Road Trip!

Author's Note: In the following chapters, the timelines of these same mentioned film and television media will often bear no relation to reality (i.e., they occurred much earlier or far later than the canon BtVS timeline when Xander started on his cross-country tour after graduation which reached only as far as Oxnard in the middle of 1999). Hey, it's summertime and the livin' is easy, fish are jumpin' and the cotton is high- In any case, Xander won't particularly care or even wonder about things like that during his entirely different road trip, so why should you either?

* * *

Tears streaming down his cheeks from the heavy smoke blowing past the open driver's window, Xander kept his head stuck out this opening, frantically scanning for where he could safely pull off the road. Except, this rural highway running through the desert east of his hometown was at present built a couple feet off the barren ground, with a safety barrier on the right-hand side blocking any chance of getting out of the way from other vehicles following Xander's smoldering automobile.

It was true that right now it was the middle of the night, and furthermore he hadn't seen any lights in the car's mirror for maybe the last half hour, but this meant absolutely nothing. The way his luck was going, two seconds after stopping in the road, Xander Harris would be rear-ended by a convent school bus holding its full contingent of two dozen nuns. Next would come his appearance in court being sued by those religious ladies all wearing neck braces like penguins with whiplash. Obviously, being dead broke and unable to pay for their medical care would result in Xander being ordered by submit to a few million whacks upon his knuckles by the most muscular nun there fiercely wielding the heaviest ruler in existence.

Directly after all those absurd thoughts flashed through his mind, Xander saw with joy a road sign indicating a turn-off was just ahead-

With a soft _whump!_ sound, flames burst upwards from along the cracks of this-piece-of-crap car's hood. Just when his windshield began melting, Xander yanked on the steering wheel towards the exit road.

There was an actual second or two of going airborne by taking the downgrade much too fast. When the car's tires hit asphalt again, Xander slammed on the brakes. These gave out with disturbing finality, indicating his troubles weren't over yet. Still moving with impressive speed, the car ran off the road onto the bare ground by the highway slope. With no other recourse, Xander grabbed his backpack lying on the passenger seat, shoved open the driver's door, and abandoned his ride with alacrity.

His panicky leap sideways ended with Xander landing onto his backpack thankfully crammed with clothes. Holding onto this throughout the next multiple rollovers meant he suffered nothing worse than full-body bruising until his impetus finally ran out into a skidding halt only inches from crashing into a particularly vicious-looking cactus patch.

Xander paid no attention to the spines he'd narrowly escaped, preferring to instead suck needed air back into his panting lungs. Still face-down on the ground, this young man also ignored the loud noises beyond his stretched form of several thousand pounds of metal, rubber, and glass being abruptly compacted into something far shorter than they'd been a moment ago when his merrily blazing car then fell comet-fashion into a drainage ditch with very hard concrete walls.

Not yet aware of anything but his continued survival (and the physical agony now announcing itself everywhere), Xander was finally diverted from this by an appreciative voice from behind declaring, "That was pretty good. What's your next performance gonna have, the Wheel of Death?"

Staggering up onto his feet, Xander lurched around. He squinted through the darkness of a cloudy night sky, barely seeing another guy standing on the side road leading from the highway. Backlit by a few dim lights perhaps a hundred yards before inside some kind of structure at the end of a gravel lane perpendicular to the side road, Xander gaped at whoever had just addressed him in such an offhand manner.

Wincing at how much his head and the rest of him hurt, Xander glanced sideways at where a diminishing pyre was indicating the end of his road trip after only a couple _hours_ after leaving Sunnydale! He shakily waved the other hand not holding onto his backpack into that direction. "Hey, better call the fire department-"

"Were you the only one in your car?" interrupted the stranger.

Xander blinked. He nodded before realizing this probably couldn't be seen. "Yeah. Everything was fine until a minute ago, then it all went to hell. I was driving along, smelled smoke, saw a lot more, and it finished with my car imitating The Towering Inferno. Now, about the call-"

Another interruption followed. "No point, mister. The nearest fire engine's in town, and that's thirty miles up the road. By the time they get here, it'll be over and done with. Don't worry, there's nothing else in the ditch there to burn. How're you doing personally?"

Putting down his backpack on the ground, Xander carefully patted himself all over. He sighed with real gratitude at the end of this. "Just bumps and bruises, I think. Nothing feels like it's broken."

"Good. C'mon, follow me to my place. You can check yourself again there, and if it's anything serious, we'll get an ambulance for you." With those last words, the stranger turned around and started walking away, down the gravel path.

Shouldering his backpack, Xander went after this other man. Fortunately, his aching body stopped protesting after the first few steps. Xander even managed to shortly catch up with the Good Samaritan offering their help, ending up walking side by side with him. Looking over with natural curiosity, Xander was soon able to make out exactly whom he was accompanying the closer they got to the lights ahead.

His companion was a much-older man maybe seventy years old, or even more elderly. A very wrinkled and deeply tanned face had a snow-white short beard with matching cropped hair crowned by a battered brown Stetson hat which was tilted so far back on the rear of this man's head it looked like it'd fall off any second. This didn't occur, even with the rolling stride caused by a set of cowboy boots with faded jeans neatly tucked into the tops of this footwear. A blue, long-sleeved mechanic's shirt with a namepatch of BOB embroidered on the front pocket completed the ensemble.

Stopping in front of the structure in time with the other man, Xander stared at what could be nothing but an old-style combination gas station and garage. Though, the rusted skeletons of the gas pumps out in front indicated they'd dispensed their last drop of gasoline perhaps decades ago. Just as old looked to be the wooden fence extending into the distance from both of the garage's sides. Xander could see protruding everywhere over the top of the fence columns of stacked cars in this junkyard, many of them stripped of all their spare parts down to the metal frames.

Bob (if that was indeed his name) went ahead, entering and holding open the building's front door for Xander. Collecting himself, Xander went inside, only to stop short and gawk at what was revealed to his wondering gaze.

This was evidently the front office of a place for working on, fixing up, repairing, and otherwise bringing back to service the transportation machine known as the automobile. However, the oddest part of it all was that as far as Xander could see, nothing here looked less than fifty years old. Boxes and cartons filled with replacement components from car companies which had been outdated since the 1940's were piled high up against the walls. Magazines such as LIFE, Look, and the Saturday Evening Post were crammed into various bookshelves. Even more paper such as bills, receipts, and bureaucratic forms, all with a heavy layer of dust on these, rested upon a wooden desk in the middle of the room.

On the wall directly behind the desk, there was a framed poster with an overalled woman wearing a polka-dotted bandanna rolling up a sleeve to expose a trim bicep. In a speech balloon, this pretty but serious-faced woman was vowing, "We Can Do It!"

Xander had the weirdest thought that the poster looked like an original-

"You a Coke or Pepsi man?"

Flinching from the voice which had spoken almost directly into one ear by the man standing next to him, a bewildered Xander replied, "What?"

"Coke or Pepsi?" patiently repeated Bob, jerking a thumb at what was on either side of the room's desk. There, two small coolers stood, painted in their respective soft drink company's famous colors.

"Uh, Coke," managed Xander.

Nodding, Bob went over to the red and white cooler, lifted the lid of this, and took out a iconic wasp-shaped bottle. Letting the lid drop, Bob brought the bottle over to the cooler's side where an attached steel opener awaited him. A quick tug removed the bottle cap, and then Bob came back to casually hand over to Xander a chilled bottle with wisps of icy vapor already rising from the brown liquid inside.

Xander eagerly gulped half the whole bottle in one swallow, savoring the nectar of the gods. Exhaling a contented huff, the young man then held the bottle against his forehead, soothing the minor lump arising from the skin there which was surprisingly the worse souvenir of his recent stunt.

This self-treatment was cut short by Bob sitting down behind his desk and waving Xander to another nearby chair with the least amount of clutter. Dropping his backpack to the floor, Xander carefully cleared off his indicated seat. At last taking a load off his feet, Xander finished off the Coke he'd been holding throughout all this. He then met Bob's amused gaze, so Xander wasn't caught off guard by this man asking, "Well, what's your story, kid?"

Feeling his host did indeed deserve some kind of explanation, Xander introduced himself and then recounted how after his high school graduation only a week or so ago, he'd gotten ready for the road trip planned for years by Xander and his now-deceased friend Jesse. Despite saving for as long as he could remember for his jaunt to as much of the entire United States as he could cram into a single summer, Xander simply couldn't afford any better car than what had just crashed and burned (or burned and crashed, if you prefer) close by their garage.

"Uh-huh," nodded Bob understandingly. "Count your lucky stars, Xander. Things could've turned out a lot worse, right? Anyway, what're you gonna do next?"

Glumly, Xander answered, "Go home, I guess. There just isn't enough money for another car. I was planning to work at odd jobs along the way to pay for the trip. Best I can hope for is that my parents didn't rent out my room yet if they noticed I've been gone."

Bob frowned at this, only for his expression to slowly become quite calculating. He eyed Xander so thoughtfully that the teenager soon became uncomfortable in the total silence which had now fallen throughout the room.

This quietude was broken by Bob abruptly rising from his chair and gesturing for a startled Xander to follow him. "Let me show you something, okay? After that, you might not have to head back home, but we'll see. Oh, yeah!"

This odd announcement was accompanied by Bob enthusiastically whirling around to bustle off through a short hallway at the left rear of the room. A bemused Xander couldn't help but be drawn along, putting down his now-empty Coke on the floor, getting out of his chair, and going after Bob. All this was done while inwardly marveling how the older man's barely-affixed Stetson had still stayed on throughout everything.

Waiting for Xander at the end of the hallway, Bob opened the door there into utter blackness. Reaching inside and to the left of the inner wall, this produced a burst of brilliant illumination. Stepping forward into the large expanse there currently lit up like a hospital's operation room, this allowed Xander to also enter. A few steps inside, Xander halted in his tracks to stare in complete shock at what he had just been allowed to make his acquaintance.

"Wow. Wow. _Wow._"

The garage's main room where all the magic was performed now contained a magnificent white convertible automobile, a wee bit smaller than an iceberg, as pure as snow, and with every bit of chrome glittering brightly under the lights. The top was now down, sending Xander's eyes sliding along the graceful curves from front to rear, culminating in the most insane display of tail fins ever known to man.

Bob said with genuine reverence in his tone, "A restored 1959 Cadillac Eldorado, with everything the real McCoy. Go ahead, get behind the wheel."

Snapping his head around in astonishment, Xander protested, "I can't! It's too beautiful, I might ruin something-"

Grinning, Bob chuckled, "Oh, that's what I was hoping for! Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be careful. Do it, all right?"

With all the delicacy he could manage, Xander took hold of the gleaming door handle. After pausing to mentally promise to wipe off his fingerprints later, Xander opened the door and gingerly slid into the car's interior which seemed bigger than the entire state of Texas. Feeling himself sink into a luxurious leather seat, the teenager put his hands on top of the steering wheel. Staring ahead while imaging how unbelievable it'd be to have the wind in his hair, riding down the road in an actual Cadillac-

"How'd you like to have this car, Xander?"

Next to one of Detroit's most incredible machines, Bob was standing with both arms folded across his chest and smirking into the flabbergasted expression Xander Harris was presently showing. Bob's wicked smile only increased at the sputtering he then heard, "Don't tease me like that! There's no way I could afford it, not ever! This thing must be worth a mint!"

"Oh, at least six figures at any good auction," cheerfully announced Bob, paying no mind to how slack-jawed Xander went at this nonchalant remark. Instead, Bob then became serious.

"Look, Xander, the whole reason I restore cars is for the sheer fun of it. I love turning junk cars back into perfection, but once that's over, all I want to do is to go onto the next one. To tell you the truth, I really don't need the money. My cars are usually turned over to charities around the country, who raffle them off to the public, classic collectors, and museums. It doesn't bother me who gets what I worked on, as long as they treat them respectfully. So, here's the deal."

Xander watched in growing disbelief how Bob then produced a coin from his front shirt pocket. It was too far away to see it in detail, but this coin looked the size and color of a silver dollar. Xander then heard from Bob, "I'll flip this, and you call it in the air. If you win, the Caddy's yours, free and clear."

Now convinced something was seriously wacky in Denny's (to paraphrase Buffy), Xander wanted to know in his most suspicious voice, "And if I lose?"

"Oh, it isn't exactly losing if you guess wrong. You just don't get the car, that's all. If you want, you can also forget about betting for it, and just phone tomorrow - nobody's open now - for a taxi ride back home or to the nearest bus station. There's another alternative, though." Bob looked with twinkling eyes at a wary Xander, before continuing.

"I've been meaning the last couple of years to find an assistant and teach them what I know about restoration. If the coin says otherwise, you can be my apprentice. There's reasons why it's not as good as winning the car, however. Weeks from now, it'll get hot enough here to pan-fry the rattlesnakes. Also, I'm one cranky bastard before my morning coffee. What do you say? Need more time to think it over?"

Xander did find it necessary to take a moment for contemplation before he again regarded where Bob was steadily watching him in turn. "I can decide the last two choices anytime, right?"

Bob nodded.

"But I can also gamble for the car?"

Another nod.

With an accepting shrug, Xander decided, "Let 'er rip, Bob."

Now looking positively gleeful, Bob adjusted the silver dollar upon a clenched thumb. Keeping his eyes fixed on the coin, he asked, "Ready?"

"Ready."

Bob's thumb snapped up, sending the coin spinning into the air. When the silver dollar reached its apex, Xander opened his mouth and said…

* * *

Giving a final handshake to the teenager in his new convertible with the top still down, Bob told Xander, "There's one more thing. Now that the Caddy's yours, I hope you'll carry on one of my little traditions. Just before I send away a restoration, I give them a name. You see, I put so much work in them, it's kind of like they're my kids. Now, I haven't done it for this one yet," finished Bob, pointing at the Eldorado now glowing milky-white under the light of the half-moon overhead perfectly balanced between light and dark where the earlier clouds had since cleared.

His backpack tucked away in the car trunk, Xander looked over the windshield at the vast spread of the pale hood. His gaze then fell on the glove compartment where the new registration and title in the name of Alexander L. Harris had been placed inside a few minutes ago. Turning back to where Bob was by a purring automobile, Xander answered with a wide grin on his face, "Marilyn."

Bob laughed with sincere delight. "Ah, nobody else but Norma Jeane herself. It's perfect. Well, goodbye, Xander. Hope to see you again someday. In the meantime, have fun on your road trip!"

"I will, Bob. Thanks for everything!" said Xander just as happily. Waving goodbye, Xander next shifted into forward, released the brake and with both hands on the wheel, he drove ahead. A last glance into the rear-view mirror had Xander seeing Bob also waving farewell. After that, the teenager still congratulating himself over such a stroke of fabulous luck took the entrance to the highway, and Xander again started his tour of the country. Only this time, he was doing it in _style._

Bob watched until the very last gleam of the brake lights faded away into the distance. Only then did his Stetson detach itself from the rear of his skull and fall to the road asphalt, revealing the other face shown there scrunching up in evident exasperation. Making several spitting grimaces, this face then complained, "It took long enough! I need a Pepsi!"

Rattling sounds came from inside the garage. The front door slammed open, and two opened bottles floated through the air until they reached where Bob was standing in the road. Snatching his Coke hovering at head level, Bob drained the container all while ignoring the glugging sounds coming from behind himself.

A casual wave of Bob's hand vanished everything in his presence: the pair of bottles, the side road and its highway exit and entrance, the remnants of Xander's burned car, and finally the entire garage and junkyard. All that was left was a presumed man in his mortal clothing, who then removed a silver dollar from his front shirt pocket and held it out in the moonlight to admire it with absolute satisfaction.

This approval wasn't shared by the voice of his other self. "Are you really sure we can get away with this? The Powers That Be aren't any deities to be crossed lightly."

Bob brought to his mouth the silver dollar and gently breathed upon it. He then polished the disk against his shirt, all while sneering, "_Those_ idiots? They're so obsessed with their vampire champion and the Slayer and the Hellmouth that even before Halloween our little prophecy-breaker was mostly ignored by them all. Why else would Ethan Rayne have been able to perform his Chaos magic there in the first place? That's all it took for us to get the merest foothold in there after so many millennia of trying, and you know it! Yet, once Mr. Harris showed he was a natural leader and brought down Mayor Wilkins in his demon form while keeping human casualties lower than ever thought possible, the Powers were still perfectly happy to pay no heed to a hero going on their vision quest! All right, it's called something entirely different now than in olden times, but a road trip fits the bill just as nicely!"

"Fine, fine," grumbled the rear voice. "I have to admit, getting the defender of man to head east instead of south was a masterstroke. Why in the nine hells would anyone want him to spend his summer as a stripper, anyway?"

Bob shrugged his shoulders in honest bafflement. "You expect me to understand them? All I need to know is how to shake up things a bit so as to give Mr. Harris and his friends a potentially happier future. Considering just what the Powers have planned for those ill-fated warriors in the upcoming years, a little sand in the gears of destiny is something we owe Xander, Buffy, Giles, Willow, and all the rest to come."

The other voice nastily chuckled, "Only sand? More like the biggest wrench in the universe, jammed far up the Powers'-"

"Don't be crude," rebuked Bob, casually tossing the coin up and catching it, to repeat this process all over again.

This resulted in a jeering, "Crude, me? _You're_ the one who used something so simple as a coin bet!"

"Oh, not quite," smiled Bob, who was know by many other names including that of Janus. This god of beginning and transitions then caught the descending coin one more time, before hurling it up with all his might.

The _crack!_ of a silver dollar breaking the sound barrier overrode the lesser noise of Janus vanishing from the otherwise empty desert. It took only a few more moments for the coin to escape Earth's gravity, spinning on its axis all the way to where it disappeared into the cosmos. Should anyone still have managed to find this magical disk, they would've witnessed something very unusual: how at every spin the coin would show two sets of heads on both faces, and then at the next spin another set of two tails on the changed faces.

**2. Road Trip - Day 1**

Xander was beginning to get kind of nervous at the start of the first full day of his summer road trip after graduating high school (all while blowing it up with a demonic Mayor Wilkins inside, of course). It was just about sunrise, judging by the glow ahead at the horizon indicating he'd been driving for a couple of hours after winning this glorious 1959 Cadillac back at that California garage from its slightly strange restorer/owner several hundred miles ago in the middle of the night.

What really concerned Xander was for some reason, his car's gas gauge hadn't budged at all since then. The needle seemed to be stuck at the far side of the 'F' letter despite traveling so far, indicating he was about to run out of fuel any second now. Peering ahead in the lessening gloom of the back road among the hills somewhere in Nevada or Arizona or, hell, maybe even New Mexico, Xander searched for an open gas station where he could pull in. Considering how his new ride had been built way back when gasoline cost maybe a measly quarter a gallon, he was going to take one humongous hit in the wallet to completely fill the bathtub-sized tank up again. Not to mention that if the gas gauge was indeed non-working, Xander had to get that fixed, too.

His sour mood wasn't alleviated by finally coming across the first building he'd seen for the last fifteen minutes in the otherwise barren desert scrubland, notwithstanding that it was exactly what he needed. Beginning to slow down in preparation for leaving the road and parking into the decrepit gas station ahead, Xander couldn't see any lights or any other signs of life there. Maybe it wasn't open yet, but so what? He could wait. A quick nap wouldn't hurt, either, the eighteen year old reassured himself, noticing how heavy his eyelids felt at the moment.

That, naturally, was when it went all weird for Xander Harris, the universe's butt-monkey.

Making the turnoff, Xander's car bounced over the upraised concrete lip separating the gas station driveway from the road asphalt. He aimed the car to stop next to the two separate gas pumps, carefully adjusting for how big and long the Caddy was…and in the middle of this, his automobile came to life.

The steering wheel abruptly spun in Xander's hands, swerving towards the gas pumps. At the same time, the accelerator pedal thrust down from under his pressing shoe, completely all the way to the floor mat. With a load roar of Detroit horsepower from its engine, the Cadillac shot forwards, bypassing the gas station entirely and zooming away back out onto the road.

Xander desperately clung to the steering wheel which continued to jerk to and fro on its own under his grip. The young man's panicky gaze lifted to the rear-view mirror, quite sure that the faint shudder of the car's body just a second ago back there meant he'd sideswiped something definitely expensive by his runaway vehicle.

Except, Xander then stared in shock at what was revealed in the mirror. A horde of perhaps a dozen _creatures_ had just poured out from where they'd been hiding inside the gas station. Clad in ragged scraps of stained clothing, all of those fiends in human shape were monstrously deformed in size and limbs. Tumors and other skin diseases covered many of the warped faces shrieking in rage after their escaping prey. Crude axes, clubs, and spears were shaken with equal fury at the departing car and its passenger.

Xander looked down at where he was still holding onto the steering wheel. Ahead, the road was curving left, putting the gas station out of sight in the growing distance. With great care, Xander let go of the wheel and shifted his right foot away from the accelerator pedal which continued to provide steady power to the motor without any trouble. Ready to grab the wheel again if necessary, Xander watched with actual resignation at how the car then smoothly took the curve on its own as if on rails and sticking to the posted speed limit.

