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White Lightnin'
by
BmblBee
Part Eleven
Making his way down the slippery hillside, Xander finally reached the site of the wrecked car.
Everything was exactly as he had left it yesterday, confirming his suspicions that no one else would have come along in time. Xander was glad he hadn't turned his back on the injured man. Even if he was turning out to be a real pain in his ass.
The steam from the engine had cooled and by the looks of the puddle underneath, all the fluids had drained out. Xander knew that by leaving the car out here sooner or later one of the other men that lived on this mountain would find it.
When that happened it would be stripped slicker than a skinned possum, the parts sold off or used to patch their own vehicles or farm machines.
Xander just shrugged.
Didn't matter none to him.
This crumpled pile of tin wasn't gonna help him get rid of Mr. Beemish. No, Xander knew he was stuck with him. For now anyway.
Still suspicious, Xander decided this was an excellent opportunity to find out as much as he could about the mysterious traveling salesman.
He started with the trunk.
Using the keys that were still in the ignition, he popped the lid. Blanket, road flag, and spare tire. Worn with nearly no tread.
'Funny, you'd think a man living on the road would have a trunk full of stuff. Dirty clothes, reminders from home, nasty picture postcards to yank his stick to. Something.'
Slamming the trunk lid shut he moved around to the passenger side. Peering into the crushed front seat, Xander saw the box of books that had tumbled on impact. One full set of encyclopedias A thru Z.
Due to the damage, the crumpled car door would not open, but the window had shattered, so reaching in he picked several
up, one at a time. Each was checked.
Xander noted that most still had stiff spine bindings meaning they had never been opened for display. Either the salesman had no one who wanted to look at his books or he had not tried very hard to make a sale.
Throwing the last one down on the pile, he then pressed the button to open the glove box. Riffling through the papers, he found a registration stating that the car did indeed belong to one William J. Beemish of New York City.
According to the documents Mr. Beemish had owned the car for nearly two years, yet the papers were crisp. Brand new feeling. Nothing criminal about that, still.....
Only other thing in there was, of course, a pair of gloves. No family photos, no gum or candy, nothing personal that
identified the personality of the driver.
Something about the whole scene reminded him of the acting productions he was in at college. It all had a staged feel about it.
"Shit, Xander. Get a grip. You're too fuckin' paranoid." Finally he jerked open back door on the passenger side. The two cases were still there, untouched.
That's when something else odd struck him. Xander remembered looking in the suitcase yesterday and finding nothing but
some clean clothes.
If there were no dirty ones in the trunk then it meant he had not been here more than a couple days, cause God knows there
were no laundromats on this mountain.
So how did a man from New York get here in two days, and just how many fuckin' sales did he think he was going to make
to people that he assumed couldn't read anyway.
One way or another, Xander had determined he needed to get some answers from the stranger laying in his bed.
Kneeling down on the wide floor of the back he retrieved the other case from under the seat. Mr. Beemish had
probably stuck it under there to be out of sight.
That was more than likely what had saved the bottles from damage in the accident. Opening it up, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. Wild Turkey. Red Rose. Black asp.
Some bottles with no label that had obviously been refilled several times over. The names were all ones he knew well.
Cheap rot gut his father would drink when he could afford it. But then that was before his own still started producing enough to drink himself to death.
Xander knew he had found part of what he was looking for. These were the intimate details of William Beemish's life.
It might not explain who he was, but it sure as hell told Xander what the injured man was.
He was nothing but a waste of space.
He was a fuckin' drunk.
The alcohol was the family photos and the memorabilia from home. It was all he needed in his life. It was all here, glowing gold and shimmering white in these bottles.
The flood of memories of his own childhood came back to him in a rush, and before he could second guess himself, he made a decision. Closing the lid of the suitcase, Xander held it high over his head and slammed it to the ground as hard as he could.
The sound of the smashing glass echoed throughout the woods, temporarily stopping the singing of birds and chirping of the tree frogs. Even the breeze flowing through the branches froze.
Silence.
For a few seconds, the woods stood still waiting to see what Xander would do next.
Seconds passed and just as suddenly as it stopped, it resumed. The birds, the frogs, the sound the movement. It all went on like nothing had happened.
Xander picked up both cases to return to the cabin. Before he could take one step, a red bird flew down, a cardinal,
wild and free, and to his amazement, landed on the broken carry all.
