The More Things Change

His thoughts were pleasantly fuzzy and the freaky shit was at a more comfortable distance now. The shakes were gone and he was pleasantly relaxed. He yawned widely and stretched. *In for a penny in for a pound* he thought as he lifted the bottle with exaggerated care and took a couple more long swallows for good measure. He fumbled with the cap and it seemed to take a great deal of effort to get it back on right. He kept missing the top of the bottle. He leaned forward and let the bottle slip to the floor. His last thought as he lay down and fumbled the blanket up to his chin, and slid into darkness, was that he would just wait here for...anyone.. to show up and tell him what was up.

***************************************************

He hung from the chains in haze of agony, he couldn't remember not feeling pain. one eye was swelled shut and the other was almost as bad. He could see sort of, in a blurry sort of way. His jaw might very well be broken, he could hardly open his mouth and he knew he had a few loose teeth. His head felt like an oversized melon on his shoulders and it kept dropping forward, chin to chest, because he didn't have the strength left to keep it upright.

His shoulder joints felt like they were torn from the sockets and his hands had long since become numb. Every breath sent a stabbing grating sensation through his chest. *Broken ribs most likely.* He knew for sure one leg was broken and possibly one of his arms.

Angelus had hit him with fists and what looked like an axe handle, over and over again. Then he had taken a whip to him. And delighted in licking the blood from the cuts and welts he made on his helpless vistim. His torso was mottled with blackened bruises and crisscrossed with bleeding welts that oozed and dripped. *Hurrah for the red, white and blue.* He thought inanely. *There's not much white left though.*

His back wasn't in any better shape, it felt like raw hamburger.

Then there were the bites. Angelus had savaged him with his teeth. His buttocks, back, thighs, abdomen and pectorals all had bite marks scattered across them. His neck was bite free for the moment.

Angel had returned to the Hyperion after he passed out on the couch. But wait, it wasn't Angel. The idiot LA gang had deliberately taken Angel's soul and let Angelus out, thinking that Angelus would help them with their Beast problem. He'd really like to find a way to thank them for that. But he really didn't think he was going to live that long. He had accepted it. He knew there wouldn't be anyone coming to his rescue this time. The leaden fear in the pit of his belly had become common place, and the hate.

Angelus had carried him to this warehouse and hung him up like a side of beef and waited for him to wake up. The arrogant psychotic bastard. He was just beside himself with glee that he had a Scooby to play with. He knew that Buffy wasn't coming to LA and no one else knew Xander was here. He'd bragged about how he escaped from the LA gang. He said he was going to deal with the beast but he was going to do it for his own reasons. He was just happy as happy could be with the situation in the city right now.

Between forays out to demon bars, trying to find the beast and spying on Angel's friends he played with Xander.

Xander knew he wasn't going to last much longer between dehydration, blood loss and shock. But he wasn't going to go easy either. He was going to make the insane prick work for it despite the agony. He would endure.