Mouthy Devil III: Devil pt I
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
Xander Harris jolted awake, the sudden rush of sunlight cutting across his face like a sharp reminder of reality. "f*ck!" His voice cracked as the word burst from his lips, pure instinct driving him to sit up so fast whiplash was a possibility. His heart was a jackhammer in his chest, pounding out a rhythm that rang with fear and adrenaline.
His hands, trembling and unsure, immediately searched his chest. Patting himself down, he expected to feel... A hole? Blood? He wasn't quite sure, but what he wasn't expecting was unblemished whole skin, at the very least. It was wrong, it had to be wrong.
This can't be real, Xander thought, his mind reeling as he tried to make sense of the situation. I was stabbed, I was dying, I... I killed Jesse.
But something was off... His hands fell down to the side, fingers gripping at his side for a stake that wasn't there. "Jesse!" The name came out as a growl, a reminder of the night's horror. Xander's mind raced, the memory of his friend—no, not a friend, not anymore, a monster—flashing vividly behind his eyes. Jesse, his face twisted into something grotesque, something hungry. The alley, the fight, the end that wasn't an end. His fist clenched at nothing, his nails digging into his palm.
It was real, it had to be, Xander thought, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he tried to calm his racing heart. I felt it, I lived it, I... I died.
But with no wound… "Was it all a wacked out dream?" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he stared down at his unblemished chest.
"Not a dream, Xan Man," a voice broke through his thoughts, smooth and unnervingly calm. It wasn't the voice he expected, not the monster from his nightmares, but one far too casual for the morning after.
Instinctive fear filled his heart as Xander's eyes widened, the sixteen-year-old letting out a shriek that was completely and totally manly as he jumped slightly in his bed.
His head snapped to the side and Xander was met with the usual mess that would be more embarrassing if he ever bothered to have friends over anymore. Action figures stood guard on cluttered shelves, posters of rock bands and the occasional movie star plastered on the walls, all surrounded by clothes that had never found their way back to drawers or the laundry basket.
Everything was as normal as it could be in the chaotic sanctuary of a teenage boy's bedroom.
Oh yeah, and then there was the calm image of a boy slouching in the middle of his room, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, just lounging on a white plastic lawn chair like he owned the place.
"You!" Xander's voice was accusatory, his finger pointing sharply at the intruder. He didn't remember inviting anyone in, certainly not some guy he had just met yesterday. What the hell is he doing here? Xander thought, his mind racing with a thousand questions. How did he even get in?
And also… whose chair is that?
"Me," the boy replied with a smirk, his voice laced with a hint of amusem*nt. His skin was a rich, deep brown, his dreadlocks a startling shade of red, and those eyes... a piercing blue that seemed almost unnatural. "Samuel Lucius Ash III, at your semi-service. Slept well, bro?"
Confusion tangled with the remnants of fear, but Xander had to admit, he had slept deeply, strangely peacefully. "Yeah, actually," he responded, the normalcy of his sleep dawning on him as odd. "Weird, kinda. Not gonna lie, I haven't slept that good since... since I was a baby, I don't thi-waiiiiiitaminute." His train of thought crashed as suspicion rebooted. "You don't get to distract me like that. No tricks here, buster."
Sam's chuckle was low, almost inaudible, a slight tightness to his smile that was the clear expression of someone trying to hold back a larger laugh.
Xander's eyes narrowed. "...what?"
"Nothing, just... You said tricks." The blue-eyed boy waved off the question like it was a bad smell. "It's an inside joke." He shook his head, his gaze firm but smile still present, amusem*nt clear on his lips but an oddly focused look on his eyes as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Anyway, I'd imagine you slept well. You've been in bed for a good thirty-six hours."
"Two days!?" Xander nearly jumped to his feet.
"Nahhhh, just messing with you," Sam said with a laugh, that intense gaze still on him. "It's just Saturday."
Xander shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of that gaze, feeling like a bug under a microscope. What's with this guy? he thought, his mind still struggling to catch up with the bizarre turn his morning had taken. Something about him gives me the worst creeps, like I'm having a nightmare with my little guy doing show and tell.
"But seriously," Sam continued, his voice losing its casual edge as he fixed Xander with a piercing stare, "how's your chest? Y'know, where you got stabbed last night."
Xander's hand instinctively flew to his chest, fingers searching for a wound that wasn't there. The memory of the pain, the feel of Jesse's hands plunging into his flesh, it was all so vivid, so real. But there was no evidence of it now, no scar, no bandage, not even a bruise.
