Disclaimer: I own naught.
Pre-Fic Comments:
This is probably the only finished work I've done for this group.
* * *
Xander thrust the stake towards the vampire. It used to be a baseball player -- a good one too.
The supernatural beast moved out of his way with that peculiar speed that even the newly risen had, swiftly punching Xander in the gut. He collapsed around the closed hand, falling to the ground as he tried to restrain the natural impulse to heave his guts.
He wasn't a screw up! He wasn't!
"Fucking useless," the vampire said.
It reached for him, to drink his essence, kill him deader than the proverbial doorknob.
Buffy staked it from behind, having finished with it's buddies.
"You should stop coming with me," she said, helping her Xander-shaped friend up.
"Can't keep the Xanman down," he weakly joked.
Xander desperately tried to think of a way that he could fight these monstrousities better, prove that he was capable of doing /something/.
Physically, he had no illusions. He had the physique of your typical loser slacker. Pathetic. No martial arts training, just blind instinct guiding his wild swings at the undead with stake in hand.
Mentally, he had no illusions. He wasn't capable of making the cognitive leaps that Giles and Willow could, he was no great thinker. He was capable of looking through books for words that he had been given, and getting donuts and coffee for those who could do more.
But a trained orang-utan could do that, he thought to himself. And an orang-utan could probably fight the vamps better.
He wasn't a screw up! He wasn't!
The brown eyed teenager hid the pain and the knowledge of the depth of his failure behind a weak joke and a crazy grin.
"After all these nights, I'm practically indestructable, Mr India Rubber Man."
He had worthwhile qualities! He wasn't useless!
He wished he knew what they were.