Seventh Gift, Part 2/?
The Seventh Gift
Header Information - Please read first if you didn't get here from that post.
Prologue
Part 1: Past Tense
Part 1: Past Tense, Continued
Vin sat quietly next to the window in his room. The curtains had been pulled back so he could see out at the bustling street below, the window opened to catch any breezes that might come by. It had been four days since he and Chris had found young Xander staggering in the street, and the boy had spent most of that time asleep, thanks first to the laudanum Nathan had used while he’d doctored the boy, then to a combination of herbs Nathan had steeped into one of his obnoxious teas. Two of those days, Nathan had kept Xander in the clinic, the boy pallid and still in the clinic’s bed.
They had made a point of inviting Ezra to see him, then, and explained Xander’s problematic origin. Ezra’s mobile face had acquired a blankness that barely masked his anger. Whatever his assessment of the adults in his vicinity, Ezra adored children, and Vin knew that whoever had abused Xander had just made himself an unrelenting enemy. Ezra had agreed to conduct a quiet search for the lad’s father, but had also opined that when he could be moved, it would be better to move Xander to Larabee’s abode rather than Vin’s room.
“Surely such an excrescence will not hesitate to leave the boy to his fate, but he is far more likely to attempt another assault on Xander should he see him around town, or learn of his location here.”
Again, Nathan had vetoed the idea, at least at first. “The boy’s gonna need me looking in on him - it’ll be far more discreet if he was in town rather than me ridin’ out to that shack every so often. If we find he needs protection, maybe he can be moved out there in a week or so.”
Ezra had bowed to Nathan’s medical expertise, and made his way to the Saloon to start a card game and to practice some discretion of his own while he gathered what intelligence there may have been. But there was none to be found, not on the subject of one child with a broken arm, or with a missing eye, or named Xander.
Ezra also took time to visit the families outside of town on patrol, asking if new people had settled in the area that hadn’t been to town yet, perhaps in those various tucked-away valleys and canyons that weren’t obvious from the main trails. But there had been no new-comers to be found.
Chris had sent delicately worded telegraphs to local towns, missions, and stage way-stations. No one was missing a boy of about 5 or 6, or a dark-haired lad, nor had anyone heard of an orphan train passing through these parts.
It was a long-shot, but Vin had widened his search for any track or sign that might point the way to Xander’s parents. But he found no sign of recent wagon trains, or lone wagons that might have been attacked, or even an Indian party which might have snuck in and left a white child to be found by white elders. Vin didn’t think the local tribes would have done that, thought they might be more likely to adopt Xander if they had found him, but he’d heard rumors of it before, here and there, of Indians leaving white children to be found by others if they thought they could not take care of the child themselves.
Finally, Ezra had voiced the last possible option that no one had wanted to think on: “Mayhap the child was simply left for us to find, his mother or father having decided they were unable to take care of him. It would take many resources to take care of a child in the state we found Xander in, resources his parents may not have been able to give.”
Chris had turned on him in a fury. “Are you saying we should pity the son of a bitch that did this to him?”
“Not at all, Mr. Larabee,” Ezra said, not backing down. “Certainly, if the boy’s parents had cared one whit about him, they would have left Xander in the care of Josiah, at the church, or Nathan, at the clinic. There are many honest reasons to orphan a child while the parents are still alive. What I am pointing out, however, is that perhaps we are finding no back trail because there is no back trail to find. It would not be so difficult to hide a child of young Master Xander’s size in a suitcase, and upon emptying the luggage in a convenient alley, re-embark upon the stage with much lighter responsibilities.”
Chris had stared harshly at Ezra for a moment, and Vin had wondered if Chris had picked up, as he had, the bitter undertone in the man’s words. They were all aware that Ezra’s peacock-bright clothing hid many secrets, but Vin thought that they had just witnessed one come to the fore: that of how often and easily Maude Standish had left her child with strangers.
“What do we do now?” Vin had asked.
“The Judge’ll have to be notified,” Chris said, taking his hat off to run a hand through his hair. “And I’m not convinced he has no Ma or Pa out there looking for him. Not sure, but if someone comes to claim the boy, the law may not allow us to keep him from his family.”
“Surely you do not intend to leave the child to the tender mercies of anyone who has already perpetrated such atrocities?” Ezra had sounded so appalled that Vin had no doubt he was already plotting ways to keep the boy out of such a situation.
“I’m not saying that, Ez,” Chris had growled. “I won’t abandon a kid to that fate, no matter what the law says! And Ez,” Chris had continued, more softly now, “we won’t abandon you, either.”
The expression that had flashed across Ezra’s face then had been equal parts surprise, relief, gratitude, and fear, and had made up for the acidity of Ezra’s interactions with both of them since. Vin supposed that it would just take Ezra some time to assimilate the fact that he was their brother as much as JD was, as much loved and worried over as their youngest, if for different reasons entirely.