"I... I don't know," Xander admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as he met Sam's gaze. "It's like it never happened, but I know it did. I felt it, I..." he trailed off, unable to put the horror of the previous night into words.
This is insane, Xander thought, his mind reeling with the implications of Sam's words. How can he know about what happened? How can he be so calm about it?
A part of him wanted to deny it all, to write it off as some crazy nightmare brought on by too much late-night snacking and an overactive imagination. But another part of him, the part that had seen the truth of the world hidden beneath the surface, knew that it was all too real.
Jesse's face, twisted into that demonic mask, flashed in his mind again. The memory of the pain was vivid, a sharp, piercing agony that had felt like the end. "That wasn't a dream...?" he muttered, more to himself than to Sam.
"That was not, in fact, a dream," Sam confirmed, his tone steady. He leaned back in the chair, his posture relaxed, as if he were discussing the weather and not the fact that Xander had apparently just missed his appointed dinner date with the Grim Reaper himself.
"B-but then what about the wound I'm s'posed to have? How can I be fine?" Xander asked, his voice trembling slightly as he gestured to his unblemished chest. It didn't make sense, none of it did. He should be dead, or at the very least, in a world of pain. But instead, he felt... fine. Better than fine, actually. "How do you know what happened? How are you here? What the hell is going on?"
Sam leaned back in the chair, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That's a lot of questions, Xan Man. And I promise, I'll answer them all. But right now, I'm only gonna do a couple. One or two, maybe? I got an appointment on the other side of town."
Xander swallowed hard, a sense of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like what Sam had to say, but he knew he had to hear it. After all, his life had already been turned upside down by the revelation of vampires and demons. What was one more bombshell?
"Okay," he said, his voice trembling slightly as he met Sam's gaze once more. "Hit me with it. My chest… how?"
Sam's smile was as mysterious as it was maddening, Xander quickly disliking it. "I healed it," he said simply, as if that explained everything, as if magic were an everyday occurrence in the sunlit streets of Southern California.
Which… considering last night… wasn't that far-fetched.
Healed it? Xander thought, his mind reeling. What is this guy, some kind of wizard? A... a demon? The thought sent a chill down his spine, the memory of Jesse's twisted face still fresh in his mind.
Xander was stuck in a mix of disbelief and a creeping dread as he stared at the boy across from him. "You... healed me?" His voice cracked slightly, the weight of his own words sinking in, absurd and impossible as they seemed. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs of confusion. "How? Why?"
Sam just shrugged, an easy smile playing on his lips as if he were discussing the Santa Ana winds or something. "Healed you, resurrected you," he said, his hands making a casual waving motion, his dreadlocks swaying. "Potato, potahto, it doesn't matter."
The casual dismissal made Xander's head spin. His eyes widened, an odd mix of fear, disbelief, and curiosity he was growing very familiar with bubbling up at something else the other boy said. "Wait, resurrec-"
"The point is," Sam cut in, rising from his chair in one fluid, unnerving motion. As he stood, the lawn chair he'd been sitting on vanished with a flash of red light, leaving no trace it had ever been there. Xander's room suddenly felt too small, too normal to contain this kind of magic and his mouth dropped open, eyes so wide they almost hurt as he scrambled back on his bed.
"I'm Samuel Lucius Ash III," the red-haired teenager declared again, this time with a flourish that felt like it should've been accompanied by dramatic music, "and I'm a devil."
With a clap of his hands, Sam smiled broadly, as if he hadn't just claimed to be an evil creature from Hell. "I'm also your master," he added, as though it were the most natural follow-up in the world. "Nice to properly meet you, Xander. Mind if I call you Xan?"
Xander's mind raced, each word from Sam piling up like cars in a traffic jam. Master? Devil? What in the actual— His thoughts tumbled over each other, the casual way Sam threw around words like 'devil' and 'master'... It was too much, too fast, too... bizarre.
Eeeh!?? Xander thought, his eyes darting around the room, half-expecting to see a hidden camera or a smirking Jesse ready to pop out and yell 'Gotcha!'
The other sixteen-year old could only stare in confusion. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, his brain struggling to form a coherent response to the bombshell that had just been dropped on him. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he managed to force out a single, eloquent phrase.
"Say whaa-!?"
