– 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. "FUCK!"

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 ran on nothing but fear and adrenaline.

His hands, trembling and unsure, immediately searched his chest. Patting himself down, he expected to feel... A hole? Blood?

Honestly, 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 searching for a stake that wasn't there.

"Jesse!" The name came out as a growl, a reminder of the night and its horrors. 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... His fists clenched at nothing, nails just 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 perfectly 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 unbothered 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.

image [https://i.imgur.com/9cFAjog.jpeg]

"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 amusement. 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 VI, at your semi-service." He clicked his tongue as the last word left his mouth, winking. "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 the rest of his brain. "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... it's an inside joke."

He shook his head again, amusement clear in his smile 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. What the—

"Nahhhh, just messing with you," Sam said with anoter laugh, that intense gaze never leaving Xander. "It's just Saturday."

Xander shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of the other boy's eyes, feeling like a bug under a microscope for some reason. 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 why is he in my room?

"But seriously," Sam continued, his voice losing its casual edge as he cut in before Xander could do the necessary interrogating, "how's your chest? Y'know, where you got stabbed last night."

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Xander's hand instinctively flew to his chest, fingers once again 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, barely whispering 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.

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 was a... That wasn't a dream...?" he muttered, the question 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. "It happened."

This is insane, he 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?

"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 any of this, 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 the words sinking in, absurd and impossible as it seemed to be. 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."

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 as he focused on the second thing 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 the VI," 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. 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-!?"