Crossing his arms across his chest, Xander contemplated some of last night's odder things he now had time to reconsider. Such as, a certain Bob guy in his isolated garage and how willingly he'd turned over to a passing motorist whose previous car had just become charcoal briquettes a fully-restored, classic 1959 Cadillac Eldorado with a simple flip of a coin.

In his most morose tone, Xander muttered to nobody in particular since he was the sole person there, "Well, looks like you can take the boy out of Sunnydale, but not Sunnydale out of the boy! Right now, I'm living the road trip dream only it's being presented by an insane combination of Stephen King and Jack Kerouac!"

The steering wheel in front of Xander went back and forth once a fraction, sending the Caddy's chromed front barely swerving across the road, almost as if it was a…headshake?

Casting a very skeptical glower at the car's hood, Xander then ventured, "Uh, was that a no?"

The road stretched out smoothly ahead, without any depressions or potholes there, yet the car bobbed its nose once.

"So that means yes?"

Another nose-dip.

"Okaaaaayyyy…" Xander drawled. He next warily asked, "Whatever happened back there, did you figure it out quick enough to keep us from meeting all those nasty people who probably weren't gonna offer me a free oil change?"

The car bounced on its front tires and then resumed its unhurried course along the road.

Xander closed his eyes, sighed, and then leaned forward to rest his forehead onto the steering wheel rim. Eventually a muffled voice said, "Thanks. Just…thanks, all right? I guess that means you're not planning to pull a Christine and have Xander-steaks for your own dinner later?"

The steering wheel indignantly twisted, jostling Xander's head off this automobile component. Rubbing at his forehead, the Scooby leaned back in his seat while protesting, "Hey, I had to be sure! Well, if you're not acting exactly like that bloodthirsty Plymouth Fury, what else fits the description of a living car who protects people-"

Stopping short in sheer incredulity, Xander gaped at the Caddy's hood. He then whispered in ensuing disbelief, "_Herbie?!_"

Another steering wheel twist was done, only this time it was accompanied by the same nose-dip as before.

Scratching his chin, Xander thought out loud, "Yes and no, right? You're kinda like the Volkswagen racecar from the movies, but you're also your own different, um, person. I can respect that, actually." With a firm nod accompanying these last words, Xander put his right hand forward and gently patted the top of the Caddy's dashboard. The teenager's next words indicated this Hellmouth native's total acceptance of the latest bizarre-to-the-max curveball life had just thrown him.

"Thanks again, Marilyn."

* * *

The leader of the small clan of feral mutant cannibals snarled out orders which caused the others of his kin to scamper back under cover inside the gas station. They could afford to wait a little while longer in the hopes of another driver soon pulling into the station, only this time there'd be no successful flight from the wave of fearsome attackers out for their next human meal. Meanwhile, before heading deeper into the surrounding hills with their sheltering caves, they could at least feast upon the corpse of the station attendant. Licking misshapen lips at the thought of fresh meat, the cannibal leader joined his family who a generation earlier had been the only survivors of a larger group elsewhere in the Nevada desert affected years ago by the government's atomic bomb tests held there.

This sizeable band had dwindled into scattered remnants since then during two bloody events when outsiders encountered the cannibals and battled for their lives against these malformed folk. Fleeing much further into the desert country, the mutants hid and eventually took up again their old ways of ambushing isolated travelers, like the one who'd just escaped them.

Going into the gas station to join his kinfolk, the cannibal leader shoved and kicked his way next to the attendant's body. Squatting there, the leader looked the food over, trying to decide if he was in the mood for a nice pair of eyeballs-

Outside, only a thin trickle of reddish liquid seeping onto the concrete ground showed where a gas pump had been shifted upon its base by the minor sideswipe done by an intelligent car mere minutes ago. Another result of this collision was how the gas pump hose with its attached nozzle was knocked nearly out of alignment from its holstered position. Indeed, it was so delicately balanced that the slightest gust of wind could finish the job.

This same gust of wind promptly came right along. With a clatter ignored by the gorging cannibals, the nozzle fell to the ground, right in the growing puddle of gasoline. Sparks where the metallic tip of the nozzle scraped against the concrete set afire this flammable liquid, and the blaze promptly disappeared into the gas pump…and the filled-to-the-brim thousand gallon tank below.

In a massive fiery explosion, the entire gas station blew to bits, taking along with it the last remaining cannibals from a horror movie and its sequel marketed under the title of _The Hills Have Eyes._

**3. Road Trip - Day 2**

Xander needed a hat.

It was something he'd overlooked while packing for his road trip back in Sunnydale. But then, Xander hadn't known in advance that a few hundred miles away and several hours later he'd wind up being the startled owner of a magnificent restored 1959 Cadillac convertible who had more than a few otherworldly surprises attached to this car. Such as, _she_ was alive.

Marilyn was also remarkably insistent that exact feminine pronoun be used in referring to herself rather than the neutral 'it' version.

Fine, Xander was more than happy to go along. He still needed a hat, all due to the fact that so far the good weather of his trip which allowed for keeping the top down while driving along was turning Xander a little sunburned around the edges. It was really shameful, how a California boy didn't already have more of a tan. Mind you, the last couple of years running around after dark in numerous graveyards and helping Buffy whittle down the Hellmouth's vampires were enough of an excuse for not soaking up sufficient daytime rays to give him the prized bronze skin tone sought after by his schoolmates.

This meant right now, Xander was wandering through a rural town's old-fashioned haberdashery store a lot more timeless and atmospheric than any Walmart would ever be. Crammed to the ceiling with male clothing for farmers, ranchers, and cowboys, Xander explored everywhere and eventually came across the store section devoted to cowboy hats. After trying out a couple examples of this headgear, Xander doubtfully regarded his image in the full-length mirror on its base in front of himself. Adjusting again what he was now wearing, Xander couldn't decide just how his Stetson should be displayed: at the back of the skull, flat on top, or rakishly titled forward…?

From elsewhere in the store, hidden in the nooks and crannies throughout, an authoritative voice drifting through the air in an older man's rumble now declared, "Push it to the back of your head and it means your digestion works, you're happy with the world and everything in it, and it's okay to approach. The hat squared on the head means that you're purposeful, actively lookin' around for whatever the day will bring. Pushed forward, it's a warning to clear a path, because you're cocked and loaded for bear."

Xander uncertainly turned in a circle, searching throughout the store, but he saw no sign of whoever'd just said that. It was still great advice though, making the teenager head towards the store's front counter while holding the Stetson he'd decided to buy.

A few minutes afterwards, Xander was sitting in the classic Caddy while making one last check of his donned hat in the car's rear-view mirror before leaving town and continuing his road trip. On the sidewalk next to the parked Eldorado, a family made its way down the path. This group consisted of a pretty woman about Joyce Summers' age and three generations of men - grandpa or older uncle, dad, and son - who were all wearing cowboy hats shoved a trifle back on their heads.

As the family went by, Xander impulsively touched a polite finger at the brim of his squared-off hat in salute to the little lady, who gave him an amused smile. The last of the family, a weathered dude bearing a definite air of 'don't mess with me' also sent towards a thrilled Xander an actual approving nod.

Xander turned the key to Marilyn's motor (which then produced an appreciative purr), backed out of the parking space, and drove on through the town. Peering from under his Stetson, Xander enjoyed the protection this hat was currently giving him from wind and sun, well glad to have shelled out the money he'd just spent.

Plus, it looked damned cool.

* * *

Author's Note: This chapter is fondly dedicated to James Garner (April 7, 1928 – July 19, 2014), a mensch's mensch. The dialogue quoted here by Garner's character may be paraphrased since I haven't seen the movie in a long time and is taken from the 1985 film _Murphy's Romance._

**4. Road Trip - Day 3**

Xander _loved_ it when the bad guys announced their vulnerabilities to the entire world by revealing what was supposed to be such a frightful name that this would immediately strike terror in the hearts of a cowering host of humanity. Instead of, say, how to take down these stupid villains with a minimum of fuss. For just one example among many others, Superman didn't expand his name to turn this into 'Superman-Except-For-Kryptonite-And-Magic'.

Case in point: He Who Walks Behind The Rows. Sheesh, bragging here? Back when his primitive ancestors hadn't yet discovered hitting each other with rocks, much less basic inventions like agriculture and the other stuff the cavemen eventually figured out, that might've actually been scary. Now, though? Get real.

Xander snickered in his car seat while Marilyn continued to plow through the collapsing cornstalks. Maintaining her graceful curve along the right-side edge of that dry plant material, the 1959 Cadillac further widened the cleared ground in some farmer's field. Xander glanced to the left at where an untouched, circular patch of upright vegetable stalks had been angrily thrashing around seconds ago, indicating something hidden inside there was throwing one hell of a temper tantrum.

Sending a very evil grin into that direction where a sullen immobility now lurked, Xander took a moment to look over the car door at the ground where continuous tire treads had flattened into the furrowed dirt every speck of maize-like material. Yep, just like he'd suspected, Marilyn had besides her other quirks of being an animated vehicle for which Xander had lately discovered an additional talent of going off-road in even quite rough terrain while giving her passenger only the mildest jouncing during this.

Or more likely, she had a really great set of shocks.

Not that Xander was going to mention this out loud to Marilyn. He had the instinctive feeling it might led to him being promptly slapped for saying that. Of course, since she didn't have hands, an equivalent punishment would be for the car to spitefully run over his foot.

Sensibly deciding keep his mouth shut, Xander instead thought about the last several rather busy hours tonight. It'd looked like a dozen others he and Marilyn already passed through in his road trip, the little Midwestern town surrounded by cornfields. Except this time, the barely-triple-digit population of this minor municipality had been slaughtered save for the town's children by a concealed monster who then turned those kids into its cult followers.

The only adult survivors had been a pair of outsiders having the bad luck to stumble across this during their own road trip. Burt and his girlfriend Vicky had been driving cross-country to Burt's new job in Seattle, only to become involved in the events which would be later filmed as the movie _Children of the Corn._ This little piece of cinema horror didn't quite end in real life as it did in the movie, though. Instead of the hero and heroine escaping with two children who didn't want to be in the town's cult while defeating He Who Walks Behind Etc., Xander had rescued them all: Burt, Vicky, Job, and Sarah, with the last two being the kids.

Taking everyone to the next bigger town where Burt and Vicky could notify the authorities about the whole ghastly situation, Xander extracted a promise from this grateful couple that they'd keep him out of it all. From the sound of things, it'd be weeks or even months before the fuss ended, and Xander just didn't want to have to stick around for incessant questioning. When asked what anyone could do about the supernatural creature still back there, Xander cheerfully admitted that Burt's previous plan before a classic convertible had unexpectedly shown up sounded pretty good to him.

Xander was diverted from his recollections by Marilyn now turning and heading right at the corn patch. The car sped so quickly that she reached and then skidded to a stop directly next to the edge of this unscathed area. A single stalk with leaves and attached ears of corn leaned over where Xander was sitting in the car. The sudden loud rustle starting at the other side of the patch and coming their way signified that He Blah Blah Blah was about to introduce itself and then have a quick double snack of man and machine.

Another sound attracted Xander's attention. A soft _tick!_ noise drew his gaze to Marilyn's dashboard, where the cigarette lighter had just popped outwards. Instantly grabbing the lighter knob, Xander yanked the short metal cylinder from its receptacle, and extended his arm to press the sizzling-hot tip of this against one of the corn stalk's leaves just inches away.

This tinder-dry substance abruptly burst into flames and then the other nearby stalks also caught on fire. Xander was then just as abruptly slammed back in his seat when Marilyn applied all her horsepower to the car's rear wheels and took off. Still holding the cigarette lighter, Xander craned his neck to see behind, where a cloud of growing smoke turned into the image of a fanged unearthly countenance grimacing in fearful agony as it now faced the prospect of actual extinction.

Giving a victorious huff onto the cigarette lighter tip, Xander carefully replaced the cylinder back into the socket. His hand then moved up and upon the dashboard, with a fond pat bestowed there along with the words, "And you thought I'd never use it, just because I don't smoke like everyone else did in the fifties!"

Marilyn uttered an amused purr among the engine noise as she got back on the two-lane blacktop and disappeared into the darkness.

**5. Road Trip - Day 4**

When they finally had the chance to talk in private, Nanoha Takamachi took this opportunity to complain about the most ridiculous part of her recent defeat in battle with another magical girl today: "It was a cat bigger than most houses who should've helped me win right away when I was riding it! But all she had to do was to aim her own wand at this animal, and it promptly fell over fast asleep! Things didn't get any better for me after that!"

The small ferret in the bedroom looked sympathetic. Yuuno the shapeshifting mage still pointed out to the annoyed nine-year-old human, "Just as you said, it's a cat. Maybe something distracted it?"

Nanoha disbelievingly regarded the person who was an archeologist from a parallel universe trying to collect twenty-one immensely powerful artifacts dubbed the Jewel Seeds. "_What_ kind of distraction? All cats do is eat, nap, and play!"

Yuuno allowed a rather thoughtful expression to then appear upon his bestial features. "I was running through the forest, so I couldn't see very much. However, I sensed another surge of magical energy exactly like the time when the cat encountered the Jewel Seed we were searching for and used it to grow much larger than before. It's possible the cat wanted something else and the Jewel Seed also provided it. Nobody's really sure of those devices' capabilities, or even if they have any limits. When our new opponent neutralized your mount, whatever the sleeping cat wished for probably vanished at the same time, which is why we didn't find any evidence of it afterwards."

The wielder of an amazing magical wand called Raising Heart brooded for a minute or so over what she'd just been told. At last, Nanoha said in a very grudging tone, "Oh, all right, but let's hope it doesn't happen again. It was so undignified!"

Stuck in his ferret form due to previous injuries and growing increasingly sick and tired of having to stay on guard against those pouncing felines, Yuuno agreed, "Cats might seem soft and cuddly, but they're really monsters in little fur coats."

* * *

Xander didn't relax at all until he'd driven at least twenty miles away from the outskirts of the tiny Kansas city and there weren't any signs of police pursuit in Marilyn's rear-view mirror. Sure, it was likely nobody had even noticed he'd been there in the first place, what with him the only one around at the time near the open-air gazebo holding the roadside attraction Xander had stopped to sightsee during his road trip.

Well, he'd gotten more than an eyeful, you bet. That…incident…Xander had the misfortune to lately witness prior to hurriedly getting out of town had to be one of the most bizarre magical events he'd ever experienced, well matching any of his Sunnydale hometown's weirder go-rounds.

Now…it was time to think about the really important stuff, such as, could he be blamed for it? Xander just couldn't reasonably imagine any way for him to be actually responsible for that town back there losing its biggest claim to civic fame, but that might not prevent this place's residents in considering him to be in some fashion totally guilty, regardless.

Nope, best to just discreetly withdraw. It couldn't hurt either to also thank God that any other onlookers seeing him leave had to admit even with the vast storage area provided by Marilyn's trunk and rear seat location combined, it was obviously impossible to him to have driven off with the now-missing roadside attraction stuck in there as an actual souvenir.

Motoring through the Kansas countryside, Xander still had to wonder if that was the whole reason for the entire supernatural gonzo-ness which had taken place mere minutes ago and now probably had the entire population gathered and staring in shock at an empty space under the gazebo. It'd probably be explained away by them as some sort of mini-tornado which had sneaked up on everybody and carried off their pride and joy. Of course, they'd have to come up with a really big whopper to justify the nearby cat tracks, all the size of a washtub…

Shaking his head, Xander pressed the Caddy's accelerator pedal and with grim determination, he increased the growing distance from Cawker City, Kansas. A final comment from Xander was next heard by Marilyn wondering what was going on, "Honey, it's all their fault, you know. They should've known better, building the largest ball of twine in the world and not expecting some kitten the size of Dodger Stadium to steal this and then happily play with the best toy ever!"

* * *

Author's Note: No actual balls of twine were harmed during the making of this story. Residents of Cawker City can therefore rest easy.

**6. Road Trip - Day 5**

It all came down to three choices now: east, north, or south?

Sprawled out on a park bench at a humid, tree-lined Missouri overlook in the middle of the state by the banks of an historic waterway which was part of the nation's soul, Xander knew he had an important decision to make. After days of driving, this teenager finally reached one of the main goals of his road trip. Ever since reading in school the adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn as written by Mark Twain, Xander always wanted to see for himself the Mississippi River.

Well, here he was, and it looked really impressive, nicely living up to his dreams. Maybe not wider than a mile like in the song, but it was still pretty big and very picturesque. In fact, the Mississippi was making Xander contemplate changing his travel plans. He'd previously thought about continuing in his course of driving straight east until Xander ran into the Atlantic Ocean. Except, there was nothing which said he had to do exactly that.

The more he thought about it, Xander liked better and better the new plan of exploring the Mississippi River, one side or the other whenever he wanted. The only question was, did he go upstream or downstream?

South sounded good, especially if he wound up nowhere else but New Orleans, the Big Easy. Xander always thought that Louisiana city would be an interesting place to visit, and now this was his chance. Not that he categorically had to go there, of course. That left the other direction, towards…um…St. Louis, right. It was maybe a hundred miles north at the most, plus there was that honkin' great arch to stare at and send a few postcards about to Buffy and Wils marking Xander's latest tourist stop.

Thinking about his Sunnydale girls made Xander suddenly realize he had to consult with someone else regarding this change in his road trip plans. Straightening up from lying on the park bench, Xander sat there to gaze at where Marilyn was placidly parked a few steps away.

Taking a moment to check the vicinity and be reassured nobody was around to see the crazy kid talking to his car, Xander called, "Hey, Marilyn, how do you feel about making a detour?"

The 1959 Cadillac's headlights turned themselves on, easily seen in the shadows cast by the overhead canopy of the nearby trees. This action meant Marilyn was listening and paying attention, as Xander had learned by now. Encouraged, Xander went on while jerking a thumb toward the Mississippi flowing on its way to the Gulf of Mexico, "See, I figured traveling along the river for a while, checking things out and seeing new places. That okay with you?"

Marilyn's headlights brightened once and then flickered back to their former level of illumination. Yep, she seemed fine with it, so Xander proposed the next important question. "Any preference which way we go? North or south?"

The Eldorado's left headlight promptly turned itself off, leaving the other one still lit. Xander frowned, not understanding what this meant. Let's see, she was parked facing the river, so the right-hand side is-

"North? You want to head north?"

This produced the next instance of both headlights displaying for a second their high beams. A bemused Xander still had to ask, "Why?"

Another exhibition of Marilyn's sentient control over the vehicle's body came with a abrupt hiss and a small cloud of steam arising from the top of the radiator cap. Xander boggled at such an odd display and then sat there trying to work out what she was trying to say. He absently rubbed the back of his right hand against his damp forehead to get his brain in gear, only to stop short. Bringing down the same hand to gawk at the beads of sweat on his skin transferred there, caused in the first place by the rising humidity of their location, Xander exclaimed, "Too _hot_ to drive south?"

Marilyn's headlights dimmed in what had to be nothing but a slow blink of concurrence.

Leaning forward to peel off the back of his shirt sticking to the upper part of the park bench, Xander had to agree. "Okay, honey, north it is! We'll head upriver until we find cooler weather, and see how things go then, all right? Might as well start now, anyway."

Marilyn happily started her motor, ready to be on the road again.

* * *

So, naturally, the next couple of hours had Xander driving _west._

It was all due to Marilyn out of the blue becoming absolutely resistant to going anywhere near St. Louis. Just why this was so for her wasn't possible for Xander to understand, not when the sole recourse was to play the twenty questions game with his stubborn car while surrounded by freeway traffic. Xander soon grumpily bowed to the only possible alternative by making a big loop around that town's location, retracing his travels by heading again as far west as necessary until Marilyn came out of her sulk and then up north and back east to the Mississippi once more, all avoiding the Gateway Arch city.

Considering just two minutes ago was the last time he'd attempted a right turn and in retaliation Marilyn displayed her intransigence by turning off the mysterious screen over the open part of the convertible which ordinarily prevented airborne road bugs from splatting into Xander's face, this teenage male just kept on driving down the freeway. Spitting out the remainder of a very thick cloud of gnats, Xander balefully regarding the station wagon he was overtaking. At least that slower driver was properly in the far right lane, where he belonged, but he was occasionally weaving slightly in there as if making up their mind to change lanes. That jerk _better_ not cut in front of him. Xander simply wasn't in the mood.

This specific other driver was also in a very sullen frame of mind. His wife Ellen didn't have to treat him like the kids in back who'd totally gotten on her nerves. It wasn't his fault that last night they'd gotten lost in St. Louis and barely escaped with their lives from that rundown neighborhood filled with vandals and other criminals! And then, just seconds before, she'd caught him harmlessly flirting with a beautiful blonde in her equally spectacular Ferrari, right before that hot woman zoomed off ahead and out of sight.