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
Xander slouched on his bed, the room around him a mess of typical teenage mess and pop culture relics. As his gaze flitted from the streaks of sunlight slicing through his blinds to the dusty corners of his comic-strewn floor, the weight of his new reality settled in with an almost audible thud. It had to be said Xander of the Harris clan wasn't really a thinking guy.
That wasn't to say he was stupid.
At least, he didn't think so… much.
He just didn't like to use his brain unless it was absolutely necessary, content to glide on instinct and humor more often than not. And more often than not, it served him just fine.
Today demanded more brain power than usual, however. All blame or thanks for that could be laid at the feet of the 'Devil'—aka Sam—the new kid who also claimed to be his 'Master'. The thought alone was enough to make him want to drown in his own sarcasm.
This is just too much, even for Sunnydale, Xander thought, his mind still reeling from the bombshells that had been dropped on him. Vampires? Slayers? Devils? What's next, a talking dog?
Glancing at the spot that had hosted Sam's vanishing act with the chair, then remembering the whole 'resurrected like Big J' stunt, Xander couldn't help but consider the possibilities, however crazy they seemed. After all, the guy had apparently brought him back from the dead. "And in only five minutes too," he grumbled aloud, a bitter twist to hisl voice. "Way better turnaround time than three whole days."
But seriously, what the hell? Xander's thoughts continued to spiral, his brain struggling to make sense of the insanity that had become his life. I died, like actually died, and now I'm back? He couldn't exactly deny it. He knew how badly he was gored and the blood that was everywhere.
As the reality of his situation dug its claws deeper, a groan escaped Xander's lips, morphing into an unintended laugh. Why not? It was either laugh or scream, and he figured the walls of Casa de Harris had heard enough screaming and shouting from its inhabitants over the years. He'd been holed up in his room since the ordeal, save for quick ventures downstairs for sustenance—sugar-coated cereal and leftover pizza serving as comfort food.
His morning had vanished in a haze of trying to piece together last night's events, the teenager doing his best to recall everything. He remembered waking up in the alley, blinking and dazed, then stumbling back into the Bronze, the local teen haunt, just in time to see Buffy—his friend and resident vampire slayer—taking out the ugly bloodsucker on the stage built like a weightlifter. Everything after that was a blur of numb motions until he collapsed into bed, in a sleep so deep he felt like last night was five minutes ago.
After he was done with that, he had spent the last four to five hours dealing with the daunting task of breaking the news to his friends as the stress of that loomed over him like a dark cloud. He pondered the potential conversations, each one spiraling as he could only come up with more and more absurd ways to open the dialogue. Hey, guys, nice weather we're having. Did you know that I sold my soul to Satan? Crazy, right? The thought of explaining this to Willow, with her strict religious upbringing, or Buffy, who literally fought demons as a hobby, was enough to make him want to declare it all a bad dream. He wasn't even sure which of them would take it worse.
"No, that's a lie," he admitted aloud to no one but his Spider-Man poster. Willow would freak out—panicking was her default mode for less. Buffy? Well, she was more likely to kick into slayer mode first and ask questions... maybe never. "She's got a real knack for decapitation," he muttered, a half-hearted attempt at humor to mask his dread.
And let's not forget Giles, Xander's mind helpfully supplied the image of the tweedy librarian popping into his head. He's gonna have a field day with this one. 'Xander, you foolish boy, do you have any idea what you've done? The consequences of your actions could be catastrophic!'
Falling back against his pillow, Xander stared at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the lines where the paint was starting to chip. "All because I thought I could be the big damn hero," he sighed, his voice thick with sardonic intent. "Try to fight a vampire on your own, bleed a little, and bam—next thing you know, you're in debt to a devil with dreadlocks."
He let out a low groan as his hands flew to his face, covering his eyes as if he could block out the absurdity of his life. "What is my life? I lose my best friend to some demon monster Dracula wannabe, then I die, and now I owe my life to the Devil... who apparently likes reggae?Why didn't they cover this in Sunday school?" The words spilled out in a half-whisper the reality of his situation feeling more like a script from a bad horror flick.
Tink.
Tink.
Xander was distracted from his own thoughts as the sound of something hitting his window caught his attention. He blinked, momentarily confused, before the sound came again, a soft tap against the glass.
Tink.
What the hell?
he thought, his brow furrowing as he crawled over his bed to the other side of the room. If that's a vampire throwing rocks at my window, I swear...He lifted up the blinds to look out the window, squinting against the bright sunlight that streamed in. Another small pebble hit the window, making him frown as he looked down to see who was responsible for the impromptu rock concert.