It chirped and looked at him, it's head turned to the side. Then,showing no fear of him, it flew off.
Four years of college didn't change the inner man.
Xander was mountain, born and bred.
He was raised his whole life to know the signs and omens.
The signposts that life sends you to show you when you are on the right or the wrong path.
City folk get them too, they are just too busy rushing around and bein' better than everyone else to see them.
It wasn't something that determined his every move, but he was smart enough to recognize and respect them when they
came along.
Like road pointers his momma used to say. They can aim you in the right direction if you are smart enough to read them.
Xander considered himself a very smart man.
He took this as a good sign.
He knew he had done right, and any indecision was immediately erased.
Mr. Beemish, the alcoholic, just climbed on the wagon.
Part Twelve
Stepping onto the front porch, Xander steeled himself for a less than warm welcome, and opened the door.
"Where the fuck have you been? Jesus, I thought you forgot about me."
Spike's anger quickly melted to overwhelming gratitude when he saw the cases in Xander's hands.
Trying to appear casual, Spike smiled broadly "Oh, good, I see you found them. Well come on, join me for a drink."
"Spike.."
"I know, I know. You don't drink. Well I do so be a good boy and pour me a bit in a cup, yeah?" Spike was licking his lips. His fingers twitched like they wanted to reach out and grab the bags from Xander's grasp.
Xander watched him, disgusted. The flood of memories washed over him, and it was almost like having the old man himself back again.
Only this time he was the one in charge.
No more being slapped or punished when the bottle was empty.
No more fear of the rage.
No more hiding in his own home.
Besides, he was supposed to do this.
The signs and omens had told him so.
With a great deal of satisfaction and a barely suppressed smirk, Xander dropped the case to the floor. The sound of the broken glass caused an instant and expected
reaction.
"What the fuck did you do? You stupid fuckin' asshole! If I could get off this bed I'd kill your stupid fuckin' ass. I NEED A FUCKIN' DRINK!!!"
Silently watching, the small smile never left Xander's face. 'O.k. then. Guess we're off and running.'
"Didn't do nothin' Spike. Your bags got thrown around in the car when you got stinkin' drunk and slammed into that there tree. I checked, but weren't nothing left unbroke. Guess you're just fucked."
The last part was verbalized very distinctly with no hint of ignorance or stupidity. Xander crossed this arms over his chest, shifted his weight to one side and looked the salesman straight in the eye. If anything, the smile stretched just a hair wider.
Spike stared at him as the reality of the situation slowly sank in. 'No no no no' "Xander, please, you don't know what you are doing. I'm sick. I need that stuff. It's the pain, Xander. I need it for the pain. Please Xander. You don't understand."
Calmly, Xander turned to the shelf on the wall and took down a jar of soup beans.
"I'm going to fix you something to eat, Spike. I suggest you try to take in as much food and water as you can today, because you probably won't be able to keep anything down tomorrow."
Sobbing and nearly hysterical, Spike continued to beg.
He was terrified.
Not only of going through the DT's but of what he might say while out of his mind. What if he gave himself away?
Spike had a sinking feeling he had seriously underestimated Xander. What if he knew some of the bootleggers Spike had been sent to this part of the country to find?
If those cut throat murdering moonshiners were to find him here, crippled and unable to defend himself, well he didn't want to think about what they would do.
The New York office had held training sessions. A few of which he had been sober enough to attend, and they
were all warned that these backwoods animals would butcher them, bury the bodies and no one would ever find them.
Not that anyone would look for him.
Spike knew he had been given this assignment as a last chance.
Achieve results or be killed out here in the boonies.
Really made no difference to the government that sent him. Either government.
Forcing himself to calm down, Spike desperately tried to think. Clearly begging would not work He had to reason with him.
He had to make him understand how bad this situation was going to get.
Watching Xander's back as he whistled and stirred those disgusting, stinking beans, Spike wiped his eyes and nose on
his arm. "Boy, those smell swell. You must be a really great cook."
Xander rolled his eyes unseen, and kept stirring.
"See fact is, Xander, I got this problem. Hate to admit it, but truth is I drink a bit too much. Actually," Spike chuckled sourly "I drink a lot too much. So if I don't get it I am going to get sick. Really sick. Puking and shaking sick. So I would really appreciate it if you could run into the nearest town and get me some help for my legs and bring me back a bottle. O.k? I can pay you."
