A hat, something so simple could change the world so radically; if you told this to any sane man he would laugh but Xander Harris was never accused of being sane. But if you were to ask him he would tell you exactly that, a simple hat changed so much in the world. It was black; the hat I mean it was black. A wide brim black hat, he wore it along with a black medieval style shirt sleeveless, black combat trousers and boots that went to his knees, a pair of black gloves fingerless. All covered in a long leather trench coat. He had paled his face with white face paint and using black he gave himself dark patches around his eyes and cheek bones. Using a long black wig he gave himself the desired look. But the hat was last the hat had cost him the most but it was worth it had been worn by him. It bared his symbol the TX. He looked himself in the mirror, despite his average appearance the costume made him look intimidating like death himself had come and taken possession of him. That was the look he was going for. Now staring back at him was no longer Xander Harris demon fighter and goof ball, here stood the phenom the man who refused to stay dead, a man buried alive a man burned alive buried away but he always came back.
Smiling slightly he opened the door and left the rundown house in which he lived with a drunkard bastard of a father, and a quiet beaten down and broken mother, the long coat like a cape fluttering behind him, the wind chilled him slightly but it was a welcome change to the stuffy heat of his home, a home that smelt of beer, defecation and urine. Outside the air was cool and fresh but it held a stench, one that most couldn't pick up on, it was death, subtle faint hidden in the winter air but it was there hidden in the peripheral. But to smell it you had to experience it, watch it happen and smell the fresh raw sent that would always haunt you. As he walked down the darkening streets headed towards the house of his friend Buffy, the blond ex-cheerleader that had rocked his world changed him forever.
He lamented about his lost friends, they had disappeared three hundred plus students in there year and thirty five in each class they ran four classes at the same time in other schools, but here they ran two. The mortality rate in the school was so high that only around twenty students if that made it to graduation. There school paper had around three obituaries pages. He himself at the time had Sunnydale syndrome, blinded by it, he barley registered the losses until they hit home, his best friend and brother in all but blood was turned. He had to stake him. It wore his friends face it held his memories but it was not Jessie the eyes were the key. The eyes held no spark, no humanity and most importantly no sole. After the dust had settled he swore to himself never again.
Never would he watch more people die, he would do what was necessary, what no one would do if that meant saving more lives. But he didn't see that dedication in the eyes of the slayer, not when people she had met were turning up dead. She was a teenage girl, so he let some of the stuff slide he didn't know what it felt like to have this reasonability thrust upon him. But he expected more after reading the diaries from past watchers, and he could see that expectation in the eyes of her watcher, but he never pushed for anything. He wanted her to be as normal as possible to experience life before it was taken.
These thoughts and more plagued him as he walked in the chilled dusk air. He kept his guard up as he walked absently he didn't even know he was doing it, checking the shadows always looking for the slightest of movement in his peripheral, it had started as a necessity became habit and now was instinct.
As he walked to the door he paused as his hand reached the bell. Remembering why he chose this character. He remembered back to WWF survivor series 1994 he had watched it with Jessie he was their favourite. When they watched in awed fascination as the 'dead man' predicted his rebirth. From then on they watched for him as he evolved and more and more into the character he now was. The reaper of wayward soles, the lord of darkness, the phenom. A master of the arcane of dark magic's and the element of lightning.
He knocked twice and waited for only a few moments, the door opened to reveal one of the most beautiful women he had ever met, one Joyce Summers, mother to Buffy and a 9.0 on the milf-o-meter. And in the costume she was wearing a full 10.0, she was wearing an Elvira mistress of the dark costume or a really sexy Morticia Addams, and buy the looks of it she wasn't wearing a bra. For a moment he was utterly speech less. He was so happy that he was wearing a long coat at that point.
"Wow" he said in a strangled squeak.
"Xander come in, the girls are almost ready" enjoying the reaction from the young man in her mind saying still got it. Doing the come hither motion with one finger she beckoned him inside like a gothic temptress she was dressed as.
