bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,


Author: BmblBee
Paring: S/X
Rating: Adult NC17
Warnings: M/M sexual situations, adult language, reference of violence.
Disclaimer: The Bee owns nothing in this world but her own peace of mind.
I have no claim on any of the characters or products named and make no profit
from my stories.

Summary: AU (Human? Vampire?)
This is the simple tale of a successful psychiatrist with a busy practice.
Dr. Alexander Harris lives and works in the rich and colorful area of the Florida Keys
and everything about his life seems right on track. Then, one day a man comes to
him for help. He is troubled with a history of violence that he hopes therapy can
teach him to control. Clear cut? Maybe not.

As always, thanks to the wonderful Petxnd for the amazing banners and loyal friendship

Xander laid quietly, curled up in the corner of his room. It made him feel safe. It
made him feel secure. It reminded him of another time when he laid like this.
Years ago. When the area he inhabited was not a large, spacious apartment but
a small square space. The room had no windows and only one, always locked
door which he repeatedly, obsessively checked, not to hopefully find it negligently
left open, but to assure himself that it was indeed still guarded and padlocked.

No one got out. Nothing got in.

"I'm not that guy anymore. I'm me now. I am strong. I am good. I am worthy.
The real world is what I can see and touch. Nothing can hurt me. I am strong.
I am good."

As the old mantras came back to him, Xander continued to talk to himself till
gradually he stretched his legs out in front of him. He repeated the words over
and over till he was able to sit and finally stand. When he did, he stood with his
back against the bedroom wall and he looked all around the room.

"There is nothing here. There is no one here. This is my home and I am in control."

As his anxiety eased, Xander became aware of his aching muscles and exhausted
mind. He thought about following Jack's orders to take the pills but for once, he
didn't comply.

It was the definition of irony.
He was too fucking tired for sleeping pills.

Once he was capable of movement, Xander quickly went room to room. He peered
in every closet and under the bed and furniture. He locked and rechecked each door
and despite the fact that he was on the ninth floor, he double locked all the windows.
He then turned every light in the apartment on and he went to bed.

Within minutes, he found himself thrust into the terrifying dream world of his past.
Nightmares that the powerful medications prevented from following him into the
morning light, now were vivid and explosively real.

Lying on his bed, Xander's body twitched and whined like and old hound dog
dreaming of chasing rabbits. But it was no rabbits that inhabited these dreams.
It was something far worse. Something he had long ago refused to remember.
And now he lay, trapped in his mind and watching.

He was young and he was terrified. He had been running through an abandoned
building. As he looked around, he knew it was his high school. He was alone,
but not. He had friends. People who loved him and they were in here with him,
he just couldn't see them.

The child in him wanted to leave, to run away and go home. The emerging man
knew that was out of the question. He moved quicker now, heading in a specific
direction but an unclear purpose. He darted down hallways that echoed with his
footsteps and the sound of his ragged breathing.

When he reached the steel door that led to the furnace rooms, the maintenance
area and finally the basement, he never faultered. He charged in.

The man in the bed moaned. His boxers and t-shirt clung to him, sticky with sweat
and twisted from his repeated thrashing. Tears ran from his closed eyes and his
stomach churned as he watched.

When he came to the back of the utility room, he dropped to his knees and began
feeling around the floor till his hand found, in the dark, the handle that he sought.
A trap door. He knew it would be here. It always was.

With a solid grip, he jerked it up.

When the door flew open, Xander was knocked back on his ass by a blast of hot
air. Crawling back on his hands and knees, he cautiously poked his head in. His
skin could feel the heat of an open flame below and he knew he was gazing into
the pits of hell.

From somewhere in all that smoke and heat, he heard the shouts and voices of
his friends. It sounded as if there were dozens of them. Some voices he recognized,
most he didn't, but that was unimportant.

Xander knew this was why he had come. He understood that whatever was
happening down there, this was his fight too. It was the reason he was born. With
no doubts or hesitations, Xander moved to the far side of the opening and his foot
found the first rung of the ladder.

Xander grabbed his pillow in his fists and squeezed it, jamming it under his sleeping
head. The rational part of him knew this was a dream. A nightmare. He had
them before and he needed to wake up. He knew how. He had been given the
key. Jack taught him. There were words to say, things to repeat that would, as
a form of self hypnosis, wake his body but leave no trace of the dream in his mind.

But it was impossible to concentrate. No magical words would come to mind.
All he could see was himself, descending into the bowels of the earth. Into the
depths of hell.

When he reached the bottom rung, he had to jump the final three feet to land on
the rocky ground below. He looked all around. It was jagged cliffs, deep drop
offs and small narrow paths. Xander wondered if this was where the government
shot the films of the fake moon landing in '69.

"Xander! Over here!"

Xander's face snapped up and turned in the direction of the young girl's voice. At
the same time, he saw a long knife fly in his direction. With practiced agility, his
hand flew up and he caught it. It felt heavy and solid. It's weight gave him
enormous comfort.

As the billows of smoke shifted direction, Xander could see the battle raging off in
the distance and he ran to help. His arm was raised high over his head as he held
an iron grip on the jeweled handle of the deadly blade.

Although the path beneath him was dangerous and irregular, Xander never looked
down as his feet knew instinctively where to step, when to leap and what to avoid.
His eyes never left his target and as he grew closer, his mouth dropped open in the
primeval scream of an attacking warrior.


His arm swiped through the air in a wild arc and the head of the first enemy flew
cleanly from it's body. This was no victory. This was just the beginning. For what
seemed like hours, Xander fought.

His body suffered the aches and pains of punches, falls against the rock walls and
the deep muscle cramps of the repeated swings of the heavy knife. His ears rang
with the shouts of his comrades as they scored a win and the pained screams of
the ones who suffered and died.

He never doubted his own fate. He only prayed to a God who seemed unaware
of their existence, that he could hold out long enough for one of the others to
defeat whatever enemy it was that they were fighting.

Suddenly, in the midst of all the chaos and confusion, a voice, quiet and calm
spoke behind him.


Xander spun around and faced a man he didn't know. The man was ordinary.
He was plain and Xander wasn't sure which side of the battle he stood for.


"You are an aggravation to me, Xander. Always there. Always seeing. I think I'll
fix that. I think I'll make it so that you can't see anything any more."

Before Xander realized what the man was talking about, a hook appeared just inches
from his face, aimed right for his eyes. As the stranger jabbed, Xander's perihelial
vision caught sight of a sword zinging past and in a flash, the stranger fell as the top
of his head rolled over and came to rest at Xander's feet.

"You all right?"


The dreamer woke with a start and sat bolt upright in his bed. But this time,
this dream,he remembered.
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