Chapter Text
Xander let himself into his apartment, distractedly sniffing himself and hoping the scent of burnt letterman jacket wasn’t going to linger in his clothes. As he shrugged off his coat, the phone rang.
The sun was barely up. This couldn’t be good.
With a sigh, he answered.
“Hey, it’s me.” Dean. Probably the last person Xander expected.
“Hey,” he replied, feeling a little cautious. Hearing Dean’s voice reminded him pretty harshly of what Dean had said to him the last time they’d seen each other. If this was an apology, he wasn’t going to make it easy.
But Dean didn’t say anything. It occurred to Xander that maybe Dean was waiting for him to apologise. Fuck that.
“Did you call for a reason?” Xander asked impatiently. He was sick of waiting for Dean to sort his shit out. Right now, he’d rather be asleep in bed. His summer construction job had ended a week ago, and with it the need to be awake at the asscrack of dawn.
“Yeah,” Dean answered. “Look, Alex, I called to say that we can’t meet up anymore.”
“What?” Xander said. First the fight, now this?
“Sam’s girl died, and he’s gonna be on the road with me for a while,” Dean said abruptly.
“Oh,” Xander said, taking a step back. Sam had lost a loved one, and it was typical Dean to do the right thing by him. Xander had always thought it sounded like Sam had abandoned him, but Dean had never seen it that way.
But then Dean went on. “And it’s time we gave up on this anyway, right? Focus on our separate lives?”
And Xander’s mental processes came to a screeching halt. Gave up? What the fuck?
“Dean…” he began, but Dean’s rushed voice came through one last time and then there was nothing but dial tone.
Xander stared at the phone for a second, disbelief and fury warring inside him. Anger won, and he punched *69. “Oh, no, you fucking don’t,” he muttered, bringing the phone back up to his ear.
The number you have dialled is not available. The number you have dialled…
What the fuck? Okay, Xander thought, trying to calm himself. It’s one of those payphones that doesn’t take incoming calls. He tried Dean’s cell.
Straight to voicemail. He hung up without leaving a message.
Fucking bastard, he thought numbly.
***
Xander tried Dean’s cell number a dozen times over the next few hours. He didn’t sleep, and when he had to go to work, he called on his breaks. But the number went to voicemail every time. He couldn’t bring himself to leave a message.
All he could think about was the fight. That stupid, stupid fight. What the hell had he been thinking? He’d pushed, and broken every unspoken rule of their relationship, and thrown all their years of sneaking around back in Dean’s face.
And Dean had dumped him for it.
Fuck. He had to fix it. He could talk to Dean, take it all back, and everything could go back to the way it was. It couldn’t end like this.
As soon as his shift behind the bar at the Bronze ended, Xander headed for his car. He was due at Buffy’s for a post-patrol check-in. But when he pulled out of the alley and drove off, Xander found himself, literally, at a crossroads.
Left would take him to Buffy’s place, but right would take him out of Sunnydale.
He could go. He could head for the highway, track Dean down and talk him around. Beat some sense into him, if necessary. Tell him he didn’t mean it, that it could all go back to the way it was.
And Dean had to answer his cell at some point. Xander was willing to call from every roadside phone he could find, if that’s what it took.
With that thought in mind, he pulled out his cellphone to try again. But this time, instead of voicemail, he got an automated message.
The number you have dialled has been disconnected. The number you have dialled has been disconnected. The number you have dial—
He snapped the phone shut, cutting off the voice.
Disconnected.
Xander sat there in the dark of his car, stunned.
Dean had shut down his account, and Xander didn’t have a new number.
Not answering any calls was one thing. But deliberately shutting down the only phone number Xander had…
He vaguely wondered if his emails would bounce as well, if he bothered to send any.
Dean’s words came back to him, and reality settled in like a heavy weight. Time we gave up. Separate lives.
It was over.
***
The next few days were a nightmare. Spike was killing, and one of the whiny little creeps that killed Tara showed up. Bringers swarmed the house, and beating up the freakish bastards was probably more satisfying than it should have been. But Xander couldn’t stop Dean’s words from going on loop in his head.
Eventually he had to escape, had to get out, if only for a few moments, to clear his head. Barely making it out onto Buffy’s porch, Xander gripped the railing hard, lowered his head and tried to breathe.
It was over.