Turning his head slightly to get out of Ellen's line of sight, Clark Griswold brooded even more about how his family wasn't treating their summer vacation road trip with all the respect it deserved. So Ellen thought he shouldn't have acted so inappropriately with a little inoffensive hanky-panky with a total stranger? Well, she was lucky he hadn't done _this!_

Puckering up his face in the most affectionate smooch he could manage, Clark twisted his neck to stare right into the astonished gaze of the young man driving a classic car next to the Griswold station wagon and looking right back at the father caught acting so tastelessly behind his steering wheel.

Too stunned to react at how the car next to him had just slammed on their brakes and slowed far behind himself, Xander instead disbelievingly told a startled Marilyn, "Did that dude just come on to me?"

**7. Road Trip - Day 6**

Okay, so the town of Hannibal, Missouri, was determined to wheedle out every single dollar from the wallets of the numerous tourists who visited the place where one of America's most famous writers had grown up. Xander Harris had absolutely no problems with that. He cheerfully trekked throughout the whole town, visiting Samuel Clemens' boyhood home, the house where the girl who'd been the inspiration for Becky Thatcher had lived, and snatched up several postcards of these locations to send back to Sunnydale. It was all Xander could afford with his limited budget, anyway.

To be fair, with far deeper pockets this visitor from California would've willingly shelled out even more hard-earned lucre at the town's shops for such fun souvenirs as the Mark Twain bobblehead doll.

Xander nevertheless prudently held back a couple bucks for admittance to a place he'd been looking forward to ever since finding about it hours ago in the tourist center here. And now, he along with several other members of their small group, were about to tour the Mark Twain Cave which had provided the real-life inspiration for a honored 19th-century novelist putting down the adventures of Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher lost inside this pitch-black underground labyrinth with its cramped, uneven trails.

A few minutes into his tour, Xander found out the cave was now fairly well-lit and had smooth floors. It was still quite narrow, with rough walls possessing rock-hard protrusions. Xander learned this the hard way, when walking along at the back of their group, he incautiously turned his head and gave himself a truly painful whack with his skull against a wall.

Feeling white spots flash behind his now-shut eyes and his legs become wobbly, Xander stumbled sideways, blindly outstretching his arms to keep from crashing into the opposite wall. His fingers touched bare rock and the teenager stopped to take several deep breaths until his head stopped throbbing. Opening his eyes again, Xander stared into absolute blackness.

Cursing to himself, Xander thought he must've wandered a few steps into an unlit nook of the cave. He turned around, but there was no trace of the illuminated section only a few seconds' walk away. Fumbling in his pants pocket, Xander pulled out the keys to his car. On this key-ring, Xander had attached a few useful items, such as a mini-flashlight oval in shape and operated by a clicker. Pressing the flashlight button, Xander saw by this produced brightness the confirmation he was in an unused part of the cave. Its natural appearance looked like it must've been ever since the glaciers had retreated towards the North Pole at the end of the last ice age.

Straining to hear anything which might led him into the proper direction to catch up with the tour group, Xander eventually caught the faintest sounds of human conversation deeper down the unimproved path. It must run alongside the original trail which he'd left by accident, so Xander kept his flashlight on and strode forwards.

A minute or so later, Xander stopped short at the opening of a good-sized space which had been completely dark until he was now shining his flashlight into this. Just like the passageway behind Xander, the room seemed to be completely untouched by human hands. Xander was about to enter the new room, until he saw at the other end a pair of lights coming towards himself. Pointing his flashlight to the ground to check this wasn't some trick of his vision, Xander thankfully realized those lights were bona fide and…a lantern and a flaming torch?

Staying where he was, Xander gaped at seeing two kids in very old-fashioned clothes walk into sight. One of the children was a boy maybe ten or eleven, freckle-faced and with curly hair, holding his torch with one hand while he held hands with the other adolescent. This girl about the same age as her companion tightly gripped the boy's hand while swinging the glass lantern dangling from her other side. The lantern's candle weakly illuminated the fact this girl was wearing a yellow dress dating from the pre-Civil War era.

A relieved wide smile breaking out on his face, Xander understood now who those kids were. He'd actually seen others like them before, back in Hannibal. All of those kids also clad in old-time duds were re-enactors of Mark Twain's famous characters of Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher, dressing up for the tourists to take snapshots as mementos of their visit to this historic Missouri town. Here in this cave, though, those specific actors must be portraying their adventure lost underground and being stalked by Injun Joe. The tour guide hadn't said previously anything about it, so this must be a surprise for the group as part of the whole cavern experience.

Beginning to open his mouth, Xander hastily closed it before actually calling out to those kids now passing by to the other end of the room. They obviously hadn't noticed him hidden in the darkness, and if he startled them by accident, it might turn out badly with one or the other dropping their antiquated torch and lantern and risking getting burned by this. No, it'd be best to wait a couple seconds and then discreetly follow the kids when they caught up with the tour group and commenced their performance. It might turn out that nobody had even noticed Xander was gone until he rejoined them.

Nodding in agreement, Xander waited until the kids had left the room with the light they'd brought along fading out after them. When he felt it was time, Xander took a step forwards into the room, bringing up his mini-flashlight during this-

Once again, Xander bashed the _other_ side of his head against an unseen rock ledge.

The feeling was all too familiar now but still not appreciated, with the same pinwheeling fireworks and weakness of the knees bestowed onto Xander. Lurching away from that damn wall which just ambushed him, Xander grumpily rubbed the lump currently forming under his scalp and blinked at where he'd stumbled to. Clicking off his flashlight, Xander's grouchy mood improved slightly at seeing the constant radiance of an electric light bulb past the other end of the room.

A minute or two later, Xander slipped into his former position at the back of the tour group. As the teenage had foreseen, nobody mentioned the short time he'd been gone. Xander eventually spent the rest of the tour listening to their guide and being shown throughout the cave along with the others accompanying him.

One thing never happened, however, causing Xander at the end when the rest of the group had left by the cavern's exit to ask Harry (as per his shirt nameplate), "Say, was there supposed to be a scene where we met Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher here?"

"What?" replied a confused Harry. "No, why?"

Now Xander was just as baffled. "Uh, I thought there'd be a version of Mark Twain's book for us tourists to see up close and personal how the characters would act out them being lost and chased by the bad guy."

Harry shrugged thoughtfully. "Sure, that's been done once in a while, but not for at least a decade now. Might be a good idea to start it again, if that's what you and other people expect. Thanks for the suggestion, and I hope you had a fine time here in Mark Twain's Cave."

After that, a quite puzzled Xander walked back to the nearby parking lot where Marilyn was waiting. He eventually muttered under his breath along the way, "Maybe it was a practice run-through and Harry didn't get the word yet? Oh, well, at least you got to see for yourself first. It'll be a great thing to watch when it starts for real. That little girl in her outdated dress, she was a dead ringer for Jodie Foster from the _Tom Sawyer_ musical film back in the early seventies."

**8. Road Trip - Day 7**

He had a cunning plan.

After a leisurely day spent following the upstream course of the mighty Mississippi River while staying on the west bank of this grand waterway, Xander was now about to leave Iowa and enter the fine state of Wisconsin, America's Dairyland. A confident explanation to Marilyn that instead of going further north it was time to head east again should sufficiently lull her suspicions. When they reached the obstacle of Lake Michigan, it'd only make sense to follow the lakeshore south and then finally have their way clear to drive straight into the sunrise and the Atlantic Ocean almost a thousand miles ahead.

Yeah, Xander thought he could get away with it. The fact that this journey would take them directly through the big city of Chicago was just a minor detail. By the time they arrived in Chicago, it'd be too late for Marilyn to do anything else but to pout about her extreme dislike regarding municipalities larger than a hundred thousand people or thereabouts. Sheesh, so bigger places with all those skyscrapers, masses of people, and other cars crowding the streets actually made her whitewalls itch?

His classic Caddy could just suck it up and drive him there. Xander might've given in both previously and in the future about tolerating Marilyn's specific quirk concerning these expansive conurbations, but not this time. Chicago was one part of his road trip that he was totally determined to visit.

Wrigley Field.

Authentic deep-dish pizza.

Navy Pier.

And especially that great fountain exuberantly shooting jets of water at the start of his favorite Fox tv show, _Married…with Children._

Xander firmly nodded to himself while driving on the rural road towards the Mississippi a few miles ahead. If it ever became necessary, he'd lay down the law-

Unconsciously taking his foot off the accelerator, Xander gawked with sudden surprise at what was now revealed a few hundred feet beyond the low ridge in the road he'd just passed over. Marilyn lessened her speed even down further in her own bemusement. In spite of this, the Cadillac and her passenger began to overtake what was also motoring along the road. It wasn't difficult, not when that other…vehicle was moving no faster than a walking pace, at the most.

Frowning, Xander glanced at the rear-view mirror. There weren't any other cars coming up from behind, but this could change any second. A quick thought went through Xander's mind. There hadn't been any reason for this before, so he wasn't sure where to find a certain switch on the instrument panel and he definitely had no idea if she could do it on her own, but there wasn't any other choice.

"Marilyn, can you start going either your turn lights or headlights and brake lights on and off, and keep doing that, flashing them?"

The car dipped her nose once and further decelerated even more. Peering at the instrument panel, Xander saw the turn signal indicators began to operate. Looking past the windshield, he could also see how even in the daylight the road surface was regularly brightening and dimming, indicating the headlights were running at full blast.

"Great!" Carefully pulling out into the middle of the road, Xander next overhauled with agonizing slowness a decrepit two-wheel trailer holding several boxes and crates covered with a green tarpaulin barely stirring in the faint breeze caused by what was towing this trailer. Staring in utter fascination, Xander ignored the rack of deer antlers attached to the upper front of the trailer, to instead regard with wondering eyes a very strange machine and its equally odd driver.

Wearing a battered cowboy hat and an ancient red hunting jacket with black striping, their elderly owner also possessed straggly white whiskers matching his thinning hair under this worn-out headgear. At the moment, he hadn't noticed Xander, with his attention presently fixed upon the road ahead where he was steering a dinky little green John Deere tractor, perched atop a miniscule seat all the while.

This bizarre means of transportation obviously didn't belong on the public roads, or even anywhere but an extremely small front or back yard to carry out its usual task of mowing the lawn in about five minutes or less. _Far_ less.

Just when Xander was thinking this, he must've been seen out of the nearest corner of the old coot's eye, since the man then turned his head to blink at where a magnificent Eldorado was now matching the tractor's slow progress. The first admiring words which Xander and Marilyn next heard from their new acquaintance were, "Sonny, that is one damn fine car."

"Thanks," Xander managed. He examined with some misgivings the guy still appreciatively viewing Marilyn, since an uneasy thought had just arisen in Xander's mind. But…no, there might be some points of resemblance, yet on the other hand this dude definitely wasn't Bob from California whom a mere week ago had given Xander his new car with a mind of her own. Good, life in Sunnydale was wacky enough for Xander that he didn't need any more weirdness, like…a guy riding a lawn tractor down the road.

It all produced from Xander an impulsive, "Hey, mister, what's the deal? You taking your trailer somewhere?"

"Oh, sure," answered the amiable oldster who was now used to this kind of curiosity from others. "Heard a while ago that my brother's sick, so I got on my tractor and headed to see him again across the state line in Wisconsin. It isn't much further now."

Glancing around at the deserted farmland surrounding them without any nearby houses, Xander risked a further question, "You live here?"

Casually jerking a wrinkled thumb over his shoulder at the road behind them, the other man replied, "Nope, a tiny place called Laurens, about two hundred miles back."

"Two…hundred…" was all Xander could repeat in his strangled tone, accompanied by the steady chuckling of someone else enjoying very much this kid's dumbfounded reaction. Only when catching sight of what was now ahead did this laughter end, with the older man pointing a finger ahead.

"There's the bridge over the Mississippi I'm gonna take. You want to do me a favor and escort me across? Some of those bridges are one lane only, and I don't feel like getting hit by some oncoming car not seeing me in time."

Still more than a bit taken aback by this grandfatherly dude driving completely across Iowa by means of nothing but a toy-sized tractor and hauling a trailer to boot, Xander speechlessly nodded. However, before he pulled away, the teenager remembered his manners. "Sure, no problem. I'm Xander Harris, by the way."

"Glad to meet you, uh, Zander. My name's Alvin Straight."

Fifteen minutes later, Xander was watching in Marilyn's rear-view mirror a wonderful expression of triumphant delight appear on Mr. Straight's lined face when he looked up at the steel trusses of the Mississippi River bridge they were both driving over, with Xander and Marilyn about fifty feet ahead. It took a little while longer until the two vehicles were completely off the bridge, but when this happened, Xander followed his acquaintance's instructions to the letter for after this was done.

Speaking to Marilyn, Xander ordered, "Okay, you can turn your lights off." Checking the instrument panel again, he watched how the turn signals stopped flashing. Glancing into the mirror again, Xander saw how Mr. Straight was waving his cowboy hat in thanks and also a clear order to shoo along back into their own travels. Gripping the brim of his Stetson he was also wearing, Xander pulled his hat off while twisting around in the front seat. Knowing Marilyn would be keeping an eye out for approaching vehicles, Xander had no problem with giving his own eager goodbye wave to the guy back there.

Xander easily saw the accepting smile from Mr. Straight, and then the younger man clapped his cowboy hat back on and returned to the normal driver's position. Grasping the steering wheel with both hands again, Marilyn smoothly accelerated ahead at Xander's press of the gas pedal. In a few seconds, a very remarkable determined individual with his unusual means of transportation was left behind.

A couple of miles down the road, Xander announced apropos of nothing, "When I grow up, I wanna be like him."

Marilyn hummed an agreeable growl from her engine, and the pair continued with their road trip.

* * *

Author's Note: The crossover is with David Lynch's film _The Straight Story,_ not the real-life person with the name given here who actually drove 240 miles across Iowa into Wisconsin on a lawn tractor in 1994 to meet with his brother.

**9. Road Trip - Day 8**

Parked along a suburban side street somewhere south of Kenosha, Wisconsin, Xander kept his arms folded across his chest while he glared at the Caddy's instrument panel. There were glints of light on the faces of the instrument dials that indicated Marilyn was glaring back at him in her matching full stubborn measure. At present, both travelers from California were having their first serious quarrel over where to next head towards on Xander's road trip.

Marilyn did _not_ want to go to Chicago, and Xander _did,_ especially with that place now just fifty miles or so away with all its tourist spots he'd been looking forward for the last couple of months to visit and have fun there.

This, in Marilyn's opinion, mattered not a single street asphalt's greasy oil stain. She detested big cities, plus the 1959 Cadillac was also feeling honestly betrayed at Xander's sneakiness which ended up with them having no choice but to go south to Chicago or take another day-long detour driving around there. Neither would budge in their standoff, so they'd spent the last few minutes in a shared, tight-lipped sulk.

The angry silence between Xander and Marilyn was suddenly broken by someone nearby asking, "Hey, mister, you want to make a few bucks?"

Jerking his head around in surprise, a startled Xander then heard and saw on the sidewalk how two young guys about his age gleefully chorused in unison, "Bow-chicka-wow-wow!"

That was followed by this unknown pair laughing their heads off while pointing at a third teenage male who was giving them both a very disgusted look. His annoyed expression deepened even further when one of the other boys managed to gasp through their incessant giggling, "Forman, you could've said that different, you know? Instead, he's thinking you made him an offer right out of a queer porno movie!"

"Shut _up,_ Hyde!" the fresh-faced, extremely skinny kid snarled at the teenager possessing a mini-Afro hairstyle and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt now leaning onto his other friend with male-model-handsome features while they both tried not to collapse with mutual mirth onto the sidewalk.

"What's going on?" was next uttered by one of three more teenagers simultaneously joining the conversation and also the group standing by Marilyn.

Xander blinked in his growing confusion when a smokin' hot redhead girl now sent a bright smile at the guy wearing a cowboy hat sitting in the great-looking old car with its top down. Next to the redhead was a more petite brunette young lady who had a rather bored look on her beautiful face. Trailing along after was another guy with darker skin than the other more pale teenagers. In his position behind the girls, this person from sunnier climes was furtively taking the opportunity to check out their very toned butts.

Mini-Afro snickered, "Forman blew it like usual-" At that point when realizing what he'd just said, he and the pretty-boy dude cracked up again, staggering a few steps away while holding their ribs aching from prolonged hilarity.

Giving those guys with dirty minds a dismissive look, the redhead girl lifted an eyebrow towards the skinniest kid there. "Eric?"

Throwing up his hands in evident exasperation, Eric said defensively, "Let me try again, okay, Donna?" He then faced Xander who was warily waiting. "Um, I saw your great car, and the idea hit me right away. There's a veterans parade here in Point Place today, and my dad was going to be on a float with other guys who served. I thought it'd be a lot cooler for him to ride through the parade with Mom in their very own classic car rented from you for a couple hours. What do you say?"

The redhead apparently called Donna looked impressed. "That's a terrific idea, Eric!" She glanced at where the owner of the pure-white Cadillac automobile with the amazing tail fins hadn't yet decided by saying yes or no, appealing to him, "Please, how about it? If you don't want anyone else driving your car, you could join the parade yourself as the chauffer!"

Xander was actually considering it. He shot a quick gaze at the instrument panel. These gauges had dimmed back into their usual less bright shine, indicating Marilyn had put on hold for now her previous bad temper and was also in favor of Eric's suggestion. That mostly made up Xander's mind. They both needed some time to cool off before it was settled about going to Chicago or not. Plus, being in a parade where Marilyn would be admired by all couldn't hurt either in their upcoming renewed intense discussion.

There was one question bothering him, though…

"Why's there a veterans parade this Monday, anyway? It's too early for the Fourth of July," came from a curious Xander, directed to nobody in particular of the group.

Mini-Afro explained in an extremely cynical voice, "For some reason, we're supposed to go all out here for Flag Day in June, putting up flags and doing other patriotic junk. The adults seem to think us kids should be part of it, no matter how much we'd rather do something else. It's a Point Place thing, I guess."

After those last words, every teenager on the sidewalk nodded simultaneously, bearing upon their young faces the truly resentful expressions which clearly indicated they knew this was the most boring spot on earth and they were counting every second until the opportunity came for them to leave forever. Xander had to stifle a grin. So far, all he'd bothered to notice of this burg of the short time he'd been here was a location seemingly stuck in a time warp causing every resident and their homes to look at least twenty years out of date. However, if you changed the word 'boring' into 'terrifying' for that last opinion, the exact same thing could be said for his Sunnydale hometown.

"Okay, you're on, guys, but I'm not doing it for free. How much money are we talking here for gas and my time?"

Eric began promptly digging through his pants pockets, also announcing to the group at large, "Get ready to pony up, people."

"Hey!" This indignant yelp came from pretty-boy. "It's _your_ dad and _your_ idea, Forman! Why do I need to fork over anything?"

After extracting several dollar bills from her jeans, Donna sardonically asked, "Kelso, how many days this week alone have you mooched a meal from Eric's mom? Or stolen one of Red's beers out of the garage? Besides, the next time you screw up and get him mad, Mr. Forman might kick your ass a little less higher if he knows you helped Eric with the parade car."

Grumbling about the injustice of it all, Kelso went through his pockets with reluctant fingers. In the end, this good-looking teenage male did indeed donate to the parade fund. However, this extremely minor charitable act was performed among the other introductions made by the rest of the Point Place natives to Xander during their own monetary contributions, demonstrating that Kelso had been hoping to get away with something.

It was not to be. Jackie, the smaller of the two girls, sniffed disparagingly at what her keen gaze had revealed to her right away of the stack of currency and coins totaling $42.17 deposited into Xander's cupped hands. "_Really,_ Michael? A Canadian dime? Do you have to show everybody again that you're a total cheapskate, just like when we were dating?"

Kelso sent an absurd, intermingled defensive and innocent expression back at where they were all disapprovingly regarding him. "Hey, he's from California!" This was accompanied by an indignant point of his finger at an amused Xander tucking away his collected parade fund save for the useless coin.

Eric wearily asked for them all, "What does that have to do with anything?"

Now seeming quite sure of himself, Kelso explained, "California's part of Mexico, so if my dime isn't good here, there'll be no problems with spending it there!"

After a necessary couple of seconds to re-engage their brains from the seizure caused by Kelso's latest display of absolute idiocy, the rest of the group piled into the Cadillac. A mischievous Donna breathing into Xander's ear told him where to go to collect some red-white-and-blue bunting for decorating his car. Turning on Marilyn's engine, this classic automobile then pulled out into the Point Place avenue.

* * *

A short time afterwards, Red Forman dressed in his ceremonial Navy uniform and garrison cap he was allowed after his honorable discharge from serving in two wars now balefully glowered at the chief disappointment of his life, otherwise known as Eric Forman. "Fine, we're ready to go. Do you actually have a reason for keeping us here instead of being at the parade, or are you being a dumbass as usual?"

"Red, honey," came the cleared throat from his wife Kitty wearing the blue nurses' outfit she'd been issued at San Francisco in the last year of the war to treat the wounded from the Pacific theater. She looked anxiously back and forth from her husband to her son, praying this wouldn't turn into another family disaster today.

