Pain
Xander hunched his shoulders against the cold and walked faster. Stupid, stupid Harris finally playing Kerouac, and, oh yeah, while you´re out there, you might swing by Cleveland. Sure, Cleveland, that´s an exciting town, right? Brawling, big shoulders. So what if that poem was really about Chicago, same difference, right? Big city perched on the shores of a big ass lake, industrial, blue–collar getting back to roots kind of thing. Yeah. Right.
Why didn´t anyone tell him industrial meant gritty and gangs and drugs and a really hard time telling the monsters from the human...well...monsters?
Why didn´t someone tell him that the people his age here, in the great armpit of the north, would be some weird mix of nave and venal? That they´d do anything to fuck, to dance to crap 80s music, to get high, but give you the shirt off their backs if they thought you were cold? That they were somehow a lot like him, all mixed up and stupid, half–assed on the way to making a life, and screwing it up. Just screwing things up.
feeling i´ve been lost for years you can never understand me
For that matter, why didn´t anyone tell him you couldn´t go sit by the lake after 11 without a cop trying to arrest you for vagrancy?
That downtown was big and cold and deader after 5 than Sunnydale´s smallest cemetery?
That there were more languages in a dozen square blocks than he´d ever learned to avoid in high school?
That it was nothing like California?
Cleveland wasn´t just a city, it was like, well, like LA in that it just sprawled, yeah––big shouldered, right, what the hell did that mean when applied to a city? It meant sprawl, it meant that you couldn´t find a piece of land big enough to put a tree on unless it was a plug hole in the concrete sidewalk. It meant town after town bleeding one into another until you had to cross half the state to find a space between them––it sprawled all over the place and you couldn´t figure out where one town ended and another began except by the colors of the cop cars and the vague difference between freaks out walking the streets. That´s what it meant.
And it was cold.
His empty eye socket hurt.
Some Coolio types walked by and Xander nodded genially. Keepin´ it real, yeah, that´s what he was doing.
Man, this finding yourself on the journey thing sucked.
Xander sat down on a bus bench and cursed. It was cold. And wet. He was tired of cold and wet.
Seemed like everything went south after Sunnydale, only not in a warm, ´let´s go to Mexico way´, oh no, more like a ´why don´t you go check out Cleveland´s hellmouth while you´re out figuring things out?´ way.
He tried, and kept trying, to capture that feeling of silence, of thrilling benediction. The moment when they´d all looked back at that big hole in the ground and known... something. It wasn´t there. He couldn´t find the silence. All he could hear was the sound of his mom screaming at his dad and his dad screaming back. Sure, check on that hellmouth, oh, and pick up a parcel of peace, and maybe some purpose, while you´re out.
unless you´ve seen those tears but you never get to sleep when i´m away
They wouldn´t have made it out. Oh no, not his old man. The house was almost paid off. He had a job, fer chrissake, didn´t he? He wouldn´t have left and he wouldn´t have let mom leave. They were dead.
It hurt more than Anya. It was older, and deeper, and it took a while to notice, but now it ate at his guts like acid.
He flexed his wind–roughened hands, examined the cracks in the skin. He should get some gloves.
He wanted to punch something.
He felt sick, angry. His parents´ death shouldn´t hurt so much. When he got angry, he felt clear, like everything was sharper edged and making decisions was easy but it didn´t work that way. He always screwed things up. Objects in mirror may be closer than they appear. And what could he do? There was no decision to make. His parents were dead.
i don´t mind the deeper that you lay out of time
They´d all spent one weird night in Vegas before they split up, toasting their dead. Sunnydale. Spike. Then Amanda and Vi, family, friends. When they ran out of names, they started drinking tequila shots to every grave they could remember. Not just Tara´s, Joyce´s and Ms. Calendar´s, but little Emily Elizabeth James, b. 1849 d. 1852, with the stone angel on the top. Seemed like there was always a vamp hiding behind that stone angel. He didn´t mention Jesse, but Xander lifted a glass to him, just the same. They all toasted Anya, and then the high school.
And then... it went south. They all got quiet. Giles started cleaning his glasses, over and over. Dawn jumped up and knocked over her chair. Then Xander´d started crying and the party ended. Way to go, Harris. Way to go.
So, he´d been standing around outside a hotel in Vegas and Giles had patted him on the shoulder and talked about Post Traumatic Stress and the stages of grief. They´d all had so much to grieve. They´d saved the world. Again. But this time they´d lost their homes and everything that tethered them to this world except for monster killing.
