When the Angel's Wept

Repost: Revamped Part 2, 3, and new 4

2005-12-18T00:05:42Z

If you are new to this story, please go back and read Part One
Please also read the warnings associated with this story. Please also note that not one single word of this is set in stone. This repost includes more than 3000 new words. But since lj is being a wanker, I can't go back and delete the parts that I have re-written. I will keep trying tho!

*hugs*

Xander lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. It was one of those atypical Saturday mornings that only happens in sitcoms and family shows on TV. The sun was shining in a perfect blue sky; he could hear a bird singing right outside the window and the crisp greasy smell of bacon was slowly invading his senses. He catalogued every detail that made this not a hospital room, the muslin curtains with white eyelet lace across the top, the walls were painted a pale dun color like dunes out in the desert. Every piece of furniture matched, the dresser and the nightstand and the headboard, all stained a dark walnut color and not a wall-bolted television in sight.

He threw the covers aside, climbing out of bed and stretching as he walked over to the window. Xander didn’t need to look out to see the pile of cigarette butts littering the eaves, but he did it anyway, taking an odd amount of comfort from the size of the pile. From the looks of it, Spike had stayed there until dawn threatened to make him indistinguishable from the ashes spread out on the shingles.

Xander showered, carefully keeping his mind focused on the tasks at hand. Wash the hair, rinse the hair. Wash the face, rinse the face. Keeping his own touch as impersonal and clinical as possible, while ritualistically stripping off one more layer of flesh with scalding hot water and cruelly hard swipes of the washcloth. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Xander knew that if he could just get enough old skin off, get every single cell that Greg had touched, somehow he would feel clean again.

It wasn’t enough. Not yet.

Giles called him down to breakfast while he was shaving, mirror still steamed up and scraping the blade down his jaw by touch and instinct. He dressed methodically, underwear, pants, shirt, socks.

“I’m going job hunting today, Giles.” Xander sat at the table, picking up his coffee cup and inhaling the rich aroma.

“Are you certain that’s wise? You’ve just gotten out of the hospital.” Giles put his own cup down, wincing when it trembled against the porcelain counter top.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Giles, probably more than I’ll ever be able to tell you. I just…I need to…I need to get on with my life. I need a job, and an apartment, and dirty socks in the corner.” Xander smiled at his own words, “I will never get back what he took from me, but I need to go on. Does that make any sense?”

“Yes, it does. And it’s an admirable goal; just don’t push yourself, Xander. Give yourself time to heal.” Giles set a plate on the table in front of Xander, piled with every form of breakfast food he could remember Xander liking.

“And apparently gain some weight.” Xander looked at the plate, then up at Giles.

“I’m trying too hard, aren’t I?” Giles sat, putting his chin in the palm of his hand and staring at Xander despondently.

“And I love you for it, really I do. Just…I’m only a little broken here, please don’t treat me like I’m totally ruined, ok?”

“I…all right, I’ll do my best. So, job hunting, would you care to borrow my car?”

~*~

The first place Xander went was the construction company he’d been working with before. Roscoe, the owner, hired him back immediately. They’d all heard about his disappearance, Willow having cornered and questioned each of his co-workers until they were either pissed or terrified. Several of his crew had attended his funeral, and now they looked at Xander with something akin to awe. He’d returned from the dead in a totally un-Hellmouthy way.

Xander was able to move into his apartment within a month, the girls having taken care of the clothes issue by impromptu kidnappings and shopping sprees, and Giles springing for down payments on basic furnishings for the living room and bedroom.

Dawn, Willow and Xander all started training with Buffy. Xander could see the what if’s cross her face every time she looked at her sister and best friend. And Spike became a constant shadow. He never really talked to Xander, just slipped up next to him during patrol, smoking cigarette after cigarette and watching. Spike would walk him back to his apartment every night, they would share a silent look and head nod, then Xander would go inside and Spike would do…whatever it was that Spike did. Xander knew he didn’t go far, the pile of stubbed out butts said that he pretty much just circled the building waiting for the fight to come to him.

He was good with that.

Xander also started stockpiling weapons, amassing an armory that put Buffy and Giles’ to shame. His days took on a routine, work, training with Buffy, and patrol with Spike. Twice a week he went down to the shooting range and did target practice with a variety of handguns, focusing with a deadly intent that had all the regulars whispering and eventually trying to strike up conversations. Xander was always polite, but he never initiated any contact and his intensity soon put off all but the most avid shooters.

And nobody knew that he was falling apart.

~*~

Then Spike disappeared.

~*~

He needed at least 4000 volts, anything less and the headache was something like the chip firing, with the added joy of lighting himself on fire. Three nights, three very long nights of bouncing himself off fences then rolling around in the grass, and Spike was starting to get pissed.

Taking the last drag off his cigarette, he dropped the butt on the ground and then stepped forward, wrapping his fingers around the cold steel links.

There was a moment when his brain registered white and blue lances of fire arcing over his fingers and racing up his arms, and then the fire hit the backs of his eyes and there wasn’t anything at all.

~*~

“Three days, Giles. He’s been gone for three days.” Xander walked circles around the couch, stopping long enough to change directions.

“I fail to see what you are so concerned about, Xander, it’s not like Spike hasn’t done this sort of thing before.” Giles peered at Xander over the top of his glasses, and then turned the page in his book, effectively dismissing Xander’s concerns.

“And that has worked out so well in the past.” Xander wondered if any of them had had this sort of conversation when he disappeared, painful traitorous thoughts, so he left before he could voice any of them.

~*~

Spike blinked, watching as the stars above seemed to swim about in lazy circles. One by one they slowed, snapping into place and winking down at him. The acrid odor of singed hair and skin rolled over his senses, going from simply pungent to overwhelming in the space of an eye blink. He looked down at his body, marveling at knowing he was moving, but not really registering the motion.

Tendrils of greasy black smoke curled up from various places on his body. There were saucer sized holes where the electricity had burned through his flesh and set his clothes on fire. There was a moment of pure amazement, just judging by the damage to his shirt, he should be tiny flakes of gray ash floating up to dance with the stars.

Spike climbed to his feet, stumbling and falling back to his knees more than once, then staggered towards home.

~*~

It’s almost time for a new journal. I can’t believe how much I write. All things considered, I bet everyone else would be surprised as well.

I’ve missed a few days, with pretty good reason, I think. Spike’s gone missing. Before, I would have dropped to my knees and thanked every deity I could think of, and probably made a few up. But now…fuck, Buffy won’t let me patrol. They don’t tell me when there is a research session, Dawn gets an axe, I get a pat on the head. So Spike patrols with me. Well, I patrol, he walks behind me and smokes. I don’t think we’ve even said hello since I’ve been back. And when we run into something? He just sits back on his ass and lets me beat the shit out of it, telling me things like ‘lower’ or ‘that round thing in the middle of his chest? That’s the eyeball, get him there.’ We aren’t friends, not even close, but he seems to get why I need to be out there, why I have to do something. Anything.