On the morning of the third day, Nathan had been called out to the von Hoelzer farm, as Mrs. Von Hoelzer was near her time for delivering her fifth babe. The von Hoelzer clan boasted four sons already, all of whom bore the strongly-muscled, hooked-nose, green-eyed stamp of their father, and all of whom could take turns at the plow. Even the youngest, only 10, had been seen occasionally steadying a plow behind the draft horse team the von Hoelzer patriarch favored. Josiah had told Vin once, as they watched the family unload cask after cask of beer at the Saloon and load box after box of various goods at the Mercantile, that it was a good thing that the family also tended towards a rather phlegmatic disposition, seeing as how they’d likely be able to take on anyone they cared to in a fight. Vin had nodded philosophically. They made good beer, too, he thought.
Under the cover of all the fuss of getting Nathan ready to deliver the babe, Vin had spirited Xander into his room, quickly settling him in and laying out the items they’d need to take care of the boy: clean cloths, teapot for making medicinal drinks, pot for boiling water and cloths, some healing salves Nathan was learning to make from Rain in the Seminole village. He made sure the slop jar was in the corner, because he doubted they’d be able to get Xander to wait until they got him to a privy to do his business. Nathan had given him a little cap that fit over the mouth of the jar to keep the odor from getting too foul if things got nasty. Vin was grateful, because he’d seen some of the things Nathan’d had to clean up in the clinic, and he really didn’t want to have to deal with either the mess or the smell. Thinking on it, he decided he owed Nathan a shot of whiskey for any of the more embarrassing things of his Nathan might have had to clean up.
Since then, Xander had been in and out of consciousness, with Chris and Vin taking turns watching him. He was starting to wake more often now, and was more coherent during his waking periods. He still wasn’t saying much - at least, much of where he came from and how he got here. Avoiding the issue, most likely, Vin thought, or maybe he really didn’t know. Nor had he given up his last name, and Vin was of the opinion that that was a deeper problem. A boy Xander’s age surely ought to know his last name, so what would make the child avoid it so studiously? He thought on the boy’s scars, on the missing eye, and shuddered. A boy ought to have a name he could be proud of, no matter what. Perhaps, Vin thought, perhaps the child had a sensing of such a concept, but knew he didn’t wish to be his father. Perhaps in his childish wisdom, he was testing out the names of his elders, trying them on to find one he could take pride in living up to, instead of be ashamed of living in the shadow of. And perhaps it was selfish, but Vin thought he’d be right happy if the boy decided to take his name. A child who had such wisdom beyond his years was a son any man should be right proud to have. Vin nodded to himself, thinking of all the things he’d like to teach a son.
Pained little cries and sad whimpering moans caught his attention, and he turned now from the window to watch Xander’s sleep dissolve into restless movements.
“No,” the boy mumbled, voice becoming clearer as his distress deepened. “No - stop - no… NO! NO! Get away from me!”
Vin pulled his mare’s leg out and set it safely down on the chair as he padded toward the bed.
“Hush now, Xan, it’s just a dream,” he soothed, gently picking up a small hand and chafing it between his own. “You’re safe now, son, no one will hurt you.” He continued this litany until the child quieted, confining his touches to Xander’s hands. They had learned early on that a touch almost anywhere else in this nightmare-ridden state would wake Xander up violently, no matter how deep his sleep had been. The first couple of times Nathan had ruffled his hair in an attempt to soothe him out of his dreams, Xander had managed to get from the bed to a defensive position in the corner in less than a minute. It had taken Chris quite a while to talk him down; for some reason, the boy wouldn’t respond to either Vin or Nathan in his heightened terror. Vin wasn’t even sure the boy ever fully woke during those episodes.
A clatter sounded outside the window, the heavy beat of galloping horse hooves on the ground announcing the arrival of this week’s stage. The Judge was on that stage, and Chris would soon apprise him of the situation with Xander. Vin settled back down on the chair and sighed, remembering Chris’s way with the boy, remembering Nathan’s suspicions, remembering the soul-deep terror in Xan’s eye as he screamed about devils and monsters, remembering his own doubts. He wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to take Xan under his wing and teach him what he knew, but could he chase the boy’s demons away? Could he make time for Xander’s fears when he was still facing his own? Could anyone?
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“We haven’t found any sign of one, but Xan’s fresh injuries may be an indication of some kind of attack,” Chris concluded his report to Judge Travis. “Whether we find his parents or not, I’d like to keep him under wraps for a few more days yet, just in case.”
“I agree,” said Orin. “Those nightmares you describe certainly support some kind of severe trauma in the boy’s past.” He paused, ordering his thoughts. “I’m placing the boy in your protective custody, Chris, at least for the time it takes to heal that broken arm of his. Furthermore, I’m ruling the boy a ward of the state, pending an investigation into the fitness of his parents. I’ll start a wider search for them right away.”
Chris nodded. “Nathan reckons we’ll be able to move him to my place in a couple more days. I’ll tell the boys the truth, but we’ll spread it around town that I’m getting my shack ready for the winter. That’ll explain any supply runs or Nathan. I need to do it anyway, and it’ll be safer out there for everyone.”
Orin nodded. “Good idea.” He made notes on the paper in front of him, and then shifted to the next problem.
“Now, about these complaints from the local farmers, Chris. It seems there’s a new band of cattle rustlers concentrating on the smaller ranches in the area, and I need you to look into it.”