Spike held his breath and waited.
Scooping some hot beans into a wooden bowl, Xander turned back around.
Approaching the bed, Xander blew on the beans and stirred them to cool, never looking at the man whose life seemed to
depend on Xander's benevolence. He tried to suppress the glee he felt in the shifting power play of the drunk/Xander dynamic.
"First up, you ain't got no money. I already saw your wallet. Second, town is a long days walk away. Can't leave you
alone that long and last, I already know what it's like to see a drunk go through a body's cleanin'. My Pa did it more
than once, but if you want I can fetch you some of them headache powders you had in your pants pocket. Now, you best eat up while you can."
Xander stood back and waited, finally meeting Spike eye for eye. Spike threw his head back. His face turned a furious purple and his hands clutched the sheets.
"FUCK YOU!! GOD DAMN YOU!! I NEED A DRIIIIIIIIIINK!!!""
Calmly Xander sat back down in his chair and ate the beans. This might take a while and there was no sense in both of them
going hungry.
Part Thirteen
The screaming, crying, begging and demanding kept up for an impressive amount of time.
All without response from Xander.
He sat quietly watching and wondering.
How does a man come to this. He knew in his own father's case it was a way to die along with his wife. Unfortunately it took him nearly twelve years to do it. Shame the needs of a young son weren't enough to give him something to live for.
What was the unhappiness in Spike's life that drove him to drown himself in a bottle? Xander saw the strain of the pain and anger play over the features of the beautiful face. The amazing blue eyes would alternate between squeezed shut and flaring with fury.
Xander knew Spike was in agony from his back and head injures and considered maybe the body flush might be more than he could stand.
Mentally checking himself, Xander knew he couldn't waver now. No, Spike was weak enough for both of them. 'Just a sniveling drunk' he tried to remind himself.
Rising from his chair, Xander walked to Spike who had, by now slowed down to a quiet whimpering. Still not speaking, Xander brushed the hair out of Spike's damp face.
"Get the fuck off of me."
The words were spoken low, with a sadness and resignation. Spike turned his face toward the wall and slapped weakly at Xander's hand.
"I need to go out and tend my garden and check my traps, Spike. I want you to drink some water and take a pack of headache powder. I won't be long."
It was now Spike's turn to be silent.
Returning to the sideboard Xander brought him a cup of water with the powder dissolved inside. With no further complaint Spike drank it all. He refused to admit that soothing his raw throat, it felt wonderful.
"I need to piss."
Xander set the cup down and went to retrieve the bucket.
Neither spoke as Spike freed his cock and emptied his full bladder.
Taking the bucket to the door, Xander turned to his patient.
"I'll be back as soon as I can. When you're all done with your tantrum I can rub them tight muscles. Might help the swelling
'long your backbone."
"Fuck you." The response was murmured but heard.
Xander walked out, closing the door behind him. When he was well away from the cabin, his own tears fell.
The memories and emotions of his own past were jumbled up together with the pain of the man who was a literal prisoner
in his home.
Hurrying back the lane, Xander didn't stop till he reached the still. He stoked the hot coals and drained off four crocks for storage in the cave.
It would help some with next weeks delivery.
Another problem.
One he had no time to think about now.
Forcing all his concentration on the contraption in front of him, Xander tried everything he could to clear the thoughts of Spike from his head.
Nothing worked.
His brain kept returning to the suffering of the stranger.
Xander was torn
.
He knew he possessed the very elixir needed to stop the agony Spike was going through. All he had to do was take him a bottle.
The part of him that enjoyed watching a worthless drunk beg for a drink was quickly fading away in the face of the reality.
Suddenly he realized he was finding no joy at all in what was happening. Xander still was not satisfied that there wasn't
something suspicious about Spike and what he was doing here on Xander's mountain, but whatever it was, it had nothing
to do with the consequences of the wreck and the alcoholism.
He finished up and circled around to the clearing. Fall was coming on fast and the vegetables in his garden would soon
be ready for canning. He walked the rows and was pleased to see everything had done really well.
It had been a long growing season and he should have plenty to hold him till spring.
The winters were snowy and isolating up here. A man had to be prepared. Meat he could catch at any time, but a man needed fruit and vegetables to stay strong.
