February 6th, 2005

Supernatural - Castiel fresco


Title: Crying
Author: Emella
E-mail: kevy_s__girl@hotmail.com
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Xander/Spike, Xander/Anya
Summary: Sometimes Xander cries.
Timeline: Post Chosen. Spoilers for seasons 5-7
Notes: I wrote this at 5:30 in the am, BEFORE going to bed, so I’m thinking it might not be the best. I hope it’s ok. I hope it makes sense. Let me know if it sucks. Please? :D
Notes 2: One Shot.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything but some of the plot.


Sometimes Xander cried.

He did it at the oddest times. He had been standing in the produce section of the grocery store, a week after his last battle, shopping for fruit and had started crying. He must have looked crazy. A guy with an eye patch holding a bunch of grapes and crying.

The tears slid down his face in silence. He had lost the eye, but his eye still teared up and even though he was uncomfortable he just stood there.

Anya had loved grapes. She ate them almost every day. Sometimes for breakfast, with some toast or a bagel. Sometimes he would watch her make her lunch in the mornings, a ham sandwich, cheese-itz, and some grapes. She didn’t usually have them for dinner; but once in a while she snacked on them.

Xander didn’t like grapes. When he was 9 Jesse had convinced him they were shark eyeballs, the purple ones anyway. Xander still didn’t eat them after he found out they weren’t.

He had bought them once before, out of habit. After they had split and she had moved out of his apartment. He got home to his empty, lonely apartment and was unpacking the groceries when he noticed he had bought them. He had cried then too. But not for Anya, or the grapes.

Two weeks had gone by after the hell mouth had closed and he had cried rivers for Anya. He had stopped two days ago. The tears wouldn’t come anymore.

So now, he sat in a bar at LAX next to Giles waiting for a flight out. All the potentials-turned-slayers had been sent off, the last one leaving yesterday morning, heading for Canada.

They were all at the airport now. Giles and he were in the bar, drinking, watching a baseball game on the bar TV.

Faith and Wood had flown to Cleveland an hour before, to set up shop on the next hell mouth.

Buffy and Dawn were asleep by the gate, waiting for their flight to Spain, to meet up with their dad. They didn’t have to be anywhere for a while, so they were heading away from the pressures of life.

Willow was reading a thick psychology book, trying not to fall asleep. Kennedy lay next to her, head on Willow’s Shoulder, text messaging on her cell phone. They were headed to Peru, A shaman there had some wisdom Willow wanted to siphon.

Andrew was sitting nervously a few feet away, wringing his hands in anticipation of the flight. He was heading to England with Giles and he was going on his first ever flight. As it turns out a lot of Sunnydale kids didn’t leave California. Out of all of there group, Willow was the only one to leave, once when she was 7 to go to Disney world, and again last year to England.

Xander was headed to New York, after his company had shut down his boss had pulled him aside and recommended he talk to a guy he knew about an interview. A big-wig in NYC that wanted someone to oversee the building of a small office complex. Xander got the job and was heading off to start his life.

When he turned to say something to Giles he nearly choked. Spike was standing twenty feet away, his back to them talking to a man at a small table. When the guy in the Leather coat turned though, Xander was disappointed to see someone completely different.

What were the chances he would have bleached hair and a long duster too? And when the man to Xander’s left lit up a familiar smelling cigarette, Xander tried not to cry.

He quietly headed for the restroom and tried not to let anyone see him on the way. He slumped against the inside of the stall and swallowed, trying to push back the sadness, forming like a rock in his stomach.

He had been missing Spike for two years. It had been long before he had gotten his soul. Though he did miss the banter and quick wit they had used to battled back and forth. He also missed the games of pool at the Bronze and the soccer matches on TV. He missed the curses and name-callings, the booze and smirks. He missed breathing in cigarette smoke and leather.

But most of all he missed Spike’s smile. That little one he got after Xander said something genuinely amusing. Or that laugh he made when Xander fell on his ass hilariously during patrol.

He missed how Spike always tasted of nicotine, cinnamon, and something metallic that made him uniquely Spike. He missed the hurried kisses in the training room at the magic box, the clumsy groping they did after patrols.

He missed his lover.

