I'm Not Me Anymore

By Adalanta

Disclaimer: All of the characters are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and lots of other people I don't know.

Author's Note: This scene takes place just after the end of the Season 7 episode "Empty Places." I was so mesmerized by Nicholas Brendon's portrayal of a physically and emotionally damaged Xander that I just couldn't help myself. This is my first foray into the "Buffy" realm of fanfiction (I've only seen about five episodes so far), so I'd really appreciate some feedback. Please, take a second to leave a review or you can email me at [email protected].

Part One of Two

The nightmares would come again that night – she was sure of it.

Willow Rosenberg sat silently in the darkened room curled up in a chair, watching Xander Harris shift restlessly in an uneasy sleep. Aided by the dim light of the streetlight shining through the mini-blinds, the redhead stared nervously at the lanky form of her best friend, her stomach clenching at the sight of his pale face and the dark circle under his eye.

Eye. Single.

She swallowed, working at the lump in her throat, as his dark head twisted on the yellow pillow, just enough to show the glaring white monstrosity that covered his empty left eye socket and most of that side of his face.

A low moan broke the heavy silence and was quickly followed by the barely audible – yet strangely loud – sound of the swooshing of bed sheets as the restless figure turned completely over onto his right side, curling up into a loose fetal position.

It won't be long now, she thought sadly, blinking hard to stop the familiar stinging in her eyes. Stop it, Willow, she ordered herself angrily. No crying. He doesn't want to see your tears. It'll only make this worse.

But, really, an annoying, insistent voice in her mind added, how much worse can the situation get?

Don't say that! she mentally shrieked back. Don't EVER say that! Things can always be worse, especially when you share residence with the Hellmouth.

She forcefully shoved her worrisome inner conflict aside, turning instead to the more pressing problem at hand – Xander's terrifying nightmares. He'd been in the hospital for four days before he was finally released, and while he had tried to hide it with his typical lame jokes and strange musings, she knew that he felt hurt, lonely…and scared. The doctor had explained that those kinds of feelings were to be expected, that they were normal in cases like his. Normal. Our lives haven't been normal for the last seven years. What was surprising, though, was that the nightmare had waited until the third night to rear its ugly, hideous head.

But, she reconsidered, tucking the yellow sheet higher up around Xander's shoulders, maybe that shouldn't be so surprising. After all, those first two days the doctors had him so doped up on painkillers that he could barely recognize me or put two words together when he managed to say anything at all. She shuddered at the haunting memory of his brown eye staring blankly up at her, glazed and pain-filled. It was a sight she hoped to god she would never see again.

Ever.

The third night of his hospital stay, she'd fallen asleep by his side, his right hand cradled in hers, her head resting by his leg. She'd been so exhausted from the strain of the last few days that she'd slept heavily, only to be awakened by a horrifying, blood-chilling scream and the sight of her best friend struggling violently against some imaginary foe. How long the dream – no, nightmare – had been going on, she had no clue, but he was already covered in sweat and shivering convulsively by the time she'd woken up.

She'd made the unwitting mistake of touching his face, trying to gently wake him up – and had been momentarily paralyzed when he'd flinched away from her hand as if burned, crying out, hoarsely, "No, oh, god, please, don't!"

His terrified, pleading words would forever haunt her mind.

Obviously, once she'd regained control of her body, she'd realized that a gentle, subtle approach wasn't going to work so she'd grabbed the writhing figure by his upper arms and shaken him hard. His remaining eye had snapped open after a couple of shakes. It seemed like an eternity as she'd waited breathlessly for the brown orb to focus on her as he visibly struggled to free himself from the nightmare's grip.

The scariest thing of all, though, was the fact that he hadn't spoken a single word to her after. He'd just lain in bed for the next three hours staring sightlessly up at the ceiling, like his mind had just…shut down. He'd suffered through another nightmare a few hours later near dawn, but she'd caught that one early, before he'd managed to get quite as upset and scream himself awake.

After the first nightmare, Willow had forced her wrung-out body to stay awake for the rest of the night, and though the vigil had been exhausting, the knowledge that she was protecting Xander in the only way she could gave her all the incentive she'd needed.

Giles had shown up around noon on the fourth day with a large, colorful "Get Well" card from all the girls…and the goal of making her leave Xander to go home and rest. She'd protested – admittedly weakly, but hey, she'd been wiped out – but had been quickly and easily overridden by the Watcher, who'd reassured her repeatedly that he would stay and watch over their wounded friend. Before she'd left, she talked briefly with the older man in the hallway about Xander's nightmares, warning him verbally and pleading with her eyes to watch for them.

She'd gone home to Buffy's and crashed, sleeping for twelve hours straight. When she'd woken up in the early morning hours, she'd managed to drag her weary body downstairs to the kitchen, making and eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in a dazed fog, after which she'd trudged back upstairs and collapsed again for another ten hours or so. Of course, the next time she'd awoke, she'd gone straight back to the hospital, only to meet a disheveled, haggard looking Giles sitting motionless next to an equally motionless Xander, eye closed – apparently asleep. Or so she'd thought. He'd looked up at her as soon as she'd greeted Giles and tried to smile at her, but the warmth – that unique Xanderness – was gone from his smile.

Later on, when she'd gotten Giles alone in the hallway (on the pretense of seeing him out), she'd finally asked him how the night had gone, even though she felt as if she already knew the answer. According to the Watcher, Xander's fourth night had been even worse than his third, and, even though he hadn't gone into any details, she could tell by his weary, lined face and grim, set mouth that that night had been…She mentally floundered, trying to come up with the right word, but her scholar's brain just refused to work anymore.

