madimpossibledreamer: Dante fighting demons (dante)
[personal profile] madimpossibledreamer
Kryvirk--the y is still pronounced like inn, but virk rhymes with kirk, and kala rhymes with nala.
This particular song is Xander's theme in this 'verse.  The 'we' and 'army' refer to his Devil Arms, including Kryvi.
I won't call it fluff, but this is exactly the sort of hurt/comfort I needed to write after last chapter.
~Dreamer~

Main Points:
Buffy/Devil May Cry Crossover, Buffy AU
Chapter Summary:
A ghost talks Xander out of the certainty that he's a monster.
Word Count: 1150
Rating: Teen.
Warning: Suicidal thoughts.
Pairing: light Spike/Xander at this point; I'm not labeling it as shipping because it's really light at this point and if 'compact and well-muscled' can count as gen, I'm counting this.

         It takes a lot of walking before he dares look down at his arm.  It’s humanly fleshy again, though that’s probably just an illusion.
         He sees a sign on a building saying ‘stay out, condemned’ and thinks perfect.  Hopefully, no one would come looking for him here, and he can work out his next move, even if it’s just walking in front of traffic.  He ducks under the sign, chains rattling a little on the movement, and realizes he’s almost forgotten the sword slung over his shoulder like it’s his bag without any textbooks.
         The old hotel has a neat aesthetic, including one of those grand staircases with artwork.  He pauses for a moment, staring at it, confused.  If he walks this way, it’s just a normal painting of some impressive church in Europe.  If he walks this way, it’s on fire.  He’s seen the effect on Halloween decorations, but those are low-budget.  This looks super realistic, and—
         He reaches out and touches it.  It definitely feels like an actual painting, as he’d found out when he’d reached out and touched the paintings on that field trip when he was eight and got screamed at by Ms. Hartman.
         He really shouldn’t linger, his brain says, so he doesn’t.  Something’s definitely wrong with the painting, but he’s no exorcist, and he’s not sure even slashing the painting up would do too much.
         He continues up the stairs, turning into a room on a whim.  He sits heavily on the edge of the bed, contemplating the sword before pulling it to his throat.
         I wouldn’t do that, mate, a voice startles him, and he drops the sword.
         “Who—where are you?” he manages, feeling his voice shake.
         And watches in shock as a leather coat clad white-haired ghost rises out of the sword, stylish boots and all.
         I’m your sword.  Kryvirk Kala.  Nice to meet you in person, luv.  The ghost smiles.  It’s highly disturbing.
         “You’re the one who made me—!”  Xander can’t finish the sentence.  Jesse’s not—
         Some people don’t take becoming a vampire well.  Had to put down me own mum, y’know, back when I had an actual body of me own.  You weren’t gonna just lie down and take it, and you weren’t about to let your friend go through the same thing.  Pretty noble goals for a half-devil, I reckon, the ghost explains calmly, and he falls off the bed to his knees, crying loud and ugly.
         He feels a phantom touch on his back, only it’s not like the bad touches Vampire Jesse had been giving.  This one is comforting, calming circles over his shoulder blade, as a voice mutters reassurances into his ear.
         That feeling you have, mourning your friend, that’s what you’ve got to cling to.  That’s your humanity, luv.  I won’t abandon you, Xander.  I’m yours to command.
         At last he’s spent, tears easing off.  Abruptly he realizes he’s half-resting his head against a ghostly torso.
         “Sorry,” he blushes, moving away, and that fond smile is reassuring.
         Not a problem.  I responded the same to having to deal with me mum.
         He studies the spirit further, and looks back at the blade.  “You’re not entirely human, either, are you?”
         Good spotting.  See, in this world, there are three types of devils and demons.  You’ve got your types that just wanna be left alone, the ‘bugger off’ types.  You’ve got ones that sink fully into their demonic nature, unfortunately like your friend.  And you’ve got ones that step up to protect humanity.  Forget all that stuff about it just bein’ in your nature or whatever.  It’s true, you got certain tendencies—a taste for violence, for one—but we’ve got a choice, same as anyone else.  Sometimes, especially for newly made demons, though, the awareness of the choice is overwhelmed by the power inside.
         Xander considers that.  “So if I’d chained him down, or something, I probably could’ve gotten him to listen to reason eventually?”
         Yeah, but not before he did something you’d both regret.  Your friend Willow showed up, remember?  Demons can be pretty single-minded when you put our minds to it.
         The spirit arranges itself artfully on the floor, shirt riding up a little, and if Xander can be honest with himself (because all the rules of manly just get thrown out the window when you’re a demon, he guesses) it definitely draws his eye.  Then again, his libido has been mucho confused since…yesterday?  This morning?  Whatever.  A ghost cigarette appears, and for a second he wrinkles his nose before he realizes he can’t smell it.
         ‘m a demon, sure, pet.  Trapped in a sword, meanin’ I can wreck havoc with you wielding me, but can’t do too much on me own.  Most demonic weapons are like me, Devil Arms, an’ we talk and such.  Makes sense.  You, he continues, poking one ghostly finger into Xander’s cheek, to which he ducks away, giggling, interested me from the moment I saw you.  You had a dark past I could sense, but despite that your heart is pure.  You acted to protect a friend.  An’ yet, with that blood…  He shakes his head.  You’re a marvel, luv.
         “I’ve always been protective of Willow.  She’s an amazing friend; she doesn’t deserve any less.”  It feels strangely normal to be sitting in a building he’s never been in before talking to a demonic ghost from a sword.  “I guess my dad—” he pauses, before continuing, because there’s no reason not to tell anyone anymore, not if he’s never going back, “…He’d beat me.  I guess he showed me what not to be.  And I read a lot of comics and watch TV, and I guess I just acted like a hero I’ve seen.  I’m nothing original.”
         The ghost frowns, taking his head in both hands and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.  Maybe he should be freaking out, given that someone else is touching him without asking, but it just feels soft, safe, and Kryvi’s the only one he’s got left.  You’re a hero in my eyes, chief.  From the power in your veins, you’re part devil, the step above demon, and probably one of the generals at that.  And you used that power to protect a friend.
         He nods at that.  He should be shocked, but with the sudden weariness, he’s too tired to be surprised.  “Okay, first things first.  Sleep, shower, change of clothes—maybe leather, ‘cause it looks cool and would be also kinda protective—base of operations, figuring out where to go from here.  Maybe protecting other people from out of control demons?  Kryvi, you think you can stand watch?”
         The ghost helps him up as best he can and helps tuck him in.  None’ll touch you.  There’s definitely a dark undercurrent in those words, but after the events of whenever, Xander can’t blame him.  Sweet dreams, Master.

 

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