The thought still made him feel sick. Over. Ended. He shuddered.
He desperately wanted to get in the car, take off, track Dean down and make that ‘over’ not be true anymore. But how could he leave them in the middle of this? How could he be that guy, the one that went for what he wanted over what was the right thing to do?
At that moment, he heard the front door of the house open behind him.
“Xander?” It was Buffy. She’d been inside with Dawn, questioning Andrew about the Seal.
Xander turned, and he knew his face was bleak, his eyes filled with tears. He couldn’t mask his feelings, not now, and for a few minutes, he didn’t care.
Buffy looked startled, then frowned at him. “Xander, are you alright? What’s going on?” She paused. “Is it Dean?”
He looked away, knowing it would tell her all she needed to know. But he didn’t think he could stand to see pity in her eyes. “It’s nothing, Buff. I don’t want to talk about it,” he managed bitterly. “What’s up?”
She seemed willing to let him pretend he was alright, but there was still enough sympathy in her face to make his hackles rise. “Andrew squealed,” she said. “We have to go to the high school, see if we can find the Seal.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he said. Buffy nodded, and went back inside.
Xander turned to look back out over the street again, taking in the perfect, sunny, suburban view.
Over.
It was like the word broke something deep inside him, something he hadn’t even really known was there. It hurt, and for a second he felt like a child, surprised that something he loved could turn on him like that. Surprised at the unfairness of it.
But he only had a few seconds. They needed him, and he had to go back in and be normal. He had to stay calm, stay focused, and not fall apart, no matter how much he wanted to.
Xander wiped at his eyes and took a few deep breaths. It took a lot of effort, but he forced himself to stand straight, and, hoping no-one else would notice the bleeding hole where his heart used to be, he went calmly back into the house.
***
Xander spent the next few hours pretending everything was fine. He led Andrew around the school, thumped him when it seemed appropriate, and pretended to be freaked out by the goat’s head. He marched Andrew back to the house, and watched as Willow’s spell backfired.
He refused to think about Dean. Every time his thoughts strayed in that direction, he deliberately distracted himself. He asked a question, he left the room and went to make coffee, he reached for another book. He finished the repairs on the windows. He acted normal enough that Buffy even stopped glancing his way with a concerned look in her eyes.
Then Giles appeared with what he said were potential slayers and explained why the situation was worse than they’d even dreamed.
Hundreds of girls, all over the world, most of them gutted and bloody. The Council, gone.
The First Evil, poised to wipe out the entire slayer line.
Buffy and Giles went in search of Bringers, and Xander sat at the table, pretending to research. He snagged the cuff on his wrist on a book, and had to grip the table’s edge for a few seconds, holding on while he suddenly got the overpowering feeling that he was drowning.
He couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, he knew that much. But staying... Staying meant not even trying to find Dean. Staying meant giving up on him, giving up on any chance for a future for the two of them. Staying meant accepting that it was over.
And Xander couldn’t do that, either.
Later, he promised himself, helpless with indecision. When this is over, you can go after him.
***
Sunrise brought the news that Buffy had encountered a vampire older than any they’d ever encountered before, as if they needed an addition to the from beneath you, it devours club.
And there was no intel. The book he was reading was useless. All the books were useless. Research was pointless, and everything sucked, and Xander had never felt more trapped in his entire life.
Trapped in his life. Hemmed in on all sides by vampires, slayers, needy friends, and his own stupid sense of duty, when all he wanted…
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, slammed his worse-than useless book shut. He had to get out.
He stood, and said, “I’m going out. I’ll be back before sunset.”
“We could really use your help here,” Giles reproached.
“I said I’d be back,” Xander snapped. “The bookfuls of useless information will still be here in a couple of hours.”
***
Xander strode through the doors of Sunnydale’s only gym, already feeling some of the tension ease out of his shoulders. He’d go in, start sparring with someone, and lose himself in the action.
His trainer took one look at him, and directed him to the punching bags.
Xander sighed, but what choice did he have? If Sheppard didn’t want him to fight yet, he couldn’t fight. He pulled off his sweatshirt, wrapped his hands, and started laying into the heavy bag.
Two hours later, Sheppard tossed him to the mattress for the fifth time.
Xander had managed to work out most of his anger on the bag, and in the process he’d worked out that some of his claustrophobia was just badly-masked fear. And fear, he could deal with.
