Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fan Fiction ❯ Fear Becomes You ❯ The Living Dead ( Chapter 9 )

 

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Chapter #9: The Living Dead

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Waking up the next morning, going to the bathroom, taking a shower, and getting dressed, Xander found himself having a little more trouble than usual with ignoring everything.

It was just all so there, you know? It was just all so present and noticeable.

It seemed that as time went on, and as this thing started to look more and more permanent, Xander's ability to deny things was wearing itself out. He could only deny things for so long before they came back to hit him in the face, after all, and he had a bad feeling that the point of face-hittage was coming up pretty soon.

He couldn't go on like this. There was nothing else he could do but accept it that, yes, he was a girl, and that, yes, he would be a girl for some time.

Every other not so good thing in his life that he had ever used the ignorance-technique on—his parents, school bullies, Willow's crush on him, bad grades—that stuff had worked because they were just individual things that made up a small part of his world. They were easily ignored.

His new girlhood was a bit bigger, encompassing almost everything he could think of. Sex, school, family, friends, his clothing, going to the bathroom, reaching things in hard to reach places, even just walking around the house he had to be careful not to let his new hips bump into stuff and knock everything over.

So he knew that, logically, ignoring his girlness would never work. There would always be something to remind him and if he kept ignoring it then all he could expect was overemotional reaction after overemotional reaction every time he saw his face and was surprised.

He didn't want to be a girl, and he didn't want to accept it, but it looked like he might not have a choice.

Something which only became clearer that morning.

Taking a sip of his coffee, Giles turned the page of his morning paper and frowned at something he saw towards the bottom of the page. “Xander . . .” he said, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

“Yeah?” Xander asked, looking up from his cereal.

“I . . . I think you may want to see this.” Giles folded the paper neatly and placed it on the table in front of him, the Obituaries page face up.

Sticking another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, Xander chewed as his eyes scanned the page. Swallowing, he started to ask, “What am I supposed to be— then stopped, eyes catching on what Giles must have been talking about. There towards the bottom of the page was his name, Alexander LaVelle Harris.

And next to it: Died January 12, 1998

Xander dropped his spoon into his bowl and grabbed the paper, bringing it closer for a second look. “Alexander Harris went missing last week and has been presumed dead,” he read, “Funeral is scheduled for . . .” he trailed off, looking at the paper in shock, “I'm . . . I'm dead?”

Giles looked at him sympathetically. “It appears so.”

“But . . . but I can't be dead . . . I'm alive. I . . .” turning to Giles, half-hoping that this was just a mistake, “Don't they normally wait two weeks before declaring death? It's only been a week.”

“I thought so too, but . . .” Giles shrugged, killing Xander's hopes.

This was real.

Xander turned back to the paper, staring helplessly at the small section bearing his name. Just one out of almost fifteen deaths and only three sentences long . . . That was all he had amounted to in life apparently, and it was kind of pathetic.

“I'm dead . . .” He said again, trying out the sound of the words on his ears. It still sounded wrong.

He couldn't be dead. He was alive.

What was his mom going to do now? Who was going to help her out when Dad got too drunk?

Oh God. What was he going to do?

He couldn't ever go back home or to school if he was dead.

“I'm sorry,” Giles said, gently taking the paper from Xander's loose grip. “I'm sure that - that after all of this is through, you can go home and fix any . . . misconceptions.”

“Yeah . . .” Xander said, trying to picture that scene. It wasn't a good thought.

They'd never believe him. He'd come home, his mom would cry, and his dad would throw him out of the house. He could already hear the screaming.

And even if they did let him into the house, what about his stuff? His dad had probably sold half of it for beer money by now.

“We'll have to see about setting up a new identity for you,” Giles continued when it looked like Xander wasn't going to respond, “and see if we can enroll you in school again.”

Hearing this, Xander came out of his melancholy thoughts to look at Giles in horror. “You mean I have to go to school like this?”

He couldn't imagine a thing he wanted to do less. Because, sure, he had been going to school each day, but that was just to the library, not to the actual school where everyone could see him.

He couldn't go there as a girl. Everybody would know.

They'd recognize him somehow and laugh at his cross-dressing ways.

“Of course,” Giles replied, “We don't want you getting too far behind in your schoolwork.”

“But . . . but Giles . . . I can't go like this,” Xander's voice dangerously close to a whine, he gestured at his girl-body.

“That's what the new identity is for,” Giles said with a small disapproving frown, obviously thinking Xander didn't want to go for slacker reasons, “We have no idea how long it will take for us to find a cure and I won't have you skipping out on your education.”

“But . . .”

“Xander . . .” Giles gave him a stern look in warning. Obviously there would be no chance for changing his mind.

“Fine.” Xander frowned, crossing his arms over his chest and was almost able to not freak out at the feel of breasts. Progress.

 

 

Putting his hands into his duster pockets, Spike kicked some of the fallen debris at his feet irritably and glared at the empty warehouse.

