Trickster´s Treat Sequel –
Janus´ Shadow 10
Xander stood in the middle of his apartment with his legs trembling. Looking from one corner of the room to another, he couldn't even decide what to do or where to sit. He could only feel the shock of the car bouncing over a body and then slamming back down onto the concrete. In fact, he felt vaguely seasick from the motion which still jarred his muscles even as he stood in the middle of his own lair. Behind him, Spike stood silent for once, his hands shoved deep into coat pockets.
"Strip," Xander said harshly. A whispering voice told him to calm down, but the rage of his childe's disobedience and the pain of having killed merged into a wall that shut out the whispering voices. Xander kept his back to Spike, but he could hear the slide of fabric as Spike did as he'd been ordered... for once.
Ignoring the items hanging from the wall, Xander went to the bed and pulled a box out from underneath. Pushing off the top, he considered his options, fingering each as he imagined how they would cut through flesh. He finally picked up a long, thin metal rod. It almost looked like an old-fashioned television antenna until the base where it widened to a thick handle. Xander flexed the metal, testing the give before finally turning around.
Spike stood in the middle of the room, his arms folded over his chest as he watched warily. Xander didn't say anything as he circled his disobedient childe. The runes on Spike's chest showed up nearly black against his skin, and looking closer, Xander could see the uneven edges of charred flesh as though the runes had turned to fire and burned the skin around them. Xander poked at the double cup rune that showed just above Spike crossed arms. Spike answered with a hissed breath.
"You disobeyed me," Xander commented quietly as he stopped behind Spike.
"Just trying–" Spike started to explain himself, and Xander made the rod whistle through the air before it struck Spike's shoulder blade hard enough to make the vampire stumble forward a step and bring a line of angry red to the white flesh. Even though Xander had expected argument, Spike stepped back to his original spot and remained silent.
"You disobeyed me."
This time Spike didn't answer. Xander circled again, and this time he pressed the tip of the metal cane into the charred flesh around one of the runes.
"You didn't think I could hold you. You thought I was weak," Xander whispered. Spike kept his eyes down to the ground, and Xander brought the rod down on Spike's hip hard enough to make a line of bright red spots appear almost instantly. Spike swayed for a moment, but then he caught his balance. Xander couldn't remember the last time he'd seen this body so still.
"You brought the curse of old and powerful gods down onto both of us," Xander pointed out as he walked around to the back again. He watched Spike's muscles tighten in anticipation of the strike, and Xander allowed his fingers to trace the edge of a shoulder blade up to the spine where he then allowed his fingers to stroke the length of Spike's back down to the rounded ass. Under his caress, Spike sighed and corded muscles smoothed out. That's when Xander brought the rod down as hard as he could on Spike's right ass cheek. A single drop of blood gathered at the end of a long red streak.
"Bloody hell, you're the one who cast the mojo," Spike snarled, and Xander added two more stripes below that first. The third one hit where the leg and ass met and left a small trickle of blood creeping down the inside of Spike's thigh. Spike gasped.
"You disobeyed me when you knew the consequences. You angered the gods with your betrayal, and you angered me." Xander swung the rod three times leaving three identical marks on the left side of Spike's ass except that now drops of blood trailed sluggishly down the outside of his thigh. The sight of that deep red bead leaving behind its brownish-red tail stopped Xander, and he reached out. He captured the drop with his finger and pressed into Spike's flesh as he followed it back up, gathering the fluid on his own finger before bringing his finger to his mouth and sucking it off.
Spike's face shifted, the bones of the demon coming forward. Almost silently, Spike sighed, and the cock that had been hanging limply thickened subtly. Xander watched the changes in his childe body. His childe. Spike. The demon didn't fight him now but waited for its sire's anger or forgiveness. Xander could feel the same draw he'd felt for Jalon, his first childe who he had driven a stake through back when warriors still traveled on horses and vampires owned the countryside at night. Xander curled his fingers around Spike's arm and felt the muscles tense under his grip.