But by the time Sheppard let him spar, thoughts of Dean were creeping in, and he’d started taking hits. His blows had got more and more uncontrolled and he’d been lashing out without thinking. Sheppard laid him out on the mats every time.
Now, the trainer crouched over Xander’s prone form with a concerned look on his face. Xander ignored him in favour of staring at the ceiling and trying to get his breath back.
For a brief second, he felt completely and utterly broken.
Dean was gone. He’d cut Xander out of his life, and it was starting to sink in that Xander might never see him again.
Funny how that bothered him more than all the monsters the hellmouth had ever thrown at him.
“You’re not usually this distracted,” Sheppard said, and Xander forced himself back out of his own head. “There something going on that I should know about?”
After a pause, Xander answered. “Don’t go outside tonight. Lock your doors as soon as the sun sets.”
Sheppard didn’t know about the hellmouth, but some internal radar seemed to tell him Xander was involved in more than just bartending and the occasional construction job. Two years of teaching Xander to fight, and he didn’t ask questions, even when Xander added bladed weapons to their usual training. But he listened when Xander told him not to take his kids to a certain park, or not to use the alley behind the gym for a while.
“Okay,” Sheppard said evenly. “Anything else?”
Xander just grunted, and pushed himself up off the floor. He fingered his ribs, trying to guess how bad the bruises would be. It had been a long time since Sheppard had been able to beat him down so easily.
He headed off the training mats, and began unwrapping his hands. Without turning, he said, “I got dumped.”
Xander could feel the silence behind him, feel that frozen moment of surprise. He was surprised himself – he hadn’t meant to say anything, and it was harder to hear it out loud than he’d expected.
“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,” Sheppard said, following Xander off the mats.
Xander flinched at the concern in his voice, then smiled mirthlessly. “Well, I’m not anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” Sheppard said softly.
Genuine sympathy, and it was too much for Xander to handle. He wrenched the last of the tape off his hands, grabbed his half-open gym bag and left without saying another word.
***
Annabelle. Their first casualty. Round one to the hellmouth. And for a few long moments that night, it felt like the war was already over.
When Xander pulled the sheet of corrugated iron off the body of his best friend, it really sank in that they probably wouldn’t survive this one.
He’d always known, of course. With every apocalypse, the thought was always there in the back of his mind. And part of knowing about the monsters in the dark was knowing that every day could be your last.
But before, he’d always had something more to fight for. His friends, sure, but something else. Someone who needed him, someone who would drive three states so they could spend a weekend together. Someone who looked at him like the sight of Xander’s face made his world just a little bit better.
Now, though, that was gone, and Xander was starting to doubt whether it had ever actually been like that in the first place. And they were losing the fight. He’d never felt so mired in darkness.
Xander carried Buffy’s badly beaten body back through the streets himself. He could just feel the movement of her ribs as she breathed, and it was the only way he could tell she was still alive. When he reached the house, he headed for the stairs, straight up to her room.
“Tell the girls she sprained an ankle,” he murmured to Willow, who nodded and vanished back down the stairs, promising healing tea.
“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Giles said, taking a left into the bathroom.
“That’d be good,” Xander replied. “I think she’s coming round,” he added, not even sure Giles could still hear him.
He laid Buffy down on the bed, taking in the bruises and scrapes. Her eyelids started fluttering. “Buff? You in there?”
She opened her eyes and smiled weakly at him. God, she looked so tired. He smiled back, hiding his doubts deep inside. The last thing she needed right now was doubt.
“You’re gonna be fine, Buff,” he promised. “You just rest up. And I’m afraid Willow’s making you some tea,” he warned.
She grimaced, and he chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t like her tea, either.”
“Maybe if she put some booze in it,” she grumbled, then winced, and gingerly fingered a bruise on her jaw.
A shuffle behind him, and Xander turned to see Giles come in, massive first aid kit in hand. He backed off as Giles took over, and took a seat in the armchair by the door.
Willow joined them, smelly tea in hand. “How’s she doing?”
Xander shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” He grinned. “Not looking forward to your tea,” he teased, wrinkling his nose.
She rolled her eyes. “My teas are good. Deal with it, Xander.”
He faked gagging.
“I do wish you two could take this seriously for more than two seconds together,” Giles muttered absently from the vicinity of the bed.
