First Spander post

Go ahead and be brutally honest in criticism. Plus, the more specific you are the more I can do about it.

Cursed

by
Mandylancast

Prologue

Xander slunk into his empty apartment feeling the worse from too much drink and too little sleep. It had been more than a week since the wedding debacle and there was still no sign of Anya and he'd run out of places to look. If he could just see her, know she was all right, explain. Then he looked up to find that his empty apartment wasn’t so empty after all. There was Anya in full living color right in front of him. So he let loose with the speech he’d practiced in the mirror at least fifty times. It wasn’t as big of a success as he might have hoped.

“Do you still want to get married?” Anya's question silenced him and he watched her face fall.

“Ahn, it’s a very complicated question.” Even as he said it he realized it was useless. That line never worked.

“No, actually, it's really not, it's kind of an either or deal. Do you want to get married?” Tears were making their way down her face and her voice was quiet and choked.

Now he was really lost. This was so far off his practiced speech it wasn’t even on the same continent. What did she think he could say? ‘Let's trip on down to the chapel of love right now. I put us both through this unbelievable hell as a big April Fool’s joke.’ Didn’t she realize he could never hurt her that much without it ripping his guts out? They weren't ready, couldn't she see that?

His silence apparently was answer enough. He'd never seen her look quite so broken as she turned away.

“I’m sorry Anya. I wish things were different.”

At which point Anya turned around and Xander took in her new, veiny appearance and had a second to realize just how big a mistake he’d just made. “Done.”

Xander’s last thought before the world slid away was that even demon faced, she was still beautiful.

Part One

He was aware of several things simultaneously. He was naked except for a thick chain collar, kneeling on a cold, cement floor with his head in the lap of someone, someone with a manly bulge prodding his cheek. And above him he heard the voice of the man whose lap he was half in.

“…I mean we’re like bloody ranchers here,” Spike said.

What he intended to do was to shove away shouting, "Hands off, Fangless!" What actually came out was more, "Hands oof," as he was pushed back down with a hand on the back of his neck. And it hurt. He could practically feel the finger shaped bruises forming on his throat. Shit. His mind really couldn’t proceed much past that single word. He was at the mercy of an unchipped Spike. Xander had a very clear idea, in that moment, of how a mouse feels in the claws of an owl. He was afraid that if he tried to make a sound he’d squeak like one too.

A quick review of recent events led him to the inescapable conclusion that Anya had cursed him. Why couldn’t she have just turned his insides into writhing snakes like a normal vengeance demon?

“What’s the matter with your pet, Spike?” Spike’s companion asked, his tenor voice sounding only mildly interested.

“Don’t know.” He sounded ticked off and the grip tightened fractionally. Xander struggled not to whimper. “He just suddenly went over all skittish.” Xander couldn’t see him but he could feel Spike tense and then relax. “Probably nothing.”

Spike’s companion resumed the conversation as if there had been no interruption. “Personally, I enjoy the easy life, you’d think defending your territory would keep you from missing the hunt so much.”

“It’s unnatural I tell you,” Spike released Xander’s neck and began running his hand down his back in long, languorous strokes that could only be termed petting. Xander remained stiff but he didn’t move, afraid that movement would bring that punishing hand back to his neck. He’d seen Spike snap the necks of creatures twice his size with one smooth twist. It was all too easy to imagine what those hands, gentle as they were at the moment, could do to his own vulnerable flesh.

His perception of his surroundings was limited by his position. Soft, worn denim brushed against his chest and cheek as Spike stroked him. The scent of stale beer and old blood hung in the air along with the sounds of grunts and growls punctuating the quiet murmur of conversation. The scarred, metal table blocked his view of Spike’s drinking buddy and he couldn’t catch much of Spike out of the corner of his eye but he had a decent view of the room. Very definitely a demon bar. The few humans scattered through the place were naked except for collars as well, some were serving as footstools, one was… he very much did not want to see or even know about that one. At least he wasn’t contorted into what looked like agonizing positions like a number of the others were, or subject to the attentions of two or even three demons. Embarrassment at being naked was entirely swallowed by how exposed and vulnerable it made him feel. He was in a room full of demons with no weapons or defenses. He'd gladly swallow the humiliation if Buffy would just walk in right now.

