"Lula! I'm home!"
Smiling beatifically he continued his journey to the kitchen, rummaging around the refrigerator in search of a drink. Reaching in and grabbing the closest beer he could see, he pulled out the bottle and held it up triumphantly. "Man, I had a good day."
On reflection, he shouldn't have had a good day at all. For one he had been attacked evil, rotting things and it now appeared that Sunnydale High had not changed despite outward appearances. On top of that, he now was almost completely certain that if he wasn't going insane, then something hellmouth-y was at work. You didn't just get voices talking to you every day. No matter, he would just have to bite the bullet and grab a few books and research people you can't see telling you what to do. Or he could just get on the internet.
Sitting down at his very borrowed-from-work computer he typed: voices in your head. He wasn't experienced, that's for sure, but he'd seen Willow do this tons of times. Hell, if a computer genius that could hack into Police files could search on the internet then he. . . would never get anywhere. Sighing, he sat back heavily into the chair and ran a hand through his hair. Picking up the beer he took one long swallow before glancing at the search results. Over 8,000 hits. Great.
He picked a random link. Hey, now this was something. Short stories about voices from nowhere. Xander shrugged, why couldn't he blow off some time reading something that could in no way help his "problem" just for the sake of procrastinating? Fifteen minutes later he was sitting perfectly straight staring at the screen with an expression somewhere between horrified disbelief and paranoid suspicion. No more stories. He clicked off the site, and anxiously looked around the room. Carefully sitting back, fingers twitching above the keyboard, he reached for his drink and found it woefully empty. Taking this as his cue, he grabbed the bottle and fled to the kitchen to grab another. Leaving the door open, he ripped the top off the next one and chugged.
Finishing it off, he jumped nearly three feet in the air when he heard a phone ring and barely kept from dropping the bottle on the floor. Setting it down carefully, Xander walked over and picked up the phone warily.
"Hello?" Long pause. "Hello? What is this?"
No one there.
He pulled the phone away from his ear and brought it in front of his face. Staring hard at it, he suppressed a shudder and set it down on the hook. The phone rang again suddenly. Xander panicked and backed up against the counter. Suddenly a maniacal laughter filled his head and Xander collapsed on the floor. "You." He rasped out.
The giggles died down for a moment, and the voice said, "Hi. I'm a government agent." Laughter bubbled up again.
Xander glared at the floor and said again. "You."
Lulabelle was heaving now, only just able to pant out the words, "Oh my god, you are so easy. Phone ringing. Priceless. And before you ask, I'm not your subconscious either."
Xander gave a put upon sigh before pulling himself up and proclaiming, "Well now that you completely scared the shit out of me, I'm going to bed." Despite the good feelings he had earlier, he suddenly felt like a weight was pressing into him. He dragged himself in to his bedroom and fell into a heap on his bed. Not bothering to take off more than his shoes, he rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Forcing his eyes open he glanced at the radio by the bed. Nine o'clock. I shouldn't be this tired, he thought right before he passed out. It was just two beers.
*******************
Blackness filled the room, an oppressive silence filled the air. Labored breathing was the only thing interrupting the stillness of the apartment and all at once a chilling breeze wafted through the apartment. Xander moaned softly in his sleep and shifted closer to the wall. The wind picked up and began to circle around the apartment, picking up speed with each rotation.
It reached the bedroom for the third time, suddenly stopping and focusing right above the sleeping man. What once was wind seemed to condense into a fog, a green glow beginning to emanate from the center. Gathering together, it floated closer and closer to the bed, the outer edge darkening as it neared. At the same time the light intensified, tentacling out and covering the room. Groaning, Xander seemed to awaken somewhat and lifted his arms as if to defend himself in an attack. Above him the fog had started to whirl around the bed, concentrating on the spot where he lay prone.
It continued its journey, drawn closer to the man who was now actively swatting at something above his face. Abruptly grabbing the blanket he had pushed to his waist, Xander pulled it up over his head. Grasping it desperately, he awoke slightly shivering. A faint scream sounded in the background, dying off as he became more coherent. Xander cautiously removed the blanket and searched wildly around the room in search of an intruder. Giving a slight look at the clock he noticed only two hours had passed.
Speaking if only just to hear his voice aloud he blurted, "What the fuck was that?" He blinked slowly and lay back down. Sometime after he had passed out his shirt had gotten tangled up in the blanket and now he was covered in sweat. Reluctantly he rolled himself over, shoved himself out of bed and moved towards the bathroom stripping off clothes along the way. He stopped and stared at the mirror with tired eyes.
"Well? Do you have anything to say?" His reflection stared morosely back at him, face haggard and drawn. Looking for just a moment longer, Xander turned away and stepped into the bathtub, letting it fill up over him. After a moment he turned off the faucets and just lay there, staring at the ceiling. Leaning his head back against the tile, he closed his eyes and began to try and remember the dream.
*********************
Darkness. Well not really darkness, it was bright in a way. If you can be bright in the dark. Almost blinding, in fact. Shrugging it off he pursued the memory further. Oh and there was pain. Couldn't forget that, seeing as how it was apparently the most important part. They kept repeating it too. They. . .
