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Hello!
So, rain and rain and *wind* and tornados. All lovely and then, of course, *not* lovely. The next town over got some pretty bad damage and luckily the grand-parents-in-laws that live there weren't hurt.
It's nice and cool out now, misty and scraps of cloud - very nice.
I've been watching season one of Supernatural over again, since i caved and bought the dvds. Such fun! Such angst! Such pretteh! Heh. Deleted scenes and whatnot - i luff!
Anyway, here's the next bit. Hope you all enjoy! Thanks,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
reremouse for the once-over.
Previous parts here.
In the morning – a morning as grey and dark as the previous day had been – Peter was gone. Gone back out to the world, Xander said, to find another twin, another Nibs. Xander's eyes were dark-circled and sunken and he didn't look like he'd slept at all. The rest of the boys looked little better, especially Curly, who had gotten sliced across the ribs with a cutlass, and John, who had taken some hard hits. He was the smallest of all the boys and his puffy, bruised face and split knuckles were livid in the watery morning light. They were all, Indians and boys alike, queuing for breakfast.
Spike settled beside Xander on the worn-smooth surface of a fallen tree trunk. The boy was eating some sort of stew with a large heel of bread, scooping up the chunks of meat and gravy with it. His bandage looked fresh. Spike took out his cigarettes and gloomily surveyed them – put them back. Strict rationing from now on.
*Bugger.* "So – how long's it usually take him to find some new boys?" Spike asked.
Xander shrugged – swallowed. "Depends. If he goes right out and finds them first thing, then a day or so. But sometimes he forgets and then – it's weeks. Tiger Lily –" Xander gestured with his bowl. "She told me one time it was almost five years."
"Years?" Spike looked over where Xander had gestured, studying the girl that they had rescued the day before. Slim and olive-skinned, with two long, black braids and an impressive black eye. She was moving wincingly across the cleared area around the big fire, wrapped in a skin. Spike could smell blood on her, and a woodsy sort of green smell which was the town-made soap they all used. She settled next to an older, red-headed woman on a spread-out fur and took a cup of something hot. "That woman there – she doesn't look like an Indian."
"She is, though. Some of them go into town for more than supplies. And the pirates…" Xander stopped talking and ate for a moment, his face flushing. But it was anger Spike scented on him, not embarrassment.
"Pirates don't care if you're willing, eh?" Spike said, and Xander flashed him an agonized look, the anger edged with something else now. Fear, maybe.
"They…don't," Xander said, soft. He put his bowl down and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth – leaned back a little and picked up a water skin from the ground behind them and drank. "Maybe it'll be years, this time," he muttered, and Spike contemplated that for a moment.
"How is it he forgets?"
Xander shrugged again – took a deep breath and seemed to push all his emotion aside, at least for a moment. "He did in the book, too. Forgot about Wendy and them when he was bringing them to Neverland, and forgot about coming back for Wendy to do the spring cleaning. He's Loony Tunes, and -" Xander made an odd little noise. "That's all, folks!"
"You're not wound so tight yourself," Spike said, looking at him, and Xander shot him a quick grin. "You think if you got Tink to put some of that dust on you, you could just fly out of here?" Spike said, and Xander looked up from poking at his bandage, his eyes shadowed.
"I asked Tink to do that when I first got here and he did but… I couldn't go anywhere. I flew the same way we came in but – it just kept looping around. It was like...like Pleasantville – you know? 'The end of Main Street is just the beginning.'"
*What in bloody hell does that mean?* "So Peter has to want you to go?"
"Or be with you, I'm not sure. I don't think anybody's ever got out that way."
Michael had come out of one of the tepees and was walking slowly toward the central fire, holding his head. *A little too much of that bloody awful birch beer. Must have a hollow sodding leg, to put that much away.* Michael slumped down on the other side of the red-headed woman, helping himself to a tin cup and some kind of tea. It smelled too floral for Spike's taste.
"Somebody must have made it out of this place, though," Spike muttered. "There's got to be some fucking way off this bloody island!" Xander jerked a little, startled by Spike's outburst. Spike was a little startled himself.
"You leave when you die, okay? I've been trying for…for a long…time to get off and –"
"You don't know what you've bloody done," Spike snarled, angry and tired and pushing down hard on the tiny quiver of panic that wanted to well up and smother him. The same panic he'd felt when he'd figured out what the soldier's had done to him. "You don't even know how fucking long you've been here. Maybe it was all a dream, yeah? Nothing but a sodding dream."