Smirking at his father, which only sent Red's blood pressure skyrocketing further, Eric turned from where he was standing on their house's front lawn, and waved. At the corner further down the street, Steven Hyde with his curly hairstyle thoroughly disapproved of by Red waved back and then did it again, but this time to someone out of sight in the cross street.

Seconds later, even Red gawked at what then came driving into view. It was a magnificent 1959 Cadillac Eldorado whose glowing white paint scheme and shiny chrome were only heightened by taped patriotic bunting stretching along the sides, hood, and trunk. Smoothly coming to a halt by the curb in front of their home, a stranger perhaps a couple years older than Eric hopped out of the driver's seat. Coming to a semblance of attention, this unknown young man deferentially opened the passenger door facing two startled adults and one teenager laughing like a loon.

Looking like he was about to hit somebody, Red demanded, "What the hell's going on?!"

Giving a wry stare towards where Eric had just sat down on the front lawn while still giggling, the stranger introduced himself. "I'm Alexander Harris, sir, ma'am. Your son hired me to drive you both in my car in the parade. It'll be starting soon, so if you'd please step in now…" Trailing off, Mr. Harris held out a hand to where Kitty was beaming in sheer delight.

Exclaiming to her astonished husband, "Isn't this just nice? Eric, you're so wonderful!" Kitty rushed over to where this darling baby boy was on the ground and leaned down to grab him by her thumb and forefinger clutching both cheeks. With no chance to escape, Eric then received a thorough Mom-kissing that left him spluttering. Once she was finished, Kitty let go of a thankful Eric and rejoined Red who was bestowing upon the other teenager a very suspicious frown causing wrinkles all the way up his balding skull.

Xander then heard from the irascible older man, "Paid chauffer, my ass! I wouldn't put it past Eric and his little gang to pull a prank that'd end up with us stuck at the town dump! Why should we believe you?"

Calmly looking up and down the man berating him, Xander then recited, "Chief Petty Officer, Bronze Star, Navy and Marine Corps Medal, Navy and Marine Corps Commendation Medal, and last of all, submarine dolphins on your garrison cap."

"What?" gaped Red at the young punk who'd correctly identified all his insignia and decorations. Trying to come up with how this was possible, the WWII and Korea veteran muttered, "You're sure as hell not in the military, kid…or, are you?" This was accompanied by another skeptical glare from Red.

Xander shook his head. "No, sir, but I was once honored by spending some time in the company of a genuine wartime hero. He taught me how to recognize and respect the awards given to those who'd proudly served our country, Chief." That unconscious use of a navy nickname, along with the absolute truth of his tone couldn't help but to convince Red that maybe this guy was for real. And indeed he was, due to ever since Halloween several years ago some of the odder and less useful effects of his soldier possession had remained, allowing Xander to unhesitantly reel off reams of military trivia, all correct to the last detail.

"Well, okay," grudgingly acknowledged Red. He glanced over at where Eric was smugly regarding them all. Another and just as unwilling admission followed, "Thanks from your mother and me, son."

Eric then grinned from ear to ear at this rare appreciation from his father. He watched how his parents got into the car, with Xander closing the door after them. Next came this other teen slipping into the driver's seat to turn the engine on and get ready to leave. A goodbye wave from both Xander and his mother was made, along with a stiff nod from Red which made it all worthwhile.

* * *

Several hours later, after a very pleasant time was had by all, Xander in his position of relaxing behind Marilyn's steering wheel asked, "Red, are there any rental places near here? I need to get another car for visiting Chicago."

Standing in the side driveway where the Cadillac was parked next to the Forman's personal vehicle, Red finished his beer and looked puzzled at where Xander was sitting after dinner. He jerked his chin towards Xander's classic automobile, "What, you thinking some dumbass there might steal or damage this beautiful lady when you're doing the tourist bit? Yeah, there's a few in Point Place…but, nah, save your money." Red then grandly gestured at where Eric was at the moment walking along the driveway, taking a bag of kitchen trash to the garage garbage cans. Freezing like a mouse who'd just had a hawk's shadow pass over him, Eric waited with bated breath for something he was convinced wouldn't be good.

In his unique mood of authentic geniality created by an afternoon spent in the company of a young guy who'd listened with total admiration to even the most bloodthirsty of his war stories, Red next patted the hood of the Vista Cruiser. He went on to say, "Eric won't have any problem taking you to Chicago tonight, if you're leaving right away. All you need to do is find a cheap motel room in the Loop. Anything you might want to see is close by, within walking distance or on the El. Spend a couple days there. Your car will be safe and sound here, and when you're done, just call us and Eric will pick you up again. Then you go back on your road trip, Xander." Another fond pat was made to the Vista Cruiser's hood with the conclusion of Red's unexpected offer.

Just as unexpected was Marilyn's reaction. Acting completely on her own, the car's motor loudly roared into life. Xander barely had time to grab the steering wheel before his Caddy shot into reverse, spun around on smoking tires in the street to face south, and promptly zoomed out of sight. The last that Red and Eric ever saw of Xander Harris was a final frantic goodbye wave before this traveler from California disappeared into the distance.

Motionlessly standing in the driveway, the Forman males eventually glanced at each other from the corners of their eyes. Eric's heart immediately sank at the beady stare he was getting from his dad. A fierce growl uttered by Red then completed the job of ruining Eric's day, "I just know this is somehow your fault, dumbass."

Miles down the road, Xander stayed quiet and held onto the steering wheel, despite there being no point. Marilyn was still in control, maintaining her excessive rate of speed which ordinarily would've attracted the attention of every freeway cop in the state. Fortunately, the Cadillac also had the supernatural means to prevent any police notice, so Xander could at least count on avoiding a ticket for speeding.

He still wanted to know just why they were going directly to Chicago when Marilyn had been so adamantly against this in the first place, up to the very moment when-

Oh. Right. When Red had indicated exactly what Xander was going to use to travel to the Windy City.

Biting his lower lip to keep from laughing out loud and making Marilyn even crankier, Xander was glad his short time of being Cordelia Chase's boyfriend had taught him a very important lesson.

Mainly, that when a female with whom you were having a relationship with acted like this, no matter what, you _still_ didn't tell them to stop being such a jealous snob.

**10. Road Trip - Day 9**

It might not seem possible for a car to actually show off a sense of smugness, but Marilyn was in fact exhibiting this self-satisfied air pretty nicely in her departure from Chicago. The hum of her tires spinning against the road sounded like anyone else doing a continuous 'I told you so' admonition under their breath. As for the other person in the car to which the 1959 Cadillac was directing her vast delight concerning every bit of the schadenfreude he'd undergone in the last hour, Xander Harris was on the other hand at the verge of…a nervous breakdown.

Maintaining the nervous tic under one eye which had started at the exact point of the biggest explosion of them all putting the final kibosh on the business tower of a Chicago businessman who was in reality a disguised alien from outer space, Xander clenched harder his grip on the steering wheel to make his fingers stop trembling.

A chant of, "Go into your happy place, go into your happy place- QUIT IT!" came from Xander. His calming mantra had just changed into an angry shout at Marilyn's engine performing a mechanical burble of amusement over hearing that.

Rather than feel bad about his suffering, Marilyn kicked up her growling mirth a notch.

Cooling down somewhat, Xander sent the instrument panel before him a resigned look. He said through gritted teeth, "This proves nothing! Just because you don't like big cities, you don't have to seize upon our little bit of trouble earlier after touring Chicago as an excuse for avoiding them! It's not like they're _all_ full of, of…"

Marilyn toned down her gleeful engine noise in eager expectation of Xander finishing saying what he'd just trailed off to instead desperately try to forget. Alas, even the most brain-numbing case of Sunnydale Syndrome wouldn't have made this same Hellmouth resident blank out the memory of Xander and his recent encounter of a trio of six-foot-tall anthropomorphic rodents from another planet heroically speeding around Chicago on their motorcycles while protecting the Windy City.

The concluding words forced themselves out of Xander's mouth, insisting along the way that no matter how unbelievable they were, these needed to be said: "…BIKER MICE FROM MARS!"

Marilyn sustained her pitying silence. She could afford to be gracious now, knowing that she'd been right all along, so there. This still came along with an actual impression of 'Nyah, nyah, nyah!' involved in that, too.

Trying to ignore Marilyn's self-righteousness, Xander glanced in the rear-view mirror where the skyline of Chicago's tall buildings were glinting in the last rays of the setting sun. Well, one of those skyscrapers wasn't glinting. It was smoking.

Xander winced even more when his gaze flickered away from that remainder of him storming the building with three furry mice all bigger than him, to then rest upon the evidence shown by the mirror of the last souvenir from Chicago which he'd far rather trade for a box of Frango mints. Mainly, the new part in his hair where a stray beam from Throttle's laser pistol during their fight with Limburger's goons had accidentally altered his coiffure, maybe permanently.

"Okay," a suddenly-determined Xander announced, "Tomorrow's gonna be a rest day. We're finding a totally peaceful place to kick back and relax, staying off the road all day. Understood, Marilyn?"

Marilyn just kept on demurely driving ahead.

**11. Road Trip - Day 10**

This was exactly what he needed, Xander congratulated himself. Strolling along the shoreline of Indiana Dunes State Park in his bare feet, Xander luxuriated at the trodden sand squishing between his toes.

It'd been a perfect day of just lazing around, jumping into the calm waters of Lake Michigan wearing his swimsuit whenever he felt like it, and otherwise letting the day pass by. Judging from how low the sun was hanging in the sky and how his stomach was growling, though, dinnertime was near. He'd go as far as the lengthwise sand dune ahead reaching from the water to further penetrate inland, then walk back to Marilyn and find a place to eat.

Getting nearer to the dune which was a much smaller relation of this place's more massive sand dunes that could reach as high as 200 feet, Xander heard from behind there a pair of men's voices vociferously arguing.

"Look, Lloyd, this _isn't_ the Pacific Ocean!"

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, there's no chance we went past Colorado without noticing, all the way to the West Coast! But here's the most important part, taste the water! It's fresh, not salty, and the ocean is!"

"Maybe it's like trees, Harry."

"What?!"

"Sure. Every winter, trees have their leaves fall off. Maybe in the summer, the salt in the ocean falls to the bottom and makes it okay to drink."

All right, Xander _had_ to see whoever just came up with that absolutely ridiculous claim. He scrambled upwards the side of the dune, getting traction from the low grasses growing there, and stopped at the dune's top. This meant he at once noticed the two fully-dressed men standing in the lake a few yards from another beach shore continuing onto the distance, with the water up to the knees of their pants, nearly nose-to-nose while they continued to argue.

However, Xander's attention was immediately diverted to one of the most surrealistic objects he'd ever had the misfortune to witness. Parked so close to the water its front wheels were submerged, there was now a enclosed van for which someone had insanely attached to this vehicle's skin everywhere shaggy sections of grayish carpet dyed, trimmed, and shaped to turn it into a replica of a gigantic dog. There was even a stubby tail attached to the rear of the van, hind legs hanging over the rear wheels, a black nose stuck on the hood's radiator front, and for the piece de resistance, a smiling mouth below the hood with a red protruding, panting doggy tongue

From being driven right into the lake, it appeared as if the van having a sign on its side with the words 'MUTT CUTTS' displayed there was at present gratefully lapping up a few dozen gallons of water.

"Hey, mister!"

Blinking in a vain attempt to eradicate from his brain cells the ghastly image emblazoned for life upon his consciousness, Xander stared down at who'd just called to him. It was a guy with one really horrible haircut, a bowl-type trim which should've been banned by law everywhere. Showing a goofy grin that was the acme of goofy grins, this guy with the voice indicating he'd been the one proposing vis-à-vis the relationship between lost leaves and the Pacific's salinity then asked, "Can you tell us if this is the ocean or not?"

Xander took a slow, deep breath. Glancing around to see if there was anybody filming him due to stumbling into some kind of reality show carrying on the proud tradition of _Candid Camera,_ Xander couldn't find any sign of this. Deciding to simply answer that guy and then get the hell out of here, Xander replied, "It's Lake Michigan, dude. The Pacific Ocean's two thousand miles that-a-way." Despite himself, Xander couldn't help but to actually point west, just to make sure he'd been understood.

"Ha!" crowed the other guy taller than his friend and having his own weird hair, straggling nearly down to his shoulders. Exuberantly splashing around in circles, this guy further needled, "Told you! Told you! Who's the stupid one now?"

_That_ specific question was weighing heavily on Xander's mind. Discreetly edging backwards, he next whirled around and jumped down off the sand dune to the beach ground. Hurrying past the footprints he'd already made, Xander could hear yet another argument starting up back there, but all it took was increasing his sprint a little bit more until he was finally out of earshot.

A couple of minutes later, Marilyn in her parking space among the Indiana Dunes Campground was awoken out of a peaceful doze by Xander patting the top of her right headlight. Now that he'd gotten her attention, Xander then announced in his most serious tone, "Marilyn, on behalf of humanity, I want to apologize to you for all that us hairless apes have done to innocent, defenseless automobiles. Furthermore, the following also needs to be said: for any right triangle the square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides; the endeavor to understand is the first and only basis of virtue; an infield fly ball is conditional to the umpire's judgment; and thank god, stupidity isn't contagious. Now, I'm going to get something to eat."

Watching her companion then walk away, Marilyn couldn't help wondering what bought _that_ on.

**12. Road Trip - Day 11**

Preparing for battle, Xander cracked his neck, flexed his fingers, and then he reached for the fold-out map of the Midwest lying upon the Caddy's passenger seat. With a grand, parting sweep of his arms, this sheet of creased paper was opened out in front of his gaze, held up at head level and blocking the entire automobile windshield beyond. Xander next commenced studying the road chart, confident that Marilyn would be fine at her halt at the rural stop sign somewhere in…?

Peering closer at the map, Xander wasn't really sure. They'd left the Lake Michigan campground early this morning and spent the next couple of hours meandering south through the countryside, until a sudden whim had made Xander take the next turn heading east. Another hour or so driving that way meant they'd probably reached Ohio, but he hadn't seen any roadside sign announcing the state line between Indiana and the other autonomous region.

Well, until he found exactly where they were, that pretty much left uncertain any decision about what to visit next on his journey. Musing out loud, Xander tried to make up his mind. "Okay, so we can go south again and hit Cincinnati, maybe take in a Reds game at the ballpark there if they're playing a home stretch. Or, we just keep going east on the back roads, up to when it's a choice to drive north and check out the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame at Cleveland. Any suggestions, Marilyn?"

Instead of the amiable purr of her engine by which Xander expected that indicated whatever he settled on would be fine with Marilyn, this classic car unexpectedly expressed a cut-off rumble. Coming from an actual human, this would've sounded exactly like a shocked gasp. Never hearing that sound from Marilyn before, Xander began to lower the map to see what, if anything, had caused this recent odd noise.

At the same time, yet more unusual commotions attracted Xander's attention. An approaching motor changed into a squeal of brakes, accompanied by a man's monotonic voice chanting, "Stop the car, stop the car, stop the car."

Xander finally dropped the map into his lap, only to flinch away at the abrupt presence of another automobile which had skidded to a standstill in the opposite lane of the two-way rural thoroughfare, halting right next to Marilyn after passing through the crossroad. Newly parked only a few feet away across from him, Xander now gawked at this incredible vehicle easily an archetypical masterpiece of the automobile world as Marilyn was herself.

Painted a creamier shade than his own car's dazzling whiteness, that vehicle was another convertible decades old possessing a more muscular style with bulging side fenders, hood, and trunk, wide windshield with a central pillar dividing the glass in half, and an immense radiator grille stretching nearly the entire width of the lower front.

When Xander finally finished staring at the other car, only then did he notice the two people in their open-top compartment. The driver was a handsome guy in his mid-twenties with tousled dark hair and a definitely irritated expression. Next to the driver was another man perhaps twice the age of his companion, having graying hair and sending towards Xander a very intent look.

No, Xander blinked, that dude wasn't staring at him. He was staring at Marilyn.

What happened next was older-guy then announcing in what sounded nothing else but a robot reciting in an absolutely unemotional tone, "The 1959 Cadillac Eldorado, Series 6400, 130 inch wheelbase, three-deck jeweled rear grille insert. Engine output 345 horsepower from a 390 cubic inch engine. Standard equipment includes power brakes, steering and windows, automatic transmission, back-up lamps, two-speed windshield wipers, wheel discs, outside rearview mirror, vanity mirror, oil filter, six-way power seats, heater, fog lamps, remote control deck lid, radio and antenna with rear speaker, power vent windows, air suspension, electric door locks and license frames."

_Click._ Xander could actually hear that when older-guy closed his mouth and resumed staring at Marilyn. Trying to gather his wits after such a weird occurrence of the last two minutes, the Sunnydale native cautiously came out with, "Uh, that sounds about right. Your own car looks great, too. What kind is it?"

For some reason, this made younger-guy slump down in his driver's seat and groan, "Why the hell did you ask?! Now we'll be here the whole damn day!"

Disregarding this complaint, older-guy resumed with the same unchanging, unvarying speech as before:

"The 1949 Buick Roadmaster. Two-speed Dynaflow automatic transmission, straight-eight, overhead-valve engine, 263 cubic inch displacement producing 152 horsepower, maximum speed 110 miles per hour. Hydraulic power windows and seats. Options comprise of a toolkit, outside mirrors, hubcaps, spotlight, tissue dispenser, upholstery cushion toppers, parking brake warning light, a sunvisor vanity mirror, and polishing kit."

It went on and on, drowning Xander with innumerable facts and information. In the fullness of time, Xander came out of his daze, helped along by the sudden quiet quickly broken by younger-guy grousing, "Are you _done,_ Raymond? Can we leave now?"

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Xander gazed at where this so-called Raymond guy was at present blankly looking forward through the Buick's windshield. Younger-guy (who'd never said his name throughout everything) sent towards Xander a very exasperated grimace, took his foot off the brake, and drove off down the road. Glancing at Marilyn's rear-view mirror, Xander watched the other classic car dwindle into the distance.

At length, Xander carefully folded up the road map again and placed it back on the passenger seat cushion. He said in a rather bemused aside, "Well, that was, um, interesting. Weird, but interesting. What do you think, Marilyn, we get back on our own road trip?"

In the place of the usual purr of agreement Xander had been expecting from Marilyn's engine, she instead uttered what sounded like an actual sigh of…longing?

A dumbfounded Xander gaped at his car's instrument panel. What had brought that on? Frowning, he went over their recent meeting, until-

Oh. Barely suppressing the urge to guffaw at the top of his lungs, Xander then said as sympathetically as he could, "You like older dudes, huh? Yeah, that Buick had a really big, ah, toothy smile, I have to admit."

Another covetous sigh came from Marilyn.

Touched despite himself, Xander gave the top of the car's dashboard a few compassionate pats. He nevertheless had to point out, "Wouldn't have worked, anyway, Marilyn. Think of it as ships passing in the night, or, you know, cars passing on the street- Listen, what I'm trying to say here, we're going one way, and those guys, they were going their own way. Can't be helped, so just be glad you had a chance to meet, however short it was. Does that make it a little bit better?" Xander asked hopefully while doing a few more comforting pats.

Marilyn let out another sigh, only this time it was of a more reluctant acceptance type. Relieved, Xander shifted out of park into forward, looked both ways at the crossroad, and they too drove away. A mile or so onwards, Xander decided several more hours of continuous traveling would be best for Marilyn, rather than visiting anywhere soon. This meant heading eastwards, which had been the whole point of stopping back there to decide only for Xander and Marilyn to meet those two guys in their own great car.

Frankly, Xander wasn't sure that Raymond guy had been in full possession of all his marbles, but he seemed otherwise okay and someone was along to take care of him. As for the whole strange encounter, it was just another minor bout of the gonzo stuff happening to young Mr. Harris during his road trip, nothing to be too concerned about, right?

**13. Road Trip - Day 12**

Among the darkness of the wolf hour, Marilyn was quite wakeful, unlike her companion fast asleep in the Caddy's rear seat. For most of their time together on his trip, Xander had saved money by not spending the night at motels or other roadside accommodations. It was far cheaper for him to bunk down in Marilyn's copious back compartment with a blanket plus some towels wadded into a ball for a pillow. Putting the convertible's top up after sunset along with the windows also ensured Xander wouldn't be bothered by bugs, possible rain, or the morning dew.

Keeping his expenses as low as possible was also accomplished by camping in secluded locations. Their stay at the Indiana Dunes Campground the day before had been a rare exception, but Xander and Marilyn usually didn't bother. When he needed to rest, Marilyn just pulled over in places where they wouldn't be disturbed by passers-by: at dead-end roads, edges of farmers' fields, et cetera. Washing was done in quick visits to gas station restrooms or for preference in any handy creek, lake, pond and other body of water providing sufficient privacy. The only thing which cost Xander actual cash were laundromat services, since Marilyn drew the line at being used for drying purposes with damp underwear laid out flat on her sun-warmed hood.