Chris nodded, and they continued, discussing how to handle the new thieves in the area.
*********************Mag7 x BtVS*****************************
Interlude: Buck, the Second Gift
Buck smiled fondly down at the one-eyed boy asleep in his arms. He’d managed to resist Xander’s semi-permanently bewildered expression for all of thirty seconds this morning before he’d succumbed to the urge to spoil him. Not that he’d tried very hard to resist, of course - he never tried to resist spoiling children, especially the sweet-natured ones like Xan.
The boy had gaped at him when Buck had offered him the stick of candy he’d bought just this morning, doing a rather creditable imitation of a stranded fish. But it had worked to quiet the kid - Xander had been babbling nervously, trying to persuade them not to make him ride Buck’s big grey horse.
The stunned and slightly suspicious look on the kid’s face had just about broken his heart.
Xan’d jerked a quick sideways glance at Chris before refocusing on the stick of candy before him. Buck’s sharp eyes didn’t miss Chris giving the boy a small reassuring nod even as his mouth had twitched up in a wry smile. When the kid had finally got over his shock enough to accept the stick, the unexpectedness of his comment had made him chortle.
“I’m gonna ignore the completely phallic symbolism here,” Xan had said, “and just indulge in the lemony goodness that is classically made stick candy.”
“Do you even know what that means?” Chris had asked underneath Buck’s cackle of laughter.
“Yes,” the kid had replied in a voice as dry as any Buck had ever heard. “And don’t ask - you don’t wanna know.” Xan stared as Buck swiped the Stetson off his head and beat it against his leg, still laughing heartily.
“Is he always so… so… So?” he asked in bemusement.
Chris had snorted sourly. “Yeah, he is kid. It’s amazing he don’t scare his own horse.”
Truth to tell, he was looking forward to having a nephew to play with again. He doubted Chris even realized that the little squirt had gotten to him, but Buck had seen that look in his eyes. It was the one that said, ‘Look at my little boy!’ Granted, it was well-hidden by the look that said, ‘If you even think about hurting this one of mine, I’ll follow you to hell and rip your soul to shreds with my bare hands!’, but it was there. Xander’d make a fine nephew, Buck just had to be patient enough for Chris to realize his own feelings.
Xan snorted himself awake and started to roll over; Buck tightened his hands to prevent him from moving. “Easy there, squirt, that ain’t a bed you’re sleeping on.”
To his credit, the boy froze immediately, forcing himself all the way awake and assessing his situation before muttering to himself, “I don’t know why you’re afraid of, Butt-Monkey - vamps have thrown you farther than this.”
Louder, the kid said, “Hey, W” - and he slurred the initial until it sounded like ‘Dub-ya’ - “I need to take a whiz.”
Buck frowned, puzzled. Xander didn’t always make sense, even with his… expansive vocabulary. “What?”
“I need to tap a kidney,” Xan tried again, to Buck’s blank look. “See a man about a horse? Empty the tank? Drain the snake? Water the garden?” Buck just cocked an eyebrow at him. Xan rolled his eyes. “Pee?”
“Oh! Yeah, I need to stretch my legs for a bit, too. Let me just find a place to stop.”
“Soon, please - I’m not saying it’s an emergency, but I think I could start a new river here.”
In truth, Buck had been about to stop anyway. At a slow amble, the ride to Chris’s shack was around 3 hours, if you went straight to it cross-country, but Buck had been taking a round-about way calculated to take them nearly a whole day. They hadn’t been going particularly fast, especially in light of Xander’s sheepish confession that he’d never even been around horses before, much less ridden anything ‘large enough to pancake me and not even notice the speed-bump.’ They should be just about to the spring that was mid-way - yes, there it was. Buck guided Steele off the road into the shady copse of trees, ground-tying the animal in reach of the spring itself.
“Here,” he said, dismounting. He reached up and gently lifted Xander to the ground. The boy heaved a sigh, part relief, part mild disgust at needing the help - but there was no way Xan could have dismounted by himself with the broken arm and sprained ankle, even if he’d known how. He limped as quickly as he could behind a tree to do his business, and Buck turned around to catch Steele with a dopey look on his face as the gelding released his own urine stream.
Buck smirked. “Guess it’s unanimous then, ‘cause I gotta go, too.”
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Buck was just re-packing his bedroll when the stranger rode in on his own horse an hour later. Xander stared at the man from where he was sitting on a downed tree with a strangely shuttered look in his eye, and seeing the odd recognition Buck took careful stock of the man. It was hard to tell height in a man astride, but Buck thought him no more than average in size, pale-skinned face sunburned despite the hat he wore covering his ears. He had broad shoulders and a barrel chest, but his solidness was not fat; Buck was reminded somewhat of Tiny and Yosemite, the twin brothers that ran the smithy and livery in Four Corners. He held the reins in both hands, hands that were shoulder width apart and set at an odd angle to his wrist, but despite that, his seat on the saddle was solid and confident, and the horse, when he sidled, corrected gently but firmly, with no sign of temper from his rider.