The summer when Buffy was gone things were rough. Anya had been hospitalized with problems in her legs and Dawn was a wreck. Giles had sunk into a heavy depression, drinking his troubles away. Willow was grieving for Buffy harder than anyone. That’s how she dealt with things, cried and yelled and then got back to normal. It wasn’t a drawn out process like with everyone else. Tara was concentrating on her and Dawn.

Xander, on the other hand, didn’t heal so easily. He hadn’t really cried, except at the funeral. He had gone to work, made sure everything was cared for, made sure everyone was cared for. Four and a half weeks after she died he was at a bar downtown, trying to get drunk. There were only three bars besides Willy’s and the bronze. Two of which were dodgy, one was a biker bar, and the other a gay bar. Xander went for the third option, the bar middle aged dad’s went to and drank too much so they didn’t have to face their families.

Three beers, two shots, and a glass of whiskey later, Spike stumbled in. He’d glanced around and then settled next to Xander and they drowned their sorrows together. Xander told Spike about Anya, and then Spike told Xander about all the demons coming to town.

When Spike began to talk about Buffy Xander didn’t cringe or object. And later when Xander collapsed into sobs and tears at having to hold everything in, Spike had kissed him and told him it would be ok.

They had stood in an alley beside the bar and kissed and cried. Solace and comfort. They didn’t talk about it after. Two days later Xander showed up at Spike’s crypt and they took comfort in each other’s bodies, it shouldn’t be called pleasure if your best friend just died.

Time and time again they found themselves drawn to each other and they pretended it didn’t happen. Xander was engaged to Anya on the outside and Spike was grieving Buffy. Nearly three months they were together, in secret, in corners, hidden away from prying eyes.

When they brought Buffy back it was different. Spike was too upset and had insisted that when Xander lost someone he loved like that, he’d know how it felt to be him, and he would wish he could bring them back. But Xander wouldn’t be able to, he couldn’t just play god and Spike was angry that Xander didn’t tell him. Was angry that he had healed and Xander had dug up the pain again, dug up the tears. They fought, and weren’t together again.

So when Xander started to cry in the men’s room at LAX he knew what Spike had felt. He knew why they hadn’t been together. Why he could cry for Anya and dwell on her, but he didn’t stop until now to grieve for Spike. Why he could admit Anya was gone.

Because Xander wasn’t in love with Anya when she died.

He’d told himself it was because he was afraid, to grow up, to be like his father. That was why he couldn’t marry her. But it wasn’t, it was because he couldn’t face the fact that he was in love with someone else. He couldn’t face the fact that he was in love with Spike.

Now Spike was gone, and Xander would never be able to tell him he was right, that it did hurt when you lost someone you were in love with. That it hurt to have to say goodbye to someone you loved more than you knew. That it hurt, and nothing could change that.

Sometimes you couldn’t bring people back. Sometimes you didn’t want to.

Sometimes all you could do was cry.




Sequel is here.
Supernatural - Castiel fresco

Reasons I love Xander

Here are some reasons I love Xander. Not in any particular order.

  • He's a cutie

  • He's friendly

  • He's kind

  • He's very fun to slash

  • He's selfless

  • He does the snoopy dance

  • He's saved the world

  • He's geeky

  • He likes chocolate

  • He's not perfect

  • He gives off really good sexual tension (Angelus/Xander 'Killed by death')

  • He's the heart of the Scoobies

  • He's never been evil

  • He can build things

  • He belongs with Spike

  • He belongs with Angel

  • He has normal feelings (not, 'I'm a superhero boo hoo' feelings)

  • He's fun to hurt

  • He's fun to love

  • He's funny

  • He helps without being asked

  • He makes a fun hyena

  • He's fun to make lists about
    • Current Mood
      cold cold
    Supernatural - Castiel fresco


    Title: Punching
    Author: Emella
    E-mail: kevy_s__girl@hotmail.com
    Rating: PG-15 ish
    Pairing: Spike/Xander. Mentions S/Dru, S/A(lus), S/B, S/Anya
    Warnings: Mentions attempted rape.
    Summary: Sometimes Spike gets punched. Sequel to 'Crying'
    Timeline: Post Buffy. Post Angel ‘Origin’
    Disclaimer: I own nothing but some of the plot.
    Notes: I hate all of the people who made me write this. *grin* I wrote ‘Crying’ this morning before bed, and then I woke up, and when I saw all the reviews I started in on a sequel. It’s been about 12 hours. I’m a review slut, so what can I say, I’ll do anything for reviews.
    Notes 2: This was really hard to write because I’m really happy with how Crying turned out, I re-read it and I like it, but it was meant to be a one-shot. ’Crying’ wasn’t meant to have a sequel. This is a warning, I’m really afraid I will screw it up, this sequel, so if you like ‘Crying’ take heed. I hope I did it justice. Punching will not have a sequel. Sorry.

