Bad Trip, Chapter 15
May. 6th, 2004 11:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thedeadlyhookWelcome to the underworld, where we deal with all things life and death. As always, comments received with much love and affection and help us grow ever closer to a final director's cut version, soon to be posted on our newly redesigned Just Stake Me site, along with those Angel writeups I'll have done any minute now.
Previous parts here.
ACT FIFTEEN: SEE YOU AGAIN
"So," Bet asked, "what happens now?"
Neena took a minute to ponder the question. The two young Slayers were resting on the grass lawn of the hospital courtyard, Bet flat on her back and Neena propped up on one elbow, watching the slow progress of the cleanup. The bodies of the injured and fallen had already been cleared away, and a hospital staffer was clumsily maneuvering the bulldozer about the driveway, pushing aside the burned-out shells of the police cars which had served as barricades during the long night's siege.
A flash of recollection came to Neena--an axe-wielding man standing atop the bulldozer, blood drying on his ecstatic face, the crowd howling in triumph--and she shuddered. With the courtyard emptied and the morning sun beaming down, the battle already seemed like a distant memory, but her nerves still buzzed like electrical lines.
"Well," Neena began, "as for the mob, Sanguine's army... I think we actually got most of them. Knocked them out, or hurt them enough that they couldn't run away. The police chief, Mac, said they seemed dazed... Like they didn't really remember what happened."
"So they're going to be okay?" Bet rolled over carefully and drew herself up into a crouch, wincing at the pain that throbbed across her back.
"I believe so." Neena gave her a reassuring smile. "They're going to keep them under observation for a while, and some of them will probably face charges for what they've done..."
"That's not fair," Bet pouted. "It's not like it was really their fault."
"No, I suppose not. The influence of The First, those signs and symbols... But this is a matter of human law now, Bet. We've done our part as Slayers."
Bet rose to her feet and looked across the courtyard, watching the bulldozer do its work. "You guys were so amazing. Fighting all those people, and not killing any of them..."
"People died, all the same," Neena mused. "But at least we knew that every one we took down wasn't going to kill someone else, or get themselves killed. That's our consolation." She looked up at Bet, her expression brightening. "But you, Bet! You were incredible!"
Bet broke into a helpless grin, her cheeks flushed with pride. "Gee, really? I was sure she was going to kick my butt..."
Neena shook her head vigorously. "She never had a chance, Bet. You had her outwitted from the first moment."
"And what about her, then?" Bet's smile dimmed. "The bad Slayer, Sanguine?"
"Our friend Mister Portnoy had her thoroughly sedated," Neena replied delicately. "And she's securely restrained. I'm sure he and Lo will be able to get her to a safe holding facility without any problems."
She knew that wasn't what Bet had meant, and from the sad look the diminutive Slayer gave her, it was clear that Bet knew she was dodging the question. But the younger girl let the matter drop, and forced a smile back onto her face.
"Well," Bet said, "I guess somebody should go check on Graciela. She's probably worried sick about--"
"Isn't that her right there?" Neena asked. She inclined her head towards the lobby doors, through which their comrade was running at full tilt.
"You guys, you guys!" Graciela yelled, flushed with emotion. "You're okay, you're all okay!" She screeched to a halt as she reached the lawn, looking around in sudden consternation. "Hey--where's Lo?"
"Lo's fine," Neena smiled. "She's helping our friends secure a prisoner."
"Oh, that's great," Graciela beamed. Then her face darkened, and she turned on Bet in a burst of fury. "You-- You little sneak! You said you were going to be right back, and you were just going to check what was... You little liar!"
Bet and Neena exchanged startled glances. "It's all right, Graciela," Neena began, rising to her feet. "It was all for the best. It was actually Bet who--"
"I know, I know!" Graciela's face crumpled, and suddenly there were tears running down her cheeks. "I heard all about it. Bet was a hero, and you were a hero, and everybody was a hero... Everybody except me!"
Slowly and carefully, mindful of the pain in her bruised ribs, Neena gathered the sobbing Slayer into her arms. "There, there, little one," she murmured. "You had the hardest job of all. Waiting while we fought, not knowing what was going on... And if we had failed, you would have been the last one. The final line of defense."
"Yeah!" Bet chimed. "Xander's bodyguard numero uno!" Graciela, her sobs already subsiding, gave her a look of teary gratitude.
"And Xander?" Neena asked. "How is he?"
With a final sniffle, Graciela pulled herself back together. "The same," she reported. "Willow and Kennedy came by his room and took over for me, so I could come down and find you guys."
"The same," Neena repeated. She stared up at the sheer face of the hospital building, at the sixth floor where the Intensive Care Unit was located. "Sleeping, or something like it. I wonder... Is he dreaming?"
...........
Spike talked on a little longer, but Xander, preoccupied with his thoughts of Anya, heard none of it.
Abruptly, the voice stopped. Xander refocused, and saw Spike staring back at him with a look of obvious irritation. "Blah bloody blah," the vampire grumbled, sliding off the hood of the car. "You're the one wanted to talk theology. Not my fault if you've got the attention span of a--"
Spike paused as his feet hit the ground, and he shot Xander a sharp, speculative look. "Oh, I get it. You're thinking about her, are you? Wondering where your precious ex-demon ex is headed when her number comes up?"
He doesn't know, Xander realized. He burned up in the Hellmouth, and he doesn't know what happened next.
"Wrong tense. Anya's dead." The words felt right--blunt, cruel, stupid. Xander slid his insubstantial body off the hood of the not-a-car-because-this-is-the-underworld-and-these-are-just-symbols. "Thought you dead guys were supposed to know everything."
Spike blinked, evidently taken aback. "You thought wrong." He absorbed the news for a silent moment, then spun on his heel and resumed pacing down the descending spiral of the ghostly garage. "Too bad," he said, looking back over his shoulder. "She was all right, that one."
Xander followed. What else could he do?
"All right? That's all you've got, huh?" The light was gradually dimming as they circled downward, as if echoing Xander's darkening mood. The spectral figures that marched alongside them were becoming hazy, indistinct.
The vampire said nothing, and Xander continued, now talking as much to himself as to Spike. "She... died saving Andrew's life. That's what he told me. Like a hero. Like he deserved it, the little weasel... But that has to count for something, doesn't it? Something more than just all right?"
Spike shrugged vaguely, and kept walking, always a few paces ahead.
"She was--she was fighting, fighting along with us, one of the good guys. I don't know if she was even scared... not like she was with Glory." Xander smiled wistfully at the memory. "Remember Glory? That was some night, huh? And she was so scared. And I proposed, because I was scared too. And I thought, if we could just make it through that, then we'd be okay. Normal happy life, no more hellgods and apocalypses and--"
Xander stopped, and gave a sardonic laugh. "And look how well that worked out, huh? Now I'm following a dead vampire into the underworld, and she's, she's..." He shook his head fiercely. "No. It's not fair. I don't care what she did before, when she was a demon. She was a good person."
He stopped then, remembering again stumbling through those hallways, the shaking and the rumbling and the raining plaster. Calling her name and hearing no answer.
"She died fighting for what's right," he resumed, voice trembling. "To--to be human, because that's what she wanted. That means something, doesn't it? It has to mean something, doesn't it?"
