Azure Halloween
Summary: Crossover with something of my own invention Halloween fic. Things will never be the same again for Xander.
Disclaimer: Buffy belongs to Fox Interactive and Mutant Enemy. No copyright infringement intended. Anything not recognizable as someone else's work most likely belongs to me. Mitts off.
Edit 9/7/07: Fixed a typo in paragraph 4. No such word as 'rannshar', should've been a space there.
Chapter 10
Cold.
Wet.
Hungry.
Skulking between the strange nest-dwellings, talons slipping and sticking on the odd stone-yet-not-stone, thick heavy rain falling and dripping off azure scales that were slick with the skin with cold, the changed one voiced his ire and confusion with a low thrumming growl directed to no-one in particular. Everything in this place smelled wrong, felt strange-different-alien.. and yet so familiar. Even the wind smelled of dust-smoke-poison, the clear-fresh-cool of rainwater bringing it a tang of bitter-burn-poison with it, a hint of black-brass-burn-bile -fisth- that made his scales itch and burn uncomfortably with every droplet flowing along the living crystal. And the taint- this place was not right. Wrongness surrounded him, surged in the air, pulsed within the earth and flowed from the stones- it was a smell that wasn't a smell, a stench of evil-darkness-death-decay-taint that he couldn't smell with his snout but with his spirit.
Pain lanced suddenly from between his eyes, burn-claw-slash-stab that seared and cut its way throughout every fiber of his body from the tip of his horns to the pads of his feet. Claws slid and faltered, wings twitched and tail flexed as he swayed-
-Four obsidian talons sunk into stone with a soft crunch before he could fall. He snarled weakly to himself, a low, pulsing purr like distant thunder. It hurt to think, to remember, a dissonant stream of shattered images and meaningless words, trackless scents and broken memories that stung and burned, flashes of scream-death-fire-darkness-deathless-blood-rage-pain-war tearing and clawing at his mind-
-of the crimson female. Remembering her hurt still but less than the sensations of mindless rage. She was familiar, she was important, she was shar'rann, zhoda'chroo'rann, orentach'rann, shar'orentach'zhoda'chroo'rann, clan-sister, Dal'senn'rann, Little Tree- she smelled of spicy-brown-bark, little-sweet-red-berries, of blood-sweat-terror-flee-or-die-
Ner!
Taloned feet faltered, slipped, found purchase. His tail dragged and wings drooped from the pain as he trudged forward.
Remembering her made him angry, black fire pulling him back into the mindless, senseless rage, and it hurt, the animal fury- he'd been angry, so angry.. she hadn't moved and the dust of the dead-that-walk had stung his eyes and nose and then came the screaming blue-white metal beasts with flashing blue and red lights that hurt his eyes- and then the pale things that made squeaky noises and the blinding white lights and the black metal things that smelled of red-gold-sulfur-blood-death that made loud noises and stung- and she was hisshar'orentach'zhoda'chroo'rann and she was hurt and he was hurt and he'd been so angry-
Black claws slid along smooth creamy yellow bone plates and caught on splintered cracks that still faintly seeped gleaming red-black blood that made faint crackling noises- and he was hurt, he was cold, he was wet- and hungry. So hungry. But there was no smell of prey here, nothing he could eat, no stalk-hunt-pounce-feed-
Light. Fire. Warmth.
A thin crack in the wood of one of the nest-dwellings spilled red-gold light. Black slit pupils narrowed, a single golden eye pressed to the crack- there were three things inside the nest-dwelling, small flabby pale things that made squeaking noises at each other and smelled of soot-rot-tar- and there was fire inside, tiny pieces of crackling wood and scraps that shed light and warmth-
Black talons flexed, struck, pulled- and rot-softened wood and rusting metal cracked and screeched, the little flabby things screaming and squeaking, running as he crawled in through the hole he had made. He bared fangs and gave a low snarl and the pale things squeaked and were gone.
Fire. Warmth. Mine.
Hunching over the tiny flames, leathery wings unfolded with a thick shuffling noise, sheltered the little bonfire from the draft as the horned head bowed, translucent nictitating membranes sliding over golden eyes moments before more normal eyelids fluttered shut.