“Besides, the wankers around here aren’t as much challenge as a good, old fashioned mob,” Xander was pressed so close against Spike he could feel his voice reverberating against his skin. It added a disconcerting tingle to the whole stark terror of the situation.

“Thank hell for the arena or you probably would have burned this city down by now just to relieve your boredom,” the other man’s voice sounded exasperated. “Although you have to admit there are other things to hold your interest, like your pet there, how long have you had him?”

Spike ran the back of his hand down the side of Xander’s face. “Magnificent innt he? Four years, found him a few months after the Hellmouth opened.”

At mention of the Hellmouth, Xander’s mind was flooded with alien memories. Images of hiding out while vampires and other demons prowled the streets. Hunger and thirst so bad they were like living animals clawing at his throat and stomach. These things hadn’t happened to him but they were suddenly as solid in his brain as any other memory he possessed.

“I’d brought Dru there, hopin’ to cure her, but she turned to dust in my arms,” Xander couldn't help but hear the pain in Spike’s voice when he said this. “So I stayed out all night, contemplated watching the sun rise.”

Xander remembered braving the grocery store in the hour before dawn. It was the time when demon activity was at its lowest ebb. He thought he might be able to sneak into the abandoned store and steal enough food and water to keep him going just a little longer. Hopelessness and desperate loneliness was fast becoming a way of life and he wasn’t sure if he even cared about going on any more.

“Don’t know why I was in the soddin’ grocery store, maybe all the windows appealed at that point, but I heard a noise and found Xander here in the canned goods.”

He remembered looking up and seeing death finally come for him. Oddly enough, looking just as miserable as he felt. He gave running little more than a fleeting thought. Really what was the point? So he stood up and staggered forward.

“He was a wretched little thing then, half starved. Don’t know how he’d avoided the patrols til then. But he wasn’t scared of me at all. He walked right up to me and laid his head on my shoulder.”

He remembered draping himself on the vampire’s shoulder, offering up his neck. Maybe if he didn’t struggle it wouldn’t hurt so much. He was surprised at how good surrender felt. Then the lightheadedness from hunger and fear took over and he passed out.

“Never had a pet before and here was this delicious stray throwing himself at my feet. So I took him in the back, fed him up some and claimed him,” there was a note of pride in Spike’s voice now. “Haven’t regretted it once. He’s amazingly responsive. And he’s got a fantastically talented tongue.”

That was so much more that Xander ever wanted to know.

“So, when are you going to let me have a taste of him?” The other voice held more interest now, Xander noted with growing unease.

“Told you before, Tony.” Spike spoke as if repeating an old argument. “I don’t share ‘im.”

Spike was bad enough but he was a known, quantifiable evil, who knew what kind of scaly paws the other might want to put in unmentionable places. Xander felt a rush of gratitude that he wasn't to be handed over to anyone who took a fancy to him, it was laced with self disgust but it was gratitude nonetheless. Even that evaporated when Spike’s hand slipped from his back to parts of himself Spike should never touch so familiarly.

“Hey,” he got that much out and was scrambling to his feet again when Spike’s fingers were around his throat. It was just one hand, the thumb on his spine and the tips of the fingers just barely spanning his Adam’s apple. Spike was exerting just enough pressure to remind Xander how little effort it would take for the vamp to crush his throat. He stilled instantly, choking back any other words. He fought down the twin urges to vomit and scramble away; he was in no position to get away at the moment. He simply had to play along until an opportune moment and hope like hell said moment made an appearance before he had to “perform.”

“Bloody hell!” Spike exclaimed, “That does it, I’m taking 'im home, sort him out there. Something in here is setting him off tonight.”

He released his grip and Xander darted his eyes up to Spike's face. That was the beginning of a towering rage if he was any judge.