The light was very faint now. Xander could barely see the profile of Spike's face, limned by the barest glow, as the vampire looked back over his shoulder.
"Did everyone else get out okay?" Spike asked, quietly. "Of the Hellmouth, I mean. Didn't really have a chance to find out."
"Yeah, pretty much. Most of the girls made it out. Willow, Dawn, Giles... Faith... Andrew, the principal..." Xander sighed. "And Buffy. That's what you really wanted to know, huh?"
"Right then." The vampire fell quiet again, and they continued down the spiraling path.
"Anything else I can help you with?" Xander prodded. The gathering darkness was bad enough, but the silent treatment wasn't helping. "Tidings from the world above? News headlines? Sports scores?"
The vampire waved a dismissive hand, a movement that was barely visible in the dim light. "Doesn't matter now, does it? Not to me, at any rate. Got enough to worry about as is." He paused a moment, and when he spoke again, the amusement in his voice was tinged with anxiety. "So you think fighting the good fight ought to be good for a few bonus points, eh? Saving the world and all that?"
Xander laughed, hoping he sounded less nervous than he felt. "Yeah, I guess. But you think that makes you so special? Everyone I know has saved the world a couple times. Even I got to do it once."
There was no trace of humor or mockery in Spike's reply. "In that case," he said, "you'd best hope that counts in your favor when the time comes."
Xander's growing fear was suddenly gone, washed away by a flood of rage. He lunged towards the dim shape of Spike's pale head, the only part of the vampire that he could still make out in the all-enveloping gloom.
"That's it, you bloodsucking son of a bitch," Xander yelled. He swung wildly at Spike's head, only to see it slip away from his fist like a ghostly balloon. "Who gave you the right to judge me?!"
He stumbled, and a steadying hand clasped his shoulder, its fingers digging deep into the flesh. There was no pain, but a powerful sense of pressure.
Spike's pale face came towards him, its expression unreadable in the dim light, but there was something in the voice that sounded almost like pity. "Not the point, is it?" he said. "Won't be me who gets to pass judgement."
The hand released its grip on Xander's shoulder, and the face disappeared into the darkness. Now there was only a faint, ambient glow, fading second by second. "It's too late for me, Harris," the vampire said from somewhere nearby. "Already checked out. All that's left for me now... is waiting to find out how my accounts stand."
"Spike?" The blackness was complete now. Xander stretched out his arms, flailing in the dark. "Uh, could we get some lights in here?" There was no hiding the panic in his voice.
"Not too late for you, though. Still got a chance to rack up points. Provided you take it, that is."
"Spike?" This time, Xander was pleading, begging. "This spooky underworld thing... I can't do this in the dark. Not in the dark. Please."
There was no answer. No sound of breathing, no heartbeat, not even his own. The darkness felt like it was crushing him, heavy and smothering. Claustrophobia surged through him like dark water, and he began to reach out into the empty blackness, fingers outstretched, like Helen Keller in The Miracle Worker. Blind and panting and struggling.
This can't be it. This can't be what happens after you die, to be left all alone in the dark, this can't be, this can't be, this can't be--
After a long moment, he heard a click, and then there was a flash of light.
Spike's face appeared again, lit by the glow of a cigarette lighter. The light flickered, brightened, and Spike raised the lighter over his head like a burning torch. As Xander's eyes adjusted, he began to make out dim shapes, like stones or sticks or rubble, piled up around them where the lighter's glow faded into darkness. Like a construction site, he thought dazedly. Or the other thing. Demolition.
"All done," Spike said, watching Xander with grim amusement. "We've passed through the gate."
Xander waited, expecting him to explain more. Surely Spike was going to say something like he had on all the other levels, something like Just follow me, don't talk to anything, or give a tour guide explanation to what they were seeing. On the right, the towering fortress of Satan and his pitchforking demons. On the left, the torments of the damned. Look up to view the pearly gates and cherubs with harps, and if you look carefully, you may see Elvis on a cloud to the left. No pictures, please.
But instead, Spike just stood there, patiently holding his lighter in the air like a fan at a classic-rock concert. As Xander stared, the vampire raised an eyebrow, nodded encouragingly. "Go on," Spike said. "Take a look. That's what you're here for, right?"
"Take a look at what?" Xander raised his hands in a gesture of helpless frustration. "I can barely see you!"
Spike grinned. "You think you're seeing with your eye? All your senses are the same down here. Nothing stopping you from seeing... or hearing."
"Hearing?"
"Yeah. Shut up for a minute and listen." Abruptly, Spike snapped the lighter shut, and they were plunged back into darkness. Xander yelped, then shrieked as a cold hand seized his wrist.
"Quit your bawling, Harris," Spike's voice hissed in his ear. "I've got you, okay?" The fingers around his wrist tightened briefly, moved into a new position, and then they were actually clasping hands. The image came back, of being with his mother in a department store. Waiting in line to see Santa.
"Just let go," Spike said. "Empty your mind and listen."
He wanted to answer, come up with something clever like since when did you go all kung fu or white hair doesn't make you a zen master, Spike but instead he just let himself be silent. He could hear. There was a sound that he'd noticed when they'd first entered this garage or whatever it was, a low throbbing noise like a generator.
And there was another sound now, one he knew well. It was a rasping sound like that of gravel being moved. The very particular noise of a bulldozer scraping into the earth, shifting a load of paving stones across a site, spreading them thin with repeated motions of the big scoop blade--this sounded almost exactly like that. Only... there was a crunching too, as if the stones were crumbling. Maybe wood chips or shells instead of stones?
And to his relief, it seemed as if Spike was right--he could see after all, even without the light. He could make out dim shapes now, lit by a diffuse glow that was becoming brighter all the time.
They were in a cavernous space. Huge. He couldn't even begin to see how far this cave stretched--there seemed to be no walls in any direction that he looked. The ground was piled high with stones or sticks or rubble or whatever it was, and the ceiling was dotted with lights. Like fireflies, only blue-white, glowingly intense. Somewhere off in the distance, the lights were drifting lazily up from the floor of the vast cavern, one by one, like stray balloons.
"Those would be souls," Spike told him, and there was enough light now that he could see the vampire beside him raise an arm and point. "You can see 'em now, can't you? They're ascending. Moving on."
Souls moving on. Looking at the lights gave him a peaceful feeling, although he couldn't begin to explain why. The grassy hill outside had been serene and pretty; this cave space was like... a noplace. The emptiness of it loomed huge in his awareness. This place was... nothing.
They were the only figures in it. Absolutely, obviously alone.
"Those people we saw," Xander began hesitantly. "The... spirits? who came down here with us..."
"This is where they end up," Spike nodded. "Soul goes on to... Well, wherever it's headed. And everything else," he gestured around them, "remains here."
"Everything else?" Xander tore his eye away from the lights with some difficulty. For the first time, he thought to wonder why his astral form was still one-eyed. "What else is there?"
Ignoring him, Spike peered off into the distance, his mouth twisting into a faint smile. "Guess I'm here, too... Part of me, anyway. Ever since the first time I died, a hundred years ago. Back before there were cars and planes and telly seven nights a week..."
