On the 18th of November 2003, I read my first Spander fic, Waiting Here by Alexandria Brown, expecting to laugh at the impossibility of those two ever working together. I had never read slash before in my life. Oh, how innocent I was.

Three parts in and I fell completely in love with the pairing, and the idea of the pairing, which meant that as soon as I finished that fic, I went trolling for more.

I've fallen in love with other boys since then - John/Rodney of Stargate Atlantis, and Sam/Dean of Supernatural - but Spike/Xander will always be my first and best love, the one that got me writing and posting fic.

So, to celebrate my fourth Spanderversary, I bring you a 'verse where Xander collects glyphs and protective tattoos that will keep him alive and safe forever so that he can be with Spike without being turned.

A story in the Protected!verse

This story Summary: Spike finds a way to keep Xander's soul (and assorted stragglers) whole and in situ, even past death.

Protected!verse

by
Darkhavens

Three Within Part 1

Xander joked his way through several games of pool and more of foosball while Spike methodically won and lost and re-won a small fortune in kittens, cold hard cash and precious stones.

Spike's main opponent waited patiently while the cards were cleared away and the winnings were stashed in various packs and pockets. When he finally spoke, the wide expanse of skin displayed between his collar and his waistband rippled rhythmically, a rainbow sheen of colour swirling faster after every word.

"Your human intrigues us, Spike. He is like unto the Raseki, an honoured state. We would wish to read his light, with your permissions, and we would make reparation for any discomfort he might suffer."

Spike paused, cigarette to his lips, flaming Zippo just a hair's breadth too far from the tip for ignition.

"Well then. And what might this 'reparation' consist of? My Xander can be a shy one around people he doesn't know, and as I recall, you Raseki are a handsy bunch. If he's gonna lie there without moving while you touch him up-"

"Spike! What the-"

"-then you need to make it worth his while and mine. I don't let just anybody touch him."

There was a clatter and a furious-sounding squawk as Xander tossed his cue away and crossed the twenty feet of barroom floor to his lover's side, trying with every step not to let his panic show.

"Spike, sweetheart, tell the big, colourful demon that I'm not for sale, okay?" He paused, thought for a moment and then added, "Or for rent. We've already had this talk, remember? I know you don't mean it, that it's just one of your jokes, but - remember why we had to have that talk? That little green guy with the walking pet mountain for a bodyguard? The one who didn't want to take no for an answer, who claimed you'd sealed the deal by blinking twice while his middle nostril was open? It took three weeks to get the smell out of your boots for good, so, please, just tell him you were joking and we can get back on the road and amscray. I hear Detroit is very beautiful this time of year."

With a snort and a roll of his eyes, Spike dismissed Xander's worry, then lit his cigarette and took a long, slow drag.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, love. Raseki aren't the least bit interested in what you've got tucked away inside them. They want to read you - your soul, your aura, your colours, whatever - want to see what your spirit's made of, don't they."

The maelstrom of colour between the Raseki demon's four black-tipped nipples swirled faster - swathes of greens and blues and greys pulling apart and merging into one another, with a single streak of violent yellow twisting through in constant roiling motion, serpentine and sinuous and never still.

"This one here"-- ash fell from his cigarette as Spike waved his hand with careless elegance--"has already noticed the hitchhikers you picked up a while ago. 'Like unto the Raseki' he said you were. Means he knows just enough to make him curious; can see you've had a spirit or two inside you besides your own."

Xander looked from Spike to the Raseki and back again, face blank.

"And being possessed once or twice makes me like him how exactly? Or am I missing something and there's another demon inside him and… Hey, is that what that spin cycle thing's about?" Xander's circling, pointing finger left no doubt about what he meant.

Spike snickered even as the Raseki nodded, one black-nailed hand resting lightly on his multi-hued chest. Xander was pretty sure the thick, curved nails didn't need a coat of NYX Black 27 to get them looking like that.

"We are three within and three without," the Raseki intoned. "Three spirits reside within this body and have learned to live as one when it is required. And as within, we join together as three without. My others will be honoured to meet a human who is likewise."

A hand with nails painted with NYX Black 27 made itself at home on Xander's left hip as the rest of Spike nudged up tight against his right.

"There's no 'three without' here, it's just me and Xan. But you got the 'three within' right. There's a bit more of the hyena left in him than he'll admit, and I know the soldier still shows his face every now and then."

Spike's hand slid round to Xander's belly, slipping up under his shirt, and began to drum a silent tattoo of nervous energy around his navel.

"If your mates are as honoured as you think they'll be, we should be able to come to some kind of arrangement. I'm trying to find a way to keep his soul tied on no matter what, and someone mentioned you might be the blokes to see."

Xander twitched at that unexpected bit of news.

"Spike?"

"Hush, love. I didn't want to get your hopes up if it all came to nothing, now did I? We've had a few too many knock backs already this year. But I figured if a Raseki got a peek at you, with the soldier boy and the green-eyed little bitch in tow, he might just want to take a closer look and we’d be in with a chance."

