Disclaimer: Don’t own any of these characters. Joss and crew own BTVS. Neil Gaiman owns Death (or at least an incarnation of her), and Marvel owns the rest.
Author’s notes: Okay, this insane little drabble was going through my head when my mafia plot bunnies went to go watch X-Men First Class. Then it wouldn’t go away because they bought my muse the soundtrack to the movie…that’s my insane excuse and I’m sticking to it. As for “War of Angels” over on the other site…relax, I’m still writing it! Oh...I also blame Semet for this.
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Let’s Dump The White Knight Where He Can’t Do Any Harm aka “The PTBs Screw Up Again…”
Whistler stood there in the white void, tapping his foot on the ground which technically wasn’t there and he shouldn‘t have been able, but he managed to do so nonetheless because he was standing on something and the foot was tapping against something solid and the slight echo it created could be heard. He wasn’t sure how long he was performing said action while he stood there arms crossed and was fighting the urge to roll his eyes as he heard his employers, the all-powerful “Powers That Be” do something that had become something of a habit over the last seven years: bitch about a certain “powerless” (yes, note the imaginary quotes around the word “powerless”) mortal who had this annoying habit of causing many of their plans go awry. It had gotten to the point that it was decided that a tiny apocalypse scenario engineered to specifically kill “the unstable elements” of the “Scooby Gang” (namely “The Defiant Slayer, The Key, and THAT DAMN ABOMINATION” (those were the Powers’ descriptions, not Whistler’s)) once and for all be implemented.
Whistler, though just a worthless peon and messenger boy for the powers, risked his eternal existence by trying to warn them that this was a bad idea and even pointed out things tend to be a little chaotic when one Alexander Lavelle Harris was involved. He even showed them past events where the boy’s participation completely knocked things on their ear and urged his bosses that the kid should be left alone to fate and that trying to mess with him would cause a bigger disaster.
Alas, his argument only seemed to feed his employers’ case saying that is why the boy had to be dealt with, and if they could get rid of the Defiant Slayer and her sister/Key…so much the better. Reluctantly, Whistler obeyed his master’s wishes, went to Buffy Summers and her Sister, telling them Xander was in trouble and needed their help.
So Summers and her sister went to Africa where Xander was looking for activated Slayers and, yes, he did need help (especially since the powers allowed a local warlord to acquire demonic powers). Long story short, the Slayer, the Key, and the White Knight helped a group of villagers make a stand against the warlord and his soldiers. However, the battle was against them when the warlord decided to personally get involved, slaughtering innocents and demanding that the Slayer and her friends turn themselves over before he killed all the villagers.
Out of options and desperate, Xander agreed to talk to the warlord for their terms of surrender.
That was the first hint that told Whistler that something really fucked up was going to happen.
The second hint was when SHE showed up and calmly followed Xander from several feet away. The moment that young woman in goth clothing wearing an ankh around her neck showed up, even the Powers sensed something was amiss.
Whistler remembered that moment and would never forget it. He stood there in that African village, incorporeal, could not be heard, felt, or seen…and that young woman just suddenly appeared as if she had just walked through a door, followed Harris as he went to talk directly to the warlord, then stopped and looked straight at Whistler. She gave him a tiny smile and winked…an innocent gesture from anyone else but, from her, it filled Whistler with a sense of dread.
Sure enough Harris stepped up to the warlord who made some snide remark about how foolish he was being a pathetic mortal…that was the third hint that Murphy was preparing to lay the smack down on the Powers.
Then the rigged suicide vest Alexander Harris was wearing blew up, killing himself, the warlord, and the warlord’s key supporters.
Once again, the “White Knight” saved the day, sacrificed himself to do it, but he managed to save everyone else. The Powers were pissed that the Slayer and Key still lived, but were happy that the “ABOMINATION” was no longer a problem.
Or so they thought…until SHE stepped forward and pretty much told the Powers that they had no right to dictate Fate or Her actions. Yes, she agreed, Alexander Harris was dead in that reality, but she refused to take him on the grounds that he was deliberately put in that position by a bunch of, in her own words, a bunch of “pretentious assholes who whine too much when they don’t get things their way.”
It took all of Whistler’s efforts to keep from laughing, but it didn’t stop the corners of his mouth from twitching slightly as he fought the urge to smile.
“Do what you want with him,” she told the Powers, “but deliberately try to kill him and tricking me into doing your bidding will have dire consequences. Keep in mind that even YOU have to come to an end some time.”
She then left, but not before giving Whistler friendly nod and a “See ya’ around, Hat Boy.”