Finally wandering to the creek, he checked his traps. Two were empty, the other had caught a beaver. Good money in beaver fur. Someday he hoped to get better traps and make a full living off them. City women couldn't get enough of them fur hats and coats. Silly creatures.
Taking the carcass, he reset the trap and headed back home. It was still early enough he could get it gutted and skinned and
the fur hung before dark.
It was all so simple.
He knew exactly what to do with an ear of corn or a dead critter. Wish it was that uncomplicated with people.
Maybe he read the sign wrong.
Maybe he was hurting this man in a way he had no right to.
He had to give this some serious thought.
Coming back home, Xander found his walk slowing. He hated opening the door and facing the agony inside. Placing his ear against the closed door, he heard no sound.
No screaming, no crying.
Easing it open, he stepped in.
Bracing himself for the worst.
What he found was not what he expected.
Spike had apparently worn himself out and was sleeping fitfully. Watching the face of the man on the bed, Xander felt something tugging at his heart.
Spike looked so young.
Xander had assumed he was in his late thirties, but now realized he could be at least ten years younger.
Crouching down, Xander leaned in as close as he dared. "What happened to you Spike? Who are you and what
do you want here?"
Xander's only answer was another moan. Spike's eyes darted wildly behind the closed lids. Xander stayed where he was till
his knees shook from the strain of the position he held himself in.
Standing back up, he figured it was best to go ahead and prepare the cabin for the night. That way all would be done when Spike woke later. He knew the worst was still to come.
Slipping back out he took the water jugs to the spring house and filled both of them. Tending to the beaver was quick and efficient. He then went to the hen house collecting eggs for breakfast, mentally reminding himself of some repairs he needed to do on the coup before winter.
Returning, he put the kettle on the fire for some coffee, and settled in to wait.
Part Fourteen
Before sleeping Spike had laid sullenly while Xander sat there. Exhausted from all the dramatics, he was ashamed and angry at himself for his weakness.
Watching Xander come over to him, he waited to see what punishment the mountain man would inflict on him for all his
hysterics.
He was shocked when Xander touched his face so gently. He slapped the hand and turned his head in an attempt to try to
get some sort of grip on himself.
His body was so twisted with pain and agony he found it hard to breath, and his emotions were off the scale. Spike knew he had made everything worse by all the screaming and the fit, but he just didn't seem to be able to stop.
He remembered the time a few months ago when he had tried to get off the drunk. He had locked himself in his apartment
and thought he could ride it out. He had caved in after just three days. The pain and hallucinations were more than he could stand.
Stumbling out, he'd headed for a bar and stayed drunk for a week. That's when he really gave up on life. He knew he would never be able to stop drinking till he drank himself to death.
Aware that this was the last chance for his job, he already knew he would fail. At this point he no longer cared.
The only reason he wanted to find a bootlegger now was to buy a bottle and drink it dry.
Offering him some water and the pain powder shocked Spike. Up to now he was sure Xander was taking great pleasure in
his situation, but the look in Xander's eyes confused him. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn he read
compassion there.
After the water, Xander had said he was going out. He had chores to do.
Spike wanted desperately to beg him not to go.
To stay with him and, what?
Touch his forehead again?
Spike hated that he was so weak. So needy.
Knowing that tomorrow would be a hundred times worse, Spike tried to calm himself down. Forcing himself to relax, he straightened his body and tried to focus his concentration. The powder took just enough of an edge off the pain that he
could regain some composure.
A little corner of his mind wished Xander was there to see him. He would be proud of Spike for controlling himself. "Fuck you" he yelled one last time to the empty room, though the heat had gone from the sentiment.
"I don't give a fuck what he thinks of me." But he knew that wasn't true.
Relaxing his arms, neck, hands, and trying to ignore the annoying prickling in his legs, Spike finally dozed off.
His last wakeful thought being, 'Wonder if he will still rub my back?'
Xander had been gone for some time. Part of him wished he didn't have to return at all. That was the part he was most ashamed of. After all, Beemish is going through all of this because Xander's holier-than-thou opinion was that he needed to get sober.
What right did he have to inflict that sort of pain on another man? Standing on the front porch, Xander listened at the door.
No screams. No cursing. Entering quietly he was relieved to see Spike had actually fallen asleep.