While killing Jalon had torn at him as though he were cutting off a part of his own body, the idea of Spike leaving him had ripped at his heart. Of course, some of his love for his childe had died when the ungrateful monster had sided with Dracula against his beloved Nusa. But he felt a passion for Spike that approached his all-consuming love for Nusa. He couldn't let Spike leave. But he hadn't lost Spike; his childe stood silent under his hand.
He moved forward, resting his forehead against Spike's shoulder as he felt the fear of losing Spike go out like the tide. Unfortunately, that left behind the guilt and the pain of his own sins. He'd killed a man. He'd run over some soldier with brown eyes who probably just wanted to protect the world from monsters. He'd murdered a man who had chased them because of Xander's spell. Xander hiccuped as he tried to take a deep breath and push back the pain, the image of the man's wide eyes, the feel of the car jerking as it rolled over the body, the smell of rain and car exhaust heavy in his nose, the sound of distant shouting. He'd murdered.
His fist closed around Spike's arm as he tried to hold himself upright on trembling legs. His eyes felt too large for their sockets, as though they might fall out any second, and Xander closed them tightly against that danger. His whole body jerked with an attempt to hold back a sob, and a cold tear slid down his cheek as he leaned into his childe.
"I killed for you," Xander hoarsely whispered.
"'preciate that," Spike answered, and Xander could tell just from the tone that Spike was confused.
"I killed someone who just wanted to make Sunnydale safer... someone who probably had no idea what he was facing, but faced it anyway because he thought he had to." Xander felt a coldness settle in over him as he imagined a whole history for the man whose body had slid off his car: a family. His head throbbed and he reached up and wiped his nose before he backed away from Spike a step. Slowly opening his eyes, he could see Spike looking at him with his head cocked.
"You backed me into a corner where I had to kill," Xander said in an emotionless voice that made Spike shift his weight from one foot to the other. "You." Xander stopped. He knew he had made the choice; his foot pressed the accelerator. But he couldn't stop his cold rage from drowning out the guilt that had been branded into him by those brown eyes. Spike didn't answer as he watched cautiously.
Xander brought the rod up and slammed it down onto Spike's back hard enough to break open the skin and make the vampire snarl before ducking his head submissively. Xander brought the rod down in another whistling arc that landed just under the last one. Again and again he attacked pale flesh: bruising and cutting with wild blows. One blow hit the back of Spike's knee, sending him crashing to the concrete where he stayed, bracing himself with hands on the cold floor as Xander continued the blows. Drops of blood now flew off the rod to splatter against Xander's face and hands. It felt right. He should have blood on his hands.
"Sire," Spike finally breathed in distress. Xander froze as he looked down at the bloodied vampire with angry welts rising from his skin and trails of blood seeping from him.
"'M sorry," Spike offered to the concrete, not raising his head. Xander dropped the rod which rang against the concrete and made Spike flinch again.
"Oh, god." Slowly, Xander sank to his knees and reached out a hand freckled with Spike's blood. He touched an unmarked spot on Spike's arm and then sobbed so strongly he felt like his lungs might detach from his body. "Oh, god," Xander repeated.
"I'm sorry. Won't do it again," Spike promised as he glanced fearfully over toward Xander. Xander reached out and touched Spike's cheek, leaving a streak of red behind.
"I can't lose you. I could have lost you," Xander whispered as an apology. "I can't. I can't lose you."
Spike slowly uncurl and reached out a hand to Xander's knee. "Still here, pet," he offered.
"They would have taken you." Xander reached out and grabbed Spike, wrapping his arms around the bloodied body so tightly that Spike flinched, and Xander just held more tightly. "They can't have you." Xander hiccuped as he pulled Spike to him.
"They don't have me," Spike reassured him while Xander started rocking forward and back.
"They tried to take you," Xander said to himself more than to Spike who he now rocked. "I couldn't let them." Spike didn't answer, but one hand wiggled out of the embrace and smoothed Xander's hair back, and Xander thought of his mother who had done that when he felt ill... both the mothers.
One had tired eyes and so often smelled of rum and brought him burnt toast and sat on the side of the bed listening to him talk about his latest comic book. The other wore dresses that swished against the stone floors; her fingers would dance through his hair the way they danced through her tapestries, and he imagined she had cried when Nusa turned him. But the fingers weren't his mother soothing away a fever. He'd killed someone. He'd killed a soldier fighting for his country, and now a mass murderer tried to comfort him.
