And this is where we go "WTF!?!"
Disclaimer: Don't own X-Men, BTVS, or any other Marvel property that may suddenly creep up in this fic.
Author's notes: And once again, this rambling little drabble of insanity continues. Not sure where this is coming from...maybe it's the fact that I saw a certain movie the other night and the Marvel muse has gone nuts. And, for those of you who are concerned about WoA, don't be. I'm still working on it but, to be honest, the next chapter to that story is going to be dark and depressing, I need to write something like this to get me out of my little dark mood.
And to the rest of you who are following this fic...thank you. I know most of you here don't read my other main project, but I do enjoy your feedback here.
Okay...to answer the question some people have. Who are the members of The Brotherhood in his story? Angel Salvadore, Emma Frost, Erik Lehnsherr, Azazel, and Riptide. Those are the characters from the "X-Men: First Class" movie which this fic is crossed over with. There are certain other Marvel movies that will also surface here in this fic in some way, shape, or form. But I'll leave you to figure that out.
Oh, and if I haven't said it before already: BLAME SEMET!
“So what are we going to do with him?”
The question was spoken by Riptide, but it was a question going through the mind of every member of The Brotherhood. Ever since their mystery guest literally fell out of the sky and on their back door, that question hounded them for over a week. And within that week, that question had spawned more questions.
While it was generally accepted that Xander Harris was not from “around here”, it was obvious that some members of The Brotherhood were skeptical about Xander’s point of origin. Angel Salvadore and Riptide were both skeptical and suspicious of the young man and Erik could understand that. Mystique, to a lesser extent, was skeptical but she was open minded enough to accept the fact that Xander Harris was definitely strange and more than a little “off” as far as humans go. Having learned the truth about Xander Harris, Erik felt that saying Xander was a “little off” didn’t do the man any justice. Emma…poor Emma…was still trying to recover from what had happened in Harris’ head and, for a couple days, woke up the rest of the house in the middle of the night, screaming in terror.
Erik shook his head at that memory. Emma, when he had first met her, was a cold and pragmatic individual. In fact, Erik had gone so far as to think that the telepath had almost successfully managed to kill off any feeling or emotion; he had come to that initial conclusion because of her association with Schmidt/Shaw’s agenda. But that trip into their guest’s mind had done something to her. From what Erik gathered, Emma experienced what Xander went through and he was wondering how much damage that did to her mind. He was no expert on the mind, that was Charles’ are of expertise, but Erik saw some physical signs that he recognized all to well from observing fellow survivors from the camps. The tense nervousness, the haunted look in their eyes, making a person wonder if they had somehow died on the inside and their body just simply continued on in a pre-set routine. Erik saw that look whenever he stood in front of a mirror, but he also so something else…the fire of defiance, the will to forge ahead and keep fighting. Xander Harris has that same look and that went a lot towards improving Erik’s opinion of the man. Erik could only hope Emma would somehow find that fire, the last thing he needed was a broken telepath.
And then there was Azazel’s opinion which puzzled Erik. Even though he didn’t know the man that well, Erik considered Azazel to be a “no-nonsense” and blunt man who preferred to cut to the heart of the matter, both literally and figuratively. After the conversation from a couple nights before, Erik could see that Azazel was dealing with some issues of his own, but was intent on not letting in conflict with his loyalty to the Brotherhood. In Erik’s opinion, it sounded like some of Azazel’s more spiritual beliefs that he had supposedly abandoned had reared their ugly head in the form of their visitor. Erik dismissed it as superstition and that Azazel would eventually get over it…or it would overwhelm him and possibly cause problems.
It wasn’t until a few hours ago that Erik wondered if Azazel might be on to something when he saw Azazel and their visitor sparring in what had been a banquet room. Erik had to admit that Xander Harris was holding his own, but the real surprise was when Azazel teleported behind Xander in the middle of the fight, dropping low with a leg sweep and follow through with a whip of his tail. Xander rolled with the impact of the leg sweep, but suddenly brought his arm up in time, forcing Azazel’s tail to involuntarily wrap around it, and then pulled hard, causing the mutant to grunt in pain before teleporting again. Unfortunately, for Azazel, he learned the hard way that Xander had predicted his move and found Xander’s fist in his face the moment he teleported.
Erik actually winced when he saw Azazel’s head snap to the side, but then he looked on in surprise as the demonic looking mutant turned back to reface Xander and suddenly grinned, nodding in approval. “Very good,” Azazel had said, wiping a bit of blood out of the corner of his mouth. “You do not have a particular school of fighting, but you fight vell, despite your crude technique.”
“Crude technique?” Xander tilted his neck to one side and then the other until an audible crack could be heard. “Says the man who keeps trying to ‘port into my blind side.”
“Ah, and you’re saying you vouldn’t try to take that advantage?”
“No, but I wouldn’t keep trying to go after said advantage if my enemy was always expecting it.”
“Ah.” Azazel nodded and smiled again. “In that case, let’s crank it up a notch, shall ve?” He lunged at Xander again, but this time he was going full speed and obviously not pulling his punches and kicks which were almost a blur.
And to Erik’s surprise, the young man was actually still holding his own. He was suddenly aware of movement behind him and turned to see Mystique, Riptide, and Angel standing behind him.
“Is that the-” Angel started to ask.
“Yes,” Erik replied, cutting her off.
“Okay, I’m impressed,” Mystique said while Riptide merely nodded in approval and studied the fight.
The fight finally ended with Azazel, suddenly grabbing Xander and performing a monkey flip that sent Xander flying across the room before teleporting a few feet ahead of where Xander was headed and executing a roundhouse kick that knocked the younger man to the floor. Then he was suddenly on top of Xander, his tail over his shoulder, the sharp devil’s tip of the end at the young man’s throat. “And then you’d be dead,” he said, giving Xander a grin.