“Jesus, Giles, don’t you recognise a coping mechanism when you see one?” Xander said lightly. At least, it was meant to be light.
There must have been something in his voice, though, because while Giles kept his attention on Buffy’s prone form, bandaging and disinfecting with field-hospital efficiency, his back tensed up and he didn’t respond.
Xander glanced over at Willow, only to find himself on the receiving end of a concerned look.
“What?” he said defensively. “It’s true.”
After a pause, she replied, “I know, Xander.”
Xander frowned. Was it something he said?
***
It was late when Xander ran into Willow on the stairs. “Hey there,” he said. “You can’t sleep either?”
“No, I seem to have a roommate who’s...well,” she hesitated uncomfortably. “She’s chatty.”
“God, tell me about it. The girls in the living room won’t shut up,” he said, as they headed into the empty kitchen. “Why couldn’t I go home again?”
“Because there’s a prehistoric vampire out to kill us?” she said. He could tell she was trying for good humoured, but the funny got lost somewhere. Willow seemed to notice, because she screwed up her nose, and said “Is it me, or is this apocalypse getting harder and harder to joke about?”
There was a second where Xander considered possible innuendo, but instead, he answered seriously. “I know what you mean,” he said. “It’s just...bigger, or something.”
“Or something,” she agreed, pulling out some mugs for tea, and Xander tried to brace his taste buds for the assault. He leaned on the counter next to her and stared off into space.
“I think Buffy’s right when she says we need to be an army,” he mused. “It feels like we’ve really got to pull out all the stops on this one, you know? The stakes are higher, and it’s do-or-die time. I’ve just been thinking that we’ve all got to do everything we can.”
Xander was talking about himself more than anything, trying to give himself the excuse he was looking for, the excuse to fight until the pain inside him went away. But Willow didn’t quite take it that way.
“I know that, Xander,” she said, and he looked up, startled by her defensive tone. “I know I have to get control of the magics, I know I can be a weapon. But I don’t need the pressure, not from Buffy, or you, or Kennedy. Maybe if everyone would stop trying to force me to do it, it’d be easier—”
“Willow, stop,” he interrupted. “I’m not talking about magic. I would never pressure you to do that, you know I wouldn’t.”
She looked at him for a second, studied his serious face, then deflated. “I know,” she admitted. “I might be feeling a little over-sensitive.”
He smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
She nodded, then frowned at him. “How about you? Are you fine?”
“Sure,” he replied uncertainly.
“It’s just that you seem a little off lately,” she explained. “And Buffy said you got some bad news. I thought it might be something to do with... Well, is there anything you want to talk about?”
She looked concerned, ready to be there for him if he needed her. But Xander could hear the unspoken ‘something to do with Dean’, and the super-supportive act grated
He kept his eyes on the ground for a moment, trying to get a grip on the irrational irritation he suddenly felt. She’s just worried about you, he told himself. When he’d talked himself out of defensively snapping at her, he admitted, “Yeah, I guess there is something. It’s Dean. It was, I mean
“What happened?” she asked neutrally.
Xander hesitated. “It’s over.”
It still hurt to say it out loud.
“I’m sorry,” Willow said, and the concern in her eyes was genuine. Then she turned away to make the tea, and he could practically hear the effort it took not to say ‘I told you so’. “You haven’t said anything about it,” she said after a moment, voice still carefully neutral.
“Yeah, well, you guys haven’t ever been that interested in the whole thing, so I kept my mouth shut,” he said bitterly.
“That’s not fair. We were interested,” she argued. “You stopped talking about him.”
“Because every other conversation I had with you and Buffy included the phrase, ‘you could do so much better’,” Xander snapped.
Tea things forgotten, she turned to face him. “Xander, we just wanted you to have someone who was here, not someone who just called you up for sex whenever he was in the state.”
“That’s not how it was,” he replied angrily.
“We didn’t want you to be with someone who couldn’t tell his father about you,” she went on, years of pent-up criticism finally venting. “We didn’t want you to be with someone who never bothered to come here and meet any of us. We wanted you with someone who would appreciate you, someone who would actually care if you cheated on him,” and man, did Xander regret telling Willow about that.
“It wasn’t about what you wanted,” he snapped. “My relationship with Dean is my relationship. I get that you want the best for me, but it’s my goddamn decision,” he shouted. As soon as the words left his mouth, he deflated. “Or it was, anyway,” he finished quietly.