So instead of patrolling, hunting I guess, I’ve been looking for him. I’m scared, not ashamed to admit it here; I’m scared that something like the Initiative (or worse) has him. Spike’s not exactly on the demon elite list anymore, and there’s a lot out there that would give…well, their right nut if they have one to get Spike back for some of the stuff he’s done for us. If he’s not back tonight, I’m calling Angel.

Xander carefully closed the journal, laying it in the top drawer of his nightstand and pushing it shut. He climbed out of bed, mind still whirling around the multitude of questions his conversation with Giles had raised.

How long. How long had they waited to look for him. How long had they looked for him. It wasn’t beyond his scope of imagination to thing they had waited days. Thinking back, it hadn’t been that unusual for him to just not show up for a week, between working two jobs and the girls’ school schedule, time would slip away until some big nasty required the combined efforts of the Scooby’s.

Xander padded slowly out into the dark living room, making his way over to the tall picture window looking out towards the street. His fingers curled around the sheers, he watched detachedly as they gripped tighter and tighter until the rod broke away from the wall. The heavy sound of brass crashing against the hardwood floors seemed to break something inside of Xander, he spun around, lifting a floor lamp from the corner and throwing it against the far wall. A small writing table with a matching ladder back chair was next, a house warming gift from Giles that suddenly seemed mocking and cruel. A delicate-looking cane stand from Buffy that held his collection of swords, ranging from thin rapier like blades to heavier broadswords, shattered into thousands of satisfying splinters when he picked it up and smashed it against the floor.

By the time he was done, curled in a helpless ball against the kitchen wall, not one piece of furniture remained unbroken. Every dish had been crushed, every utensil taken from its drawer and thrown against the wall or the ceiling or the floor. Xander’s hands and feet and knees were bloody, tiny strips of flesh gouged out or split open.

And not a single sound came from him, save for tiny breathless whimpers.

~*~

“Angel, its Xander.” Xander wound the telephone cord around his finger, leaning back against the wall so he wouldn’t pace.

”Xander.” Angel’s voice was curiously flat, and for some reason, Xander could actually hear him being motionless.

“Um…yeah…White Knight, lap dog…er…I forget what else you used to call me, listen-”

”You can’t be Xander, Xander is…Where’s Buffy?” Xander pulled the receiver away from his ear, oddly grateful that there was somebody out there crazier than him. He checked his watch, and then put the phone back to his ear.

“Probably at school. Listen, I need your help. Spike’s missing.” Xander really didn’t know what Angel would do, as far as anybody was concerned, the two were mortal enemies. But they were family.

“”I came to your funeral.” And on so many levels that didn’t make sense to Xander. Why would Angel have come to his funeral, especially considering how much contact Buffy had had with him since he…

“Nobody called and told you I was back, did they?” Xander slid down the wall, curling one arm around his legs and resting his head on his knees. That’s the only explanation that made sense.

”You’re back.” And still with the flat voice. Xander could feel his anxiety levels rising with each question.

“Angel, did you hear the other thing that I said? Spike’s missing.” Xander could feel a serious ‘bang head against wall repeatedly’ session coming on.

And are the bodies piling up?” Xander pulled the phone away from his ear again, and growled at it this time.

“Ok, Angel, slowly this time so you don’t miss anything. I am home, I am not dead OR undead, and now I’m back. Spike was here, now he’s not. He can’t defend himself against humans, and as strange as this may sound, I’m starting to get worried about him.” Xander counted to ten while Angel processed the short statements.

”I need to come to Sunnydale, don’t I?”

“Ya think?”

~*~

The knock came just before midnight. Three quiet taps on his door that said ‘Excuse me, so sorry, don’t mean to intrude’ and Xander knew it was Angel.

Xander pulled the door open and invited Angel in without any snarky comments or cutting remarks. Angel let a flash of surprise show, wondering if that was enough to get the boy’s backbone in a knot.

“First, I owe you an apology. Having a soul doesn’t mean jack shit, it’s what you do with it that counts. I never gave you a chance, or a break, and I’m sorry for that.”

Apparently not.

“That’s pretty much the last thing I ever expected you to say. And…I don’t quite know how to respond.” There was a curious moment of silence, where Xander stared at Angel, and Angel stared back. Then Xander laughed and clapped his hand over Angel’s shoulder.

“I accept your apology would probably be the mature thing. Come on in.” Xander closed the door, motioning towards the coat rack, indicating Angel should make himself a little more comfortable. “I get the feeling that we have a lot of talking ahead of us. Wanna beer?”

“You don’t have any furniture.” Angel looked at the floor, noting the vague dusty outline where a couch once sat.

“Yes I do, I have a coat rack.” Xander blushed, scuffing his feet together, looking everywhere but at Angel.

Angel shrugged his coat off, hanging it on the wooden stand then followed Xander into the kitchen.

“Yeah, thanks.” There was another moment of silence, where Angel didn’t know what to say and Xander wasn’t sure where to start, then the beer’s were opened and the words began to flow.

~*~

Angel prowled around the apartment, the only room that Xander hadn’t completely destroyed was the bedroom, and that was only because there really wasn’t much there to destroy. A quick peek in the fridge and his mind was made up, “Why don’t you come stay at the mansion while we get this place…back in shape?”

Xander blinked slowly, eyes scanning the empty living room then laughed quietly. “Yeah, I really did a number on this place, didn’t I?”

“I’ve seen worse, done worse probably.”

Angel cleaned up the cans while Xander packed a small bag, and since two cans and a couple of pairs of jeans thrown into a backpack didn’t take very long, Xander was soon locking the door behind them.

~*~

“I guess what I’m having a hard time understanding, is why Giles let you just…leave like that.” Angel leaned against the desk, keeping his arms crossed over his chest, “He should have known better.”

“Better than what?” Xander fought against the desire to just explode, “Than to treat me like a full grown adult, who is actually capable of making a decision?”

“Fine, answer me this then, if what had happened to you had happened to Buffy or Dawn or Willow, what are the chances that they would be living all by themselves right now?”

“I…I don’t…” Xander blanched, teeth clenching hard enough that Angel heard his jaw pop. “It wouldn’t have happened to any of them, don’t you get that? As ironic as this might sound, none of the girls are as vulnerable as I am. A Slayer, a witch, and the most watched over teenager in California? No, I get all the normal weird shit.” Xander spun on his heel and stalked out of the room, finding the furthest bathroom from the study to vomit in.

~*~

Spike cursed whatever logic prompted him to drive all the way to New Mexico for his little experiment, sure the scenery was great, but the drive back to Sunnydale half-fried and starving? Yeah, his plan could have used an adjustment or two. But here was the Welcome to Sunnyhell sign, and thanks to a couple of friendly neighborhood thugs, Spike knew his singe marks were worth it. He could hunt, he could defend himself, and more importantly he could make sure that what happened to Xander wouldn’t happen to any of the girls. Not like anyone would survive trying to snatch one of the witches or Buffy, but his Bit…she was a different story. Dawn didn’t have magic spells or super strength on her side, so now…now she had a Master Vamp with his bite back.

Spike drove through town, taking the turn down Revello Drive and parked in front of the Summers house. It was late enough that Dawn would be home, early enough that she would still be up moving round her room, getting ready for tomorrow. He wondered if it were his keen observation skills, or his tendency to stalk that told him that, but decided in the end it didn’t really matter much. Dawn was a hell of a lot safer now.

