Dreams of Ice
Disclaimer: I do not own anything, it all belongs to other people, but I can still dream, can I?
Authors Note: This is a Crossover Fic. I watched a movie and my over-reactive bunnies
tossed me a ‘what if’ scenario and, of course, my brain wouldn’t shut up until I started to put
this down. I have no idea where it will lead to, we will see.
Child of Darkness, Son of Ice
Simone of the ZordiakHe was dreaming of ice again. Whirling snowflakes dancing in an eternal storm, glistering sheets of thick frozen ice covering the wall in front of him. He was so cold, but he knew that even the hottest fire would not warm him. For it was he, who caused the ice to appear. The coldness was born from his arctic-cold body and would imprison him forever. Banished, cursed and so alone.
In the middle of the courtyard he stood, screaming his impotent fury at the uncaring moon...
Still screaming he woke up and drew a much needed breath. The air he breathed out made clouds of condensation appear in front of him and he shuddered. Despite it being a quite warm Californian summer-night, his bed sheets were frozen over and small ice-crystals were covering the surfaces of the room. Xander sighed. Maybe it was better to tell Giles, but something, some strange kind of instinct, was keeping him from doing it.
He opened a window, allowing in the warm summer air, to get rid of the chill and to taw away the ice. Wordlessly he watched the small bits of ice dissolve into fluid and then laid out his duvet to dry away the water. This had happened so often in the last weeks that he had developed a routine to deal with it.
The first dream he had the night after his best friend had dissolved into vampire dust. After he had used a stake to kill him. At first he had believed the dreams to be his minds way of working through the things he had seen that night and the following ones. But the dreams came more and more often, with details his brain could not invent. And then the ice appeared. It was covering him, his bed and his sheets and somehow he knew that he had produced it. Somehow his body had cooled down the air in his room during his dreams, had cooled it down so much that ice flowers grew at his windows and mirror, that thin sheets of ice started to cover the surfaces of his room.
It was then, that Xander started to seriously research what could have happened to him, or why it was happening to him, but so far he had not found even the slightest hint of a possibility to explain his situation.
He found lists of demons, who could control the weather or one of the elements, but nothing in their descriptions or habitats was fitting. He found stories of witches, so powerful that fire and ice were theirs to control, but that was done with lots of spells and practice. There was nothing to explain his predicament.
The warm summer air had made short process with the frozen air of his room and he closed the window again. Then he grabbed for a leatherbound journal he had stashed halfway under his bed, sat down at his desk and started to write down everything he could remember about the dream. This was a habit he had gotten used to rather quickly, it helped him to sort through his mind and he still hoped that he would find the answers to his questions in the hints dropped by his dreams.
He carefully leafed through the already written on sites. Certain elements of his dreams always stayed the same, but the dreams themselves varied. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes there were people. Strange people. Very strange and most certainly nonhuman people.
His eyes came to a stop at a symbol he had seen several times in his dreams, a symbol he had drawn so many times in his schoolbooks and on worksheets, that even the teachers were starting to recognise it as his. Every time he drew or saw the symbol he felt a strange mixture of longing and anger and he had no idea why.
Xander sighed and closed his journal. The dream had woken him rather early and so he had time to prepare for school at his leisure. He showered, long and as warm as he could, to drive away the last of his chill. Afterwards he dug around in the clutter for his hairbrush and started the process of detangeling his hair. For some strange reason he had decided to grow out his hair, a fact he cursed every morning when his brush found just another knot and yet he did not even thought about getting it cut. He fished a simple hairband out of a small bin and tied his hair in a ponytail.
After he was done with this part of his morning ritual, he dressed and anybody who had known Xander for a while would be able to pick out the changes that he had went through since the dreams had started. He no longer wore bright, clashing colours, but settled for simple, dark and muted colours, mostly brown, darkblue and black.
He packed his schoolbooks for the day, all his homework was done and he knew it was correct. That had been the easiest of the changes that he had noticed since the beginnings of the dreams, the need to compete, even if it was only with Willow and only about the state of their homework. Somewhere inside of him there was this burning need to be the best at something and he saw no harm in competing with his best friend, his grades were thanking him for it.
One last time he looked into the mirror. It showed him a tall (he had stopped slouching), dark man, with a serious look on his face and a few rebellious strands of hair framing said face. He looked mature, no longer like a teenager, but more like someone one could trust with responsibility of his own. And there was something else. Since the first dream, since the night he had to kill his best friend, the laughter had slowly, but steadily faded from his eyes. He had paid it no heed, had not really noticed it, but there were others who were dreading the day when the laughter finally died completely inside of him. In his eyes, as well as his heart. For Xander carried a secret, something he didn’t even know himself, but many hoped that the day would never come, when it would be unleashed on the world again.