Except everyone else seemed to have some purpose. Faith took off early, Andrew betting that she was following Mr. Wood, but that was Faith and no one took the bet. Giles, with Willow´s help, liberated quite a lot of Council funding before anyone else with more legitimate claim than a former Watcher and one of a million or so slayers––though certainly not more need – figured out it needed to be safeguarded.
Plans were made. It didn´t take Buffy long to go from reveling in the freedom to go anywhere and do anything, to taking up the burden of big sister. Willow and Kennedy, Giles and little Giles, er, Andrew. "The girls." Everyone had...someone. Some thing. Except Xander, who´d lost everything, and an eye. He couldn´t sleep, thinking about that, about nothing, less than nothing, loss.
pain, i can´t sleep
Pity. Xander Harris had enough of pity. He´d wiped his eye, given Giles a manly hug, talked about how he´d always wanted to travel and see the world, his patented Kerouac impersonation, good for every situation where everyone around him had a calling and he had...a lot of anger.
Giles bought it, bought it well enough to ask him to swing through Cleveland on his way to find himself, enough to set up a bank account for him with some of their ill–gotten gains.
Xander´d gotten an old beater the next morning, a cooler full of Ho–Hos and Cokes and started driving. Every freakin´ town he went through seemed to have a vampire or two. He´d dusted every one he came across, in between eating pizzas and checking out the night life, finding more all the time, searching them out, all the way to Cleveland.
Cleveland was cold.
running, running from those days there´s another one inside me guess i´ve gone insane but you always run away when i come around i don´t mind the day i´ll track you down run you down
He knew that music.
pain, i can´t sleep
don´t stop, don´t talk do not fuck with me
Oh yeah.
It didn´t sound right. Oz. Yeah, no Oz. The new guitar wasn´t bad and Devon sounded the same. A lot smarter singing than talking.
loaded, loaded up this gun there´s a killer in me hoping, hope that you´re the one
Devon MacLeish.
but you always run away when i come around i don´t mind
Xander´s head came up. The Paradise nightclub, just across the street and down a ways – there on the marquee. Dingoes Ate My Baby, Saturday, Feb 14. He had to read it several times before he believed it. Xander got up and dusted off his cold ass. He could do with some tunes, something from home.
The bouncer gave him a look. Xander looked back, hands slightly out, letting the guy get an eye full. He supposed, leather jacket (why should evil get all the leather?), eye patch, ragged–ass jeans, none of it inspired confidence. He was ready to shrug it off and walk away when the guy stepped aside and let him in with a brotherly nod.
Five bucks at the door. Xander laughed a little when he handed it over. Oh yeah, the Dingoes were doing really well. Last he´d heard, they were doing gigs in LA. He wondered whose butt monkeys they were, ending up in Cleveland.
The club was tiny and the set up was weird, the stage directly beside the door. One step in and you could look around a partition and see the band. Xander leaned on the partition and looked the audience over––a group of 20 or so teenagers enjoying the sound––as he automatically scanned for vamps. Devon was seriously rocking. The new guitar guy wasn´t in Oz´s league, but he had the same deeply concentrated––almost sullen––look, totally focused on the music.
the day i´ll track you down terrify
Xander listened, trying to remember the last time he´d heard the band play this particular song – the Bronze, probably
pain, i can´t sleep
The song ended and the band took a break. Xander found himself in front of the tiny stage before Devon had the mic back in its stand.
"Autographs after the show, dude."
"Autographs?" Xander grinned. "Seriously?"
"Xander? Xander Harris?" Devon took the little jump off the stage as if it were serious acrobatics. "Man! It´s so good to see you! Oz with you?"
Xander shook his head.
"Man. That sucks. John´s okay, but he´s local, just filling in. We haven´t been able to keep a decent guitarist since Oz decided to go find himself. What are you doing?"
"Finding myself?"
Devon laughed. "Yeah, right man."
Xander shrugged. "What´re you guys doing playing Cleveland? Last I heard you were in LA."
"Oh yeah man." Devon led the way to the bar, smiling and waving at the kids as they eddied around. The club had put on some synth–pop stuff and no one was paying much attention to it.
Xander leaned against the bar, ordered a beer with the wave of one finger and took a grateful drink when it arrived. "Man, that´s good."
"So, yeah, we played LA, cut a disc, got a little airplay. Then, you know, Oz split and we couldn´t find a good guitarist for awhile. You know, someone who could work with us."
Xander nodded.
"We kind of had to start over. This tour is part of it – we got a CD out of LA, anyway, and we´re plugging it."
