Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Be- "Ugghhhhhhh..."

A long groan filled the air inside the room, for a moment drowning out the annoying beeping that hadn't shut up since... well, Xander wasn't sure how long. His eyes, feeling like they'd been glued shut, slowly creaked open. Instant regret. Sunlight stabbed into his eyeballs like tiny daggers, making him wince. "...Ow."

Xander blinked rapidly, trying to get his peepers to play ball. The world was a blurry mess of white and beige, with splashes of color that didn't make any sense yet.

Beep.

What the hell is tha- His gaze flicked up to his right, landing on a boxy thing that looked like it belonged in a bad sci-fi movie. Oh. Heart monitor. Neat. The constant beeping was less neat, drilling into his skull like a tiny, annoying jackhammer.

As his vision cleared, Xander became aware of something on his face. It felt weird, like someone had slapped a Jell-O mold over his nose and mouth. His hand, feeling about as coordinated as a drunk octopus, fumbled up to his face and pulled off a- "Oh."

A ventilation mask came away, dangling from his fingers like a dead fish. Xander stared at it, his brain still running on dial-up. "Oh." He let it fall to his chest, the plastic making a sad little clunk against the thin hospital gown that suddenly made him feel very, very naked.

His gaze drifted down to his arm, which looked like it had been mummified. The white cast stood out against his skin, which was looking a bit more Casper than California surfer at the moment. Great. There goes my shot at the arm wrestling championship.

All the wires stuck to his chest beneath the gown caught his attention next. He felt like a marionette, or maybe a really lame cyborg. The tight wrapping around his midsection suddenly made itself known, and Xander let out a long, drawn-out "Ooooow," as memories of last night came flooding back along with a tsunami of pain. Right. Vampires. Parking lot. Getting my ass handed to me on a silver platter. Fun times.

The smell hit him next, making his nose scrunch up like he'd just taken a big whiff of gym socks. Disinfectant. Bleach. That uniquely hospital stench that made you feel sick even if you weren't when you came in. Satan on a stick, I hate hospitals, he thought, trying not to gag. They always smell like someone had a clean-freak meltdown and decided to Lysol bomb the place.

"There he is," a voice drawled from his right, cutting through Xander's internal griping like a hot knife through butter.

"Fuck me," Xander muttered, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He didn't need to look to know who it was. That voice haunted his dreams - and not in the good way or the very good way, more of the recurring nightmare of bleeding out in a dark alley with a hole in his chest kinda way. "Hi, bossman. What's the haps?"

A scoff answered him. Xander peeked one eye open, tilting his head to see Sam sprawled in a chair by his bedside. The devil looked like he'd raided the wardrobe of a rap video, all decked out in black and red.

"You're gonna ride that color scheme till the wheels fall off, aren't you?" Xander asked, eyeing the matching football jersey, shorts, and high-tops.

Sam grinned, fingers playing with the gold chains around his neck like some demonic Mr. T. "I didn't see you complaining walking out of the Queen dressed to the nines."

Xander let out another groan, the sound seeming to come from the depths of his soul. "It's the only color scheme you sell."

"No," Sam corrected, his grin never faltering, "it's the only color scheme in the catalog I let Tana show you."

"G-God, I hate you," Xander said, then winced as the first word left his mouth. Pain shot through his skull like he'd just headbutted a brick wall. Note to self: No more G-bombs.

"That hurt you far more than it hurt me," Sam said, his smile wider than the Cheshire Cat's. His eyes danced with amusement, like he was watching his favorite sitcom.

"Don't care, you're a meanie," Xander declared, trying to sound tough but coming off more like a grumpy toddler. "If my favorite hand wasn't in a cast right now, I'd be showing you my favorite finger."

"Too easy," Sam sighed, shaking his head like a disappointed teacher. "Anyway, how's the arm?"

"You should see the other guys," Xander replied, a hint of pride creeping into his voice despite feeling like he'd gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson.

"I did." Sam's eyebrow quirked up, a move Xander was starting to think was patented. At Xander's confused look, the devil continued, "The ash is all over the parking lot."

"Yeah, I got seven of them," Xander said, a small smile tugging at his lips. The fight came back to him in flashes - fists flying, fangs gleaming, the satisfying poof as vamps turned to dust. It was like watching a highlight reel, but with way more bruises. "Scared five of them off."

Sam leaned forward, his chains clinking softly. His eyes locked onto Xander's, intense and unblinking. It was like being stared down by a shark in Nikes. "They made you work for it, though."

It wasn't a question.

Sam got like this some times, red eyes staring into your soul and stating things like he knew them as simply as he knew how many fingers were on his perfectly-manicured hands.

Even when it was a normal statement you knew just as well, he somehow managed to feel like you couldn't deny it.

Xander's smile faded faster than his hopes of dating Cindy Crawford. His gaze dropped to the thin hospital blanket covering his legs. It was a sad, pale blue that screamed 'we bought these in bulk'. "Yeah, they kinda cleaned my clock," he admitted, feeling a twinge of shame. "I should have done better."