Right now, the car grumbled to herself, she should've held firm at being forced yet again to pay a visit to the big city of Philadelphia. Most of the previous day had been spent driving through Ohio and Pennsylvania with occasional stops for Xander to gawk at something interesting. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Xander had began mentioning how a properly patriotic American should be aware of their country's early history by seeing for themselves important locations where such people as George Washington, Benjamin Franklin and Sam Adams (the guy, not the beer) had lived and worked to create the wonderful United States of America, yadda, yadda, yadda.

After Xander finished singing _Yankee Doodle_ for the fifth straight time, Marilyn caved in and agreed to drive to Philadelphia so he could tour that city's Revolutionary War-era sites. Just shut up, already!

Well, they were here, only much too late for Xander to visit anywhere. He'd do that tomorrow, or rather today, since it was already past midnight. In the meantime, as usual, Marilyn had found an out-of-the-way spot for Xander to settle down in the car. They were presently parked at the back of some local high school closed for the summer. It was perfect, since the whole place was presumably deserted of its students and staff and Marilyn was quite confident any potential security patrol would ignore them-

Pausing in her thoughts, Marilyn felt Xander roll over in his sleep and mumble a few unintelligible phrases until he went back to dreamland.

* * *

"YAAAAHHHHH!"

That horrified scream abruptly coming from the high school made Marilyn automatically retract her convertible top. Now wide awake, Xander leapt right out of the car, landing with cat-like reflexes onto his shiny-polished combat boots. Clad only in camouflage pants, this young man displayed throughout his upper torso numerous ripped muscles which included a magnificent set of six-pack abs and solid pecs you could crack tossed coconuts against.

Crisply snapping to Marilyn, Xander ordered her, "Open the trunk!"

An unearthly glow radiated throughout the high school parking lot, coming from the slowly ascending trunk lid Marilyn was obediently releasing. Trotting around to the back of the car, Xander paused to study the interior of the trunk crammed with weapons. His keen glance shifted over the numerous automatic rifles, rocket launchers, machine guns, and the cartoon-like bomb lying at the interior left side with a radiation symbol and the words 'DA BIG ONE' engraved on the top of that last air-droppable nuclear device.

Making his choice, Xander seized hold of a M60 machine gun with a hundred-round link belt already attached. Spinning around from the trunk, Xander then sprinted with his machine gun towards the back door of the high school where yet more screams of absolute terror had just been uttered.

With the sounds of his friends and family yelling "YAAAAHHHHH!" in fright ringing in his ears, Eric frantically ran for the rear exit. Shawn had already warned them all that they were trapped in the school with a serial killer. Seeing how the classroom where several students were serving an all-night detention decreed by strict Mr. Feeny had suddenly shown a message on the chalkboard there which warned in blood "No One Gets Out Alive", plus a minute ago Kenny had been stabbed with a pencil shoved right through his head, Eric thought Shawn might have a point.

Unfortunately, it looked like Shawn was also right when he said the serial killer must've locked the school doors to prevent anyone from escaping this masked murderer. From the despairing cries of the others carrying throughout the hallways, they'd just found this out for themselves. Now, Eric reached for the rear door handles, hoping against hope-

Outside, Xander struck a really cool pose of leaning back while balancing on one foot and lashing out with all his power by the other combat boot in order to slam his sole against the face of the door and smash open that portal.

Yes! Whoever'd killed Kenny must've missed this one! Eric yanked open the door, just in time to receive a boot coming his way with incredible force right in the kisser.

Doing a triple back somersault with a one and a half twist, Eric sailed down the rear hallway to slam face-first down on the corridor floor and slide to a stop at where Cory, Topanga, Jack, and Angela were now standing together.

In this order, Angela, Topanga, and Jack held up placards with 9.0, 9.2, and 9.4 numbered on them. Currently wearing a fur hat with a red hammer and sickle sewn on the front and kicking up his heels in a Cossack dance, Cory now possessing a dour Slavic expression held up a placard showing 0.000001.

Rushing into the school, Xander still carrying his machine gun stopped at where a bunch of kids was helping up another onto his feet. All of them screamed "YAAAAHHHHH!" at the sudden appearance of a near-naked guy with an immense weapon ready to be used any second now.

Xander screamed back at them, "YAAAAHHHHH!" Proper introductions were a must.

"YAAAAHHHHH!" the group repeated, pointing as one at the other end of the hallway. There, a robed and hooded figure with black cloth covering their face except for eyeholes was standing while waving a truly oversize knife at them.

Taking a step sideways, Xander coolly readied, aimed, and fired. The roar of the machine gun at full automatic blasted everyone's ears. Up at the far hallway, the serial killer stiffened due to being struck by multiple bullets. Over this person's head, a increasing set of hit points popped into existence: 10...20...30...40...

Empty shells from the ejector port and disintegrating links went flying everywhere. Their backs flat against the corridor wall, Cory, Eric, and Jack huddled together under the large umbrella they'd opened, with discarded military widgets pattering and bouncing off the top of this protective canopy.

Xander continued spraying hot lead at that target, who was now jerkily moving back and forth across the hallway. Every time they reached the furthest left and right position, a loud _Ding!_ sounded and the serial killer spun around to do it all over again, heading for the other side.

Eventually, Xander ran out of bullets. Coughing and waving away the heavy smoke drifting through the air, our hero saw with real disappointment that the hallway was deserted. Somehow, his prey had escaped! With a steely look in his eye, Xander began to stride forwards to settle that jerk's hash…only to stop short by his legs being unable to move.

Looking down, Xander saw Topanga and Angela lying down on the floor, with each of them clutching one of his legs. Both of these girls were now dressed in low-cut halter top shirts, short shorts and high heels. They next simultaneously sent upwards identical sultry expressions at their rescuer while licking their lips.

Topanga was the first to speak, cooing with absolute adoration in her tone, "You big, brave man, how can we possibly thank you for everything you've done?"

Angela agreed in the same fervent voice of total worship, "And you did it all with such a…_huge_…gun!"

Jack and Cory sidled forwards to get the girls away from that new guy, though it took both Jack and his brother Shawn now showing up to peel Angela off the leg she was still steadfastly clutching. Once this was done, a repressive clearing of someone's throat was heard from behind.

Turning around, the group saw there Mr. Feeny giving everyone a disapproving look. That judgmental expression didn't change an iota, even when that teacher next fell forward as a corpse, revealing to all there the scissors sticking out from his back.

"YAAAAHHHHH!"

The whole group now ran back to the detention room with its mocking message still written on the chalkboard. Once there, Xander learned what had been going on so far. In turn, the high school students learned the newcomer had been walking by the building when he'd heard their screams.

Jack wanted to know, "Uh, just why do you have a machine gun, anyway?"

"Got to deal somehow with those pesky nighttime mosquitoes," Xander said in his best matter-of-fact style.

Well, that sounded pretty reasonable, as indicated by all of the rest there nodding in acceptance. Xander then declared, "Okay, people, this calls for a search and destroy mission! Fortunately for you, I'm up to it, but it can't hurt for a volunteer to come along with me."

A heavy hand promptly descended upon Eric's shoulder, with this startled young man whining to his captor with all the muscles and a machine gun, "Hey, what do you need _me_ for?"

Eric's nervousness wasn't alleviated the slightest by the concise answer he next got: "Bait."

Warning the others to stay in their room, Xander dragged Eric out with him into the school hallways. It took only a dozen or so prods in his kidneys with the muzzle tip of the machine gun for Eric to submit to entering first the other rooms.

In due time, the pair found themselves in the school library, where they encountered without any warning an unexpected stranger. Screaming at the top of his lungs, Eric pointed at the startled girl his age, "Shoot her! Shoot her! She's the killer!"

Thoughtfully examining the beautiful teenager, Xander shook his head. "Relax, Eric. I can tell right away that- Hey, what's your name, honey?"

The girl promptly replied, "Jennifer Love Fefferman."

"Like I was saying, Jennifer Love Fefferman can't possibly be who we're looking for. Nobody with a 36C bra is ever a homicidal maniac."

The truth of Xander's remark was immediately proven by the serial killer in question lurking behind one of the library's bookshelves now shoving off a stack of weighty educational tomes directly onto Eric standing in front of the shelf. Getting squashed flat by the descending books, a choked gurgle coming from under the piled-high heap of paper indicated Eric had breathed his last.

In a blur of motion, Xander had thrown himself upon Jennifer Love Fefferman, protecting her nubile body with his own that was feeling every inch of her smooth skin. From where they were now lying on the floor, a feminine voice then hesitantly spoke, "Uh, what are you doing?"

Politely moving away his machine gun so it wouldn't poke her, Xander answered the girl under him, "We need to stay here until the coast is clear and it's safe to move, Jennifer Love Fefferman."

"Just call me Feffy. That sounds like a good idea. How long do you think we should wait?"

"Oh, no more than a couple of hours, Feffy. My name's Xander, by the way."

"Glad to meet you, Xander. My, you've got a really big machine gun there."

"No, I already moved- Uh, yeah, that's it."

Elsewhere in the school, the occupants of the detention room had disobeyed Xander's orders, leaving there and splitting up in the hallways to find another means of escape. Angela and Jack were together on the uppermost floor, looking for an open window they could use to get down to the outside. They eventually discovered one window they could slide ajar. Jack then climbed through the provided space and stood up on the outer window ledge, about to help Angela do the same.

From out of nowhere, the serial killer rushed towards the window and shoved at Jack's legs, sending this unfortunate victim off the ledge and falling to his death. Turning to where a screaming Angela was standing by the open window, the killer then received with panicky force her knee directly into his groin. Collapsing to curl up on the floor in his moaning agony, the killer was unable to prevent Angela from running away to find her remaining friends.

Downstairs, Cory and Topanga reacted to the "YAAAAHHHHH!" from Angela sprinting past them by reflexively hugging each other. They remained in each other's arms, peering around for any sign of the killer or Shawn who'd gone off on his own, but with no luck. Waiting until Angela completed a full circuit around the school hallways and once more went by at maximum "YAAAAHHHHH!" volume, Topanga and Cory followed after. They all ended up again in the detention room, slamming and locking the door behind themselves.

A spine-chilling sound of something scraping against the chalkboard made the panting trio slowly turn around from where they'd been staring at the shut door. At the far end of the classroom, the serial killer was whetting his knife against the chalkboard, stopping only when this robed and masked figure knew he had the others' full attention. With his other hand, the serial killer then tore off his mask revealing his identity to all in the room.

It was Shawn!

Cory was the first to shout in shocked disbelief, "Shawn, what are you doing? Why are you killing everyone?!"

Under his robe, Shawn's shoulders shrugged. "Hey, Cor, there's lots of reasons. For one, this might be nothing but a dream symbolizing how I'm trying to deal with you and Topanga breaking up. Or more likely, we need to get better ratings for our show _Boy Meets World,_ with a slasher film parody involving actual guest stars. Whatever, I don't feel like talking any more about it. Once you kill a couple people, it's kinda like potato chips. You can't stop at just one, you know? Okay, now that the explanation's over, who wants to get murdered next? Don't be shy; step right up."

Topanga and Angela immediately grabbed both of Cory's arms and began shoving him ahead. Cory couldn't help protesting to his girlfriend, "Topanga, this isn't you! We just need to talk Shawn down-"

"To hell with that!" Topanga cut Cory off. "He's _your_ best pal, so he's _your_ responsibility. Now, get out there and take him down or die trying, and I'll think nice thoughts about you at your funeral which I plan to survive to be there!" At that, both girls propelled Cory forward with all the energy they possessed.

Stumbling with wildly waving arms, Cory managed to poke Shawn in the eye with one finger while his opponent was about to stab Cory. Yelping, Shawn dropped the knife and grabbed Cory's throat with both hands, which was instantly mirrored by Cory. Struggling together while Topanga and Angela tried to get out of their way, the boys soon found themselves in front of the detention room's door.

With an almighty _Crash!_ the door was then kicked not just open, but completely off its hinges. Falling down, the door knocked Cory and Shawn off their feet and slammed onto both of their bodies lying on the classroom floor. The crushing weight of the heavy door was next added by 180 pounds of steel-hard muscle and almost 30 pounds of steel machine gun and its ammo, when Xander leapt onto the door and menacingly posed there, weapon at the ready.

Seeing only Angela and Topanga, a puzzled Xander looked around the otherwise empty classroom, his boots shifting atop the door which he was still standing onto. Anguished whimpers soon trailing off from beneath drew Xander's attention. Still staring down at where no more sounds were issuing, he called to the two girls in the room, "Hey, anybody under there?"

"Uh, yeah," Angela managed. "It's Cory and Shawn, the crazy bastard who's responsible for everything tonight!"

"Oh," blinked Xander. He nimbly hopped off the door and then knelt down by it, reaching with a spare hand to lift it by one edge. Peeking under at what was concealed there, Xander nodded once in satisfaction.

He next straightened up and declared, "Mission's completed in all particulars with minimal collateral damage since all the guys got killed and the hot chicks lived."

Jerking a thumb over his shoulder at where Jennifer Love Fefferman was standing in the doorway, her eyes wide in disbelief, Xander continued, "That's Feffy. Feffy, meet Toganga and Angela. Well, I'm gonna hit the showers. Worked up a real sweat tonight, you bet. Ladies." With that last salute, Xander then swaggered out of the classroom, leaving a trio of gaping girls staring after him.

A few minutes later, Xander was in the high school's shower facilities, soaping up. Since this was a G-rated television show, a privacy screen showed only his bare skin from head to bottom of shoulders and his bare feet, all now covered with bubbles. From out of the right side of the television set, three girls walked into the scene. All of them were clearly undressed, though also shielded by the privacy screen.

Freezing in the middle of washing under an armpit, Xander bestowed a wide smile at those joining him. He still had to mention, "Uh, not that you should feel unwelcome or anything, but aren't you lovely ladies all underage at this exact moment?"

Topanga, Angela, and Jennifer Love Fefferman glanced at each other, and they joined in a mutual giggle-fest. Eventually, Feffy chortled, "Don't worry! This is nothing but a dream, remember?"

In a sudden shimmer of special effects, the three girls became a few years older, reaching college age at the very least. The privacy screen also disappeared.

Now having the biggest ear-to-ear grin of his entire life, Xander offered, "Soap?"

* * *

In the school back parking lot where that unlit building continued to stand there in its utter peacefulness, a resigned Marilyn tried to ignore how she was gently bouncing up and down on her shocks. Just what this classic car needed or even wanted, yet another reason to add to the many other grounds as to why she disliked big cities.

**14. Road Trip - Day 13**

Much later, whenever Xander thought about his road trip, that day was particularly noteworthy in the main for his sightseeing around Philadelphia. He'd had a good time throughout, getting to tour Independence Hall, taking an up close and personal look at the Liberty Bell, and chowing down on one fine Philly cheesesteak plus a legendary Cake Shake made up of blended ice cream and the local butterscotch-flavored sponge cakes. For the first time ever after drinking that shake, Xander had to admit there was a worthy challenger to the Twinkie.

Even Marilyn's expected crabbiness over having to drive through the fifth-largest city in the country didn't spoil Xander's mood. He was glad, though, when they put this metropolis behind them late in the afternoon and Marilyn cheered up once they hit the back roads heading northwards. That direction had been chosen solely at random since Xander had no specific reason for going elsewhere. This, of course, should've tipped him off sooner or later some weird stuff was going to happen any moment now.

Traveling along a stretch of rural highway with mixed small towns, farmlands, and residences set next to the road, Xander slammed on Marilyn's brakes when a woman ran out in front of him, waving her arms to make him stop. Staring through the windshield in the fading light, Xander saw there a badly-worried lady a few years younger than Joyce Summers but even prettier with darker hair and a kind face among the alarmed concern already there. Not that he'd ever admit it to Buffy or in front of Ms. Summers-

The stranger ran around to the passenger side, pulled open the Caddy's door, and jumped into the seat. She turned to a startled Xander and began opening her mouth, until the woman then incredulously stared at the car's instrument panel.

"_Marilyn?!_" blurted out this woman.

The Eldorado's headlights turned themselves on and flashed once at high beam.

Fervently breathing in a rush of words, "Oh, good! Go straight ahead fast as possible and take the next side road! We need to find them before it gets too dark!" was finished by the stranger.

The accelerator pedal pressed down to the floor mat. With a squeal from the back tires, the classic car shot forwards. Under Xander's grip, the steering wheel impatiently jerked, indicating what Marilyn wanted.

Shooting a dumbfounded gaze at where the woman next to him was nodding her head in agreement, Xander let go of the steering wheel. Marilyn began driving herself, which let Xander have a chance to ask just what was going on. However, even before the questions came spilling out from him, Xander was cut off by the woman holding up her hand while staring at something up the road.

Xander looked too, and then he frantically held onto the driver's door handle to keep from sliding over into the stranger despite his seat belt when Marilyn took much too fast the next left corner onto the requested side lane. Bumping along the dirt ruts of this unpaved road also at a higher velocity that overcame even Marilyn's superb shocks, Xander tried not to bite through his tongue through all this jouncing.

Eventually when sunset had commenced, the Cadillac slewed past the treeline into a clearing where Marilyn skidded to a stop and shined her headlights at where a little boy directly ahead was standing at the edge of a water-filled quarry. Dazedly turning around to squint in the lights illuminating him, this child was then snatched off his feet by a man running from out of the near-darkness to the right where he'd been searching for the boy.

The woman stood up to hold the top edge of the car's windshield with one hand while she waved at where the man was thankfully hugging the boy, who was hugging back just as hard. Calling out, "Over here! Let's get you both back to the house!"

Opening the passenger door, the woman got out and then bustled around to the right rear door, holding this open also for when the man and child came to the waiting car as they'd been instructed. Every one of them crammed themselves into the rear seat. Absently closing the door after herself, a quiet conversation broke out among the trio.

Xander had been completely ignored throughout it all. Sitting in his own seat, the teenager's attention was caught by Marilyn's steering wheel surreptitiously twitching, as if she wanted-

Taking hold of the wheel, Xander wasn't all that surprised when it twisted under his grip and the Cadillac turned around to take again the dirt road they'd just traveled over. It was all done as if Xander was in control and not pretending to drive under Marilyn's guidance. Xander realized there were good reasons for this since from what he could overheard in fragments from behind, the woman named Monica was some kind of social worker and she was at present holding a counseling session with two people who genuinely needed this without having to deal with far more stranger things. Even so, Xander still had the befuddled impression that he'd walked into the last five minutes of some family television drama.

Pulling up at last to the house where it'd all started much less than a half-hour ago, Xander watched how everyone but him got out of the car and walked away together into this residence without a backward glance. Left there, Xander wondered what the hell he should do now. It seemed kinda rude to either barge in or just sneak away-

"Baby girl, you done a real nice job tonight."

That woman's voice came from right behind Xander's seat, making him jump and twist around so fast he almost wrenched his back out. Standing there and giving Marilyn's left tail fin several fond pats was a mature black lady wearing a bright blue dress. In the middle of another gentle touch, this second strange woman tilted her head as if she was hearing someone's voice.

"Oh, Scarlett? Don't you be worrying your pretty head about her, baby girl. She's being fixed up and fussed over at the auto place here. That's why Monica had to get your help, honeybun. And you done it right fine, like I said before."

One last caress was given to the tail fin before that black lady deigned to notice Xander gawking open-mouthed at her. Carrying herself like a queen, she strode over, placed a fingertip under his chin, and shoved up. Holding his mouth closed all the while, this formidable female then irascibly snorted while still bearing a faint twinkle of amusement in her eyes, "_You,_ young Alexander, you mind your manners! Not just in watching your language, but in treating baby girl here properly! She doesn't want to go somewhere, you can try to sweet-talk her into it but if not, then that's that! No more singing! Gabriel himself of the heavenly host stuck his fingers into his ears to keep that horrible sound out!"

Chuckling under her breath, the lady took away her hand and then placed this palm-down upon Xander's hair in a gesture of benediction. "A fine man you'll make, a protector of your loved ones, the hero who sees the hearts of others. Be well, Alexander, and _try_ not to get into too much more trouble on your road trip!"

With that, the lady as dark as the night around them glided off towards the house all without looking back. Xander just sat there for perhaps another minute or so, before taking Marilyn out of park and driving away from the lit-up dwelling. After a couple of miles further on, Xander cleared his throat, risking, "Friends of yours?"

Marilyn's headlights blinked once.

"And you're not going to tell me anything else, right?"

The 1959 white Cadillac Eldorado's headlights continued to shine undimmed.

"Figures. Okay, no more singing."

**15. Road Trip - Day 14**

All too conscious of the several pairs of curious eyes gazing after him while he returned to where Marilyn was parked just off the upstate New York rural lane next to the farmyard fence, Xander managed to keep his mouth shut until he actually got back into the car.

Only then did he dubiously mutter under his breath, "There's _no_ way some kind of Sunnydale Syndrome isn't working on this whole place and them too! I mean, they actually said all the locals and whoever else they met were fine with it! Like that really explained why every newshound on the planet passed up making a beeline here to get the story of the century!"