"Hey, that´s great. Sounds like you´ve got a plan."
"Yeah. But, man, we need a roadie. I always told Oz. Other bands have roadies." He tilted his head. "Something´s different."
"Different?"
"Yeah, with you. Different." He stared a minute longer. "Oh, wait. Eyepatch? Dude. The girls probably go apeshit over that."
"Oh yeah. Chick magnet. That´s me." Xander took another drink.
"Is it real?"
Xander just looked at Devon over the top of the beer mug.
Devon shrugged, took a drink of his own beer and slopped it back on the bar. "Gotta finish the set. You gonna be around later?"
Xander nodded, not even having to think about it.
Xander looked around the restaurant they´d found after all the equipment had been loaded into a van at the front of the club and the other guys had taken off for the hotel. It was just down the road from the club. A deli type thing, dark vinyl banquettes, a few fake plants, a lot of drunks. Their waiter, a kid barely out of high school, had given them menus and disappeared. Maybe it was past his bedtime.
"So, what´s going on at home? You heard from Oz?"
Xander stared. "What´s going on at home?"
"Yeah, you know, that hole in the road we love to call Sunnydale."
"Oh, so you know."
"Know what, man?"
"That it´s a big hole in the road."
Devon laughed. "Oh yeah. I was so glad to get out of there and hit the road."
"What about your parents?"
"Oh, man, you know how they are. They thought I should go to college. Can you see me in college?" Devon shook his head. "They aren´t talking to me. I bet when I go home with a recording contract they´ll talk to me then."
Xander nodded sagely. "Yeah. Parents. Where are they now?"
"Now?" Devon looked confused. "They´re in Sunnydale. Where else?"
Xander wondered where Devon found his non–existent sense of humor. "No, come on man." At Devon´s look of incomprehension, he continued. "Sunnydale doesn´t exist anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"Sunnydale? Big demon fight? Big hole in the ground?" Xander shook his head. "Is any of this ringing a bell?"
"You´re shitting me." Devon´s eyes darted back and forth and he started tapping his foot under the table.
"No shit." Xander shook his head. "Decidedly lacking in shit, here. Sunnydale´s gone."
"Then where are my parents?" Devon´s eyes were wide, the whites showing all around the chocolate brown centers.
"Hey, hey," Xander tapped the back of Devon´s hand to get his attention. "Don´t sweat it. Everyone left before the big boom. It was like, like cats sensing an earthquake. People left. They´ll be with relatives."
"The only relative we had was my mom´s sister. My dad hates my mom´s sister."
Xander couldn´t think of anything to say.
"Oh jesus. I´ve gotta get to a phone."
Devon bolted out of the booth and Xander waved the magically re–appearing waiter away. "Never mind man, just remembered something." He followed Devon out and found him in the cramped entry, frantically dialing the telephone.
"Collect." His voice shook. "Devon."
Xander tried to get Devon´s attention but his eyes wouldn´t stop moving and he jiggled in place, holding the phone against his ear.
pain
Devon dropped the receiver.
This number is no longer in service. Please consult your directory and dial again. This number is no longer in service....
Devon bolted out the door.
"Shit!" Xander chased after him. "Devon! Devon, talk to me man!"
terrify
Xander chased him around the corner, down the street, and into an alley. "Oh yeah, a back alley. Right." He slowed but kept walking, feeling a little deflated when it opened up into a well–lit parking lot. Devon had buried his face in his crossed arms, leaning against a van with California plates.
"Devon?"
i´ll track you down
"Where are they?" Devon´s voice sounded muffled, watery.
"I don´t know." Xander shrugged, helpless. "A lot of people left before the big bang."
you always run away when i come around
"Shit!"
there´s a killer in me hoping, hope that you´re the one
Devon flopped over, pressing his back into the van. "How come nobody told me?"
Xander threw his hands in the air. "Oh, I don´t know. How can you not know? Seven. Months. Later. That your home town is missing?"
loaded, loaded up this gun there´s a killer in me
"Seven months?"
"Do you not watch the news? Read a newspaper? Talk to people?!"
Devon stood, took it, his look of confusion melting into deep hurt, making Xander finally realize that he was screaming at a victim. A victim of circumstances, of fucking hellmouths, of demons. A fucking victim. He stopped, shuddering, pulled himself back from the brink.
"I´m sorry man." Xander smiled. "They´re with your aunt. You know they´ve gotta be with your aunt."