A snort interrupted his pity party before it could really get rolling. Sam let out a quick laugh, the sound echoing weirdly in the small room. "Done better, he says," Sam mocked, shaking his head. "A little two-month-old Imp gets to dusting seven Death Knights, for a grand total of seventy vampires and you're bummed about it."

"W-It's n-tha-No," Xander sputtered, his face turning redder than Willow's hair. He felt like his brain was short-circuiting, trying to defend himself against... a compliment? "I mean, I should have been better th-"

"Enough with the self-deprecation, X," Sam interrupted, clapping his hands together. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet room, making Xander jump. His ribs protested, sending a sharp pain through his side. Ow. Note to self: No sudden movements. Or breathing. Or existing. "Vampire hunting isn't even your job. When you said you wanted to be a hero, I didn't know you meant for a hobby."

Xander's face grew even redder. He shifted uncomfortably, the paper-thin gown crinkling loudly. Sam's gaze felt like it was burning right through him, seeing all his insecurities laid bare. Great, now I feel naked AND stupid.

Sam shook his head, his dreads swaying like snakes. "Let's be realistic; you had a twenty percent chance of making it out of that situation alive." He paused, his grin widening. "Honestly, the only reason you lasted against seven of those Nosferat knight-fucks is 'cause you keep fucking going out and hunting them."

Xander winced at the colorful language, half-expecting a nurse to burst in and scold them. The hospital hallway remained quiet, though, just the distant beeping of machines and squeaking of rubber-soled shoes.

Sam leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Honestly, how much vampire juice do you think you've sucked up with all this dusting?"

"I..." Xander blinked, his mind going blank. It was like someone had just asked him to solve a calculus problem while juggling chainsaws. I hadn't even thought about that. "I mean, first, please don't say that again…" he pulled a face, trying to banish the mental image. "Second… I noticed I've gotten stronger but I just thought that was the demon blood settling or whatever."

Sam shook his head again, looking like a disappointed teacher. "No, Xan, that wouldn't be that big of a jump. Besides, by now you're pretty much settled." He gestured at Xander's battered form. "On top of that, you are now twice the guy you were from when I brought you back from the brink. Do you know how many hundred-year-old Imps aren't even where you are now?"

Curiosity got the better of Xander. "How many?" he asked, leaning forward slightly despite the protest from his ribs.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"Well, not that many. A hundred years is a long time," Sam admitted, waving his hand dismissively. "But still, no random reincarnate jumps up as fast as you do. No special powers, just grit."

The Devil smirked, something like pride glinting in his eyes. "It's almost suicidal."

Xander's brow furrowed, a thought popping into his head like an unwelcome jack-in-the-box. His eyes darted to the door as a nurse walked past, her bright pink scrubs a stark contrast to the drab hospital walls. She didn't even glance their way, too focused on the clipboard in her hands.

He turned back to Sam, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Hey, do the..." Xander paused, glancing at the door again before continuing, "What do they know? Like, about me."

Sam snorted, the sound quickly transforming into outright laughter. He wiped his eyes, shaking his head before giving Xander a flat "No." He leaned back in his chair, looking like the cat that ate the canary. "I'm sure some higher ups in the hospital know about the nightlife, but the rank and file don't know a succubus from a Hooters girl."

Xander's mind immediately conjured up an image of a horned, red-skinned Hooters girl. He blinked hard, trying to banish the thought. Focus, Harris. Important devil stuff happening here. "So, what, they just think I got jumped by some random dudes?" he asked, gesturing at his various injuries.

"Anyway," Sam continued, his tone casual as if discussing the weather, "your records officially state that you got dogpiled after running your mouth at some drunk bikers riding through town. You didn't see any faces, unfortunately."

Xander nodded, a wry grin tugging at his lips. It felt like his face was made of rubber, stretching in ways it shouldn't. "Sounds like me," he said, his voice scratchy from disuse. The familiar taste of foot-in-mouth was as comforting as it was embarrassing.

"Doesn't it?" Sam agreed, his own grin mirroring Xander's. The devil's teeth gleamed unnaturally white in the harsh hospital lighting. "Anyway, the hospital called your house — your mom went out of town again, by the way — but your dad picked up and he was really stressed out and worried."

Xander raised an eyebrow, surprise clear on his face. The heart monitor beeped a little faster, betraying his sudden spike of emotion. "...What?" He couldn't remember the last time his dad had been worried about anything other than where his next beer was coming from.

Sam continued, his expression turning serious. His eyes locked onto Xander's, intense and unblinking. "About the cost of your hospital bill."

Xander nodded, his surprise fading as quickly as it had come. The beeping slowed back to its regular rhythm. "Yeah, that sounds more like it." That fucking drunk bastard, he thought, his jaw clenching slightly. He tried to push down the familiar anger that always seemed to rise whenever his father was mentioned. It was like trying to stuff a wildfire back into a matchbox.