“I’m sorry,” the stranger said in a kind of thick, choked voice, as if he needed to blow his nose. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You didn’t,” Buck gave the man a charming smile. “We were just getting ready to go, the place is all yours. Enjoy.”
“Thank you, I will.” The man waited until Buck had lifted Xander into the saddle and swung up behind him before urging his horse forward. There wasn’t a lot of room on the path into the trees, and they brushed up against him accidentally as they passed. Xan gave a little jerk, stiff-backed in the saddle, and Buck knew the boy felt the same creeping chill along his skin as he did.
A few minutes later, when they were almost out of sight, Xander risked a curious peek around Buck’s broad body at the stranger. The peek stretched into a glance, and went on longer enough until it qualified as full-on study. Buck’s mustache twitched even as he gently reprimanded the boy: “It’s really not polite to stare, Xan.”
Xan whipped around. “What? Oh… Buck?”
“Hmmm?”
“Do you believe in evil?”
“Now just because the guy’s a little cool does not mean he’s a bad person, Xan.”
Xan stared straight ahead. “I don’t mean that,” he said. “I mean, do you believe in real evil - demons, devils, Hell dimensions, things that go growl, crunch, and burp in the night? That sort of thing.”
Buck hesitated, remembering another little boy who believed in the Devil. Billy Travis had been terrorized by the man who had killed his father, a man who had claimed to be the Devil. Truth, dressed in fear and viewed through the eyes of a child, had been skillfully disguised from the eyes of the adults. Chris had warned Buck about the nightmares, the scars, the unnatural suspiciousness. Was it easier for Xander to believe he’d been the victim of demons instead of sick, depraved men? Maybe. Probably. Some of the ladies in the house Buck had grown up in had been horribly abused by their own fathers. Some of those fathers had been the sort of men who were complete gentlemen, caring fathers during the day, and not just in public. But come the night when the shades were drawn… What would it have been like to grow up like that? It might make sense to a child Xan’s age, with his obvious intelligence and imagination, to create the story of demons. Demons in the shape of the loving parent of the day - demons, because it could not possibly be the same person. Truth in the eyes of a child.
Buck felt sick.
Finally coming back to himself, he answered the boy held securely in his arms. “I’ve seen evil men, Xander, men who don’t deserve to live. Men who belong in Hell. But you know what? It’s my job, along with Chris and the others, to protect you from those men. And if anyone ever scares you, ever feels wrong to you, you can come to me, and I promise I’ll take care of it. Whoever it is, whatever it is, you can come to me.”
Xander was quiet for a long time after that, thinking hard on what Buck said. They were within sight of Chris’s shack, Chris laying out supplies for tomorrow near the corral when the boy spoke again.
“Thank you, Buck,” he said.
Buck said nothing, simply tightening his arms around Xan in a comforting hug.
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Part 1: Continued
Xan stared at the ceiling from where he lay on the small trundle bed and sighed. He could hear Wilmington and Larabee talking in soft voices outside, the paper-like substance covering the window no barrier at all to sound. He knew Buck was telling his boss about the encounter at the spring, and Buck’s interpretation of Xan’s response.
He liked Buck, and had felt oddly safe in his arms, but he hadn’t been talking about monsters in human form. Not that Lester Harris didn’t qualify. Not that his old man wasn’t worse by far than some of the actual demons Xan knew - like Anya. Oh, hell, maybe he was talking about human evils, who the hell knew?
He sighed, feeling a sharp stab of sorrow over his missing friends. He had never really been religious, but he said a quick prayer for their safety anyway. It seemed appropriate.
He wished Willow were here to make sense of things - he was still so confused. The spell made him 8 again, even though it hadn’t taken away his life experience, scars, or knowledge - he got that part. But where was he? The… consistency… of this area - he didn’t think he could say he was in a re-enactment town anymore. He should have seen some sign of civilization by now, no matter what, the illusion should have been broken. A small cell phone, power lines, jet trails across the sky, barbed wire, old bottles - something. He hadn’t, though, and that left two possibilities: he could be in another Hell dimension, one that was just like his own except for the technology level; or he had been tossed back in time. What the hell would have done that? Why?
He didn’t know. What he did know was that he was that he was small, alone, and almost helpless with a broken arm, a badly sprained ankle, and cracked ribs. He had some kind of fever that was continually sapping his energy, and he was in a lot more pain than he thought he should be, even with the broken bones. His muscles kept seizing on him at odd moments - he’d found an odd-looking little puncture wound in his left arm when he’d inspected himself, and he remembered the quill-covered demon he’d been fighting to protect Willow from. Giles had something about them having some kind of poison in the quills, and Xan suspected he was infected with it. What he couldn’t remember was if it was deadly, or just lingeringly nasty. He hadn’t said anything to the men around him, because how could he explain it to them if he didn’t know what it was himself?
He seemed to have acquired protectors in those men somehow, though he wasn’t too sure he could trust them, really. But for the time being he was dependent on their good will and mercy, and that scared the shit out of him, because when had he ever been the recipient of either? But he was in their care, with no way to get away, and nowhere to go even if he could, and no knowledge of how to get there even if he did.
And he had just seen a Harpax demon, and that couldn’t be good.
