Wicked Writing Wench (perverted_pages) wrote in bloodclaim,
Wicked Writing Wench
perverted_pages
bloodclaim

Truth Denied 4/?

Title: Truth Denied 4/?
Pairings: Spander (eventually)
Appropriate Ratings: NC17 overall but this chapter... Hard R
Warnings: Non-con, character death, .
Disclaimers: Not my characters. I make no money off this, I'm just playing. I promise to give them a bath and thorough cleaning when I’m done! Joss Whedon is my lord and Master. All hail Joss Whedon.
Short Summary: About five years post NFA, Xander needs a job, like, NOW! And runs into someone he knows where he'd least expect it.
Word Count: 1735 (As per MS Word Count) (See?? WAY Shorter! Yay!)
Beta: tamakin Any errors are mine and mine alone.
X-posted to: perverted_pages, bloodclaim btvs_lightsout, btvs_slash, btvsatsdotcom, darker_spike, spike_fics, sxandviolence, spanderslash, darker_vault
Archived Outside LJ At: adultfanfiction.net

Comments keep my muse well fed.



Xander basked in the heavy heat of the low sun. His skin was a dark brown, evidence that he’d been in Africa a while, and the lack of visible tan lines showed that he rarely wore his shirt in the blistering heat. He heard the rustling of the cloth at the door of the hut being thrown aside and the soft padding of feet as she made her way to his side. With an inelegant and un-lady like grunt she plopped herself down beside him.

“Hey, you’re supposed to sleep,” she murmured, her fingers examining his field dressing. He’d been attacked by an Arshknit demon the previous day. It had taken both of them to bring it down and Xander had taken a sharp skewer-like horn through the meat of his thigh and they had to be careful about infection. Xander had let her bandage him up, even let her create a poultice from native herbs and plants to stave off any nasty bugs that might have tried to take residence inside his body. It was good training.

“I was, I just wanted to see the sun today,” he didn’t want to admit the pain had woken him up. The dull throbbing ache wasn’t excruciating, he’d definitely had worse, but it didn’t let him sleep comfortably. He smiled at her and knocked his shoulder against hers in a show of friendly comradery. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her head on his shoulder, oblivious or unwilling to notice how he stiffened at the familiar affectionate embrace.

“Sun’s almost down, we should build a fire,” Xander nodded at her words. “You wait here Xan, I’ll go find some wood,” she got up and dusted off her hands before making her way into the swiftly moving gloom. The sun continued it’s downward motion, leaving behind a legacy of smoothly darkening shadows.

He shouldn’t have let her go alone, he knew that. He also knew she’d take any overtures to help as a sign he was weakening to her overtures of more-than-friend she kept trying to push on him. She didn’t seem to understand why he kept pushing her away, why he never took advantage of her blatantly offered sexual favors, even if it was only for comfort. She didn’t want a partner, she just wanted her Watcher to loosen up a little, wanted to see if she could make the dour older man laugh or smile… wanted to help ease away his pain and sorrow.

He appreciated her efforts, but he just couldn’t. They’d heard of Buffy’s death together, and she’d held him tightly as she wet his shirt with her free flowing tears, Xander kept his firmly in check. Wouldn’t do for his Slayer to see him weak. She had to see him as strong, capable, unable to be shaken.

Soon afterwards she’d tried to push him into sex. She walked into their shared hut and simply stood in front of him. He’d looked so confused, not knowing what was going on. When she’d taken off her dress, sliding the straps down her arms and letting it pool at her feet he’d felt a momentary flash of understanding, quickly followed by nausea and a stab of soul searing pain. She’d looked so much like Anya that first time in his parent’s basement.

He ran over to her and picked up her dress, sliding it up her body, covering her decently once more. He kissed her temple and said, “Thank you, but I can’t.” before walking out of the hut to get some fresh air.

She’d kept up and tried to initiate something relentlessly over the next few weeks, convinced she could help ease his sorrows, or maybe just needing someone to help her ease her own. His polite refusal just seemed to power her onwards and he couldn’t bring himself to be rude. Maybe he should have been more firm, more… convincing. But it didn’t matter anymore.