Whistler wasn’t sure if she was just being nice or if there was something more sinister behind it. After all, one doesn’t deal directly with Death herself and not have something happen to them. However, he was starting to think hanging out with her was preferable then waiting in this damn white void while he listened to his bosses bitch and whine about what to do. “We obviously can’t send the boy back.”
“No, but what are our options? Obviously, we can’t just throw him into an alternate reality similar to the one he just left. It’s too close to home and he could do damage.
“Then perhaps we should find a dimension way out of our ‘jurisdiction’.”
“Ah, perhaps one that we’ve not dealt with…there is one such dimension that has come into being fairly recently. A few modifications to the…creature…and we can just dump his ass there and be rid of him.”
“Agreed, let him be someone else’s problem.”
They then summoned Whistler and informed him of their plan and where they intended to dump the kid. He had to admit, where they were sending them actually sounded interesting and he had to give them points for creativity. “That is a valid option,” he admitted, though, in his head he mentally screamed “ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE!?!”
But he kept that thought to himself.
So the powers left him alone in the white void while he waited for-
The scream was cut off as Alexander Lavelle Harris landed face first on the “floor” of the white void, a few cloudy wisps of smoke momentarily swirling around him before disappearing.
Whistler looked down and winced in sympathy from the impact. “Hey, Harris,” he said, “how ya’ doin’?”
Alexander Harris rolled onto his back and groaned, his one eye blinking. “I don’t know,” he said, “I think I blew myself up.”
Whistler chuckled at that. If there was one thing he liked about the Harris kid, it was his wry sense of humor when stating the obvious. “Yeah, kid, you did.”
Harris looked in his direction and blinked again, this time in surprise. “Whistler? Why are you here? Oh wait…I’m dead, aren’t I?”
The balance demon paused for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. “Eeeeeeh, kind of,” he said. “Did you go boom and kill some souped up magical warlord and his flunkies? Yes, you saved the day and pretty much died a hero.” He reached down with his hand to help the kid up to his feet.
“Okay, I’m dead,” Xander said as he got up, then a horrified look appeared on his face. “Oh shit…Willow.”
“Relax, kiddo, the Red Witch may be grief stricken, but even she won’t try to resurrect a body blown to itty bitty bits.”
“Okay,” the boy said, slightly relieved. “But I’m still dead…so…where do I go? This doesn’t look like Heaven and I don’t think I rate a trip to Hell.”
“Nah,” Whistler said, “I don’t think sending you to LA was an option.”
“Holy shit! Whistler! You made a funny!”
“Did I?” Whistler asked, arching an eyebrow and giving Xander a tiny smile. “Okay kid, here’s the deal. You’re dead to that reality and you can’t go back. Truth be told, the Powers want you gone, out of the way.” He held up a hand to cut off Xander who was about to object. “Don’t bother trying to argue this kid. What’s done is done…they played you into a corner forcing you to take yourself out of the game, but someone stepped in on your behalf and pretty much said it wasn’t your time.”
“Trust me kid, you don’t want to know. For some reason, SHE stepped up to bat for you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say SHE likes you.” Whistler shook his head again. “So, instead of sending you off to the great hereafter, the Powers decided to dump you in a different dimension far away…one they don’t have to worry about.”
“Oh, I see,” Harris snapped. “I’m just going to be tossed in the trash somewhere. Y’know, I hope Buffy does turn your ribcage into a hat.”
“Hey,” Whistler said defensively, “I’m just the errand boy…a glorified donut guy…just like you thought yourself to be.” Then he smiled again. “Except you were selling yourself short in that department. So look at this way, kid, think of it as a really fucked up reward.”
The kid gave Whistler a suspicious look. “Exactly where are you sending me?”
This time, the balance demon gave him a big toothy grin. “Let’s just say those comic books you read on up through your teens might help you out…a little bit.”
“Wait, what do you mean by that?” Harris asked, oblivious to the glowing white hole opening up behind him.
“Don’t worry, kid,” Whistler said, “you’ll do fine.” Then he suddenly pushed Xander backwards into the hole.
The hole suddenly snapped close after Harris had fallen through it.
“Good luck, kid.”
“WHISTLEEEERRRRR!!! You son of a-” Xander was cut off as he dropped into a body of water. The salty taste in his mouth immediately told him it was seawater. His survival instinct kicked in and he focused more on getting back to the surface. Once he got his head above water, he looked around and saw shore about a quarter mile away. He wasn’t sure where he was, but he didn’t care. Right now, he just wanted to get to land and then he would try to figure out where he was.
For once, he was thankful for whatever ability his stint on the swim team back in Sunny Hell gave him, but he was still exhausted from having to fight the current that seemed too intent on trying to sweep him out to sea. However, he managed to make it to shore and saw a group of weird looking people standing on the shore, looking at him. Two of them looked like demons, but one of the demons looked like he was wearing a three piece suit while the other one…well…she wore nothing and yes, Xander was certain she was definitely a she. Funny thing about the naked demon…her blue skin and red hair…she seemed familiar.