Devon blinked and then turned and fumbled with the back door of the van. "I gotta go."
don´t stop, don´t talk do not fuck with me
"Go where? Sunnydale?"
"Fuck you man." Devon sat on the floor of the van and pulled a baggie out of the toolbox on the inside of the door. He rolled a joint with quick precision, despite his shaking fingers and hitching breath. He looked up at Xander as he licked the edge of the paper and slicked it to the joint smoothly. "Fuck you."
pain, i can´t sleep
He lit the joint smoothly, sucked the smoke in with that delicate sipping motion, clear and smooth, unconsciously sensuous. And held it. Held it. Held it.
i´ll track you down run you down
He automatically handed the joint to Xander and Xander took it. Took a toke. Inhaled. Held it. Not as long or as smoothly as Devon, but he held.
"Yeah, yeah, they´re with my aunt. My dad never did stand his ground."
but you always run away when i come around i don´t mind the day
By the time the second joint was gone, they were seated in the van, doors closed. They leaned against one another, helpless with laughter.
"Did you see that cop´s face?" Devon giggled.
"Oh yeah." Xander sat up, flicked the collar of his jacket. "Leather. Gotta be evil."
there´s another one inside me guess i´ve gone insane
"No man, it´s the eye patch."
Xander sighed. "Yeah, probably."
Devon patted Xander´s knee. "Seriously. Seriously dude?"
Xander looked into Devon´s big brown eyes. "Yeah, seriously."
"Seriously, it´s not the eye patch, or the coat. You´re kind of scary looking, dude." Devon shook his head mournfully. "Never thought I´d say that about Xander Harris. You are one scary looking mofo."
pain, i can´t sleep
"Yeah?" Xander looked pleased. "So why´d he go on, leave us alone?"
"Yeah." Devon grinned slyly and lay back on the floor, his shirt riding up to show his belly button, the thin trail of dark hair snaking below his navel and into his jeans. "He left us alone because you´re one hot mofo and this is the town for that."
Xander thought about it a minute, "or, maybe because we dove into the van and shut the door and he decided it wasn´t worth the trouble."
"Yeah, probably." Devon gave a sharp bark of laughter. "It´s always something mundane, around here, anyway." He unbuttoned the top button of his jeans and rubbed his lower belly, giving Xander an assessing look. "You know, I´ve always been a sucker for scary."
"You?" Xander thought about that. "Huh. I could see that. You dated Cordelia, as I recall."
Devon laughed. "Oh, man. That was some fucked up shit. ´You tell mister–I´m–the–leader–of–the–band–so–I–don´t–have–to–call that I´m not talking to him!´ Man, what a trip." He slanted a sly look at Xander. "You dated her too, as I recall."
"She´s dead."
"No way." Devon looked like he might start to cry again.
"Yeah. Something in LA."
Devon shook his head mournfully. "Nowhere´s safe these days." He rolled over on his side and put a hand on Xander´s knee. "So, how´d you lose the eye?"
"A big old creepy crawly guy who didn´t like me much."
"Huh." Devon nodded thoughtfully. "It definitely makes you look scary."
"Are you coming on to me?" Xander scrambled back against the wall of the van. "You´re coming on to me!"
Devon lay back again, stroked his belly and chest, pushing the shirt higher. "So?"
"So!" Xander couldn´t string the thoughts together that would tell him why it was a bad idea. "So... So you´re coming on to me."
"Yeah." Devon shrugged. "I told you. I like scary. Especially something scarier than the monsters."
do not fuck with me
"Well, it´s just not a good idea."
i´ll track you down run you down
"Why not?"
there´s a killer in me
"Because. I don´t. Because." Xander leaned over and kissed Devon hard. "Because that´s why. I hurt people."
i´ll track you down terrify
Devon grinned and licked his bruised lips.
"You liked that."
Devon nodded.
"You want to be hurt." Xander couldn´t quite get his hands around that. Oh, sure, he and Anya´d played some games, though most of them consisted of her tying him up. He´d never been the one....
"You want it, really?" Xander leaned over Devon and stared into his eyes. "Do I get to do anything I want?"
Devon sighed happily. "Anything."
don´t stop
Xander threw a leg over Devon and straddled him, grabbed his wrists and pressed them against the floor of the van near his head.
don´t talk
Devon´s breath hitched.
i don´t mind
Xander´s breathing grew rough.
do not fuck with me
He leaned down and licked Devon´s lower lip, slid his tongue inside, kissed him, his tongue thick and full in Devon´s mouth. Devon moaned and Xander ground his hips against the straining crotch of Devon´s jeans.
