Chapter 6: Found and Lost
Mar. 30th, 2018 11:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerMain Points:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Bleach (I Hope Tomorrow's a Better Day)
Chapter Summary: Xander has weird dreams and an even weirder experience.
Word Count: 910
Rating: Gen
Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Bleach (I Hope Tomorrow's a Better Day)
Chapter Summary: Xander has weird dreams and an even weirder experience.
Word Count: 910
Rating: Gen
Xander’s aware he’s dreaming, for once. His father shoves him back into a bedside table, and yeah, he definitely hurt his head, he needs to keep an eye on himself in mirrors and make sure his pupils are normal, when suddenly there’s a flash of anger.
It’s a dark, burning anger, the sort he only vaguely remembers from that point he’d been possessed by the hyena, and he imagines cracking his dad’s head open and watching the man bleed.
Only for a second. It’s awful. It’s not really like him, either, because, well. Okay, it might make him more sadistic, not less, but he prefers living revenge, the sort where the guy can suffer—maybe from being laid off again—and watch his son go on and be successful. In something. Anything, really, but the point remains that the best revenge is a life well-lived, or whatever the phrase is.
And then he abruptly falls through the floor to what appears like an endless sand flat-slash-lake. If his brain is trying to come up with weird I Was Nearly Sacrificed metaphors (minus the t-shirt; he should complain—were they all out or something? Then again, it’s Sunnydale, so that’s entirely disturbingly possible) it’s really failing, because this is really nothing like being dead. Plus it feels like someone’s watching him, and it doesn’t even feel as sketchily sort-of-friendly as Spike, either.
“Hello?” he calls out. No one answers, not that he had been really expecting anything. The kind of creepy thing is, while he’d been wearing his clothes when he’d been in his house in the dream (not pajamas, they were too vulnerable; he didn’t need to spend good money on them), he’s back in that weird black Japanese robe-thing. At least he doesn’t have that sword.
There’s nothing in any direction. Just more of the weird, creepy mirror-lake thing, which doesn’t even quite have enough water to splash. It is soaking through the socks, though. He’s not quite as cold as he probably should be, but then, it’s a dream. It doesn’t have to make sense.
Standing here just feels awkward, so he begins walking. He feels like he’s moving faster than he really should be, but it could just be lingering shock. It’s not like he has anything to measure his movement against. It’s vast and alien and just kind of creepy.
He realizes that either there’s weird wind-like things going on or something’s really watching him, because he can hear something like whispers. Very, very quiet, to the point they’re either in a different language or it’s just that weird phenomenon when someone’s saying something so quietly it doesn’t sound like it’s in English even though it totally is, but then, if it’s not actually anything sentient, it would sound unintelligible, wouldn’t it?
He stops mid-stride. It hurts a little. He probably should exercise more if only because it might make him faster when it comes time to run and therefore more likely to live, a condition of which he approves. Not a sound. No whispering, no wind, even. Movement. More ‘whispering’.
Maybe it’s just the clothes, or something. He’s definitely not used to how they work, so it’s possible, anyway.
Unfortunately, no matter how long he moves, nothing changes. Nothing comes up on the horizon. He looks back, and the mirror-like reflection even hides his footprints, so he can’t see where he’s been.
“Well, this is just cree—” he begins to muse to himself. And then he hears the familiar ring.
It’s the phone, he realizes as he sits up and reaches for it, and his hand goes right through it, and that’s the exact point at which he realizes he’s not in his cursed—possibly quite literally—body. Again.
He promptly freaks out, understandably, until it occurs to him to look down and see his body still laying there like he’s still asleep, at which point there is even more freaking.
“Get the damn phone!” he hears yelled down the stairs, which—yeah, okay, if the stakes weren’t high enough—this is fine, right. This is okay. They asked Osiris to intercede, he did obviously, he wouldn’t mind helping out again, right? Seriously, he adds in his head, which is not really all that necessary since his parents can’t actually hear him like this, but you know, habits, you really wouldn’t like me when I’m angry about being taken before my time from my friends.
He’s not sure about the sheepish amusement, whether it comes from him or something else, but he supposes it can’t hurt to—what, try to get back in his body? He lays back down, and tries to will himself inside, remember how awesome it is to have a body even if most of what it’s good for is getting thrown around and bruised instead of his friends, and it takes a whole moment where he thinks it isn’t working, and then suddenly he takes a big, gasping breath and he’s real again. His body feels weird, but then, he probably hasn’t been breathing for a minute, so that’s only to be expected, really.
