Fic: Blinded, Battered, and Broken

[thedeadlyhook]

It's been an incredibly soporific day. About the only useful thing I've managed to get done is a little bit of writing.

This is my terribly, terribly late entry for the Welcome Back to the Hellmouth Kinkathon. It isn't quite finished yet - my huge apologies for the long delay! - but I wanted to at least get a start posted. I'll be doing my best to wrap it up quickly - knowing me, that probably should be taken with a grain of salt, but like I said... I'll do my best.

Title: Blinded, Battered and Broken
Author: The Deadly Hook
This one's for cindergal (aka, the former Cindermom), who requested for hurt/comfort with Spike/Buffy or Spike/Xander, Dawn or Xander friendship, Spike's lighter and rain. I promise, all of these are gonna make it in eventually, although for starters, there's going to be quite a bit of time-shifting AU weirdness.

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters not mine; no infringement intended, and no profit is being made here.

Summary: BtVS Season 6, goes AU midway through "Seeing Red," before all of the really memorable events of that episode. In the aftermath of "Entropy," Xander is given some choices. Xander POV.

Rating: Overall rating will probably be an R. Angst warning and character death warning for this part!






There's music. Country music. The music of pain. And beer, lots of beer. The beverage of pain.

Between those two things, the rest of his day is kind of a blur.

He crushes an empty can in his fist, and pegs it in the general direction of the kitchen. To join its crushed brothers.

He's building an army. Of the crushed.

__________

When he runs out of beer, he ventures out for reinforcements, and somehow ends up on a barstool at Willy's, regarding his pint glass and ignoring the other patrons. They're doing a good job of sticking to the dark corners of the room anyway, the demons and vampires and less-savory humans, although after enough beer and enough country music--it was what was playing on Willy's jukebox too, weirdly enough--it's hard to tell which of them is which. For all he knows, they might've all been at his wedding.

Okay, he really has no idea what he's doing here.

What he remembers is heading to the Bronze. His feet almost took him there on autopilot, although that would've also taken him past the Magic Box, where he knew he wouldn't have been able to resist looking in. He wanted to see Anya but dreaded it at the same time, and he didn't need anyone to tell him that talking to her now would be a huge mistake. He'd start out wanting to apologize and end up shouting, and, well, considering the previous night's follies... no. No, only an idiot would do something like that.

The Bronze held too many memories anyway.

Willy's, though... Willy's was different. Willy's was good--not good in the sense of being a good place, but aside from the demonic clientelle, who knew perfectly well that he was an accomplice of the Slayer, as well as human and very, very drunk, and...

Yeah, okay. Maybe there was a slightly obvious and disturbing reason why he might've come here. Other than that.

Willy's at least had the virtue of only one association, and that was Buffy. Specifically, a version of her that pounded on evil things for intel instead of getting pounded by them.

Not that he was, you know, bitter.

Bitter like beer. Sour and cold, and let's not forget sickened when you swallow down too much of it, and no, he wasn't thinking about the why of that tonight. About any of it--the beer, or Buffy. Really wasn't thinking about her, or her voice when she said you have no idea how hard it is just being here.

Except... god. Buffy. He just couldn't get rid of it. With Spike. The image kept circling around his head, like a low-flying buzzard. With black leather and blond hair.

Okay. He held up a hand inside his own head. Bad imagery. Thinking about Spike at all just reminded him of Anya, and why he hadn't gone to the Bronze.

God, he hated that vampire.

And Buffy--what was it with women and that guy? The night before, if they hadn't both stepped in, her and Anya, he'd have--

__________

--swung the axe with the first warning vibrations of the bell, the pre-jingle jingle that he'd heard so many times he could count the timing against the beat of his heart, and still he missed the neck. Mister blond-and-black-leather, always with the undermining and the smart remarks, and the making-his-existence-in-his-parents'-basement-even-more-miserable and now Anya--that was the last straw. The last straw.

Sinking his axe into that bastard's temple, though--his wide-eyed expression as the blade whistled toward him--that helped a little.

The blade resisted and caught as Xander tried to pull it back, jerked Spike's body toward him like a puppet on stumbling legs. If the axe hadn't been between them, Spike would've fallen right into his arms.

After that, it didn't take much--a quick upward yank, the blade catching Spike under the chin, Xander driving forward with a furious roar until the metal drove into the wall, and then there was nothing in between but dust. Spike didn't even fight back.

In Xander's mind, he heard cheers. Anya's gasp, though, makes him turn.

She's framed in the open doorway. A hand pressed to her mouth, and she's looking at him like he's Jack Nicholson or something, terrified of what he might do.

He has time enough to remember an imagined future where he brains her with a frying pan before he's hit from the side.

