Not the Best Ideas
Xander Goes To Gotham
Not the Best Ideas
The vote is in…drum roll…No pairing! Thanks everyone for voting!
AN: All ADD knowledge comes from personal experience and talking with Dr. X. The idea for the nerve-bundle move came from the movie Serenity. The 700 years I get for Angel’s age includes the time he spent in a hell dimension.
No beta, all mistakes mine.dreamscape
Bruce sat in his cave at the gigantic computer system, staring at one screen and frowning. The video was frozen on Xander’s face. The boy showed active fear with his tears and the way his knuckles were white around the phone he held to his ear. The image had come from Bruce’s own office the day before, just before Xander’s confession. While Bruce was angry, he was mostly angry at himself for not detecting the lie. He was frowning because of the conversation Xander gave. For some current unknown reason, the bug on his phones had suddenly stopped working so he didn’t have dialogue. Bruce had to resort to a lip-reading program. The results were puzzling. If the billionaire didn’t know that the program was the best that one could get (not even the military had better) and almost 100% accurate, he would wonder about a malfunction. As it was, Bruce had many questions and no answers. It was not a place he liked to be.
Bruce glanced at his watch and rose from his spot. It was about the time of night Xander began screaming. However, at dinner today he had Alfred drug Xander’s food with a mild sedative. Hopefully it would be enough that the boy could get a good night’s sleep.
Bruce walked toward Xander’s room, thinking about that morning. After he had run the lip-reading program through the first half of his son’s phone call he had made his own call to Lucius Fox. His son being afraid to even sleep was unacceptable. Bruce’s own fears were bad enough. He would do his damnedest to prevent any of his son’s fears.
He had given Lucius his son’s blood to use to create a cure, or at least a way for his son to sleep. Some way to help Xander control or manage his new abilities. Bruce found that his new fatherhood produced fears he had never before had. Xander had become one of his first priorities. The lack of sleep hopefully would work as Fox suggested that afternoon.
Bruce had reached Xander’s door before he heard anything. Previously, if others lived in Wayne Manor they would be awoken no matter what room they slept in. Bruce let out a small breath he had not been aware he had been holding in a small hope. Even though Xander began dreaming at approximately the same time every night, 3am, Bruce estimated a half hour leeway in either direction. It was 2:28am now. He silently sent up a prayer, though he didn’t believe in God, that the silence would last.
The billionaire bachelor quietly opened the door, immediately seeing Alfred already seated beside the bed where Xander had finally agreed to sleep. The life-long friend, mentor, and father figure was asleep as well, arms crossed over his chest and chin resting down. Bruce said nothing, just pulled forward his own chair from under Xander’s school desk, placed it beside Alfred’s, though his face the entire room, and sat down. And hoped.
Angel had been driving for two nights and a day straight, borrowing from his grandchilde’s trick of painting the convertible’s windows, and had finally reached Wayne Manor about 2:30am by speeding the entire way. He drove up the drive, got out, and listened with all his vampire hearing.
For several minutes, he couldn’t hear anything except the normal sounds of the night. Then a low scream pierced the air. Xander.
Xander was dreaming. He knew it. After so many he had lost count, he could tell the difference between it and the real world. He also doubted that he would ever have a normal dream again.
The sky was blue where he could see it through the cracks in the wooden boards above his head. His bare skin had goose bumps in an attempt to fight the cold, his breath clouding in front of him. He was naked from the waist up with bare feet touching hard, cold wooden boards. His wrists were tied above his head and he hung slightly on a hood, holding his weight on tip toes.
The man in front of him was probably in his mid thirties, though it was hard to tell with all the makeup, with green hair and scarred cheeks. He had on a professionally tailored suit of purple, a green shirt beneath. A clown suit and clown makeup. Xander had seen him in his dreams before and knew him to be Jack Nables, also known as The Joker, and Xander was now at the mercy of a man his father had sent to an asylum.
The Joker pulled out one of his infamous knives and let it glint in the moonlight that shone in scattered beams through the boards. “Want to know how I got these scars?”
Xander whimpered softly but the other heard and laughed, every couple of seconds licking his lower lips. “I was a quiet kid and my mom thought I should smile more. So one day she took a knife and did this while I was asleep. You don’t look so happy. Maybe you should smile more.” Xander couldn’t take his eyes off the blade that had made its way to the corner of his mouth. He whimpered again. He couldn’t help it.
Xander felt something happen to his eyes. He didn’t know what it was, had never been able to look into a mirrored surface to see in these dreams, but it happened every once in awhile in the dreamscape. Usually when he was in desperate situations where he feared for his very life. When it did happen, the people that saw his eyes took several steps back, shock and fear on their faces. The Joker was no exception to the rule, the knife at Xander’s mouth disappeared.
But the Joker apparently didn’t react well to his own fear and he only paused momentarily before his face showed anger and the man lasted out with the knife. It slid easily across Xander’s chest at a downward angle, deep enough it would probably leave a scare and Xander let out a blood curdling scream.
Bruce was quietly counting the minutes, each next quiet second a golden moment. It was 2:30am when Xander whimpered softly. Once. Twice. Bruce went to his son’s side immediately, Alfred awake and at Xander’s other side.
Bruce was holding his son down when the boy began to scream. It wasn’t like his normal screams, this one was filled with intense pain as well as fear. As if he was being tortured. Xander’s body bowed in his attempt to escape, but Bruce held him firmly.
Then the window opened inward with a slam and another man entered the room at a run. Bruce didn’t need to think, he turned quickly and lashed out with a foot to knock the newcomer off his feet, but the new man was faster than him.