He stood and watched as Spike moaned and fussed. Checking his forehead, Xander could see the sweat starting to bead up.
Using a damp cloth he wiped Spikes face and spoke to him in hushed tones. "Shhh. It will be alright. I'll take care of you.
You can do this, Spike. I know you can."
Spike's body relaxed and his sleep became more peaceful. Xander watched for a few more minutes then went to his chair
by the fire, covered himself up, and dozed off.
Xander was dreaming.
He dreamt he was back in college and running on the campus.
He was with his friends, his team mates.
They were off to celebrate their last victory at an off campus, off limits tavern.
He was laughing and life was easy.
Gradually he was falling behind and they were getting further and further ahead of him.
They called to him to catch up. "Xander. Xander!"
The calling was getting frantic.
His friends were out of sight now, but the calling continued.
"Xander!" Swimming up out of the depths of sleep, Xander realized it was Spike.
Spike was calling him.
Rushing to his side, he was dismayed by the slight man.
Spike was sweating profusly and shaking violently.
"I'm so fuckin' cold. Xander I'm cold and sick."
No sooner had Xander grabbed a bucket than Spike turned his head to the side and vomited.
Having nearly nothing in his stomach, it was mostly water and bile. The power of the retching causing a strain on his back.
Bringing the quilt from his chair, Xander threw it over Spike's shivering body.
"Just hang on, Buddy. I know it's bad, but I have faith in you. You can do this."The sincerety and comfort in Xander's voice caused a whole new flood of tears to fall.
No one had ever had faith in him before. He knew he was going to feel so much worse when he failed. When he disapointed Xander.
But - maybe he could do it. Maybe.
"Listen Spike. Don't get the wrong idea, but I'm gonna lay down on the bed between you and the wall. Real easy we're gonna roll you onto your side so if you throw up again it won't twist you up.
While you're on your side I'll start working those muscles around your spine. Might hurt a little, but it will help with the swelling. You o.k. with that?"
Spike was so much more than o.k. he had no words.
All he could do was nod.
Crawling up the bed Xander eased himself down slowly. Placing one hand under Spike's shoulders, and the other under
his hips, Xander carefully rolled him to his left side.
Crying out, Spike grabbed fists full of the bed sheet. "Sorry, Spike, sorry. O.k. you're there now. Just try to relax".
Still shivering, sweating, and dry heaving, Spike had to laugh.
"Yeah, relax."
Xander joined him and the feel of their bodies chuckling together felt better to them both than either would admit.
Rubbing his hands together briskly to warm them, Xander placed both his palms flat on the center of Spike's back.
Slowly and firmly he pressed and worked his hands up Spike's back bone.He could feel the knotted muscles and massaged them in circles with his thumbs.
Moaning at the wonderful feel, Spike allowed himself to give his body over to the man behind him. Smiling, Xander continued "Better?"
Just as Spike opened his mouth to answer, his stomach convulsed again and he retched harder than before. Whimpering, he leaned back against Xander's hands.
Sympathically he answered his own question "I'll take that as a yes."
Spike smiled despite himself.
Part Fifteen
Both men stayed where they were for most of the morning. The warmth of Xander's body helped relieve some of the chills,
and slowly the heaving, subsided.
By early afternoon they had dozed off. Hoping the worst was over, Xander rose only long enough to take care of the cabin
and nature's needs.
He then allowed himself to relax and pull Spike's body back against him. Surprisingly Xander received as much comfort from the closeness as Spike did.
The relief, however was short lived. Before the sun had a chance to set Xander was awakened by Spike again screaming and wildly flailing his arms.
"Xander! Oh God Xander get them off me!"
Looking around frantically, Xander couldn't find the sources of Spike's distress. "What? What is it?"
Slapping and scratching at himself, Spike was shrieking in pain and fear as he tried to free himself from Xander and the confines of the bed covers.
"The bugs. The bugs are crawling all over me, God Xander get them off. They're biting me! Help me, please Xander, help me."
Terrified that Spike was going to cause himself serious damage, Xander immediately rolled him to lie flat on his back.
Straddling his hips, Xander grabbed his arms and held them tight against his body.
"Stop it Spike. There aren't any bugs. You're o.k."
Sobbing wildly, Spike continued to struggle. "I can feel them, Xander. Please God I need a drink. Please
Xander, please."
The sobs and begging were heart wrenching.