Willow’s face fell, and he watched remorse creep in. “Xander,” she began.
“Forget it,” he said brusquely, trying to shut the emotions down again. “It doesn’t matter now. I’ll be fine.”
That effectively shut the conversation down, and Willow went back to the mugs on the counter. Xander thought of leaving, but every other room in the house was full of girls, and he wasn’t angry enough to need to leave the house. So he stood there, tense and pissed off, with nowhere else to go. Story of my fucking life, he thought.
“I am sorry, Xander,” she repeated abruptly, breaking the frosty silence that had enveloped the kitchen.
A rejection was on the tip of his tongue, but when he looked at her he could tell she was sincere. “Yeah,” he exhaled. “I know it wasn’t an ideal situation,” he added hesitantly, his own way of apologising. “But you can’t help who you fall in love with, right?”
She offered him a small smile as she poured hot water, and Xander resigned himself to choking down the mugful. His mind wandered, and he realised that their wildly unsuccessful love lives could be considered just another thing the two of them had in common. The three of them, if you counted Buffy, which he probably should.
It wasn’t really a comforting thought, and the bitter taste of Willow’s tea didn’t help. But he did the best he could to deal with it.
***
The group walked out of the construction site in silence. But barely-suppressed excitement filled the air, and Xander knew the quiet wouldn’t last. The girls, filled with renewed hope and sense of purpose now that the Turok Han was dead, would start to chatter as soon as they felt it was safe enough. Thankfully, he was due at work in half an hour.
He jogged to catch up with Buffy. “Hey, you’re going after Spike now, right?”
She sighed, and nodded tiredly.
“Walk me to work?” he asked. She smiled, and they said their goodbyes to Willow and Dawn and headed off.
“Just like old times, huh?” He and Buffy had patrolled like this for years, him on his way to work and her out for the night. He usually tried to catch up with her afterwards as well, or she’d come by the Bronze for a drink.
“Yeah, we haven’t had time for much of that lately, have we?” she replied.
Xander shrugged. “I’m sure our schedules will match up again some time.”
They walked on in silence for a moment. Then Buffy said, “So, was there something you wanted to talk to me about?”
Xander’s mind had been wandering, and the question brought him back to the present with a jolt. “Huh? No.” He paused. “Why? Should there be?” he asked cautiously.
She exhaled, irritated. “No. I guess not. I just…it’s complicated.”
“Okay,” Xander offered.
“I mean, things with Spike. They’re complicated.”
Realisation dawned. “Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh’. I know it bothers you, and I know you brought me out here because you wanted to talk to me about it, but—”
“Buff, I didn’t bring you out here for anything,” Xander interrupted. She still looked suspicious, so he added lightly, “I wanted a bodyguard, alright? You might be a slayer, but some of us still need protection from the mean streets of Sunnydale.”
She relaxed a little, but still frowned. He studied her for a minute. “What made you think I wanted to talk to you about Spike? I haven’t said anything about him lately,” he asked.
“I know,” she said. “I don’t know. Willow was worried about you. You’re okay, though, right?”
She looked at him uncertainly. Xander didn’t meet her eyes, but said, “I’m okay. Things with Dean...things with Dean are over, though.”
He said it calmly, like it didn’t mean anything. Like it had been the casual, sex-based thing she’d always assumed it was. And she believed him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and her sympathy was genuine and distant. Part of him hated her for not seeing how much the loss hurt him, but the rest of him was just sick of the whole situation. Let her and Willow believe what they wanted about him and Dean. He couldn’t be bothered arguing with them about it, especially not now that it was over.
“Thanks,” he replied. They walked half a block in silence. “You know, there was something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
“Shoot,” she invited, more relaxed than before, but tensing slightly at his opener.
“I’ve been thinking,’ he began, then paused, suddenly unsure how to continue. “I guess it’s everything we’ve come up against lately. I mean, take tonight. That was one hell of a fight, and we’ve barely got started.”
“This whole thing is big, Buff, and…it’s making me think about things,” he added.
She looked over. “Think about what?”
And it was like she was really listening to him, for the first time in forever.
He shrugged. “Life. What we all might have been doing if we’d never lived in this fucked-up little town. If we weren’t fighting for our lives every night. You’re not the only one who wondered what it would be like to have another kind of life, Buff,” he reminded her.
