Wherever I May Roam

Disclaimer: own nothing, mayhap in another world, but not in this one, say thankya.

Summary: Xander makes a sacrifice, and we all know that on the Hellmouth, no good deed goes unpunished.

A/N: a special shout-out to the one we know as Sai King, long days and pleasant nights, good sir!

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Randall stared into the orb for what must have been the millionth time that hour. Quickly, the black orb was overtaking him with its strange addiction. Flagg had no doubts, however, that when the time came he could detach himself from its claws.

He had stumbled upon a few things, though, that gave him pause. For one, the Free Zones were now aware that Arcadia had fallen (he patted himself on the back for that). They were organizing their efforts together to attempt to take back the city by destroying the one who'd killed it. Jason was not aware at the moment, nor did Flagg plan on warning him. Jason was not moving yet, though he knew that he would be moving shortly. He was combing the city for survivors, taking out his endless rage on the city itself until he found some poor soul to destroy. The NEFZ had already seen him, but had escaped his own gaze by pure luck more than anything else.

The CFZ was sending in Xander as a field expert on Jason, two of the surviving Arcadians as guides, and two of their Blackhawks for the effort. They would meet up with the detachment from New Mexico in Boston, stopping in Nebraska for a moment to pick up two demon hunters they believed would be useful.

Flagg knew something, though, that no one else did. The Key...it was in Boston...along with the Slayer. And Glorificus did not know...nor did she know that Flagg knew where she was.

He took a moment to thank himself for gaining this gift, this tool that would ensure his victory. Without the Black 13, so many things would be different.

For one, Xander would have a chance.

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"What," Elliot asked in disbelief, "What do you mean he's gone?!"

"I mean, Neusom grabbed him and had his thuggish MPs toss him into a Blackhawk," Dr. Cox said as he moved from patient to patient, "Neusom's got it out for the Xanadu, Barbie, him and Fagg. You need to keep your eyes open, girl, otherwise things could go downhill real fucking fast."

"Neusom didn't even let him say goodbye," Elliot asked quietly.

Cox sighed to himself, putting on the most comforting look on his face as he could and said, "Xander cares about you, Barbie, hell, he may even love you. What Neusom does in his stupidity won't change that."

Elliot, strange as it was, felt comforted by that fact, knowing that it was true as he said it. She smiled for a moment, then without giving him a moment, launched out and hugged him as hard as she could.

"Alright, alright, no hugging!" Cox said, gently pushing her off him, "Now, if you're done bein' a crybaby, why don't you check and see how the Arcadians are doing. Go be 'Cheer 'Em Up, Barbie'...Barbie."

"Ok," Elliot did in her highest, 'cutest,' girly-prep voice, "Let's, like, do it!"

"NO!!!" Cox shouted out, "Not the voice!!!!!"

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New York City...

"NO, NO, NO!!!! I said RED DRESS, RED!!!!! NOT PURPLE!!!!!!!!!!"

Glorificus was, by nature, not a patient being. Considering that she had been forcefully ejected from Hell, where she had nearly dethroned Satan, thanks to her former lover Trigon the Terrible (in bed), she was allowed a certain amount of sympathy and understanding...though that fact evaporated in the face of her sheer spoiled and airheaded attitude!!

"I'm sorry, oh Glorious One," unless, of course, you were the 'hobbits with acne,' "We tried our best to find you a red dress that fit your manner of style, o Wondrous One, but one cannot be found!"

"Ugh, stupid Newt," she thoughtlessly backhanded the priest known formerly known as Newt, driving him into a wall where his skull was caved in, "FIND ME A FUCKING RED DRESS, NOW, OR I SWEAR TO GOD-"

"God?" a quiet voice asked, with a smile in his voice as he walked out of seemingly nowhere, his sharp cowboy boots and spurs echoing against the marble floor of what had been the penthouse suite in the Plaza, "I thought your kind renounced the very presence of God?"

Glorificus turned her contemptuous gaze on the interloper, smiling slightly as she realized that she would finally be able to eat for the first time in a month. Her smile widened as she felt the sheer power radiating from him. He would make a fine meal indeed.

"Grab him," Glory ordered, and her imps rushed forward to take Flagg in their arms, but Flagg merely launched out with a kick and a burst of magic that propelled several imps through the penthouse window.

"...Well, shit," Glory said with a grin, "That means you won't go quietly. I like that!"

"You're damn right I ain't gonna go quietly," Flagg said, circling around her slowly and examining her as she spun around in her black dress to keep her eye on him, "And you and I ain't gonna fight, either."

"Oh, yeah," Glory demanded, smirking as she folded her arms up and took an arrogant stance, "And what makes you think that exactly?"

"Trigon," Flagg smiled, "You want him."

Glory's former smirk had turned into a glare of pure hate.

"You...you're with him? That dickless son of a bitch sent YOU for me!!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa there, darlin'," Flagg grinned, holding up his arms, "Trigon didn't send me anywhere. I'm here on my own...with a proposition for ya."

"...A proposition?"

"How would you," Flagg walked over to the bar and poured himself a gin and tonic, "Like the opportunity to get your vengeance on your ex-boyfriend?"

Glory stared at him, disbelieving as he offered her a drink. She considered his words for a moment, then shrugged and grabbed the glass of alcohol out of his hand.

"Alright, Fleshbag," Glory said with a shrug, drinking her drink as she did so, "What're you proposing?"