Spike clipped a leash to his collar then turned and said goodbye to his drinking buddy, a demon sufficiently hideous that Xander felt a fresh wave of relief that he would not be forced to “entertain” him.

Tony smiled and saluted Spike with his glass. Spike didn’t say a word to Xander, but he kept the leash short. Due to their height difference Xander had the choice of craning his neck forward or nearly walking on Spike’s heels. Neither was comfortable but he judged that the latter was less likely to piss Spike off further so he opted for it.

They exited into a quiet, tree lined street. There was an old, established feel to the place that convinced him he wasn't in Sunnydale anymore. That and the crisp, cool feel of the air on his naked skin. Definitely colder than a Sunnydale Spring evening. What really arrested his attention though was the population that roamed the sidewalks. Vampires were the most prevalent but there were assorted other demons that would never be able to blend into a human crowd. The few humans were easily identifiable by the fact that they were all naked, except for their collars. Xander was used to spotting weirdness while those around him were oblivious, here normal seemed to have left the building. A few of the non-humans exchanged greetings with Spike. Xander thought there was a note of deference towards Spike in these exchanges. Once they noted Spike's mood they quietly faded back. Xander had to struggle a little to keep up with the brisk pace Spike set. He noticed the ivy covered brick wall in passing but couldn't really take the place in before they suddenly stopped at the iron front gate where Spike fussed with his keys.

Beyond the gate was a brick mansion with a slate roof. A small garden flanked the path on either side of the ornate front door. Moments later the gate and front door were resecured behind them and Xander found himself in a living room with dark paneling and a grand staircase to one side. He noted these things in passing but his attention was all on Spike's hand as it went to his collar and unclipped his leash.

“Go on upstairs, I’m nippin’ over to check on the larder,” Spike growled while slipping off his coat and throwing it over a convenient chair, “When I get upstairs you’d best have an explanation for your little performance, and it better be good.” Then he stomped out of the room.

Xander walked up the first couple of steps mechanically until Spike was out of sight. The smart thing to do would be to play along til daylight, or even better, after Spike fell asleep and then slip out. Even as these thoughts went through his mind he had reversed course and was running out the door, pinballing off the doorframe in his haste. He had a glaringly vivid idea of what Spike would want to do when he came up to meet Xander in the upstairs bedroom and there was no way he would be there for that. He scrambled over the wall, not even feeling the scrapes and cuts he picked up in the process. And then he ran as if something particularly vicious was after him. He could tell he was attracting attention as he pelted up the street and he knew he had to get out of sight. He ducked into an alleyway after a few rapid changes of direction when he was pretty sure no one was looking his way. The irony of hiding from the monsters in a dark alley was not lost on him. A pile of boxes gave him enough cover if he squatted down. He watched the traffic on the street begin to thin as he got his breathing under control. He scanned the alley for something useful. He'd seen dozens of shows where the hero found himself alone behind enemy lines, at this point there should be a handy clothesline with appropriate clothing waiting to be stolen. As things stood the buildings around him were empty of clotheslines and clothes.

He was keenly aware of the need to get moving again. He was still too close to Spike’s house. It was at this juncture that he realized he didn’t have even the beginnings of a plan.

There must be some kind of human resistance but he had no idea how to find them. The first order of business had to be getting out of the city, then he could find himself somewhere to lay low until he figured things out. He peeked out again. The sky was growing visibly lighter and he saw other humans, solitary humans, walking around. Which meant blending in looked like a true option. He wished he had a clipboard for true invisibility.

The idea of willingly stepping back out on the street without a stitch on gave him cold sweats. What was inescapable however, was that any attempt to cover up would immediately draw more attention than he could afford.

With a confidence he didn’t feel he strode out onto the sidewalk and picked a direction at random since he didn’t know where he was. But he figured he had to get to the city limits at some point if he just kept in a relatively straight line. Demons and other humans passed him without a second glance. He was just thinking he might get away with it when a voice behind him said, “You there. Stop.”

He turned his head to see that the two demons he’d just passed leaning against a building were indeed addressing him.

