This story is set in the middle of BTVS's season 5.
These characters belong to the good people at Mutant Enemy.
Underground
“Please don’t let us be too late. Please don’t let us be too late.”
Willow was muttering under her breath again. Tara looked at her, but didn’t say anything, just reached out a hand to touch her arm.
“We’ll make it,” Buffy said softly. She looked out the car window. “We’re close to the park.”
“Yeah, I know.” Willow smiled, but it was unconvincing.
“They can’t kill him. They can’t kill anyone again until the next Rising of Okelle.”
Anya shifted in the front seat. She said tersely, “But they can still hurt him.” It was almost a question.
“Yes,” Giles said reluctantly, as he pulled the car to a stop and put the parking brake on. “They can allow someone to die through inaction, but can no longer actively kill.”
“Thanks to Xander,” Willow whispered to herself as she opened the door.
They all piled out. Willow spread out the rough map on the hood of the car, squinting in the moonlight. She pointed towards the oak tree and ordered, “Buff, you and Tara go over there. Remember, it’s somewhere on the north side. Giles and I will take this spot, under the ash trees,” she gestured. “Anya, you can help us.”
“Do you have your crystal?” Tara asked gently. Willow delved in her pocket, pulling out a quartz crystal on a string. Tara said, “D-do you remember how to find the intersection of the ley lines?” Willow nodded.
Giles and Buffy grabbed the two bags of equipment, and the two groups set out.
When she reached the ash trees, Willow took a jade crystal from her pocket. She muttered a short rhyme under her breath, and dangled it above the ground, moving it in a figure-of-eight.
She walked around the trees until it stopped dead. “This is the spot, people,” she announced. “This is where we dig.”
Giles placed the bag on the ground with a grunt. He rubbed his wrist over the bandage. “Damn,” he muttered.
“Giles, you can’t dig,” Anya said bluntly. “You’re still in pain from the first fight with the Cult. You’re no use to us.”
“She’s right, Giles,” Willow said. “You can't shovel with only one arm, and what if Buffy and Tara find something, or need your help?”
Giles nodded reluctantly, and watched the two girls set to work. The area was cramped, constrained by two ash trees and a willow tree. Not much room to swing a shovel.
However, it didn’t take long.
“I think I see something.”
“Let me.”
“But-”
“Shut up, Anya. I put up with you for his sake. I’m even beginning to like you. You can help me. But if you get in my way, I will tear off your arm and beat you to death with it, rip out your entrails, cast your soul to the winds, bury you in four different places and then I will salt the earth.”
****
Earth trickled onto his face. Barely conscious, he groaned and once again tried to shift into a more comfortable position. Then he realised, once again, that there was no more comfortable position. He took another shallow, uneven breath, knowing in his gut that there wasn’t much time left. He heard something move above him.
He heard a shout. The lid moved, maybe an inch. Someone was digging – it became more and more frantic, then the lid was shoved aside, light like acid in his face, and hands reached for him again, but not to hurt…
****
“Good lord,” Giles breathed as Willow and Anya heaved the limp figure into his arms. The three of them eased Xander gently to the ground, then the two girls scrambled out. Willow cradled the ashen face in her bleeding hands, sobbing quietly. Anya straightened his shirt; a reflex, dazed action.
Giles looked on in shock. The change in Xander was horrifying. He was emaciated; covered in bites, scratches, and welts. His face was stark white. He was as pale as –
He was as pale as someone who’d endured three days of torture and blood loss before being buried alive.
Giles collected himself and turned, waving frantically to the others. Buffy and Tara raced over from the second dig site.
****
He could hear voices. /Oh no, not again/ he thought muzzily. /There’s nowhere left on me to bite./
****
Dawn’s voice came vaguely through the mist. She was struggling with tears. “C’mon, you goofball, you have to be okay. Me and Willow can’t hold the Big Spaz Club meetings without our treasurer.” She laughed shakily.
He tried to say something witty and comforting, but his brain was dust. All his thoughts were blood. Blood gushing from him, taking warmth, taking speech, taking thoughts. Then sleep came for him again.
