Headful of Ghosts, pt 16
Sep. 1st, 2005 11:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wesleysgirlXander runs.
Behind him, above him, he can hear the sounds of Spike and Angel fighting -- fists hitting flesh, growls.
Then he bursts through the front door and he's outside, where the sun is slipping over the horizon, leaving most of the city a soft black that seems on first glance a lot more innocent than he knows it is. He doesn't stop running. Each slap of his soles on the pavement jars his entire body, his teeth rattling in his head so hard that he wouldn't be surprised if his fillings fell out, his hand throbbing with every step.
It's been long enough since everything went to hell that he knows not to stop on the street. To do that would be suicide, so Xander keeps running. His breath rasps in his throat, his lungs burn and then his thigh muscles, starved for oxygen despite his whopping gasps for air, start to seize up.
He scopes out a place to get inside, cursing that he lost his bag with his flashlight and other supplies when he and Willow were attacked. Slowing down, trying to be more quiet, he slips through a door to what looks like it used to be a warehouse, pressing himself to the inside wall and doing his best to listen through the fierce pounding of his heart in his ears.
The building is dark and quiet. Leaning against the wall, Xander tries to think. Under other circumstances he wouldn't have felt bad about leaving Spike to deal with Angel -- if anyone should be stuck dealing with Angel, it's Spike -- but the thing is... he doesn't have anywhere to go. He doesn't have any reason to think that anyone else is still alive, and even if they were there wouldn't be any way to get to them. Giles and Dawn were in London, Buffy in Europe somewhere -- Rome, maybe, Xander thinks. It doesn't matter. There's no way to get to Europe.
It was Willow's idea to come to LA, and that had been hard enough. They'd driven three cars into the ground and Willow had killed way more vamps and demons than Xander could count, but in the end they'd been attacked five blocks from the hotel that was the only place Willow knew for sure to try. Xander had carried her the last four, following the directions that were the last words she'd spoken.
She'd stopped breathing two blocks from the hotel. He'd known it, but kept himself going by telling himself that it wasn't true, that any step now she'd take another breath.
It was almost funny how relieved he'd felt when he'd stepped inside the hotel and seen Angel sitting there.
He should have known better.
Xander knows better now. It sucks that he needed the reminder, though.
First things first. He waits, listening intently for anything suspicious, but there's nothing. Really nothing, which is... weird, and wrong, but at least it gives him time to catch his breath.
He has to go back; he knows that. He's pretty sure he ran in a straight line, so he should be able to retrace his steps, but what the fuck is he going to do when he gets back there? He's no match for Angel and Angel knows it. He's pretty sure Angel knows it even when he's completely nuts.
Xander takes a deep breath, slowly, and then another, trying to gear himself up for heading back. "Will," he whispers. "If you're up there... if you can hear me... I could really use a hand right now." He looks down at his bandaged hand, which hurts like hell, ruefully, blinking back tears. "And I guess you'd know meant that in a figurative way."
He steps away from the wall, starting to turn, and there's a flash of light so bright that he stumbles backward and falls onto his ass in an instinctive attempt to get away from it. He holds up a hand to shield his vision, which is considerably less than perfect anyway, and scrambles to his feet, cursing at the pain in his busted hand, when he sees somebody lying on the floor of the warehouse less than twelve feet from him.
"What the -- " The first thing that flits through his head is on his lips before it's even a conscious thought. "Willow?"
But the body lying on the floor moves, groans, and Xander sees dark hair and a line of shoulder that seems distinctly masculine. Cautiously, he moves closer. The clothes are kind of out of date, including a leather jacket that's an ugly off shade of yellow, and Xander fumbles in his pocket for the stake he's been carrying for weeks, ready to use it.
"Go ahead, buddy," he says. "Make any sudden moves and you're dust."
The guy shoves himself up to a half sitting position and groans again, looking at Xander. "Look... I don't know who you are, but believe me when I say I'm not a vampire." His voice sounds rough, like it's been a long time since he used it. "It'd be a waste of a perfectly good stake to put it into me."
