Author's note: This story has been lingering in my head for something like a year or more. It's gone through many incarnations, but this, I believe, is the best. I haven't watched these episodes in awhile, so I may have skewed some of the details, but since this is a pretty well AU fic, I'm not terribly worried about that.
Hope you enjoy:
Zehn Tode
by Casix Thistlebane
Present Day
Tod looks up as Hart enters his offices in the neither-realms. He has grown quite used to seeing the demigod over the last seven years, and does not surprise him in the least that Hart has come to see him on this day.
Tod smirks. Things are not going to go well for the lawyer this time.
"What is it you want, now, Hart?"
"I want to thank you."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
One
September, 1997
The Sunnydale High School Library
Xander's heart nearly stops when he sees one of the vampires slam a fist into the side of Willow's head. He brings a knee up into the groin of the vampire he's been grappling with, fights down a sympathy wince as it growls and drops to the floor, and lunges across the room at the vampire attacking Willow, even as it swings his best friend onto its shoulder. He can see two others dragging Giles away, but Willow takes priority over the older man.
He makes it three steps before a fifth vamp strikes him from the side, knocking him across the fallen table to the ground, where Xander lays, dazed.
'Dammit, Buffy,'
The vampire vaults over the table edge and grabs his head.
'All your fault,'
"Don't need you, kid." The vamp twists his head sharply, sending a single, enormous jolt of electric agony through his body as his vertebrae ground together, as tendons stretch to their limits, and the whole complex system of muscles, bones, and nerves breaks down completely.
And Xander's heart really does stop.
Nether-realms
"Mr. Hart, is it?" Tod perches on the edge of his desk, peering at the antlered demi-god seated across from him. "What brings you to my offices?"
"Business, of course." Hart leans forward. "About your latest acquisition."
"Yes." Tod crosses his arms. He is very good at his job. "What about him?"
"You need to return him."
Tod nearly laughs. This sort of thing happens quite often, really, but he would think that Hart would know better than to ask. Tod very rarely returns anybody. "That's against the rules."
"Not this time, it isn't."
And Hart is pulling out a heavy text, opening it to a marked page, and placing it onto the desk next to Tod.
Tod, if it is possible, becomes even paler. He reads the text.
"This is unprecedented."
"The law is the law, Mr. Tod."
"Indeed."
The Sunnydale High School Library
He is more than a little surprised when he wakes up, his neck aching only faintly. He'd been certain, ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN, that he'd been dead.
But then he hears Buffy come in the library, and all he can think of is his Willow, hanging limply over a vampire's shoulder, and he struggles to his feet, his body not quite working yet as his spinal chord relearns its job.
By the end of the night, he is convinced that he'd been wrong. Obviously, he couldn't have died.
But the sound of his neck breaking still haunts his dreams.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Present Day
The Nether-realms
"I'm rather surprised, Mr. Hart." Tod circles his desk to stand in front of the demi-god. "No texts? No . . . loopholes?"
"Not this time."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Two
May, 1998
The Sunnydale High School Library
When the vampire slams him against the railing, all Xander can think is 'Oh holy Jesus, not again!'
But it is happening again. Giles goes down quickly, a punch to his head, early on, just like last time. And the Chosen protector of mankind is somewhere else, just like last time. A second thought, a smug one, momentarily pushes aside his denial of the scene. 'I knew we shouldn't have tried to give Angel back his soul.'
Then the vampire he's fighting grabs his arm and the audible crack of the bones in his wrist sends phantom, imagined pain up through his neck. He fights off darkness. He yells to Cordy, praying that she and Willow, at least, get away. And there's a fist coming at his head.
When it connects, he can feel part of his skull give way, and a bright white flash crosses his eyes even as his legs crumple.
His heart is stopped before his body hits the ground.
The Nether-realms
Tod glared over the text at Hart. "I do not think I need to read it again, Mr. Hart."
"Then you'll return him?"
"He is dead."
"It's not his time."
Tod leaned back. "And it is not my fault that he insists on throwing himself into these situations."
