Place of Despair
Aug. 8th, 2019 11:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerXander keeps using Angel instead of Angelus until he knows better. I'm using it because I'm slowly burning through my available tags.
I probably could have split this up, but it feels better as a bunch of vignettes.
The warnings for this one are no joke.
An allergy attack contributed some to the writing here, and I worked with that and one hand that can type.
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Buffy AU (for now just Yakuza inspired)
Chapter Summary: Angelus prepares a present for Buffy.
Word Count: 1887
Rating: Teen (probably; see warning and use your own judgment)
Warning: Somewhat graphic torture
“Bet you didn’t expect to be sold out by your parents,” Angel sneers when Xander wakes up, head ringing.
“Actually,” he corrects, voice distant and beyond conscious control, “It’s not the first time Papa Harris has traded me in for cold hard cash. It doesn’t matter by itself, you see, but it buys the almighty booze, and nothing matters more than that.”
There’s a definite snarl on the vampire’s face as he plays with a knife on the table. “I don’t know if you know the trouble you’re in, boy.”
“Dad really knew how to use his fists. And he got really creative with a bat. I’m a hard audience to please,” Xander smiles sweetly, lopsided through the pain and the blood he can feel encrusting the side of his mouth.
Angel leans in and whispers pleasantly in his ear, “I’m going to enjoy breaking you. I don’t have to worry about appearances.”
Which is an unfortunate, uncomfortable truth that they both know. Angel doesn’t have to worry about whether the wounds he gives can be hidden under shirts. Xander’s not so used to disfiguring wounds.
The vampire pats him on the cheek. Even gently, the touch hurts. And then leaves.
Well played. Anticipation usually hurts worse.
Xander had, fortunately or unfortunately, perfected the art of staying quiet while being beat on. Everything’s kind of sore from where he’s hanging in chains, but other than that, he's not too impressed. He’s not sure if Angel’s not trying or if the guy is rusty after all these years. Familiarity meant that despite the fact that his ribs are screaming, he isn’t. Which doesn’t do much for Angel’s desire to hear him squealing like a stuck—
There’s something icy and cold pinning his hand to the wall. It’s not until he glances over that the pain hits. That’s a dagger sticking out of his hand.
He lets out a strangled noise, then stops breathing. There’s nothing he can do about the pain, no escape. It’s radiating up his arm and he can’t pull away. He flails once and lets out a silent scream at the way it pulls on his hand. Even through the pain he can feel the blood running down his arm, the steady drip, drip, drip to the floor.
“You really should take better care of your pets,” a voice states uninterestedly.
“Are you questioning my authority again?” Angel snarls, and a figure in a wheelchair pulls into Xander’s wavering view. The voice sounds familiar, but he can’t place it particularly with the waves of pain distracting him.
“Just sayin’, ‘e’s gonna end like Dru’s last pet if you don’t bother ta heal ‘im after.” The voice sounds almost reasonable, but part of Xander just wants the pain to end.
“Good thing I found a former doctor and kidnapped a witch, then.” Angel replies. “Just wanted to enjoy the view.” And then there’s something warm and wet along his arm…Angel’s licking up the blood. He shudders and the chains rattle. Angel chuckles, and he can feel that, too.
He sinks into a haze of pain, only concentrating on breathing, because breathing’s of the good and not breathing’s of the bad.
“I don’t know whether to hurt you or thank you for the trouble you put my soul to,” Angelus whispers between licks. “Maybe thank you. You kept my hate alive, after all. When we think about that, it’s a gift.”
He’s really starting to get weak. He’s gone a bit without eating, of course, when the Harris family budget was only deemed to be enough for booze, but this is different. After another round he’d finally thrown up, accidentally all over Angel, who’d merely wiped it off and told him in a cold voice, “You’ll pay for that, boy.”
He was doing everything he could not to show the growing fear, but it’s there. Anticipation really is worse. He pissed off his dad, a beating was coming immediately, but with Angel (who everyone seems to be calling Angelus, not that he’s had the occasion to actually talk back lately with his lagging strength), the actual punishment could be, well…anytime. He’s lost track of time, between blacking out and living in a haze of agony and the fact that it’s a warehouse owned by the sunlight-challenged. Day or night was the same.
His shirt had been removed for more access, and his pants are in tatters, never mind otherwise ruined. Dignity’s all but gone, now.
The magical healing and stitches are at least keeping him alive, but it’s breaking his spirit, which he’s pretty sure is the point.
Angelus takes to telling Xander about his friends. At first, it’s easy to tell the lies from the truth, but as he loses track of day and night in a delirium of pain it becomes more and more difficult to tell the difference. At least Spike’s there to correct some of it.
“They’re not looking for you,” Angelus whispers, tracing random shapes on his skin with a knife. Lightly. Just enough to break skin and draw blood. “They don’t care about you, but you were always extra baggage to them, weren’t you? Useless. No one wanted you, not your parents, not your friends. Jesse cared, but you had to stake him, didn’t you?” Spike doesn’t bother correcting that one, but Xander knew he wouldn’t. If they’d been looking for him, he would’ve been out of here already. His hope is almost gone, but he almost doesn’t care any more. Every moment alive is a victory. Or a defeat. He’s not entirely sure, but it doesn’t much matter anymore. Does it?
