Chapter One: Perchance to Dream. Because I rewatched season two, and missed Whistler. This is slash. It isn't explicit slash, but it's very definitely slash. Please don't review with a string of "eeew's," because the pairing is in the summary, and therefore you have been warned twice.
"Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them". – Twelth Night, Act II, Scene V.
Xander knew he was dreaming. Even in his life, only a dream could be this strange.
He is standing on the dance floor of the Bronze, looking up at the stage. Giles is perched on a stool, strumming his guitar and leaning forward as he croons the lyrics into the microphone. A few feet away, Faith and Buffy are dancing, arms wrapped loosely around each other's waists and gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. "Two Slayers," Faith says, and they both turn to face him, leaning cheek to cheek as they smile and Buffy adds, "No waiting," and they lunge for his throat, fangs bared.
He's firing out the door, the crack of the rifle familiar to his ears as the carefully aimed bullets plough into the pavement at the feet of the approaching demons. They yelp in surprise and start to back off, all except one of them, a black-haired woman in a black and red velvet dress with shiny red shoes. Drusilla turns to him and smiles her vacant smile, swaying back and forth as she says in a sing-song voice, "I'm naming all the stars," and behind him he hears Buffy say, "Xander, what do you think you are doing?"
He turns to face her and the gun is gone, replaced by an axe that he holds just as easily, and he smiles at her. She's wearing a simple tank top and loose pants with her hair bound back- Slaying gear, not the Princess getup he vaguely remembers her wearing at the time. "But Buffy," he says, a goofy smile on his face, "I clocked field time!"
In Buffy's basement, now, and looking up into Cordelia's eyes as she whispers, "That spell was for me?"
"Of course," Anya says from behind her, and the light from her pendant glows in the darkness, highlighting her demonic features and throwing shadows where shadows have no right to be. "But now that I've got my powers back, I can do it right this time!"
A snarl in the darkness, and a shadow detaches itself from the other shadows among the trees, revealing itself to be Angel. No, Angelus, Xander corrects himself frantically, seeing the cold sneer, but a growl from behind him halts the approaching vampire in his tracks and brings his focus to Spike, standing behind him with a hand on his shoulder. "Sire," the younger vampire snaps, and Angelus blinks, slowly, before shaking his head. When he looks up again his eyes are dark and soft with the weight of the centuries, and he whispers, "I didn't mean to hurt them. Did I hurt you too?"
In the Bronze again, his heart thudding against his chest and dust drifting to the floor with the echo of "I'm a new man!" resounding in his ears. Then it stops. The noise, the press of bodies and smell of panic on the air- it all halts, then quickly rewinds. The dust reforms into Jessie, smirking at him with a stake pressed against his heart, but then Jessie shakes his head and stops back, frowning down at his chest. Before Xander can move or react, he grabs a zipper on his collarbone and pulls it down.
A smaller man steps out of Jessie's skin and looks around with interest. His clothes are terrifyingly loud, putting even his own to shame, but when their gazes meet his eyes are dark and perceptive. "I want to learn from you," Xander says, knowing that the words aren't his but not knowing where the come from, "but I don't want to dress like you."
"We're lucky we need you on our side," the man says, his voice accented with the streets of New York, but then he shakes his head. "Ah, but we're not here to repeat the past, are we?"
"Why are we here?" Xander wants to know, and the man smiles sadly.
"Because this is your nightmare," he says. "Only place I could get in, really." Xander says nothing. "I'm Whistler," the man says after a moment. "Immortal demon sent down to even the score," and Xander thinks he's quoting from a memory, judging by the small, private smile on his face.
"It's like this, Xander Harris. The Hellmouth lost a guardian, and the world lost a Slayer. Another will be called, of course, but not yet. Faith interfered with the natural order of things, and the world takes time to right itself." Silence for a moment. "If it were up to me I wouldn't do this, but it's never up to me. The world keeps turning and the evil keeps coming and it doesn't stop. It never stops."
He closes his eyes, and then with glowing fingertips sketches a rune of fire in the air. His eyes snap open and he says, "Xander Harris, you're going to have to Become."
"I'm going to have to become what?" Xander asks, but then the rune shifts forward at a flick of Whistler's fingers and begins to burn into his chest, and he hears Whistler's reply only distantly through a haze of pain.
"That's up to you," he says, and then disappears.
Xander woke up all at once, his eyes snapping open to stare into the smothering darkness over his head. Only gradually did he become aware of his breathing, and the hum of the refrigerator, and the comforting weight of another body where Spike lay against his side.
Slowly, he went back to sleep.
He stood utterly unmoving in front of the bathroom mirror, only distantly aware of Spike's yelled complaints about inconsiderate humans who hogged the bathroom. Holding his discarded shirt in one hand he turned back and forth, as if by looking at it he could force the symbol burned into his chest, just above his solar plexus, to go away. So far, it wasn't working.