The front door opened, hazy gold light spilling out to illuminate the two figures stepping out onto the porch.

“Why the fuck are you in Sunnydale, and more important, what are you doing with Xander?”

~*~

Xander was proud of Joyce, she didn’t scream when Angel showed up in her kitchen, or when she tried to stake him. She did however call Xander several colorful names while apologizing profusely to Angel, peppering her speech with quick jabs to Xander’s chest with her index finger, and hugged him twice.

She also hadn’t heard from Spike in a week.

Angel was starting to get concerned, which translated in Xander’s mind to ‘begin panic mode now’. Angel could still…not exactly feel Spike, but that place in his demon senses that said Spike Lives Here was still full of Spike, so at least they knew he was not dust.

There was a moment where Angel looked like he was about to vomit, absently brushing his hands against his clothes while turning slightly gray, but the moment had passed and all Angel had to say was that Spike had gotten hurt but he was ok, not gripped in fear or rage. Xander figured that was the vampire equivalent of stubbing one’s toe in the dark. Enough to hurt, but not make you fly off the handle or anything like that.

~*~

Xander sat on the couch, smiling down at a curled up Cordelia at his side. She hadn’t stopped touching him since they’d gotten to the mansion, and by all indications she had no intention of stopping any time soon. Wes had hugged him, brief and awkward but no less sincere in his relief at seeing Xander alive and well.

Spike had been perched on the hood of his car, smoking and waiting for somebody to notice him. Xander was actually happy when he and Angel just nodded towards one another, then each got into their prospective vehicles, Xander still with Angel, and drove up to the mansion.

There was an awkward moment in the foyer, when Xander haltingly explained that they had been staying here since Angel had shown up, blushingly glossing over the extent of his temper tantrum and just saying that things were messy at his apartment.

Angel and Spike walked side by side into Angel’s pseudo den, leaving Xander to show Cordy and Wes around. Cordy surprised Xander when she didn’t immediately launch into twenty pointed questions, just held him close and whispered that if he ever needed to talk about it, she would listen.

Wes paced at first, sweeping his gaze between Xander and the floor, then finally sat on the couch and pressed close. He pulled off his glasses, folding them quietly and laying them on the arm rest.

“Xander.” Wes flushed, fingers twitching nervously in his lap. “Oh, bugger.” He reached out and took Xander’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. “Not very manly, I know. If you should require anything, regardless of the time, please let us know.”

Xander stared at Wesley, wondering just how much courage it took for the ex-watcher to reach out and hold his hand. He thought about asking how much they knew, what they’d heard and from whom, but decided in the end it didn’t really matter. It was enough that they were here, that neither Wes nor Cordy flinched back from his touch, that they had made the effort.

He leaned back against the couch, pulling Wes and Cordy close to his side. Xander wanted to say something, wanted to acknowledge how much their simple touches meant, but didn’t know how to find the words. In the end he just smiled, closing his eyes hoping they got the amount of trust that really required, and went to sleep.

~*~

“I thought Angel said Giles said Xander was fragile.” Cordy leaned close to Wes’ ear, jabbing her knee into his thigh in the process.
“He doesn’t seem fragile to me, just lonely.”

“Giles and Angel spoke in length about Xander and his…erm…condition. Although after seeing him tonight, I hesitate to call what Xander has a condition.” Wesley mentally reviewed everything he could remember about trauma victims, trying to associate any of Xander’s behaviors with those from his studies. “Xander has proven himself to be amazingly resilient, but I do know that he will require a considerable amount of psychological treatment to overcome the damage done to his psyche.”

“Um…In English please, Mr. Professor guy.”

“Quite simply, Xander needs to grieve. And he needs a qualified professional to assist him.” Wesley wrapped an arm around Cordelia when she shifted closer, allowing her to bury her face in the collar of his shirt and quietly vent her own grief.

“I think we should offer to bring him home with us. Perhaps the distance would do him some sort of good.” Wes could feel Cordy begin to shake her head, telling him no even before she spoke.

“He’ll never go, Xander would never leave Willow or Buffy like that. Even for himself.” Wesley nodded his agreement, but still had every intention of making the offer when Xander awoke.

~*~

“Want to explain what’s been going on here?” Angel leaned against his desk, balling his hands into fists and shoving them deep in his pants pockets. Spike stared and smoked, Angel could see the various smart-ass remarks flitting through his brain, and then he seemed to come to a decision.

“Where do you want me to start?” Spike slumped against the wall, sticking a trembling hand deep into his duster and pulling out a slightly crumpled pack of smokes.

Angel hid his surprise by tossing Spike a dented silver lighter, realizing that if the brat gave in this easy, something was seriously fucked in Sunnydale.

“After the Gem, what happened?”

“Bint by the name of Maggie Walsh…”

~*~

“I can’t Cordy.” Xander paced the room, watching Cordelia out of the corner of his eye. “I appreciate it, but I have to stay here.”

“Why?” Wesley stood behind the couch, fingers making dents in the black leather. Xander could see him wanting to reach out and rub Cordy’s shoulder, but even Xander knew she would shatter under the gentle pressure.

“Maybe just for a…a vacation!” Cordy jumped to her feet, brushing Wes’ hand off her shoulder. “We could have lunch and go shopping and..and…ow…” her voice trailed off, eyes glazing and mouth screwing into a thin hard line. She seemed to waver in front of Xander, swaying side to side and back and forth, and then collapsing into a boneless heap at his feet.

Wes’ voice stopped him from following her down. “Go get Angel please, and a glass of water.”

Xander was out of the room and running down the hall before Wesley could drop to his knees and pull Cordelia into his sheltering arms.

~*~

“Not gonna go pickin’ off the cheerleading squad, if that’s what you mean.” Spike looked around the room for an ashtray, settled for striding over to the window and flicking the butt out into the gravel drive. “I have…fuck, feel like a first time da here. Somewhere along the way, they quit treating me like shit, and I became…part of something. I watch Dawn some nights, bring Joyce a gallon of milk on m’way home from patrol. Giles bribes me into helping with inventory at the store, probably because he can read my handwriting compared to Xan’s chicken scratch.” Spike turned away from the window, eyes glowing yellow and fangs protruding from his half open mouth. “And it wouldn’t have mattered if we’d have found the boy; I couldn’t have done anything anyway. Now I can.”

The door flew open, rebounding off the wall and slamming back into Xander.

“Fuck! Angel…” Xander pushed the door back open, leaning against the doorjamb, breathless. “Cordy…” Angel was out of his chair and halfway down the hall before Xander could catch enough breath to finish his sentence.

~*~

“Wes said he’d call when they got done fixin’ what the cheerleader saw.”

Xander just blinked at him, it was the most Spike had said to him since first showing up. No hello, no fuck off, nothing. Spike just stared back, not blinking.

“Kay.” And that was all, Spike almost nodded, Xander could see him think about nodding right before he turned around and left, shutting the door softly behind him. Xander let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, then fell backwards onto the bed. He dug his journal out from it’s hiding spot under the pillow, pulled the pen out and stuck the tip between his teeth, then rolled over and started his entry for the night.