He heard sounds of a fight and her panicked scream of his name. He pulled the hunting knife out of its sheath on his forearm and tried to run for her, to help her, his injured leg made the going painfully slow. He got there just in time to see a pack of Arshknit demons taking out their anger and frustration of loosing their patriarch on her. They hadn’t known he was their leader, if they had they would have taken greater care to hide their trail. The Arshknits didn’t care if some of the lower ranks got killed, hell, they ate their own injured, even if the injury was just a hangnail, but mess with their patriarch… and they wanted revenge.

She’d been the one to administer the killing blow, so she was the one they wanted. He got there in time to see them violating her with their dripping acidic tentacles, heard her screaming, saw her struggle. He could smell the chemical burns and the blood… oh god the blood was everywhere. Something in their acidic secretions made clotting impossible, made her blood run freely, drenching the dry cracked earth.

One of them saw him and bellowed a challenge, Xander answered the challenge with a sudden lunge, his blade glinting in the fading light. He’d have made a difference if he hadn’t been injured already. Ignoring the fact that he didn’t have an antidote to their slime, that she’d bleed out long before they could get back to their hut, never mind any form civilization and medical help. He’d have made a difference if his leg hadn’t given out from under him, maybe.

The Arshknit that had challenged him huffled in laughter and gave him a glancing blow. He’d blacked out for a moment; long enough to get hog tied, and came to in time to watch them each take a turn.

He fought hard to get out of the rough twine binding him, to get his knife that he could see glittering in the dust a few feet away, but an Arshknit was in charge of keeping him out of their hair until they were done… not that they had any hair. More like bristles.

Finally they grew bored and trundled off, leaving the young Slayer to finish dying and her Watcher to get eaten by anything that happened to wander by. He wasn’t important to them, he hadn’t done anything to their patriarch, only her. Xander had crawled, inching, flailing with bound hands and feet to get to the knife. By the time he’d cut himself free he’d crawled to her side just in time to hear her last burbling breath, to see the blood pour from her lips, and her eyes look sightlessly into the jewel strewn heavens.

He’d stared at her, unbelieving, unable to accept that his charge was dead. He knew it would happen eventually, but like this? In a demon gang bang fueled by revenge and anger? Never. She wasn’t meant to die like this, none of them were.

He’d spent hours in the dark, staring at her unseeing eyes gazing blindly at the starlit sky. It had taken a few hours for Xander to notice her belly was twitching. First it was a small movement, but then, gradually, it started to grow. Something was inside her, moving, twitching… which was when he remembered the rape.

She’d killed their patriarch, so they made her an incubator for their next generation. Their spawn had hatched inside her and were swiftly growing as they ate and shredded the girl’s dead internal organs.

Xander got up and did the only thing he could, he walked away. If he tried to cut them out they’d just eat their way into his body. She was already dead, bled out from her wounds and the anti-coagulant in their acidic slime. Nothing worse could happen to her now. If he could, he would have set her on fire, destroying the nest within, but he didn’t have nearly enough wood to burn hot enough quickly enough to destroy the little demon spawn. They’d just scuttle out and look for other suitable prey to feast on.

The rest of the Arshknit clan would be back shortly to gather their new brood and if he was around they’d just force their eggs into him., or teach them how to chase down a human, with himself as the unwilling target It seemed like a poetic way to die, but he knew he had to get moving, to warn the Watchers council that there was a new uprising… they needed to know that much. They needed to be prepared.

Life moved on.

He just wished he’d gone with her to get the wood. He didn’t have any illusions that he’d have saved her, but at least she wouldn’t have been alone. At least he would have been killed instead of forced to live on, to file away this Slayer’s life and become a Watcher for another. That’s what he’d signed on for, wasn’t it?. That’s what he’d promised to do. To write his Watcher’s Diary and record what went on. To keep going after he sent his Slayer to die so the rest of the world could live on in blissful ignorance.

It wasn’t his fault she’d died. He knew that. It was what she was destined to do; fight, save the day, die.

It wasn’t his fault.


*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Xander woke up, startled. He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep. He wiped tiredly at the tears falling from his eyes. He had no idea how many he’d shed for her, but he knew these weren’t the last. It was never the last. It was never enough…

“I’m sorry Shari….”



Previous parts found here.
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