The vast space around them was brighter now, enough for Xander to make out their surroundings. He turned to look at the piled debris that surrounded them, squinting to make out the shapes, and then it hit him.
They weren't surrounded by stones or sticks, gravel or shells or wood chips. The cavern was filled with bones.
Thousands of them, millions. Stretching in every direction, everywhere, forever.
...........
It was afternoon now at the hospital. Willow and the Slayers were gathered in the hallway outside the ICU, making short work of a bag of sandwiches that the hospital staff had delivered to the sixth floor.
"Isn't there something in the Slayer code about this?" Kennedy asked, her words muffled by a mouthful of pastrami. "I thought we weren't allowed to accept gifts for doing our jobs."
"Ssh," Lo admonished her. "Don't tell anyone, or we'll be off the gravy train."
"Yeah," Bet added. "You wanna spend the rest of your life driving a garbage truck?"
Willow felt a sudden pang of melancholy. Or flipping burgers, she thought. That's the traditional punchline, isn't it, Buffy? All of a sudden, she found she'd lost her appetite.
A man was approaching them, striding down the hallway towards the lunching Slayers. He was tall and muscular, his arms covered with colorful tattoos, and as he made eye contact with the younger girls he broke into a wide, friendly grin.
"Pinky!" Neena exclaimed, scrambling to her feet.
"Neena!" the man replied, draping one of his arms--the one without a cast on it--across her shoulders. "This girl," he proclaimed, "is a goddam miracle, if you ladies will pardon my French. Dug me out from under a pile of crazies and flung 'em aside like they was kittens." He fixed Lo with a stern look. "Whatever they're feeding you kids at this school paper of yours, they should give the recipe to the Marines."
Lo took a genteel sip of her soda. "Sorry, Mister Pinky. Trade secret."
Pinky gave a rumbling laugh. "I'll just bet. So, you gonna introduce me to the rest of your friends?"
Neena gestured around the group. "You met Bet already. This is Graciela..."
Graciela gave an impromptu curtsey. "Graciela Ortiz. Pleased to meet you."
"And Willow and Kennedy," Neena continued. "And in the room there is our friend Xander Harris."
Pinky nodded somberly. "The guy they brought in yesterday evening, right? Hope he's doing okay."
Willow walked over to the open door of Xander's room, and peered in, resting her hand on the jamb. "Physically, there's nothing wrong with him. Not at this point." She frowned, staring into the semi-darkness. "But in mind, in spirit... he's someplace very far away."
...........
Holding a dead man's hand, Xander stood at the bottom of the world, in an endless cavern filled with bones. He stared about him in shock and surprise, his single eye comically wide.
"I'm still here, aren't I? Guess you never really leave this place." Spike turned to face Xander, but his eyes were far away, unfocused. "We're all in here. All of us who sleep in the earth..."
Xander yanked his hand away from Spike's then, because this was beyond freaky, and he stumbled and fell. He landed in a heap of bones, his hands scrabbling at skulls and ribs and the long, thin bones that once moved limbs...
That bitch Shelley, she wouldn't stop talking, so I had to--had to hit her, didn't mean it, but I guess maybe I did it too hard... after that, there was this ringing sound and the kitchen... I remember the kitchen, and this burning smell... Shelley? Are you there? What happened? I don't remember what--
The pain, it's so awful, the drugs don't do any good anymore, haven't worked in weeks--or maybe it just seems like weeks? I can't talk anymore--so awful that I can't even tell them, how horrible this feels, how much I just want to let it all go. I want to die, this isn't ever going to get better, it's just pain that goes on and on, and oh please just let it end, let me die, let me--
The lights just went out and there was this rumble... it was so dark, and everyone was screaming... I don't know what happened. Maybe an earthquake? But we--
Pulled out into the intersection just like I always do and there was this sound, and it felt like something punched me in the gut and then it got dark, so dark, and there was this smell and these awful sirens--
Spike's hands were grabbing at him then, hauling him up, and Xander scrabbled to his knees and tried to stand, but kept falling. With every fragment of bone he touched, more and more memories crowded into his mind, swarmed through him, told him their stories, their angers, their fears, their deaths, oh god...
"What... what... what..." Xander could only babble. His hands clawed at Spike's clothes, trying to find something solid to hang onto.
"Get up, you stupid git!" The vampire leaned into Xander's face, his features stretching and distorting with a sound like creaking leather. The grinding sound was louder now, the scraping and crunching distinctly audible. "This is bloody important! You have to pay attention! You have to remember this!"
"Don't touch me!" Xander shouted, shoving Spike away. "I'm... you did this!" he screamed, pointing at his companion. "You brought me here, this is your fault! And now you're just going to take off, aren't you? Because that's what you do--you show up, make a mess of things, and take off to leave the rest of us to deal with the shit you left behind! Cordelia, and Anya, and... Oh god, don't get me started on Buffy. You fuck up everything you touch. I hate you! I hate your guts!" Rage was boiling through him now, fury that coated everything in a haze of red.
"Yeah, that's the spirit!" The vampire smirked, lips parting to reveal his jutting fangs. "You're feeling it now, aren't you? Just being here, in this place... Rubbish heap of dead dreams, that's what it is. Anger and fear, pain and hate. That's what you're here to understand."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Xander's head felt like it was splitting open, filled to bursting with rage... and fear too, the terror of their long voyage into darkness, and the humiliation of having clung to this demon like a frightened child. He opened his mouth, and the words spilled out like bile. "You were the worst roommate EVER! Never picked anything up! Coming and going at all hours! Left me to clean up after you like some little kid--do you even know how to use a dishtowel?"
"Dishtowels?" the vampire snorted incredulously. "You think that's what this is about? Points and scores and who did what to who?" The grinding sound had grown even louder, and Spike had to raise his voice to make himself heard over the noise. "Now listen up, you sniveling little shit. Good and evil, right and wrong--none of that matters. Not here." He grabbed Xander by the shoulders, yanking him off his feet. "This isn't a place of judgement. Not hell. Nor heaven either, though I doubt that comes as a great surprise."
"Then where are we?" Xander shouted. "What is this place? Why did you bring me here?"
Spike's grip relaxed a little, and he lowered Xander to the ground again. "I can feel it," the vampire said, and his eyes were wide with dawning realization. With a groaning sound, his features rearranged themselves, his face changing back to its normal form. "Really am part of it, aren't I? All of us are... all of us vamps."
Abruptly, Spike released Xander, and spun away in a half-turn. He looked around at the vast graveyard that stretched away in every direction, as if seeing it for the first time.
"Everything finds its way down here in the end," Spike mused. "All builds up. Every massacre, every plague, every death... just adds another layer. Builds up like history. Archeology of the spirit." He kicked at a skull, and it rolled away with a brittle clack. "Maybe it contaminates us somehow. Like a foul smell in the refrigerator, making everything taste the same... Or like a bunch of women living together, the way their monthlies start matching up..."
"And there's the obligatory gross blood metaphor," Xander muttered. The anger had left him, and as he stared at the pacing vampire, he could feel fear flooding in to fill the gap. Spike's lost it. My spirit guide's cracked up. Blown a ghostly gasket. Scrooge is going to have to find his own way home for Christmas.