Boo.

Yeah, I know, lame. But I’m running out of lines to use instead of ‘Dear Journal’ or God forbid ‘Dear Diary’. Yeah, because I so need to be even more emasculated here.

Ok, big news first. Spike came…home? Is this his home? Are we kinda his family? I know he’s part of mine, but what does he see when he looks at us? He’s still not talking, before that was more comfortable than anything else, but now…Spike always talks, I think so nobody will actually listen to him. Some of the shit he says…if you really listen, really hear, what he says will break your heart. Or drive you into a blind rage, and you’ll wind up kicking dust off your shoes. So it’s better to just not. I can’t count the number of times I’ve begged him to just shut up, it’s like one of those reversal of fortune kind of things.

Angel and crew left tonight, Cordy had a vision, fuckin’ PTB’s suck rancid goat balls. She dropped, right in front of me and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to help her. Same damn story in my life, pretty girl in trouble, White Knight goes running for Angel. Granted, Wes told me to but still…anyway, they had to go back.

And the not so new news, HE is still here. Quiet, that part of me that Willow named ‘Xanderbabble’ sometime during the first grade, he’s the voice that whispers behind my normal thoughts. The part that makes me flip on the hallway light as I go into my bedroom at night, the one that wakes me in the middle of the night screaming for mercy. The part of me that didn’t survive. I can’t imagine ever telling anybody about him, I don’t think they’d understand. Oh I’m sure they would say all the right things, pat me on the head then call the friendly guys with the happy hypodermics. Which, ya know, not high on my list of things to do.

~*~

Xander moved back into his apartment without replacing any of the furniture.

~*~

Spike stubbed out his cigarette when the door opened, making a thin black smear on the floor then grinding the butt under the heel of his boot. Xander popped his head out, eyes unerringly locking on Spike’s, then he gave that funny little smile that never reached his eyes.

“Bed’s still warm.” He watched Xander walk down the hallway, noticing all the subtle changes in the young man. He didn’t make noise when he walked anymore, even though he wore those thick soled steel toed work boots. He kept his keys tucked all the way in his pocket instead of just shoving the key chain in and letting the keys dangle out and clink against each other. Xander didn’t even babble anymore, when he said something he used pointed words, exactly what he meant to say and nothing more. It bothered Spike on levels he refused to contemplate. And he didn’t smile anymore, not that all encompassing shine right through you kind of smile that used to irritate the shit out of Spike, but at the same time kept everything not so end of the worldish.

Spike shook the thoughts out of his head, if there was one thing his hundred and twenty plus years had taught him, take what you got and go with it. He stripped his duster off on his way in, laying it across the top of the dresser then climbing into the still warm hollow Xander had made in the blankets.

~*~

“Hey Giles, can I…Oh.” Xander let the door swing gently shut, stepping off the landing to stand next to Giles. “So, swords, battle axes, witchy magic things…did I miss Halloween?” Giles opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut, distracting himself by adjusting the leather strap across his chest. Buffy looked at Willow looking at Tara, who was giving Xander one of those big soulful we didn’t mean to do anything wrong looks, the same look that Xander once thought Willow was the master of but since learned she was an amateur next to Tara.

“So, Xander, how was work?” Xander cocked his head and stared at Buffy, if she shot any more fake enthusiasm into her voice, she was going to need pom-poms and bubblegum to snap.

“Fine, nobody died, and what are you doing?” Ah, for the days when Xanderbabble ruled the world and he could have just slipped right into character and nobody would have thought twice. But no, now he had to be all damage boy, more fragile than one of those blown glass swans Joyce used to collect.

“Oh nothing, you know, the norm. Got a tip, gonna go beat up a little tiny demon, no big.” She took an incremental step towards Willow, Giles snorted quietly in Xander’s ear, they both knew Willow wouldn’t be able to protect Buffy from this one.

“Hey Buffy!” Riley called as he came out of the back bedroom, “I can only get six of the tazer’s to charge up, that gonna be enough to take this thing out?” Riley stopped when he saw Xander, having the grace to look embarrassed. Buffy’s eyes got wide and slightly damp, while Xander’s seemed to narrow down into furious slits.

“I’ve been patrolling almost every night since I got back.” His voice was flat and quiet, “Now, you can either include me, and God forbid actually use my help, or I can continue alone. And probably die for real this time.” And there was…nothing. Giles didn’t swish the tail of his shirt over his glasses, Buffy didn’t launch into her little self defense routine, and Willow didn’t even open her mouth to pretend to babble. In the end it was Riley who made the first move, walking up behind Buffy and slipping the axe out of her nerveless fingers.

“I’m on your six.”

~*~

The house was your normal run of the mill don’t sneeze on the cross beams or else the whole foundation is gonna collapse kind of place, Buffy only had to think hard about kicking the door in, when it gave this tired little wheeze and fell off its hinges. Giles just muttered How convenient and followed her in. the main floor was empty, a thick layer of dust covered the faded shag carpet, and in the kitchen there were tiny scritched out trails where the rats had made paths.

Xander glanced back over his shoulder, half expecting to see Spike trailing along behind Riley, saw instead the eerie shadows cast by the flashlights in their hands. Riley didn’t smile, but he had this look of benign approval on his face that made Xander feel a little closer to being home.

Buffy led them through another door, this one hanging on its hinges by a thick weaving of cobwebs. Xander started feeling the euphoria of the hunt being replaced by quiet whispers of panic. By the time they got down into the basement, he was reciting passages from Shel Silverstien just to not pay any more attention to the room than he had to.

"I’m tired of eating just beans" says I,
So I opened a can of sardines.
But they started to squeek,
"Hey, we’re tryin’ to sleep.
We were snuggled up tight
Till you let in the light.
You big silly sap, let us finish our nap.
Now close up the lid!"
So that’s what I did….
Will somebody please pass the beans?

He stepped aside, letting Riley off the bottom step, moved so Riley could take his place at Buffy’s side. The room smelled sharp and dusty, like old newspapers ready to go up in flames with the smallest spark. Willow and Tara set up thick white candles, making an egg shaped space on the floor with flickering lights branching out in uneven arcs. Giles wandered towards the far wall, sweeping his light from floor to ceiling, it was only by accident that Xander was looking in his direction when Giles made the first discovery.

“Good Lord!” Buffy was at his side in an instant, she knew there was something here, and not having found it yet was making her anxious and twitchy.

“Ewww. What is that? And who is that?” She stepped closer, morbid curiosity making her reach her hand out to touch the desiccated skeleton. Giles slapped her hand down before she could touch.

“It’s a St. Catherine’s wheel. Classically, it’s a device used for torture.” This time Giles did remove his glasses, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. “And I don’t know who that is, or was as the case may be. Riley,” Giles turned, gently ushering Buffy back towards Willow, “Would you and Xander…Xander?”

Xander sat on his knees, arms wrapped around his chest, rocking gently back and forth on the hard dirt floor. His face was a blank mask, except for the slick crystal tears sliding down his cheeks. There was no sound coming from his open mouth, but his lips were moving, some kind of repetitive chant that he was unable or unwilling to voice.