His eyes widened as he spotted a familiar set of red dreadlocks and a pair of unmistakable blue eyes that left him feeling like there was a pit in his stomach. Oh, great. Just what I needed, he thought, a mix of dread and resignation washing over him.
Xander opened his mouth to say something, only to realize the "devil" outside probably wouldn't be able to hear with his window closed. Not that I really know what to say anyway, he thought to himself, his mind racing with a thousand questions and not a single answer.
He looked back to see the red-haired boy roll his eyes in a way that looked both natural and, at the same time, extremely exaggerated. With a few hand motions, most notably, the "come here" gesture, the other teen clearly told him to come outside.
Xander felt himself hesitate, fear rising up slightly at the idea of following anyone who called themselves "The Devil" anywhere, whether or not the name was factual. The idea that he believed it was bad enough, especially with demons being a real thing and the gate to Hell apparently just a few blocks away from his own house.
This is insane, he thought, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared down at the boy who had turned his world upside down. I should just pretend I didn't see him, maybe hide under the bed until he goes away.
But even as the thought crossed his mind, Xander knew it was pointless. If Sam really was the Devil, or even just a powerful demon, hiding under the bed wasn't going to do jack squat. And besides, a part of him, the part that had always been too curious for his own good, wanted answers.
I mean... It's not like he's going to kill me, right? he thought to himself, actually thinking deep once again. Like, no point in pulling off a miracle if he's just gonna do the job himself anyway. Huh...
After a few seconds of long deliberation, Xander came to a single conclusion. "Might as well find out what I want to know before I take this to the girls... and Giles," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he signed back to Sam that he was coming down with an "Ok" sign.
The teenager quickly threw on a pair of tan shorts, a relatively clean white tee with a breast pocket, and some brown sandals, his mind still reeling with the implications of what he was about to do. This is crazy, he thought, shaking his head as he made his way to the door. I'm actually going to have a conversation with the Devil. Me, Xander Harris, the guy's struggling with Trig.
As he made his way down the stairs, he paused by the living room to see his father, Tony, asleep on the couch, a half-finished beer spilling from his hand onto the floor and a half dozen more empty ones littering the ground in front of him. Xander's nose wrinkled at the sight, a familiar mix of disgust and resignation washing over him.
His mom was out of town, going to see a long-time friend that was a town over or something like that, and it was just him and his dad for the week, something he wished would never happen. He doubted he'd get anything to eat unless it was at school or he ordered in with what little money he had, considering the man could barely feed himself.
The balding and graying man let out a loud snore and murmured in his sleep, shaking Xander from his long gaze. Let's get this over with, he thought, letting out a sigh as he quickly opened the door and stepped outside, leaving all those thoughts behind as he spotted the devil standing on the curb.
The blue-eyed black boy had discarded the outfit from the Thursday that had been the Buffster's first day of school, going for a black tank-top and red shorts instead. Xander couldn't help but notice how the colors seemed to suit him, a thought that made him shake his head in disbelief. I'm actually checking out the Devil's fashion sense, he thought, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in his throat. This is my life now.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever was to come as he made his way over to Sam. The other boy watched him approach, a small smirk playing on his lips as if he knew exactly what was going through Xander's mind.
"Took you long enough," Sam said, his voice carrying that same casual drawl that had unsettled Xander from the moment they met. "I was starting to think you were gonna leave me hanging."
Xander shrugged, trying to play it cool even as his heart raced in his chest. "Yeah, well, I had to make sure I looked my best for our little date," he quipped, the words feeling hollow even to his own ears. "Wouldn't want to disappoint the Devil, now would I?"
Sam's smirk widened, his blue eyes glinting with amusem*nt. "You could never disappoint me, Xan Man," he said, the words sending a chill down Xander's spine. "After all, we've got a special bond now, you and me."
Xander swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he met Sam's gaze. "About that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I think we need to talk."
"Yeah, we do," Sam answered back, "Sorry I had to head out so quickly. I had to make sure my new place was set up. I'm new to the Dale, if you haven't guessed. Anyway, how was your Saturday?"
Xander shrugged, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his shorts as he fell into step beside the other boy. "Bout as good as the Star Wars Christmas Special," he answered bluntly, returning Sam's smile with one that he didn't feel. "You gonna answer my questions now?"
