasn't mistaken. It *should* lead him to a valley full of orange-tree groves and maybe even a few fields of grapevines. And then beyond that was a small town. Oxford? Oxyard? Oxnard? Something like that...

Xander figured that he could stop there, find a diner and grab a bite to eat, then a cheap motel room for the night. In the morning he'd be good to go. Back on the highway and *hopefully* past the need to have a nervous breakdown behind the wheel of his Uncle Rory's car. After all, the man *did* promise to kill Xander personally if he scratched the vehicle. And Xander was of the opinion that being killed was a bad thing. A bad thing he didn't want to experience. Ever, if possible.

A big green sign with white shinny reflective lettering caught his eye. Squinting at it and trying to drive and the same time, he read what it said.

EXIT 24B
OXNARD CALIFORNIA
5 MILES

Xander grinned. Just a few more minutes and he'd be in Oxnard. He'd get a good dinner, a good night's sleep and then he'd be gone and heading towards Los Vegas by early morning. And all would be well.

His grin turned a little forced as he realized that for some odd and unknown reason, those words seemed to ring false. Even in his own mind. Damning himself as unduly paranoid, Xander pushed his misgivings aside and headed for the off-ramp.

~~~

Making sure to leave an extra two dollars on the table with the bill for his meal, Xander pushed back the stool and stood up from the scratched mint green surface of Mel's Diner and Diesel Refueling Station's counter. The cheerful and flirty waitress Claire, who was also apparently Mel's wife, waved goodbye to him as he started to head towards the advertizement covered glass front doors.

"G'Nite hon. You take it easy now and get yourself a good night's sleep. You're too young to look so tired."

Xander flashed her a quick grin.

"Thanks Claire. And don't you let Mel work you too hard."

"Will do sweetie."

And with that last exchange Xander pushed through the doors and was back out into the parking lot. He immediately was hit with a bizarre mix of relief and trepidation and shook his head at himself.

Part of him felt relief at being away from the diner, and that in itself was... odd. Xander *liked* diners. He always had. They were homey, cozy and cheap. They also served *way* better food than his mom *ever* had. Hot and filling and quick. Yeah, Xander had never found anything, with the possible exception of the Star Wars movies, that even came close to the innate goodness of the common diner.

And yet, it was all he could do not to retch his way through his meal. Oh, it wasn't that the food was *bad*. Greasy? Yes. Chock full of cholesterol? Yes, again. But that was expected with diner food. Mel's even had all of his long time favorites. And yet... just reading the menu had caused him to break out in a sweat.

Hot dogs? Too gross to even contemplate.

Roast Beef sandwich? He kept getting this vision of a cow pleading for it's life.

BBQ Chicken Wings? More visions. This time his imagination supplied him with a headless chicken running away from some faceless boy who wanted to pluck out all it's feathers.

Cheeseburger? Once again with the begging cow.

Confused and upset with himself over his warped imagination playing with his mind after an already messed up day, Xander had finally chosen items he never would have in the past.

Grilled cheese sandwich, tomato soup and an order of french fries. It was greasy and messy and it didn't contain a single bite of meat. And somehow, that had helped. He kept reminding himself that he *had* to eat. Human beings *needed* food and he *wasn't* eating some poor defenseless animal.

Apparently, along with selective amnesia and panic attacks, Xander now had new eating habits. He was a vegetarian.

With a long suffering sigh and a sharp glance at the swiftly darkening sky, Xander hurried to his car. He wanted to try and find a motel room before it got too dark. He knew that Oxnard wasn't the Hellmouth, but that didn't mean that there couldn't be a lone vampire running around.

And with the way his luck was going. If there was one, he'd be sure to find it.

END WEEK 3b