Every now and then, just to spice things up, Angelus likes to latch on to his throat and feed. It’ll be awkward, if he lives, because it’ll probably scar. His best reaction was probably the first time, when he’d just thrashed around frantically, a speared fish breathing its last. Since then, he only struggles a little. He’d blamed Buffy for letting herself get bit, but now he kinda gets the appeal. It hurts, but it also feels nice, even though that, too, hurts. At least Angelus hasn’t tried to touch him like that yet, even though he might’ve had sex with Drusilla in front of him to the sound of dripping blood. Xander prefers to think of that as a hallucination, though.
He barely stirs when there’s a roaring and crackling and bright lights. He’s carried out by two vamps he’s never seen in his life, and there’s voices he barely recognizes, but he can’t tell friend from foe and can’t seem to find his voice anyway.
Xander’s mouth is parched, but he barely notices that anymore. His wrists are chafed, rubbed raw by the manacles, and he can’t feel any of the fingers on one hand. The other remains untouched. His breathing is labored—he’s pretty sure Angelus broke his ribs again. He feels lighter, now, so light he could float away.
“How are you feeling today, boy?”Angelus asks, voice sweet as honey, and Xander grins, lopsided against the crusted blood on the right side of his mouth. He can’t explain why, but that’s absolutely hilarious.
“I’m feeling pretty good myself.” The vampire picks up the knife again, and it’s almost like seeing an old friend again. “I’m glad I kept you alive. Buffy’s present is nearly ready.”
That’s funny too. He smiles up until Angel places the tip right next to his left eyelid, holding his head steady. And then presses forward, until the steel’s between his eye and the bone of his skull. Blood starts to drip down, turning his vision red and hazy.
He screams this time, like it’s his soul being pried out. Angelus moves the knife slowly, oh so slowly, like he’s using a crowbar on a stuck door…
There’s a sickening pop, and the world goes half dark. There’s blood streaming down his face, right into his mouth, but he can’t close it, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but scream. The vice grip turns into a mocking caress, but he passes out.
“Seen Xander lately?” Angelus asks almost conversationally as they’re trading blows, and as expected it’s enough to distract her and let him get a hit in. Even more so when he throws the jar with the lone brown eye, still bloody, at her and it breaks and spills all over the floor. Unfortunately, no matter how broken she must be feeling, she refuses to engage, recovering pretty quickly, and throwing herself into the fight…well, at least with more fervor than before, if not more skill.
Buffy has never wanted to run so much in her life. She did the right thing. She saved the world. Giles and Willow and, hell, probably even Xander wouldn’t understand how it felt to stab the one she loved.
But she can’t run. Not now, at least. She’d been so convinced that Xander had just been immature about Angel dating her that she’d abandoned him for months—and he might’ve even been in the warehouse when she’d rescued Giles…
She’s trying not to think about how Giles looked when she rescued him, or the eye in the jar.
She’s shut down all her emotions, gone hunting. Willow doesn’t think it’s real, but it’s because she doesn’t want to think they’d abandoned him all that time.
She’d found a couple of Angelus’s vamps willing to give her the answers she seeks with a little encouragement, and soon enough she’s breaking in. She searches every room thoroughly. Her heart stops when she finds a body and restarts when she turns it over and finds it’s a woman she doesn’t know. Finally, in one cold, dark room sees a limp figure dangling from chains, and her heart breaks all over again.
She steps forward carefully, but it looks like he’s alone. Other than some shallow breaths she doesn’t notice until she’s closer, he’s not moving.
There’s cuts all over, and his right hand doesn’t look right. There’s bruises all over his bare chest and stomach, and dried blood all over. But maybe worst of all there’s just a hole in his left eye socket. “X-Xander…” He doesn’t so much as twitch, so she takes the sword and cuts him down from the ropes. She catches him carefully, and he finally stirs, jerking a little before opening the remaining eye.
Xander can’t tell if he’s dead. He can’t say for sure but it feels like he isn’t, because he doesn’t think it would hurt if he was dead. He can’t tell how long it’s been but it feels like it’s been a while since Angelus or anyone had been in. Then again, maybe he was just working on that anticipation thing again…
There’s a voice he kind of recognizes, a familiar face, but he’s been hallucinating a whole lot more recently. It’s not until he falls into her arms that he realizes this might be real after all.
Buffy’s crying as she gathers him close. “We thought you skipped town,” she explains, and he chuckles, because that kind of faith. Well, that’s hilarious, isn’t it? Only once he’s started, he can’t quite stop. He laughs until it occurs to him that he’s not breathing this way and abruptly stops, shivering, and buries himself further in the warmth that says ‘safe’.
no subject
Date: 2022-02-19 05:13 am (UTC)BTW, found you and this series via Sunnydale Herald.
no subject
Date: 2022-02-19 08:12 am (UTC)I'm glad the Herald sent you my way /grins
~Dreamer~