Sam's smile quirked upwards, becoming an outright smirk. "Sure," he waved his hand behind his back, gesturing for Xander to follow. "Let's walk and talk."
Xander nodded, the smile falling from his face as he trudged after the self-proclaimed devil. "...great, Saturday's getting worse," he muttered under his breath, his mind still reeling from the events of the previous night.
This is insane, he thought, his eyes darting around the quiet suburban street as if expecting to see a horde of demons pop out from behind the perfectly manicured hedges. I'm actually taking a stroll with the Devil. The actual, real deal, Devil.
Sam snorted, drawing Xander's attention back to him. "Come on, I don't bite."
"What?" Xander shot back as he jogged up to meet him on the sidewalk, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Not that kind of demon? No fangs?"
Sam turned to him and smiled wide, Xander freezing slightly at the sight of two rather pronounced canines that stopped just short of being vampire-like fangs. "I wouldn't say that," the devil winked, his blue eyes glinting with mischief. "You're just not my type."
Xander let out a nervous chuckle, suddenly feeling nervous at the decision to follow this guy. What the hell was I thinking? he berated himself, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to keep his cool. I'm actually joking around with a demon. A demon who brought me back from the dead and claims to be my master. This is so far beyond normal, it's not even funny.
"...lucky me," he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to shake off the rising sense of dread.
Taking another breath, the teenager decided to get right to the burning question. Heh... burning. Hell. The Devil. I kill me, he thought, a humorless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Shaking his head, he pushed that admittedly funny joke aside to voice his question. "When you say, you're the Devil, what does that m-"
"I'm gonna stop you right there, Xan," Sam interrupted, holding up a single finger as they continued to walk away from Xander's house, the boy with dreadlocks making a left turn as the black-haired boy followed. The sun continued to set in the sky, the horizon turning a bright shade of orange as they kept going, casting long shadows across the pavement. "Never said I was the Devil."
Xander frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. Is this guy pulling my leg now? he wondered, turning to the other teen with narrowed eyes. "I have it on good authority that you sai-"
"First of all, by good authority you mean yourself," Sam interjected, receiving an instinctive nod from Xander. "And you'd be wrong about what you heard because what I said is that I'm a devil. Not the."
Xander blinked, his mind struggling to process the distinction. "...Well, that makes it so much clearer now, doesn't it?" he said, sarcasm fresh and clear in his tone. "What does that mean? You're a demon, right?"
Sam snorted, rolling his eyes in a way that made Xander feel like he was missing something obvious. "You're a mammal, right?"
Xander raised an eyebrow, unsure of where this was going. "I do have nipples, if that's what you want to know, but I thought I wasn't your type," he quipped.
"Funny," Sam shot back, raising his eyebrows slightly. "Anyway, I'm a demon, sure, the same way a vampire is a demon, pretty much. That doesn't help you understand anything, though, because demon covers such a wide range that it's a terrible descriptor for anything, very vague honestly," the demon added with a snort, before quickly recovering. "I'm a devil, though. It's a colloquial term for my race among ourselves, as we're officially known as Fiend demons."
Xander nodded slowly, his mind racing to keep up with the influx of information. Fiend demons, he repeated silently, committing the term to memory. Okay, so there are different types of demons. That makes sense, I guess. But what the hell is a Fiend demon? And what does it mean to be a devil?
He opened his mouth to ask, but Sam was already moving on, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke. "I say officially, but no demon you'd ever encounter would ever hear of us," Sam continued, kicking a discarded soda can out of his path without looking down. "We're kind of above their level, so to speak. We're your classic demon, as in a race descended from the spawn of Lilith and the seed of Lucifer. Unlike the vast majority of demons, as we are technically made in the image of His creation, we look as human as humans do... all the time," the red-haired boy added the last three words, pre-empting Xander's next question.
"...okay, so no aaarrgghh game face like the vamps. Got it," Xander said with a few quick nods, swallowing a mouthful of nothing.
"I mean, that's not to say we're locked out of the classic glowing eyes, fanged teeth, forked tongue nonsense," Sam admitted with a tilt of his head. "But it's something you use your own power to do, not your natural form."
"Okay… Uhhh," Xander blinked, "next question..."
"How did I heal you?" Sam glanced at him.
Xander nodded slowly, focusing his attention directly on the other boy as they walked past the Doublemeat Palace. "...yeah."