"Spike." He was shouting, just a little, to make himself heard over the ever-louder grinding and crunching, but he tried to keep his voice calm and even. "Spike, just tell me. Where are we?"
Spike turned to face him. "What does it look like?"
Answer a question with a question, Xander thought sourly. Very zen. He looked around for a moment. "Like the Elephants' Graveyard. Except for the part about the elephants." He drew an insubstantial breath. "So there it is. A graveyard. Huge, spooky, underground graveyard."
"Very good." Spike smiled, but there was no mirth in his expression. "House of the dead, eh? And all the crap that's left behind when the soul flits away to parts unknown... The pain, the fear, the anger... That's what sustains it. That's what it bloody eats."
The grinding was almost deafening now, and Xander had to yell over the noise. "It?! Spike, what the fuck is IT?!"
Spike didn't raise his own voice, but even though he couldn't hear the words, Xander knew all too well what the vampire's answer was.
"Beneath you... it devours."
A ripple ran across Spike's body, as if it were a pool disturbed by a thrown pebble. For one awful moment, Xander was sure that the figure was about to stretch and change, transform into another of The First's gallery of guises. Gotcha, sucker. Your soul is mine. But what was happening to Spike was something altogether different.
"Oh bugger." Spike's eyes widened with horror, and as Xander watched, a dark mass began to wrap around him, flowing over his arms and body like water. It solidified, hardening into leather--a long coat, Spike's familiar duster. His hair rippled, smoothed, and now it was slicked back just as it had been the day he entered the Hellmouth. His right hand jerked upward, palm forward, and suddenly it was enveloped in flames.
"I'm... I have to go." The flames ran down Spike's arm, spread across his body. "I just..." His words were lost in the roar of the fire.
Xander had said earlier, about his old neighbor, that he wasn't interested in watching anyone suffer, although once he might have made an exception for Spike. Okay, more than once. But nothing could have prepared him for the reality of watching the vampire burn alive, consumed by fire from the inside out, the expression on his face changing from fear to terror to pain and then to agony, crumbling away to a charred black skeleton, and then to nothing, collapsing in a shower of fading sparks that spun and whirled like a minature tornado.
He'd screamed as it happened. Screamed.
And then Xander was alone. Alone in the vast graveyard that lay at the bottom of the world.
Alone... except for the grinding, cracking, crunching sound that grew ever louder and louder as Xander listened. As if something were drawing closer. From behind him.
Xander turned.
The shape that loomed before him was formless, and huge beyond comprehension. Now it was like a vast black cloud, roiling and churning; now he had the impression of a huge blind worm that writhed and coiled. Somewhere high above, he could sense its teeth, row upon row of them, grinding and chewing and cracking as it gnawed the bones of the dead.
In some corner of Xander's mind, he was kicking back in a movie theater seat, cramming his mouth with popcorn, the crumbs spilling onto the sticky floor. Dune, he exclaimed from the safety of his inner movie theater. Like the giant worms in the movie. Now think of the spice, Xander! Think of the spice! The popcorn was crunching between his teeth, and he chewed and ground and swallowed, and tiny flecks of blue-white light popped out of the kernels as he gnawed them, the sparks floating up and away like tiny stars as he consumed the husks they left behind...
No, he thought, that's not me. Eating and chewing and grinding, and somehow taking them into me, becoming them. It's not me who's eating them... But he could hear laughter, the carefree laughter of his good friend Jesse, his dead friend Jesse, and Jesse was saying We're all in here, buddy... And you'll be joining us very soon.
It was getting dark again, the light was fading. The vast black shape filled Xander's vision, the grinding of its jaws filled his ears. He was aware of nothing else now...
Then he felt the touch of a gentle hand on his, heard a soft voice in his ear.
"For heaven's sake, Xander, don't be such a drama queen. It's not like it's the end of the world."
As the last of the light vanished, he caught a fleeting impression of dark eyes, brown curls of hair, a warm, mischievous smile. He felt a sudden, dizzying whirl of movement...
And then suddenly Xander was awake. His eye snapped open, and light--real light, the light of the setting sun--flooded in. He started in surprise, felt the brace clamped around his neck, the alien sensation of the ventilator tube in his throat, the small but very real weight of the blankets stretched across his body.
Tears swam in his eye, blurring his vision. He could make out the indistinct shapes of people springing to their feet, gasping with relief and delight, rushing across the dimly lit room. Their silhouettes passed before the open door, briefly blotting out the descending sun, as the girls made their way around the bed to gather by Xander's side and welcome him back to the land of the living.
Xander slumped back onto the bed, and closed his eye for just a moment. There would be time now for welcomes and greetings and explanations, but there was something he had to do first.
Thank you, he thought. Thank you, Cordy.
Previous parts here.
ACT FIFTEEN: SEE YOU AGAIN
"So," Bet asked, "what happens now?"
Neena took a minute to ponder the question. The two young Slayers were resting on the grass lawn of the hospital courtyard, Bet flat on her back and Neena propped up on one elbow, watching the slow progress of the cleanup. The bodies of the injured and fallen had already been cleared away, and a hospital staffer was clumsily maneuvering the bulldozer about the driveway, pushing aside the burned-out shells of the police cars which had served as barricades during the long night's siege.
A flash of recollection came to Neena--an axe-wielding man standing atop the bulldozer, blood drying on his ecstatic face, the crowd howling in triumph--and she shuddered. With the courtyard emptied and the morning sun beaming down, the battle already seemed like a distant memory, but her nerves still buzzed like electrical lines.
"Well," Neena began, "as for the mob, Sanguine's army... I think we actually got most of them. Knocked them out, or hurt them enough that they couldn't run away. The police chief, Mac, said they seemed dazed... Like they didn't really remember what happened."
"So they're going to be okay?" Bet rolled over carefully and drew herself up into a crouch, wincing at the pain that throbbed across her back.
"I believe so." Neena gave her a reassuring smile. "They're going to keep them under observation for a while, and some of them will probably face charges for what they've done..."
"That's not fair," Bet pouted. "It's not like it was really their fault."
"No, I suppose not. The influence of The First, those signs and symbols... But this is a matter of human law now, Bet. We've done our part as Slayers."
Bet rose to her feet and looked across the courtyard, watching the bulldozer do its work. "You guys were so amazing. Fighting all those people, and not killing any of them..."
"People died, all the same," Neena mused. "But at least we knew that every one we took down wasn't going to kill someone else, or get themselves killed. That's our consolation." She looked up at Bet, her expression brightening. "But you, Bet! You were incredible!"
Bet broke into a helpless grin, her cheeks flushed with pride. "Gee, really? I was sure she was going to kick my butt..."
Neena shook her head vigorously. "She never had a chance, Bet. You had her outwitted from the first moment."
"And what about her, then?" Bet's smile dimmed. "The bad Slayer, Sanguine?"
"Our friend Mister Portnoy had her thoroughly sedated," Neena replied delicately. "And she's securely restrained. I'm sure he and Lo will be able to get her to a safe holding facility without any problems."
She knew that wasn't what Bet had meant, and from the sad look the diminutive Slayer gave her, it was clear that Bet knew she was dodging the question. But the younger girl let the matter drop, and forced a smile back onto her face.