As he entered the living room he was eyeing Mrs Summer's ample posterior, hum posterior he thought maybe he was getting to into character, the dead man held an advanced vocabulary after all he had been around awhile. Not the wrestler of course but the character he played the concept of Vincent Kennedy McMahon, he was to be an unrelenting force, based on the grim reaper and stories of the old west spirits rising up to take revenge on their killers, and one more legend of a man who death seemed to follow, whose name was lost to history. Unrelenting, unfeeling, unstoppable and untameable, a warrior, shortly after his debut he was given the manager of Paul Bearer, a ghastly ghoul played by Pursy Pringle who controlled him with the use of an urn that was suppose to contain his ashes, or some other sole anchor that controlled him.
Of recent days it was revealed that his favourite wrestler had a brother that he himself had horrendously burned.
Xander sat in one of the cream colour sofa's, he couldn't put his finger on it but his costume felt incomplete, as he pondered Buffy came down the stairs he hardly noticed until she snapped her fingers in front of his face.
"Huh what" he said as he came out of his stupor "Buffy you look good I renounce spandex" he said as he eyed her.
"If you think I look good then you should see" she tuned to the stairs to reveal Willow in a ghost costume "Casper"
"That is a fine boo you got there" he said predictable he thought she always went as a ghost.
"Xander you dressed as him" she said "you know how much he freaked me out when we were kids"
"I know but I figured that Jessie would have loved it, he and I planned to go as him at least once but now he's not hear I figure this one is for him" he said willow nodded in understanding. It wasn't like he had many heroes, Undertaker was his since he was a kid, and he always had time to watch wrestling just for the undertaker.
Once again they entered the cold night, Xander began to ponder his costume again, and he was missing something but what? It was there on the tip of his tong. He barely noticed the cutting cold as he was thinking.
Larry Blaisdell was an insecure teen, he was uncertain of how to deal with his own sexuality so he deals with it the only way he knows how he ignores it squashes it and pretends to be normal. He won't accept that he is gay. He can't deal with it, how his family may react how his father would, he often cried himself to sleep thinking of it and have nightmares of it. He notices his favourite punch bag and out let for his repression, Xander Harris.
Xander barely noticed that he and the others made it to school, her herd something but ignored it, and continued on he had to go to the assembly hall and meet with the troll of a head teacher.
Larry didn't know what just happened he was lying on his back looking up to the night sky, the last thing he remembered was trying to hit Harris, then he was looking up at the sky, perhaps it was a message from god telling him to accept what he is. Pondering this he got up and went straight home he was going to tell his mum first maybe that will soften the blow for his father, after all she did always want to have a daughter to take shopping. He nodded to himself and went home.
Xander was informed by the evil little troll that he was to take children out for trick or treating. After giving them the run down on the best ways to get candy they went down there assigned patch, then something strange happened and he passed out.
The undertaker was not happy, he had been forcedly summoned by a chaos god, which would have just pissed him off but Janus owed him souls allot of souls, but he wasn't going to collect from demonically possessed children. That was when he noticed this wasn't the body of Mark Callaway, this wasn't even his universe, yet; using his powers he summoned a gothic style full body mirror,
"Hmm" he looked over the whole body in the full length mirror, he was in a young man no older than sixteen, "interesting, it is not often that I posses a body so young" he surmised but this body held the taint of something in fact the whole town held the stench of "hell mouth energies?" he felt them trying to taint him and something else "the first" it was a statement not a question, sifting through the mind of his sleeping host, he saw his whole life from the moment of birth to now, the more he viewed the more anger began to fester within him.
"You should not be hear" said a heavy American accent from behind him
"You presume to tell me what to do balance demon" he spat with utter loathing "you will show me the respect I am owed or I will make you famous"
"I am just the messenger" he said hastily "they want you gone from here"
"And your point balance demon, they can ask and I can but answer" a cruel cold smile began to spread across his lips "tell me do you remember the last time they presumed to tell me what to do"
Whistler shuddered in terror; of course he remembered the wrath that was brought upon the powers was a tale spoken in hushed whispers on the upper echelons, they thought to tell him what to do once, when he refused they killed the family of his host, in revenge he tore the heavens a sunder he brought a wrath that forced elder gods and powers that represent "HIM", to seek refuge with the demons that they battled until he himself came down from his gilded throne to put a stop to it.