Another moan – louder, this time – brought her out of her morbid thoughts, and she focused once again on the figure on the bed. She clutched the arms of her chair with bloodless fingers as her best friend curled into a tight ball, tucking his shaggy head down onto his chest, and then bit her lower lip from crying out as he covered his head with both hands and began to shake, huddled up beneath the sheets and comforter. It was hard to believe that the shaking, bandaged figure on the bed was her best friend – that the strong, reliable young man could be reduced to this in such a short time. He's been through so much these last few years. Why did it have to be him? Why can't he get a break?!

Xander continued to move about restlessly on the bed, arms alternately trying to push something – or someone, she realized bitterly – away and protecting his damaged face. Both motions tore at her heart, the same organ that already lay shredded and bleeding in her chest. The proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, however, was listening to his broken pleas and cries. It was too much. She couldn't stand to see him suffer so, not when she could do something about it. Standing up, she leaned over, perching on the side of the bed and touched his shoulder…

Only to be shoved violently away off the edge of the bed by Xander, his eye open but unseeing as he let out a strangled, inarticulate cry.

Willow let out a startled yelp herself as she landed hard on the carpeted floor, her shoulder glancing off the chair she'd been occupying just seconds before.

For a few seconds, the room was held tightly in the fierce grip of stunned silence. Willow froze where she'd fallen, still trying to make sense of what had just happened.

And Xander…he just looked down at her from above, gasping for air, chest heaving, fear and confusion warring for supremacy on his paper-white face.

She watched, speechless, as the nightmare receded, and the awareness crept back into his face. It was a horrible sight to see. One second he looked down at her in shock, and the next…It was terribly clear when the knowledge of what he'd just done broke through the fog that surrounded his mind.

"Willow?" he whispered, voice breaking on the last syllable. His eye widened, horrified. "Oh my god. No. No no no no no – " He started to tremble violently, shaking his head slowly back and forth in shock, scooting back away from that side of the bed. Then he was off the bed completely, standing unsteadily on his feet as Willow picked herself up off the floor, still too stunned to make a sound.

His eye locked with her and she swore that he went positively gray – the same sickeningly dead color of cold ashes. "Oh, god," he breathed. "I – I – " He bolted for the door, his left shoulder slamming hard into the doorframe, the blow nearly knocking him off his feet, but otherwise not appearing to phase him the slightest.

"Xander, wait!" Willow called, dashing after him, finally getting her vocal cords thawed out and under control. She saw Xander careen into the bathroom down the hall and sprinted towards it, but was too late. The door slammed shut, and she heard the distinct sound of the lock clicking into place even as she reached for the doorknob to go in.

"Xander? Xander, let me in. It's okay. It wasn't your fault, all right? Just let me in," she pleaded through the door.

Silence, then the sick sound of retching answered her.

"Oh, no," she moaned. The meds are making him sick, she realized, moaning again as the nauseating sounds continued through the door. "Xander, are you okay?" she called again when the horrible sounds finally stopped a couple of minutes later. "I just want to make sure you're all right. Please, now unlock the door and let me in." She pressed her ear up against the door in an attempt to better hear what was going on inside.

Running water trickling in the sink.

Harsh, gulping breathes.

Silence. Then…

CRASH

The sound of something breaking…shattering.

"What the – " Willow gasped. The sound came again, and yet a third time, followed closely by the sound of several pieces of – something – hitting the floor…and then a loud thump.

She stood there for a second, reality taking a few extra seconds to sink into her sleepy mind. Then it hit her – hard – so hard it sucked all of the air out of her lungs. "Oh, my god, the mirror. He smashed the mirror," she whimpered, scared to death. Visions flew through her mind of her best friend collapsed on the floor bleeding, unconscious, or worse.

"NO!" She attacked the door, frantically clawing, pushing, and pulling with all of her strength to get it open. Pounding on the hard wood, she cried, "Xander, open up! Are you okay? God, please, Xander, open the door! Do you hear me?" she screamed. "OPEN THIS DOOR!" She continued to pound desperately on the door, shouting loudly, oblivious to doors opening, lights being flipped on, and sleep-tousled heads popping out through open doorways. Nothing else mattered to her except getting to her best friend.

So driven and hell-bent on getting in was she that she nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand came down on her shoulder. She twisted her tear-dampened face towards the newcomer, only to find Giles standing behind her, concern shadowing his lined face.

"What happened?" he asked quickly, locking his eyes with hers, hands on both of her trembling shoulders holding her still.

"Xander. He – he w-went inside and – and locked the door," she stammered, her voice bordering on hysterical. "He s-started to throw up – and – then he, he – there was this really loud crash – and glass falling – and I can't hear him any more, the door's locked, I can't get in, he needs help he needs me – "

"Willow, stop it!" Giles gave her a hard shake to stop her babbling.

She blinked up at him, only then feeling the hot tears streaming down her face and tried to pull herself together. "He won't answer me, Giles," she said, calmer now, but still trembling badly. "I – I haven't heard anything since that last crash. No, wait. There was a thump. I heard a thump, like he'd fallen or something. He's hurt, I know he is. Please," she begged, clutching his arm. "We've got to get in there. He needs help. Please."

"Yes, of course, we will," he muttered absently, eyeing the door as if appraising its strength. The older man nodded to himself, and then, once he'd moved Willow safely out of the way, stepped back a few feet and charged, slamming all of his weight against the bathroom door.

The door snapped open.

Giles and Willow rushed inside.

TBC…