The Raseki pushed himself to his feet and wrapped the skin of something large, grey and hairy around his shoulders.

"Another hand you have played perfectly, Spike. Now come, both, my others await. And on the walk you must tell me why you do not seek a third to make the triangle complete. Two is such an unbalanced number, while three is sublime, unshakeable. Humans are so very strange; most incomprehensible to us."

On the short walk through the docks to the Raseki's home, Spike delighted in explaining the one on one nature of 'the human condition' - hitting on biology, physiognomy, religion, politics and gender issues, amongst others, along the way.

By the time they'd arrived at the charred, deserted warehouse that the demons called home, Xander had gone from slightly pink to fire engine red to vampire white and then cycled through the rainbow two or three times more. But he didn't once ask Spike to shut up; he knew that Spike had to work his gleefulness out of his system before the serious bargaining could begin. For the spell Spike was asking for, the Raseki would want much more than a surface skim of Xander's spirit, his psyche, his self.

Xander didn't know quite what the Raseki would want, but he felt certain that the goal was worth the price. He trusted Spike.

The door, when they reached it, was soot black and crooked, hanging heavy on one rusted out hinge. Xander was prepared to see it drop when it was touched, not to see it swing away in silence at a barely there flick of one natural black nail.

It swung closed by itself once they were all across the threshold, and then the lights came on- a hundred or more tiny spots of golden light leading out into the blackness of the empty warehouse. Spike kept a firm grip on Xander's hand.

The further away they moved from the outer walls, the less their footsteps echoed, until there was barely a muffled sound at each footfall, and the floor began to feel soft and springy.

After many more minutes than it should have taken to cross the building and come to the wall at the far end, the Raseki blocked their path and turned to face them.

"Welcome, friends, three and one within and two without. May no harm come to any of yours here."

The words seemed to act as a catalyst, turning up the lights until suddenly they could actually see the space around them.

The warehouse - wasn't there any more. Instead they were in a cave-like structure, the ceiling barely a foot above their heads and covered, like the floor and walls, in what looked and felt, to Xander's curious poking, like warm green moss.

At a gesture from the demon at their side, two others approached from the far end of the cave. They were equally colourful and made inquisitive noises at the first close-up look they got of Xander.

Heads together, the three of them rumbled, chirped and clicked their way to some sort of agreement, and then they straightened and turned as one to Spike.

"We will perform the Ba'har Dai once we have seen all that lies within the blessed human, with your agreement." They turned in unison and bowed to Xander. "And with yours, gifted one."

With a weak smile in their general direction, Xander tugged Spike back a step or two and leaned in to whisper.

"Spike? A little info might be useful just about now, like maybe telling me what the hell is going on and what the terrifying triplets are going to do to me now they've got us here? I don’t want the hyena back the way she was before, or to have soldier boy take over like he did on Halloween." He sighed at Spike's long-suffering expression. "I know, I know, you love me just the way I am, and you want to keep me this way. I know that's what this is all about, but you still need to tell me what I'm in for."

Xander glanced sideways at their audience and waved awkwardly to the placidly waiting demons who were obviously within earshot.

"I'm assuming you do know what this Bacardi thing is?"

"It's Ba'har Dai, love, and yes, I know what it is. Once they've 'read your colours' to their satisfaction, they'll give you a soul mark like theirs. It attaches your soul to your body, and it's about as permanent as it gets. I could turn you tomorrow and you'd still be you, but you'd still have a demon and I know you don’t want that." He grinned delightedly. "And the Ba'har Dai will fix those extra bits into place, too, so you can use them when you need them instead of having them pop up at odd moments."

Xander blinked innocently, and Spike sniffed derisively.

"What, you don't think I noticed you wolfing down those strips of raw steak while you were cooking up that stir-fry a month ago? I know she doesn't come out to play that often, but wouldn't you like to have her under your control, not fighting to break out and snatch a mug of my blood before you pin her down? You'll be able to use her sense of smell, her eyes, the soldier's knowledge, his training, his instincts, as easily as you use your own."

"They'd…" Xander swallowed noisily. "Really? I mean it's not like I can't cope, 'cause I can, and I have, and... and I could. But… It would be so much easier if we were all on the same side, all the time, instead of fighting for control we can never really keep."

Decision made, Xander leaned in for a quick, sloppy kiss and then turned to face the waiting trio of demons with their own form of technicolor spin cycle.

"Okay, let's do this!" He clapped. "How do you want me?"

Three Within Part 2

'How' turned out to be stripped to the waist, jeans and briefs pushed down to hang precariously off narrow hips as he was lowered into position on a cantilevered table set at forty five degrees or so. Xander was just happy to keep his feet below his head - you never could be sure with demons, especially Spike.

The straps unnerved him a little, but Spike talked long, slow fingerfucks and never-ending blowjobs until he gave in with a sigh. Five minutes later, he was almost totally immobilized, caught at ankles, knees and thighs, elbows, wrists and shoulders.