Xander's eyes had gone wide – his mouth thin and bloodless as he'd clenched his jaw, the muscle in his cheek working under the skin. His bowl thumped softly to the grass. "It wasn't a dream. I'm not from here, my name's – my name's Xander –"
Spike sneered. "You're the Slightly. Said it yourself. Bet you never even had a family." He snatched out smokes and lighter and lit up *Sod rationing.* Pulled smoke hard and fast into his lungs and hissed, the demon surging up, when Xander's grabbed the lapel of his coat, fist tight on the leather.
"You just shut up, you hear me?" Xander's voice was breathless and thin with fright. "I used to live in Sunnydale, California and my – my best friends were Willow and Buffy! It wasn't a dream you undead fuck. Buffy kicked your ass! I remember!"
Spike wrenched away from him – clamped his own hand tight on the back of Xander's neck and jerked him close, pressing his forehead to Xander's and letting him feel the difference. "Doesn't matter if you remember them or not, Slightly. They've forgotten all about you. Was there, wasn't I? And they didn't mention you one – fucking – time."
Xander twisted out of Spike's grip with a wordless cry, pushing away so hard he fell off the log and sprawled there at Spike's feet. He was panting – shaking – two high spots of color in his cheeks and his eyes suspiciously bright. "F-fuck you! I'm not Slightly, I'm Xander." He pushed to his feet and ran.
Growling, Spike stood up and stalked to the fire – snatched up a gourd from the previous night and drained it of its too-sweet, too-thin beer. Tiger Lily was glaring up at him – Michael and Curly were, too – all of them were, and Spike glared back. "What the fuck do you lot want?"
Curly struggled to his feet, bandaged ribs showing a stain of blood coming through. "Tell him you're sorry," he said, pushing decidedly lank hair back off his forehead.
"Fuck that," Spike said, and Curly licked his lips and stepped up close to Spike. Reeking of blood and birch beer and fear. He was probably sixteen.
"Xander told us last night. Told us everything about where he lived before. Told us about the Slayer and what you are." Curly glanced at Michael, who nodded. "And – he told us how to – to kill your kind."
"Did he? Did he tell you all about vampires, then? Did he tell you I can snap your bloody neck in about three seconds?"
"Shut up," Michael said, pushing between them. "Just shut up! Peter's never brought back a grown up before. And never – never somebody that wasn't human. It's changing – things are changing –"
"And Xander's the Slightly. Slightly always remembers more about the world," Curly said. "He remembers and we don't and if you make him forget then – then we'll forget."
"Just tell him you're sorry. Tell him he's Xander. Don't let him forget," John said, arm curved around his ribs and his lip split open – gash in his hairline that was swollen and crusted with dried blood.
"What makes you think I give a bloody damn about any of you?" Spike snapped, and the red-haired woman finally stood up, putting a gentle hand on John's thin shoulder. She exuded a solemn, quiet power that made Spike think uncomfortably of witches. Blonde ones.
"You want to leave, don't you? If everyone forgets – you will too. You'll die here, vampire, just like the rest of us."
"He said nobody's ever left," Spike said slowly, letting the demon go at last – flicking his cigarette butt into the fire.
"He's wrong. Hook did."
"Hook died."
"Did he now?" the woman said, and then put out her hand – tugged Tiger Lily to her feet and laid her arm gently over the girl's shoulders. "That's what they say – but who really knows? He was gone. You need to find Xander." She and Tiger Lily both turned away, walking slowly toward the tepees.
"Just find him, please? Don't let him forget," John said. He reached out, like he wanted to touch Spike's arm and Spike narrowed his eyes at him. John's hand wavered and then fell back to his side. "Just - please -?"
"Bloody hell," Spike muttered. John grinned – glanced up, and a moment later Tink was settling lightly onto Spike's shoulder, waft of bee balm and may-apple. Tink chattered and Spike caught…something. A word or two. 'Please', maybe. Maybe a name. Tink launched himself into the air and hovered before Spike, gesturing, and Curly smiled.
"Tink'll show you the way. Just – tell him –"
"Yeah, yeah, I sodding well know." Spike glared after the red-head. "Who's that woman, then? She the local witch?"
"She used to be a Tiger Lily."
"Course she did." *Bloody island, full of ghosts…* "All right. Never get any peace, will I?" Tink darted away, beckoning, and Spike stomped after him.