Devon whimpered.
Xander fell into an escalating rhythm, rocking his dick against Devon´s crotch, kissing Devon gently at first, and then more frantically, biting his lips, Xander´s stubble scratching Devon´s smooth face. Xander ground the bones of Devon´s wrists together and Devon cried out.
i can´t sleep
The noise galvanized Xander and he rolled to the side, ripped Devon´s shirt and bit his smooth brown chest, just above the nipple.
don´t stop, don´t talk
Devon, hands shaking, lifted his ass and pushed his own jeans down, kicking to get them off his legs.
do not fuck with me
Xander looked around, grabbed some thin electrical cord and tied it around Devon´s wrists at one end before tying the other end to a metal brace on the back of the bench seat in the front of the van.
run you down
Devon writhed, naked, his arms stretched above his head. He looked at Xander with full–blown pupils, solid black, heavy–lidded eyes.
"Jesus. You´re so fucking scary." Xander zipped his own jeans open and pulled his dick out, stroking it. He felt...so much. A fierce, righteous anger, a dizzying desire to cause pain. He squeezed his dick and watched Devon.
you lay out of time
Devon licked his lips. "Lube, in the tool box."
"Got it." Xander grabbed the tube from beside the pot. "Now shut the fuck up."
Devon shuddered. "Yes, sir."
Xander slapped him, a casually heavy blow. Devon moaned and arched his back, his dick jumping. Xander reached out and stroked it and Devon bit his own lip. "Jesus."
Xander held Devon´s dick in one hand, squeezing and stroking. He slapped Devon´s face with the other. Devon absorbed the blow, his face burning.
Xander grabbed a rag off the floor and wrapped it around Devon´s face, forcing the fabric between his lips. He tied it, with savage jerks, behind Devon´s head. Devon started to cry, slow tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.
Xander grinned, and then let go of Devon´s dick.
Devon moaned a protest, but stopped at the look on Xander´s face.
"You still want this?"
Devon nodded frantically.
"You sure? Because, I could leave now. I could leave you like this, all tied up and nowhere to go."
Devon shuddered again, his dick leaking clear fluid onto his belly. He shook his head.
Xander positioned himself between Devon´s legs, spread them, pushed them up.
"Hold them there."
Devon nodded again and braced his legs against the sides of the van.
Xander settled himself between Devon´s legs, the zipper of his jeans pressing against his balls. He squirted the cold lube directly against Devon´s asshole and then began to work it in with his thumb. Devon´s breathing changed, he shivered like a skittish horse whenever Xander got rough. Xander grinned at Devon through the frame of Devon´s legs.
"More?"
Devon nodded, slowly.
Xander forced two fingers into Devon´s ass and Devon bucked.
Xander looked down, admired the picture revealed by the watery light coming in through the windows; Devon´s dick and balls, his naked ass, Xander´s jean clad thighs, the faint gleam of the zipper, his own wind–roughened hands. He watched his fingers as he stroked, gently at first, and then harder, in and out, then stretching, spreading, widening the asshole.
Devon whimpered. Xander looked up. "Stop?"
"Noooo." Devon wailed from behind the gag.
"More?"
Devon´s eyelids dropped in assent.
Xander forced a third finger in, breathing hard, feeling like his own dick was about to burst. He wanted to hurt someone. He wanted it very badly.
He pulled his fingers free and sat back.
do not fuck with me
Devon stayed in position, his legs up, eyes pleading.
Xander watched him.
pain
Devon writhed, moaned, begged, and then cursed, the sounds muffled by the gag. Tears of frustration leaked from the corners of his eyes.
Xander waited another minute, stroking his dick gently, letting Devon see. He leaned forward and rubbed the head of his dick against Devon´s asshole. Xander could smell them both, sweat, leather, sex.
He pressed closer, his dick beginning to slide in, slowly at first, inexorable, a little too fast, and then, as he felt the muscle began to give, he gave a sharp twist of his hips that forced the head of his dick all the way in.
Devon clenched in pain and Xander grinned, continued pushing while Devon scrabbled for breath. When his dick was all the way in, when he could feel Devon´s balls pressing against the skin just above his dick, Xander stopped.
Devon opened his eyes. He watched Xander a moment, solemn, exhilarated. Beyond fear. Devon´s whole body rippled and then he lifted his ass higher and pushed it against Xander´s thighs, encouraging him.
There.
The beginning of quiet.
Xander began to move, reaching for the moment of peace.
The End