"His time is clearly written up in the Book of Destiny, as are all others." Hart reaches for another text in his bag, but Tod waves him off.
"People die every day without it being 'their time', Mr. Hart. What makes this one so special?"
Hart grins. It is not a nice expression. "This one has cheated both destiny and death. My firm has taken an . . . interest in him."
The Sunnydale High School Library
And he hears the voices of the police officers before he even realizes he's breathing again. He wonders, briefly, why he imagined he'd died again.
He hears Buffy call his name, and the shouts of the police to take her into custody. He wants to open his mouth, tell them that it's not her fault, but his body isn't responding yet, and some small part of his brain whispers 'yes, it is'.
She's gone before his eyes open.
At the hospital they wrap plaster around his arm, shine a flash light in his eyes, and tell him he doesn't have a concussion.
But his head aches and itches where he'd felt his skull move.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Present Day
The Nether-realms
"You're quite certain, Mr. Hart, that you're willing to let him go this time?"
Hart sighs and leans back. "Honestly, Mr. Tod, no, I'm not. My firm still has quite an interest in him."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Three
November, 1998
The Sunnydale High School Science Lab/Spike's Old Factory
A microscope this time, as he's trying to fight off Spike. He has time to wonder why the sensation of his skull caving in is a familiar one, before the darkness comes.
It's not instantaneous, like it had been in the library. The pressure in his skull has time to build, as Spike drags him and leads Willow into the factory. He's alive as he lies on the bed and Willow tries to find a way out of being drained. Spike's not nearly drunk enough not to notice if he dies.
It's not until Spike leaves them alone, until Willow tries the door, that his body gives up. His heart slows, then halts, and neither of them notice.
The Nether-realms
Tod nearly growls at Hart as he appears, once again, in the office.
"You know what I want."
"Yessss." Tod's breath comes out in a hiss. "How many times, Hart?"
"As many as it takes, Mr. Tod."
Spike's Old Factory
He's only gone for seconds, again, then life returns with a rush, followed shortly by consciousness. By the time Willow rushes to his side, the concussion is minor, the swelling is down, and he's able to make jokes in the face of the life threatening situation.
He never remembers his heart failing, but he remembers the way his head broke under the microscope.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Present Day
The Nether-realms
Hart crosses to the desk, picking up one of Tod's many volumes. "I must say, I expected something a bit different."
Tod grins. "It is different."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Four
February, 1999
Faith's Motel Room
The fourth time it happens, lying on Faith's bed with her hands around his neck, slipping quietly into unconsciousness, it's even easier to believe that he's wrong, that his panicked mind is playing tricks on him.
He doesn't see Angel slam the bat into Faith, doesn't feel it when she releases her grip, or when Angel presses a hand to his chest to see if he's alright.
Because he isn't. In those bare seconds, he isn't breathing, isn't thinking, and no, Angel, you hear right, his heart isn't beating. For those seconds, no more than five, he's dead.
The Nether-realms
Tod is beginning to wonder why he even bothers. He knows the moment he takes the boy that Hart will arrive and make him return him. But rules are rules.
Rules mean that the boy has to die.
And rules mean that Tod has to bring him back.
"Same deal," he tells Hart. "I only fix enough that he can live again."
"That's all we need." Hart scratches his chin with a cloven hand.
Faith's Motel Room
But when his body gasps air again as Angel lifts Faith onto his shoulder, when his throat starts burning as his eyes water, it's easy to believe that hey were both wrong, that he'd survived again, and he's soon able to stagger to his feet and into the tiny, gritty bathroom where he vomits up his dinner (left over take out) and the smallest bit of blood.
Angel never tells him that he'd died. He never asks. It's easier that way.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Present Day
The Nether-realms
"Don't be disappointed, Mr. Hart." Tod places a hand on the demi-god's shoulder. They've been rivals for seven years, but now he feels more like a friend. "You knew this would happen. You even knew when."