She stopped, and turned to stare at him. “Xander, you chose this. I never made you…I never wanted you to…”
“I know, and I’m not saying you did. I chose this. I’m aware of that,” he replied, more harshly than he’d intended. He paused, and when he spoke, his voice was calmer. “But things change. Your life changes around you, and you have to look at your choices again.”
She stared at him for a second. “What exactly are you trying to tell me, Xander? You’re, what, reviewing your options?” Betrayal and disbelief were written all over her face.
“I’m trying to tell you I’m in,” he said sharply. “Wholeheartedly,” he added, voice softening as he saw her get it.
He was telling her he was ready to die for the cause, and sorrow bloomed on her face. “Xander…”
“Don’t think for a second that I doubt you or your abilities,” he said quietly. “You know that I never have. But this is going to get ugly, and I need you to know that I’m here. For whatever you need.”
It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be, anymore. His chance at a future outside all of this was gone, and his friends were all he had left. If he went down, no-one else would care.
He could tell Buffy could see some of his determination in his face, some of his lack of doubt. He wondered briefly whether she would put the two conversations they’d had together and come up with the right answer. Probably not, he decided. It seemed he was just as good at hiding his feelings as any other guy. Who’d have thought?
She assessed him for a moment more, and then he could have sworn he saw his own determination to fight-to-the-death reflected back at him through her eyes. Times like this, he remembered she’d been heartbroken a few times herself.
“Whatever it takes,” she echoed, nodding slightly. He smiled grimly, and without another word, they turned to head towards the Bronze.
***
Work. An eight-hour shift behind the bar. Xander took orders, he was friendly, he flirted, he mixed drinks, and he pretended that the world wasn’t ending all around them. He pretended his own private world hadn’t recently been ripped apart.
And it worked, a little. He got lost in the rhythm of it all, just worked on automatic and didn’t think about anything. It helped.
Then his shift ended, and he took a deep breath as he stepped out of the bar. Back to reality. Rico and Carly came out behind him.
“We’re the last ones out, boss,” Rico said.
Xander nodded. “Did you get the lights out back?”
“Yep,” Carly said, stopping to light a cigarette.
Xander locked the doors, then paused. Normally, he’d grin and tell her smoking could kill her, she’d laugh, and he’d leave, shaking his head at her self-destructive addiction. But tonight, his hands suddenly felt empty.
“You mind if I have one of those?” he asked.
Carly and Rico exchanged surprised glances. “Um, boss? You don’t smoke,” she said warily.
“I do today,” Xander replied. Carly offered him the cigarette she’d just lit, surprised look still on her face.
“Your stress level gone up or something, Xander?” Rico asked, pulling out his own pack of smokes.
Xander chuckled bitterly. “You could say that.” He took the cigarette and took an experimental drag.
He’d half-expected to embarrass himself by coughing his lungs out, or worse, bursting into tears. The last cigarette he’d had was Dean’s, back when he smoked. And before that was Jesse and a very short-lived, thirteen-year-old rebellion that Willow had swiftly put a stop to.
But instead of reminding him of some of the best and worst moments of his life, and thus completely depressing him, he found it relaxing. It gave him something to focus on, something to do with his hands.
“Are you alright?” Carly asked cautiously.
Xander shook his head. “Yeah, it’s fine. Nothing to worry about. You two take care, okay?” With that, he shoved one hand in a pocket and headed off down the street to his car.
***
Xander let himself into his apartment. Looking around, it felt like years since he’d been in there. These days it seemed like all he did was hang out at Buffy’s, sleep, or run for his life, with a little time at work thrown in for kicks. Thank god he’d tidied the place up and taken the trash out when he’d last been home, whenever that was. Nothing was more depressing than a tiny, shithole apartment with old take-out containers all over the floor.
Grimacing at the slightly stale air, he tossed his keys on the table and crossed to open the window. He really should sleep, he thought, staring out at nothing.
He’d never felt so deeply grateful for privacy. Willow had wanted him to stay at the house, but with new girls arriving every day, they were seriously running out of room. They wouldn’t send any Potentials here until they got desperate, and Xander realised that possibly the only benefit of his tiny, shithole apartment had just been made clear to him.
So, until they literally couldn’t fit a single additional girl in at Buffy’s, Xander had privacy. Privacy enough to finally berate himself for fucking up the only thing that had been keeping him going this whole time.
