Summary: Xander dies. Xander lives. Xander cops a lot of flak.
Crossover: AD&D Forgotten Realms
Disclaimer: I own all! *sounds of painful torture and lawyers barking* itaiiiiii.... I own nothing!
Feedback: Coin o' the Realm!
Warning: Some bad language used further on.
Pre-fic Comments:
Damn plot bunnies.
Words in another language get "* blah blah blah *" instead of " blah blah blah ".
* * *
Spike wandered down the street, watching the mayhem. Three foot tall monsters were chasing down citizens of Sunnydale, torturing them when they caught them. If they decided to catch them.
"This... this is just /neat/!," he said out loud, wishing Dru could see this.
He spotted the Harris boy in a soldier get-up, toting an assault rifle as if it were any good in Sunnydale. Spike decided to have a bit of fun before he got around to the Slayer. The entree before the main course.
"Hey, Harris!," he yelled, moving towards the teenager. He checked out of the corner of his eye that his leather coat was billowing properly -- without the right look, you appeared a twit rather than an imposing creature of the night.
"Identify yourself!," the youth said, raising the rifle to point it at the bleached vampire.
"You're up yourself tonight," Spike said insolently. "It's gonna be fun, killing you."
He grinned as a trail of bullets stitched a line up his torso with no effect on the undead, then took the gun off Harris before he hurt himself with it.
"Awwww... no more struggle? You just had to take the fun out of it..."
The soldier once known as Xander struggled, his body slowing until his ragged gasps for air ceased.
Alexander Lavelle Harris's body started to cool on the tarmac as Spike moved on, looking for the Slayer.
Maybe she'd be more fun than Harris.
* * *
"Hey! Death! Got another one for you!"
"Dammit, Fate! Can't you see I'm busy?"
"We've got a Sunnydale here for you!"
"Again?! Most of them don't come near me!"
"Well, we can't have him back there, even reincarnated -- he'll muck me up for fifty years or more. Get off your bony arse and come collect him!"
"Screw you! I'm having fun here in Africa!"
"Fine! I don't need you -- I'll just sort out a transfer for him to another dimension!"
"Goddamit, Fate! Just send him back already!"
"I told you once I told you a thousand times! I HAVE GOT FUCKING PLANS! Send the little prick on!"
"Fuck you buddy! I'm sending him to the Underdark!"
* * *
Normally, when one reincarnates, one's memory is wiped as a matter of course. Well, consciously. Some spiritual remnants remain.
When Xander Harris was reincarnated, it was only the first spirit tied to him that was mindwiped. The Soldier. Xander Harris came back to the forefront -- back in the driver's seat, so to speak. Hell of a way to cure possession.
The pain! Dear God, the pain! He wailed at the sheer coldness, huddling into a ball before he realised something. His arms and legs were a lot shorter than they should be. Everything was smaller than they should be, and the wrong proportions!
He opened his eyes. Xander remembered a couple of Voices fighting over what to do with him. He'd died, from what he could tell, and was now reincarnated. A greyish white blob was holding him, with more blobs around him. He couldn't understand a blessed word they were saying.
From the look of things, he wasn't in California anymore.
"*Something's different with this babe,*" one of the blobs said. Xander couldn't understand what they were saying -- his ears were brand new, and the tongue was unfamiliar. "*His eyes track us.*"
"*Perhaps this male is not as useless as the rest,*" another blob said, in that weird language that Xander could not follow.
He wished he was back in Sunnydale. The hopeless lonelyness of this reincarnation...
* * *
Post-Fic Comments:
My understanding of the society he's been born into is not perfect, so feel free to correct me.