Xander sat in his cell, cold, bruised and humiliated. After 6 years fighting on the Hellmouth he thought two relatively average demons shouldn’t have been able to manhandle him into submission so easily. Of course, he was naked and weaponless but somehow this didn’t help as he contemplated the disaster that was his escape attempt. Apparently, humans weren’t allowed to wander about unescorted unless they had papers or a different collar from the one Xander sported. They had gotten very excited when they had seen his collar and started babbling in a language he didn’t understand, except for one word, Spike. One ran to the phone while the other locked him up. So now he sat waiting for Spike, who would be one very pissed off vampire, to come pick him up.

Their set up turned out to be the city pound. The kennels were more secure but the overall feeling was the same, as was the hopeless and resigned looks in the eyes of the occupants. He doubted he looked much better, he felt filthy, grimy and a bit scraped up from his fruitless struggles against his captors. His overlong hair was plastered to his back with sweat, dirt and, quite probably, blood. Looked like it hadn't been cut in years, and what was up with that? After walking the cell, looking for weaknesses and finding none, he huddled against the wall contemplating escape or rescue and another memory flash hit him. Buffy lying blue and cold in the Master’s lair staring up at him sightlessly; the Hellmouth beast breaking free of the high school to rampage; Giles lying in a pool of blood in the library; one lime green sneaker resting in a pool of blood and gore. He was almost glad he didn’t have to see Willow’s body as well, the abandoned sneaker told him all he needed to know.

Part Two

The memories, so real, fresh and inescapable, were a body blow he was unprepared for and he curled over his drawn up knees, breathing in ragged gasps. He spent what felt like hours just trying to keep from screaming, then he felt a hand rest lightly on his shoulder and heard a soft voice beside him whisper, “Xander.”

At the touch Xander glanced up and released his knees to launch himself into Anya’s arms, overjoyed to see her beloved face in this dark, desolate place. "Ahn!" he was so happy to see someone he loved alive he hugged her close, assuring himself of her reality.

She patted him in an awkwardly soothing way while he got himself under control. When his grip lessened marginally she pushed him away slightly. "Xander, we have to talk."

She was using her all business tone and it sent a chill up Xander's spine, reminded him that she was the reason he was here in the first place. He pulled away and leaned back against the wall staring at the ceiling. There was no hope of either comfort or rescue in her presence. Really, there was only one reason she could possibly be here right now. “Come to gloat have you Anya?” he asked, trying to put a nasty edge in his voice to cover for the way he'd practically been sobbing on her.

She turned away from him, hugging herself. “I really should be. If I was in really proper form that would be exactly why I was here.” She turned back to him, arms dropping to her sides, eyes blazing with indignation. “You hurt me, Xander. You hurt me very badly.”

“So, I leave you at the altar and you get your vengeance back on,” he spat out, leveling his eyes on her again, hoping righteous indignation would cover for his earlier weakness.

“You didn’t just leave me,” she said in crisp, precise tones, “you abandoned me. Humiliated me in front of my friends, disgraced me in front of your family. Do you have any idea the things your parents said to me? The things your mother accused me of? Your father insisted that the whole thing had to be my fault, loudly, and he wasn’t paying for a wedding that wasn’t going to happen and they left. But someone had to pay all those bills, Xander, and someone had to tell all our guests there wasn’t going to be a wedding. You abandoned me to face all of that alone while you wandered off …” Her voice broke and she began sobbing.

He could all too easily imagine his parents ripping into her at her most vulnerable moment. Add to that losing her hard earned money, the only security she had left. In some ways, particularly emotionally, Anya was still a little like a child. She'd always relied on him to explain things that she found incomprehensible. His anger melted thinking of how scared and confused his abandonment must have left her. He really couldn't bear to see her cry like this and so he only hesitated a few moments before he folded her into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you, Ahn, but do you really think sending the whole world into hell was the answer?” He used the quiet, reasonable tone he’d mastered when dealing with Anya’s less than human responses.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she said, wiping the last tears from her eyes. “We don’t always know what the results are going to be, we just set a few parameters. Usually they come from the person making the wish but yours was so wide open I just sort of nudged it.” She’d worn the same expression when she backed the car into a light pole, knowing she’d done something wrong and daring him to call her on it. “I didn’t think it was even that bad. I had so many ideas and they were all conflicting, part of me wanted to never have met you and part of me wanted to make you marry me and another part wanted you to suffer, and another part..."

