Gunpowder and Lead

[tigerstriped86.livejournal.com]

Title: Turning and Burning (Chap. 2)
Author: tigerstriped86
Fandom/Pairing: BtVS, Xander/Angel

Summary: Xander is now Angel's sire.  But is Xander really ready for everything he's been given?  Sequel chapter to Turning and Burning.
Rating: M (for vampirism, abuse, death, torture, and a Miranda Lambert song)
Prompt: 96-Keckle 

Disc.: Not Joss Whedon, Nicholas Brendon, or David Boreanaz.  Imagine that.  Hey!  I'm not Miranda Lambert either (song in bold)!
A great big thanks for everyone who reviewed/enjoyed the last chapter (prompt 94?: danger zone) and hopefully this will be an ongoing thing (with the darkness, and the vamps, and the sex-oh how we all love teh sex).  I hope this lives up to the standard.

Chap. 1 here: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4237605/1/Turning_and_Burning

“Teach me.”

The two words were simple and fluid, tinged with the darkness now inhabiting, or invading depending upon whom you asked, Xander's soul. Angel's eyes were a mixture of intrigue and pity. Xander would never be able to go back, although he had the feeling this was more than a last minute decision. But the intrigue factor still existed. He didn't flail like most fresh vampires; he accepted it in serenity. He was fiercely calm.

Xander slid up the arm of the couch, cool to the touch. Angel was used to his warmth, he shivered just momentarily. Angel watched his body being devoured by Xander's eyes and watched Xander feel himself without moving, beginning to understand his surroundings.

“Of course, if you won't teach me, I can always find out myself.”

Xander whispered in a low, confident tone barely loud enough for Angel's vampiric hearing to channel. It was at that moment, he turned on his heel and flipped behind Angel. His usual clumsiness was replaced by graceful movements; he had already learned how to throw himself into vampiric speed with the twist of his heel. Liam as a fledgling had been a disgrace; Xander was frightening.

Angel could feel the fingertips grazing his pecs and turned his head ever so slightly. Xander was humming low and tracing each empty vein in Angel's body. Angel's eyes closed knowing that he'd have the power to just take from Xander; things that he wouldn't have healed from before. He didn't want to feel it, but oh god what Xander did to him.

“Not Xander. Eldridge.”

“Is that the name of your demon?”

“It's the name of my dead twin.”

Angel turned, games briefly destroyed between the two.

“I didn't tell you? The reason my father drinks so much is because my mother drank while she was pregnant with me. I'm a twin; my brother was stillborn.”

“So, you're a fighter then?”

Xander smirked in that irrepressible way that made Angel wonder how much was still human within him. Angel could feel though, Xander was startlingly hungry. But he couldn't be sure if blood was what he was hungry for.

“Teach me, Angel. If not, I'll find the answers elsewhere.”

So, he wants to learn then? First, he learns what all must learn. Angel's fist reeled backwards and knocked Xander flat into the wall, dust shaking from the rafters high above.

“The first thing you learn is that you are not a master here. This family line is one of the most revered and ruthless. You will never use your trademark insolence on us. You are mine Eldridge Harris. And you'll never forget that.”

Xander smirked, the scent of fear clean from him. The last thing he remembered was Angel overshadowing him, the sound of nothing all around him.

Three sharp booms dropped into Xander's endless night, knocking him from his dreamless stupor. He missed dreams, some of the best parts of being human, he thought. Xander sat up, wearing nothing but a pair of striped boxers, one foot lazily resting against his knee. His sheets were unruffled, the contention of his demon noticeably present.

For the first time in his life, Xander did not feel anxious or nervous. He just was. With Anya now fully gone, he assumed seeing as how her side of the closet was empty, and hopefully out of some of his normal danger with his new status as Aurelius sire and heir, Xander smirked at his lack of reflection in the mirror.

He stopped as the booms began again, frowning as the daze began to lift. Who was he to compete with the weight of the world? It seemed to be crashing against his door. No word from him, the Scoobies were most likely alarmed but would probably not pry. Busy with their own lives and stress, he didn't blame them. But he didn't excuse it either. Something inside him had changed, something that demanded the respect and notice he hadn't been given. Something crueler than arrogance that humanity defined as pride reached the surface.

The only mortal to survive on the Hell mouth with the Slayer. How ironic this was all becoming. He reached for a pair of discarded jeans, drips of white pain covering the side of the left leg. He stopped momentarily as he delved into his drawer for a shirt. Attached to the mirror was a single card from his youth, a picture of an X-wing. He had always loved Star Wars and the idea of being strong, of being a Jedi. But what was he now?

The booms began again. He heard himself mutter. “Coming, Jesus Christ. What could be that important?”

He opened the door and there was his father, the stench of whiskey visible and the dirty shirt more than evidence of the troubled soul he had become. Cold hate began to infuse into Xander's pity for the man.

“So, my shill of a son has returned from his holiday, then?”

“I wouldn't exactly call it a holiday.”

“What would you call it then, coward? You going to invite me in or are you too good for your dad, too?”

Xander snorted, not bothering to think of a witty comeback. He wished there was an invitation spell for family. He reckoned the ancients probably had the same problem, but just hadn't the spell. He'd ask Giles or Willow about it later. “Come in then.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?!”

“Did I misspeak?”

“You are so worthless. To think how you've besmirched the family name like that, running from your bride. You'll never get another chance.”

Xander glared down at his father, perspiration appearing on his balding head. He had a desire, he realized, to pound his father against the wall by his forearm and give him the lashing he deserved. To his credit, he abstained at that moment.