Flagg grinned his impetuous grin at her, then walked over to her expensive looking couch and plomped down onto it, resting his boots on the fabric and ripping it open with his spurs. Glory gained a look of pensive annoyance, but prevented herself from flying at his brain. She would toy with him before taking her prize.

"My name is Randall Flagg," he named himself, and he felt a moment's worth of surprise when she did not recognize him, "I have made a bargain with Trigon. In order to gain entry into the Hellmouth, I need to bring down Adam's shield over it. I am capable of bypassing the shield, but I cannot bypass it with an entire army. So, Trigon has agreed to send out a pulse of pure energy from the Hellmouth, to disable Adam's shield long enough to allow the army through...on the condition that I bring him YOU, subdued, so that he may have his way with you and then kill you."

Glory glared at him for a very long moment, then whispered, "You mentioned a proposition? All I'm hearing is jibber-jabber from your ape mouth!"

"That's cause I haven't gotten to the proposition," Flagg grinned, coming to his feet and walking over to her, squatting down slightly to meet her eye level, "I have agreed to Trigon's demands...but, he only said that you had to be subdued...and there are so many ways to take that word. It could mean bound, beaten within an inch of your existence, with no ability or will to fight back...or it could simply mean that you be bound...but with all your strength and will intact."

Glory stared at him for a long moment, thinking on what he said as her brain attempted to process what he'd said. Slowly, the logic came to her.

She smiled suddenly as the light bulb came on.

"...Why," Glory asked, curious, "Why would YOU want to help me?"

"Well, there are lots of reasons," Flagg said glibly, falling back into the sofa, "It could be because Trigon pissed me off and I wanna make him pay. It might be because I realize that if you're dead, then the only reason he is avoiding this world would be gone and he might try and take over after I do. It might be because the Key and its guardian are very important to my enemy and I want him even more distracted than he already is. Hell, it might even be because I just feel like doin' it. But y'know what it is? Ever since I saw you in the Black 13," Glory gasped, "Yes, that Black 13...ever since I saw you, I just knew that I had to jump your bones."

Glory smirked at him, pleased at last that her very odd human body had a use, and then proceeded to jump his bones.

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Nebraska...Nebraskan Free Zone Headquaters, AKA: the Roadhouse.

Nebraska was sparsely populated, both before and during the war. It was the home of several refueling stations, a small mountain's worth of arms, and several of the world's premiere demon hunters, a few of whom would be requisitioned to join in the effort to defeat Jason.

Xander, of course, did not know that. All he knew was that the Blackhawk they were on had begun to descend next to the small bar, and that a small number of men with rifles were coming out to greet them.

"Alright," one of the Blackhawk crew was yelling over the sound of the helicopter, "We're going to be here for 15 minutes! There are mens and womens restrooms inside, along with latrines in the back. If you are low an ammo, you can get some here. If you need anything else, as the bartender and they'll try and help you. Remember, 15 minutes! If you're not back here, you get left behind!"

Xander made it to a latrine. He grabbed himself several extra clips of ammunition for his SAW. He grabbed a machete, a claymore, and a flash bang grenade. He hoped that God would be there for him tonight.

He was going after the ultimate badass of the horror movie genre. Jason Voorhees, while he was no Michael Myers, was to Xander more of a threat than any other fictitious form of evil he had heard of. Even Freddy Krueger scared him less. Going up against Freddy meant you had time, you could avoid him via medication, or if you couldn't, you knew you had some time as he always toyed with his victims. That gave you time to wake up, or if you couldn't, you could have someone else wake you up.

Jason, though...he was the land version of Jaws. He had no emotional connection to his kill...he only killed to kill. He was a machine, one who would never stop...

He said a silent prayer as he climbed aboard the Helo, noting that there were two more bodies with aboard.

"Hey," Xander greeted them, "I'm Xander Harris."

Fifteen Minutes Ago

"No, you are not going, God damn it," the young man shouted as he continued to gear up, "You have a duty and responsibilities here, Sir. We're going, whether you like it or not!"

"What he said," the slightly younger man said in support of his brother, slapping a clip into a Kalashnikov for emphasis.

"For God's sakes, you can't just take this decision away from me like that," their father said, "No matter what, I am the best man for this job, and you both know it!"

"You're right," the older brother said, "But that's also true about you leading around here. A leader can't always be at the front lines."

"Sometimes, he has to be in the back," the younger brother said, laying a hand on his father's shoulder, "No matter how much he hates it."

"He does it," the older brother laid his hand on his father's other shoulder, "Because it's his responsibility, not just to the people he's been entrusted with leading, but because it's his responsibility to his country."

"...Fuck," the leader of the Nebraskan Free Zone said, "Fine. I hope you both come back in body bags, just so I can bring you back to life and then kill ya again."

"Love you, too, Dad," the younger brother said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"You boys be careful," the father said, "Jason...I've met him before. He's a tough motherfucker. Blind him, boys, then blow his ass to Hell. That's the only way you can possibly kill him...the only way."

"Right," the older brother said, "We'll see you when we get back, Dad."

"...Good luck."

Present

The two brothers exchanged glances, then the younger of the two made a decision. He leaned forward, extending his hand to Xander.

"Name's Sam Winchester," he introduced himself, "It's good to meet you, Xander."

"Same here," Xander said.

"I'm Dean," the older brother greeted him, "You're our expert on Jason, right?"

"Yeah," Xander said.

"Talk to us on the way," Sam said, "We want to know everything."

"What he means is," Dean said, "We want to know every-fuckin'-thing about that fuck that brought Arcadia to an end."