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madimpossibledreamerThis doesn't feel completely finished, to me, but there are some really neat parts. Well. 'Neat' may not be the right word for it, but I appreciate the fact that I somehow managed to make it feel like subtle despair. That's what I was going for and it wasn't quite easy to write.
Don't worry, lighter days are coming, but this was crucial to future!Xander, so crushing, crushing angst.
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Iron Man Crossover (Self-Made Hero)
Summary: Xander's still dealing with the aftermath of the failed wedding.
Word Count: 1186
Rating: Gen, ANGST
Notes: Not graphic, but contains yet more mentions of alcohol abuse and discussion of possibly attempted suicide.
So Buffy does the potentially stupid thing and grabs a power tool out of Xander’s hands.
He screams and falls over, knocking into an entire cart of tools that go crashing to the floor, which isn’t really a warranted reaction, but whatever. She’s got his attention.
If he was at all normal, he’d be screaming at her about safety (oddly enough, that’s actually a thing he cares about; she’s not sure if Tony agrees or if it’s a purely Xander thing). Instead, he just blinks at her, clutching at his heart (she’d worried about heart attacks until he realized that, like tapping his chest, was just some kind of…nervous tick, for lack of a better word). He’s blinking slowly, like he’s not really processing the fact that she’s here.
“I thought you were a hallucination,” he admits quietly. Xander might be honest, even more after the change (oddly enough), but he still wasn’t about the over-sharing. Like he’s doing. Now.
“Excuse me?” She’d been expecting to have to kick some sense into him. For being a male, for being an idiot. Whatever’s wrong is clearly worse than anything she could’ve thought.
He smiles. That little twist of a smile that she’d never seen before Tony. This one says he’s not okay and might never be again. “I haven’t slept.”
She agrees with that statement. She understands it. He looks like crap, bags under his eyes and everything, and that’s even after the makeup (she’d looked and found some in the warehouse bathroom, mostly concealers and other stuff to cover up bruises, which she’d used on more than a few occasions). Until it twists upon staring at the broken, exhausted look in his eyes and it suddenly makes a horrifying sense. “Since the wedding?” That was, what, four days ago.
Xander shrugs, exhausted, and suddenly he looks a lot smaller. “I kinda have no idea what time it is. Or what year. Or much of anything, really.” He’s not this chatty unless something’s wrong and he’s lost the ‘keep them quiet for their own good’ brain protocol.
“I’m glad you’re still alive,” Willow says quietly behind them, and the strangled noise he makes in response makes the joke she’s about to make die on her lips. What the hell? And having seen and fought actual literal demons, she doesn’t use the phrase lightly.
And then there’s yet another much more strangled noise, and she turns to look, and she sees a familiar blonde has joined them, and the anguish in Xander’s eyes as he stares at her tells Buffy that he wasn’t just a jerk that got cold feet.
“I couldn’t have sex worrying about you,” Anya says, and Xander almost chokes on a chuckle.
“Ahn. I saw the tape. You and Spike.” It’s not angry or judgey or any other -y which is just…
Like he doesn’t deserve anything. Like he doesn’t matter.
Since when was he this vulnerable? Since when did he have this little self-worth?
Anya shrugs and pouts. “Yes, but it wasn’t as enjoyable as normal, and Spike is very good so I think it was worrying about you that ruined it.”
“I never wanted to hurt you.” The heartbreak in his voice is plain as he continues to the silent room. Anya seems fine waiting it out, now that she’s said her piece. “But if I’m already going to hurt you more years down the line, then I’d rather spare you the pain. Like ripping off a band-aid.”
“You’re a good person, Xander,” Willow insists, voice quiet like it’s suddenly years ago, and he whirls on her like a cornered animal that’s been startled. It’s probably a trick of the light that there’s some green in his eyes.
“How can you say that?” he snarls. “When the first sign of trouble comes, I nearly drank myself to death. I’m pretty sure if you hadn’t come along with your magic we wouldn’t even be having this conversation because I’d have been twelve feet under.”
She shrinks in on herself, hating the memory even as Buffy starts in shock because wait what no, but Xander’s not done.