Then Spike stepped back and up to the head of the table so the Raseki could move forward and lay hands on Xander's tanned bare torso.

Xander's breath jerked in sharply as six hot, leathery hands pushed hard into defenceless flesh. Whatever words he'd been about to speak dissolved under a waterfall cascade of sounds, sensations, thoughts, feelings, images and emotions.

His whole life, each discrete experience, whirled in kaleidoscopic glory, good and bad. Everything from his birth up to the present was examined and discarded or brought closer for dissection.

The hours he'd spent as hyena meat puppet - scarlet strips of raw, ragged hunger - were delighted over, viewed from every angle and then set aside so that they could seize upon the next jewel in his memory.

The ghostly overlay of basic training, years of army service - mottled khaki streaked with gun oil grey - were untangled from the years he knew he hadn't been in uniform. They pointed out to one another similarities, disparities, and where to set the knots to keep it all in place. Then they moved back to read the rest.

Willow's unbreakable thread was traced throughout his life, from broken crayons to world-breaking bleakness and beyond. It shimmered, enticed, but they never looked closer, shying away from copper streaks so close they almost broke the surface.

Other moments of his life were paused on, rumble-chirp-clicked over. The Rakesi really didn't seem to like Faith at all, but Giles rated happy whistles and Buffy earned a three-toned hum. Angel's appearance rated something very similar to a burp.

Memories he'd forgotten he had ever made were drawn up through the murk of twenty years and more to shine anew. His first steps, his first bike, his first kiss that wasn't Willow - right through to things he wished he hadn't needed to forget.

But with every shard of memory came feelings and emotions - joy and sorrow, love and hatred, fear and bravery. An agony of asphyxia under Faith, the impotent rage inside the hyena's cage, the joy of knowing he was loved, is loved, will always be loved.

And then it was over.

Xander's eyes flew open as he tried to gasp for air though the rippling remnants of a thousand half-forgotten happenings. Spike's hands on his head calmed the urge to fight for freedom.

"Is that it? Fifteen minutes in his head enough to put you off for life, eh? Can't say I blame you. It must be like a funhouse in there, all wonky mirrors and doors that lead to nowhere and a mini full of-"

"No clowns." It was barely a croak but Xander was definite that he wasn't being accused for having clowns in his head. He shuddered as Spike petted his scalp.

"No clowns," he agreed softly. "Want a few minutes break before we move on to the body art portion of the evening, love?"

Spike was loosening the straps as he asked so Xander simply lay back and let his smile express his gratitude. And then-

"Fifteen minutes? It felt - more like fifteen hours, maybe days." He blinked. "Really, just fifteen minutes?"

"Time cannot be accurately measured within the confines of your memories, blessed one. You gave us many gifts this day. In return, we shall share a gift with you, a sacred seal from when the One became Three for the first time, back before memory."

Hot, black-nailed hands tugged him up and across to stand beneath a circlet of grass green lights. The three Raseki pressed close, arms linked to hold him still as they began to click-chirp-hum in triple harmony. He felt his feet leave the floor as they began to lift him into the light, spinning faster and faster until the world, inside and outside, became a blur.

The sound enveloped Xander, resonating deep inside his bones, setting each cell to vibrate against its nearest neighbors.

The skin across his stomach and his ribs, between his nipples, crawled and rippled, shifted, realigned, renewed. It burned and froze and ached; it made him want to scream in agony and then to laugh with joy. It hurt like fire.

When he opened his eyes again, Xander was on his back, staring up at moss green ceiling as he lay on moss green floor. He drew a slow, deep, unbelievably painful breath.

"Ow."

The single syllable felt like ragged nails being dragged across his chest, so he said it again.

"Ow."

He considered trying to stand but then rejected the idea. If breathing hurt and speaking burned then getting vertical would probably make him scream like a girl. He lay still for a while longer.

"The salve will draw out the pain in mere moments, gifted one, if you are still and breathe the rhythm of your heart."

Xander concentrated carefully on his pulse and slowed his shaky respiration to match it. The pain obligingly lessened with every double beat.

Voices mumbled in the background, too faint to pick out against the thumping of his own internal organs, but Xander knew that Spike would fill him in on anything he'd missed but really had to know.

He wasn't entirely sure just when he fell asleep but he woke to Spike's hand in his hair, scratching lightly at his nape.

"Hi."

When Xander's voice cracked, Spike produced a bottle of water from the unexplored depths of his coat. Xander chugged it down in one and sighed a thank you.

"Ready to make a move, Xan, or do you want another nap?"

This time, when Xander opened his eyes, he saw nothing of the moss green cave he'd gone to sleep in. Instead, all around them was blackness, with a single thread of familiar tiny spots of golden light leading off into the gloom towards the door, or so he hoped.

Looking down at his chest all he could see was murky shadows swirling sluggishly between his peaked nipples.

"Nah, let's go home, Spike. I want to see what my soul looks like."

The End

Series Index

Feed the Author