****
White bandages in front of his face. Someone clumsily stroking his hair, murmuring nonsense. He flinched, waiting for the pain.
The hands withdrew.
****
Running, breath rasping in his throat. /Not gonna make it/. Even with the extra fitness gained from construction work, he was too slow. Too exhausted. Footsteps behind him. Laughing, jeering voices. Willow a few paces ahead, nearly to the trees. Nearly to – relative – safety, where Buffy and Giles, in spite of his sprained wrist, fought the old-style vampires. He stumbled on the uneven ground.
“Here, take it!” he gasped, throwing the Okelle medallion with his last drop of strength. It arced overhead, falling somewhere in front of Willow. She looked back at him, fear in her eyes.
“You have to destroy it!” he called, as emphatically as he could with the last molecules of air in his lungs.
He turned and ran towards his pursuers, the few who hadn’t been lured by Buffy’s decoy attack. Somehow, he summoned up the energy to scream, to make the evil bastards pause. Long enough for Willow to make it to the other two, where she would have the vital few seconds of safety so she could destroy the medallion.
He hoped.
He fought, but they subdued him quickly. He only caught brief glimpses of his opponents, images and impressions. Breath hot in his face, hands slamming him to the ground, snarled grins. “They have the medallion,” someone hissed, “and now we have you.” They lifted him and bore him to the tunnel entrance, which yawned open, then swallowed them whole.
****
“He kicked the blankets off again,” Willow observed.
Buffy touched her arm. “Will, he’ll be okay. He’s actually all right if we’re not in there all the time, you know. Anya and Giles are with him. We’re all here for at least part of every day. He’s not alone.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said, voice quivering. “He’s tough.”
“Drink your tea.” Buffy pushed the styrofoam cup gently across the table, into Willow’s hands.
Willow sighed, lifted the cup, and sipped. “You sound more and more like Giles every day.” She toyed with the sandwich on her plastic plate. “I hate hospitals. We spend way too much time in these places.” She took a tiny bite and grimaced. “If I’d been strong enough to help Tara with both divinations, maybe we wouldn’t have to be here.”
“Will.” Buffy’s tone brooked no nonsense. “That’s not your fault. You know we had to wait until they…” she shuddered, “until they put him in the box. We couldn’t go after him into the caves. The ones they live in are huge. They move around all the time and they have everything booby trapped. Tara couldn’t have done it alone, Will. It took both of you to determine the best time and places for their stupid ritual, for the gathering of power. Xander needed you and you came through.”
Willow nodded mutely. She scratched the outside of one bandaged hand absently. “Don’t do this logic stuff with me.” She gave a watery grin, then stared at her sandwich. “Yeah, you’re right. I know. But however many times you guys try to tell me, it just stinks, Buff. I should’ve been able to do more.”
/Welcome to my world,/ Buffy thought sadly. She changed the subject. “How do your hands feel?”
“Not too bad. Doctor says I can take these things off tomorrow. I just have to keep putting the cream on, so the new skin can grow. I thought about trying a spell to fix them more quickly, but healing spells are tricky. And it just didn’t feel right, y’know?”
“How do you mean?” Buffy rubbed her temples wearily, and raised her eyes to the clock on the other side of the cafeteria. Visiting hours were nearly over.
“I, uh, I didn’t want to be feeling fine when he’s in there. Like that.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Will.”
“Yeah, I know. But if I can be suffering, in a tiny way, then I feel like he’s not alone. We’ve both got sore hands. Dumb, isn’t it?”
Buffy nodded slowly in understanding. “No, it’s not dumb.”
****
Hands pulling him down. Forcing him into confinement, not that he was strong enough to really fight. Fingers tracing his face, burning. Something on them – painting designs. A piece of hair was clipped off.
A kiss, dizzyingly strong, pressed against his mouth. “Goodbye, lover.” Laughing. A hand trailed along his stomach, between his legs, shockingly intimate. Waking old bruises. The hand twisted agonizingly, then caressed, while he hissed in pain.