Where the bloody hell was she?

How far could somebody in her condition actually go?

She was weak. She could barely even hunt for herself. What the fuck was she doing running off alone?

For the past week, as long as he had been able to go outside, Spike had been searching for Drusilla in every abandoned factory, warehouse, or crypt that he could find in the hopes that Dru hadn't just skipped town on him. So far, he hadn't had any luck and he was running out of places to search. Only a few more crypts, with maybe one more factory, and that was it. If Dru wasn't in any of those then she was gone for good.

Spike sighed, looking down at the dirty floor.

He couldn't imagine what he'd do if she was gone for good. On one level he pretty much knew that she was but he was trying to ignore that.

The bint had been right. This human thing was starting to sound more and more permanent and that wasn't good.

He couldn't be a human. It just wasn't right.

He was Spike, a Master Vampire, Master of the Hellmouth, William the Bloody, one of the Scourge of Europe. Just the mention of his name was enough to send lesser demons running. And for him to be human?

It was pathetic.

And it was already making him soft. He hadn't killed anyone in over a week.

He couldn't go on like this. He needed to find Drusilla. Because besides all of his more poncy reasons for looking for her, Drusilla was starting to look like his best bet for a cure. If all else failed there was always the possibility of Dru turning him again, returning everything to the way it should be.

Problem was that he had to find her first, and to find her he needed access to his old abilities and contacts. He needed to be a vampire.

He sighed again, giving the empty warehouse one last look.

Maybe he should start working on his back-up plan.

 

 

The four of them seated in the library trying to figure out just what it was that they should be doing in order to create a cure, Xander sighed in frustration, propping his head up with a hand and flipping boredly through a large and dusty book. “And we can't just find some other spell to make me a guy again, why?” he asked, “I mean, I know it's not technically a real cure, but I'd still be a guy again, right?”

Giles shook his head, not looking up from his own book as he answered, “I'm afraid that wouldn't work. Most curses simply don't work like that. It would be too easy and thus not a curse.”

“Of course,” Xander grumbled sullenly and flipped to another page. This was not turning out to be a good day for him.

Showing up at the library that day, he was only given another reason to start accepting his girlhood when it became clear that they had an even longer way to go in search of his cure than he had thought.

A realization which was only helped along all the more by Giles' less than heartening lecture on the cure-finding process and all of the little ingredients they needed. These little ingredients being such essentials as large amounts of free time, experts in the supernatural field of curse-breaking, a magical lab-type area complete with lab-rats, and a significant amount of information on the curse in need of breaking.

All of which they didn't have and had little chance of ever getting.

Hell, by next week a new baddie would probably pop up and there went a whole week of work. The Hellmouth was a busy place and his new girlhood wasn't all that important when faced with mass murder or an apocalypse. He was just thankful it had been so quiet recently.

“What if I just stopped fearing whatever it is I'm afraid of?” Xander asked, looking up and remembering Spike's question from the day before, “I mean, that could work, couldn't it?”

Giles frowned slightly, seemingly considering this thought. “That is a possibility,” he said and Xander felt his hopes beginning to rise, only for them to be crushed as Giles continued, “But I wouldn't put too much hope in it. We still don't quite know which fear it is exactly that has brought on this particular form and there are some things in life that a person can just never stop fearing.”

Xander slumped miserably in his seat. “Well that's just great.”

“Of course, it couldn't hurt to try,” Giles quickly added, looking up and obviously noticing Xander's darkening expression.

“We could even go get you some self-help books, or something,” Willow said, trying to be helpful.

“What, like, How to Conquer Your Fear in Only 12 Steps ?” Buffy asked, turning to her. “Do they have something like that?”

“I'm sure they do. They have books for everything else, so why not fear?”

Hearing their plans for him, Xander shook his head tiredly and sighed, “This is pointless,” closing his book and pushing it away from him.

Because, really, what did it even matter if he was cured now? He was already dead to everyone but Spike and the three in this room.

“I'm sorry?” Giles asked, looking over at him.

“I said: this is pointless,” Xander repeated and barely remembered not to cross his arms over his chest. He slumped further down in his chair instead.

“No it's not,” Willow protested, turning to him, “My cousin read a self-help book once and she swears it worked.”

“And even if they don't, you can always try something else,” Buffy added.

“I dunno,” Xander sighed, looking down at the tabletop unhappily, “Why even bother? It's all hopeless anyways.”

“No it's not,” Willow said again, looking upset at his negativity.

Buffy gave him a worried look. “Since when have you been so negative?”

Xander didn't look up from the tabletop, saying miserably, “Since I've died.”

“Now, Xander, just because the paper says—

“I'm dead, Giles,” Xander interrupted, giving Giles a look, “Dead.”

“Then you're awfully talky for a dead guy,” Buffy said.