He’d meant what he said during his conversation with Buffy. He’d been thinking about his choices, about the ones he kept making, and why he made them. All these years and he hadn’t even realised how much knowing Dean had changed him.
He’d been such a kid when he finished high school, such an awkward, insecure geek, totally overwhelmed by the prospect of starting a life outside of high school. Then he’d met Dean, and even in the beginning, when they were just friends, Xander had started to think that maybe this life thing wasn’t too scary after all.
He still couldn’t put a finger on exactly what it was. He just felt so easy around Dean, so un-pressured. Being with Dean showed him a side of himself he’d never knew existed. The fantastic-sex side, sure, but also the side of him that didn’t need to joke about every damn thing, that wasn’t afraid to sit in silence for a while. The side of him that didn’t clamour for attention cause he finally felt like himself. With Dean, he felt like he’d finally worked out who he was.
And it had changed his life. He stopped imagining that the girls left him out on purpose, and found stuff to do on his own. He learnt to fight, not to prove himself but to be safe, to help protect people. He stopped fucking around with fast food and got a job at the Bronze that he actually liked. It was almost like he’d found a secret weapon, a spark inside that kept him confident and gave him the guts to try. It was corny as hell, but having Dean in his life made Xander believe in himself so much more.
Who wouldn’t want that feeling all the time? Xander still couldn’t blame himself for wanting to get as close to that feeling as possible.
But he pushed too hard, and now it was gone. A single phone call, and it was over. Dean cut him off so easily, Xander had to wonder how much he’d been reading into their relationship that simply wasn’t there.
Sure, they were friends. But when Xander pushed, when he’d demanded more than Dean was willing to give him, Dean had given up. He’d let it go, let them go.
Maybe Dean just hadn’t cared that much, and decided to get rid of Xander while he had the airtight excuse of his brother’s grief. He must have been so relieved, Xander realised, and the thought made his gut twist with self-loathing.
No, he told himself. Dean cared about him. Just not enough. It hurt to think about; all these years, he’d thought they had something, he’d stupidly believed they were more than just friends.
He thought over all the times he thought he’d seen love in Dean’s eyes. Clearly, it was just friendship, maybe even affection. Sure, Dean had liked him, or whatever. They were friends.
But it wasn’t love. Dean had never said it, hadn’t ever said the words. Xander had just gotten confused, cause the sex was so fantastic, and because it felt like Dean understood him better than anyone ever had. But Dean had never promised him anything.
With that thought in mind, Xander pulled away from the window and headed for bed. He toed his boots off and lay down, fully clothed. He didn’t bother to close his eyes, cause he knew he wouldn’t sleep.
It’s okay to miss him, Xander told himself. Who wouldn’t? You’re allowed to miss your friend when he’s not here. But he’s not coming back. You were just wrong about the love part.
Alone in his silent apartment, he stared at the ceiling.
***
Xander hung back as all the girls followed Buffy out of the room, his eyes on Dawn as she was passed by all of them. He waited as she sat and opened a book, waited until she noticed he was there.
“What’s up?” she asked. It sounded light, but he could see the tension in her shoulders and hear the tightness underneath her normal voice.
He circled around, taking his time to take the seat next to her. “I’m just thinking about the girls. It's a harsh gig, being a potential. Just being picked out of a crowd, danger, destiny.” He paused, then grinned. “Plus if you act now, death.”
She didn’t smile. “They can handle it.”
“Sure,” he agreed. “They’re special. And not one of them will ever know, not even Buffy.”
Dawn frowned at him. “Know what?”
“How much harder it is for the rest of us,” Xander said softly.
“No way. They’ve got…”
He interrupted her. “Seven years, Dawn. Working with the slayer. Seeing my friends get more and more powerful. A witch. A demon. Hell, I could fit Oz in my shaving kit, but come a full moon, he had a wolfy mojo not to be messed with. Powerful. All of them. And I'm the guy who mixes drinks and fixes the windows.”
“But you can fight,” she protested. “You train harder than…” She stopped, and he watched realisation flow over her face. “You train harder than any of them, don’t you? To keep up.”
Xander cleared his throat, and changed the subject. “I saw what you did last night.”
“Yeah, I…” She stopped, embarrassed. “I guess I kinda lost my head when I thought I was the slayer.”