“Ahn,” he gripped her hand to stop her as she ramped up to full on babble mode. “What did you do?”

“I made it so you were never a hero," she said in a small voice.

Xander stared at her like he'd been poleaxed. "Anya, I've never been a hero. I'm just the guy who gets the snacks and fixes broken stuff."

She glared at his flummoxed expression, pulling away from him and putting her hands on her hips. "Well, obviously, you were more important than you thought because that's why the world's like this. Think about it Xander, what got broken that you didn’t fix here?"

Xander blinked. Buffy, he hadn’t saved Buffy and the Master opened the Hellmouth. His brain pretty much froze at that thought, he didn't even realize he'd given voice to the thought until Anya blurted, "Exactly. It's really not fair; the other part was for you to be at the mercy of someone you humiliated. I was thinking of Cordelia or, here's a wild idea, ME. But because you didn't do that one little thing, the only real candidate was Spike."

She seemed genuinely incensed at his lack of consideration. Under other circumstances he might have found it cute. "OK, so you're not happy, I'm not happy, it's time for the big do over, right?"

Anya suddenly became very solemn. "That's why I'm here." She lifted the chain for her pendant over her head and placed it in the palm of his hand. "You have to smash it," she explained while fighting back tears. "Then everything will go back to normal. You won't even remember it."

Xander grinned broadly as hope surged inside him, gripping the pendant in his fist he asked with confidence, “Then you’ll be human again?”

Anya shook her head and looked down. “No.”

The grin died as a new fear rose in him. He gripped her shoulders. “D’Hoffryn won’t kill you, will he?”

She swiped at her nose, “Oh no. He won’t let me off that easily. He’ll want to make an example of me.”

He lifted her chin, trying to get her to meet his eyes. “What will he do?”

“Please, Xander,” She looked up at him with large, tear filled eyes. “I’m going to spend centuries being tormented, do I have to think about it now?”

"Whoa," he gripped her shoulders more tightly, "what's with the torture? Can't you just end this? Like Halfrek ended the trapped in the house spell?"

"It doesn't work that way, Xander. That was localized, a minor curse. Halfrek never was in the big leagues." Even in her misery a momentary smug look passed over her face. "This is an alternate reality, the only way out is to destroy my power center."

Xander stepped back and leaned against the wall, staring at the pendant resting in his hand. "I don't understand, why would you be willing to go through torment to break the curse?"

"Because nothing is turning out the way its supposed to," she practically wailed. "This is some of my best work, I'm up for a commendation for it! But I see you, scared, miserable, and I hate it. I think I'd rather be tortured than watch you be hurt and know it's because of me. It hurts, and it's not fair at all because once you smash it you won't even know you should feel guilty because of my noble sacrifice."

It was such a typical complaint he couldn't help but smile. He slipped the chain back over her head. “We’ll think of another way.”

“I told you, there is no other way.” She was looking at him as if he was saying something intensely stupid. Maybe he was but he didn’t care.

“Can you change the curse?” he asked, saying whatever came into his head, anything to avert the hideous picture Anya alluded to. “Give me a nice case of boils or something and we call it a day?”

Anya stepped back a couple paces in shock. “I don't have that kind of authority, only D'Hoffryn can do that. But Xander, you’d still be cursed.”

He closed the small distance between them again and slid his hands up and down her arms in an attempt at reassurance. “Listen, there is almost nothing worse than being Spike’s boytoy but on that very short list is having Willow, Buffy, Giles … almost everyone I care about dead because of me. Only slightly higher on the scale of never gonna happen is you going through centuries of torment because I was an idiot. With those as my choices I say bring on the boils.”

“I’ll speak to D’Hoffryn. But it’ll take time, maybe a month or longer,” she said desperately upset. “He likes to keep us dangling when we have special requests.”