Giles took a step towards Xander, stopping when he pulled his arms in closer and tucked his head down. Tara pulled Willow into her arms before her lover slid to the floor as well.

Nobody moved until the basement door opened, Buffy instinctively braced herself while Giles aimed his light up the stairs.

“You fucking idiots.” Spike walked down the stairs, making as little sound as possible. “You little fucking idiots.” The words were a sibilant hiss, wrapped around long glistening fangs. He stepped down onto the dirt floor, reaching his hand out to hover over Xander’s head.

“How long would you lot have left him like this? Till he passed out? Puked and pissed and shit himself?” He crouched down next to Xander, not bothering to shift his face back to human.

“Xan? Xander, c’mon boy, let’s get you out of here.” Spike had to lift Xander to his feet, half carry him up the stairs and out into the night air.

~Shel Silverstien Sleeping Sardines.

~*~

Dark and pain and spin and spin and fire tearing weeping shudders slick and pouring rain and where’s the door gotta find the door gotta get out get out get out out out hurry hurry fire out help me help me please where are you why won’t you help me stop stop stop can’t feel don’t feel don’t see don’t bleed don’t feel never feel anything again hurts hurts hurts raining blood my blood on the floor on the walls my blood should be in my body but its not its not anymore why spinning always spinning and fire I’m on fire skin and blood and hair my hair my skin fire fire fire

“Here we go loop-de-loo, here we go loop-de-lie, here we go loop-de-loo, all on a Saturday night.”

Spike opened his eyes and peered at Xander, these were the first words he’d spoken in over an hour, and he just didn’t sound…right.

“What’s that Xan?” Spike pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, didn’t light it, no sense getting the boy all riled up over smoking in the hallway. So he just slid it through his fingers, letting it twist and drop into the next space over.

“Nothin’ Spike. Why are we in the hallway?” Xander slowly uncurled from his defensive ball, stretching out first his legs then his arms, groaning quietly when all his joints popped. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to just dump me in my bed?”

Spike snorted, dropping the unlit cigarette back into his pocket and pushing his way up the wall. “Sure thing, next time I’ll just open the door and sling you through the barrier, hope you land on something nice and soft. How’s that?”

Xander stared blankly at Spike, slowly working his way up the wall. He stuck his hand deep in his pocket, pulling out his keys and handing them over to Spike. “I invited you the day I moved in.” Spike ran his thumb over the teeth of the door key, then slid it in the lock and didn’t look surprised when it tumbled free and the door opened.

“Forget the furniture part of that, did you?” Spike avoided Xander’s eyes, not sure if he was hiding his shock or just not wanting to see whatever expression Xander wore.

“Um…yeah. Furniture. I um…had a problem.” Xander tipped his head down and avoided Spike’s eyes as well, brushing past him and flipping the overhead light on. Spike stepped just inside the door, looking around at the emptiness.

“Another time, yeah?” But he just stood there, something bright and primed in his expression.

“Anytime, Spike. Anytime.”

Then Spike was gone again.

~*~

Where brillig and the momeraths rabe.

And I’m kidding who? I feel like I’m in the looking glass, watching as my life happens without me. Where the Mad Hatter and the Cheshire cat are playing some upside down game of chess, and I’ve been cut up into enough pieces to be the pawns.

A Catherine’s wheel and a St. Andrews cross, and I fall to pieces. They weren’t the worst things HE used on me, not by a long shot, but seeing them tonight…since I’ve been back I’ve been covered in every substance know to man and a few totally foreign, and two pieces of wood brought me to my knees.

Buffy’s right, I have no business doing this anymore. I should just pack it up and go somewhere nice and safe and boring. I’ll check airlines tomorrow to the moon. I can’t give up though, if I do, I’m giving up on everything, on me. And if they give up on me…

I’m numb. I can’t feel my fingers or my toes, I can’t feel my skin.

I should have died down there.

~*~

Xander waited almost an hour, checking both the window in the living room and in the bedroom, watching to see if Spike was coming back. Then he left the apartment.

~*~

The dark wrapped around him like a second skin, cool and soft and disguising every flaw. He didn’t have any special powers, no spells or potions or Slayer strength to fall back on, so he fell back on what he had.

Two small handguns tucked into leather braces under his jacket,

~*~

The fledges were too easy, too…high school for him now. Vampires, the ones who’d been around for a decade or two, learned real fast to clear out when they smelled him coming, the few that didn’t took a long time to die. The smaller demons weren’t really a challenge either, Xander had discovered when he disassociated parts of himself, all of the self-derogatory thoughts that had held him back previously were suddenly quiet. He found that he could out-smart most of the creepies that crossed his path, and the ones that he couldn’t…well, those he led on a merry chase to run into Buffy.

Xander learned when to duck, and when to embrace the blows, to use the pain to his advantage. And the nights that he could barely manage to drag himself back to the apartment, bypassing even a cursory shower in favor of bed, were the nights that he could sleep without dreaming.

There was a moment where Spike’s hands rested on Xander’s shoulders, fingers lightly probing the jagged hole in his shirt, checking out the wound underneath. Then every nerve in Xander’s body curled back and whimpered. Spike could feel him start to shudder, could smell the panic in his acrid sweat.

“D-d-don’t…don’t touch…” then Xander dropped to the ground and wrapped his arms over his head. Spike watched as Xander began to inch away, a drunken sideways scuttle like a crab missing legs. He’d moved about a foot when Spike realized he was leaving smears of fresh crimson blood.

“Sorry pet, not a lot of choice.” He scooped Xander off the floor, refusing to acknowledge the cringes or the tiny cries coming from the man in his arms. Like holding Dru during one of her spells, or a frightened child. “Not gonna hurt you Xan, but you’re bleedin’ out all over the place. Gonna get you patched up so you can jump in front of the next big bad.”

He carried Xander into the bathroom, laying him in the bottom of the tub. Xander tucked down over his knees, keeping his arms locked around his head.

“Not gonna hurt you pet, gotta trust me a bit here.” Spike pulled his boot knife out, gently peeling the shirt off Xander’s bloody back and sliding the tip through the fabric.

“Holy fuck.” Xander’s back was a crisscross of thin white scars, layer upon layer of ridges mapping out weeks of torture. Between the scars were new wounds and new bruises, fresh and stunningly purple, underneath those were older yellowed marks. “What in the hell have you done to yourself luv?”

Spike was silent after that, wrestling Xander out of his shoes and slicing off his blood soaked jeans. There wasn’t an inch of flesh from his shoulders to calves that wasn’t marked in some way.

Xander twisted away, tucking his face as far down as possible. He quit trying to bat Spike’s hands away, instead pressing back and groaning when Spike ran his fingers over fresh marks.

He found the fights by accident, chasing something that looked like a cross between a rabbit and Gollum into one of the emptied-out crypts. Vampires, demons, and half-humans all pairing up and stepping into a chalked circle for impromptu boxing matches. The fights were carefully monitored, two bright blue Gora’th demons stepping in and breaking up the bout when the participants wouldn’t yield to the bell, and it took Xander less than a week to enter himself in a match.