However, Xander really didn’t care. At the moment, they didn’t look hostile, though they did seem wary of his presence. Two other women made up the rest of the group, one of them was a very attractive woman with blond hair. In a way, she looked a lot like a younger version of Buffy’s mom, Joyce, and very hot. Bad Xander, no thinking of Buffy’s mom as ‘hot’!
Xander walked up towards them, but stopped a few feet away and sat on a nearby log. The third woman was Hispanic, but she had the sharp eyes of a Slayer that seemed to miss nothing. She seemed to be studying Xander and trying to determine if he was a threat.
For several seconds, no one said anything until Xander finally decided to break the silence. “So,” he finally said, “would any of you happen to have a cell-phone I could borrow?”
It was the red-skinned demon in the three piece suit that replied in a heavy east European accent. “Cell-phone?” he asked, obviously confused. “Vat’s a cell-phone?”
“Oh yeah,” Xander said, remembering a little bit of what Whistler told him. “Different dimension…you probably don’t have them…knowing my luck.”
“Who are you?” the blue skinned woman asked. Again, there was something about her that was tugging at the back of Xander’s brain, but he couldn’t figure out why she looked familiar. “And why aren’t you afraid?”
“Xander and I’m too tired and exhausted,” Xander replied, “and it’s not like I haven’t encountered non-hostile demons before.”
“Demons,” the blue skinned woman repeated, venom suddenly in her voice. “Is that what you humans call us now?”
“Whoa, whoa…hold on…no offense.” Xander held up his hands non-aggressively. “I didn’t mean anything personal.”
“Raven, relax,” the blond haired woman said. As she spoke, Xander felt a slight buzzing in his head. “He meant no offense and he thinks you are a demon because he’s actually dealt with demons.”
“Okay…if that’s you in my head, you might want to get out before-” Xander never finished his warning because the blonde woman suddenly stepped backwards a few steps, panic on her face and bringing her arms up as if to block something from attacking her. For a moment, Xander had a mental image of Hyena attacking the blond woman.
“Emma,” the blue skinned woman asked, “are you okay?” Emma? Why does that name sound familiar.
Then Xander remembered part of his conversation with Whistler. “Let’s just say those comic books you read on up through your teens might help you out…a little bit.”
“No…way…” Xander said as he recognized the two women. “Emma? As in Emma Frost?” The blond woman nodded and then Xander looked at the blue skinned woman. “Mystique?”
In response to his question, the blue woman momentarily morphed into a copy of Xander before shifting back to her default form.
Xander trembled slightly as he got back to his feet. “Okay…where the hell am I? And what kind of joke is this?”
“Two interesting questions, my young friend,” spoke another voice. “Especially coming from such an odd individual as yourself.”
Xander turned in the direction of the voice and saw a man in his mid-thirties wearing a cloak and a very familiar (but dorky looking) helmet floating above him. “Um…and who’s the guy wearing the dorky looking Magneto helmet?” Xander asked, not quite realizing what he had just said until he heard a giggle coming from one of the women.
“I am Magneto,” the man said, glaring at Xander.
“No way,” Xander said, starting to feel his consciousness slip away as exhaustion claimed him. “You…don’t…look…like…Gandalf….”
Then he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
For about a minute, no one said anything. The members of the recently formed Brotherhood weren’t sure what to make of this stranger who suddenly washed up on the beach near their Mexico safe-house, but it was Azazel who finally broke the silence.
“Vell,” he said, walking up to the unconscious man, “that vas different.”
Erik Lehnsherr, also known as Magneto, looked down at the stranger as he landed a few feet away. “So, who is he, Emma?” he asked.
The blond telepath shook her head. “I don’t know, Erik, but he’s…he’s not from around here.”
“Obviously,” Raven smirked. “We did see him fall out of the sky after all. He also didn’t seem put off by my appearance or that of Azazel.”
“But he knew who you were.” This was from Angel Salvadore who flew over to help Azazel pick up the unconscious man. “He said his name was Xander and he thought we were actually demons.”
Unlike Raven, Erik didn’t take hostility at that comment. In fact, he was curious because there was something about the boy that seemed off…and it wasn’t just the fact he was missing an eye. Though one could only wonder how one so young lost his eye.
“Interesting,” Erik said, “and why would he refer to me as a character out of a Tolkien novel?”
“Who cares?” Mystique chuckled, “it’s good to know that I’m not the only one who thinks that helmet looks stupid.”