“You thought you were all special, and the minute you found out you weren't, you handed the crown to Amanda without a moment's pause. You gave her your power.”
Dawn shrugged. “The power wasn't mine.”
“They'll never know how tough it is, Dawnie, to be the one who isn't chosen. To live so near to the spotlight and never step in it. To be the ordinary one.”
“You’re not ordinary,” she protested.
“Yeah, I am, Dawnie. There’s different ways to be ordinary, but no-one’s ever mistaken me for anything but.”
“Dean did,” she said hesitantly, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to say his name. As Xander shook his head, she insisted. “He did, I could tell from everything you told me about him. And why else would he keep coming back to you?”
Xander winced, and Dawn’s mouth shut with a snap. Xander knew she’d continued that thought to its conclusion, that Dean had obviously changed his mind, since he wasn’t coming back again.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and he could tell she was mentally berating herself.
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” he replied doggedly, wondering when he lost control of the conversation. Trying to suppress the pain and helpless rage that surfaced with every thought of Dean, he went back to what he’d been trying to say as if the digression hadn’t happened.
“Look, my point is, the thing about not being chosen is that you get to make a choice. You can have a normal life if you want, something away from the front lines, a life where you’ll have a future. Or you can stay and fight. But you should know now that you’ll have to learn more and train harder than any of these girls ever will. You’ll have to earn your place on the team, cause it hasn’t been given to you. And you have to choose the fight, because this time it didn’t choose you.”
He’d always wished someone had given him a little advance warning about the whole professional sidekick gig. If Dawn was going to start down the same road, the least he could do was make sure she knew that it took just as much dedication as the hero job, just as much sacrifice, and that in the end everyone with power usually got all the credit.
Dawn paused to think. Then, she asked, “Is that what you did? You chose?”
“Yeah, I did. A long time ago.”
“You ever wanna un-choose?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted with a tired smile.
She smiled back, then said wistfully, “It’s weird to think about what we might be doing, if we weren’t here. What our other lives might have been.”
He swallowed. Another life wasn’t actually something he could bear to think about.
It must have shown in his face, because Dawn said, “God, Xan, I’m sorry. I just…I shouldn’t be allowed to talk.”
He plastered on a reassuring face.
“I’m fine, I swear. Everybody’s got some regrets, right?”
“Right,” she said, with a hitch in her voice. “You know, I always thought he’d…”
“Me too, sweetheart,” he admitted softly.
“Can I think he’s a bastard pig-dog for leaving you?” she asked tearfully.
“Sure, if it makes you feel better,” he said. From anyone else, the sentiment would have had all his defenses slamming up. But not Dawn. She’d never judged him for any of it; she’d been the only one who believed him when he said he knew what he was doing.
An hour later, he poured himself a large glass of whatever the alcohol was Buffy had hidden away in the back of a kitchen cabinet.
He stared at the liquid for a moment, swilling it round in the glass. Then, he slowly and deliberately poured it down the drain.
No, he thought. Tomorrow will be better.
***
“Hey,” Xander said amiably, taking in the red-rimmed eyes and the way Willow’s body curled protectively around itself. At least she was her, not that psycho Warren. That had been so far beyond creepy. “You’re you again.”
“Yep,” Willow replied, putting on a brave face. “One hundred percent.”
“That’s a relief,” Xander said, easing himself down on to the sofa beside her, careful not to jostle. “Don’t know what I’d do without my Willow.”
She tucked her head into his shoulder with a sigh, and he hugged her close for a while.
“I kissed Kennedy,” she finally admitted quietly.
He jerked a little, surprised. “Really? I mean, I knew she liked you, but…”
“Yeah,” and Willow’s voice was shaky with suppressed tears. “And she kissed me first, I guess. But then I kissed back. I kissed back, and I let her be dead, Xander. I let her be gone, when I should be wanting her back, and…”
“Hey, shhh. Shhh,” Xander said, pulling her close again as sobs wracked her body.
“It’s okay, Wills. It’s okay,” he said meaninglessly, rocking her gently.
“I let her go, Xander. I’m letting her go, and it hurts so bad,” she whispered.
Xander closed his eyes for a brief second, hugging her tightly. He wanted to say something, he wanted to take the pain away. But he couldn’t find the words. All he could think was, even if she’s gone now, at least she was yours.