The new man was tall, with nearly black hair, and wide shoulders to fill out the black leather jacket he wore. And he was fast, he dodged the sweep, darted around Bruce and hit him in a nerve bundle that paralyzed him. Bruce lost feeling and couldn’t move a muscle, only able to move his eyes around. Bruce heard the man’s voice behind him and it was between a tenor and bass, “I don’t want to hurt you. I’m here to help Xander.” Bruce had to assume the man had done something to stop Alfred because he didn’t hear the trip of the alarm to call the League. Bruce couldn’t move to ask any questions as the man pushed him relatively gently back into his chair and it pissed him off. Even if he could now see the room, he couldn’t defend his family.
Xander chose that moment to scream again, his body arching to the right toward the newcomer. The unknown man caught the boy’s body in one hand as the other pulled the jacket off to reveal a white cotton t-shirt. “Xander,” the man’s voice was quieter, “it’s not real. A dream. You can wake up. Xander.” The second time he said the name was firmer, demanding. But his son didn’t move.
Angel came immediately to the origin of the scream. A second floor window easily scaled, and he knocked it inward, thanking whoever might be listening that it was left unlocked. Broken glass was a pain in the ass.
There was an old man on the far side of where Xander slept and a middle aged man was closer to the window, holding Xander down as he screamed. The middle aged man had brown hair, a button down shirt and ironed slacks on while the older man was most likely a butler judging by his own tailored black suit. The brunette moved human slow, though faster than most humans, not as fast a Slayer or vampire, in a martial arts move that a vampire could, if they paid attention, dodge easily. A flash of his hand and Angel effectively disabled the fighter.
Angel lightly pushed the brunette into a chair, saying something he was barely aware of to soothe the man, glaring at the butler to stay his hand toward something out of the vampire’s line of sight. Angel wasn’t aware of what he said next, though he did know he said something to Xander. He focused on what only his vampire senses could tell him. He found something that nearly made him lose his control over his face. “Xander,” Angel said forcefully, demanding an answer. When he got no response, he hissed.
Angel spun to the brunette and he knew his eyes had gone yellow. “You drugged a Seer. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
The brunette didn’t show any expression, not surprising given his state, but his eyes did widen minutely to show that he had in fact heard. The fact that the man was able to keep his cool in the face of a obviously inhuman being that was very angry was impressive, but Angel would think about that later. “Xander’s dreams are visions of possible futures. He is caught in one that is causing him pain, and you made it so he can’t wake up.” As if on cue, Angel had to hold Xander down again when his spine bowed and he screamed loudly. The boy’s throat had to be sore by now, but he didn’t stop.
Angel growled, trying to think, pulling on 700 years of memories and knowledge. Searching for an answer when Xander tried to buck again less than thirty seconds from the last time. Angel held him still so that the kid wouldn’t hurt himself and absently noted how large the boy was. Because he was a boy, the vampire had smelled the difference in hormone levels between Xander and the rest of the males in his grade. Xander was obviously, obvious to a vampire at least, younger than he claimed, but an early growth spurt had made him outwardly appear older and so no one asked. Angel’s eyes widened at the answer. Hormones. There was a natural cure for any sedative.
Yellow eyes looked at the gentleman’s gentleman, “Adrenaline. Do you have any?” but the man shook his head slightly, otherwise expressionless. The man was a good employee, very Old World…as close as a human could get.
Angel racked his brain again, but only came up with one solution. Xander wouldn’t trust him for a long time, but with those screams he was willing to take that chance. Angel placed both hands on either side of Xander’s head, leaning over the bed in the process, and delved into his mind for the entity known as Angelus.
Angel never told anyone, not even Buffy, that Angelus was only another part of his own personality. Just like any other human who warred within themselves over decisions; an angel and demon on their shoulders. The “ensouling” spell was more like a drug. The effects similar to a human with Attention Deficit Disorder. Angelus was his naturally uninhibited state of mind; apply the spell giving him an unending supply of Adderall, and his mind found the power to suppress such desires. As such, accessing “Angelus” was only as difficult as doing what he wanted to do.
Angel leaned close, letting his face develop a smirk and his eyelids dropped slightly, and accessed the part of his mind the spell usually kept asleep. Just as an ADD person could bypass the Adderall if they really wanted. His voice became a third higher than normal, more congenial and friendly. More frightening for those who knew. Then he spoke, “The White Knight is asleep.”
Xander hung limply from the ceiling, his body covered in blood from all the cuts. He had lost count of the number of slicing strikes, just trying to get away and hoping his dad would find him soon. Praying.
Jack Nables had paused for a moment, probably trying to find another place to cut that he had missed and that wouldn’t hit a major artery, killing his toy, when Xander heard something that chilled his blood faster and more completely that this human every could. “The White Knight is asleep.”
Xander’s head jerked up, eyes wide in fear amide his shock-white skin from bloodloss and terror. Angelus was back, but not here, not in the dream. The voice was too soft, as if far away, and it had an echoing like quality that the Joker’s laughter lacked. He had to wake up. No one deserved that sadistic bastard’s “mercy.”
Xander gave a scream of effort and silently wished that he was free to go after the vampire...and suddenly he was. The chains were gone. Xander didn’t think twice, he ran for the glowing door to his right, ignoring the Joker completely, and darted through.
He opened his eyes to Angelus’ smirking expression and reacted. He jerked his knee upward and angelus did as any other human, giving Xander the chance to toss the covers to the side and run for the oaken door. He grabbed Alfred’s hand on the way since the Britain was just standing there, and tugged him after his as well. Knowing he couldn’t run fast enough, but knowing he had to try.
Xander never saw his father, as Bruce was sitting facing the door, or that one of the Batman's hands began to curl.
Tried a little different writing style, what do you think?