Xander squinted hard, trying to delve into his mind. There was a They. He knew that much, but he could not for the life of him remember who They were, although he knew it in the dream. They kept repeating something important. Something he had to do. Something he was responsible for.
But that's the thing, he wasn't responsible for anything other than the crew. Maybe Buffy and Dawn, but those two could take care of themselves if it was what the situation called for. He slammed his fist into the water, splashing it all over the floor. He was supposed to remember. He knew that. He couldn't screw up something his dreams were telling him. Or perhaps his dreams weren't important like Buffy's prophecy dreams, even if they seemed like it. It's not as if he ever predicted catastrophic things so maybe he was over-analyzing.
The more he thought about it, the more aggravated he became, frustrated with not being able to figure out why he needed to recall the details. About pain. Fuck. All he could remember was really bright darkness and something an unknown They was saying and if he EVER told anyone about this dream he was going to be committed he just knew it. Opening his eyes he once again stared at the ceiling. He sighed, even when he was just thinking he babbled. Grabbing a towel he quickly dried himself off and left the bathroom, not bothering to drain the water. He needed to get a drink NOW and nothing was going to deter him for even three seconds.
Nearly slipping on the wet floor he trudged to the kitchen, glimpsing the red digital clock as he walked by. 12:45. He had been in the tub for an hour and forty-five minutes. He slowly turned around and made his way back into the bathroom. Once there he stared at the water. Plunging one hand in, he held it under for a couple of minutes. Then put the other in. Splashing his face frantically for a couple minutes he was suddenly hit with the visual of him kneeling on his floor, a towel loosely wrapped around him, dripping wet and water all over the room. He stopped. Swirling a finger on the surface of the water he remembered what it was about the dream.
There was pain, sure, but not from external blows. It was like a poison, acid eating at him from the inside. Looking intently at what was left of the water, he tried to rationalize it away. Kept coming back to the same thing. The water was cold. It had to be cold, he didn't like hot baths and it was just merely warm to begin with. Nearly two hours later the water must be cold. But he couldn't feel it. Soaked to the bone in an air-conditioned apartment he should be freezing.
He couldn't feel anything.
*****************************
A/N: In case anyone was interested, the short story Xander reads in this chapter(yes, I'm a freak, he actually did read a story) is by Richard Matheson, and I think it's called "Person to Person."(It's featured in the book "I Am Legend.") Also, I want to send a thanks to my new found beta, without whom you people would still get this story, but it'd be [more] shoddily written. So thanks Oz!
Smiling beatifically he continued his journey to the kitchen, rummaging around the refrigerator in search of a drink. Reaching in and grabbing the closest beer he could see, he pulled out the bottle and held it up triumphantly. "Man, I had a good day."
On reflection, he shouldn't have had a good day at all. For one he had been attacked evil, rotting things and it now appeared that Sunnydale High had not changed despite outward appearances. On top of that, he now was almost completely certain that if he wasn't going insane, then something hellmouth-y was at work. You didn't just get voices talking to you every day. No matter, he would just have to bite the bullet and grab a few books and research people you can't see telling you what to do. Or he could just get on the internet.
Sitting down at his very borrowed-from-work computer he typed: voices in your head. He wasn't experienced, that's for sure, but he'd seen Willow do this tons of times. Hell, if a computer genius that could hack into Police files could search on the internet then he. . . would never get anywhere. Sighing, he sat back heavily into the chair and ran a hand through his hair. Picking up the beer he took one long swallow before glancing at the search results. Over 8,000 hits. Great.
He picked a random link. Hey, now this was something. Short stories about voices from nowhere. Xander shrugged, why couldn't he blow off some time reading something that could in no way help his "problem" just for the sake of procrastinating? Fifteen minutes later he was sitting perfectly straight staring at the screen with an expression somewhere between horrified disbelief and paranoid suspicion. No more stories. He clicked off the site, and anxiously looked around the room. Carefully sitting back, fingers twitching above the keyboard, he reached for his drink and found it woefully empty. Taking this as his cue, he grabbed the bottle and fled to the kitchen to grab another. Leaving the door open, he ripped the top off the next one and chugged.
Finishing it off, he jumped nearly three feet in the air when he heard a phone ring and barely kept from dropping the bottle on the floor. Setting it down carefully, Xander walked over and picked up the phone warily.
"Hello?" Long pause. "Hello? What is this?"
No one there.
He pulled the phone away from his ear and brought it in front of his face. Staring hard at it, he suppressed a shudder and set it down on the hook. The phone rang again suddenly. Xander panicked and backed up against the counter. Suddenly a maniacal laughter filled his head and Xander collapsed on the floor. "You." He rasped out.
The giggles died down for a moment, and the voice said, "Hi. I'm a government agent." Laughter bubbled up again.
Xander glared at the floor and said again. "You."
Lulabelle was heaving now, only just able to pant out the words, "Oh my god, you are so easy. Phone ringing. Priceless. And before you ask, I'm not your subconscious either."