"Well, sure, if you're telling the truth," Xander says. "But what if you're lying?"
"I'm not," the guy says. "It's a little bit hard to give you proof, considering the obvious lack of sunlight for me to step into without bursting into flames, but if you can think of anything, I'm game."
Xander lowers the stake without loosening his grip. "Where the hell did you come from?"
The guy starts to get up, holding his hands out at his sides in the universal position of 'I'm innocent so please don't kill me' that, in the movies, is always followed by a gun being pulled out of some hidden pocket. He looks around. "That's kind of a long story."
Remembering that he needs to get back, Xander shakes his head. "I don't have time. Good luck." It seems like the right thing to say.
"Hey, hang on," the guy says as Xander backs up toward the door. "You can't just leave me here. Where are you going?"
"It's a long story," Xander says. "There's these vampires, only they're not regular vampires. And one of them was good, only he's not anymore. Sort of. Anyway, I've got to get back before the used to be good one tears the used to be bad one into little pieces."
"That's not just long, it's confusing," the man says. He has some kind of accent, only Xander's not sure what kind it is. "Let me come with you."
Xander shakes his head again. "Trust me, you don't want to do that. I don't even want to go with me. With my luck, I'm already too late and Angel's -- "
The man lunges forward and grabs onto Xander's good arm, his grip painfully tight, thumb digging into a sensitive spot and making Xander drop the stake. Xander's heart is pounding again as the guy says urgently, "Angel? You know where he is?"
"Yeah, I know where he is. Unless he's not there anymore." Xander pulls his arm away. He can't even rub it because his other hand is so fucked up.
Everything is so fucked up.
"I'm going with you," the guy says.
"If I let you come with me, will you promise not to do that Vulcan pressure point thing?" Xander asks plaintively.
The guy nods. "Yeah, sure. Sorry about that, I was just... I need to see him."
"Well, come on, let's go." Xander picks up the stake and the guy doesn't do anything to stop him. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"
"Name's Doyle," the guy says.
I'm up too late. This is imperfect. It will be less so after the story's done and it's been edited.
Behind him, above him, he can hear the sounds of Spike and Angel fighting -- fists hitting flesh, growls.
Then he bursts through the front door and he's outside, where the sun is slipping over the horizon, leaving most of the city a soft black that seems on first glance a lot more innocent than he knows it is. He doesn't stop running. Each slap of his soles on the pavement jars his entire body, his teeth rattling in his head so hard that he wouldn't be surprised if his fillings fell out, his hand throbbing with every step.
It's been long enough since everything went to hell that he knows not to stop on the street. To do that would be suicide, so Xander keeps running. His breath rasps in his throat, his lungs burn and then his thigh muscles, starved for oxygen despite his whopping gasps for air, start to seize up.
He scopes out a place to get inside, cursing that he lost his bag with his flashlight and other supplies when he and Willow were attacked. Slowing down, trying to be more quiet, he slips through a door to what looks like it used to be a warehouse, pressing himself to the inside wall and doing his best to listen through the fierce pounding of his heart in his ears.
The building is dark and quiet. Leaning against the wall, Xander tries to think. Under other circumstances he wouldn't have felt bad about leaving Spike to deal with Angel -- if anyone should be stuck dealing with Angel, it's Spike -- but the thing is... he doesn't have anywhere to go. He doesn't have any reason to think that anyone else is still alive, and even if they were there wouldn't be any way to get to them. Giles and Dawn were in London, Buffy in Europe somewhere -- Rome, maybe, Xander thinks. It doesn't matter. There's no way to get to Europe.
It was Willow's idea to come to LA, and that had been hard enough. They'd driven three cars into the ground and Willow had killed way more vamps and demons than Xander could count, but in the end they'd been attacked five blocks from the hotel that was the only place Willow knew for sure to try. Xander had carried her the last four, following the directions that were the last words she'd spoken.
She'd stopped breathing two blocks from the hotel. He'd known it, but kept himself going by telling himself that it wasn't true, that any step now she'd take another breath.