    Thanks for all the reviews and inspiration. Please please leave me feedback. Thanks!


    Sometimes Spike got punched.

    Once, in the 1920’s, he was in Greece and a Shacew demon punched him so hard he was unconscious for two days.

    Dru had been frantic, thinking he was dead. Sometimes she didn’t remember that he wasn’t human. Sometimes she wished he was.

    About three years after she had turned him, they got into a horrible fight and she had said she wished he was still mortal, that’s who she’d wanted with her.

    After a week of staying in Angelus’ rooms and getting fucked through the mattress, he finally confronted her. She had rolled her eyes and said that the stars were playing tricks on him, that she never meant what she’d said. Every once in a while, though, he would catch a look on her face, or she would say something, and he would remember what she had said.

    It had been 9 months since the hell mouth had closed and he was still waiting to get punched. It couldn’t be this easy, to come back from death, even being incorporeal. To just magically not be on the short road to hell.

    He was standing by Harmony’s desk, waiting for a meeting with the great poof, some scheduled thing that they all had to deal with. The smurf was standing next to him, observing things in the way she did that made people stare.

    After she had become not-evil they had sort of become buds, training partners. In the sense that he tried not to let her beat the crap out of him; Always a woman’s punching bag.

    Wesley came around the corner looking disheveled and weary, it had been hard on him, losing Fred. He was still somewhat in denial of her death, searching every which way he knew how to get her back. Maybe he would, Spike would like that.

    Spike checked his watch and faintly heard the elevators ding as Lorne came marching over to them from the opposite direction. He started telling Wesley about a new client, some famous bint with a demon parasite.

    Spike felt something on the back of his neck, a niggling, like someone watching you, and he turned. His eyes searched across the small lobby before they met a familiar chocolate brown gaze. His stomach clenched and he tried not to seem surprised.

    Xander Harris was walking towards him.

    Before he could say anything, before he could register Wesley’s call of ‘Xander?’ or that Lorne had gone silent and was frowning, staring, Xander reeled back and cocked spike right across the face. The punch was hard on his chin, sending him to the floor.

    Spike usually tried not to think about Xander. Tried not to think about why he hadn’t told anyone he was back. Why he couldn’t tell Buffy, or Dawn, or Willow. He had left Sunnydale behind, literally and figuratively.

    Except for one thing.

    When they had brought Buffy back he was upset. He had been in love with her and you couldn’t take that away from someone and then give it back whenever you pleased. You couldn’t play god.

    They had both grieved together, finding solace as well as something else. For three months they fought evil, avoided real life, and shagged like bunnies.

    It was more than that though. They had been friends for a while; friends that bantered and mock-hated, so when he’d kissed Xander in that alley, making them both crumble, he wasn’t surprised to feel other things. Disbelief, worry, happiness, relief.

    For three months they found dark corners, small out of the way niches, and spent a lot of time in his crypt. Sometimes they didn’t shag at all, sometimes they just lay together in bed, remembering Buffy, or thinking about the future. It was nice.

    When they brought her back, he was angry. Angry because he thought Xander understood and that he knew better. He didn’t even tell Spike, and that had hurt the worst. They had spent so much time, Spike comforting Xander, and Xander unknowingly comforting Spike in return. Just him being there had helped. He had grieved and moved on, he didn’t feel the same way, about Buffy, about anything.

    So they drifted apart, Spike angry, and Xander mad that Spike was mad. He rediscovered his love for Buffy, or at least that’s what he’d thought, and she’d used him. He had been devastated and pissed off when they had broken up, if you could call it that. He took comfort in Anya, and Xander had been mad, Spike couldn’t blame him.

    He wondered though, when Xander went through his little speech, whether the words were directed more at Anya or at himself. All of the things, he’d said fitting perfectly between them, like a horrible puzzle, all the pieces falling into place.

