Xander had tried falling asleep, but he only got quick five-minute naps because his body kept forcing him awake. He was afraid to just think, because sooner or later he'll start talking to himself and that would be driving himself insane. So Xander was spending most of his time just staring at the white-washed walls with his mind completely blank. It was like any regular school day-except after dark, he wouldn't be trying to fight vampires, he'd * be * one.
It was incredibly boring in here. Xander had often wondered, in a slightly morbid way, what would be his last thoughts before he died. Now that he was having them, he realized that they were very dull. But the strangest thing was that right now, he didn't' really care if he died. He wouldn't want to live as a vampire, and going through this quick torture of turning into one was enough to send him over the suicidal brink.
A memory of Willow and he when they were seven floated through his mind. It was funny, but you had to be there to be in the moment. Xander and Willow had been watch "A Charlie Brown Christmas," and then out of nowhere Willow started humming that dreidel song. The two of them had found it hilarious, and afterwards they always hummed it during the Christmas showing, just for the fun of it, even when they were sixteen & seventeen. Sigh. Memories.
Xander leaned his head back on the cool surface of the wall, closing his eyes and sighing loudly. They must've heard it outside, because suddenly the voices and the shuffling were stopped. Then, after awhile, they continued again, and Xander laughed.
"I'm so sick and tired of being alive," he told the room. "I want it all to go away."
"Don't ever wish that," said a sad voice behind him.
Startled, Xander practically jumped out of his skin, and then tried in vain to twist himself sideways so that he could see his roommate. Although it was irritating, he could finally twist his head far enough so that he could make out a face.
In a second, red-hot anger flowed through his veins and his face vamped out. He struggled with all his might against his chains, racking against the wall, and he let out a bellow of a roar.
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At the sound of the roar, Willow jumped out of her chair. She, Buffy, and Giles exchanged nervous glances, and then all three turned to look out the window. At least a half hour until sunset. There was still time . . . to decide.
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The chains that bound him most certainly bound him, and no matter how many times he was trying to break free it just wasn't happening. So finally, he lay slumped there in defeat, glaring with yellow, hate-filled eyes at the person who stood a ways from him . . . Angel.
"Come near me and I * swear * I'll break free," Xander growled, still working the chains, although he wasn't too exuberant anymore. He was breathing heavily, more out of habit than of actual need. If anything, the shackles and handcuffs seemed much more tighter pressed against his skin.
Meanwhile, Angel was still standing there, with a strange sadness in his face, along with the feeling of repulsiveness. He peered at Xander, as if to examine him closely, and as he walked nearer Xander watched his every move with wary demon eyes.
Finally, Angel knelt before Xander, examine every crook of his vamped-out face. Xander could only sit there, unable to do anything but growl ferociously. Then Angel spoke:
"What did he * do * to you?" he asked, his voice laced with hidden pain.
Xander looked at him in surprise. ". . . the hell . . .?"
"How could I have done this?" Angel continued, his face twisted with inner angst. He looked pitiful-probably as much as Xander did at that moment. "How could I have done this to Buffy?"
Xander was going to blurt out a "Do you remember * who * you are?" to the creepy form of the vampire that stood before him, but the mention of Buffy once again angered him. "How could you do this to * BUFFY * ?" he screamed at the vampire. "Dammit, will you people notice who's the real victim here?"
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Buffy was busy twiddling her thumbs, Willow was busying herself with trying to figure out what her totem animal was, and Giles was being Giles. Buffy, though, was the only one listening to this conversation Xander was apparently having with himself.
He's going insane, Buffy told her head. Sometimes I think I am too.
You are, retorted the voice. More and more you keep coming to me. Get a stuffed animal or a shrink. I've got better things to do with my time. Then the voice clicked itself of again.
Buffy's grip on the edge of the table tightened considerably, while her grip on reality slid back down a little.
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Angel stepped back as though Xander's words were a physical prescense, pushing him backwards. Then he blinked at Xander, and then said, "You don't get it."
"No * duh * , Dead Boy," Xander said hotly. "One minute your toying with the idea of making me a demon and the next you * apologize * for it? No crap I don't get it. Would you?"
Angel did some more of his mournful blinking-stare things and then turned to Giles' desk, which had been cleared in case Vampire Xander felt the need to throw things at the Slayer. Angel looked at it, stared at the glassy wood, and then rested his hand on it.
Well, that's what he looked like he meant to do. What really happened was the act of his hand going straight through I, and acquiring a sort of ghostly glow. Xander sucked in his breath, and then withdrew it sharply. "What was that?" he asked, suddenly afraid. Angel the poltergeist? Too weird.
But wait. Why would Angel be ghost-like? He was still alive: very much so, and making more of his kind. Yet, here was a spirit talking to him-
"Whatever you are, you better get the hell out of here before I figure out a way out of these chains. 'Cause I'll kill you-"
"I'm not here for you to hate me," Angel said. "I'm here so that you can give Buffy a message."
Xander snarled. "I'm not going to her anything from * you * ," he sneered. "I'd rather die."
"You are," Angel said sadly. "I can't believe that I did this to you."
"What the hell * are * you?"
Angel paused. He traced dust on the table with his fingers, not stirring it at all. When he finally looked up at Xander, his face seemed to have paled. "I'm the soul. The good, of Angelus."
"My life is not * too * complicated," Xander muttered. "You're * what * ?"
"I can't explain this all to you now, Xander. I only have some time to appear to you. Even though you have vampire psychic powers, you don't have the amount that makes me able to stay longer. Ah . . ." he trailed off. "Willow isn't trained enough to receive that kind of communication either."
" * Willow * ?" Xander exploded. He tried to stand up, but those chains pulled him down before he ever stood. " * What * is she not trained for?"
Angel's eyes grew wider. "I-I'm not the one to tell the information. It's not my place . . ." he acquired a pained expression. "I only have something for Buffy."
Thousand of possibilities were flashing through Xander's mind, but the forming thoughts were slowly slipping away from him, like pouring water. Then the thoughts were gone altogether, and Xander was left with only the faint impression of Willow's image in his mind-not at all unusual.
"What message do I have to give her?" Xander grunted. "That is, if I still have my * soul * ." Angel didn't bat an eyelash.
"I want you to tell her that I said to kill me." He swallowed. "Kill me already. I can't stand to see me doing all this stuff you her-to you-to everyone. And it hurts to know that I'm feeling great about it."
"I've been telling her that for what-forever?" Xander said. "What'll make her listen now? Like she'll really believe me. She doesn't listen to anything that I say. Otheriwse you would've been dust so very long ago."
Angel nodded. "I know. This is a slim chance, but she might listen . . . you never know what can happen. She just might see that you aren't lying, and-"
Angel cut off mid-sentence as his image started to flicker. "I can't stay long," he rushed. "I have to go back. Xander, promise me you'll tell her. Please . . ."
Xander looked the vampire-soul coldly in the eye, keeping his mouth firmly shut. "You can count on me to say it," he said icily, "and you can count on me to do it myself if I have to."
The image faded and flickered away without another word. The silence once again settled around him, and the voices outside increased in volume. They ran together, like a stream, and Xander's thoughts flowed with them. He was so tired, so confused, and above all, so bitter . . .
And then the pain came.