County road 233, under my feet
Nothin' on this white rock but little ole me
I've got two miles till, he makes bail
And if I'm right we're headed straight for hell

“Let's get one thing straight. I'm not the raging alcoholic who is the center of a family maelstrom out of how best not to have a family reunion. You are. Second, Tony,” Xander inflicted full force into his father's name, “nothing I've ever been could be half as bad as you. You have something to say? Say it then. I'm busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Saving the world.”

“You couldn't even save your math test, let alone the world. You, Alexander Harris...are...”

“My name is Eldridge.”

Recognition, fear, pain, anger, countless emotions welled to fruition under the senior Harris' eyes. “You couldn't, you wouldn't.”

“Why not Dad? Isn't he the one you really wanted? The star football player, the next president? I'm not him, I won't be. And I don't live by your standard.”

“I have no son.”

I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight well now he's got one
And he ain't seen me crazy yet

Xander thought for only a second, fully aware of the enamel covering his fangs as his tongue caressed an itch in the back. Two scenes played through his mind. The first was of his mother the year he turned six. She sat two rooms away from him, lit by candles, chanting words from the Bible and praying for the souls of the family. The second was a present scene, one which Xander saw only in hindsight.

“Tell mom she was wrong.”

Xander said this to the man bleeding slowly as he felt the long drywall nail dig deeper and deeper into his back as he struggled against Xander's arm and the plain wall, where a picture of Anya had once hung. The last thing Tony Harris saw was the rope from which he'd been hanging himself from years. A cold triumph filled Xander's eyes and then the realization hit.

He slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man
I'm going to show him what a little girls made of
Gunpowder and lead

He ran into the sunlight, letting it sting him briefly and then realizing that the sun was sinking. The scars remained visibly briefly on his cheeks. The same white shirt billowed around him as he looked at the mansion in the distance, the marbled exterior suddenly bringing a frightening anger to his cheeks.

He thought of the people he had fought against and how he was now one of them. And how he was coming to the end of a rapidly fraying rope. The same three booms smashed into the door of the mansion. Only this time, the door broke under Xander's hand, his fury imminent.

“Angel! Spike!”

“They're not here.”

Xander's eyes met a man, no, a boy, of thirty from behind his large spectacles. He was slim and slightly homely, but his smile had a devious warmth to it, not obviously devoid of all humanity. He walked from the library, a book tucked under the arm of his Oxford-style tan jacket.

“Who are you?”

“Call me Casey. From the looks of things, you must be Eldridge. Master Angel has been quite smitten with you. I'm glad you've come to the family.”

“We're related, then?”

“Quite.”

“Then you must know where they've gone.”

“You are in a keckle then, aren't you? Demon's gone and done something naughty?”

Xander squinted, not liking the implication of his lack of control. He walked swiftly, content on wiping the smirk, and spectacles, right from Casey's face. “It's been quite a long day. I don't need fancy words. I need Angel to tell me what the hell he's done to me.”

“You've known all along.”

Xander looked at Casey, neither betraying a hint of emotion. Well, that is before Xander knocked him flat back into the library.

It's half past ten, another six pack in
And I can feel the rumble like a cold black wind
He pulls in the drive, the gravel flies
He dont know what's waiting here this time

Casey awoke in a large stone room, chained, chuckling once again about keckles.

“You and your fancy Oxford words, then? I took the liberty of looking that one up. Thank you.” Xander nodded as Casey felt the heavy iron chains wrapped to his wrists and the manacles clawed together with him. “You know, Casey, the first kill is supposed to be the hardest. Surprisingly enough, I felt nothing for it. Is that what you meant, letting the demon have control? That's not funny you know. It's a very serious topic.”

Casey strained against his own rapidly-fraying rope, realizing he'd be the next one hung . “We're brothers, Eldridge. You need to rethink this.”

“Rethink this? You don't think this family has rules, do you? The rule is that the strong conquer the weak. Angelus knew this, as well as Angel, Spike, and the rest of our psychotic order. So what should make me any different?”

“Please...”

“You sure you understand the rules of this game, Casey, was it? I think we need to be a bit more clear.” Casey gulped as Xander stopped from dramatic pause. “Now there are several ways, which I'm sure you know, that can aide in the death of a vampire.”

I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight well now he's got one
And he ain't seen me crazy yet

Xander walked past a table, briefly hidden from sight, various contents scattered all around, including his martini glass filled with blood. “Swallowing holy water. A stake. Sunlight. Even a good old-fashioned curse can do it. And then there are the less famous ways. But my favorite, of course, is the most to the, ahem, point.”

Xander grabbed the stake and twirled it in his fingers. “You're going to tell me where they are. And then you are going to die for your insolence. Now all that's left to do is pick your own way of going.”

Casey fought the urge to scream for one of the fledglings, for a servant, for someone. For a brief, brave moment he was winning. Xander stood in front of him as he broke, the screams pierced by a gentle caress and jab of the stake, not quite enough to kill him.

He slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man
I'm going to show him what a little girls made of
Gunpowder and lead

“Sunlight or stake, Casey?” Xander brought down his absent breath across Casey's cheek. “Where are they?”

“Spike's soul! They left for a flight from LA. Spike's going to see a shaman in Africa!”

“Very good. But what's the first answer?”

“Neither. I can't win either way, can I?”

His fist is big but my gun's bigger
He'll find out when I pull the trigger

Xander kissed Casey. “Very good.” As he left the room, Casey sighed, realizing he would die with daylight. That is, until Xander threw the stake from afar at his heart. “I was always impatient.”

I'm going to show him what a little girls made of
Gunpowder and, Gunpowder and lead