Xander gave a put upon sigh before pulling himself up and proclaiming, "Well now that you completely scared the shit out of me, I'm going to bed." Despite the good feelings he had earlier, he suddenly felt like a weight was pressing into him. He dragged himself in to his bedroom and fell into a heap on his bed. Not bothering to take off more than his shoes, he rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Forcing his eyes open he glanced at the radio by the bed. Nine o'clock. I shouldn't be this tired, he thought right before he passed out. It was just two beers.
*******************
Blackness filled the room, an oppressive silence filled the air. Labored breathing was the only thing interrupting the stillness of the apartment and all at once a chilling breeze wafted through the apartment. Xander moaned softly in his sleep and shifted closer to the wall. The wind picked up and began to circle around the apartment, picking up speed with each rotation.
It reached the bedroom for the third time, suddenly stopping and focusing right above the sleeping man. What once was wind seemed to condense into a fog, a green glow beginning to emanate from the center. Gathering together, it floated closer and closer to the bed, the outer edge darkening as it neared. At the same time the light intensified, tentacling out and covering the room. Groaning, Xander seemed to awaken somewhat and lifted his arms as if to defend himself in an attack. Above him the fog had started to whirl around the bed, concentrating on the spot where he lay prone.
It continued its journey, drawn closer to the man who was now actively swatting at something above his face. Abruptly grabbing the blanket he had pushed to his waist, Xander pulled it up over his head. Grasping it desperately, he awoke slightly shivering. A faint scream sounded in the background, dying off as he became more coherent. Xander cautiously removed the blanket and searched wildly around the room in search of an intruder. Giving a slight look at the clock he noticed only two hours had passed.
Speaking if only just to hear his voice aloud he blurted, "What the fuck was that?" He blinked slowly and lay back down. Sometime after he had passed out his shirt had gotten tangled up in the blanket and now he was covered in sweat. Reluctantly he rolled himself over, shoved himself out of bed and moved towards the bathroom stripping off clothes along the way. He stopped and stared at the mirror with tired eyes.
"Well? Do you have anything to say?" His reflection stared morosely back at him, face haggard and drawn. Looking for just a moment longer, Xander turned away and stepped into the bathtub, letting it fill up over him. After a moment he turned off the faucets and just lay there, staring at the ceiling. Leaning his head back against the tile, he closed his eyes and began to try and remember the dream.
*********************
Darkness. Well not really darkness, it was bright in a way. If you can be bright in the dark. Almost blinding, in fact. Shrugging it off he pursued the memory further. Oh and there was pain. Couldn't forget that, seeing as how it was apparently the most important part. They kept repeating it too. They. . .
Xander squinted hard, trying to delve into his mind. There was a They. He knew that much, but he could not for the life of him remember who They were, although he knew it in the dream. They kept repeating something important. Something he had to do. Something he was responsible for.
But that's the thing, he wasn't responsible for anything other than the crew. Maybe Buffy and Dawn, but those two could take care of themselves if it was what the situation called for. He slammed his fist into the water, splashing it all over the floor. He was supposed to remember. He knew that. He couldn't screw up something his dreams were telling him. Or perhaps his dreams weren't important like Buffy's prophecy dreams, even if they seemed like it. It's not as if he ever predicted catastrophic things so maybe he was over-analyzing.
The more he thought about it, the more aggravated he became, frustrated with not being able to figure out why he needed to recall the details. About pain. Fuck. All he could remember was really bright darkness and something an unknown They was saying and if he EVER told anyone about this dream he was going to be committed he just knew it. Opening his eyes he once again stared at the ceiling. He sighed, even when he was just thinking he babbled. Grabbing a towel he quickly dried himself off and left the bathroom, not bothering to drain the water. He needed to get a drink NOW and nothing was going to deter him for even three seconds.
Nearly slipping on the wet floor he trudged to the kitchen, glimpsing the red digital clock as he walked by. 12:45. He had been in the tub for an hour and forty-five minutes. He slowly turned around and made his way back into the bathroom. Once there he stared at the water. Plunging one hand in, he held it under for a couple of minutes. Then put the other in. Splashing his face frantically for a couple minutes he was suddenly hit with the visual of him kneeling on his floor, a towel loosely wrapped around him, dripping wet and water all over the room. He stopped. Swirling a finger on the surface of the water he remembered what it was about the dream.
There was pain, sure, but not from external blows. It was like a poison, acid eating at him from the inside. Looking intently at what was left of the water, he tried to rationalize it away. Kept coming back to the same thing. The water was cold. It had to be cold, he didn't like hot baths and it was just merely warm to begin with. Nearly two hours later the water must be cold. But he couldn't feel it. Soaked to the bone in an air-conditioned apartment he should be freezing.
He couldn't feel anything.
*****************************
A/N: In case anyone was interested, the short story Xander reads in this chapter(yes, I'm a freak, he actually did read a story) is by Richard Matheson, and I think it's called "Person to Person."(It's featured in the book "I Am Legend.") Also, I want to send a thanks to my new found beta, without whom you people would still get this story, but it'd be [more] shoddily written. So thanks Oz!