He slept better that night than he had in almost a year.

Spike turned the shower on, washing away blood and sweat, watching the bruises turn livid under the hot water.

Tork didn’t like to lose, hated it in fact. Losing to another demon was humiliating enough, losing to a human? One without so much as a drop of magic or power? The stigma would follow him for the next 1200 years or so, until the last of the long-lived spectators died.

Intolerable.

Humans were predictable though, and it only took him a couple of nights following this one to figure out his pattern.

Fights.

Walk through the cemetery.

Swing by the corner gas station then around the corner to his apartment building.

Tork waited until the human was almost home, then snuck up behind him, intending to gut him and leave him for the carrion feeders that came with the dawn. The human had surprised him though, pulling a small gun from the depths of his jacket and shooting Tork before he could finish eviscerating him.

He died secure in the knowledge that the human couldn’t have possibly survived his wound.

Xander moved like an automaton, standing where Spike left him, holding his arms and legs in place when Spike patched up his wound and dressed him. Let Spike take him by the hand and lead him to bed. Spike tucked the blankets in tight, gripped by an irrational fear of Xander falling out of bed and being lost again.

Xander watched, eerily silent, until Spike turned to walk away.

“Don’t…”

“Not gonna hurt you Xander, gave my word didn’t I?” Spike used his ‘proper voice’, the one that always made Dru go running for Ms. Edith and her tea set.

“Don’t go.” He turned to see Xander had managed to free one hand, and was holding it out.

If you feel so inclined, you may go over to angels_wept_fb and pet me for writing more. *smirks*

Chapter one

2005-05-18T05:29:35Z

When the Angel's Wept
kyrieane
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Summary: Xander encounters a real life monster. Set aprox. season 5. No Glory, Dawn really is Buffy's little sister.
Warnings: Descriptions of non-con, bondage, bloodplay, more warnings to come as I write the story!
Disclaimer: I don't own them, it's really not worth your time to sue.

Please leave all feedback at angels_wept_fb

The Bronze was packed, wall to wall and pretty much floor to ceiling with bodies thrashing in time with the band on stage. It took Xander almost twenty minutes to make his way to the bar, and by the time he got there, all he wanted to do was sit down and not move again. The bartender was busy, darting between a group of girls wearing less than Barbie at a beach party, and the frat boys trying to see down their tops.

Xander wedged himself between a guy actually sitting on a stool, and three guys stepping on each other’s feet trying to occupy the same space. He thunked both elbows down on the bar and stared at the bartender, hoping the intense ‘Come Here Now’ thoughts would somehow be translated from his eyes to the guy’s back.

Stool-sitter glanced over at Xander, blinked a couple of times then stared.

“That’s ah…quite a shirt you have there.” He leaned in closer, still blinking. Xander transferred his stare, noting the light flush to the guy’s cheeks and the steady in and out motion of somebody who doesn’t have to think to breath. Not conclusive, but there was no vamp warning screaming in the back of Xander’s head.

“Yeah, twenty-seven different species of exotic birds, thirty-two if you count them when you’re drunk.” Xander gave him a patented ‘I am goofy and harmless and not very tasty’ smile, and turned his attention back to the bartender.

“Can I buy you a beer?” The guy blushed, eyes going crossways for a moment. “That so didn’t come out right. Translation; Hi, I’m Greg, new to Sunnydale and bored out of my skull.” Xander couldn’t help it, he had to laugh. He looked back at Greg and studied him again. Sandy blonde hair parted on the side and falling back in a perfect feather, clear green eyes, smile just barely hovering on his mouth. He wasn’t skinny, wasn’t fat, just…normal looking. Hands with blunt cut nails wrapped around an almost empty beer mug, blue chambray shirt tucked into blue jeans.

No horns, no scales, no fangs.

“Sure, why not. If you’re really bored you can help me carry cokes back to my table.” The three guys jostling for position moved suddenly, Xander found himself sliding onto the stool that was now clear.

“Sorry, don’t want to keep you if you’re on a date or something.” Greg looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight on the stool.

“Nope, no date. Girls night out…of which I am not…a girl that is…” Xander sighed, started over. “Hi, I’m Xander. I’m back in the corner with my friends, Buffy, who could twist me into little Xander-flavored pretzels, Willow who has been my best friend since sandboxes were fashionable, and her girlfriend Tara. I’ll take you up on that beer because obviously, I need some testosterone in my life.” Xander sighed again, leaning over and banging his forehead on the bar.

Greg laughed, clapping a hand on Xander’s back. “It’s alright, man. I get it. I have three sisters and a fiancé.”

The bartender chose that moment to appear, slapping his towel down in front of Xander and wearily taking their orders.

Xander never noticed when Greg cupped the palm of his hand over the open mug before sliding it in within reach.

~*~

Willow felt uneasy leaving the Bronze without Xander, he’d come with them and it just didn’t feel right that he’d leave without saying goodbye or something. Buffy reasoned that as far as his luck went, he had a good twelve hours before whatever took him home tried to eat him. And besides, patrol waited for no man.

She waited twelve hours to do the locator spell. It took another twenty minutes to find the tiny Mexican town in the road atlas, and two hours to track down Giles and convince him to drive. By then Xander was on the move again.

Several times over the next two weeks they were within minutes of wherever the tracker indicated Xander had stopped, and then the tiny ball of light would shift, following some faint line on the map. Then it disappeared altogether.

Willow insisted on a funeral, something subtle and tasteful, beginning the service as the last ray of sunlight disappeared over the horizon. Angel had requested the time, stating that while he never really liked Xander, he had a great deal of respect for his loyalty and pig-headedness. Cordelia was oddly silent on his arm, dropping a freeze-dried corsage on top of the empty casket.

Anya came, appearing in the middle of the Magic Box with a puff of smoke. Her face was drawn, shadows under her eyes making them look bruised. She pulled Willow aside before the service, confiding that she had also tried to find Xander, cross-searching several dimensions.

Spike darted between Willow and Buffy at the last possible minute, dropping empty cd cases and a full bottle of whisky in the grave. He refused to give any explanation, just giving a silent glare and stalking back into the shadows.

Joyce and Riley held Dawn between them, her eyes glassy and blank from being sedated. She slept for two days after the funeral.

Good-byes were said, and life on the Hellmouth resumed as normal.

~*~

Miami, Florida.

“Hey Charlie.”

The uniformed guard looked up, checking the official I.D against the face he’d grown to know very well over the last two weeks.

“Hey Agent Fields, boy’s been quiet today.” Charlie stood up, taking his cap off and rubbing a snowy white handkerchief across his blue-black scalp. Didn’t matter that it was the middle of winter, Miami was humid just about any time of the year. Agent Fields tucked his wallet back into his jacket pocket, there really wasn’t anything else to say so he just smiled and nodded and went into the hospital room.

“Good afternoon, Alexander.” Fields waited for any response from the young man on the bed, disappointed when all he got was a blink.

“I’ve found you twice now, that should count for something don’t you think?” Alexander just rolled to his side, hospital gown sliding open to reveal a mass of healing incisions on his back and down his thighs.