"Well," Bet said, "I guess somebody should go check on Graciela. She's probably worried sick about--"
"Isn't that her right there?" Neena asked. She inclined her head towards the lobby doors, through which their comrade was running at full tilt.
"You guys, you guys!" Graciela yelled, flushed with emotion. "You're okay, you're all okay!" She screeched to a halt as she reached the lawn, looking around in sudden consternation. "Hey--where's Lo?"
"Lo's fine," Neena smiled. "She's helping our friends secure a prisoner."
"Oh, that's great," Graciela beamed. Then her face darkened, and she turned on Bet in a burst of fury. "You-- You little sneak! You said you were going to be right back, and you were just going to check what was... You little liar!"
Bet and Neena exchanged startled glances. "It's all right, Graciela," Neena began, rising to her feet. "It was all for the best. It was actually Bet who--"
"I know, I know!" Graciela's face crumpled, and suddenly there were tears running down her cheeks. "I heard all about it. Bet was a hero, and you were a hero, and everybody was a hero... Everybody except me!"
Slowly and carefully, mindful of the pain in her bruised ribs, Neena gathered the sobbing Slayer into her arms. "There, there, little one," she murmured. "You had the hardest job of all. Waiting while we fought, not knowing what was going on... And if we had failed, you would have been the last one. The final line of defense."
"Yeah!" Bet chimed. "Xander's bodyguard numero uno!" Graciela, her sobs already subsiding, gave her a look of teary gratitude.
"And Xander?" Neena asked. "How is he?"
With a final sniffle, Graciela pulled herself back together. "The same," she reported. "Willow and Kennedy came by his room and took over for me, so I could come down and find you guys."
"The same," Neena repeated. She stared up at the sheer face of the hospital building, at the sixth floor where the Intensive Care Unit was located. "Sleeping, or something like it. I wonder... Is he dreaming?"
...........
Spike talked on a little longer, but Xander, preoccupied with his thoughts of Anya, heard none of it.
Abruptly, the voice stopped. Xander refocused, and saw Spike staring back at him with a look of obvious irritation. "Blah bloody blah," the vampire grumbled, sliding off the hood of the car. "You're the one wanted to talk theology. Not my fault if you've got the attention span of a--"
Spike paused as his feet hit the ground, and he shot Xander a sharp, speculative look. "Oh, I get it. You're thinking about her, are you? Wondering where your precious ex-demon ex is headed when her number comes up?"
He doesn't know, Xander realized. He burned up in the Hellmouth, and he doesn't know what happened next.
"Wrong tense. Anya's dead." The words felt right--blunt, cruel, stupid. Xander slid his insubstantial body off the hood of the not-a-car-because-this-is-the-underworld-and-these-are-just-symbols. "Thought you dead guys were supposed to know everything."
Spike blinked, evidently taken aback. "You thought wrong." He absorbed the news for a silent moment, then spun on his heel and resumed pacing down the descending spiral of the ghostly garage. "Too bad," he said, looking back over his shoulder. "She was all right, that one."
Xander followed. What else could he do?
"All right? That's all you've got, huh?" The light was gradually dimming as they circled downward, as if echoing Xander's darkening mood. The spectral figures that marched alongside them were becoming hazy, indistinct.
The vampire said nothing, and Xander continued, now talking as much to himself as to Spike. "She... died saving Andrew's life. That's what he told me. Like a hero. Like he deserved it, the little weasel... But that has to count for something, doesn't it? Something more than just all right?"
Spike shrugged vaguely, and kept walking, always a few paces ahead.
"She was--she was fighting, fighting along with us, one of the good guys. I don't know if she was even scared... not like she was with Glory." Xander smiled wistfully at the memory. "Remember Glory? That was some night, huh? And she was so scared. And I proposed, because I was scared too. And I thought, if we could just make it through that, then we'd be okay. Normal happy life, no more hellgods and apocalypses and--"
Xander stopped, and gave a sardonic laugh. "And look how well that worked out, huh? Now I'm following a dead vampire into the underworld, and she's, she's..." He shook his head fiercely. "No. It's not fair. I don't care what she did before, when she was a demon. She was a good person."
He stopped then, remembering again stumbling through those hallways, the shaking and the rumbling and the raining plaster. Calling her name and hearing no answer.
"She died fighting for what's right," he resumed, voice trembling. "To--to be human, because that's what she wanted. That means something, doesn't it? It has to mean something, doesn't it?"
The light was very faint now. Xander could barely see the profile of Spike's face, limned by the barest glow, as the vampire looked back over his shoulder.
"Did everyone else get out okay?" Spike asked, quietly. "Of the Hellmouth, I mean. Didn't really have a chance to find out."
"Yeah, pretty much. Most of the girls made it out. Willow, Dawn, Giles... Faith... Andrew, the principal..." Xander sighed. "And Buffy. That's what you really wanted to know, huh?"
"Right then." The vampire fell quiet again, and they continued down the spiraling path.
"Anything else I can help you with?" Xander prodded. The gathering darkness was bad enough, but the silent treatment wasn't helping. "Tidings from the world above? News headlines? Sports scores?"
The vampire waved a dismissive hand, a movement that was barely visible in the dim light. "Doesn't matter now, does it? Not to me, at any rate. Got enough to worry about as is." He paused a moment, and when he spoke again, the amusement in his voice was tinged with anxiety. "So you think fighting the good fight ought to be good for a few bonus points, eh? Saving the world and all that?"
Xander laughed, hoping he sounded less nervous than he felt. "Yeah, I guess. But you think that makes you so special? Everyone I know has saved the world a couple times. Even I got to do it once."
There was no trace of humor or mockery in Spike's reply. "In that case," he said, "you'd best hope that counts in your favor when the time comes."
Xander's growing fear was suddenly gone, washed away by a flood of rage. He lunged towards the dim shape of Spike's pale head, the only part of the vampire that he could still make out in the all-enveloping gloom.
"That's it, you bloodsucking son of a bitch," Xander yelled. He swung wildly at Spike's head, only to see it slip away from his fist like a ghostly balloon. "Who gave you the right to judge me?!"
He stumbled, and a steadying hand clasped his shoulder, its fingers digging deep into the flesh. There was no pain, but a powerful sense of pressure.
Spike's pale face came towards him, its expression unreadable in the dim light, but there was something in the voice that sounded almost like pity. "Not the point, is it?" he said. "Won't be me who gets to pass judgement."
The hand released its grip on Xander's shoulder, and the face disappeared into the darkness. Now there was only a faint, ambient glow, fading second by second. "It's too late for me, Harris," the vampire said from somewhere nearby. "Already checked out. All that's left for me now... is waiting to find out how my accounts stand."
"Spike?" The blackness was complete now. Xander stretched out his arms, flailing in the dark. "Uh, could we get some lights in here?" There was no hiding the panic in his voice.
"Not too late for you, though. Still got a chance to rack up points. Provided you take it, that is."
"Spike?" This time, Xander was pleading, begging. "This spooky underworld thing... I can't do this in the dark. Not in the dark. Please."