Samuel nodded, a slight smile on his face as he continued to gesture. "See, there are all kinds of demons out there. You got your sh*tty little vampires, your hellhounds, your succubi... the list goes on and on. But us Fiends, we're a special breed. We're the ones who make the deals, who grant the wishes and take the souls." The red-haired boy frowned for a moment. "At least… historically."
Xander felt a chill run down his spine at the mention of souls, his hand instinctively going to his chest where Jesse's hands had plunged through. Is that what he did to me? he wondered, his heart sinking at the thought. Did he take my soul in exchange for bringing me back?
"So, wait," he said, his voice trembling slightly as he tried to wrap his head around it all. "You're saying that you're like, what, a demon salesman? You go around making deals with people, trading their souls for... for what, exactly?"
Sam grinned, his teeth flashing in the fading sunlight. "Whatever they want, Xan Man. Power, wealth, fame... you name it, we can make it happen. For a price, of course."
Xander swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he stared at the boy beside him. This is insane, he thought, not for the first time. I'm actually having a conversation about selling souls with a demon. A demon who claims to own my soul.
"And what about me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as his panicked hazel eyes met Sam's calm blue gaze. "What did you do to me, exactly? Did you... did you take my soul?"
Sam's grin faded completely, his expression turning serious as he regarded Xander with those piercing blue eyes. "That's not how it works with us anymore."
"Anymore? So how does it work, then?" Xander outright demanded, his voice rising in strength as the sun began to set in earnest. "Don't lie to me."
"First of all, Alexander, I did not take your soul," Sam answered, speaking and enunciating slowly as if talking to a baby.
Xander felt a wave of relief wash over him, but it was short-lived as Sam continued. "You see, when you were dying, you were begging in your mind for someone to give you a chance, for someone to save you and when your blood touched this," the devil snapped his fingers, a familiar black card with red lettering appearing between his fingers in a flash of scarlet, "you summoned me to make a deal."
"...I…" Xander swallowed a mouthful of saliva as he stopped walking, eyes locked on to the card he remembered putting in his back pocket.
"I offered you the chance to live and make something of yourself, to be the hero, and you accepted, Xan," Sam nodded as if able to see what Xander was slowly recalling as the Harris boy locked eyes with him again. "You were a goner. Healing wouldn't have fixed you in time and I'm not one for quick and easy necromancy. So, I had to do something else."
"Else?" the Harris boy asked, voice low.
"I didn't just heal your body," Samuel snapped again, scarlet flashing as the black card was replaced with a glowing red chess piece—a pawn—floating over his raised palm. "This is what's called an Evil Piece, or traditionally a Magatama. It's a solid piece of my Demonic Power, my own essence, with the sole purpose of turning another being into a Fiend. That's what brought you back, bud. You gave me your life, if not your soul, because you were about to lose it anyway. And in my line of work, we call that a debt."
Xander's eyes widened, his mind reeling with the implications of Sam's words as he recognized the same piece that touched his forehead last night. "So, what, I'm like... part demon now?"
Sam shrugged, another small smile playing on his lips. "Not part. You're all devil, Xanny. Still the same memories and person, nothing possessing you or anything. Just your metaphysical self changed on the genetic and soul level."
Xander shook his head, his mind spinning with the revelation, his brain feeling like it was overheating in the cool night air. I'm part demon, he thought, the words echoing in his head like a twisted mantra. I died, and now I'm part demon. I'm a demon. Imademonimademonimademonimademonimad-
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he looked back at Sam. "Okay, so... what does that mean, exactly? Why me? Why are you here? What... what do you want from me?"
Sam's smile widened, his eyes glinting with something that Xander couldn't quite place. "Well, first things first," he said, voice low and dangerous. "You gotta prove something first?"
Xander, once again, found himself swallowing. "...w-w-what?"
He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from Xander's as he whispered the next words. "Go kill those vampires for me."
Xander felt a shiver run down his spine, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared into those blue eyes, so full of promise and threat. "Huh?"
A strong hand grabbed him by the neck and the black-haired boy found himself being lifted out of his sandals and hurled bodily into the air, flying several dozen feet into what he now recognized as Ashwood Cemetery.
He crashed onto the cold ground with a grunt, wind knocked out of him, as he blinked up at the night sky, staring at stars as he tried to catch his bearings.
Before he could even sit up to shout insults at the devil, a clawed hand burst up from the ground near his face, and a very manly scream left Xander's lips.