"Fortunately," Sam said, his grin returning like the sun after a storm, "an amazingly magnanimous friend of yours covered said bill."

Xander's eyes widened, his eyebrows shooting up so fast they threatened to fly off his face. "Really?"

"Yeah," Sam confirmed, his grin turning mischievous. He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. "Just know that your contract pay will be cut in half for a month."

Xander shrugged, the movement sending a dull ache through his injured arm. It felt like someone had replaced his bones with rusty pipes. "That's fair," he said, his tone resigned. I have like almost forty grand saved up after two months anyway. Nothing to whine about. The thought of that much money still made his head spin. It was more than his dad made in a year.

"The Blood Princess that attacked Buffy's mother is dead, by the way," Sam said, his tone casual, as if he were discussing the weather. He examined his nails, seemingly bored by the topic of vampire murder.

"Good job, Buff," Xander said, nodding in approval. He could picture Buffy, all five-foot-nothing of her, taking down some vamp princess. It was a satisfying image.

"Angel, actually," Sam corrected, his expression unreadable. His eyes flicked up from his nails, locking onto Xander's. "She was his ex. He stabbed her in the heart."

Xander clicked his tongue, his brow furrowing slightly. The image in his head shifted, replacing Buffy with the broody vampire. "Oh," he said, his tone thoughtful. "Man, hate to say it but this Angel guy seems kinda cool the more I hear about him. For a leech, you know." The words felt weird coming out of his mouth, like praising a mosquito for its table manners.

Sam's face broke out into a grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Of course," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He leaned back in his chair, looking like the cat that ate the canary and then convinced the owner it was the dog's fault.

Xander shifted uncomfortably, the thin hospital gown crinkling loudly. His gaze dropped to his lap as he mumbled, "Also, thanks... for... uh, getting me in here." The words felt like marbles in his mouth, clumsy and hard to get out.

Sam blinked, confusion clear on his face. His head tilted to the side, reminding Xander of a curious puppy. If puppies were ancient, manipulative devil princes. "Oh... you think that was me?"

Xander's head snapped up so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. His eyes were wide enough to use as dinner plates. "It... it wasn't?" The heart monitor betrayed him again, beeping faster as his pulse quickened.

Samuel snorted, the sound full of mirth. It echoed weirdly in the small room, like the walls were laughing too. "No." He rose to his feet, shaking his head as he stretched, his joints popping like bubble wrap. "I was in the Rosen Queen, eating a slice of Veggie Lovers pizza around the time you were getting hogtied by the fetish bikers."

Xander stared silently, blinking. His brain felt like it was running on a hamster wheel, desperately trying to process this information. "What's your actual problem, man?" he shot back, his nose wrinkling in revulsion. "Veggie Lovers pizza? That's disgusting." Of all the weird demon stuff, somehow this felt like the most unforgivable sin.

"Mmmm," Sam hummed, his grin never faltering. He patted his stomach contentedly. "Yeah, somebody else literally dragged you in here."

Xander's brow furrowed, confusion clear on his face. He felt like he was trying to solve a Rubik's cube blindfolded. "Who?"

"You'll find out." Sam started walking toward the door, his movements smooth and graceful. As usual, it was like gravity had decided to give him a pass for the day.

"Wait!" Xander called out, his voice urgent. He tried to sit up straighter, wincing as his ribs protested.

Sam turned around, raising an eyebrow. "Something wrong?" His tone was casual, but there was a glint in his eye that suggested he knew exactly what Xander was going to ask.

"Uhhh, my arm?" Xander raised the limb in a cast, wincing slightly at the movement before pointing to his sides. "My ribs? You're not gonna heal me?" He tried to keep the whine out of his voice, but it crept in anyway.

Sam's expression turned thoughtful, his head tilting slightly. He tapped his chin, as if considering a complex mathematical problem. "Oh... Well, I can but I really shouldn't. And before you ask," he continued, raising a palm to stop Xander's protest before it could start, "you're already on record as being in the hospital with a broken arm and stab wounds. It would look too suspicious. Besides, you should be healing about... what, five times faster now? You'll be right as rain in a couple weeks."

"Couple Weeks?" Xander's voice rose, cracking slightly. His eyes were wide with disbelief. The heart monitor beeped frantically, matching his rising panic. "But spring break?!" The thought of spending his precious week of freedom cooped up in a hospital bed was almost worse than facing down a pack of vampires.

Sam nodded, his expression blank. If Xander didn't know better, he'd swear the devil was enjoying this. "Yeah, that sucks." He turned back to the door, his hand on the knob. "...Be seeing ya!"

He left quickly, disappearing past the door before Xander could protest further. The door clicked shut with a finality that felt like a jail cell closing.

"Goddamnit," Xander muttered, slumping back against his pillows. "Ow!" He winced with a loud groan, the name of the Lord spiking through his skull like an ice pick. This is gonna be a long couple of weeks.