Xander pushed himself up and away from Spike, who sat on the concrete floor naked with his limbs sprawling in the middle of a Pollock painting of wildly flung bloodspots.
"I killed him."
"Yeah, ya did," Spike agreed.
"I killed him." Xander couldn't come up with any better explanation of his pain than that, and he turned his back on Spike, heading for the door to the outer apartment. Behind him, a body shifted. Xander didn't turn around. "Stay in here," Xander ordered before he opened the door and stepped out into the shower of his tiny outer apartment.
Xander turned on the television for noise more than to actually watch anything. He couldn't even really see the screen as he curled up on a corner of the couch staring into the air and hugging his knees. The television created a cone of dim light that hid the shabby couch and made the chair disappear altogether. He could see the dust highlighted in different colors as the picture on the television changed, but somehow the dust and the television and even his own knees didn't feel real. What felt real was the bounce of the car over that body that he could still feel in his bones, only now he could also feel the metal rod in his hand. He could feel his arm still aching as each strike at Spike's back had sent a jarring recoil up his arm.
He continued to stare into space, ignoring the phone ringing and a pounding at the door. With his luck, the police had come to arrest him for hit and run, but Xander didn't have the energy to get off the couch. He figured they could haul him off and carry him to jail because his legs wouldn't get him as far as the door. A small scratching sound at the door finally attracted his attention, and he laid his cheek on his knees as he turned his head to watch the doorknob jiggle. Slowly, the cheap lock on the knob turned to the open position and something heavy pushed at the door. It didn't move.
Xander continued to watch as the deadbolt now shifted slightly. The scratching noise continued for a while before the deadbolt again moved, and Xander watched with the same concentration he used to focus on the screensaver that had the flying toasters or for the metal his father's smith pulled from the fire and hit it over and over, slowly flattening it through sheer determination. Xander vaguely realized that both memories couldn't be true, but as he watched the lock slowly turn, he didn't really care.
Eventually the lock snapped to the open position, and the door opened. Outside, Angel crouched on one knee, a lock-pick in hand. For a long second, Xander just stared blankly as Angel stood up and slipped the tool back into a pouch that disappeared into a pocket. Without a word, Angel stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind him.
Xander had a flash of Angel coming to the apartment covered in black demon tar and laughing about how Xander had literally babbled the Gora to death by distracting it with his patented ramblings while Angel made the fatal blow to the back. At one point in his life, Xander might half felt bad about doing the whole babble and hiding behind a rock part in the fight, but he'd stuck swords in enough demons in his time.
And now he could put a human on the list of his kills. Well, another human because there was the whole Larry incident. And really, he had lots and lots of memories of dead and dismembered humans but not even the priest whose death vampire-him had drawn out for a week could compare with those brown eyes. He couldn't come up with a single excuse for the soldier's death. He'd chosen Spike over a human life, and that had to score high on the damned-o-meter.
"Xander?" Angel asked, and then he stopped.
"Deadboy," Xander answered tonelessly although he hadn't used that particular name at Angel in a long time, even if he did still say it behind the vamp's back.
"What happened?" Angel walked over and sat on the coffee table so that he faced Xander, and Xander watched the chipped wood sag. He waited for the crack that would send Angel crashing to the ground, but it didn't come. A large hand reached out and touched Xander's knee.
"Xander, you need to tell me what happened." Angel's voice stayed low and deep, but Xander still thought it sounded frustrated in some elusive way he couldn't describe. Or maybe he felt frustrated and was passing that feeling off onto Angel.
"Xander, you need to talk to me. Tell me what happened." Large hands now held his upper arms and Xander focused his eyes so that he truly saw Angel now. Yellow bled into the brown of his eye from the edges, and a chunk of hair stuck out at an odd angle. Xander brought his hand up and worked the stray lock.
"I killed him," Xander said softly.
"Spike?!" Angel's hands closed until Xander had to flinch in pain, and then Angel let him go altogether, leaning back on the coffee table until Xander was sure the thing would splinter into a thousand pieces, most of which would end up in Angel's ass.