“Your prints were pretty well hidden, red tagged files from some failed secret military operation in California. C’mon Alexander, talk to me, please.” Fields crossed the room, perching himself on the edge of the non-descript hospital chair.

“It’s Xander, just…not Alexander just Xander.”

~*~

Sunnydale, California.

Giles opened the door, not bothering to lift his eyes from the text he was reading, and returned to the couch without saying a word. He didn’t realize anything was wrong until there was no excited Buffy chatter, or subdued Willow non-babble following him.

“Ah…Gentlemen?” Giles pushed his glasses back up his nose, studying the two men on his doorstep. Both tall, well dressed, salt-and-peppered hair. “May I help you?” he took a step forward, hesitant now with anxiety and a sudden fear curling through his belly.

“Rupert Giles?” One of the men stuck his hand inside his jacket, pulling out a thin leather wallet. He flipped it open, revealing a Government Issue picture I.D and a shiny gold badge. Giles nodded, not trusting that the irrational hysteria bubbling up wouldn’t escape.

“Sir, can…can we come in? This really isn’t something that should be discussed on the doorstep.”

Giles shook out of his shock, even in the grip of fear unable to invite a stranger into his home.

“Would you be so kind as to give me your badge numbers and an office phone number to verify your identity?” The men looked at each other, both amused and impressed that Giles hadn’t automatically accepted who they were.

Once Giles was satisfied, both men were allowed inside.

“I’m Agent Fields, this is my partner, Agent Jamison. Sir, it might be better if you were to sit down.” Jamison took up a defensive position by the door, reaching out to twist the bolt lock, while Fields sat on the couch next to Giles.

“Mr. Giles, there really isn’t an easy way to say this. Six weeks ago you filed a missing persons report on an Alexander Harris, is this correct?”

Giles felt his heart skip a beat, felt the color drain from his face. He held up a hand, forestalling anything else Fields was about to say and stood. A few short angry strides and he stood in front of a carefully hidden liquor cabinet. When he returned, Giles had a tumbler in one hand and a bottle of scotch in the other. He poured four fingers into the glass and indicated that Fields should continue.

“Seventeen days ago, the A.T.F, in conjunction with the FBI, conducted a raid on a South American drug runner. Gregor Marjory has been implicated in distributing several tons of cocaine throughout Florida and Texas, as well as being suspected of a series of kidnappings and murders. Alexander Harris was found in the basement of his compound, badly…traumatized.” Fields wasn’t surprised when Giles slammed the tumbler down on the table and put the bottle directly to his lips.

“Mr. Harris is hospitalized in Miami, under protective guard. Gregor Marjory is in custody, and we have enough proof that I don’t think his battery of lawyers can get him released.” Fields went quiet, respectful, when silent tears began to track down Giles’ face. Several moments passed, then Giles dug his handkerchief out of his pocket, slowly drying his face.

“Mr. Harris has indicated that he will not speak with any of the staff psychologists until he has spoken with you. Will you return to Miami with us?”

Giles was on his feet before Fields could finish his question, dragging his jacket of the couch back and slinging it over his shoulder.

~*~

Miami, Florida.

“Xander?” Giles glanced at Charlie before stepping over the threshold. He took two steps into the gloomy room, and then his arms were full.

“He was human, Giles. Human.”

~*~

The flight back to La was uneventful, Xander in the window seat staring down at the clouds, Giles hovering protectively in the aisle seat glaring at everybody who came within twelve feet of them. They’d spent an additional two weeks in Miami, while Xander convinced the staff shrinks that he wasn’t a danger to himself or others, and could he please just go home now? They’d sent him home with appointments set up with doctors and therapists that he had no intention of keeping.

Giles had been in contact with the girls, telling them just as little as he could get away with, and more than he was comfortable with. And now he was haggard, five-o’clock shadow that he couldn’t seem to get rid of and a haunted look in his eyes that, quite frankly, terrified Xander almost as much as Greg had.

Giles wouldn’t touch him, shied away from a brush of elbows, and gods forbid he should actually bump into Xander. Out came the polishing cloth and the stuttered apologies and the crimson flush to his cheeks. Xander had tried to tell him, it was ok, that he needed the contact. Giles had simply backed further away, muttering about personal space and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and that Xander just wasn’t in the right frame of mind to make such decisions.

Xander refused to give in to the scream in his head that said * damaged * and * filthy * and * depraved*. And all of the other horribly descriptive words the shrink had carefully stayed away from. So he curled his shoulders, staying out of reach and as far away from Giles as he could.

LAX came into view, the clouds seeming to fall away and dissipate around the edges, revealing a city full of light. The sun was as high as it could go, shining straight down and reflecting off of hundreds and thousands of double-paned UV-ray protected windows. Xander let himself drift back, just for a moment, to that place where reality was safely cocooned away behind fluffy white layers of disbelief. He knew he couldn’t stay here, he’d tried and failed already, all he could do now was…go on.

They were first off the plane, Giles having pulled several of the flight attendants aside during the course of their trip, and gently explained that the young man he was traveling with…always accompanied by a vague hand wave and a fiddle with glasses…was recovering from a great shock, and needed to be seen by medical professionals the moment they landed. The flight attendants were sympathetic, stopping by their seats every fifteen minutes, Xander checked, to ask if they needed anything. Pillows? Soda? Food? Earphones? Anything at all, just push the little button and somebody would be there just as soon as she was able.

Xander didn’t have any luggage to collect, after all, he’d pretty much spent the last month wearing hospital gowns and scrubs. Giles had bought him new jeans and a button down shirt for the flight home, he kept the hospital slip-ons claiming they were more comfortable than any shoes he’d ever worn.

Giles had his carry on, with four pairs of white socks, five pairs of underwear, and two changes of clothes. He’d walked out of his little apartment with the clothes on his back and his wallet, thankfully with his wallet.

Giles spoke with a nice young woman at the car rental office, securing them a non-descript sedan, while Xander stood propped against the wall staring down at the floor. Giles led Xander out into the dry California air, pausing to let him get his bearings and take a deep breath.

The ride back to Sunnydale was made with absolute silence on Xander’s part, and abortive grunts and half spoken words from Giles. More than once, Xander considered taking pity on Giles and talking, but somewhere along the way the ability to string two or more words together seemed to have gotten lost.

So he counted all the mile markers and avoided the eyes of the other drivers, and indulged in a brief moment of surprise when the ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign passed by. It made him wonder if Spike was still here, or if he’d left and not come back yet.

Giles stopped the car in front of his apartment building, letting the car idle for a minute before turning the key and plunging them into an awkward silence.

“I’m ah…I’m sorry, but we had to let your apartment go. I’m…You’ll have to stay with me until…until we can find you a new one.” Giles looked right at him, Xander could tell that he was struggling not to sweep his glasses off his face or give in to the urge to fidget nervously. Xander nodded, opening the car door and slowly climbing out. He stood for a long moment just staring up and down the street, gently working the kinks out of his back and legs.