Marilyn didn't seem bothered by Xander's complete disbelief. She instead revved up her idling engine a bit, eager to get back on their road trip now interrupted by her companion's sudden impulse to ask for directions at the first farm they'd stopped by. Xander had been about to open the farmyard gate to walk toward the comfortable house set in the middle of the yard and knock on the door there, until a small group of this location's inhabitants had walked from around the barn corner while in a relaxed conversation with each other which was easily audible even over the distance to where Xander had just heard them.

Noticing Xander standing frozen with his sudden shock in front of the gate, this trio of residents at the Bean farm came to see what he wanted. Once Xander managed to croak out his desire to find the best way to Syracuse, the three natives were quite helpful, telling him which route to take. After all, they'd made quite a few of their own journeys, starting with a excursion to Florida a long time ago.

Speaking of natives… Xander cautiously twisted his neck to check again at where a few yards away inside the farmyard a pig standing upright without any trouble upon his rear hooves leaned against the topmost horizontal fence railing, a large black-and-white cow next to this swine was also resting the bottom of her muzzle onto the same railing, and a full-grown rooster was perched atop the cow's head.

Giving a very weak smile to these three animals who a mere minute before had easily talked to and understood him as well as any other human being could, Xander lifted his right hand and sent a feeble good-bye wave over there. Freddy the Pig and Charles the Rooster cheerfully returned that gesture with their own farewell waves with both a hoof and a feathered wing. Having no actual free limbs, Mrs. Wiggins merely nodded her horned head once, a send-off which caused Charles to squawk in alarm at this unexpected movement of his perch.

Taking a deep breath, Xander drove away, staunchly refusing to look behind via the rear-view mirror for a last incredulous stare at those unusual…people. Though, a few more miles on, this teenager mentioned to Marilyn, "You know, I've decided that for dinner tonight, I'm gonna go vegetarian. Maybe order nothing but a big salad and a baked potato with all the trimmings. Can't hurt to skip eating meat for once, right?"

**16. Road Trip - Day 15**

Stretching out his bare foot to turn off the hot water tap, Xander lying on his back so that only his face broke the surface approvingly regarded how wrinkled his toes were, the evidence plain to see of a good, long, bathtub soak.

Catching sight of a very charming Vermont inn earlier today, the teenager on his summer road trip had checked his wallet and found there enough money to splurge for a night in a real bed and the additional chance for a thorough wash which didn't involve the removal of stray tadpoles from Xander's man-bits. Marilyn didn't seem to mind after being informed about the latest change to her companion's plans. By her own means of communication, the classic Cadillac indicated she wouldn't be bothered the slightest at this chance of a random break in nightly hosting Xander sleeping in this car's rear seat.

Finding out he could afford a single with an attached bath at the Stratford Inn had sealed the deal. Xander signed in at the front desk staffed by a pretty blonde woman around Mrs. Summers' age. Though, Buffy's mother certainly wouldn't have worn a sweater in the middle of June, unlike this other female who'd introduced herself as Joanna Loudon. Joanna's husband Dick had come out of his office then looking a little harassed, but he'd also been polite enough to their latest guest, calling over the maid slothfully flicking a feather duster over a nearby wooden bench.

The magnificent sneer that maid named Stephanie had directed at Xander for daring to be anywhere in her company was spiteful enough to make him nostalgic for old times with Cordy whenever he'd said something particularly stupid around Queen C. Grumpily escorting Xander to his room, Stephanie had next left without another word, off to spread sweetness and light throughout the remainder of the world.

Xander spent the rest of the day walking around the neighborhood (sending a friendly wave towards where Marilyn was dozing in her parking space by the inn), having the fish course at dinner, and finally scrubbing himself pink. Surging out of the soapy water, Xander dried off and found a fresh set of boxers before climbing into the room's bed. He was looking forward to a good eight hours of z's.

Instead, some time later, Xander fully regained consciousness while kneeling down on the floor of his room with the outer edge of his right arm firmly pressed against the throat of Mr. Loudon, whose face seemed to be turning a toxic level of purple colors. Quickly jerking his arm away, a bewildered Xander stared at the older man in his bathrobe lying supine on the floor rug and coughing for desperately-needed air.

"What's going on?" came from Xander wondering if there was some kind of emergency like a fire or another cause for the innkeeper needing to disturb him in the middle of the night.

"Ah, uh," stammered Mr. Loudon now shakily getting back up on his feet with assistance from Xander. This aid had been warily accepted with an actual look of suspicion thrown in by this guy currently rubbing his throat. That action was probably why Xander heard, "Do you usually wake up like a World War Two commando getting overrun by a German attack?"

Xander looked more than a bit sheepish while inwardly cursing how Soldier-Boy's reflexes had just picked the worse time ever to stage a comeback. "Sorry about that. I grew up in a pretty rough town and learned to stay on guard all the time. No harm, no foul, right?"

Mr. Loudon sighed. "I suppose so. Sad to say, this isn't the strangest thing that's happened to me ever since I decided to buy the inn and move here with Joanna. Er…" For some reason, the balding man appeared to be giving off an decidedly odd air of resigned nervousness while continuing again. "Speaking of strange, there's a little problem regarding your car-"

Ten minutes later, the gleam of the headlights from Mr. Loudon's vehicle shifted across the face of the town hall holding the police station, indicating this car behind Xander was turning around for the innkeeper to return home after dropping his guest off without any further involvement in tonight's entire absurd situation. Smart man, Xander couldn't help thinking as he stalked past where Marilyn was parked in front of the town hall. Shooting an extremely annoyed glare at where this 1959 Eldorado was hunkering down with sheer embarrassment onto her tires, Xander went on stomping by in fulminating silence towards the building's front doors.

The faint hiccup coming from behind Xander only increased his bad temper and got him ready to cut loose. This was why when he stormed into the police station and saw the three culprits there standing in a line before the local deputy, Xander promptly yelled at them all, "OKAY, WHICH ONE OF YOU MORONS GOT MY CAR DRUNK AND WENT JOYRIDING WITH HER?"

"Pardon me, sir," the least-inbred of the scruffy backwoods trio wearing a woolen cap over his long hair drew himself up with actual dignity. "Before anything else, let's begin with the proper introductions. Hello, I'm Larry; this is my brother Darryl and this is my other brother Darryl."

**17. Road Trip - Day 16**

Running for his life with the crashing sounds of brush being trampled underfoot by the vast weight of his pursuer coming nearer at every step, Xander's mind nevertheless flashed back to the first few weeks at Sunnydale High years ago when he and Wils had learned about 'the world is stranger than you know…'

During the lengthy process of wrapping their heads around the whole incredible concept of vampires, demons, and other oogly-booglys actually being real and out to slaughter them and the rest of humanity, the two sophomore students intensively questioned Buffy's Watcher about those same creatures. Rupert Giles was more than willing to answer their queries since this meant Miss Summers also listening might show a greater amount of interest in her sacred duty as the Slayer rather than such minutiae as the latest celebrity to appear on the cover of _People_ magazine.

There were times, though, when Giles had to take a firm grip onto his temper, especially when young Mr. Harris plopped down a towering stack of comic books upon his library desk and wanted to know in excruciating detail if any of those four-color characters were for real. It didn't help at all for the Englishman grudgingly admitting that in the past, such puerile entertainment for the masses did indeed contain a mention of seemingly fictitious fiends who were even so manifesting themselves in the actual world.

Yes, there was a Dracula - or at least one of them at present - and no, he wasn't drawn by somebody named Gene Colan. That was just as well, given this caped pillock's already immense vanity.

Leprechauns didn't exist, and would a disappointed Xander kindly refrain from still chanting anything about "Always after me lucky charms!" in that ghastly attempt at an Irish accent?

And so on, and so on, until Miss Rosenberg bought up a certain movie she'd seen years before. This resulted in Giles showing to three fascinated young people the exact demonology tome where one of this unearthly species was thoroughly identified. Apparently, while a certain American writer of children's novels in the know about magic and other supernatural events had made up from whole cloth virtually all of his prose regarding the accidental visit by a little girl to another dimension, this author correctly described one of the monstrous inhabitants living there down to its very last aspect. From what Willow mentioned, this depiction had unknowingly been carried over in a precise portrayal of the demon shown by those responsible for the movie she'd watched.

However, in between carefully putting away his treasured volume, Giles dismissed any possibility of the group in the library ever encountering an example of what they'd just been discussing. For one, Sunnydale simply didn't have nearby the exact type of terrain normally favored by those demons. Even if this was otherwise, they were still incredibly rare and spent virtually all of their existence in a state of dormancy. Finally, should the worse come to worse, it was quite easy for any of them to acquire and use the idiosyncratic weapon which would handily defeat those demons, for all their gigantic appearance and overwhelming strength.

Years later, Xander sprinted towards where Marilyn was anxiously waiting by the side of Interstate 93. She'd stopped there at Franconia Notch by the side of Cannon Mountain in New Hampshire when Xander had been driving sometime near midnight and impulsively pulled over in expectation of seeing by the full moon overhead one of this small state's best-known tourist attractions. Only, with increasing puzzlement, Xander just couldn't find that natural feature no matter how thoroughly he looked.

There was enough light from the moon above that Xander got out of the Cadillac and walked a few hundred yards towards the mountain looming ahead, trying to spot-

From the shadows lying upon the foothill slopes, a huge form emerged. It was composed of boulders and rock slabs crudely joined together to create a humanoid body, with a craggy face on top directing an expression of stony wrath at one of those crawling, fleshy grubs deserving nothing less than being squished under a multi-ton descending foot.

Stampeding across the creek he'd previously waded through seconds before, Xander at last reached Marilyn invitingly holding ajar the driver's door for him to dive into the car and hold on while she burned rubber. Except, Xander yelled, "Open your trunk!"

A bewildered Marilyn dithered for a moment, giving Xander enough time to skid to a stop by this part of her rear portion. Looking over his shoulder, Xander almost lost control of his sphincters by seeing it'd only take a few more steps from that stone demon to arrive and turn them both into road paste. Glancing down, Xander saw there the Cadillac's trunk had opened as per his order.

Reaching inward past the trunk lid, Xander grabbed from the compartment's cooler earlier bought for keeping snacks and drinks on ice a paper bag filled with his lunch planned for tomorrow. Thank God he'd visited a deli then and requested one particular item to go with his meal, or there wouldn't _be_ a tomorrow!

Ripping apart the paper bag, Xander then snatched an object previously stored in there which fit perfectly in his palm. A shadow equally abruptly spread itself over both the human and his car, and Xander stared upwards into two lowering lichen-encrusted hands the size of grand pianos about to rip him in half. With blinding speed, Xander imitated a baseball pitcher and hurled as hard as he could the only weapon which'd instantly bring down that demon.

The hard-boiled egg flew through the air and smashed itself to fragments against the rock surface of the nearest reaching hand.

A split second later, the entire body of the stone demon dissolved into rubble, collapsing into an inert heap of boulders ranging in size from recreational vehicles to mere pebbles.

Xander hastily turned away, wrapping both arms around his head to shield himself from any stray splinters. None came, though he soon started coughing from the large cloud of dust which billowed throughout the area where Marilyn was parked.

Cautiously dropping his arms, Xander then twisted on his feet to stare in relief at the large pile of debris by the roadside that was the remnants of his latest demonic foe. Looking past these up at the side of Cannon Mountain, Xander's gladness at surviving yet another fight with a Big Bad abruptly altered into a pained wince at seeing once again something high up on the mountain which was going to make a lot of people living here very unhappy.

Where formerly there'd been a series of granite cliff ledges forming a jagged profile of a face with this famed New Hampshire rock formation dubbed the Old Man of the Mountain, now there was nothing but a stubby outcrop appearing completely ordinary. Beginning to tunelessly hum under his breath, a morose Xander acknowledged that though this was in no way any of his fault, he'd for sure be blamed for it if caught red-handed by the authorities.

Speaking of that… Xander nonchalantly sidled to where Marilyn still had the driver's door open and her motor running. Settling himself behind the steering wheel, Xander announced, "Hey, honey, what say we find a place to stay for the rest of the night? Maybe in the next county? And we don't ever mention to anybody we were here?"

Flashing her headlights in fervent agreement, Marilyn pulled out back in the road and drove off into the anonymous darkness.

* * *

Author's Note: The Granite State's natural feature having other names than mentioned here such as the Great Stone Face or the Profile managed to last a little longer in our own universe than in the Buffyverse. Sometime on the night of May 3, 2003, it collapsed, totally eradicating this state emblem also appearing on the back of the 2000 US quarter for New Hampshire.

Oh, and the movie Willow mentioned to the Scoobies was the 1985 film _Return to Oz_ with its Nome King and how a chicken's reproductive attempt foiled that specific villain. L. Frank Baum, who was responsible for it all, evidently knew more than people might've guessed.

**18. Road Trip - Day 17**

Xander started to stretch out his arms, only to stop short when the new stitches in his back told him this wasn't a good idea. Considering how warily he'd traveled eastwards through Maine on his journey to finally end up at the seaside city of Rockland without encountering a single Stephen King monster along the way, it was ironic how a mere fishing lure had been the cause of Xander getting hurt today.

It'd gone down like this: Arriving in Rockland to catch his first glimpse of the Atlantic Ocean, Xander celebrated by taking a stroll around the town's pierfront. Leaving Marilyn in the nearby parking lot, his exploration was interrupted by a friendly hail from one of the place's fishing boats he'd been passing by at the moment. Going over there, Xander learned the guys chartering the boat for the afternoon had a friend unavoidably canceling in their day out on the water. If he wanted to hand over fifty bucks to pay for his share of the charter, Xander would get a free lunch and spend the next couple of hours learning how to fish in Penobscot Bay.

A taken-aback Xander mentioned he'd never been on any kind of boat before. When the guys discovered this teenager had traveled alone all the way from California on a summer road trip, they urged him to come along and try something new. It wasn't all that hard to use a fishing rod, plus they had seasickness patches on board should their invited guest suffer from this malady. Xander eventually figured, why not?

Indeed, it'd been a great time for Xander at least for the first hour or so. He'd actually caught a good-sized finny denizen of the deep which he was told to be an Atlantic pollock and considered quite good eating in chowder restaurants. After having his picture taken with the fish, Xander told the guys that anyone who wanted it could have the fish since he obviously couldn't take it home and cook it.

The good feeling among the group produced by Xander's courtesy abruptly ended five minutes later. Due to a stray gust of wind combining with a higher than normal wave, one of the other fishermen cast out his line with its attached lure in such a clumsy manner that wound up with the lure's hooks deeply embedded through his shirt into Xander's back where he was at the opposite rail. His immediate howl of agony was probably heard by people on shore miles away.

After Xander's wound was inspected by the boat's captain, that Maine mariner sensibly decided not to attempt extracting the hooks considering how far these were sunk into the muscle. The boat instead headed back to an entirely different pier than from where they'd left earlier. Wincing at every throbbing pain coming from the barbs, Xander eventually read out loud in genuine astonishment the sign attached to one of the structures along the pier the boat was approaching, "Finestkind Fishmarket and Clinic?"

"It's the best place around here for treating accidents and other injuries to boaters, honest," swore the guy responsible for hooking Xander. He apologetically cleared his throat while holding out a thick wad of dollar bills to the puzzled teenager. "This is all the cash we've got on hand for when you get dropped off there. It should be more than enough to pay for your treatment; keep whatever's left over for your trouble. I'm totally sorry for everything. Try not to have any hard feelings about us and this place, will you?"

"Uh, sure," Xander managed while taking the money. "You're not coming too?"

The guy looked sheepish. "Well, the captain says the fish are really biting out there-"

"Never mind," sighed Xander.

Some time later, Xander wandered around the clinic lobby, all patched up now. Despite this place's odd name as also given on his new t-shirt, the doctors and nurses were clearly accomplished professionals in their medical vocations. He'd been promptly whisked to an examining room, the old shirt cut off with scissors, an injection of local anesthetic had been provided, and the hooks had been removed. There'd been an actual, unique surgical tool for this, with the nurse remarking they used it just about every couple of days during the summer for tourists and even career fishermen snagging themselves. Stitches which were promised to dissolve on their own in a couple of weeks had been put in, an anti-tetanus shot administered, a bandage applied, and a small plastic cylinder of antibiotic pills was given to Xander. The matter of payment had then tactfully been brought up.

In response, Xander handed over the money he'd earlier accepted, and this was briskly accepted, along with the gift of a free t-shirt since his old one was in pieces. When Xander mentioned where his car was parked miles away at the other pier, he was told to wait in the lobby. It'd been arranged as a favor for Xander that a few minutes from now, one of the doctors would go off-shift and drive him there as part of his discharge.

So, that led to Xander standing by the clinic's windows looking out over Penobscot Bay. On the wall next to the window was a line of framed black-and-white photographs covering this medical facility's dedication during the late fifties and the staff who'd been part of the clinic at the time. Xander only glanced idly at these pictures, until one specific photo suddenly caught his attention.

It showed a battered Army tent of at least WWII vintage with an attached placard identifying this as THE SWAMP. Standing in front of the tent in a line abreast were three men dressed up in mismatched military uniforms and surgical whites. The beaming guy on the far left was holding up a martini glass, and the one on the other far right was brandishing a golf club-

Xander's vision dimmed and a roaring noise overwhelmed his hearing. Then, everything went dark.

An unknown amount of time later, a voice intruded into Xander's consciousness: "Christ, Hawk, is it me or are they getting younger every month? I don't think this one's even started shaving yet!"

"Too bad war's not like a roller coaster with a warning, 'You must be this old to take the ride,'" sardonically replied another voice. The tone of whoever had just spoken next altered into genuine professionalism, "What's his story?"

"Lessee, his squad got mortared at the front. The rest didn't need anything more than a visit to the aid station, but our latest patient picked up some serious shrapnel plus a nasty crack on the skull. The squad sergeant says he kept passing out while being evacuated."

The second voice wondered, "Why wasn't he taken to the 8063 up the road? They're the ones specializing in neurological trauma."

"Ambulance probably couldn't make it that far before full dark shut down all the traffic. We'll need to check him out."

"Okay, gimme the flashlight. I want to look at his eyes."

Xander became aware of a dazzling illumination when one after the other, his eyelids were peeled back. He grunted and tried to squirm away.

"Good, pupils are normal, and Sleeping Beauty here's wide awake without even being kissed," chuckled the second voice.

Xander blinked, and the world ahead of him came into focus. A man's wearily-cheerful face with more than a hint of stubble on it lit up from below by the flashlight held in one hand looked down at Xander. He heard, "Hey, fella, don't worry about a thing. Me and Beej will take good care of you during your stay at the world-famous 4077th MASH with our hot and cold running nurses. I'm Hawkeye, and let me tell you, just say my name anywhere here, and the nurses will start running away even faster."

Wondering what the hell was going on, Xander felt exhaustion overcome him. He willingly let the blackness everywhere fall upon-

A finger tapped Xander's shoulder, along with the worried, "Hello? Do you need to see a doctor?"

Shocked into full wakefulness, Xander spun around to gape at… "_Hawkeye?!_"

In the clinic lobby, the distinguished-appearing man just shy of his sixtieth year looked startled before replying, "No, that was my dad. I'm Dr. Benjamin Pierce, Jr. Did you know him?"

Glancing around at the Maine medical facilities a great deal different from a certain wartime Mobile Army Surgical Hospital based in Korea almost five decades ago, Xander desperately tried to think up a believable explanation which didn't involve Soldier-Boy's flashbacks, damn him. The only thing he could produce at the moment was a weak, "Uh, yeah, a long time ago."

Xander then frowned before continuing, "Wait, you said was-?"

Dr. Pierce nodded sadly. "Dad passed away a few years back." The older man's depressed mood unexpectedly changed into him giving Xander a crooked smile. "Though, he somehow managed to do it in such a way that nobody who'd been around him for long would've been surprised by this."

"What?"

Waving at two armchairs in front of the clinic windows, the doctor clearly invited Xander to sit there with him. This was now done, with the teenager hearing, "I'll be taking you to your car, but if you want, there's no hurry in me telling you about it before we go."

Xander cautiously nodded, praying he could get out of this without making the other dude suspicious.

Dr. Pierce began, "All his life, Dad was serious about only three things ever: his family, his work, and his golf. So, when he basically retired except for consultations on interesting cases, Dad spent as much time as possible on the links. On Opening Day at the local course, he was part of a foursome of friends who were needling him about never getting the single golf record he wanted, an actual hole in one. They were at the first three-par, and Duke pointed at the water hazard ahead which stopped being frozen just weeks ago. As an incentive to get a hole in one, if Dad made it, the rest of them would take off everything down to their underwear and jump right into the near-frigid water."

Pausing to give another slow smile, Dr. Pierce continued. "Dad went first, swung a five-iron, and the ball went up and over the water, hit the green, and bounced right into the pin with its flag. All of them stared at what they'd just seen, until Duke and the others heard a thud and saw Dad sprawled on his back, the biggest grin ever on his face. He'd dropped dead then and there from a heart attack, the fastest one the other doctors ever saw."