There was no answer. No sound of breathing, no heartbeat, not even his own. The darkness felt like it was crushing him, heavy and smothering. Claustrophobia surged through him like dark water, and he began to reach out into the empty blackness, fingers outstretched, like Helen Keller in The Miracle Worker. Blind and panting and struggling.
This can't be it. This can't be what happens after you die, to be left all alone in the dark, this can't be, this can't be, this can't be--
After a long moment, he heard a click, and then there was a flash of light.
Spike's face appeared again, lit by the glow of a cigarette lighter. The light flickered, brightened, and Spike raised the lighter over his head like a burning torch. As Xander's eyes adjusted, he began to make out dim shapes, like stones or sticks or rubble, piled up around them where the lighter's glow faded into darkness. Like a construction site, he thought dazedly. Or the other thing. Demolition.
"All done," Spike said, watching Xander with grim amusement. "We've passed through the gate."
Xander waited, expecting him to explain more. Surely Spike was going to say something like he had on all the other levels, something like Just follow me, don't talk to anything, or give a tour guide explanation to what they were seeing. On the right, the towering fortress of Satan and his pitchforking demons. On the left, the torments of the damned. Look up to view the pearly gates and cherubs with harps, and if you look carefully, you may see Elvis on a cloud to the left. No pictures, please.
But instead, Spike just stood there, patiently holding his lighter in the air like a fan at a classic-rock concert. As Xander stared, the vampire raised an eyebrow, nodded encouragingly. "Go on," Spike said. "Take a look. That's what you're here for, right?"
"Take a look at what?" Xander raised his hands in a gesture of helpless frustration. "I can barely see you!"
Spike grinned. "You think you're seeing with your eye? All your senses are the same down here. Nothing stopping you from seeing... or hearing."
"Hearing?"
"Yeah. Shut up for a minute and listen." Abruptly, Spike snapped the lighter shut, and they were plunged back into darkness. Xander yelped, then shrieked as a cold hand seized his wrist.
"Quit your bawling, Harris," Spike's voice hissed in his ear. "I've got you, okay?" The fingers around his wrist tightened briefly, moved into a new position, and then they were actually clasping hands. The image came back, of being with his mother in a department store. Waiting in line to see Santa.
"Just let go," Spike said. "Empty your mind and listen."
He wanted to answer, come up with something clever like since when did you go all kung fu or white hair doesn't make you a zen master, Spike but instead he just let himself be silent. He could hear. There was a sound that he'd noticed when they'd first entered this garage or whatever it was, a low throbbing noise like a generator.
And there was another sound now, one he knew well. It was a rasping sound like that of gravel being moved. The very particular noise of a bulldozer scraping into the earth, shifting a load of paving stones across a site, spreading them thin with repeated motions of the big scoop blade--this sounded almost exactly like that. Only... there was a crunching too, as if the stones were crumbling. Maybe wood chips or shells instead of stones?
And to his relief, it seemed as if Spike was right--he could see after all, even without the light. He could make out dim shapes now, lit by a diffuse glow that was becoming brighter all the time.
They were in a cavernous space. Huge. He couldn't even begin to see how far this cave stretched--there seemed to be no walls in any direction that he looked. The ground was piled high with stones or sticks or rubble or whatever it was, and the ceiling was dotted with lights. Like fireflies, only blue-white, glowingly intense. Somewhere off in the distance, the lights were drifting lazily up from the floor of the vast cavern, one by one, like stray balloons.
"Those would be souls," Spike told him, and there was enough light now that he could see the vampire beside him raise an arm and point. "You can see 'em now, can't you? They're ascending. Moving on."
Souls moving on. Looking at the lights gave him a peaceful feeling, although he couldn't begin to explain why. The grassy hill outside had been serene and pretty; this cave space was like... a noplace. The emptiness of it loomed huge in his awareness. This place was... nothing.
They were the only figures in it. Absolutely, obviously alone.
"Those people we saw," Xander began hesitantly. "The... spirits? who came down here with us..."
"This is where they end up," Spike nodded. "Soul goes on to... Well, wherever it's headed. And everything else," he gestured around them, "remains here."
"Everything else?" Xander tore his eye away from the lights with some difficulty. For the first time, he thought to wonder why his astral form was still one-eyed. "What else is there?"
Ignoring him, Spike peered off into the distance, his mouth twisting into a faint smile. "Guess I'm here, too... Part of me, anyway. Ever since the first time I died, a hundred years ago. Back before there were cars and planes and telly seven nights a week..."
The vast space around them was brighter now, enough for Xander to make out their surroundings. He turned to look at the piled debris that surrounded them, squinting to make out the shapes, and then it hit him.
They weren't surrounded by stones or sticks, gravel or shells or wood chips. The cavern was filled with bones.
Thousands of them, millions. Stretching in every direction, everywhere, forever.
...........
It was afternoon now at the hospital. Willow and the Slayers were gathered in the hallway outside the ICU, making short work of a bag of sandwiches that the hospital staff had delivered to the sixth floor.
"Isn't there something in the Slayer code about this?" Kennedy asked, her words muffled by a mouthful of pastrami. "I thought we weren't allowed to accept gifts for doing our jobs."
"Ssh," Lo admonished her. "Don't tell anyone, or we'll be off the gravy train."
"Yeah," Bet added. "You wanna spend the rest of your life driving a garbage truck?"
Willow felt a sudden pang of melancholy. Or flipping burgers, she thought. That's the traditional punchline, isn't it, Buffy? All of a sudden, she found she'd lost her appetite.
A man was approaching them, striding down the hallway towards the lunching Slayers. He was tall and muscular, his arms covered with colorful tattoos, and as he made eye contact with the younger girls he broke into a wide, friendly grin.
"Pinky!" Neena exclaimed, scrambling to her feet.
"Neena!" the man replied, draping one of his arms--the one without a cast on it--across her shoulders. "This girl," he proclaimed, "is a goddam miracle, if you ladies will pardon my French. Dug me out from under a pile of crazies and flung 'em aside like they was kittens." He fixed Lo with a stern look. "Whatever they're feeding you kids at this school paper of yours, they should give the recipe to the Marines."
Lo took a genteel sip of her soda. "Sorry, Mister Pinky. Trade secret."
Pinky gave a rumbling laugh. "I'll just bet. So, you gonna introduce me to the rest of your friends?"
Neena gestured around the group. "You met Bet already. This is Graciela..."
Graciela gave an impromptu curtsey. "Graciela Ortiz. Pleased to meet you."
"And Willow and Kennedy," Neena continued. "And in the room there is our friend Xander Harris."
Pinky nodded somberly. "The guy they brought in yesterday evening, right? Hope he's doing okay."
Willow walked over to the open door of Xander's room, and peered in, resting her hand on the jamb. "Physically, there's nothing wrong with him. Not at this point." She frowned, staring into the semi-darkness. "But in mind, in spirit... he's someplace very far away."
...........
Holding a dead man's hand, Xander stood at the bottom of the world, in an endless cavern filled with bones. He stared about him in shock and surprise, his single eye comically wide.
"I'm still here, aren't I? Guess you never really leave this place." Spike turned to face Xander, but his eyes were far away, unfocused. "We're all in here. All of us who sleep in the earth..."