Hurt.
Warm.
Dry.
Sleepy.
Still hungry..
I#I#I#I#I
Beep.. Beep.. Beep..
Slowly, a persistent, high-pitched beeping penetrated the mass of darkness around her and pervaded her consciousness. Waking up, following that beeping like she would a safety rope, felt like she was trying to reach the surface of a thick, black and cold marsh; every single stroke was a struggle and all through the entire process she wasn't even entirely sure if she was going in the right direction.
Finally, her eyelids felt like they were made of solid lead as she opened them. Bright light- too bright!- made her eyes water and she made a low moaning noise.
"Willow?"
A darker blur appeared in the center of her field of vision. As it slowly resolved into the face of an older, worried-looking man with glasses she became aware of a stinging sensation in the crook of her right elbow, several something-s stuck to the skin of her chest and the heavy, bitter chemical tang of antiseptics in the air. The steady beeping to the rhythm of her heartbeat completed the image.
"Giles?"
'Giles' was what she tried to say but her throat was dry and her tongue stuck to the roof of her throat. A sound that was a pretty equal mixture between 'Glshh' and a throaty croak issued.
"Do you need water?"
She nodded gratefully before wincing at the odd dizzy sensation she got after moving her head too fast. Moments later she was handed a translucent plastic cup complete with a plastic straw. After a second's awkward pause Giles helped her up into a half-sitting position.
A few careful sips later – at least the water was clear, cool and refreshing- she felt she was ready to try talking again.
"Giles? Why.. Why are we in the hospital?"
The Watcher-slash-librarian flinched, then took his glasses off and began to clean them as he spoke.
"The police found us, unconscious and with various degrees of injury, shortly after the.. attack on the library." The word 'vampire' didn't need to be spoken. "Oz and I were diagnosed with mild concussions and were released shortly. You.. " -the glasses found their way back onto his nose- "you were in a severe state of shock, unconscious. We've been watching over you ever since."
Something in Giles' expression made little warning bells come on inside her mind. "'We?' How- how long have I been here?"
Glasses off, polish, glasses on. "Willow.. you've been unconscious for the last five days. And.. 'we' refers to.. myself, Oz and Cordelia.."
Her mouth ran dry again, but this time the water didn't seem to be helping.
"Willow.. God, I don't even know where to begin.. Kendra's in this very hospital as well, in the critical ward.. the doctors here aren't sure if she's going to make it. I think she was nearly drained but something distracted the vampire before it could finish what it started."
Willow thought she had seen a flash of the dark-skinned Slayer not minutes before.. a mental flash of azure and sapphire blue scales interrupted that thought.
If that hadn't been enough to distract a vampire nothing was, she thought with a shiver.
"Are you all right, Willow?"
She forced herself to nod. "As good as can be expected. Breathing is always a plus. What about.."
Giles coughed. "Buffy.. Buffy's gone into hiding. But Xander.. no-one's seen him since the attack. Under the circumstances I can't say if I'm sure that's a bad thing."
Willow blinked. "Wait, what was that supposed to mean?"
A hard glint appeared in Giles' eyes. "Principal Snyder" -he spat out the name like it was a curse- "has, regardless of my efforts to the contrary, managed to convince the Sunnydale Police Department that it was Buffy, or Xander, or both of them that wrecked the library and nearly killed Kendra.. They're both wanted for questioning."
Her eyes bulged. "Snyder what?!"
Giles nodded soberly. "Buffy has gone into hiding, trying to avoid the police while attempting to locate Angelus' true headquarters.. which is a difficult task, to say the least. I.. I would like to think that Alexander has gone into hiding as well but.. I.. we found his.. weapon and clothes at the library, Willow, before the police did. His clothes.. Willow, they were-"
The wet rip of flesh tearing and regrowing, cloth ripping and the crack of bones shattering and reforming rang through her mind and she flinched.
"..they were torn apart.." she whispered.
"How did- Willow, did you see what happened?"
"..he left the Stormhammer?"
Giles blinked. "He called it that? Yes, he did, if he left it at his own volition.. Willow, if you saw what happened, it's vital that you tell me all you know. Something destroyed or drove off all those vampires and I seriously doubt it was Alexander alone."