Xander didn't know what to say or do. He wanted to laugh, but in light of what he'd just been told, words failed him. Instead, Xander cleared his throat and looked sympathetically at the other man watching him in actual amusement.

Shaking his head as if guessing what the teenager was thinking, Dr. Pierce reassured Xander, "Don't be bothered, son. The fact is, that was exactly how Dad would've wanted to go. The only thing he might've regretted missing was a few days later, right after the funeral. All of us - everyone there from all over, his family, friends, patients he'd treated totaling at least two hundred people - we gathered at the same water hazard. When Duke gave the signal, from the oldest to the youngest, we stripped to either swimsuits worn under our clothes or in the case of him and the remaining foursome, their actual underwear. Then, we all yelled, "HAWKEYE!" and jumped in without further ado. Let me tell you, that water was _really_ damned cold."

**19. Road Trip - Day 18**

The securely-locked door for the conference room where Miskatonic University's Board of Trustees was holding an emergency meeting tonight regarding the matter of Herbert West had its doorknob rattle once when someone standing outside tried to open this portal the usual way. None of the several men arguing around the large mahogany table noticed this due to the angry words being traded among themselves on how to best deal with the imminent scandal about to ruin the Massachusetts school's reputation due to Mr. West's rather…unique…research concerning his attempts to re-animate the corpses of dead people.

Everyone in the room _did_ behold how the door was then kicked open, with the entire door lock ripping itself free and clattering to the floor. Stalking past the wrecked portal which banged against the wall and swung half-shut again, a teenage male nobody there had ever seen before continued to advance towards the startled trustees.

Possessing a grim mien and clad in casual clothing covered with enough blood, ichor, and other bodily fluids that these reeking liquids were dripping off at every step, this stranger seemingly the age of the school's freshmen was holding by one ear the decapitated head of the same medical student they'd been discussing up to five seconds ago. Tucked with some difficulty under the other arm was an ancient, surpassingly bulky, leather-bound book mostly ignored by all there as they instead gaped at where despite the loss of his entire body below the neck, Herbert West was indeed alive, conscious, and angrily gnashing his teeth at the men scrambling away from the part of the table where their newest visitor had just stopped.

Tossing the head onto the table so that it landed balanced onto West's neck stump, the stranger then grabbed with both hands the carried book, raising this weighty volume high over his own head level. Horrified eyes widened around the room as the trustees realized what was about to happen.

With a meaty _thud!_ the book was slammed onto the top of West's skull, hard enough to shatter bone. More obscene sounds accompanied by sprays of blood and liquefied brain matter soon followed, all caused by numerous additional smashes by the stranger onto the severed head, which eventually became nothing but a greasy smear upon the tabletop.

From where they stood cowering against the walls of the conference room as far away as they could get, the trustees saw this homicidal maniac then toss his gore-splattered book onto the table surface. He next sent a withering glare around the room, directed at all those old dipshits. Next came a disdainful lecture:

"Got to mention a couple of things. First, I hate all kinds of zombies, either made by science or magic, _especially_ when they ruin my vacation. Second, the two people I rescued while running down all those lurching bastards outside are gonna want one hell of a bribe from you schmucks to shut up about what happened to them the last couple of hours. Third and last, your library security really sucks putrid monkey balls."

After this last parting shot, the stranger spun around and walked out of the room without another word.

It took a few stunned seconds for the trustees to inch closer to the table, staring together at the gruesome solution to tonight's problem. Eventually, one of those there coughed a few times and next suggested, "Should we ever find out exactly who he was, I move for a vote that we award this young gentleman a full four-year scholarship to Miskatonic and possibly fund his graduate studies, too."

"Never mind that!" interjected another trustee. He pointed a trembling finger at the book left behind and lying upon the table, menacingly broadcasting all the while an air of the most venomous serpent in existence coiled up and ready to strike. "How on earth did our original copy of the _Necronomicon_ acquire a tire tread running across the face of that accursed tome?!"

**20. Road Trip - Day 19**

"Awesome car, mister!"

Stretched out in Marilyn's back seat, Xander tipped up the brim of his cowboy hat which had until then been pulled over his face to help him stay asleep. He'd just been awoken from his midday doze, the consequence of staying up very late last night trying to find a self-service car wash. There simply hadn't been any type of others open at that hour back in Massachusetts with their attendants holding ready for use various wipe-down rags and Windex spray bottles. Besides, even if Xander had in fact stumbled across a full-serve car wash, it definitely wouldn't have been a good idea to go through this in full view of any witnesses, not with all the horrific evidence splattered everywhere upon Marilyn of her recent zombie hit-and-run annihilation.

Oh, well, after using up all his loose change to thoroughly clean Marilyn, at least the completely deserted self-service facilities had also allowed Xander to scrub himself down with the provided hose/brush combo. He'd picked the extra-foamy option for that exact reason. The hot wax application had been prudently skipped, though, thank you very much.

Once finished, it'd been a few hours of sleep for him well away from that really weird university and a groggy Xander had spent the next morning driving south through the Bay State. Any thoughts of visiting Boston were dismissed due to his lingering exhaustion, plus Marilyn's own aversion towards big cities was as strong as ever.

He'd kept going in the same direction mostly out of habit, until a road sign proudly welcomed Xander to the State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations. The teenager hadn't even _known_ they were anywhere near that place much less there were plantations here. It was still nice to travel through, until the growing heaviness of Xander's eyelids made it clear he needed some more sleep or risk having an accident despite the unlikelihood of Marilyn allowing this to happen.

Eventually pulling off the main road at some burg called North Kingstown, Xander drove aimlessly through the local streets until he found a parking space along the sidewalks so close by the west side of Narragansett Bay that he could both see and smell the water. This small village in its own neighborhood was quiet and peaceful, just the spot for Xander to take a good nap lying flat on his back at Marilyn's rear seat.

And now, somebody had come along and roused Xander by that admiring comment about his classic Cadillac. Sitting up, Xander saw three boys standing together on the sidewalk, all of them appreciatively eyeing Marilyn. Looking closer, Xander noticed the kids were all around the same age, ten or eleven years old, and they also vaguely resembled each other.

It wasn't all that evident, just a faint facial likeness. Far more different were the boys' hair, with these children bearing in order of where they were in line on the sidewalk shades of black, reddish-brown, and dirty blonde hair. Speaking what'd just occurred to him, Xander asked, "You guys brothers?"

"No," the darkest-haired boy shook his head. He'd been the one to first compliment Marilyn, and this lad inwardly dubbed Blackie by Xander additionally went on, "Us and our moms live up there." A casual wave of his hand indicated a location somewhere past where Marilyn was parked. "We've grown up together our whole life."

Dismissing such minor details, Red (as Xander thought of him) eagerly wanted to know, "You from California?"

"Yup," Xander nodded, knowing they'd seen Marilyn's license plate. "Doing the road trip thing after high school, just me and my ride, seeing what's to be seen and chilling out along the way."

The kids all sighed with envy. Blondie then said with real longing in his tone, "I wanna do that as soon as I can! This dumb town is totally boring!"

Xander glanced around their pleasant, wealthy upper-class suburban location with barely-suppressed amusement. It looked absolutely great and lovely, a good place for any child to grow up in safety. All of which was nothing like his own birthplace of Sunnydale with all the vamps and demons lurking there. Those young dudes really didn't know how lucky they were. Of course, if he mentioned anything like that to them, Xander would instantly reveal himself to be seriously uncool, almost at old-fart level.

The next several minutes were spent by Xander instead telling the kids just how he'd wound up with Marilyn in the first place, plus a few of his less-fantastic experiences over the last several weeks. A fine time was had by all, until the boys bid Xander a reluctant good-bye and headed off together towards a friends' house.

Getting out of the back seat, Xander did a lazy stretch of his body, working away the kinks from his recent nap. Now fully rested and feeling ready to get on the road again, Xander slipped into the driver's seat, only to warily freeze in his position behind the steering wheel at what the unexpected impression he'd just received from Marilyn.

She was being…_watchful._ Totally vigilant regarding something in her vicinity, to be precise. Peering around the calm neighborhood in his own sudden unease at learning this, Xander still couldn't find anything in sight which might be responsible for how odd Marilyn was presently acting.

Clearing his throat, Xander risked, "Uh, Marilyn, do we need to stick around? See what's going on, that kind of stuff?"

An immediate answer was given by the car when her engine quietly rumbled into life. The steering wheel also twitched but no more than a bit, indicating to Xander now familiar with Marilyn's reactions that they could leave without any trouble or the necessity of further remaining here.

"Well, okay," shrugged Xander, now pulling out on the tree-lined lane. While they headed away from the bay towards one of the bigger mansions hidden behind its ivy-clad stone wall, he tried again. "We can talk about it more later on, if you want."

Marilyn paid no attention to him. Rather, Xander felt she was back to being utterly focused on something, which lasted for the rest of the block. Afterwards, things went back to normal, and Xander left behind the town of North Kingston to continue with his road trip. When Marilyn never brought up the subject again, Xander decided it wasn't worth bothering with either, and he soon forgot all about this short-lived bout of weirdness.

On the other hand, the three women standing together in shared worry continued to look carefully out the front window of the Rhode Island mansion they'd inherited from Daryl over a decade before. Eventually, Alexandra brought up the subject they were all wondering about, "What _was_ that?"

Jane and Sukie traded identical nervous glances. From how Alexandra sounded, she must've sensed the same thing they had mere minutes ago for the first time since all of them had foresworn their witch powers after the events which ended with them become simultaneously pregnant by the same man. Actually, 'man' wasn't the most accurate description of Daryl Van Horne, but none of the women particularly wanted to admit exactly whom their coven had summoned years ago.

Jane said a trifle hopefully, "I, um, don't think it was, you know, _him._ It felt completely different. Just as powerful, or maybe even more, but not…bad. No, the best I can put it is, I got two things sent right into my head. One was really forceful, and the other message almost at the same level, but not quite. Did you have them, too?" She looked at where Sukie and Alexandra were nodding in unison and let out a sigh of genuine relief.

Sukie confessed, "Yeah, it was like that. So, we can all agree the first message was like getting it stapled directly into our minds? That we still better…_BEHAVE._" That last word was hollowly intoned by Sukie.

The absolute quiet in the room was one of resigned acknowledgement. Alexandra at last pointed out, "Well, that's exactly what we've done. Whoever was somewhere around a minute ago, they knew it and approved. Even better, the actual praise which came next, it was us being told we've been doing a fine job for the last ten years. I have to say, that alone made today worthwhile and also gives me hope for what might come next regarding them."

Jane, Sukie, and also Alexandra nodded again in sincere mutual thankfulness, with these once-witches of Eastwick glad of the second message bestowed upon them which any parent would be happy to receive:

_Nice kids._

**21. Road Trip - Day 20**

He'd timed it perfectly.

Leaning back in his sightseeing chair set on the upper deck of the Staten Island Ferry departing from Manhattan just after sunset, Xander watched in awe as perhaps the most famous skyline in the world had its window lights come on in the multitude of skyscrapers beyond. Yep, today had been really great.

However, this morning started off early with Marilyn being more depressed than he'd ever known her to feel this far in his road trip. It couldn't be otherwise, not when the Cadillac with a serious phobia against big cities knew every westward spin of her tires was taking her closer to nowhere else but New York City, the biggest of them all in the entire country. The car's glum mood was all too evident to Xander biting his lower lip to keep from cackling in glee.

Marilyn perked up a bit in her sudden confusion at stopping in New London, only a few miles further on from where they'd spent the previous night in Mystic, both in Connecticut. When Xander got off Interstate 95 and joined the line for the next ferry leaving from the State Pier facility, he jovially whispered in privacy to his companion that it was all planned.

Rather than staying on the local freeways going through the increasingly-populous mainland by Long Island Sound to where they skirted northwest around the Big Apple, Xander and Marilyn were taking the car ferry across to this same island. They'd then drive southwest along the beach roads while keeping the nearby Atlantic Ocean on their left and bypassing a great deal of traffic. It was true this route would eventually take them through miles of urbania, culminating at a crossing of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, but it still beat putting Marilyn through the gauntlet of too many New York City boroughs.

Purring contently at Xander's thoughtfulness, Marilyn entered the interior of the car ferry without any protest. It took close to ninety minutes for them to complete their seaborne trip, with Xander enjoying the bracing view from the ferry's upper deck and Marilyn unperturbed by the whole experience. After landing at Orient Point, most of the rest of the day was spent in their travels down the shore.

Crossing the suspension bridge, among the longest in the world, was a definite thrill for them both. As a measure of her now-happy mood, Marilyn didn't mind when Xander explained what he wanted to do afterwards. They therefore headed to the parking lot for the Staten Island Ferry at their current location of the southernmost part of the state of New York. Once there, Xander left the Cadillac to rest in her parking space at the ferry terminal.

Boarding the next scheduled ferry, Xander spent an elated half-hour floating past the Statue of Liberty gleaming in the setting sun. Also noted by the teenager was Ellis Island, where his Harris ancestors were probably processed through as immigrants at one time or the other. Knowing his past relatives, Xander was inclined to bet they'd been perfect examples of the 'wretched refuse' of some teeming shore. All this was forgotten at seeing the lower Manhattan skyline rise up before him.

Most evident of these structures were the massive paired skyscrapers of the World Trade Center's Twin Towers.

Casting a doleful look at the busy scenes around himself when the ferry docked, Xander didn't abandon his post at the boat railing due to the fact he couldn't leave Marilyn on her own for too long. He waited through the embarking of city office workers going home from their jobs and went back with the ferry on its return journey to Staten Island. This was when Xander vowed that one day he'd revisit but this time thoroughly explore Manhattan and the rest of New York City. Turning away from the railing to look for an empty seat, Xander eventually found one out of the wind and with that morning's discarded edition of the _New York Post_ lying in the also-empty seat on his right.

After watching the lit-up city skyline and the Statue of Liberty draw further away in the distance, Xander idly picked up the newspaper and turned it over to see what was going on here today.

Maintaining its well-known sensationalistic reputation, on the front page of the _Post_ was a badly-shot photograph of what looked like four weirdly-costumed and masked guys, all posing with a variety of hand weapons such as swords, nunchakus, sais, and a staff. The accompany headline blared: MUTANT NINJA TURTLES IN SEWERS?

Hastily dropping the paper back onto the other seat, Xander thought about all the strange stuff he'd personally experienced ever since meeting Buffy Summers, which included his road trip. He nevertheless had just reached the absolute limits of his gullibility, with Xander then saying out loud to nobody in particular in his best sarcastic tone: "Yeah, _right._ I suppose their favorite food is pizza, too."

**22. Road Trip - Day 21**

"Out!" ordered Xander.

The black man wearing a brown robe and sitting in the passenger seat stared incredulously at the other guy who'd just slammed on the brakes of their car while traveling late at night along one of the side lanes of perhaps New Jersey's strangest landmark, otherwise known as the Pine Barrens. Virtually untouched since the seventeenth century despite being within range of millions of people living nearby on the East Coast, close to five hundred thousand acres made up a heavily-forested coastal plain in southern New Jersey which was almost completely deserted of residents save for the rare few inhabitants referred to as 'Pineys.'

The exact area surrounding the stopped car showed the Barrens at their most disquieting ambiance for those who were used to more wide-open spaces. Countless pine trees crowded up to the road edge, muffling any noise in the vicinity. Save for the car's headlights, there were no other lights of any kind, either man-made or up in the night sky solidly covered with clouds. The darkness seemed to heavily press down upon without fear or favor onto the car and its occupants, one of who now protested indignantly.

"You can't be serious! We're in the middle of nowhere!"

"Good point," a thoughtful Xander acknowledged. He lifted his foot off the brake for just a mere second, allowing the Cadillac to move forward barely a couple of feet, before stopping the car again. "There, now we're in the middle of nowhere and a yard further on. Like I said, _out._"

All by itself, Marilyn's right door opened. This was ignored by the black man, probably because he was yelling at Xander, "Cut a brother a break! I told you, there's something big going on thereabouts that I have to find and see if anyone needs help! I can't do that stuck here!"

Shrugging in his total lack of sympathy, Xander nastily declared, "Well, you should've remembered this before breaking the first rule of hitchhiking: _Don't_ piss off your driver. The last half hour ever since I picked you up, you've been yammering straight into my ear about how you got shafted over something that happened almost two thousand _years_ ago! Like I care! Maybe the next car that comes along and lets you in, they'll be happy to listen to what I've got to admit is one of the best ever wacky combined conspiracy theory and life history to come down the pike, but _I've_ had enough! No more delays, buster. Hit the road, or prepare to have your ass kicked like it's never been kicked before."

Rufus the thirteenth apostle warily eyed how tight the driver's fingers were clenched around the steering wheel in clear indication of this honky's current dangerous mood. Even for someone who'd been dead ever since biblical times and had absolutely no idea why he'd been resurrected in the here and now, Rufus suspected he wasn't immune to being punched in the mouth. Sucker there had a set of serious arm muscles, too.

Deciding to show a little discretion which might've been better applied a couple minutes earlier, Rufus argued, "Look, I swear, this is really important! Don't know all the whys and wherefores, but I wouldn't be around if it wasn't essential. It's got to be connected somehow, you coming along at the exact right time to collect me. So, that means this car has to stay my ride until whatever I'm here for goes down."

Xander snorted. "Got any actual _proof_ of that? You know, something on the order of a note pinned to your robe saying, 'Please take this loudmouth to the nearest Apocalypse where he can be the big hero.' Fat chance, dude. Unless I get a direct sign from on high in the next two seconds announcing you're right, I'm thinking this is nothing but a big bluff and you're just flailing around in the dark. Me, _I_ tried the same thing a couple of times the Scoobies went against the latest Big Bad, telling Cordy the safety of the whole world depended on us going all the way. She didn't buy it, and I'm not gonna, either. Let's count down, okay? One…two…gee, how about that? _OUT!_"

Ten seconds later, Rufus was furiously shaking his fist at the dwindling rear lights of the Cadillac, shouting at the top of his lungs in Aramaic how Xander should have in the very near future prolonged carnal relations with a diseased donkey.

This fervent expression of Rufus' ire was abruptly ended by the unexpected opening of a large bottomless pit in the center of the road directly under this long-forgotten apostle's feet. With a cut-off cry of "WHAAAA-?", the black man plunged out of sight into the pit which then sealed itself up so efficiently that not a single trace of its former existence remained.

That meant when Xander backed up Marilyn to the spot where he'd thrown out Mr. Big Talker just moments ago, he found no evidence whatsoever that anyone had been there at all. Glancing around in honest bafflement, Xander couldn't help but to sense Marilyn's own disapproval over the latest absurd events. Trying to think of something to say to distract his car, Xander ventured, "Hey, maybe the Jersey Devil got him?"

Marilyn didn't respond to that except for maintaining her air of aloof censure, which made Xander only dig himself in deeper. "You know, part of the folklore of this place? It's supposed to be the local monster here in the Pine Barrens, like Bigfoot in the Northwest or Nessie in Scotland, and… Okay! Okay! I'm sorry I blew up, but you have to admit he bugged the hell out of me! I still don't know why you insisted on picking him up in the first place, anyway. You've never shown any interest in hitchhikers before. Besides, if there was the slightest bit of truth in his story, how come you didn't stop him from leaving?"

Once again, Marilyn didn't respond. Now becoming a bit worried, Xander quickly put forward a peace offering. "Look, here's the deal. The next hitchhiker we come across that you want to invite to ride with us, no problem! Doesn't matter who they might be, I'll be nice and polite and take them as far as they want. That work for you?"

The Cadillac's headlights flashed once at high beam, and her motor rumbled with pleasure. Heaving a sigh of relief at making his companion happy again, Xander took his foot off the brake and drove ahead through the Barrens. About twenty minutes later, the teenager looked down in sudden puzzlement when he felt Marilyn take control away from him. The car slowed down on her own while taking a curve until she stopped at the exact spot where a hitchhiking figure formerly concealed by the pines next to the curving road was waiting.

Marilyn again opened her right door, and the figure set itself down comfortably in the passenger seat with the door closing automatically. Making one last adjustment to its bat wings and forked tail to prepare for an upcoming trip, the kangaroo-like creature with a goat's head possessing a pair of glowing-red eyes glanced over at Xander.

As for this teenager, he was staring fixedly beyond into the distance through the windshield, not moving a muscle while holding onto the steering wheel. Eventually, without shifting his gaze or showing any real surprise present in his voice, Xander asked, "The Jersey Devil, I presume?"

This cryptid's goat head nodded.

"Yeah, you couldn't be anyone else. Okay, we're heading south until we hit Route 40 and then turn west to Delaware. That all right with you, getting off there?"

This produced another nod from a legendary New Jersey native.

Xander simply started up the Cadillac and drove onwards into the darkness of the Pine Barrens. Soon enough, the young man crossly hissed under his breath at Marilyn's instrument panel. There, the backlit illumination of the gauges was intermittently flickering.

"Quit _giggling!_"

**23. Road Trip - Day 22**

The eye-catching car wasn't exactly what Jarod had been looking for, but it'd have to do, given the dire need to steal this vehicle.