End Part 1
TBC in Part 2: Present Progressive
-bs
Header Information - Please read first if you didn't get here from that post.
Prologue
Part 1: Past Tense
Part 1: Past Tense, Continued
Vin sat quietly next to the window in his room. The curtains had been pulled back so he could see out at the bustling street below, the window opened to catch any breezes that might come by. It had been four days since he and Chris had found young Xander staggering in the street, and the boy had spent most of that time asleep, thanks first to the laudanum Nathan had used while he’d doctored the boy, then to a combination of herbs Nathan had steeped into one of his obnoxious teas. Two of those days, Nathan had kept Xander in the clinic, the boy pallid and still in the clinic’s bed.
They had made a point of inviting Ezra to see him, then, and explained Xander’s problematic origin. Ezra’s mobile face had acquired a blankness that barely masked his anger. Whatever his assessment of the adults in his vicinity, Ezra adored children, and Vin knew that whoever had abused Xander had just made himself an unrelenting enemy. Ezra had agreed to conduct a quiet search for the lad’s father, but had also opined that when he could be moved, it would be better to move Xander to Larabee’s abode rather than Vin’s room.
“Surely such an excrescence will not hesitate to leave the boy to his fate, but he is far more likely to attempt another assault on Xander should he see him around town, or learn of his location here.”
Again, Nathan had vetoed the idea, at least at first. “The boy’s gonna need me looking in on him - it’ll be far more discreet if he was in town rather than me ridin’ out to that shack every so often. If we find he needs protection, maybe he can be moved out there in a week or so.”
Ezra had bowed to Nathan’s medical expertise, and made his way to the Saloon to start a card game and to practice some discretion of his own while he gathered what intelligence there may have been. But there was none to be found, not on the subject of one child with a broken arm, or with a missing eye, or named Xander.
Ezra also took time to visit the families outside of town on patrol, asking if new people had settled in the area that hadn’t been to town yet, perhaps in those various tucked-away valleys and canyons that weren’t obvious from the main trails. But there had been no new-comers to be found.
Chris had sent delicately worded telegraphs to local towns, missions, and stage way-stations. No one was missing a boy of about 5 or 6, or a dark-haired lad, nor had anyone heard of an orphan train passing through these parts.
It was a long-shot, but Vin had widened his search for any track or sign that might point the way to Xander’s parents. But he found no sign of recent wagon trains, or lone wagons that might have been attacked, or even an Indian party which might have snuck in and left a white child to be found by white elders. Vin didn’t think the local tribes would have done that, thought they might be more likely to adopt Xander if they had found him, but he’d heard rumors of it before, here and there, of Indians leaving white children to be found by others if they thought they could not take care of the child themselves.
Finally, Ezra had voiced the last possible option that no one had wanted to think on: “Mayhap the child was simply left for us to find, his mother or father having decided they were unable to take care of him. It would take many resources to take care of a child in the state we found Xander in, resources his parents may not have been able to give.”
Chris had turned on him in a fury. “Are you saying we should pity the son of a bitch that did this to him?”
“Not at all, Mr. Larabee,” Ezra said, not backing down. “Certainly, if the boy’s parents had cared one whit about him, they would have left Xander in the care of Josiah, at the church, or Nathan, at the clinic. There are many honest reasons to orphan a child while the parents are still alive. What I am pointing out, however, is that perhaps we are finding no back trail because there is no back trail to find. It would not be so difficult to hide a child of young Master Xander’s size in a suitcase, and upon emptying the luggage in a convenient alley, re-embark upon the stage with much lighter responsibilities.”
Chris had stared harshly at Ezra for a moment, and Vin had wondered if Chris had picked up, as he had, the bitter undertone in the man’s words. They were all aware that Ezra’s peacock-bright clothing hid many secrets, but Vin thought that they had just witnessed one come to the fore: that of how often and easily Maude Standish had left her child with strangers.
“What do we do now?” Vin had asked.
“The Judge’ll have to be notified,” Chris said, taking his hat off to run a hand through his hair. “And I’m not convinced he has no Ma or Pa out there looking for him. Not sure, but if someone comes to claim the boy, the law may not allow us to keep him from his family.”
“Surely you do not intend to leave the child to the tender mercies of anyone who has already perpetrated such atrocities?” Ezra had sounded so appalled that Vin had no doubt he was already plotting ways to keep the boy out of such a situation.
“I’m not saying that, Ez,” Chris had growled. “I won’t abandon a kid to that fate, no matter what the law says! And Ez,” Chris had continued, more softly now, “we won’t abandon you, either.”
The expression that had flashed across Ezra’s face then had been equal parts surprise, relief, gratitude, and fear, and had made up for the acidity of Ezra’s interactions with both of them since. Vin supposed that it would just take Ezra some time to assimilate the fact that he was their brother as much as JD was, as much loved and worried over as their youngest, if for different reasons entirely.