“I’ve got it!” he shouts up and runs, full speed, up the stairs, almost knocking over his mom who blinks at him sleepily. At least this is her I’ve seen this kid somewhere before expression rather than her who is this person and why should I care expression. He doesn’t notice that he’s moving faster, again.
It’s a dark, burning anger, the sort he only vaguely remembers from that point he’d been possessed by the hyena, and he imagines cracking his dad’s head open and watching the man bleed.
Only for a second. It’s awful. It’s not really like him, either, because, well. Okay, it might make him more sadistic, not less, but he prefers living revenge, the sort where the guy can suffer—maybe from being laid off again—and watch his son go on and be successful. In something. Anything, really, but the point remains that the best revenge is a life well-lived, or whatever the phrase is.
And then he abruptly falls through the floor to what appears like an endless sand flat-slash-lake. If his brain is trying to come up with weird I Was Nearly Sacrificed metaphors (minus the t-shirt; he should complain—were they all out or something? Then again, it’s Sunnydale, so that’s entirely disturbingly possible) it’s really failing, because this is really nothing like being dead. Plus it feels like someone’s watching him, and it doesn’t even feel as sketchily sort-of-friendly as Spike, either.
“Hello?” he calls out. No one answers, not that he had been really expecting anything. The kind of creepy thing is, while he’d been wearing his clothes when he’d been in his house in the dream (not pajamas, they were too vulnerable; he didn’t need to spend good money on them), he’s back in that weird black Japanese robe-thing. At least he doesn’t have that sword.
There’s nothing in any direction. Just more of the weird, creepy mirror-lake thing, which doesn’t even quite have enough water to splash. It is soaking through the socks, though. He’s not quite as cold as he probably should be, but then, it’s a dream. It doesn’t have to make sense.
Standing here just feels awkward, so he begins walking. He feels like he’s moving faster than he really should be, but it could just be lingering shock. It’s not like he has anything to measure his movement against. It’s vast and alien and just kind of creepy.
He realizes that either there’s weird wind-like things going on or something’s really watching him, because he can hear something like whispers. Very, very quiet, to the point they’re either in a different language or it’s just that weird phenomenon when someone’s saying something so quietly it doesn’t sound like it’s in English even though it totally is, but then, if it’s not actually anything sentient, it would sound unintelligible, wouldn’t it?
He stops mid-stride. It hurts a little. He probably should exercise more if only because it might make him faster when it comes time to run and therefore more likely to live, a condition of which he approves. Not a sound. No whispering, no wind, even. Movement. More ‘whispering’.
Maybe it’s just the clothes, or something. He’s definitely not used to how they work, so it’s possible, anyway.
Unfortunately, no matter how long he moves, nothing changes. Nothing comes up on the horizon. He looks back, and the mirror-like reflection even hides his footprints, so he can’t see where he’s been.
“Well, this is just cree—” he begins to muse to himself. And then he hears the familiar ring.
It’s the phone, he realizes as he sits up and reaches for it, and his hand goes right through it, and that’s the exact point at which he realizes he’s not in his cursed—possibly quite literally—body. Again.
He promptly freaks out, understandably, until it occurs to him to look down and see his body still laying there like he’s still asleep, at which point there is even more freaking.
“Get the damn phone!” he hears yelled down the stairs, which—yeah, okay, if the stakes weren’t high enough—this is fine, right. This is okay. They asked Osiris to intercede, he did obviously, he wouldn’t mind helping out again, right? Seriously, he adds in his head, which is not really all that necessary since his parents can’t actually hear him like this, but you know, habits, you really wouldn’t like me when I’m angry about being taken before my time from my friends.
He’s not sure about the sheepish amusement, whether it comes from him or something else, but he supposes it can’t hurt to—what, try to get back in his body? He lays back down, and tries to will himself inside, remember how awesome it is to have a body even if most of what it’s good for is getting thrown around and bruised instead of his friends, and it takes a whole moment where he thinks it isn’t working, and then suddenly he takes a big, gasping breath and he’s real again. His body feels weird, but then, he probably hasn’t been breathing for a minute, so that’s only to be expected, really.
“I’ve got it!” he shouts up and runs, full speed, up the stairs, almost knocking over his mom who blinks at him sleepily. At least this is her I’ve seen this kid somewhere before expression rather than her who is this person and why should I care expression. He doesn’t notice that he’s moving faster, again.