Giles took a deep breath, Xander could hear the whole ‘I am a responsible capable Watcher’ persona settle around him and tighten like manacles. And it was a good thing, Xander figured Giles would go slowly insane without that core of strength and training to fall back on. Both of them would.

“The girls will be here by now, I suppose. They are all quite anxious to see you for themselves. I do hope they haven’t gone overboard with their plans.” Giles walked up the pathway, glancing back only once to make sure Xander was following. He unlocked the door, opening it partway to peer inside.

“It appears to be safe, come in.” Giles pushed it all the way open, letting Xander in first. Willow sat on the couch, curled down in Tara’s embrace. When she looked up, Xander could see the wet trails on her face, and the shimmer in her eyes indicating that she wasn’t done crying yet.

“Xander?” her voice was low and scratchy, and she had this tone that made him wonder how many times she’d thought he’d walked through the door or called on the phone. Like she couldn’t believe it was really him.

“Yes.” Xander closed the door behind him, stepping down off the landing. Tara let her arms slip down, resting her hands in her lap as Willow stood up.

“Can…can I touch you?” her voice was a little stronger, but still held the same note, she wouldn’t believe her eyes until her fingers confirmed it.

“Yes.” Xander stayed as still as he could as Willow ghosted fingers over his face. She ruffled his eyebrows the wrong way, slid her finger down his nose, tugged on longish curls of hair. Slowly, so slowly, like she was afraid he was going to shatter or dissolve, she wrapped her arms around his middle and leaned in.

“You’re here…you’re really back…perfect…” Her voice totally broke, Xander could feel the hot tackiness that said she was crying again. He put his arms around her and pulled her as close as he could and still let them both breathe, vowed to never let Willow see the scars on his back or thighs.

Another pair of arms wrapped around him, Xander stiffened until he realized it was Tara. Then a third and fourth set were added. Buffy and Dawn had shown up.

They stayed long enough to order and eat pizza, Xander could tell each of them were dying to ask him what had happened, and he braced himself for the questions.

Questions that never came.

Buffy left first, as the first hint of chill announced the sun going down. She pulled Xander into a fierce hug, whispering promises and vows of safety in his ear. Dawn went with her, pressing a chunk of glossy white rock into his hand and peppering his face with light kisses.

Tara had to pull Willow out the door, the little red-head still wavering between joy and disbelief. She stood in front of Xander, staring straight into his eyes and letting the magicks simmer in hers.

“I tried to find you, I tried everything to find you.” She waited until he nodded again, and she would later swear that he almost smiled.

“I know, I never doubted you.” Xander leaned down, pulling her hands up to cover his heart and kissed her cheek. “I’m here now, go home with Tara. I’ll call you in the morning.”

Willow sniffled again, still not bothering to hide her tears. “I’m gonna hold you to that, mister.” She kissed him back, and then fled. Tara gave him another brief hug, whispering ‘I love you’ in his ear, then followed Willow out the door.

Xander picked the rock up from where he had sat it on the counter, turning it over and over in his hands.

“Giles?” Giles peered around the corner, glasses slightly misty from the hot dish water. “What’s this from?” Giles came to stand by his side, fingers trembling over the rock in Xander’s hand.

“It’s from your gravestone. Willow insisted.” Xander thought about that, and it made perfect sense in a Willow-train-of-thought kind of way. If she couldn’t find him, if whatever spells she used had failed, Willow would insist upon some sort of marker. Something physical that said ‘Xander Harris was here’, instead of letting him fade into that obscure netherland that the plain old missing were banished to.

“OK.” And that was it. He clutched the rock in his hand, and turned to walk up the stairs.

Giles had set out sleep pants for him, and a soft old tee shirt, turned the bed down and placed a glass of water on the nightstand under the lamp. A leather-bound book lay on the pillow, with a simple black pen clipped to the cover. Xander changed his clothes, folding the new jeans and shirt carefully and placing them in the top drawer of the dresser. He sat on the bed and picked up the book, letting the cover fall open.

Blank pages.

Entry one.

The doctors told Giles that a journal would be therapeutic to me. Often victims are able to write down things they other wise wouldn’t be able to say. Makes sense, I suppose. I’ll never say out loud the things I remember. I guess…I guess the beginning is where I should start. I met a guy, a normal non-demony non-vampy kind of guy. That should have been my first clue. He bought me a beer, drugged me and kidnapped me. He hurt me in ways Angelus would have been proud of. I really don’t remember a lot, the doctors said when I came in that my system was full of some pretty nasty drugs. There was screaming, there was blood, I’m glad I can’t remember most of it. I hope I never do. I remember watching, like I was standing in my own head, watching out through my own eyes. I told the doctors in Miami this, they called it ‘disassociation’. I took the part of me that was important, the sane part I guess, and locked it away. Let HIM have the rest.

I still feel that way, like there are two of me in here. There’s me, this part that can write and function and talk to Giles, it’s like I’m inside a room in my own head. I can see where The Soldier and The Hyena used to be. They are still there, but not, more like impressions of where they used to be. The rest of me is out there wandering synapses and chattering. He’s touching the clean material of the bed, and feeling the full sensation in our stomach. He’s the one that stands under the hot water of the shower and chants. He’s the one that still has the nightmares and shies away from anybody touching us that we don’t know.

Maybe I am psychotic, maybe I am all broken and shattered and will never be put back together.

Xander closed the book, clipping the pen back into place, and then opened the nightstand drawer and gave the journal its first home. He turned off the lamp and pulled the covers back, appreciating for the millionth time the sensation of cool clean linen and feather ticked pillows.

He lay on his back, letting his eyes wander across the ceiling and watching the patterns of light coming through the muslin drapes. One of the shadows shifted, Xander tensed and let his head fall naturally to the side, eyes almost closed and giving every appearance of being well on his way to sleep. A figure sat just outside the window, hand lifting to its mouth occasionally accompanied by a breathing motion. Xander concentrated on the hand, watching up and down and up and down until he could make out a subdued red flare in time with the motion. He climbed out of bed and padded silently to the window, shifting the curtains just enough to look outside.

Spike looked back.

Xander stared for a long moment, not moving. Spike flicked the ash off his cigarette and stared back.

Xander nodded and waved his thanks, and padded silently back to bed.

Next
Please leave all feedback at angels_wept_fb

Initial Post

2005-05-18T05:26:08Z

This is an experimental style for me. There will be narrative POV's, first person, possibly second, I haven't decided yet. This story started as me taking a break from LJ, and actually reading a book. I wanted to explore what would happen if a REAL monster affected the Scoobies, and the journey back. I'm don't really have any expectations for this story, I don't know where it will go, or how long it will take to get there.

So, basic story line? Xander encounters a real life monster, in the form of a serial kidnapper/rapist. No magic, no demons, no mystical bruhaha. Just, a sick and twisted mind. This isn't the story of his torture, or any of the horrible things that he endured at the hands of a psychopath, but rather his road to recovery. Although you will read about some of those things.

This is a story about the enduring bonds of friendship, honor, loyalty. And this is me, it's slash. In case you were wondering.

Welcome to my brain, try hard not to step on the synapses. It hurts.

My stunning icons were made by mirasol, and I lurrrrvvvs her for it!