The lid was hammered on. Two inches of breathing space above him. Scarcely enough length for him to stretch out. Bare wooden boards underneath him. /Probably good for my back,/ he thought crazily. He tried not to hyperventilate, knowing his air supply was severely limited and precious, but panic rushed over him as he felt the box being lifted. He clawed at the lid, clawed until he felt his fingernails break and the blood start to flow.
He jolted forward, crying out.
“Xander!” Tara’s face was disconcertingly close to his own, coming in and out of focus as he blinked.
“When I die, cremate me,” he requested carefully, before blacking out again.
****
Chains weren’t too passé for this crowd. His shackles were thick and heavy, grating painfully against the bones in his wrists and ankles. Not enough length to let him lie down. He couldn’t even sit. But any respite was welcome, even if he had to lean awkwardly against the wall. The last encounter had left him gasping.
So stupid to get caught. But he had to be the hero. /I hope they got clear./
****
His throat was on fire, his chest hurt, his fingers ached, his ankles were agony, and someone was pounding on his head. “Someone is pounding on my head,” he muttered, and was rewarded with a little chuckle. He opened his eyes slowly. Giles, Dawn, Buffy, and Joyce were seated in plastic chairs around the foot of his bed, staring at him eagerly.
“About time,” Dawn scolded, eyes bright.
Giles exhaled slowly. “It’s good to see you.” He poured a glass of water from the jug on the table, and offered it to Xander.
“I’m glad to see you’re awake.” Joyce smiled. “Can we get you something?”
“Mom, maybe you and Dawn could tell the nurse,” Xander gulped down the water, “and get some more water?” Buffy looked meaningfully at her mother.
Joyce nodded, and stood, gathering Dawn. “Mo-om!” The door slammed shut behind them. “Sorry about that!” Dawn’s voice shouted. “Back soon!”
Buffy took his hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Like crap,” he sighed. “Is it that bad? Did you have to send them away?”
“Well, it’s a, uh, a little simpler if we don’t give Dawn all the details,” Giles said. “Joyce doesn’t want her to wake up screaming from horrific nightmares – ”
“ – until she’s at least sixteen,” Buffy finished.
Xander nodded, regretted it as the room danced around him, then realised his stomach was empty. “Is there anything to eat?” He moved himself up a little higher on the pillows, mindful of the IV sticking out of his left arm.
Buffy perked up. “Yeah. I’ll get your tray. The doctor said you’d probably wake up today, so they left some food for you.” She went to his other side, and manoeuvred the little table close enough for him to reach it.
He lifted the lid off the tray and winced. Soup, toast, tea, and jello.
“Not too exciting, is it,” Buffy sympathised.
He attempted, “I’m antsy about jello. On the one hand, it’s full of sugary goodness. On the other, it slithers like a slithery thing that went to slither school and graduated top of its class.”
Buffy gave him a blank look, then pressed on. “Will should be by soon – she said she was conjuring up something special for you.”
“Yes, but you should be careful. You haven’t had solid food for nearly five days,” Giles said sternly.
“Will? Cool.” Xander smiled. “So, um, how did you guys find me?”
Buffy looked away uncomfortably, and he knew she didn’t want to tell him the full story. “It wasn’t easy, Xander.” She took a deep breath. “Anya came with me to get some sense out of Spike about this Cult of Okelle. Anya said we should go and ‘beat shit into him’. I thought that was cruel. Nasty enough to beat it out of someone, but to beat it back in…”
Giles interrupted mercifully, and laid a hand comfortingly on Buffy’s shoulder, “Spike knew a little. Enough to direct us to the correct books for research. We ascertained that they would be performing this particular ritual, involving you, unfortunately, on that particular night.” He paused.
When he continued, his voice was soft, guilty. “We tried to find you earlier, but it was impossible. The Cult of Okelle is ancient, and most of its members have been around for thousands of years. It seems that in all this time they have inhabited the same system of caves. That should have made our task simple, but the system is enormous. The caves run under most of Sunnydale. It is a maze, riddled with traps.”
“They’re like an ant colony, Xander,” Buffy said regretfully. “If we’d taken out any one section, all the others would’ve jumped us. And we still wouldn’t have known where you were.”