Xander yanked his hand away from Spike's then, because this was beyond freaky, and he stumbled and fell. He landed in a heap of bones, his hands scrabbling at skulls and ribs and the long, thin bones that once moved limbs...
That bitch Shelley, she wouldn't stop talking, so I had to--had to hit her, didn't mean it, but I guess maybe I did it too hard... after that, there was this ringing sound and the kitchen... I remember the kitchen, and this burning smell... Shelley? Are you there? What happened? I don't remember what--
The pain, it's so awful, the drugs don't do any good anymore, haven't worked in weeks--or maybe it just seems like weeks? I can't talk anymore--so awful that I can't even tell them, how horrible this feels, how much I just want to let it all go. I want to die, this isn't ever going to get better, it's just pain that goes on and on, and oh please just let it end, let me die, let me--
The lights just went out and there was this rumble... it was so dark, and everyone was screaming... I don't know what happened. Maybe an earthquake? But we--
Pulled out into the intersection just like I always do and there was this sound, and it felt like something punched me in the gut and then it got dark, so dark, and there was this smell and these awful sirens--
Spike's hands were grabbing at him then, hauling him up, and Xander scrabbled to his knees and tried to stand, but kept falling. With every fragment of bone he touched, more and more memories crowded into his mind, swarmed through him, told him their stories, their angers, their fears, their deaths, oh god...
"What... what... what..." Xander could only babble. His hands clawed at Spike's clothes, trying to find something solid to hang onto.
"Get up, you stupid git!" The vampire leaned into Xander's face, his features stretching and distorting with a sound like creaking leather. The grinding sound was louder now, the scraping and crunching distinctly audible. "This is bloody important! You have to pay attention! You have to remember this!"
"Don't touch me!" Xander shouted, shoving Spike away. "I'm... you did this!" he screamed, pointing at his companion. "You brought me here, this is your fault! And now you're just going to take off, aren't you? Because that's what you do--you show up, make a mess of things, and take off to leave the rest of us to deal with the shit you left behind! Cordelia, and Anya, and... Oh god, don't get me started on Buffy. You fuck up everything you touch. I hate you! I hate your guts!" Rage was boiling through him now, fury that coated everything in a haze of red.
"Yeah, that's the spirit!" The vampire smirked, lips parting to reveal his jutting fangs. "You're feeling it now, aren't you? Just being here, in this place... Rubbish heap of dead dreams, that's what it is. Anger and fear, pain and hate. That's what you're here to understand."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Xander's head felt like it was splitting open, filled to bursting with rage... and fear too, the terror of their long voyage into darkness, and the humiliation of having clung to this demon like a frightened child. He opened his mouth, and the words spilled out like bile. "You were the worst roommate EVER! Never picked anything up! Coming and going at all hours! Left me to clean up after you like some little kid--do you even know how to use a dishtowel?"
"Dishtowels?" the vampire snorted incredulously. "You think that's what this is about? Points and scores and who did what to who?" The grinding sound had grown even louder, and Spike had to raise his voice to make himself heard over the noise. "Now listen up, you sniveling little shit. Good and evil, right and wrong--none of that matters. Not here." He grabbed Xander by the shoulders, yanking him off his feet. "This isn't a place of judgement. Not hell. Nor heaven either, though I doubt that comes as a great surprise."
"Then where are we?" Xander shouted. "What is this place? Why did you bring me here?"
Spike's grip relaxed a little, and he lowered Xander to the ground again. "I can feel it," the vampire said, and his eyes were wide with dawning realization. With a groaning sound, his features rearranged themselves, his face changing back to its normal form. "Really am part of it, aren't I? All of us are... all of us vamps."
Abruptly, Spike released Xander, and spun away in a half-turn. He looked around at the vast graveyard that stretched away in every direction, as if seeing it for the first time.
"Everything finds its way down here in the end," Spike mused. "All builds up. Every massacre, every plague, every death... just adds another layer. Builds up like history. Archeology of the spirit." He kicked at a skull, and it rolled away with a brittle clack. "Maybe it contaminates us somehow. Like a foul smell in the refrigerator, making everything taste the same... Or like a bunch of women living together, the way their monthlies start matching up..."
"And there's the obligatory gross blood metaphor," Xander muttered. The anger had left him, and as he stared at the pacing vampire, he could feel fear flooding in to fill the gap. Spike's lost it. My spirit guide's cracked up. Blown a ghostly gasket. Scrooge is going to have to find his own way home for Christmas.
"Spike." He was shouting, just a little, to make himself heard over the ever-louder grinding and crunching, but he tried to keep his voice calm and even. "Spike, just tell me. Where are we?"
Spike turned to face him. "What does it look like?"
Answer a question with a question, Xander thought sourly. Very zen. He looked around for a moment. "Like the Elephants' Graveyard. Except for the part about the elephants." He drew an insubstantial breath. "So there it is. A graveyard. Huge, spooky, underground graveyard."
"Very good." Spike smiled, but there was no mirth in his expression. "House of the dead, eh? And all the crap that's left behind when the soul flits away to parts unknown... The pain, the fear, the anger... That's what sustains it. That's what it bloody eats."
The grinding was almost deafening now, and Xander had to yell over the noise. "It?! Spike, what the fuck is IT?!"
Spike didn't raise his own voice, but even though he couldn't hear the words, Xander knew all too well what the vampire's answer was.
"Beneath you... it devours."
A ripple ran across Spike's body, as if it were a pool disturbed by a thrown pebble. For one awful moment, Xander was sure that the figure was about to stretch and change, transform into another of The First's gallery of guises. Gotcha, sucker. Your soul is mine. But what was happening to Spike was something altogether different.
"Oh bugger." Spike's eyes widened with horror, and as Xander watched, a dark mass began to wrap around him, flowing over his arms and body like water. It solidified, hardening into leather--a long coat, Spike's familiar duster. His hair rippled, smoothed, and now it was slicked back just as it had been the day he entered the Hellmouth. His right hand jerked upward, palm forward, and suddenly it was enveloped in flames.
"I'm... I have to go." The flames ran down Spike's arm, spread across his body. "I just..." His words were lost in the roar of the fire.
Xander had said earlier, about his old neighbor, that he wasn't interested in watching anyone suffer, although once he might have made an exception for Spike. Okay, more than once. But nothing could have prepared him for the reality of watching the vampire burn alive, consumed by fire from the inside out, the expression on his face changing from fear to terror to pain and then to agony, crumbling away to a charred black skeleton, and then to nothing, collapsing in a shower of fading sparks that spun and whirled like a minature tornado.
He'd screamed as it happened. Screamed.
And then Xander was alone. Alone in the vast graveyard that lay at the bottom of the world.
Alone... except for the grinding, cracking, crunching sound that grew ever louder and louder as Xander listened. As if something were drawing closer. From behind him.
Xander turned.
The shape that loomed before him was formless, and huge beyond comprehension. Now it was like a vast black cloud, roiling and churning; now he had the impression of a huge blind worm that writhed and coiled. Somewhere high above, he could sense its teeth, row upon row of them, grinding and chewing and cracking as it gnawed the bones of the dead.
