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Disclaimer: I own nothing except a bunch of debt from school loans. Anyway Buffy, Willow, Xander and Giles belong to Joss Whedon, et.al. The concept of the Crow belongs to James O'Barr. Thanatos might belong to Sigmund Freud but he's dead so who cares.
Author's Notes: First I have to thank my beta readers Kelly, Bagel and Megg for their diligence and perseverance in making this a better story. This story is a crossover with The Crow. For those fans of the movie out there, yes, this is a blatant ripoff of that plot but a first time fiction writer has to start somewhere. The basic premise is someone gets killed and comes back for revenge. I'm not saying who. You'll have to read the story. I set it after fourth season because that is uncharted territory and allowed me a little more freedom with the plot. When you see this (... that means a flashback. I welcome any feedback. If it is constructive criticism I will take it into consideration. If it is a flame I will laugh and throw it in the trash. That said, enjoy the story.
Prologue
In the quiet California night a crow flew through the dark sky, floating on the breezes coming from the just setting sun. It circled, searching for the purpose of its mission this night. Finally, the crow alighted upon a simple, marble headstone in the cemetery. The crow shifted its claws a few times testing its purchase and pecked the top of the grave marker. Then it let out a single cry.
CAW!
“Nooooo!” All he felt was gut wrenching body searing pain. And the pain would not stop. He had to rise, he had to go up. That was all that he knew. He started punching and clawing and the top of the coffin splintered, spilling the soil in on top of him. He kept pushing. One hand broke the surface and finally, in an explosion of grass and dirt he was out in the cool, fresh air.
His coat and his shirt were torn from his upward struggle. They held him. They constricted him. They smelled of death. He fought to get them off, ripping them, finally pulling them over his head. He laid beside the grave, gasping, lost, almost as naked and vulnerable as the day he was born. Almost. He looked around, focusing on the grave markers, looking for somewhere to go. Getting shakily to his feet, he stumbled off trying to get his bearings.
Unnoticed, a vampire entered the cemetery with a cocky strut. The night was young and he was on the hunt. It was dinnertime, but he liked to take a stroll through here for old times sake. When he spotted a pale, young man stumbling along barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of dark colored pants, he smiled, revealing his elongated canines. “Well, looks like somebody started partying early.” He chuckled. “Like I say, never pass up a free meal when it’s offered to you.” He increased his pace to a trot and silently stole up to the young man. Just as they passed under the low hanging limbs of an old oak tree he caught the young man. The vampire wrapped one arm around his victim’s chest, used his other hand to pull the head back, bared the neck, sank his fangs in and began to drink.
And then the vampire realized he had just made a mistake. His victim was cold as a grave, was not weakening and the blood was cold. The body within his grasp became hard, as if it was made of the same marble as the tombstones surrounding them. If the vampire could have seen the anger and revulsion on his prey, he might have started running then. “You know,” his victim said, “you really should check to make sure someone’s alive before you try to give them big hickies.” Before the vampire could react the just risen soul reached over his shoulder with both hands, grabbed hold of the vampire’s jacket, bent at the waist and threw with all of his strength. He hung on to the jacket, which surprisingly came off, as the vampire flew through the air and then landed on its back with a satisfying thud.
He looked at the black leather jacket in his hands. “Nice jacket,” he said as he put it on, not noticing that the two small puncture wounds had already healed.
The vampire got up, shook his head to clear the cobwebs and looked at this, this, thing that had just thrown him. “Hey! That’s my best jacket.”
“You’d better come get it then, hadn’t you?”
With a growl the vampire charged. Not thinking, just reacting on instinct, the young man calmly stood his ground until the vampire was almost within arm length and then thrust out his hand. The heel of his palm connected with the vampire’s nose, crushing it like an eggshell and dropped the vampire as if he had been hit with a sledgehammer. Without a pause, the young man reached up, broke a small branch off the tree and drove it straight down into the vampire’s chest. The vampire’s face reflected its disbelief that this could be happening as it turned to dust.
Looking down at his bare feet the risen soul said, “Note to self. Take the shoes before you dust the next vampire.” A long pause and then, “Whoa! How did I know that was a vampire?”
CAW!
He spun to see the crow sitting on the headstone of the disturbed grave. Walking on steadier legs, he made his way back to the grave until he could read the inscription and he fell to his knees. “In loving memory of Alexander L. Harris. Is that who I am…or was?”
CAW!
He looked at the crow. “Who am I? What am I? Why am I here?!!” he shouted.
CAW!
“Aaauugghh!” He grabbed his head with both hands as it all came back in a violent flash of pain.
(…Xander and Anya walked through the cool evening laughing at some joke that Xander made. “And just what is the reason for this good mood that you’re in?” Anya asked.
Xander pulled the letter out of his back pocket. “Look at this. It’s a letter of acceptance from UC Sunnydale. I got in. No more night managing job at the supermarket. No more feeling like I’m being left behind. Who knew you could take the SAT more than once?”