"I did." Hart looks down at the text in front of him. "But I always felt a bit of a . . . connection, an affinity for the boy."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Five
November, 1999
Xander's Basement
When Xander gets home from the aborted construction job, he's only worried that he might not get paid. He wonders, briefly, at the fact that his whole body aches, as though he'd put in a full day of hard labor, rather than just a few shovels full of dirt. It isn't the bruising, impact-ache of falling through a hole in the ground, though there is that, too, but the dep muscle burn-ache of exhaustion and fever.
Xander figures he needs to sleep it off.
He wakes up dry heaving, having skipped dinner. He tries to get up and make his way to the tiny, half-bathroom of the basement, but his body shivers too hard even as his sweat soaks the sheets.
He whimpers, deep in his throat, but there's no one there to hear him.
He hallucinates a dark figure, standing over him at the head of the bed, and as it reaches out a hooked, white hand for him, he feels a sense of deja vu, as though he and this creature have met before, perhaps more than once.
As he slips into the fevered coma that will shortly lead to his death, he thinks he sees a second figure, with cloven hands and antlers.
The Nether-realms
"It's sickness." Tod slams a hand down on his desk. "It's natural."
"It's a spell," Hart remains, as ever, calm, sitting in his now-customary chair. "You know that."
"One illness. I'll take away one disease, that's all you get."
"That's all I need."
Xander's Basement
He awakes sometime after his alarm goes off, still shivering and sweating, his mind shoving the nightmare images into a hold at the back, a locked box containing a broken neck, two skull fractures, and an asphyxiation.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Present Day
The Nether-realms
"An affinity?" Tod sits down in a client chair next to Hart. "He's a mortal boy."
"He's the Animus." Hart smiles softly. "He always has been, though he was only labeled once."
"Animus. Hart." Tod nods. "That's funny."
"I suppose it is."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Six
January, 2001
The Magic Box
Before he had wanted nothing more than to distract the troll, perhaps reason with him, but as he enters the Magic Box and sees Olaf looming, hammer raised, over HIS girls, a red haze seems to drop over his vision, and though he knows it's a battle he can not possibly win, he attacks.
Each time the troll hammer impacts with his body, he feels his bones give.
Here goes some of his ribs, moving dangerously close to the soft tissue of his lungs.
There goes part of his skull, digging into the nerve-less gray matter of his brain.
Though darkness threatens and his mouth fills with blood when he breaths, he keeps coming, refusing to let his body quit while Anya and Willow remain in danger.
When Olaf snaps his arm, his mind nearly fails. There is only so much pain one body can handle. But still, he clings to his consciousness, until he is tossed to one side, his body slamming into one of the shop display cases. His ribs turn even further inward, bits of his skull shift, and with a last, shaky, bloody exhale, he gives up entirely.
The Nether-realms
Tod won't even let Hart into his office this time. "No, Mr. Hart. I refuse to return such a noble idiot yet again."
"That's too bad, Mr. Tod." Hart pulls out a quill pen. "I would hate to have to alert the Powers of your refusal to adhere to laws of the universe."
"You're a right bastard, Hart."
"Yes, Mr. Tod." Hart straightens his shoulders. "I am, after all, a lawyer."
The Magic Box
He is dead for too brief a time for any of the others in the ship to notice, but for the first time, Xander is unable to push aside the knowledge of his own passing. He doesn't understand it, but he knows that it was not the first time he'd been killed.
His body isn't healed, not by a long shot. Throbbing pain still pulses up his right arm, and as Willow and Anya pull him to his feet, his chest tightens sharply, reminding him of his cracked ribs. He is too woozy, too shocked to say much about anything as they watch Olaf get thrown around the room by Buffy.
Though he knows, on some level, that it is a mistake, he forces his mind to shove aside the fact of his death. There are more important things to worry about.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Present Day
The Nether-realms
"Tell me, Tod." Hart leans back in his chair. "Do you still think of him as a noble idiot?"
"Absolutely." Tod cocks his head. "And I mean no offense, Mr. Hart, but I look forward to never seeing you again."