It was almost funny how relieved he'd felt when he'd stepped inside the hotel and seen Angel sitting there.
He should have known better.
Xander knows better now. It sucks that he needed the reminder, though.
First things first. He waits, listening intently for anything suspicious, but there's nothing. Really nothing, which is... weird, and wrong, but at least it gives him time to catch his breath.
He has to go back; he knows that. He's pretty sure he ran in a straight line, so he should be able to retrace his steps, but what the fuck is he going to do when he gets back there? He's no match for Angel and Angel knows it. He's pretty sure Angel knows it even when he's completely nuts.
Xander takes a deep breath, slowly, and then another, trying to gear himself up for heading back. "Will," he whispers. "If you're up there... if you can hear me... I could really use a hand right now." He looks down at his bandaged hand, which hurts like hell, ruefully, blinking back tears. "And I guess you'd know meant that in a figurative way."
He steps away from the wall, starting to turn, and there's a flash of light so bright that he stumbles backward and falls onto his ass in an instinctive attempt to get away from it. He holds up a hand to shield his vision, which is considerably less than perfect anyway, and scrambles to his feet, cursing at the pain in his busted hand, when he sees somebody lying on the floor of the warehouse less than twelve feet from him.
"What the -- " The first thing that flits through his head is on his lips before it's even a conscious thought. "Willow?"
But the body lying on the floor moves, groans, and Xander sees dark hair and a line of shoulder that seems distinctly masculine. Cautiously, he moves closer. The clothes are kind of out of date, including a leather jacket that's an ugly off shade of yellow, and Xander fumbles in his pocket for the stake he's been carrying for weeks, ready to use it.
"Go ahead, buddy," he says. "Make any sudden moves and you're dust."
The guy shoves himself up to a half sitting position and groans again, looking at Xander. "Look... I don't know who you are, but believe me when I say I'm not a vampire." His voice sounds rough, like it's been a long time since he used it. "It'd be a waste of a perfectly good stake to put it into me."
"Well, sure, if you're telling the truth," Xander says. "But what if you're lying?"
"I'm not," the guy says. "It's a little bit hard to give you proof, considering the obvious lack of sunlight for me to step into without bursting into flames, but if you can think of anything, I'm game."
Xander lowers the stake without loosening his grip. "Where the hell did you come from?"
The guy starts to get up, holding his hands out at his sides in the universal position of 'I'm innocent so please don't kill me' that, in the movies, is always followed by a gun being pulled out of some hidden pocket. He looks around. "That's kind of a long story."
Remembering that he needs to get back, Xander shakes his head. "I don't have time. Good luck." It seems like the right thing to say.
"Hey, hang on," the guy says as Xander backs up toward the door. "You can't just leave me here. Where are you going?"
"It's a long story," Xander says. "There's these vampires, only they're not regular vampires. And one of them was good, only he's not anymore. Sort of. Anyway, I've got to get back before the used to be good one tears the used to be bad one into little pieces."
"That's not just long, it's confusing," the man says. He has some kind of accent, only Xander's not sure what kind it is. "Let me come with you."
Xander shakes his head again. "Trust me, you don't want to do that. I don't even want to go with me. With my luck, I'm already too late and Angel's -- "
The man lunges forward and grabs onto Xander's good arm, his grip painfully tight, thumb digging into a sensitive spot and making Xander drop the stake. Xander's heart is pounding again as the guy says urgently, "Angel? You know where he is?"
"Yeah, I know where he is. Unless he's not there anymore." Xander pulls his arm away. He can't even rub it because his other hand is so fucked up.
Everything is so fucked up.
"I'm going with you," the guy says.
"If I let you come with me, will you promise not to do that Vulcan pressure point thing?" Xander asks plaintively.
The guy nods. "Yeah, sure. Sorry about that, I was just... I need to see him."
"Well, come on, let's go." Xander picks up the stake and the guy doesn't do anything to stop him. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"
"Name's Doyle," the guy says.
I'm up too late. This is imperfect. It will be less so after the story's done and it's been edited.