“You know what I mean,” he said, turning to Buffy, unimpressed, “Everyone thinks I'm dead. I can't just come back after that.”

“Sure you can,” Buffy said, “Just say that you ran away and then decided to come back.”

“And that'll work?” he asked somewhat skeptically.

“Why wouldn't it? This is Sunnydale.”

Xander thought this over. It would probably work for most people, but his parents?

Maybe

It wouldn't save his stuff but it might be able to get him back in the house. That is, if they didn't refuse him just for the principal of the thing.

Xander sighed and sat up straighter in his seat. There was the slightest chance that this could work, and the others would probably force him to do it anyways, so he might as well stop moping and get to it. “Alright. So what do I have to do then?”

“Self-help books,” Willow reminded him.

“Right. So we go get some? Anybody have any money?”

“Giles does,” Buffy said, and they all turned to Giles expectantly, who sighed and got out his wallet.

“If you must.”

 

 

Just before sundown, after most vampires had woken up but before they could go outside, Spike stood at Angel's doorstep, looking at the small piece of paper in his hand then at the door in front of him. This was the right address.

He knocked and waited impatiently for the door to open. Finally it did, revealing a surprised looking Angel. The git probably didn't get many visitors.

“Spike? What are you—”Angel stopped, giving Spike a closer look. “You're human,” sounding amazed. “Buffy told me, but . . . wow.”

“I need a favor,” Spike said, direct and to the point, ignoring that Angel had spoken. He was on a tight schedule here, needing to be back at the Watcher's place before it got dark and they sent the Slayer out to fetch him.

“A favor?” Angel asked, shaking off his amazement and starting to look suspicious, “What kind of favor?”

“Nothing bad. Jus' need you to find Dru for me.”

Crossing his arms, Angel casually leaned against the door way, safe from the last few remaining rays of sunlight, and furrowed his brow, “Drusilla left town about a week ago,” he said, “I thought you knew.”

Dammit. He'd hoped she hadn't done that. Now finding her would be almost impossible.

But it also confirmed some of his own suspicions. “Do you know where to?” Spike asked.

“I . . .” Angel seemed to hesitate, looking Spike over again, and a strange expression grew on his face, “I don't think chasing her would be a very good idea.”

Spike narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “Why not?”

“The curse,” Angel said almost cautiously, “It made you . . . different.”

“I know that.”

“No, not that,” Angel shook his head, “I mean different as in I'm standing right here and can't feel a thing from you. The bond is gone.”

Gone?

Impossible.

They bond couldn't just disappear. It was . . . . . and Spike stopped, realizing something. It was something between two vampires. He was human.

A bad feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, Spike focused on the link that, weak as it was with Angel, still should have been there.

It wasn't.

“You're not a vampire anymore,” Angel continued, sounding off in the distance, “The bond must have broken the minute you became human.”

Broken?

“No . . .” Spike shook his head in denial, unable to believe this, “No. It's there. You just . . . You're wrong.”

Trying again, Spike delved inward, searching almost frantically for that sense of connection to Angel and then to Dru.

Neither bond was there.

“No . . .” Spike shook his head again. This couldn't be happening. “There's no way—

Angel actually had the gall to look at him sympathetically. “Dru probably felt the bond vanish and thought you were dust.”

Dust? Dru thought he was gone?

Fuck. That wasn't good.

What was she going to do now? Who was going to take care of her when she had one of her episodes? Who was going to make sure she stayed fed?

Hell, what was he going to do?

There was no way in hell she was going to help him now.

Spike looked up at Angel. Maybe . . .

“You have to turn me.”

“What?” Angel blinked, obviously startled at the sudden command.

“You have to turn me,” Spike repeated, “It's the only way.”

Angel shook his head. “I'm not going to turn you.”

“You have to,” Spike said, trying to appeal to Angel's more sire-like and protective instincts, “I have to find Dru. You know she can't take care of herself.”

“Spike,” Angel said, sounding firm in his decision, “No.”

The appealing obviously useless, Spike stopped and glared at Angel. “An' why not?” he demanded.

“Well, for one,” Angel said, talking to him as though he were stupid, “it wouldn't help you. You'd be my childe, not hers. You wouldn't even care about her anymore.”

“Yes, I would,” Spike insisted stubbornly.

“No, you wouldn't and you know it.”

“Y' jus' don't want t' help me,” he accused angrily.

“That doesn't make what I said any less true,” Angel said pointedly, turning the accusation back on him, “You should be happy. You're getting a second chance on life, here.”

“Well, maybe I don't want life.”

“Then you're being an ungrateful little brat,” Angel growled, “Here you are, with the best thing that could've happened to you and—

“Fine,” Spike interrupted Angel's growing rant, and turned to leave, “I'll get someone else to help me then.”

“Nobody is going to turn you,” Angel called after him.

Walking away with his hands clenched at his sides, Spike grit his teeth angrily. “We'll see about that.”