On the morning of the third day, Nathan had been called out to the von Hoelzer farm, as Mrs. Von Hoelzer was near her time for delivering her fifth babe. The von Hoelzer clan boasted four sons already, all of whom bore the strongly-muscled, hooked-nose, green-eyed stamp of their father, and all of whom could take turns at the plow. Even the youngest, only 10, had been seen occasionally steadying a plow behind the draft horse team the von Hoelzer patriarch favored. Josiah had told Vin once, as they watched the family unload cask after cask of beer at the Saloon and load box after box of various goods at the Mercantile, that it was a good thing that the family also tended towards a rather phlegmatic disposition, seeing as how they’d likely be able to take on anyone they cared to in a fight. Vin had nodded philosophically. They made good beer, too, he thought.
Under the cover of all the fuss of getting Nathan ready to deliver the babe, Vin had spirited Xander into his room, quickly settling him in and laying out the items they’d need to take care of the boy: clean cloths, teapot for making medicinal drinks, pot for boiling water and cloths, some healing salves Nathan was learning to make from Rain in the Seminole village. He made sure the slop jar was in the corner, because he doubted they’d be able to get Xander to wait until they got him to a privy to do his business. Nathan had given him a little cap that fit over the mouth of the jar to keep the odor from getting too foul if things got nasty. Vin was grateful, because he’d seen some of the things Nathan’d had to clean up in the clinic, and he really didn’t want to have to deal with either the mess or the smell. Thinking on it, he decided he owed Nathan a shot of whiskey for any of the more embarrassing things of his Nathan might have had to clean up.
Since then, Xander had been in and out of consciousness, with Chris and Vin taking turns watching him. He was starting to wake more often now, and was more coherent during his waking periods. He still wasn’t saying much - at least, much of where he came from and how he got here. Avoiding the issue, most likely, Vin thought, or maybe he really didn’t know. Nor had he given up his last name, and Vin was of the opinion that that was a deeper problem. A boy Xander’s age surely ought to know his last name, so what would make the child avoid it so studiously? He thought on the boy’s scars, on the missing eye, and shuddered. A boy ought to have a name he could be proud of, no matter what. Perhaps, Vin thought, perhaps the child had a sensing of such a concept, but knew he didn’t wish to be his father. Perhaps in his childish wisdom, he was testing out the names of his elders, trying them on to find one he could take pride in living up to, instead of be ashamed of living in the shadow of. And perhaps it was selfish, but Vin thought he’d be right happy if the boy decided to take his name. A child who had such wisdom beyond his years was a son any man should be right proud to have. Vin nodded to himself, thinking of all the things he’d like to teach a son.
Pained little cries and sad whimpering moans caught his attention, and he turned now from the window to watch Xander’s sleep dissolve into restless movements.
“No,” the boy mumbled, voice becoming clearer as his distress deepened. “No - stop - no… NO! NO! Get away from me!”
Vin pulled his mare’s leg out and set it safely down on the chair as he padded toward the bed.
“Hush now, Xan, it’s just a dream,” he soothed, gently picking up a small hand and chafing it between his own. “You’re safe now, son, no one will hurt you.” He continued this litany until the child quieted, confining his touches to Xander’s hands. They had learned early on that a touch almost anywhere else in this nightmare-ridden state would wake Xander up violently, no matter how deep his sleep had been. The first couple of times Nathan had ruffled his hair in an attempt to soothe him out of his dreams, Xander had managed to get from the bed to a defensive position in the corner in less than a minute. It had taken Chris quite a while to talk him down; for some reason, the boy wouldn’t respond to either Vin or Nathan in his heightened terror. Vin wasn’t even sure the boy ever fully woke during those episodes.
A clatter sounded outside the window, the heavy beat of galloping horse hooves on the ground announcing the arrival of this week’s stage. The Judge was on that stage, and Chris would soon apprise him of the situation with Xander. Vin settled back down on the chair and sighed, remembering Chris’s way with the boy, remembering Nathan’s suspicions, remembering the soul-deep terror in Xan’s eye as he screamed about devils and monsters, remembering his own doubts. He wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to take Xan under his wing and teach him what he knew, but could he chase the boy’s demons away? Could he make time for Xander’s fears when he was still facing his own? Could anyone?
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“We haven’t found any sign of one, but Xan’s fresh injuries may be an indication of some kind of attack,” Chris concluded his report to Judge Travis. “Whether we find his parents or not, I’d like to keep him under wraps for a few more days yet, just in case.”
“I agree,” said Orin. “Those nightmares you describe certainly support some kind of severe trauma in the boy’s past.” He paused, ordering his thoughts. “I’m placing the boy in your protective custody, Chris, at least for the time it takes to heal that broken arm of his. Furthermore, I’m ruling the boy a ward of the state, pending an investigation into the fitness of his parents. I’ll start a wider search for them right away.”
Chris nodded. “Nathan reckons we’ll be able to move him to my place in a couple more days. I’ll tell the boys the truth, but we’ll spread it around town that I’m getting my shack ready for the winter. That’ll explain any supply runs or Nathan. I need to do it anyway, and it’ll be safer out there for everyone.”
Orin nodded. “Good idea.” He made notes on the paper in front of him, and then shifted to the next problem.
“Now, about these complaints from the local farmers, Chris. It seems there’s a new band of cattle rustlers concentrating on the smaller ranches in the area, and I need you to look into it.”