"No, not Spike," Xander shook his head and looked down at the blood covering his hands. No wonder Angel thought he'd killed Spike. Xander opened his mouth to explain, but saying it would make it real and he couldn't live with having it real.
"Who, Xander?" Angel leaned forward again, and Xander pushed the vamp back out of his space so that he could stand. The room had very little space for pacing, but he made do in the six feet between the tiny kitchen island and the front door.
"Xander?" Angel asked as he shifted from the coffee table to the couch.
"I didn't want to," Xander said softly as he froze in place, and he looked toward the bathroom, toward the door that led to the reason why he would kill a human being.
"You aren't a bad person; I know you wouldn't kill unless you had to," Angel agreed, and Xander focused on the door as he returned to pacing.
"I am," Xander whispered.
"You are what?" Angel left the couch, his movements jerky, and Xander could see in every line that Angel wanted to be somewhere else... anywhere else probably.
"Why are you here?" Xander asked. Up until now, Angel's appearance had been like a nightmare where events don't have a reason. You leave the school and walk into the cemetery. Day turns to night, slayer turns to vampire, and it makes sense because it's a nightmare. He'd lived through a real nightmare before, and this had the same feel. But this wasn't a real nightmare, and Angel shouldn't just appear because Xander was desperate to be alone.
"Spike called," Angel admitted after a long silence. Xander should have been angry, but he couldn't find the energy for that. He settled for a calm sense of betrayal. "He said you'd taught him that vampires don't handle things alone," Angel continued, "which is more sense than I managed to beat in him in two decades."
Xander started to laugh with Angel's dry chuckle, but the sound changed to a sob that he quickly cut off before the emotion could overwhelm him. "Angel, I'm fine. I just need some time," Xander said as he stared at the silver ring around the peephole in his door. "Not a vampire, in case you haven't noticed."
"Who did you kill?" Angel asked as he completely ignore the subtle un-invite.
"Angel, just go home," Xander tried a more direct approach, walking to the door and pulling it open. Outside the rain had passed, leaving slick oil puddles with slimy rainbows dotted across the concrete. The air had the blue haze of dawn, and he realized that Angel didn't have time to go far.
"Who did you kill?" Angel repeated without moving. He stood in the walkway between the closet and the kitchen island like the Rock of Gibraltar.
"Privacy. I know it was a new concept when you were around, but it means you give people space when they need it. Either you're going, or I am," Xander said with his arm crossed defiantly. Angel stared him in the eye for several seconds before sighing. Dropping his eyes and shaking his head, Angel started walking for the door, and Xander stepped to the side to give Angel room. Of course, this put his back to the Barcalounger, so when Angel stopped in the doorway and darted out an arm, Xander had no room to retreat.
Angel kicked the door shut again with a foot as he wrapped his arms around a struggling and cursing Xander.
"You want to fight, fine. But you aren't going to retreat into some hole where you aren't doing yourself any good, boyo," Angel snarled as Xander's struggles took both of them to the floor. Xander tried to bring up a knee, but Angel's weight crushed him to the ground where he couldn't do much more than flop as ineffectively as a fish on dry land.
"You done?" Angel asked.
"Get the fuck off me," Xander snarled right back and doubled his efforts to get a hand free. He started wiggling forward, and Angel got a knee on either side of him, using his leverage to pull Xander back toward him. As his shirt rode up, Xander could feel the carpet burn warm his skin and he resorted to pinching Angel as hard as he could right above the waist of his pants.
"That hurts," Angel complained as he drove more of his weight down onto Xander, forcing the air out of Xander so that all he could think about was breathing.
"Get off." Xander wheezed his words as he felt his brain growing fuzzy.
"Who did you kill?" Angel asked again, lifting himself onto his elbows so that Xander could gasp for air.
"A soldier. He tried to shoot Spike and I killed him. I ran him over. I slammed into him with my car and *then* I ran him over. I murdered him. Okay?" Xander snapped angrily, and Angel froze in place, allowing Xander to wiggle a few inches toward freedom.