So, rain and rain and *wind* and tornados. All lovely and then, of course, *not* lovely. The next town over got some pretty bad damage and luckily the grand-parents-in-laws that live there weren't hurt.
It's nice and cool out now, misty and scraps of cloud - very nice.
I've been watching season one of Supernatural over again, since i caved and bought the dvds. Such fun! Such angst! Such pretteh! Heh. Deleted scenes and whatnot - i luff!
Anyway, here's the next bit. Hope you all enjoy! Thanks,
reremouse for the once-over.Previous parts here.
In the morning – a morning as grey and dark as the previous day had been – Peter was gone. Gone back out to the world, Xander said, to find another twin, another Nibs. Xander's eyes were dark-circled and sunken and he didn't look like he'd slept at all. The rest of the boys looked little better, especially Curly, who had gotten sliced across the ribs with a cutlass, and John, who had taken some hard hits. He was the smallest of all the boys and his puffy, bruised face and split knuckles were livid in the watery morning light. They were all, Indians and boys alike, queuing for breakfast.
Spike settled beside Xander on the worn-smooth surface of a fallen tree trunk. The boy was eating some sort of stew with a large heel of bread, scooping up the chunks of meat and gravy with it. His bandage looked fresh. Spike took out his cigarettes and gloomily surveyed them – put them back. Strict rationing from now on.
*Bugger.* "So – how long's it usually take him to find some new boys?" Spike asked.
Xander shrugged – swallowed. "Depends. If he goes right out and finds them first thing, then a day or so. But sometimes he forgets and then – it's weeks. Tiger Lily –" Xander gestured with his bowl. "She told me one time it was almost five years."
"Years?" Spike looked over where Xander had gestured, studying the girl that they had rescued the day before. Slim and olive-skinned, with two long, black braids and an impressive black eye. She was moving wincingly across the cleared area around the big fire, wrapped in a skin. Spike could smell blood on her, and a woodsy sort of green smell which was the town-made soap they all used. She settled next to an older, red-headed woman on a spread-out fur and took a cup of something hot. "That woman there – she doesn't look like an Indian."
"She is, though. Some of them go into town for more than supplies. And the pirates…" Xander stopped talking and ate for a moment, his face flushing. But it was anger Spike scented on him, not embarrassment.
"Pirates don't care if you're willing, eh?" Spike said, and Xander flashed him an agonized look, the anger edged with something else now. Fear, maybe.
"They…don't," Xander said, soft. He put his bowl down and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth – leaned back a little and picked up a water skin from the ground behind them and drank. "Maybe it'll be years, this time," he muttered, and Spike contemplated that for a moment.
"How is it he forgets?"
Xander shrugged again – took a deep breath and seemed to push all his emotion aside, at least for a moment. "He did in the book, too. Forgot about Wendy and them when he was bringing them to Neverland, and forgot about coming back for Wendy to do the spring cleaning. He's Loony Tunes, and -" Xander made an odd little noise. "That's all, folks!"
"You're not wound so tight yourself," Spike said, looking at him, and Xander shot him a quick grin. "You think if you got Tink to put some of that dust on you, you could just fly out of here?" Spike said, and Xander looked up from poking at his bandage, his eyes shadowed.
"I asked Tink to do that when I first got here and he did but… I couldn't go anywhere. I flew the same way we came in but – it just kept looping around. It was like...like Pleasantville – you know? 'The end of Main Street is just the beginning.'"
*What in bloody hell does that mean?* "So Peter has to want you to go?"
"Or be with you, I'm not sure. I don't think anybody's ever got out that way."
Michael had come out of one of the tepees and was walking slowly toward the central fire, holding his head. *A little too much of that bloody awful birch beer. Must have a hollow sodding leg, to put that much away.* Michael slumped down on the other side of the red-headed woman, helping himself to a tin cup and some kind of tea. It smelled too floral for Spike's taste.
"Somebody must have made it out of this place, though," Spike muttered. "There's got to be some fucking way off this bloody island!" Xander jerked a little, startled by Spike's outburst. Spike was a little startled himself.
"You leave when you die, okay? I've been trying for…for a long…time to get off and –"
"You don't know what you've bloody done," Spike snarled, angry and tired and pushing down hard on the tiny quiver of panic that wanted to well up and smother him. The same panic he'd felt when he'd figured out what the soldier's had done to him. "You don't even know how fucking long you've been here. Maybe it was all a dream, yeah? Nothing but a sodding dream."