Hart shrugs. "I can't promise that, Tod. But I look forward to it as well."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Seven
October, 2001
Xander's Construction Site
Xander has been thinking a lot about death, especially since the fiasco with the troll the year before. Now that they have brought Buffy back again, it is on his mind even more. He wants to help her, since it is obvious she hasn't been herself since she came back, but since he still has no idea what could possibly be going one with his own death-brushes, he has no idea how to broach the subject.
Somehow, he doesn't think "Hey, I'm pretty sure I've died three times as often as you have" will cut it.
He desperately wants to help his friend, but he is already somewhat regretting having her come work with him. Construction is one of a very few things that takes his mind off his worries, and having Buffy there might ruin that. But he also wants his crew to get over the idea that girls can't do construction. To Xander, there is only one thing that men can do easily that a woman cannot, and that is pee standing up.
Once he gets Buffy settled, he heads off to another part of the site to get his own work done. Fortunately, his own work isn't too far from hers, so he can keep an ear open in case his crew gets too fresh.
He's forgotten how easily power tools drown out other sounds. The battle with the demons is nearly over by the time he catches wind of it.
Actually, it's one of the other guys on the crew that gives him the heads up, but it comes a moment too late.
"Harris, move!"
He shoots his head up just in time to see the metal supports above him rattle and shift. Down below, Buffy has just thrown one of the demons into a newly constructed wall. A pile of wood on the support above him shifts, and he can't move fast enough.
For the second time in his life, Xander feels his neck snap, this time under the weight of a solid oak two-by-four falling from ten feet up.
The Nether-realms
Tod nearly ignores the summons to take the boy this time, but once again, rules are rules. He is well prepared for Hart's arrival.
"Well?"
"I'll get right to it."
"Thank you, Mr. Tod."
"Do not thank me, Mr. Hart. You are only prolonging the inevitable. He helped bring the Slayer back again. I don't find myself of a mind to help him."
"His time is coming, Mr. Tod."
"Yes. Very quickly."
Xander's Construction Site
It's the same guy who'd given him the warning who helps him up when he wakes, not a minute later.
"Holy shit, Harris. I thought you were dead, for sure."
"Yeah." He shakes off the man's supporting arm, holding his still aching neck very carefully. "Me, too."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Present Day
The Nether-realms
"His friends will miss him a great deal." Hart takes a sip of the tea that Tod has brought him. "There will be a lot of pain, from this."
"It is his time."
"Yes. Finally."
"I suspect," Tod stands again, walking to his bookcase. "That I shall be very busy."
Hart nods.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Eight
March, 2002
Buffy's Basement
Xander marvels, sometimes, at how quickly a person's mind can recover. His own has been capable of shoving off the weight of several deaths and mysterious resurrections. He's pretty sure, now, that he has been killed seven times in the six years that he's been fighting alongside Buffy, and he has no idea how he could possibly still be standing.
He's equally impressed, at times, by how easily a human mind can break. He is amazed that Buffy has been able to handle as much stress as she has, and watching her eyes glaze over under the influence of the latest demon's poison, he can only hope that this isn't the time that her's breaks for good.
And as he wakes up with a pounding headache, tied to a post and facing the demon that Buffy has unleashed upon him herself, he is terrified that her mind has.
The demon is strong, and Buffy's basement is solid. His shoulders scream as the thing rips him away from the post.
His body doesn't scream when he's slammed through the fallen shelves and into the unyielding concrete wall; it gives up on him completely.
The Nether-realms
"The boy is obviously a simpleton!" Tod nearly screams this as Hart stands, as calmly as ever, in front of his desk. "He's still fighting, after dying seven times? He doesn't deserve to live."
"That doesn't matter." Hart smiles. "And it's eight times, now."
"I know. Eight supernatural deaths." Tod walks around the desk. "How many times, do you suppose, he will die before I can finally keep him?"
"That is not for me to know, Mr. Tod." Hart smiles. "I am merely enforcing the rules."