"That's it, I'm coming in," Spike growled from where he was pacing on the other side of the door, and then slammed it open before Xander could stop him.
The vampire was at his side in a movement literally to fast for the human eye to see, hauling him around roughly by his arm and glaring at him accusingly. "You told me you didn't get roughed up at all last night," he said, pointing at the mark. "You said it was all, 'walk in, kill thing while it's asleep.'"
"I wasn't hurt by the Helfnaar demon," Xander said honestly, then held up a hand to forestall Spike's vociferous disagreement. "I had a dream last night, okay? Some demon guy named Whistler told me I had to Become, and burned this into my chest before disappearing and neglecting to tell me what the hell I'm supposed to become, anyway."
Spike didn't relax much at his explanation, but it was enough that Xander could see it. "Whistler? Little bloke, scary clothes, New York accent?" Xander nodded. "He's a player for the Powers that Be, then. Not actively evil, but not always makin' the best decisions for you lot."
"What do you mean? And don't start with the 'you lot' mess again, Mr. I'm-just-killing-demons-for-the-fun-of-it The Bloody."
"Hey, it is fun! Beat up a demon, get the adrenaline goin' good, and I get to stare at your ass. What more can a self-respecting demon want, I ask you?" Xander pulled a truly horrible face at him. "Careful, your face might freeze like that. Now, as to what I meant about Whistler... Angel. Whistler's the one who set 'im on the path to Buffy. Meant for him to be fightin' Acathla, though, not raisin' him."
"Gotcha," Xander said, and fell silent.
"He did say that it wasn't his choice," he added thoughtfully after a moment. "That he wouldn't do it if it were up to him. Implies that he's more of a messenger boy or delivery boy or whatever than the one making the decisions."
"I want to know what he did," Spike growled, and hunched over to look at the mark. "I've no idea what in bleedin' hell this is, so I can't tell what it's supposed to do. Hurt?" he asked, and arched an inquiring eyebrow at Xander.
"Do you want the macho version, or the truth?" Xander asked wryly.
"Truth'd be nice," Spike said, amused.
"Like hell," Xander said on an exhale. "There had to be a less painful way of doing this."
"Maybe," Spike said. He opened up the cabinet and began hunting through it for ointment and bandages. "An' maybe not. Blood, flesh, pain- they're all big parts of a lot of spells. Even non-evil ones," he added, emerging with the supplies. "Those three things are such an essential part of life that it's easy to tie a spell to 'em. Plus it's easier to hurt someone or drip some blood into a bowl than it is to make someone laugh enough for a spell to work. Budge up, then," he said to Xander, and nodded to the counter behind him. "Sit. Don't want it getting infected, do we?"
"No, we do not," Xander said, and fell silent while Spike tended to the burn.
The vampire's brows were furrowed with concentration, his eyes narrowed to slits and his jaw clenched. Xander could actually see the muscles standing out, and he itched to smooth his fingers over the skin and relax the corded muscles. But he kept his hands at his sides, knowing that he'd get scolded if he moved, even if it was to pet Spike.
Spike's hands were rock-steady as he smoothed the ointment over the burn, but Xander could see a tiny flinch around his lover's pale blue eyes whenever he touched the charred flesh, and he knew that Spike was much more worried about hurting him than the injury warranted.
"It hurts, but it's not fatal," Xander said into the silence.
"Jus' wanna be careful is all," Spike muttered, not looking up from the burn two inches away from his nose. Xander took the risk of a scolding and laid his hand on top of Spike's head, running his fingers gently through the bleached and currently ungelled locks until Spike looked up at him.
"I'm not gonna break, Spike," he said.
"You always say that," Spike muttered, but his touched was more firm as he finishes smoothing on the ointment.
"And yet it's still true," Xander retorted. "Haven't yet, have I?"
"'Cept your arm, of course," Spike mocked, nodding to the arm still in a cast. Xander made a face at him and waited till the bandage was on before retorting.
"That was different! That was a troll!"
"An' how, exactly, is a troll different from most of the nasties we've been running into on a daily basis?"
"Trolls are bigger?" Xander guessed, and Spike snorted as he stepped back to admire his handiwork.
"Remember, I've been on patrol with you lot for a couple weeks now. The size of some of the beasties you've run into is enough to make me back off a little."
"Alright, so I can break. But that only applies to bad guys. Never you."
Spike's eyes widened and Xander saw him suck in a totally unneeded breath. "You sure about that, luv?" Spike asked softly. "I'm the Big Bad, I am."
Xander just smiled and leaned forward to brush a kiss on Spike's lips before hopping off the counter. He promptly hissed in pain as the movement inadvertently strained the burn, and Spike was at his side in a flash, steadying him before scooping him up and hauling him into the bedroom, protesting all the way.
"I hate it when you do that," Xander muttered after he had been deposited on the bed. "Except when you follow it up with sex. Are we gonna have sex?" he asked, suddenly hopeful.