Xander's eyes had gone wide – his mouth thin and bloodless as he'd clenched his jaw, the muscle in his cheek working under the skin. His bowl thumped softly to the grass. "It wasn't a dream. I'm not from here, my name's – my name's Xander –"
Spike sneered. "You're the Slightly. Said it yourself. Bet you never even had a family." He snatched out smokes and lighter and lit up *Sod rationing.* Pulled smoke hard and fast into his lungs and hissed, the demon surging up, when Xander's grabbed the lapel of his coat, fist tight on the leather.
"You just shut up, you hear me?" Xander's voice was breathless and thin with fright. "I used to live in Sunnydale, California and my – my best friends were Willow and Buffy! It wasn't a dream you undead fuck. Buffy kicked your ass! I remember!"
Spike wrenched away from him – clamped his own hand tight on the back of Xander's neck and jerked him close, pressing his forehead to Xander's and letting him feel the difference. "Doesn't matter if you remember them or not, Slightly. They've forgotten all about you. Was there, wasn't I? And they didn't mention you one – fucking – time."
Xander twisted out of Spike's grip with a wordless cry, pushing away so hard he fell off the log and sprawled there at Spike's feet. He was panting – shaking – two high spots of color in his cheeks and his eyes suspiciously bright. "F-fuck you! I'm not Slightly, I'm Xander." He pushed to his feet and ran.
Growling, Spike stood up and stalked to the fire – snatched up a gourd from the previous night and drained it of its too-sweet, too-thin beer. Tiger Lily was glaring up at him – Michael and Curly were, too – all of them were, and Spike glared back. "What the fuck do you lot want?"
Curly struggled to his feet, bandaged ribs showing a stain of blood coming through. "Tell him you're sorry," he said, pushing decidedly lank hair back off his forehead.
"Fuck that," Spike said, and Curly licked his lips and stepped up close to Spike. Reeking of blood and birch beer and fear. He was probably sixteen.
"Xander told us last night. Told us everything about where he lived before. Told us about the Slayer and what you are." Curly glanced at Michael, who nodded. "And – he told us how to – to kill your kind."
"Did he? Did he tell you all about vampires, then? Did he tell you I can snap your bloody neck in about three seconds?"
"Shut up," Michael said, pushing between them. "Just shut up! Peter's never brought back a grown up before. And never – never somebody that wasn't human. It's changing – things are changing –"
"And Xander's the Slightly. Slightly always remembers more about the world," Curly said. "He remembers and we don't and if you make him forget then – then we'll forget."
"Just tell him you're sorry. Tell him he's Xander. Don't let him forget," John said, arm curved around his ribs and his lip split open – gash in his hairline that was swollen and crusted with dried blood.
"What makes you think I give a bloody damn about any of you?" Spike snapped, and the red-haired woman finally stood up, putting a gentle hand on John's thin shoulder. She exuded a solemn, quiet power that made Spike think uncomfortably of witches. Blonde ones.
"You want to leave, don't you? If everyone forgets – you will too. You'll die here, vampire, just like the rest of us."
"He said nobody's ever left," Spike said slowly, letting the demon go at last – flicking his cigarette butt into the fire.
"He's wrong. Hook did."
"Hook died."
"Did he now?" the woman said, and then put out her hand – tugged Tiger Lily to her feet and laid her arm gently over the girl's shoulders. "That's what they say – but who really knows? He was gone. You need to find Xander." She and Tiger Lily both turned away, walking slowly toward the tepees.
"Just find him, please? Don't let him forget," John said. He reached out, like he wanted to touch Spike's arm and Spike narrowed his eyes at him. John's hand wavered and then fell back to his side. "Just - please -?"
"Bloody hell," Spike muttered. John grinned – glanced up, and a moment later Tink was settling lightly onto Spike's shoulder, waft of bee balm and may-apple. Tink chattered and Spike caught…something. A word or two. 'Please', maybe. Maybe a name. Tink launched himself into the air and hovered before Spike, gesturing, and Curly smiled.
"Tink'll show you the way. Just – tell him –"
"Yeah, yeah, I sodding well know." Spike glared after the red-head. "Who's that woman, then? She the local witch?"
"She used to be a Tiger Lily."
"Course she did." *Bloody island, full of ghosts…* "All right. Never get any peace, will I?" Tink darted away, beckoning, and Spike stomped after him.