Willow choked back a bitter laugh. She wasn't exactly sure that if she began to laugh or cry she could stop.
"Would that I could tell you, Giles.. but it's not my secret to tell, I'm bound. But it was Xander that destroyed those vampires.. and wherever he is, he isn't one. He's alive.. I know he is. He has to be."
Giles gave her a long, hard stare and opened his mouth like he was going to say something but then his coat pocket beeped. He froze, then blinked.
"Excuse me.. I'll be right outside, Willow."
Willow gave his retreating back a glance, then fell back onto the bed. Flashes of golden eyes and crackling lightning kept running through her mind's eye.
"Oh, Xander.." she whispered, feeling a hot wetness on her cheeks, "..what happened to you..?"
I#I#I#I#I
Snap.
Eyelids covered with a thin layer of crystalline azure scales flashed open, baring metallic golden eyes with black slit pupils. A flare of dim crimson light ignited deep within, the pupils narrowing until they were mere blazing vertical slits against fierce gold.
Ghuurrrrr..
Muscular jaws parted, baring rows upon rows of razor-sharp ivory fangs in a low snarl. A ripple of scale-covered muscle and sinew caped azure wings against sturdy muscle and bone. Finlike ears unfolded, nostrils flaring to scent the cold air.
Footsteps. No breath, no heartbeat. The smell of death, blood, and the dark, cold soil.
Darkness.
"D'ya think there's something here?"
Squeaking sounds, again with that strange feeling of both familiar and alien. Faint arcs of blue-white energy snapped and crackled around ivory white fangs and horns.
"Govornans are cowards. Could've been just about anything that scared them off."
Footsteps, coming closer.
"Thought they said whatever it was was big?"
Snort.
"Everything looks big when you're two feet tall."
Movement from the other side of the nest-dwelling; razorblack talons scraped the floor, firm muscles coiling, charging to launch seven hundred pounds of scale-covered death clear across the room.
"I mean, c'mon, if you're two feet tall even a goblin looks pretty scary, doesn't it? I don't think we're going to find anything in this hell.. hole.. oh cr-"
GhrrRRAAAHHHHRRRLLLL!!!
I#I#I#I#I
What a mess..
Wind rustled loose pages from ancient, nearly irreplaceable books, scrolls and tomes, moaning with a nearly mournful tone in windows haphazardly covered in tarpaulin. A thick layer of vampiric ashes still covered the hardwood floor, disturbed in places by shoe- and bootprints and blown smooth in others by the swirling air currents. Tatters of yellow tape, wood fragments, scraps of cloth and shards of glass littered the dust-covered floor. In places the ashes were stained a deeper red-brown-black. The chalk-drawn patterns of the magic circle they had taken several hours to draw was only barely visible, scuffed and covered in dust; and in the center of the room, a fifteen-foot circle of hardwood floor was nearly completely clear of dust, the wood in the circle scorched and pitted and the very center scarred and torn like someone had taken an axe to it.
Something crunched underfoot when she moved. A leather-bound tome, lying open with its pages downwards, an invaluable repository dating back from the 17th century. The age-hardened leather of the cover was scuffed and cracked, and when she picked it up the yellowed pages were scuffed with dust, dirt and blood, illegible and some hanging nearly loose from the spine.
Useless, she thought. So much lost.. for what?
"Somehow I knew I'd find you here, Willow."
Her mind went eek. An instinctive flinch sent the ruined tome falling for a split second before she reacted, grasping, missing, and fumbling, resulting in a moment's air-juggle before she actually caught the book.
"Giles!" she squeaked, "Don't sneak up on me!"
The Watcher blinked. "I.. Willow, I've been trying to reach you for a while now. Either that infernal contraption is acting up again or your cell phone's battery has run out again."
Willow blinked once, then fished her cell out of her jeans pocket. A single glance told her the battery was, once again, very dead. She blushed and tried to stammer an apology but Giles beat her to it.
"Willow, it's.. I need to talk to you. It's about Kendra."
The grave look the older man had on his face made a weight settle on her heart.
"No.. Is she.. did she.."
