Restless

[needsaparrot]

Xander's getting old, that's what it is - when he can't even make it through one movie without falling asleep... Or was it more than one? The tv seems to be playing Bitterwoman vs. the Undead when he sits up and rubs at his face - does he even own that? He yawns and stands, dodging tossed popcorn.

"Sit down, Harris; you'll miss the best parts."

"Seen 'em. Got a thing to do."

Willow shivers as he steps across her feet, so Xander grabs a rainbow-knitted afghan and tosses it over her.

In the bathroom, a trick of the light: he glances in the mirror and for a second there's nobody there. Xander lifts the patch and looks down, splashing water on his face; when he raises his head, things are normal again.

Except when he comes out, no one's there. The den is abandoned. Couch bare, tv screen black, blankets and pillows tossed on the floor. The only sound is the echo of a ticking clock. "Guys?"

"Brrribbet?" from the floor. Xander looks down to see Jeremiah bouncing up and down by the door.

"You shouldn't go out by yourself; I worry." He walks over and reaches down, but the door clicks open and the frog jumps out into the hallway. Xander follows, but Jeremiah jumps faster and faster, higher and higher, until he's a purple blur heading for the elevator. *ping*! And it's gone.

Xander takes the stairs. There are doors at each landing, marked MINUS ONE, MINUS TWO, NEGATIVE PIE, but they're all chained shut, so he keeps going. Down and down, until the steps finally end and he's standing in a long, shadowy hall, lit only by a faint green glow along the floor.

"Jeremiah? Mel? Dawn? Anybody?" Xander pulls a box of matches out of his pocket and strikes one. For a second, there's light -- just enough to show a snarl of white teeth in a dark, painted face, rushing towards him.

Then the matches are knocked from his hand, and he's knocked to the ground. Something has him pinned, but he struggles, slithers away, scrambles to his feet and runs.

The green glow's just enough to see his boots by, just enough not to fall. Harsh panting close behind. Left, then right, then left again, rounding enough corners that he dares to stop and breathe himself, leaning against a wall.

It's cold, though. Metal. He feels around and finds a handle and pulls. Green light spills out, and Xander can see what surrounds him. Not walls -- lockers.

Buffy's standing inside the one he opened. Wee Buffy, the one watching movies in his apartment tonight. She's wearing an apron and oven mitts. "I'm still baking," she tells him sternly, pulling the locker shut.

In the next one, she's there again. Older, her hair cut short like it was that summer after she sent Angel to hell, eyes large and sad. She doesn't say anything, just turns away as the door falls closed.

The next is his Buffy, and Xander heaves a sigh of relief. "Boy, am I glad to see--"

"Not my job anymore, Xand. I don't need to save everybody." Buffy crosses her arms. "We're all grown up." Peeking over her shoulder is Willow, grown up too, her hair a vibrant red with streaks of black and white playing across it.

"You still need friends," Xander insists, even as the locker door tries to pull itself from his hands. "That's why I'm trying to find the others."

"It's a different story now," Willow says patiently. "See?" She leans out past Buffy, pointing to a spot in the book she's holding. It says The future is written, but only in #2 pencil. Please erase all stray marks. There may be a pop quiz later. Wear shades. Then she kisses him on the cheek and whispers in his left ear, where he can't see her. "Run."

The door slams shut and the light dies away. Something scuttles and growls in the distance. Xander runs again, head whipping left and right looking for a way out. There's nothing around the next corner, though, but a solid brick wall. "Crap."

"You're supposed to say that before you run," Bridge's voice says from behind him. When he spins around, there's nothing there but blackness and the sound of scuffling feet.

To his right, there's a fire hose and a glass box with a sign: Break in case of emergency. This means you. He shatters the glass with his elbow, and pulls out a shiny red axe. Buffy's axe. Mel's axe.

The label on the handle says MEL'S SCYTHE, DUMBASS. "Whatever. Gotta get it to her." Xander yanks the closest locker open, keeping the wall at his back.

A balding man leans out, offering him a tray full of cheese. "Care for an hors d'oeuvre? Gouda? Brie? Winchester? Halliwell? Parker?"