Chris nodded, and they continued, discussing how to handle the new thieves in the area.
*********************Mag7 x BtVS*****************************
Interlude: Buck, the Second Gift
Buck smiled fondly down at the one-eyed boy asleep in his arms. He’d managed to resist Xander’s semi-permanently bewildered expression for all of thirty seconds this morning before he’d succumbed to the urge to spoil him. Not that he’d tried very hard to resist, of course - he never tried to resist spoiling children, especially the sweet-natured ones like Xan.
The boy had gaped at him when Buck had offered him the stick of candy he’d bought just this morning, doing a rather creditable imitation of a stranded fish. But it had worked to quiet the kid - Xander had been babbling nervously, trying to persuade them not to make him ride Buck’s big grey horse.
The stunned and slightly suspicious look on the kid’s face had just about broken his heart.
Xan’d jerked a quick sideways glance at Chris before refocusing on the stick of candy before him. Buck’s sharp eyes didn’t miss Chris giving the boy a small reassuring nod even as his mouth had twitched up in a wry smile. When the kid had finally got over his shock enough to accept the stick, the unexpectedness of his comment had made him chortle.
“I’m gonna ignore the completely phallic symbolism here,” Xan had said, “and just indulge in the lemony goodness that is classically made stick candy.”
“Do you even know what that means?” Chris had asked underneath Buck’s cackle of laughter.
“Yes,” the kid had replied in a voice as dry as any Buck had ever heard. “And don’t ask - you don’t wanna know.” Xan stared as Buck swiped the Stetson off his head and beat it against his leg, still laughing heartily.
“Is he always so… so… So?” he asked in bemusement.
Chris had snorted sourly. “Yeah, he is kid. It’s amazing he don’t scare his own horse.”
Truth to tell, he was looking forward to having a nephew to play with again. He doubted Chris even realized that the little squirt had gotten to him, but Buck had seen that look in his eyes. It was the one that said, ‘Look at my little boy!’ Granted, it was well-hidden by the look that said, ‘If you even think about hurting this one of mine, I’ll follow you to hell and rip your soul to shreds with my bare hands!’, but it was there. Xander’d make a fine nephew, Buck just had to be patient enough for Chris to realize his own feelings.
Xan snorted himself awake and started to roll over; Buck tightened his hands to prevent him from moving. “Easy there, squirt, that ain’t a bed you’re sleeping on.”
To his credit, the boy froze immediately, forcing himself all the way awake and assessing his situation before muttering to himself, “I don’t know why you’re afraid of, Butt-Monkey - vamps have thrown you farther than this.”
Louder, the kid said, “Hey, W” - and he slurred the initial until it sounded like ‘Dub-ya’ - “I need to take a whiz.”
Buck frowned, puzzled. Xander didn’t always make sense, even with his… expansive vocabulary. “What?”
“I need to tap a kidney,” Xan tried again, to Buck’s blank look. “See a man about a horse? Empty the tank? Drain the snake? Water the garden?” Buck just cocked an eyebrow at him. Xan rolled his eyes. “Pee?”
“Oh! Yeah, I need to stretch my legs for a bit, too. Let me just find a place to stop.”
“Soon, please - I’m not saying it’s an emergency, but I think I could start a new river here.”
In truth, Buck had been about to stop anyway. At a slow amble, the ride to Chris’s shack was around 3 hours, if you went straight to it cross-country, but Buck had been taking a round-about way calculated to take them nearly a whole day. They hadn’t been going particularly fast, especially in light of Xander’s sheepish confession that he’d never even been around horses before, much less ridden anything ‘large enough to pancake me and not even notice the speed-bump.’ They should be just about to the spring that was mid-way - yes, there it was. Buck guided Steele off the road into the shady copse of trees, ground-tying the animal in reach of the spring itself.
“Here,” he said, dismounting. He reached up and gently lifted Xander to the ground. The boy heaved a sigh, part relief, part mild disgust at needing the help - but there was no way Xan could have dismounted by himself with the broken arm and sprained ankle, even if he’d known how. He limped as quickly as he could behind a tree to do his business, and Buck turned around to catch Steele with a dopey look on his face as the gelding released his own urine stream.
Buck smirked. “Guess it’s unanimous then, ‘cause I gotta go, too.”
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Buck was just re-packing his bedroll when the stranger rode in on his own horse an hour later. Xander stared at the man from where he was sitting on a downed tree with a strangely shuttered look in his eye, and seeing the odd recognition Buck took careful stock of the man. It was hard to tell height in a man astride, but Buck thought him no more than average in size, pale-skinned face sunburned despite the hat he wore covering his ears. He had broad shoulders and a barrel chest, but his solidness was not fat; Buck was reminded somewhat of Tiny and Yosemite, the twin brothers that ran the smithy and livery in Four Corners. He held the reins in both hands, hands that were shoulder width apart and set at an odd angle to his wrist, but despite that, his seat on the saddle was solid and confident, and the horse, when he sidled, corrected gently but firmly, with no sign of temper from his rider.
“I’m sorry,” the stranger said in a kind of thick, choked voice, as if he needed to blow his nose. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You didn’t,” Buck gave the man a charming smile. “We were just getting ready to go, the place is all yours. Enjoy.”