In some corner of Xander's mind, he was kicking back in a movie theater seat, cramming his mouth with popcorn, the crumbs spilling onto the sticky floor. Dune, he exclaimed from the safety of his inner movie theater. Like the giant worms in the movie. Now think of the spice, Xander! Think of the spice! The popcorn was crunching between his teeth, and he chewed and ground and swallowed, and tiny flecks of blue-white light popped out of the kernels as he gnawed them, the sparks floating up and away like tiny stars as he consumed the husks they left behind...
No, he thought, that's not me. Eating and chewing and grinding, and somehow taking them into me, becoming them. It's not me who's eating them... But he could hear laughter, the carefree laughter of his good friend Jesse, his dead friend Jesse, and Jesse was saying We're all in here, buddy... And you'll be joining us very soon.
It was getting dark again, the light was fading. The vast black shape filled Xander's vision, the grinding of its jaws filled his ears. He was aware of nothing else now...
Then he felt the touch of a gentle hand on his, heard a soft voice in his ear.
"For heaven's sake, Xander, don't be such a drama queen. It's not like it's the end of the world."
As the last of the light vanished, he caught a fleeting impression of dark eyes, brown curls of hair, a warm, mischievous smile. He felt a sudden, dizzying whirl of movement...
And then suddenly Xander was awake. His eye snapped open, and light--real light, the light of the setting sun--flooded in. He started in surprise, felt the brace clamped around his neck, the alien sensation of the ventilator tube in his throat, the small but very real weight of the blankets stretched across his body.
Tears swam in his eye, blurring his vision. He could make out the indistinct shapes of people springing to their feet, gasping with relief and delight, rushing across the dimly lit room. Their silhouettes passed before the open door, briefly blotting out the descending sun, as the girls made their way around the bed to gather by Xander's side and welcome him back to the land of the living.
Xander slumped back onto the bed, and closed his eye for just a moment. There would be time now for welcomes and greetings and explanations, but there was something he had to do first.
Thank you, he thought. Thank you, Cordy.
Re: even more commentses
Date: 2004-05-11 02:02 am (UTC)Let us try to put things a little more coherently. The segues and transitions and cross-cuttings are getting really good -- hardly any seams showing now.
Thanks! I think we must be improving with practice.
I really like the combination of the mythical and action elements -- and if you have more underworld trips, that's cool.
I think we're more or less done for now; our story planning indicates lots more mythology and a fair amount of action, but not so much of the vision quests and underworld trips for the immediate future. Heh heh, vague hintfulness...
BUT THE HUGE PILE OF BONES WITH THAT THING CHOMPING ON THEM KINDA FREAKED ME OUT A LITTLE BIT.
I'm not sure whether I should apologize or gloat, so I'll do a bit of both (apologloat?). I'm pleased we were able to put some menace back onto the bones of that whole "From Beneath You" tag line, and if we were able to make The First actually scary instead of boring and lame, then so much the better.
In case you're curious, the image of the corpse-gnawing serpent was more or less inspired by Nidhoggr of Norse mythology fame, and the setting was further refined by swiping from the Aztec legend of how Quetzalcoatl created the current iteration of humanity by retrieving the bones of the previous race from the underworld. I can definitely see the parallel to real-world skull shrines - I think they have memorials like that in Cambodia, as well as Rwanda - but also to ossuaries, which range from the functional and neutral (like the Catacombs of Paris) to the whimsical and benign (like Sedlec in the Czech Republic)...
The representation of the nameless, numberless dead as stacks of bones seems pretty universal, and the connotation attached to it really seems to depend on how the owners died. The bones of genocide victims are horrifying because they're testimonials to mass murder; the cartoon skeletons of the Mexican Day of the Dead are more like jolly ghosts, reliving the activities they enjoyed in life. Most of us end up as bones in the end, and I'd like to think that these relics don't automatically have to be evil and scary - after all, they're part of our physical legacy to the world. (For that matter, as creepy as this chapter may have been, one might wonder whether what Xander is witnessing is really "evil" so much as simply a natural process.)
Re: commentses
Date: 2004-05-11 02:02 am (UTC)Heh! I like that he doesn't know everything. Omniscient spirit guides are annoying as hell when they won't tell you what they do know.
And plus, as per Dante, the dead can recount the past and predict the future, but they can't see the present. It's actually very restrained of Spike not to pester Xander for all the latest gossip, but he has a lot on his mind right now.
Crap, my brain is fried from depression and good old Bush defending Rumsfeld as "superb" so I don't think you're going to get much more than "Neato" and "Keen" in these comments.
For some reason our fanfic has become increasingly preoccupied with issues of responsibility and accountability. Man, I really should sit down and write that promised screed about political allegory in Buffy Season Seven...
AAAAAGH THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR TAPPING INTO MY OWN PERSONAL NIGHTMARE I HAVE TO GO HUDDLE UNDER THE BED NOW
Sorry! For the record, you can thank The Hook for this exciting passage. I'm more of a giant-serpent-chewing-popcorn kinda guy.
OK, this is dumm, but earlier when Spike's head slipped away "like a balloon" I thought that meant Xander couldn't touch him (but they'd touched before) and got confused. Did Spike just dodge?
Er, yeah. I'd been hankering to use the balloon analogy in there - I figured that, in dim lighting, a pale blond in black clothing would look like a disembodied head - but I guess it was a bit confusing. Bad writer! (raps own knuckles)
I like the Spanderish handholding. (Heh.)
I think it's what skating judges would call a "compulsory form" in fanfic of this nature.
Heh! Nice continuity on from what was it, "Flooded"?
We're just all with the in-jokes around here. What really burned me about Xander's "correction" of Anya regarding Spider-Man is that she actually had a point; Peter Parker supports himself by taking pictures of himself in action and then peddling them to the papers, so he makes his money on the merchandising end...
I'm totally sure this wouldn't happen if I were reading this in book form, not on the Net in installments. But....is this the police guy they talked to who let them in? Why am I not recognizing this dude?
Yeah, he's from a couple chapters back; the big Henry Rollins-type dude who was told to babysit Lo and Neena. Partly we wanted to account for all the indicidental characters, but mostly we figured it was time we saw macho authority figures giving the Slayers some props. (More on this next chapter.)
That is v cool. Except I'm a little confused now about what the soul actually is. But that's OK. I'll work it out.
This too might be clearer if the story were read in one sitting/on paper/not in more-or-less weekly installments. But perhaps we'll clarify the cosmology a little when we eventually compile a final draft...
Aw. (And that was before she, er, died, right?)
Yep. We're still more or less in the timeframe between the end of Buffy Season Seven and the start of Angel Season Five; again, there'll be a little more on this next chapter, which is probably going to be kind of a "let's explain what just happened" installment.
Re: commentses
Date: 2004-05-11 04:42 pm (UTC)I am very sorry. I just thought Xander didn't seem scared enough yet. (ducks)
And also I didn't want to show the actual gate. I thought it would seem too cheesy, too "Jurrassic Park"-ish. So they pass through the gate in the dark. But that's also a function of Xander's perception, as I hope we pointed out with the bit about how there was no real reason he couldn't see...
Re: commentses
Date: 2004-05-11 05:36 pm (UTC)