    So he went to Buffy, because he couldn’t think about Xander. Couldn’t think about everything they had done, everything they had been through. He was in love with Buffy, he told himself again and again, he was in love with her and she just stomped all over his heart. He took it out on her, tried to make her love him.

    That night he’d had an epiphany of sorts. It wasn’t the fact that he’d tried to rape her, that wasn’t what made him want the soul. It wasn’t that he’d tried to make her love him. It was the fact that he wasn’t trying to make her love him.

    He was trying to make himself love Buffy.

    He was mortified at what he’d done. He’d tried to rape her. Tried to tell himself that it was Buffy he wanted. He’d peeled out on his motorcycle, looking to get away. From that place. From his feelings. He would go and get a soul. Make him good, and right, get the soul for Buffy, so he could love her. Be in love with her.

    So that he wouldn’t be in love with Xander Harris.

    He got the soul, and his lovely parting gift of grief as well. He could remember everyone he had killed, tortured, used. It made him see things, see himself. It made him understand, understand that the soul hadn’t helped, that he couldn’t do anything now. Now he wasn’t just in love with Xander. He was in bone-crunching, soul-burning, heart-agonizing love.

    He was drawn to Xander body and soul.

    They didn’t talk, drifted away from one another. Even when they shared an apartment. Xander had avoided him, and he had avoided his feelings.

    When Xander lost his eye, Spike cried. Alone, in private. Xander had beautiful eyes, lovely wide, deep chocolate eyes that he could have looked into for hours. They stayed apart, and Spike continued to play on Buffy, tried to make himself be in love with her. Not her sidekick.

    He’d died three weeks later.

    He’d saved the world. Fallen to ash and later been awoken and made a ghost. He hadn’t told anyone on the outside. Everyone at Wolfram & Hart knew not to say anything, especially not to Buffy. That’s what he wanted them to think. After being brought back he faced up to the fact that he wouldn’t love Buffy. He was doomed to stay in love with Xander bloody Harris.

    When Andrew had shown up, he was worried his cover was blown, he didn’t think he could face any of them. But Andrew didn’t tell, and he was relieved. Or at least, he‘d tried to keep that wriggling feeling in his gut from being anything other than relief.

    So after he was punched in the face, he made a vow to hunt down and kill Andrew. He got up, and realized that Illyria had thrown Xander halfway across the room.

    Then Xander stood and just stared at him. Spike didn’t know what to think, and neither of them heard the others approaching, questioning them.

    A hand landed on Spike’s shoulder and he turned to see Angel looking down at him. The way a father might look at a son. Probing his thoughts. He then knew, that Angel knew, who he was in love with; thinking about all the time.

    Angel dropped his hand and nodded toward his office, signaling for the two of them to use it to talk. Xander entered first and stood nervously by the windows. His back was clenched in anger.

    Spike shut the door and stepped into the room. They were quiet for a minute and then Xander spoke. His voice small and sad.

    “You were right you know.” He didn’t turn, just stayed facing away. “What you said, when we brought Buffy back. You were right. It does hurt to lose someone you’re in love with.”

    Spike swallowed nervously and then remembered Angel telling him Anya had died in the battle. “I’m sorry about Anya.”

    Harris laughed, a bit bitterly, and turned around. There were tears shining in his eye. “I wasn‘t in love with Anya.”

    There it was all on the table. Xander’d laid his feelings bare. Spike stared at him across the room. He clenched his jaw and admitted; “I wasn’t in love with Buffy.”

    The room felt huge, monstrous and wide. They stared into each other’s eyes, and Spike felt something in him click into place. They both knew in that moment, what the other was saying; what he wasn’t saying.

    They’d spent nearly three years apart. Hating each other, avoiding each other, getting tangled in other things, other peoples lives. They were both afraid, of what they felt, what they wanted.

    Spike saw everything in the space of a minute, Xander was scared and angry and slightly vulnerable. They had so much to get through, all of their feelings, the crap they’d put each other through. Why Spike had stayed away, why Xander’d ignored him.

    There was so much they needed to do to get back on the road to normal. Explanations and apologies, so much stood between them.

    So when Spike came forward and kissed Xander, their lips burning together, locking and fitting perfectly they both knew that there would be problems, bumps and bruises, but for now they didn’t need anything else.

    Sometimes all you did was cry.

    Sometimes you were punched.

    Sometimes you were kissed and your life became complete.