"Wha- no, no, the doctors tell me she has stabilized. It's- Willow, I visited her earlier today, and she woke up for a minute. It wasn't much, but.." the Watcher glanced downwards, then took a double-take, his eyes narrowing.
"Kendra told me.. that she saw something happen to Xander. I think.. Willow, I think there's something you should tell me."
Willow looked down at her feet, where the face-down book had covered a footprint like that of a bird of some kind, an imprint of a paw with three long toes and narrow talons, the longest of which measured at least eight inches. She couldn't help herself. She began to cry, falling tears mixing with dried blood and vampire dust.
She didn't remember moving but she found herself sobbing against Giles' shoulder, the arms of the bewildered Watcher around her in a comforting gesture.
"Made me swear.." she sobbed. "Couldn't tell you.. Swore by the love of the Goddess.. wouldn't let you hurt him.."
"Shh, Willow" Giles told her in a low voice, "We can help him.. if you tell me what happened. All of it."
"He.. He's still Xander, I know it.. just.. he's different now, has been for months, it just.. I think the vampire made him complete it .. finish it faster.."
"Tell me everything you can, Willow" Giles prodded gently.
And she did, sniffing and sobbing all the time until the Watcher's shoulder was wet with tears.
I#I#I#I#I
"..And he destroyed those vampires, didn't he?"
"He did" she sniffed. "Tore them.. tore them apart like they were paper."
"Who tore what apart, now?"
A familiar male voice sent a chill through her spine. Suddenly Willow found herself standing behind the shoulder of a tense Watcher, a vial of holy water clutched in Giles' hand so hard his knuckles were turning white.
A tall, blonde figure stepped out from the shadows near the library's back exit, glancing around with a smirk.
"Really did a number on the place, didn't they?"
"Spike" Giles spat out. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for the Slayer, actually" the blonde vampire responded jovially. "Got some business to discuss.. now put that thing away, if I wanted you two dead we wouldn't be talking now, would we?"
Giles glared. "You'll excuse me if I'm not convinced, William."
The vampire rolled his eyes. "The one thing I'm actually doing something for you blokes, and this is the thanks I get?"
"For us?" Willow snapped. "You did this!"
"You wound me" Spike drawled back. "For the record, I had nothing to do with this.. not that I had anything against it, mind you, luv.. this was entirely the Poof's idea. Now are you going to listen to me or are we just gonna stand here trading insults?"
"What are you going on about?" Giles growled.
Spike grinned. "Why, the Great Poof's home lair, of course!"
Willow blinked. "See now.. I don't get it. You're a vampire, shouldn't you be, y'know, trying to kill us and not.. well, help us? Not that I'm complaining, no" she squeaked when Spike glared at her. "Helping is good, we all like helping, you know.."
"She has a point, Spike" Giles hissed at the vampire.
"Look, you two" Spike snapped back, "Yes, I'm a vampire, and I wanna take over the world one bite at a time. All vampires do. Now, the Poofmeister's going to feed this world to that Acathla bloke. Now, personally I don't care what happens to you but I sure as bloody Hell am not interested in ruling over a chunk of bloody demon crap. Look, just listen to me for a moment and I'll leave you alone, all right? I'll pick up Dru and then none of you needs to see either of us again."
A long pause. Spike tried a friendly smile largely ruined by his fangs.
"All right," Giles finally spoke in a cold, low voice, "talk."
I#I#I#I#I
Ghhrrrrrrrr..
Pathetic.
A long, muscular tongue slid over rows of ivory white fangs before he spat out a bitter-tasting mixture of gray-brown ashes and coppery red blood.
His wounds were almost entirely healed now, and the rest and lessened pain allowed for partial clarity. Hissing at the remains of the two wrong-dead-dark creatures, his talons dug deep into the aged wooden floor.
Clan was attacked, he remembered now. He could remember the scent of clan-sisters, of clan-brother.. the dry dusty scent of knowledge and power and clan-elder. He knew the smell of clan and clanhold, the taint of clan-enemy, threat-to-clan, spilled clan-blood..
A deep, rumbling growl vibrated his erstwhile shelter, his wings unfolding partially as power flickered and crackled upon scale, flesh and bone.
He knew the scent of clan-enemy.. and that of the clan-traitor.