"Later," Spike said firmly. "First we're gonna talk a bit, pet. I've got a few questions left."
"Great," Xander said, fixing his gaze on the ceiling. "Just great. I suddenly look so pitiful that my evil, undead lover would rather talk than have sex with me."
"I want to have sex," Spike said. "Just not until you tell me about the rest of the dream."
"Fine," Xander sighed, staring mournfully upwards. "I understand. You don't want me anymore. I'm not enough to satisfy you in bed."
"Xan-der," Spike warned.
"I mean, it's not like I haven't gone along with everything you've suggested," Xander continued, as if he hadn't heard the vampire. "Done everything you've asked. There was that time you wanted me to give you a blowjob blindfolded... or the time I was blindfolded and chained to the bed while you fucked me... the chocolate syrup, the feathers, the toys, the costumes..."
Spike's eyes had been starting to glaze over at the recitation, but at the last they snapped into focus again as he glared at Xander.
"Oi, we haven't done costumes!"
"Yet," Xander said persuasively, but Spike refused to let himself be further sidetracked.
"Dream," he said, and Xander sighed in defeat.
"Started in the Bronze. Giles was singing, Faith and Buffy were dancing. They said, 'Two Slayers, no waiting,' and then tried to rip my throat out." He paused. "Why do you want to know this, anyhow?"
"Because, pet," and Spike's voice was overly patient, "with the way the dream ended, it's more than likely that the rest of it might just have been a wee bit important too. So if you'll stop bitching and just tell me the rest of the dream, maybe we could figure out what the hell the whole thing means!"
"Grumpy vampire," Xander muttered, but at Spike's warning glare he continued more-or-less meekly. "Halloween, the night Ethan Rayne let loose on Sunnydale and I turned into soldier-boy."
"Speaking of costumes," Spike said, but then held up a hand when Xander showed evidence of letting himself get sidetracked. "No, no, finish you dream, pet. My fault."
"Right," Xander said, but he'd clearly marked the idea in his mind before he kept going. "Was firing out the door at some demons, and all of them ran away except Drusilla, who said that she was naming all the stars, and Buffy said, 'What do you think you're doing?' Turned around, and she was in slayer gear instead of the Princess getup, and I was carrying an axe. Told her I'd clocked field time, and I was in Buffy's basement with Cordy, only Anya was there too and she'd gotten her powers back. In the graveyard, and Angelus is coming up, but you're behind me and call him Sire, and suddenly he's Angel again. Back in the Bronze again, then Whistler appears."
"Hmmm," Spike said, then fell silent again. Impatient, Xander poked him in the ribs.
"You'd think you have a tad more to say, al the years you spent with Dru."
"I was thinkin'," Spike defended himself, twitching away from Xander's prodding finger.
"So? What do your thoughts tell you, O enlightened one?"
"Pretty simple, actually. Half of it was warning- Ethan Rayne, Anya, Drusilla, Angelus. None of them have reason to play nice with the others, especially not the demon bird, if she's heard about you crawling into bed with me. Half of it was pointers- you had two Slayers, and so there's still one left. Angel. Me. You, with all the time you've spent on the Hellmouth an' all. Getting' it yet?"
"No," Xander said. "But I am eagerly waiting for you to tell me."
"The Slayer's dead," Spike said bluntly, and the pain flinched over both their faces. "But there's still people to fight the good fight. People like you."
"Me?" Xander had his "huh-wha-huh" expression on his face, as if his brain had been caught napping, and was now frantically scrambling to catch up with the rest of the class. Spike's mind added an amusing mental image of a teacher tapping her foot impatiently to his little metaphor, but he shook it away and answered the boy's question.
"Sure, pet, like you. You've lived on the Hellmouth all your life, haven't you?"
"Well, yeah."
"And you were with the Slayer for... how long?"
"Five years," and they both ignored the flash of pain that had gotten all-too-familiar in the handful of weeks since Buffy's death.
"There you go. You have a hell of a lot more experience than most of the soddin' Watcher's counsel. You've got Giles for research, the witches for mojo, and me to hit things. What more do you need to hold the Hellmouth?"
"How about a brain, Spike?" Xander asked, "Since you clearly lost yours?"
But Spike didn't hear him. A startled expression had crossed the vampire's face, and he said, "Bleedin' hell. I think that's exactly what they want you to do. An' he gave you a little present to make it easier."
"Some present," Xander muttered. "Why can't I get the version with the shiny wrapper and little bows instead? And does that mean that you know what the hell it is now?"
"I'd have to check it, but... It's a rune bound into you to attract Fate's attention, basically."
"What?!" Xander yelped. "What have I done to make them want me dead?"
"Idiot," Spike said with little heat. "Wrong type of attention. 'S not that simple. It's a spell that draws her goodwill. Should get you powers or something. Again, have to check it out, but that's the basics."
"Great," Xander said. "I'm gonna be a superhero. Does that mean that I have to wear tights?"