The anger all disappears, so he’s just drained and…and like an empty shell. “How can I trust myself with you, when I don’t even trust me with me?” It’s almost more to himself than it is to her, but Anya still flinches.
“I just wanted everything to stop,” he says, and Buffy’s heart stops. “I wanted the voices to shut up, I just wanted…” His voice sounds so small. “I don’t know what I was thinking; I don’t remember much.”
Buffy remembers the voices, each one distinct, from her little foray as Jean Grey and she thinks about the one having the panic attack in the corner. She thinks about the fact that most of them had alcohol, and the research she’d done to understand the changes post-Halloween, and how in a lot of them Iron Man was the instrument of his own destruction. But she realizes something else, too, here and now. She’s always thinking of Tony and Xander as separate entities, but it’s more like, no, here and now, it all adds up to one Xander Jesse Knight. Who would be massively missed.
“You had more issues than I would’ve thought,” Anya says, in her usual blunt tone. “It would’ve been hard. But I think we could’ve made it work.”
He’s crying now, but they seem to be more healing tears. “Thanks, Ahn,” he chokes out, and she hugs him and pats his head and he sobs a little into her shoulder.
“It’s too late now, of course, but you’re still a very good friend and if you decide to leave this world before you should I will call all my demonic friends to do something,” she adds.
“And you’re our Xander-shaped friend, and we’re not going to give up on you just because you’re a little bit broken,” Willow adds with utter determination and the expression Xander calls her Resolve Face and gives them about a minute before she joins them in the hug. “I should know, as your Lovely Assistant. We fix things that are a little bit broken, especially if we love them.”
The sobbing’s a little bit louder but a hand finds its way to grasp her shoulder. He’s listening.
“We’re the Island of Misfit Toys,” Buffy finishes, and rolls her eyes at the look she gets at that. “What? Still getting over the whole resurrection thing; I’m allowed to have off the wall references too. But we’re not going to just say ‘hey, I know you bullied us and all but now that you’ve accepted us just ‘cause we’re useful now that’s all okay’. We’re going to kick the ass of the world instead.”
Between the laughter and the freely crying Buffy’s a bit concerned by the choking sounds that Xander’s making, but she figures that Star will speak up if his vital signs hit ‘danger’ signals.
Don't worry, lighter days are coming, but this was crucial to future!Xander, so crushing, crushing angst.
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Iron Man Crossover (Self-Made Hero)
Summary: Xander's still dealing with the aftermath of the failed wedding.
Word Count: 1186
Rating: Gen, ANGST
Notes: Not graphic, but contains yet more mentions of alcohol abuse and discussion of possibly attempted suicide.
“Xander,” she says. No reaction. He’s still bent over the armor like it holds the secrets of the universe. “Boss.” Still no reaction.
So Buffy does the potentially stupid thing and grabs a power tool out of Xander’s hands.
He screams and falls over, knocking into an entire cart of tools that go crashing to the floor, which isn’t really a warranted reaction, but whatever. She’s got his attention.
If he was at all normal, he’d be screaming at her about safety (oddly enough, that’s actually a thing he cares about; she’s not sure if Tony agrees or if it’s a purely Xander thing). Instead, he just blinks at her, clutching at his heart (she’d worried about heart attacks until he realized that, like tapping his chest, was just some kind of…nervous tick, for lack of a better word). He’s blinking slowly, like he’s not really processing the fact that she’s here.
“I thought you were a hallucination,” he admits quietly. Xander might be honest, even more after the change (oddly enough), but he still wasn’t about the over-sharing. Like he’s doing. Now.
“Excuse me?” She’d been expecting to have to kick some sense into him. For being a male, for being an idiot. Whatever’s wrong is clearly worse than anything she could’ve thought.
He smiles. That little twist of a smile that she’d never seen before Tony. This one says he’s not okay and might never be again. “I haven’t slept.”
She agrees with that statement. She understands it. He looks like crap, bags under his eyes and everything, and that’s even after the makeup (she’d looked and found some in the warehouse bathroom, mostly concealers and other stuff to cover up bruises, which she’d used on more than a few occasions). Until it twists upon staring at the broken, exhausted look in his eyes and it suddenly makes a horrifying sense. “Since the wedding?” That was, what, four days ago.