"A month?" Xander gulped a little at that. “OK, if that's what it takes I’ll find a way to cope, just … hurry please?”

Anya hugged him tightly enough his ribs creaked. “I’m so sorry Xander.”

And then he was alone again but with a little more hope than he’d had a few minutes ago. Now he had to decide what he was going to do when Spike came to get him.

He still hadn’t decided a few hours later when, right after sunset, Spike came to retrieve him. Spike said not one word to him as he stood back while Xander was released from his cage. He clamped a hand around Xander’s arm and yanked him forward, clipped the leash onto his collar and pulled him out of the compound and into the street. Spike ignored the entreaties of the facility’s other occupants but Xander was struck speechless as some begged to become a part of his larder, touting the quality of their blood. Just what awaited them that being dinner was a superior alternative? Once outside, Xander made an attempt at speech, explanation, apology or protest he really wasn’t sure; but a quelling look from Spike kept him silent.

The neighborhood they were walking through was pleasant, if you discounted the fact that the majority of their fellow pedestrians were demons, lined with well maintained hedges, ivy covered walls and even a white picket fence or two. Too bad strolling through wasn't Spike's agenda. He cast baleful glares at anyone brave enough to greet him and kept going.

It had been almost three years since Xander’d been afraid of Spike. Funny how fast it came back to you. This Spike carried an air of implacable menace about him, reminding Xander that his first inclination during his initial meeting with the vampire had been to run. He had seen Spike in this kind of mood before. During the summer Buffy was gone it meant a night of ripping demons to pieces. This was not a reassuring thought.

The minute they were inside the house Xander was thrown into the nearest wall.

“What in the hell did you think you were doing!?” Spike growled.

Xander started to reply but it was apparently a rhetorical question as Spike gripped his hair and thumped the back of his head against the same wall he’d just rebounded from hard enough that his vision blurred. Spike’s game face was a bare inch from his own. “Might as well ring the dinner bell for the wankers! You’re damned lucky it was Bradley and Sam what caught you. Would have taken me hours to track you down if one of the scavengers nabbed you.”

Xander was shocked to hear what sounded like concern in Spike’s snarl. He didn’t have long to consider this possibility though as he was slammed down to the marble floor of the foyer. He glared up at Spike from his prone position. It was clear the vampire was in no mood to listen. Xander had no intention of being beaten to death without ever striking a blow in his own defense. He climbed to his feet and threw a punch at Spike’s face, with predictable results. He was slammed back to the floor with bone crunching force. The fact that he had fought back seemed to enrage Spike. Groggily, Xander watched as Spike grabbed a leather strap from a peg by the door. He barely had time to curl into a ball, trying to protect his face and groin, before the first frenzy of blows fell. The strap cut into the backs of his legs, his backside, his shoulders in a completely random fashion. He could feel the blood oozing from the fresh stripes as he cried out at each lash. He had never experienced such a beating in his life. It seemed to go on for hours.

Eventually, he was unable to maintain his tightly curled position and flopped onto his back in sheer exhaustion. The cool marble of the floor soothed his burning back even as it made the cuts sting unbearably. All fight gone out of him, he barely had enough strength to whimper. He was certain Spike was going to kill him and it was beginning to sound like an appealing idea. At least the pain would stop.

A hand on the back of his neck made him wince but he offered no resistance as he was pushed upright, his head supported on Spike’s shoulder. He felt something wet at his mouth and flinched away.

“Drink it,” Spike demanded, so Xander swallowed when something that tasted like old pennies trickled into his mouth. Gradually it dawned on him that he was drinking from Spike’s wrist. He opened his eyes and saw Spike, back in human face, watching him drink with irritation. “What has gotten into you, Pet?”

The flow of blood from the wounded wrist slowed and stopped. Xander licked his lips, catching the last traces as it was taken away. The pain was dulling into background noise and he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. It felt like he hadn't slept in days and unconsciousness promised relief for his battered body, so he closed his eyes and drifted off.