“Thank you, I will.” The man waited until Buck had lifted Xander into the saddle and swung up behind him before urging his horse forward. There wasn’t a lot of room on the path into the trees, and they brushed up against him accidentally as they passed. Xan gave a little jerk, stiff-backed in the saddle, and Buck knew the boy felt the same creeping chill along his skin as he did.
A few minutes later, when they were almost out of sight, Xander risked a curious peek around Buck’s broad body at the stranger. The peek stretched into a glance, and went on longer enough until it qualified as full-on study. Buck’s mustache twitched even as he gently reprimanded the boy: “It’s really not polite to stare, Xan.”
Xan whipped around. “What? Oh… Buck?”
“Hmmm?”
“Do you believe in evil?”
“Now just because the guy’s a little cool does not mean he’s a bad person, Xan.”
Xan stared straight ahead. “I don’t mean that,” he said. “I mean, do you believe in real evil - demons, devils, Hell dimensions, things that go growl, crunch, and burp in the night? That sort of thing.”
Buck hesitated, remembering another little boy who believed in the Devil. Billy Travis had been terrorized by the man who had killed his father, a man who had claimed to be the Devil. Truth, dressed in fear and viewed through the eyes of a child, had been skillfully disguised from the eyes of the adults. Chris had warned Buck about the nightmares, the scars, the unnatural suspiciousness. Was it easier for Xander to believe he’d been the victim of demons instead of sick, depraved men? Maybe. Probably. Some of the ladies in the house Buck had grown up in had been horribly abused by their own fathers. Some of those fathers had been the sort of men who were complete gentlemen, caring fathers during the day, and not just in public. But come the night when the shades were drawn… What would it have been like to grow up like that? It might make sense to a child Xan’s age, with his obvious intelligence and imagination, to create the story of demons. Demons in the shape of the loving parent of the day - demons, because it could not possibly be the same person. Truth in the eyes of a child.
Buck felt sick.
Finally coming back to himself, he answered the boy held securely in his arms. “I’ve seen evil men, Xander, men who don’t deserve to live. Men who belong in Hell. But you know what? It’s my job, along with Chris and the others, to protect you from those men. And if anyone ever scares you, ever feels wrong to you, you can come to me, and I promise I’ll take care of it. Whoever it is, whatever it is, you can come to me.”
Xander was quiet for a long time after that, thinking hard on what Buck said. They were within sight of Chris’s shack, Chris laying out supplies for tomorrow near the corral when the boy spoke again.
“Thank you, Buck,” he said.
Buck said nothing, simply tightening his arms around Xan in a comforting hug.
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Part 1: Continued
Xan stared at the ceiling from where he lay on the small trundle bed and sighed. He could hear Wilmington and Larabee talking in soft voices outside, the paper-like substance covering the window no barrier at all to sound. He knew Buck was telling his boss about the encounter at the spring, and Buck’s interpretation of Xan’s response.
He liked Buck, and had felt oddly safe in his arms, but he hadn’t been talking about monsters in human form. Not that Lester Harris didn’t qualify. Not that his old man wasn’t worse by far than some of the actual demons Xan knew - like Anya. Oh, hell, maybe he was talking about human evils, who the hell knew?
He sighed, feeling a sharp stab of sorrow over his missing friends. He had never really been religious, but he said a quick prayer for their safety anyway. It seemed appropriate.
He wished Willow were here to make sense of things - he was still so confused. The spell made him 8 again, even though it hadn’t taken away his life experience, scars, or knowledge - he got that part. But where was he? The… consistency… of this area - he didn’t think he could say he was in a re-enactment town anymore. He should have seen some sign of civilization by now, no matter what, the illusion should have been broken. A small cell phone, power lines, jet trails across the sky, barbed wire, old bottles - something. He hadn’t, though, and that left two possibilities: he could be in another Hell dimension, one that was just like his own except for the technology level; or he had been tossed back in time. What the hell would have done that? Why?
He didn’t know. What he did know was that he was that he was small, alone, and almost helpless with a broken arm, a badly sprained ankle, and cracked ribs. He had some kind of fever that was continually sapping his energy, and he was in a lot more pain than he thought he should be, even with the broken bones. His muscles kept seizing on him at odd moments - he’d found an odd-looking little puncture wound in his left arm when he’d inspected himself, and he remembered the quill-covered demon he’d been fighting to protect Willow from. Giles had something about them having some kind of poison in the quills, and Xan suspected he was infected with it. What he couldn’t remember was if it was deadly, or just lingeringly nasty. He hadn’t said anything to the men around him, because how could he explain it to them if he didn’t know what it was himself?
He seemed to have acquired protectors in those men somehow, though he wasn’t too sure he could trust them, really. But for the time being he was dependent on their good will and mercy, and that scared the shit out of him, because when had he ever been the recipient of either? But he was in their care, with no way to get away, and nowhere to go even if he could, and no knowledge of how to get there even if he did.
And he had just seen a Harpax demon, and that couldn’t be good.
End Part 1
TBC in Part 2: Present Progressive
-bs