By Buffy. With a full-on football tackle that knocks him sprawling, her iron fists connecting with his jaw. He tastes blood and dust simultaneously; he can barely feel her wrest the axe from his hand, or hear the clatter as the weapon spins into the street. It seems forever until his vision clears and the pain starts, throbbing and loud.

She's just... sitting there. On her knees in front of him, looking like all the fight had been knocked out of her. Like she had in the desert, after Glory had taken Dawn. Dazed and not all there.

"What did you do?" she's whispering, like she's talking to herself. "What did you do?"

Then she says something else, which he can't quite hear over the ringing in his ears, but he thinks some of the words sound like "wish" and "brought me back."

And then Anya says something. And then...

Nothing after that. Nothing.

Annnnnnddd.... that made no sense at all. He blinks, and refocuses on the woman in front of him.

__________

Woman. Beautiful. Who'd sat down next to him with an "is this seat taken?" that was apparently rhetorical, because he hadn't even opened his mouth before silk-wrapped buttocks met creaking leatherette. Dark-haired. Exotic-looking. Halter top. Looking at him like he's a Tastee-Freeze treat.

Right. He's no dummy. He glances at the shiny surface of the bar.

"Oh, I'm not a vampire," she says immediately. Uh-huh, as if that wasn't suspicious.

"Well, there's a conversation starter you don't hear very often." He turns back to his drink.

"Do you really think drinking is going to solve your problems?" she says. "I mean, wasn't that what you walked out of your wedding to prevent? Becoming a bitter, violent--"

"Hey!" He spins on his stool to glare at her. This was hitting a little too close to the vision, or dream, or whatever-it-was that he'd just had. And he'd had a few too many of those lately already. "Do we know each other?"

She shrugs. "Yes, but I don't blame you for not remembering me. We did only meet a few realities ago."

"Oh, a few realities ago. Right, that would expl--"

"Let me save you some time. You're wondering if I'm a demon."

"Not really." He turns away again, even though he's pretty sure that turning his back on this woman was probably a bad idea. "I know you're a demon. Because you're here at Willy's, for starters, and also? I have this luck when it comes to beautiful women. They usually turn out to be demons. So unless you want me to fall in love with you and then--" He stops. Swallows. Reminds himself that no, he's not thinking about that. "Look, lady. I don't care what your story is. I just want to be left alone."

"So you came to a place filled with people."

Now she was starting to remind him of Anya. "Are you one of her friends? You are, aren't you? Here to get some vengeance on? Well, you're a little too late."

She frowns. "That's interesting. I think I can see why you'd think that, but..." She shakes her head. "This timeline is very confused. I've been tracking the cataclysm through reality after reality, and it makes no sense. The whole thing turns on whether you or one of your friends go here, or go there, or pause longer or move faster or decide to have another drink--"

"Okaaaaayy... you know what?" He slides off his barstool. He's heard more than enough. "It sounds like you really have a problem here, so why don't you wait, stay right there, and I'll go talk to Buf--"

She cuts him off. "You've tried that."

__________

He's lit up with anger when he walks into the bathroom, leather coat clenched in his fist, and then he sees--

More than enough to drive a stake through Spike's back, and then there's Buffy, gaping up at him through the dust in horror and shock--

__________

Once more, he blinks. The woman's still sitting there, staring at him patiently.

He bolts off his stool, and is out the door before he can even register having moved. All he can think of is Buffy, run to Buffy, make sure she's okay.

He's covered several blocks before he has to stop, panting, too drunk to run any further without throwing up. A second or two of struggle, and then he loses that fight--heaves sour liquid, coughs and spits until he's dry. His head starts up a throb then, and won't stop.

Cool concrete against his cheek. The distant click of high heels.

__________

When his vision comes back, she's leaning over him. Her lips move silently.

In his head, a fast-forward blur. Willow, dark-haired and black-eyed. Then nothing. Willow, sobbing in his arms.

More fast-forward.

Buffy, plunging a stake into Spike's chest. Multiple times, multiple ways. Visions of fanged monsters, worse than any vampire, hundreds of them, thousands. Buffy and other girls, dying under their teeth. Then nothing.

All of them, every vision, every variation, ends in nothing. Endless blackness.

Nothing.

"It wouldn't have mattered if you'd gone through with the wedding, either," she comments, as if merely continuing their conversation from the bar.

He levers himself up, onto his elbows, to stare at his splayed feet. Work boots, tilted at odd angles, jeans-clad legs he can't feel, and the sidewalk is cold under his back. He's sprawled in the street like a drunk.

Which, actually, does accurately describe him at the moment. He dies some inside, and the self-loathing burns in his throat.

It tastes just like the vomit.

"It would've been the same result," she goes on. "Just later. He would've found you at the reception, and then you would've walked out. The only difference is that you would've said the 'I do' words."