Buffy's Basement
His shoulders, back, and head start screaming at him again as soon as he wakes up, only a few seconds after his brain and heart shudder to a stop. He shoves himself to his feet next to the shocked forms of Willow, Dawn, and Tara.
He needs to make sure Buffy isn't broken.
"We're okay."
He is, too. Sore as all hell, but nothing left broken, and somehow, once again, alive.
He hopes he's right when he says "we".
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Present Day
The Nether-realms
"It's almost time." Tod retrieves his scythe from the wall. "Do you wish to come along, Mr. Hart?"
"No." Hart finishes his tea. "No, I don't think so, Mr. Tod. But I will keep you company until it is time."
"Alright."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Nine
May, 2002
Kingman's Bluff
Xander isn't stupid; he knows that when it comes to mystical matters, there are some numbers that crop up more than others. Three and seven are the big ones.
They say that cats have nine lives. Xander is starting to wonder if he does, too.
He really hopes he's wrong.
He clings tightly to his Willow as she sobs against him at the top of Kingman's Bluff. He can feel his body breaking down in the face of the destructive magic the witch in his arms poured into the effigy on the temple behind him–poured into him when he'd thrown his body into its path to try and stop his grieving best friend.
He's about to die. He's done it eight times before, he can recognize the signs. And he hopes desperately that this is not the time it becomes permanent.
Willow would blame herself, and it would kill her.
He tightens his grip further as his vision turns to black, praying his body can maintain its grip even without him at the helm. He passes out, then away.
The Nether-realms
"That's highly unusual, isn't it?" Hart stares down at the newly written text on the page. Tod stands behind him.
"Yes. But there is very little about our boy that is usual."
"Indeed." Hart straightens. "If I didn't know better, Mr. Tod, I'd say you're starting to care for the man."
"But you do know better, Hart." Tod runs a finger over the blade of his scythe. "His time is coming. I look forward to it."
Kingman's Bluff
Willow still sobs when he blinks back to life a minute or so later. He reaches up to stroke her hair, and thanks whatever it is that is granting him so many chances for bringing him back again.
He pulls away slightly, peering into her eyes. She didn't notice when he passed.
"Come on, Wills." His voice is soft and hoarse, and he realizes that he's started to cry as well. "Let's go home."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Present Day
The Nether-realms
"I'm off then." Tod stands.
"I'll leave you to it." Hart holds out a hand. "I cannot thank you enough for your assistance in this matter, Mr. Tod."
"Don't thank me, Hart." Tod smiles. It's not a nice expression. "Your time is coming, as well, is it not?"
Hart nods. "Yes. I will see you later, then."
"Count on it." Tod shoulders his scythe and exits the office. Hart takes one last look around, then glances down at the text. He touches a name and a date.
"I'm sorry, Alexander Harris, Animus." He picks up a brush, and blacks out the name. "There is nothing more I can do."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Ten
Present Day
The Freeway, Between Newark and New York City
Xander grins and drums his fingers on the wheel of his rental sedan. After spending a year in Africa, he is more than ready for the Scooby reunion party. Just a few more exits on the Freeway, and he'll be at the hotel, where Willow, Dawn, Buffy, and Giles wait for him.
He hasn't died once in more than two years. He has a deep tan from the African sun, and four of the most important people in his world will see how happy he's become, in spite of everything that has happened.
Life outside Sunnydale suits him.
He glances repeatedly out the window to check his blind spot. He does it without though; he misses his left eye, yes, but he's grown quite used to the prosthetic and the adaptions he's made to his life.
A white van with a ladder tied to its roof rack cuts him off as he prepares to exit the freeway.
He flicks it off.
The ladder on the roof rattles; the improperly tied rope loosens in the wind. A moment later, the rope lets go completely.
Xander doesn't even have time to swerve.
The ladder crashes through his windshield after bouncing, once, on the asphalt. Its lowest run slams into his nose, sending shards of bone and cartilage into his brain.
He is dead before he even has time to register what has happened.
The end.
Post fic note: The title "Zehn Toden" translates (in my own possibly pidgin German) to "Ten Deaths"