Xander shrugs, exhausted, and suddenly he looks a lot smaller. “I kinda have no idea what time it is. Or what year. Or much of anything, really.” He’s not this chatty unless something’s wrong and he’s lost the ‘keep them quiet for their own good’ brain protocol.
“I’m glad you’re still alive,” Willow says quietly behind them, and the strangled noise he makes in response makes the joke she’s about to make die on her lips. What the hell? And having seen and fought actual literal demons, she doesn’t use the phrase lightly.
And then there’s yet another much more strangled noise, and she turns to look, and she sees a familiar blonde has joined them, and the anguish in Xander’s eyes as he stares at her tells Buffy that he wasn’t just a jerk that got cold feet.
“I couldn’t have sex worrying about you,” Anya says, and Xander almost chokes on a chuckle.
“Ahn. I saw the tape. You and Spike.” It’s not angry or judgey or any other -y which is just…
Like he doesn’t deserve anything. Like he doesn’t matter.
Since when was he this vulnerable? Since when did he have this little self-worth?
Anya shrugs and pouts. “Yes, but it wasn’t as enjoyable as normal, and Spike is very good so I think it was worrying about you that ruined it.”
“I never wanted to hurt you.” The heartbreak in his voice is plain as he continues to the silent room. Anya seems fine waiting it out, now that she’s said her piece. “But if I’m already going to hurt you more years down the line, then I’d rather spare you the pain. Like ripping off a band-aid.”
“You’re a good person, Xander,” Willow insists, voice quiet like it’s suddenly years ago, and he whirls on her like a cornered animal that’s been startled. It’s probably a trick of the light that there’s some green in his eyes.
“How can you say that?” he snarls. “When the first sign of trouble comes, I nearly drank myself to death. I’m pretty sure if you hadn’t come along with your magic we wouldn’t even be having this conversation because I’d have been twelve feet under.”
She shrinks in on herself, hating the memory even as Buffy starts in shock because wait what no, but Xander’s not done.
The anger all disappears, so he’s just drained and…and like an empty shell. “How can I trust myself with you, when I don’t even trust me with me?” It’s almost more to himself than it is to her, but Anya still flinches.
“I just wanted everything to stop,” he says, and Buffy’s heart stops. “I wanted the voices to shut up, I just wanted…” His voice sounds so small. “I don’t know what I was thinking; I don’t remember much.”
Buffy remembers the voices, each one distinct, from her little foray as Jean Grey and she thinks about the one having the panic attack in the corner. She thinks about the fact that most of them had alcohol, and the research she’d done to understand the changes post-Halloween, and how in a lot of them Iron Man was the instrument of his own destruction. But she realizes something else, too, here and now. She’s always thinking of Tony and Xander as separate entities, but it’s more like, no, here and now, it all adds up to one Xander Jesse Knight. Who would be massively missed.
“You had more issues than I would’ve thought,” Anya says, in her usual blunt tone. “It would’ve been hard. But I think we could’ve made it work.”
He’s crying now, but they seem to be more healing tears. “Thanks, Ahn,” he chokes out, and she hugs him and pats his head and he sobs a little into her shoulder.
“It’s too late now, of course, but you’re still a very good friend and if you decide to leave this world before you should I will call all my demonic friends to do something,” she adds.
“And you’re our Xander-shaped friend, and we’re not going to give up on you just because you’re a little bit broken,” Willow adds with utter determination and the expression Xander calls her Resolve Face and gives them about a minute before she joins them in the hug. “I should know, as your Lovely Assistant. We fix things that are a little bit broken, especially if we love them.”
The sobbing’s a little bit louder but a hand finds its way to grasp her shoulder. He’s listening.
“We’re the Island of Misfit Toys,” Buffy finishes, and rolls her eyes at the look she gets at that. “What? Still getting over the whole resurrection thing; I’m allowed to have off the wall references too. But we’re not going to just say ‘hey, I know you bullied us and all but now that you’ve accepted us just ‘cause we’re useful now that’s all okay’. We’re going to kick the ass of the world instead.”
Between the laughter and the freely crying Buffy’s a bit concerned by the choking sounds that Xander’s making, but she figures that Star will speak up if his vital signs hit ‘danger’ signals.