Every word of this, he hates. Even though it's exactly what he's been suspecting himself--that he hasn't stopped that horrible future so much as... postponed it. "What are you?"

She arches a finely shaped eyebrow. "You people amaze me, you know that? You're perfectly aware of the existence of gods, demons, and alternate universes, and still you act surprised when you come face to face with them."

He risks getting to his feet. Tries not to think about some of the things she's shown him, what might be happening to Buffy right now. He still wants to run. Wants to reach her, but can't. God, he can't. His legs are like rubber. He's drunk, sick and weak, and he can't do a damn thing to help her. Not a damn thing.

"It's already happened, what you're thinking about." Say goodbye to any doubts he might've still had that she could read his mind.

"Is she--"

"There are several paths for that moment. In this reality, she's shoved him off. He's gone."

"Gone as in dead?" He could hope.

She frowns. "Those realities are of no use to me."

__________

"There's something you all need to know."

Buffy's twisting her hands together. She's got longer hair than he's used to seeing on her lately, and she's addressing them all like a teacher in front of a class.

In hindsight, he's gotta to hand it to her for the timing. First thing in the morning, when they're all clustered around the kitchen island with cereal in their mouths. No time to do anything except to guzzle coffee and dash, and she just blurts it. No buildup.

"Spike has a soul."

There's just silence. Dawn lets out one parrot's of squawk of "What?" and then Buffy adds, "I don't know how he got it," as if anyone had even begun to wonder about that.

He bolts back his coffee and walks out.

__________

"I can't leave him there, Xander." They'd gotten through the car ride without saying any more, but now that they were in the school parking lot and Dawn had raced off to class, apparently she felt it was time again. Time to bring up Spike. About whom, for some reason Xander still couldn't figure out, Buffy seemed to care about more than zero. After everything.

Made no sense to him. "I don't see why not."

"He needs help." Most times, Buffy's stubbornness was a virtue. Not this time. "You were right, Xander. We need to help each other."

"Great. Nice of you to think so. Now."

She recoils as if stung. "That's not fair. You know I would've done anything I could to save--"

"You know, that would've made more sense if you hadn't already done everything you could to kill--"

His eyes snap open. The vision doesn't stop, but he does--at least stops believing that he's really living it. He can still see the images, though, unfurling behind his eyes like a too-vivid movie, and still feel how angry he is in that reality, a white-hot anger that's a twin brother to grief.

Anya. Anya's gone. In this reality--the one he's just seen--she's gone.

There's blurring and shifting and it happens any number of ways. Buffy kills her, D'Hoffryn's assassins kill her, the demon at the wedding kills her--never mind how, but she's dead, and in that other place, Buffy asks him to take Spike in while they're standing in the school parking lot, a few feet away from where the old science lab had once been. Where Spike had once given him a concussion while kidnapping him and Willow.

He walks away. Leaves Buffy standing there her fluttery dress, an outfit he's seen once or twice on the robot. Back when it was Buffy who was dead. "What are you doing to me?" he says to the stranger in his room.

"I'm helping you." Miss Mystery brushes aside a platoon of his beer can army in their loose mobilization on his couch, and does a prim little perch on the very edge, her hips barely touching the fabric. "You know, this is the first reality where I've tried to explain myself to you. I'm not convinced it will help, but I'm running out of ideas."

"You're making my head hurt," he croaks. How they got back to his apartment, he doesn't know. His mouth is unbelievably dry.

"The human brain is so limited." She sounds bored. She sits back on his couch then, makes herself comfortable despite the litter of cans, and her breasts push against her halter top. He half-wonders if that's natural for her, whatever type of demon she is, and what that might mean about Hollywood, all those thin girls with big breasts, but then she's talking again.

"I'm curious. Do you ever wonder why the whole of existence seems to teeter on the verge of extinction so often, with only the efforts of your pitiful little group to stop it? I mean, you know that there are forces more powerful than you can imagine. Why do you think that they never intervene?" She doesn't give him time to answer. "It's because you don't matter in the grand scheme of the multiverse, that's why. There are infinite realities, other heroes and heroes' friends, just as plucky and resourceful as you and yours, and in those places they keep the trains running and the birds singing, not you. Universes blink out of existence constantly. Your little brain can't even grasp the possibilities that exist in all time, in all space, in all being." She leans forward, nearly slipping from her perch. "Your Slayer is nothing. Your world is irrelevant." Then she pauses for a long time, as if she's run out of things to say, but continues looking at him, like she was interested, really interested, in what he might say.

And for the briefest of instants, he's taken back to that moment in high school when he'd been seduced by Ms. French. Never mind that she'd been an insect who'd wanted to mate with him and then make his head into her lunch--he'd mattered to her.