“Really?” Xander asked, eye’s drifting to Azazel’s throat.
And that was when Azazel realized that there was a knife at his own throat. “Vell played, my friend,” he chuckled as he backed off and stood up. He then reached down and offered Xander a hand to help him up. “Very vell played indeed.”
Xander accepted the help up and placed the knife back in its sheathe, a confused look on his face. “Yeah,” he said, “I guess.”
“Is there something wrong?”
“You could say that,” Xander replied. “Given the fact that you should have beaten me to a bloody pulp about twenty seconds into the fight.” This got him a look of disbelief from Azazel. “No, seriously,” he said, “I know I’m not that lousy of a fighter anymore, but I’m used to being kicked around by people with superhuman strength, not being able to hold my own against them.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re a mutant?” This was from Mystique who was seemed taken aback by the bitter chuckle she got in response.
“Yeah right,” Xander said, “if it were only that simple.” He smiled sadly and shook his head. “I’m sorry, I guess I went through some changes when I came here.”
There was something in the boy’s voice that caught Erik’s attention, that haunted tone one would have when talking about their past. “What makes you so sure you’re not a mutant?” he asked, hoping his tone was friendly enough.
Xander looked up at Erik, making eye contact, and Erik could have sworn Xander’s eye flashed yellow for a moment. “Let’s just say I wasn’t a mutant when I felt something like this before,” he replied, “ but this feels different.” He shook his head again. “I’m sorry…I’m still a little weirded out by this. Um…would you mind if I went out and took a walk? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind being a guest here, but I need some air.”
“You sure that’s wise?” Riptide was looking at Erik when he asked that question. From the way he asked, it was obvious that he believed Xander to be more of a prisoner than a guest…albeit a well treated prisoner.
However, the implication wasn’t lost on Xander. “And what do you think I’m going to do, Rip,” he laughed, “go to the authorities? Yeah right…what am I going to tell them? ‘Oh yeah, I’m hanging out with The Brotherhood here in Mexico’. Given the fact that they probably haven’t heard of you yet, they probably wouldn’t give a damn and probably think I’m a nut. And to be honest, I’m not exactly trusting of my sanity at the moment given the fact that I’m apparently stuck in a world where you people are actually real.”
“Wait a minute,” this came from Angel, “what do you mean by ‘real’?”
Erik decided to quickly nip this conversation in the bud. He knew that both he and Emma would have to have a talk with the rest of The Brotherhood about their guest, but he would prefer it if their “guest” was not around for that discussion. Explaining to them that Xander was from “another world” was thing, but explaining that he was from the future of “another world” where they were works of fiction…he knew that truth would be impossible for them to swallow. Hell, even he was still having a hard time coming to grips with it. “You may go,” he said, “I believe the village is quite festive this time of year.”
“Well duh, I’m in Mexico and it’s few days before Christmas. Of course it’s going to be festive.” He started to leave the room and looked back over his shoulder. “I take it you’ll probably have Raven there follow me at some point?”
Erik smiled, but didn’t answer.
“You’d never see me coming,” Mystique smirked.
“True,” Xander admitted, “but not many people use that peach scented soap.” Then he left the room, leaving Erik to talk to a confused Brotherhood about the true nature of their guest.
About an hour later, Xander found himself sitting at table in a small cantina in the village. Thanks to Azazel, he had some money to order a small meal and, despite his personal preferences, a beer. He never cared much for alcohol due to his parents and what he had seen it do to them, but he figured he definitely needed a drink. It was hard to believe that, only a few days ago (well, he thought it was a few days ago), he was in Africa in 2005 with Dawn and Buffy dealing with some psychotic warlord hopped up on some magical artifact.
And now…here he was…in Mexico, in the year 1962, in a world where characters from a comic book existed. I would have been happy with some afterlife fantasy…no one said anything about being dumped in a comic book world. Or worse yet…being dumped in a comic book world set in the 1960s. Hell…this isn’t even the comic book universe I’m familiar with! It’s seriously fucked up…even Andrew would be freaked out by this. No…wait…he’d probably think would be cool anyway…and yeah…it is kind of cool. Still fucked up though…
He opened up a newspaper he had bought from a street vendor and almost choked on his drink when he read the front page.
HOWARD STARK COMPLETES STARK TOWER, ANNOUNCES NEW TECHNOLOGICAL AGE TO BEGIN. No way…Howard Stark?
“Excuse me, young man,” asked an accented voice, “do you mind if I sit here? It seems to be a little crowded tonight.”
“No,” Xander replied as he closed the paper and looked up at his guest, “not at all Mr…” Xander’s voice died in his throat when he saw the man. What the hell?
Xander had seen many weird things in his lifetime. The last few days in this strange world definitely ranked in the “really weird shit” category. But, at this moment, he was half expecting to hear the creepy Twilight Zone music begin to play because he saw Hannibal Lector…with long hair tied back in a ponytail and sporting an eye-patch over his right eye…standing there with a large mug of some honey-colored liquid. Okay…he’s not Hannibal Lector…but what the hell? This guy looks like a dead ringer for Anthony Hopkins…but he can’t be Hopkins. The real Hopkins, if he exists here, wouldn’t be this old.
“Is something wrong?” the man asked.
“No,” Xander said, shaking his head, “you just reminded me of someone, that’s all.”
The older man chuckled and nodded as he took a seat across from Xander. “I get that a lot,” he said. He took a sip of his drink and set his mug on the table. “If you don’t mind me asking, who did you think I was?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
The old man chuckled and took another sip of his drink. “Oh, you would be surprised at what I’ve seen, Xander Harris,” he said. “And I can assure you, I am not an escaped serial killer from a work of fiction that hasn’t even been written yet.”