"Oh, Xander," Angel offered with pity as he looked down. Xander chose that moment to drive his knee up between Angel's legs. The brown eyes morphed yellow, and demonic ridges instantly appeared. Angel growled and a large hand closed around Xander's throat. Instantly Xander was back in the mansion with Angelus over him, and he froze in fear. Almost as quickly, Angel let go, sitting up so that he pinned Xander's legs under his full weight and braced his hands on Xander's thighs but didn't hold the rest of him down. Xander struggled up to his elbows.
"Don't you dare pity me," Xander threatened as he tried to kick Angel off.
"Xander. I know how you must feel."
Xander opened his mouth to deny that offer of sympathy, but when he looked at Angel, he realized that the vamp did know. He would be the only person to understand the demonic need to keep Spike and the soul that now condemned him.
"I didn't mean to. Oh, god, I so didn't mean to. Big with the not meaning to," Xander made a sound that stopped somewhere between a laugh and crying.
"I know you wouldn't. They were chasing you. They shot at you," Angel said calmly as he shifted his weight closer to Xander's feet. Xander took the extra space to sit up.
"Spike told you. He called you," Xander felt another stab of betrayal. He shouldn't. He couldn't sire Spike. He wasn't a vampire.
"He said I either had to come fix this or find a way to get your soul out of you so that it wouldn't do this to you anymore," Angel confirmed as he braced himself on the Barcalounger and stood up.
"Not sure you chose right," Xander said as he continued to sit on the floor and stare at the brown carpet with flecks of olive green. His soul clearly didn't have the power to control his urges, so what use was it except for making Xander feel the guilt of his sin? Xander toyed with the idea that all souls were curses, and not just Angel's.
"Xander, you didn't have a choice," Angel said as he held a hand down toward him. Xander ignored it as he rolled to his hands and knees before climbing to his feet.
"I had a choice. I chose to kill someone," Xander told the battered old refrigerator which just continued to whine at him.
"They chose to attack you. They knew you were human, and the Initiative knows that not all demons are evil. They know I'm not evil, so they even know that not all vampires are evil," Angel offered, and Xander snorted in disbelief and then wiped his nose.
"I worked for them in World War II, got a sub away from the Nazi's, a sub full of vampires," Angel said softly. Xander turned to look at him and felt as though the whole universe slipped suddenly two inches to the right. His stomach sent up a warning flare, and Xander ran the three steps to the bathroom, throwing up violently until his stomach ached and his throat burned.
He'd killed. Spike had turned to Angel for help. Ethan was gunning for Buffy. Xander threw up again, his stomach convulsing even though there was nothing left to vomit. The dry heaves wrung his body out over and over as he stared down into the toilet and considered that Double Meat Palace looked about the same when recycled, and hey, just because his life had fallen apart didn't mean he couldn't still crack inappropriate jokes in his head.
Eventually even his body grew as tired as his mind, and the heaving stopped. Xander leaned against the cold porcelain ring. "Push in the panel at the back of the shower," he said, and after a second where nothing moved, and he stared at olive green tile wondering if the vomiting had finally driven Angel away, a body moved behind him. Angel rested a hand on Xander's hip as he pushed into the tiny bathroom. Xander flushed the toilet, and Angel pushed against the shower wall, finding the latch and opening the unlocked door.
As Angel disappeared into his lair, Xander put his back to the cold tile wall and slowly slid down to the floor. He deserved to lose Spike, and when Angel saw what he had done, he thought he would probably pay a little bit more on top of that. He remembered the pain from that night in the mansion; he remembered crying silently as he limped to Giles with each step sending stabbing pain up through his intestines.
Xander braced himself for round two when Angel saw Spike's torn and bleeding body. Despite Angel's protests, he still felt the same sire's instincts toward Spike that Xander did. Unfortunately for Spike, none of his sires seemed very capable of keeping a childe, but if Spike called Angel, Xander wasn't going to argue. After the beating he'd just given Spike, he didn't have the right to argue.
Another wave of dizziness flowed through him, and the feeling of being in that bouncing car returned as Xander closed his eyes and actively searched for the darkness that crept at the edge of his awareness.