"Of course I am no fool" spoke the demon who bowed slightly
"Yet you stand before me as you are, with no thought of respect for those who could wipe your clan from existence, tell me voice of the powers, has it been so long since I have had an active hand in these matters that your masters believe themselves the sole authority" he summoned a goblet in purple flames, it was a human skull hollowed out with a stand made of silver coiling serpents. He clasped it as you would a brandy glass his middle and ring fingers split by the stand; he took a long drink, the red liquid dribbled slightly down his cheeks.
"Of, of course not my lord, but" he paused hoping to cobble together some courage to speak with the most powerful force on the earth "but there chosen has already established here, they only want you not to interfere with her" he was sweating now profusely he prayed to all the gods that he hadn't offended this being.
"The slayer there chosen slave, tell me how ever did they get their hands on her spirit, after all she was made to slay demons, drive them back into the abyss not protect the balance"
"I am not in the know as to how my lord"
"Well she is no longer there concern demon, go back to your masters and tell them the weaver of nightmares is back, and if they value their souls as well as their lives they will never contact me again" his eyes glowed white as he ejected the demon from this new realm.
As he did so he encountered a ghost, a red head girl dressed as, he preferred not to speculate fashion trends for him stopped in the Victorian age, from the memories of his host this was Willow an aspiring witch of the Wiccan variety, the girl held a beauty of innocence, he could see in a few years that she would be a beautiful woman, she held a life similar to his host but instead of violence there was ignorance, instead of resentment there was a social experiment. It disgusted him to no end; he would put that right and many other things this night.
"Willow, Alexander is not in control right now I will put this right but first I must see a law firm about a debt" he said raising his gloved left hand he cupped her face he spoke in welsh the ancient words of protection he then let her go before she could voice her concerns he disappeared in a flash of lightning.
Holland Manners was never accused of being a good man, he was a career lawyer and worked for the prestigious Wolf Ram and Heart, the firm held more secrets than even he knew as a junior partner. But when he was summoned by the senior partners themselves he could only think about was if he was going to live past today. This wasn't to see their representative this was to see them personally. As the elevator moved up he began to straighten any perceived wrinkles in his suit as the door opened he was met with a desk with three beings behind it. With one chair in front of the desk, a leather bound chair, they indicated for him to sit he sat and enjoyed the comfort before they got down to business.
Before they could even speak he arrived
"I see that your sense of hospitality hasn't changed" spoke a voice that the three knew, they visibly stiffened so much even Manners could feel there terror
"Lord Undertaker, it is an honour to have you back in the game as it were" they grovelled "what can we humble powers do for you my lord" Undertaker was visibly discussed
"Stop that have you no sense of decorum" he chided "I have informed the powers now I am informing you, if you cross me or those associated with me, your end will be the stuff of legend told to demons and angles alike as a cautionary tale, it will make HIS judgment of Lucifer seem tame in comparison am I understood" the three nodded "good oh and by the way I am calling in the debit you owe me, this shell's name is Alexander Harris I want the wrongs against him righted I want his father in jail and his mother psychologically heeled, I want Willow Rosenberg and Alexander emancipated and I would like a third of my fortune from my account transferred into his" the three nodded
"What else most mercifully lord?" they spoke still grovelling
"More may come to me at a later date" he said as he vanished in lightning
Holland Manners watched as his bosses grovelled to the being in the shell of a teenager, for the first time in his life he wished not to have any dealings with the supernatural.
Back in Sunnydale Willow had finally gotten Buffy back to her house and safe when he arrived.
"It seems that you managed to save yourselves then" he spoke in amused tone.
"Xander" willow jumped as her friend appeared in a cascade of lightning.
The being within Xanders body smiled.
"Young Willow" he spoke in a slightly chiding tone "I have already told you that Xander is asleep within me for now"
"Who are you?" she asked
"I am known by many names child, undertaker is but one of many, but if asked I always give the same answer I am just a man on vacation"
"A guy on vacation" she asked bemused
He nodded.