Xander hated himself for what he was doing. 'How could I have ever taken any satisfaction in this?' Xander was so overwhelmed with self loathing he dropped his forehead down till it touched Spike's
The strain and shame was finally too much and Xander collapsed in tears. So caught up in his own pain it took a few minutes before the sound of the soft voice crept through.
"Shhh. It's all right Xander. It will be all right."
Calming himself and lifting his eyes, Xander looked into the clear blue ones that had now regained their sanity.
Leaning down again, Xander lightly placed his lips over Spike's.
Not a real kiss, it was something less and something more. Pulling back abruptly, Xander was shocked at what he had
allowed himself to do. "I'm sorry, Spike. I don't know why I did that."
Yawning, Spike smiled weakly, "I don't know either, but I would like very much if you would do it again. Then I could
do with a drink of water, a piss, and another nap."
Gladly, Xander complied with all his requests, starting with another very soft, closed mouth press of warm lips against cool, shaky ones. A little water coming and a little more going, and Xander reclaimed his spot behind Spike on the bed.
"Xander?"
"Yes?"
"Would you rub my back again?"
Smiling broadly, Xander again positioned Spike on his side and resumed the deep muscle massage till the even breathing
signaled Spike had drifted off. Xander followed him into sleep minutes later.
Waking up first, Xander watched Spike sleep. His sleep was still restless, but not violently. Slipping out of bed, Xander went outside to piss and collect some fire wood. Taking advantage of the time alone he hustled back the path to check his much neglected still.
The fire was out, but luckily the coils were still warm. Xander drained off what was settled in the tub and put the full crocks
into storage. He still had a few days till delivery and enough in the cave to fill all his orders so he could now let it cool and set.
Even though Spike was unable to get out of bed, Xander could not risk discovery. A lot of questions about Spike still lingered in Xander's mind. Whatever had happened last night would not override his common sense.
Returning to the cabin with his arms full of wood, Xander was pleased to see that Spike was not only awake, but seemed a
whole lot stronger. "Hey, look at you. How do you feel?'
Spike smiled weakly, but his eyes were clear. "Do you want me to say I'm all better or tell you the truth? Cause
fact is I feel like shit. My head, stomach and back still hurt, and if I could get out of this bed I'd knock you in the head with one of those logs and walk to the nearest town for a bottle of booze."
Xander broke into a full on smile. "So you're better?"
"Well, I'm still alive." Spike chuckled.
"Great. Today is a big day. First you're going to eat something and drink some coffee. Then we're going to wash you up some cause gotta tell you Buddy, whew! After that we'll do another back rub. I figure a couple times a day should go a long way to ease the muscles and bring down the swelling."
By now Xander had turned his back and was busily preparing the coffee and cracking some eggs.
Frowning, Spike stared at his back. With all the pain and sickness he hadn't noticed, but now his brain was clearer and something had become blaringly apparent.
Xander's whole hoopy accent was gone.
He no longer sounded like an ignorant hillbilly. Somewhere between yesterday and this morning he had adopted an intelligent manner to his speech. This realization made Spike very uncomfortable.
Watching Xander's movement, Spike's thoughts absorbed him 'Why would a man pretend to be something he wasn't. There was only two reasons for that. Either he was ashamed of who he was or he is hiding something.' Spike knew how that applied to him, but, 'Which one of those are you, Xander?'
Deciding to try and get some answers, Spike casually laid back on the bed. "Why are you doing this, Xander? Why are you being so good to me?"
Straightening up, Xander turned to face him. "I don't know Spike. I know I couldn't just leave you out there in the woods to die. It just isn't the way people live up here. We look out for each other."
"But I'm not one of you am I?" Spike watched his face closely.
"No, you aren't. Why are you up here? Who are you and what are you looking for, Spike?" Seems like Xander had questions of his own.
"What make's you think I am looking for something? I am just a plain book salesman trying to make a sale." Spike noted that rather than get answers, he was defending himself. He was not going to let that happen. "Who are you Xander? What do you do up here?"
Both men stared suspiciously and silently into the eyes of the other.
Finally breaking the spell, Xander laughed and turned back to his cooking. "I ain't nobody, Spike. Just an ole mountain man tryin' to git by in life."
Spike's forehead wrinkled down.
That was the worst answer Xander could have given.
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