"Brie and I have issues. Little thing called History." Xander peers past him into the murky depths of the locker. "Is my Slayer in there?" He holds up the axe.

"NOT. YOURS." Ashy brown arms wrapped in something white and trailing shoot out to grab the axe away from Xander, tugging it and the man with the cheese back into the locker with a *CLANG*. The number on the door reads 327.

"Needs more banthabell," Xander mutters, sticking out hs tongue.

Again with the growling from the shadows. He flattens against the wall. Maybe he can find something to knock it down? He jabs at it with his elbow. "Well, I am a constructador."

"Yeah, good luck pulling a wrecking ball out of your ass this time," a squeaky voice says from somewhere near his feet. He looks down to see a rat... he blinks. No, two rats, staring up at him with glittery, beady eyes.

//That's not where I keep it.// Xander squeaks at them. //Have you seen my frog? He's purple.//

They look at each other and shrug. "Sorry, we don't speak Rat," they say in unison, then turn tail and run down the hallway, back into the black.

"Well, what the hell good was that class, then?" Xander mutters.

"I wondered the same," Dream admitted with what passed for rare good humor from him, stepping from ... somewhere. "Though I am told it spared you from being wed to a spider-god."
"Oh, well, sure, that. It wasn't gonna work out; she was a Wendy/werewolf shipper. We still e-mail sometimes, though." Xander peers at the tall, pale figure. "Professor Dream?"
Dream nodded, liking the title. "I ... sometimes notice my students, on their visits to this land," he confessed. "I observe. I do not guide." He fixed a stern gaze on Xander. "How do you plan to return to the waking world?"
"I need to find my friends; it's no good without them," Xander answers, shaking his head.
"And you will find them," Dream said placidly. "Simply turn around and go back." He pointed back into the hallway. "That way."
Through the darkness. Xander shakes his head harder. "I don't like people messing with my eyes." He yanks on the handle to Locker 327 again. It falls open, but it's empty. No cheese, no arms, no axe. Just a locker. In the mirror on the door, his own face stares back at him with two eyes, nineteen years old and grinning. The door whips shut. When Xander turns around to face the darkness, he's alone.

"No tense like the present," he mutters, taking a step back into the hallway. He's frozen there, though, swallowed by it. Spins around and around and there's no light anywhere.

A hand slips into his. "Just close your eyes," Faith says. "I'll steer you round the curves."

"I can't. I have to Watch." He stares at the darkness, letting her tug him through it until her hand slides away. "Wait..."

"Can't; it's time." Dawn's voice now. The lights come up. He's standing next to the boiler, and Dawn's wearing a fedora, little card tucked into the brim: Watcher Junior. "Two Slayers, no waiting."

Something grabs him from behind. That strong dark arm clutching at his chest, scrabbling, tearing his shirt. Then his skin.

"She took your heart before."

It hurts, but Xander shakes his head. "That's not where I keep it." From the hole in his chest, a stuffed green frog falls out. Xander grins and wiggles his fingers as it hops away. "Say hi to Jeremiah if you see him!"

The basement grows brighter. Right in front of him are the stairs that lead up. Back to the light, back to the day. Xander takes a step in that direction, but something makes him look over his shoulder.

Beyond the broken plaster behind the boiler, Xander can see Mel in the hallway. Where he was, before he walked through the dark. Her hands are empty, her back against the wall. He turns away from the stairs. "That's not the way out."

A hand from behind again, but this time it's not wrapped in rags. It's a crisp black suit, and when he's spun around, he's staring at a collar and a smile. "You're the one who sees everything, aren't you?" Fingers reach for his eye. His other eye. "Well, let's see what we can't do about that."

And everything goes black.

___

Restless Table of Contents
Where it all begins
Willow's Dream
Xander's Dream
Bridge's Dream
River's Dream
Izzy's Dream
Nadia's Dream
Alec's Dream
Dawn's Dream
Sam's Dream
Mel's Dream
Buffy's Dream
Where it all ends