It was still a feeling he couldn't really resist. "Why aren't you talking to Buffy?" he asks. Because just like Ms. French, he knows that this is too good to be true. This demon--god--whatever she is--talking to him, like he's important. Like he could really change anything.

"What?" She looks momentarily confused. Stands up. She isn't tall, and he wonders if she's trying to look harmless, wonders what she really looks like. "The Slayer is of no use to me," she says impatiently. "What's coming touches her and everyone around her. Except you. You're the only one it leaves alone." She regards him with another look that reminds him of Ms. French. "I can't figure it out. You don't seem to matter to any of it, but somehow... you're the one who can make it change."

Comments

[http://users.livejournal.com/caraway_/]

Great start, I'm intrigued. I like the notion of Xander being central to the decision-tree that repeatedly saves the world, without realizing that he isn't just a butt monkey.

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Thanks! It's an idea I just found myself sort of poking and picking at, once I starting thinking about what it might take to get Xander to a hurt/comfort sort of place, and... well, as you see. I'm hoping to get to some less grim outcomes soon, as he explores the possiblities.

[cindergal.livejournal.com]

Aieeee! And I mean that in the best way. Fantastic start! Awesome Xander voice as well. Thank you!

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Yay, I'm so relieved you're liking so far! I was really worried I was going in way too dark a direction for the request, but subsequent installments should be a lot lighter.

[empresspatti.livejournal.com]

Well, this sucked me right in! Great Xander point of view.

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Thanks! I'm not even sure why this one ended up being told in the Xander voice - it just turned out that way, but I've really been enjoying it.

[rahirah]

Ohhh, I love twisty alternate universe time-travel stuff when it's done right!!

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

*g* I'll be doing my darndest to live up to that expectation. Thank you!

[bogwitch.livejournal.com]

Oh, this looks like it'll be good!

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Thanks! We'll see if I can pay it off in a satisfying manner. (crosses fingers)

[shapinglight]

Well, I'm hooked.

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Hee! Gotcha. Thanks!

[http://users.livejournal.com/_jems_/]

Very intriguing beginning.

He's covered several blocks before he has stop
I think there's a "to" missing in there.

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Whoops, you're right. Thanks for the catch, and glad you're enjoying!

[lusciousxander.livejournal.com]

This is very interesting, good use of The First never appearing to Xander. Fics like this one are the only reason I'm grateful the writers ignored Xander in S7. :)

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Well, there's a nice thing to hear! Thank you! And yeah, just knowing that Xander doesn't really figured into S7's story all that heavily just makes me want to play with him all the more, you know? He's just got so much - forgive the pun - potential. : )

[db2305.livejournal.com]

Oh, intriguing! I'm hardly reading fanfic anymore, but when you write something, I get sucked in....

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Yay, I sucked you in! Thank you for reading!

[herself_nyc]

Wowee, this is an AMAZING start. Your Xander is completely in voice and character, and I love how effortlessly you're interweaving these disorienting alternate takes on events. I'm intrigued by the "demon"-woman or whoever she is, and I can't wait for more.

Thanks!!

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

I'm so glad you like it! I find the whole alternate-universe concept absolutely irresistible, and just trying to think of all the ways the Buffyverse could've ended just like *that* has been a challenge. And hard part's still coming - trying to think of how many ways to save it, and wow, that's a much smaller number.

[herself_nyc]

Yes, the alternate-universe thing is so very very shiny. I can't wait to see how this unfolds.

[jamalov29.livejournal.com]

This is really intriguing. I'm used to read only Spike/Buffy and your Xander 's voice is so very well done !
Alternate universes are so much fun to play with. 'What if ' is a kind of magical word opening wonderful ( or tragic )worlds.
Do you know how many chapters you're going to give us?

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Thanks! I'm not sure on how many chapters. Especially since I usually predict that any given story's going to be simple and short, but that almost never works, so I've got no guess just yet. : )

[basilio-the-cat.livejournal.com]

You have me very interested with this. I am waiting for more!

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Thanks! Glad you're liking.

[sevet-one.livejournal.com]

Did you just kill Spike ? Several times ?
Well, technically you made the characters do the job, but still…
Apart that disturbingly big small detail, I love your story. I really do.

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Did you just kill Spike ? Several times ?

Kinda, yeah. They're all bad, bad alternate realities, though. *g* As later chapters hopefully will show.

Thanks!

[malfeasanceses.livejournal.com]

Every single one of those realities hurt so much. Gah.

I want more!

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Thank you! And serendipitiously enough, I have been working on this story lately - hopefully I'll have a new chapter up for you not too far in the near future.

[malfeasanceses.livejournal.com]

REALLY? I'm new to Buffy fandom, so I keep reading stories that have been long abandoned, and I've done my best to harden my heart. It would be so wonderful if you did (for both of these)!