Giles nodded. “It wasn’t possible to find you from underneath, but then we learned of the ritual. You stopped the Rising. The only way for them to obtain any power in the next few years was to perform the summoning of power, on this particular full moon.
“Again with the full moon,” Xander muttered. “You’d think they could choose another time.”
Giles exhaled. “It was fairly simple for Tara and Willow to perform the divinations necessary to determine the intersection of ley lines for the ritual. There were only two in the area which the Cult controls. Only two places where enough power could be drained from the earth along the ley lines.”
“So we found you from above,” Buffy finished.
There was a squawk outside the door, which was shoved open. Anya raced in, eyes and mouth wide open. She babbled, “XANDER! I was so worried I’m so glad you’re all right let me kiss you!” She carefully took his face between her hands, mindful of his injuries, then covered his cheeks and lips with frantic kisses.
His hands came up weakly to cradle her back. “An, damn it’s good to see you,” he smiled.
“Are you all right?”
“I will be.”
Her eyes crinkled. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I should’ve been there to help you with all the fighting and stuff.”
“No, no, that’s okay, An. I don’t want you to feel bad. I’m fine.”
Of course, it was then that a dustball broke in his lungs. He coughed violently, turning red. When the fit had passed, all three had their hands on him, pushing him back into the bed. “I’ll go quietly,” he protested weakly, and allowed himself to be placed against the pillows. Anya settled herself carefully next to him.
“Buffy and Giles are telling me what happened, An,” he explained, and turned to Buffy. “So you just came and dug?” Anya picked up his jello and started spoon-feeding him.
“Yeah, that’s about it,” Buffy said quietly. She shook her head in appreciation. “Xander, you did it. You got the medallion clear. Once Will destroyed it, the Cult couldn’t kill. They couldn’t arrange for this Okelle thing to rise.”
“Willow has had a busy few days,” Giles pushed the tea towards Xander. “It will be another twelve hundred years before the forces re-align. Drink your tea.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t her only starring role,” Buffy agreed.
“What else did Will do?” Xander croaked. He waved a no to Anya’s offer of more jello, then took a sip of the tepid tea.
“Once Anya saw the lid, Willow dug frenziedly. She only barely allowed the rest of us to assist,” Giles pushed his glasses further up his nose. “She clawed the lid off with her hands. She was bleeding quite badly by the time she’d uncovered you. Then she and Anya lifted you.”
“I wouldn’t want to tangle with her in that mood,” Buffy said softly. “She looked terrible, but she was, she was kinda magnificent, too. Like a warrior queen. I saw her cradling you before the ambulance came.”
There was a knock at the door. It was pushed open slowly and Willow backed in, carrying a plastic bag over one arm, and a huge box in bandaged hands. Tara, Dawn and Joyce followed.
“Hello, Xena,” Xander smiled with quiet delight.
“Xander!” Willow thrust the box into Tara’s hands and threw herself at him, joy lighting up her face. She stopped just in time to avoid suffocating him, settling for an awkward embrace. “I’m, I’m so happy!” She took the box back, overcome with emotion, and blurted, “Look, cake!”
“Cake of Willow. Willow-cake,” he said blissfully.
Tara smiled and gave him a quick hug. “Welcome back,” she whispered. He grinned his thanks.
“You’d better all have some,” Willow turned a severe look on the rest of the group. “And you’d better all enjoy it. A lot of blood, sweat and tears went into that cake.” She noticed Dawn’s scared expression. “Not literally.”
Buffy patted his hand awkwardly around the bandages. “Just a bite for you,” she said gently.
“I know,” he nodded. “Don’t want to hurl in front of all the nice people.”
Willow burrowed in her bag, rustling up a plastic fork and plate for everyone. Xander just sat and watched her work, marvelling at how normal this all felt. Surrounded by his family. Even if it was in a very crowded room in a hospital. Even if his family included two witches and the Chosen One. But then, that was normal. For him.
He picked up his fork. “It was the best of tines, it was the worst of tines,” he said solemnly, and grinned as they all groaned.