Anya raised one eyebrow. “Huh, I did.”
With a mock serious look on his face Xander replied, “Well, you should know being twelve hundred years old.”
“That’s eleven hundred and twenty-two years to you buddy.”
“Ooo, getting touchy about our age now are we?”
“Well you would too if you knew you weren’t immortal anymore.” Anya replied with a perplexed look on her face. “Anyway, why did you call me to celebrate?” she asked trying to change the subject.
“Well, you were the first one I could get in contact with considering Buffy and Willow were busy.” Dodging a punch at his shoulder Xander quickly added, “And because you helped me study so much for the SATs when everyone else was busy with their own school work. You don’t know how much I appreciate that.” Then with a sly smile, “And I am, after all, the reason why you came back to Sunnydale after the ascension. Why shouldn’t I celebrate with you.”
“You may be the only male I can tolerate but you’re not the reason I came back,” Anya said letting a small smile creep onto her face.
“Oh, the king of cretins is mortally wounded to the heart,” he said in his best melodramatic tone, raising his hands to his chest. “Come on. Willow and Buffy are waiting for us,” he said as they both walked on chuckling…)
Still kneeling on the ground Xander moaned, “No.”
(…In that brief, carefree moment they were almost to the Bronze when the four men who had been following them came out of the shadows. Taken by surprise, Xander and Anya were quickly subdued and dragged into an alley. Two men stood on either side of Xander holding his arms and keeping him from moving while a third one held Anya in a headlock. The fourth one, the leader, paced back and forth between his two captives contemplating his next move. Xander and Anya looked at each other, trying to figure out what they should do.
“Let her go. You don’t need her. She can’t do anything to you. You can take me,” Xander said, trying to sound braver than he felt at the moment.
The leader looked at Xander and replied with a cold, hard voice, “You know, you’re absolutely right.” He turned to his third henchman and said, “Break her neck.”
“Wha…?” was all that escaped from Anya’s lips before her head was turned an impossible angle and her neck snapped. As she slumped to the ground, the light went out of her eyes...)
Xander looked up at the black bird in front of him and screamed, “Nooooo!”
(…“ANYA!” Xander yelled in anguish. “Why did you do that?!” he screamed as he pulled against the hands restraining him, and realized just how helpless he was in this situation. Then the leader turned back to Xander with the demonic visage that he had seen too many times in the past few years.
“Because you’re the one we want,” the vampire leader began. “We
want you to deliver a message to the Slayer for us. You see, we’ve
been letting her bring the fight to us for too long. Think of this
as a declaration of war.” He pulled a long hunting knife out from
under his jacket and put the sharp point under Xander’s chin, pricking
him enough to draw blood. “Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention.
You’re not just the messenger. You’re also the message.” With
that statement he raised the knife and slashed Xander’s face from the top
of his left cheek down to the jaw.
Xander took in a sharp breath through his teeth trying not to scream
in pain. Anya was another friend he was not able to save but he would
be damned before he gave this demon the satisfaction of seeing fear on
his face.
“That one was for the Slayer. I thought about draining you and decided that wasn’t visual enough. I also decided against turning you because then I would have to share the hunting around here with you.” With the last statement, the vampire leader slashed open Xander’s right cheek. “That one is for her Limey watcher.” The smell of blood was starting to excite the demon and he licked the blood off the blade. “And this one is for her undead lover, that no good traitor.”
As the vampire leader raised the knife for another slash, Xander made one last attempt at bravado. “Hey, hold on. You don’t have to send a message to him. He left a year ago.”
The vampire leader turned around to contemplate this. “You’re right. That would be a wasted effort. So this one is for your red headed witch. She probably won’t take this message very well.”
Xander renewed his struggle to get free and yelled, “You leave her alone you bastard! Don’t you dare…”
And with that the vampire whirled holding the knife low. Xander’s eyes grew large and he tried to dodge but the vampires at his sides were too strong. The knife went in under his sternum all the way to the hilt. The demon pulled the blade out and signaled the two vampires to drop their victim. As they turned to leave the alley the leader said, “Give my regards to the Slayer.”
With a faint breath Xander whispered, “I’m sorry Will…”)
“That. Is. Enough!” Xander yelled at the loathsome bird but there was one more memory.
(…As multicolored lights lit the once dark alley, the last thing Xander saw was Buffy standing over him talking to the police, trying to get information. A sobbing Willow cradled his head in her lap, smearing his blood all over her hands as his last breath left him…)
“All right,” he said to the crow, as an all-consuming anger burned in his chest, “Where do I find them?”
The black messenger let out a single quiet squawk as it took flight and flew toward the cemetery entrance. The crow landed on the gate and looked back to Xander as if it was asking him to follow.
As Xander came up to the crow, he asked it, “Couldn’t you at least find
me a shirt and a pair of shoes?” The bird hopped off the gate, settled
on his shoulder and looked at him quizzically. “A big help you are,”
Xander said with a sigh as he walked off into the night.