Only Twenty - BtVS fic - PG13

[tigriswolf]

Title: Only Twenty
Fandom: "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"
Disclaimer: not my characters.  just for fun.
Warnings: AU; slash; season 4 spoilers
Pairings: see above
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 630
Point of view: third

I

Xander has attended over five hundred funerals.

Xander has had over twenty broken bones and sprained everything sprainable.

Xander has cried rivers and oceans, and never run dry. Xander has bled more than should be humanly possible and never died.

Xander is only twenty.

II

Xander stands on the frontlines of a war so great there shall be no end. No one can remember the beginning and there will be no final battle.

Xander chose this war; he does not need to fight. His life and his death will make no difference, and he knows it. He doesn’t care.

III

Xander owns forty guns and sixty fighting knives, ten axes and three swords. Xander’s clothes are mostly black, to blend in with the night; Xander is a warrior unknown.

Xander wears masks and acts a part; Xander has walls and blockades around his heart, his mind, his soul.

Xander has no friends, only the means to an end.

Xander is as a man dead.

IV

Xander’s body is a weapon, finely honed and kept in peak condition. Everything about Xander has a purpose—the jokes and laughter, the danger hidden deep in his eyes.

Xander’s companions—who think they are his friends—do not know of his warrior-side; they know only the persona he assumes of the jester.

They have only ever seen that part of him; that is all he shall ever let them see.

V

Xander opened his heart once, let someone in. It was the greatest mistake of his life.

Xander’s parents—horribly abusive and extremely neglectful—taught him the importance of being strong, of depending on himself alone.

Xander learned to dodge before he walked, to hide before he talked. Xander learned of pain years before he heard of pleasure.

And in his twenty years of acting, of being rock and stone and an island out of reach, he has loved only once.

VI

Jesse was a child with Xander, and he never reached adulthood.

They met at age five and knew each other for ten years. Jesse shone with the brilliance of the sun, an inquisitive boy who always wanted to know why. He questioned everyone and everything. He latched onto Xander the first day of kindergarten and never let go.

Willow followed swiftly, but Jesse was the one.

VII

Jesse knew about Xander, knew what made him tick. Jesse kept Xander alive, kept him just on the edge of sane. Jesse held him to the light when darkness beckoned and madness loomed. Jesse gave him something to hold onto.

It strikes Xander as tragically ironic Jesse was the one turned. And hilarious, in a fuckingly twisted way.

VIII

Xander fights in the war not for any noble reasons, not for a higher calling, no destiny or purpose beyond vengeance.

Vengeance brought him, vengeance keeps him, and one day vengeance will kill him.

Xander waltzes with Fear and drinks with Death and can’t wait—Jesse’s waiting for him.

Jesse’s holding his place.

IX

Xander’s companions—the Slayer, the Witch, the Watcher—think they know him. Willow thinks she’s his best friend, his confidant, the person to ‘get’ him.

Willow doesn’t ‘get’ him and never has. Never will, because she’s fooled by his mask.

The darkness always beckons Xander, with promises of vengeance gained, but Xander holds to the memory of Jesse blowing away in the breeze and sticks to his purpose.

Revenge and justice twisted to suit his needs.

X

Xander has attended over five hundred funerals, but not the one that mattered.

Xander has had over twenty broken bones, but no one remains to set them.

Xander has cried rivers and oceans, but no one remains to wipe them away. Xander has bled more than should be humanly possible and never died because Jesse hasn’t been avenged yet.

Xander is only twenty.