His most recent expert infiltration while in disguise of the massive headquarters containing the secret organization known as the Centre just a few miles away from here at the town of Blue Cove, Delaware, had been moderately successful. Jarod found out some more information about both his past and the parents of this man known as a Pretender, someone capable of impersonating virtually anybody in the world while possessing all their skills at genius levels.

However, Jarod hastily cut short his undercover work, leaving the building and grounds at a fast run into the surrounding countryside upon learning Miss Parker and her team would be back later today at the Centre after their latest futile search for him. There was no chance whatsoever they'd fail to learn about his presence there, and he needed to get as far away as possible from them before their pursuit of Jarod started all over again. According to his calculations, that would be within the hour, so his fleeing on foot had to change into some much quicker form of transportation.

A pure-white 1959 Cadillac Eldorado, no matter how conspicuous, seemed to be his best option at the moment. Parked in a small gravel-paved lot atop a coastal bluff with a dirt path leading to the beach hidden below, this convertible had its top down. Nobody was in the vehicle, and the parking lot was also completely deserted of any other car and their occupants.

Walking towards the Cadillac, Jarod nodded to himself with satisfaction. The owner of that decades-old automobile was probably taking a swim in the Delaware River beyond, with it unlikely he'd hear Jarod drive away in the stolen car. The Pretender made a mental note to leave the classic vehicle in perfect condition and at a place where it'd be fine until recovered by the authorities. Perhaps at a mall or somewhere else with lots of people. Jarod could easily disappear among these shoppers. Fortunately, he had sufficient cash on hand that several hundred dollars of this tucked into the glove compartment as fair recompense for the owner's trouble wouldn't be missed by Jarod.

Pulling out from his pants pocket a set of oddly-shaped metal rods which ordinarily functioned as lockpicks but would do just as fine as car keys, Jarod opened the unlocked door and settled himself into the driver's seat. Several minutes later, the Pretender was staring with genuine perplexity at the tools in his hand which had for the first time ever failed him. Maybe the Cadillac had been restored with a custom key ignition?

Jarod sadly shook his head. No matter how regrettable, he'd have to use rougher measures. Undoubtedly in the owner's opinion, the upcoming action performed by Jarod would be unforgivable, no matter how much money was anonymously provided for the necessary repairs. Returning the lockpicks to his pocket, Jarod then bent forward to reach under the steering wheel-

"You know," a voice spoke from behind, "The last time somebody tried to carjack us, he got dumped outside the nearest police station while blubbering like a little girl, ready to confess about every single crime in his whole life, and _I_ didn't even touch him!"

In a smooth motion, Jarod straightened up and twisted his upper body around to look at where he'd just been caught red-handed. Using all his Pretender talents, Jarod examined the young man standing there, analyzing that person's physical form, posture, facial expression, tone of voice, and many other kinesics clues with every bit of the speed Jarod's unique mind could manifest for this scrutiny. It normally took less than a second in these types of situations for Jarod to decide whether it'd be best to talk or fight his way out, except…

It was quite disconcerting. In order, the college-age stranger wearing only a swimsuit and sandals had spoken with a California accent, was recently tanned, possessed numerous bite and claw marks all over his exposed skin from differing species of animals entirely unknown to Jarod, and most important, stood in a combat stance combining street brawling, military training, and an exclusive form of martial arts based on some sort of four-legged beast, possibly a canine.

That information was received and processed by Jarod in no more time than it took for him to blink. His astonished assessment resulted in the older man sitting in the Cadillac sliding a right hand towards the inner pocket of his suit. Jarod's growing unease only increased further by seeing how the teenager there subtly responded by shifting on his sandaled feet so that if required as in the case of a gun being produced, the car's owner could immediately dive behind the rear trunk and gain its shelter.

Hoping this would work, Jarod pulled out his wallet and flipped it open to show the expertly-forged identification displayed there. He crisply stated, "FBI, Agent Peterson. I'm currently in pursuit of an escaped prisoner, and I'm commandeering your vehicle to chase him. Thank you for your assistance-"

"Liar, liar, pants on fire!" chanted the interrupting young man. What was even odder than him saying this was the quick glance sent just before at…the Cadillac?

Deciding to maintain his strategy anyway, Jarod opened his mouth to try again. Although, no matter how many times he went over everything in the future, Jarod could never explain to himself just why he instead declared at that specific moment:

"My real name is Jarod. I was abducted from my parents as a child and forced by a mysterious, power-seeking group called the Centre to learn how to impersonate anyone. In the process, the Centre used my gifts to carry out crimes ranging from industrial espionage, blackmail, and to even murder. I finally escaped from them and in between staying free from their operatives led by a woman known as Miss Parker, I've been trying to find my family again. Right now, her team's on my trail and will hunt me down in…thirty-five minutes or less."

At least that took aback the other guy somewhat. After another but much longer hard stare at the Cadillac, he at last announced, "The weirdest part is, I was just about to go all Miracle Max in my best Billy Crystal imitation and say your first story's better. But…all right, I believe you." Shaking his head in incredulity, an introduction was made.

"I'm Xander. Let's not hang around, all right? C'mon, up, up." A quick jerk of his thumb accompanied these final words to a very confused Jarod, who only grew more mystified at how this gesture somehow made the Cadillac's trunk lid swing open then and there. Wondering if that Xander person perhaps possessed and just used a sort of remote device to open the trunk despite not seeing any sign of this, Jarod obediently exited from the driver's seat. Another wave of Xander's hand indicated what Jarod should do next.

Having no other choice, Jarod got into the trunk. It was mostly empty save for some blankets and a food cooler. Moving around to make himself comfortable, Jarod looked up at Xander about to close the trunk lid and heard, "Stay there and keep quiet, okay? I'll let you out when I think it's safe. Anybody else does it, you'll have to run like hell." The lid then slammed down, leaving Jarod in darkness.

At least there was sufficient air, and the shocks were quite remarkable, giving Jarod a smooth enough journey for the next twenty-eight minutes. Unfortunately, that was when Miss Parker and the rest stopped the Cadillac.

Crouching inside the trunk, Jarod prepared himself for a last-ditch effort to escape. However, after no more than another minute of delay, the car started driving again. Counting down in his head, Jarod relaxed a fraction when more than sufficient time went by than would have taken for a return to the Centre. Even better was seeing Xander's smiling face when the lid opened again.

Climbing out of the car, Jarod looked around the small Delaware town where they were now parked. His attention returned to Xander stating, "Everything's cool, dude. I got told by M- a…source…I trust that nobody's looking for you in this place and won't be for a while, so you're free to go. Wouldn't be a good idea to stick around here, though. Best of luck in finding your family, uh, Jarod."

Not sure how to react properly to what'd just happened, Jarod thought of the extra money in his wallet. He began reaching for this, while saying, "Thank you very much for what you've done, Xander. May I give you a reward for helping me?"

"Nah, don't bother, you might need it yourself," replied a smirking Xander, waving away Jarod's attempt at payment. The younger man's evil grin grew even wider when he continued in a supremely gleeful tone, "I got my own personal reward back there, when I said right into Miss Ice Bitch's face, 'Hey, pretty lady, you wanna dump those jerks and go for a spin in my ride? I'll rock your world better like I figure nobody else ever has or wanted to!' Not even Cordy gave me a meaner look of death than _she_ did for that!"

**24. Road Trip - Day 23**

Walking towards the NCIS conference room, Gibbs maintained an even stride and his usual bleak expression. However, he was inwardly remembering with distinct ruefulness the time during his Marine years when an extremely salty sergeant with service hash marks overflowing both uniform sleeves advised him, "Kid, if you ever make command, always keep in mind your troops won't just get into as much trouble as possible; they'll also invent completely new ways to give you headaches!"

And now, he had to read the riot act due to their recent behavior to somebody who wasn't going to take it very well.

Opening the conference room door, stepping inside, and closing it after himself, Gibbs glowered at where Ziva David was sitting at the other side of the table and facing him. The sole person there, she stared back at Gibbs with equal irritation, to then demand, "Have you found them yet?"

"No," growled Gibbs, who took his own chair opposite Ziva. Casting his coldest eye ever at where the Mossad liaison officer seemed about to say something particularly injudicious, Gibbs went on, "Before anything else, I want to go over again just what started it all. You were coming back alone here last night from Maryland's Patapsco Valley State Park west of Baltimore, right?"

"Yes, Gibbs," sighed Ziva. "I'd finished interviewing one of the witnesses to the murder case of the Navy officer found there, and it was getting dark. On the two-lane park road, the only car around throughout everything was in front of me, moving much too slowly at the time. I passed it, but whoever was driving the other car sped up and overtook me and then slowed down again which nearly made me crash into the rear of this vehicle. Pulling ahead to stay next to the young man who was driving with the car's top down, I ordered him to stop and prepare to be arrested by an officer of the law for their dangerous actions."

Gibbs just gazed at Ziva, who zealously continued, "This order was immediately disregarded by that hatichat harah who instead attempted to flee by accelerating away down the park road. Naturally, I went after him and saw how this criminal briefly lost control of their automobile, which spun around so it was then driving backwards. Moving up to where we were both traveling bumper-to-bumper, I noticed despite his different orientation the driver had no problem with following the road, easily taking every curve without looking behind them. That means this person had to be a local of some kind to know the route so well. Another clue was the gesture directed at me throughout this. I've never seen such a thing before, but the young man at his steering wheel must've practiced it often."

"He did?" interjected a frowning Gibbs. This was news to him.

Ziva nodded with absolute confidence. "I suspect it may be a gang signal common to the area. It went like this." Reaching up with her right hand, she held it flattened out and the far side pointed right at Gibbs, next placing the end of her thumb against the tip of her nose. At the same time, she vigorously wiggled the other extended fingers.

A vein started to throb in Gibbs' temple. Nothing else showed in his display of superhuman self-control, not even an alteration of his steady voice. "What happened then?"

Bringing down her hand, Ziva shrugged with evident frustrated annoyance. "From where they were pointing at my own vehicle, the other car's headlights flashed into high beams which temporarily blinded me. I had to stop and wait until my vision recovered. That took a few seconds before I could drive again, but even though I searched up and down the road for miles in the park, there were no signs of where the other car had gone. It'd probably taken a side lane, another indication of local knowledge."

Straightening up in her chair, Ziva scowled at her present superior himself showing nothing but the famous Leroy Jethro Gibbs stone face. "I returned to NCIS and reported my encounter to the night shift head, with a full description of the vehicle, its license plate, and the driver. With all that, what's taking you so long to find and arrest the offender? I expected it to have already been done even before I was ordered this morning to wait in here for you to speak to me!"

Gibbs reacted in a remarkably calm manner which would've made people who knew him far better than Ziva to dive for the deepest cover they could find. "There's a few little problems about this which might make it kind of hard to carry out, Ziva. First of all, while we were able to identify the type of car at once, a white 1959 Cadillac Eldorado convertible, there were only about thirteen hundred originally made. Nobody knows how many there are now elsewhere in the whole country, white or any other color, but none of 'em are in Maryland."

"The license plate was from California-" Ziva began to protest.

Gibbs overrode her, "Yeah, funny thing about the plate, too. That state's DMV said they've never issued it any time since 1959. Oh, and of all the Eldorados that _are_ on record there, not a single owner is as young as the kid you described playing bumper cars with you last night. Last and most important, there's the slight matter of the two speeding tickets you picked up after leaving the park which you neglected to mention to anyone during your imaginary story."

"Gibbs-!" an alarmed Ziva tried, only to be interrupted again by this fed-up man rising from his chair and laying down the law.

"Not another word, Ziva. DiNozzo and McGee will be doing the driving for the next couple of weeks. _You,_ on the other hand, will be in the passenger seat studying the Maryland Driver's Manual until you've got it down so perfect that there'll be no problem with you reciting it completely backwards. In case you think I'm exaggerating, that means exactly that: backwards, like the movie stunt driver maneuvers flawlessly done by some high school graduate with a classic Detroit machine there's no way he could ever afford in the first place!"

Breathing hard, Gibbs glared at where a speechless Ziva was gawking at him in her betrayal.

"The manual's already on your desk. Pick it up and bring it along; we've been alerted there's another case for us at Quantico." Spinning around on his feet, Gibbs impatiently stormed out of the conference room like he was hitting the beaches at Tarawa during World War Two.

Knowing there was no way now she'd ever be able to persuade anybody at work of the truth regarding last night's bizarre events, Ziva slunk after her boss, already dreading how Tony and even Timothy were going to tease her about everything. Worse of all, she couldn't even convey her best level of threatening attitude towards them both to keep those males properly cowed, not while flipping through a thick, government-issued brochure to learn the difference between single solid-yellow and single solid-white traffic stripes.

**25. Road Trip - Day 24**

Revenge was sweet.

Though, as far as she could recollect, there hadn't been for her any actual participation in what appeared to be Xander's recent well-deserved punishment, every bit of this evident upon his smudged face, tattered clothing dribbling muck at every step, and a more than possible presumption he'd collapse on his feet any moment now. Nothing less would be accepted for bringing Marilyn to Washington D.C. just because this teenager on his road trip wanted to be a tourist there today. No matter. However it'd happened, he _really_ looked like the last twelve hours for him involved having sometime during this several tons of dirt dumped onto Xander at one go and then being required to make a twenty-mile forced march at double time with a full military load for every inch of that hike.

From where the Cadillac had been tucked away ever since this morning in her parking space at one of the city's more obscure residential back streets, Marilyn continued watching with spiteful interest what was happening further down the lane. There, a grimy young man staggered in his total exhaustion towards this classic car past the lit streetlamps illuminating the row of 19th century mews converted into charming houses for the district's higher-ranking bureaucrats.

Xander definitely warranted whatever penalty he'd just earned now that Marilyn was once again reminded of just why she'd loathed every second of her stay here. Aside from the whole big-city phobia he knew quite well she suffered from, this place was absolutely filled with bureaucrats. _And_ politicians. _And_ lawyers.

Yes, she was currently feeling rather vindictive, if this actually needed to be mentioned.

During Marilyn's dark mood, Xander had wearily lurched up on the brick-lined sidewalk to reach and stop at the car's right door. Instead of opening this to get in, Xander did a slow quarter-turn to press the rear of his pants against the door side and then he leaned way back, trusting that gravity would do the trick. Tumbling in a half-somersault onto the front seat, a limp Xander spent the next minute or so there just gazing up at the night skies with the stars above washed out by city lights.

Not particularly caring whether there would be a forthcoming explanation, Marilyn waited. In due time, Xander squirmed through a series of bodily contortions which resulted in him sitting behind the steering wheel while also keeping down as much as possible the amount of agonizing aches every movement now cost him.

After a few dozen eyeblinks done in utter silence, Xander then brightly announced, "Hey, Marilyn, you wanna hear about my day?"

Hmmm…not really. Marilyn instead began giving Xander the silent treatment.

Ignoring this, the teenager continued to whine, "All I planned was to check out a few spots here I'd been looking forward to, like the Lincoln Memorial, the Air and Space Museum, that kind of thing! Only, right after getting off the Metro line close by the Mall the same time as a couple of other people, I got kidnapped along with them!"

Xander paused for whatever reaction Marilyn might have to that. She didn't bother.

Giving the car's instrument panel an affronted glare, Xander tried again. "You know the worse part of it all? I was a total innocent bystander! Nobody believed me about that, though, even the Gates guy and his friends who were also grabbed by some baddie having a past history with what's-his-name Gates! Every time I suggested maybe they could have their big face-off without me, I got shoved by one of the baddie's punks who next stuck a big pistol under my nose to shut me up! After that, we spent _forever_ wandering through cobwebby basements and cellars stuffed full of old junk!"

Now at full steam during his rant, Xander said with increasing resentment, "Gates, whoever he was, never stopped talking! If it wasn't a lecture about everything falling to pieces we saw, it was an argument with the baddie about the Declaration of Independence and Freemasonry and a hundred other boring things from civics classes! Oh, and there was the little problem about both of them breaking the law so that if we got caught by the authorities, _I'd_ also take the fall and be sent to jail for life!"

Glowering into the nighttime distance past the Cadillac's windshield since Marilyn obviously didn't find this very remarkable, Xander finished off with, "Of course, after our everlasting tour of beautiful underground Washington, Gates and his friends finally made their move! There was lots of dodging and shooting and hair-rising escapes and they ran away into the dark to start it all over again! Me? None of them even bothered to notice I was staying right there! I waited until I was sure every one of the idiots were gone, and then took the nearest stairs, to find the whole day had been wasted!"

Xander nodded in sheer disgust. "Yeah, you know what? At least even the crappiest vacation spot anywhere else luring into its clutches the tourist prey they feed on will have ready for sale the cheapest-made t-shirts saying 'I visited blankety-blank and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!' Did I even have a chance for that today? No! _This_ is the only souvenir I wound up with during my fun-filled time with those morons!"

Groaning under his breath at the effort it took, Xander dug into his right pants pocket and pulled out a small object from there which he crankily displayed to Marilyn. Despite wanting to pay no heed to this, the Cadillac still examined the small brownish coin daubed with mud that yet managed to show upon its face the word 'LIBERTY', an image of a woman with flowing hair, and the date of 1795 at the bottom.

In the middle of Marilyn's scrutiny of that coin, she then heard a very grumpy Xander complain, "All that, and I ended up with a single lousy penny I found on the dirt floor of some basement today. I couldn't even tell you where it was or how to find it again, but who cares? C'mon, Marilyn, let's find a place to eat. I haven't had anything since breakfast, and I'm starving!" The coin was shoved back into Xander's pocket, and he started the car.

Pulling up at the drive-through window after giving his order into the intercom of the first hamburger joint he'd come across, Xander scavenged a handful of crumpled dollar bills and spare change to pay the fast-food cashier for his meal. Wanting only to eat right away and not waste another second, Xander waved off the cashier totaling up the bill in preparation for returning any extra money. "Keep it, okay? Thanks, no, I don't want any mustard, just ketchup."

Munching at his fries a few minutes later in a nearby local park, Xander found his mood improving. He even confided to Marilyn, "Maybe I'll stick around tomorrow, see what I wanted to this time instead of being today's hostage."

Marilyn frankly doubted that. Far more likely, they'd be well away from here because a young man furious at his stupidity wouldn't want to stay around the place where he'd just made one of the dumbest mistakes of his entire life.

This would require some delicate handling. Of course, Marilyn could simply not tell him and let Xander blissfully remain _another_ day in a city she hated and couldn't wait to leave. A city containing, what was it…right, bureaucrats, politicians, and lawyers. Even worse, bureaucrats who were politicians _and_ lawyers.

Nah. Just allow Xander to finish his milkshake so he wouldn't do a spit-take all over her nice clean instrument panel, and then a sentient car who also knew a great many other things would inform this clueless teenager that he'd recently handed over in his spare change the old penny Xander found earlier during an unwanted adventure for national treasure.

A penny which would immediately be identified by any serious numismatist or coin collector to be a 1793-era Wreath Large Cent, among the first ever coins minted by the newly-established American government, and worth at auction (depending upon its condition and other details) around ten to fifteen thousand dollars in value.

**26. Road Trip - Day 25**

This was…weird. Okay, still kind of nice, but…weird. Seriously weird, and let me tell you, he knew seriously weird.

During a morning in which he and Marilyn drove in silence through Virginia, working their way mainly south and west for no particular reason, neither of them referred to what would be forever known and shunned as the penny incident. Xander had preserved this mutual agreement when without a word he diverted away from Richmond. They'd soon seen in the distance a line of hills which turned into actual mountains. Checking his map, Xander learned these were the Blue Ridge Mountains, part of the larger Appalachian range. Deciding they might as well as keeping heading in that direction, a turn onto one of the back roads caused both the human and the car to right away become completely lost in the hilly, tree-covered terrain.

If pressed, Xander wasn't prepared to swear they were in Virginia any more. With any luck, when he and Marilyn left tomorrow, they'd be able to find and stay on the road no matter what until returning again to a reasonable semblance of civilization. Adding to his uncertainty was the farmhouse set by a mountainside and its residents where he was now staying for the night. Shifting under the quilt of the spare mattress for guests laid out on the front porch, Xander shook his head in sheer amazement.

Stumbling upon this place had been like finding something straight out of the turn of the twentieth century. Well, maybe not that old, but almost there. He'd understood it wouldn't have been polite to come right out and ask, but Xander figured it was a combination of poverty and indifference to modern times. There wasn't any electricity; though, to be fair, it would've cost a mint to run power lines here. Same thing for putting in a natural gas system. They used oil lamps and drew water from the house pump, heating this on the massive wood-fired stove taking up most of the kitchen. An outhouse stood in lonely splendor out the back. No television, of course, and the radio ran on batteries topped up by a crude generator powered via a sputtering Model A Ford on blocks in the barn with a rubber belt connecting the generator with the spinning rear axle devoid of its tires.

That other car had been the culmination of technology at the farm until Marilyn stopped in front of the house just before dinnertime. Like some strange jack-in-the-box, a whole bunch of people had peered out of the front windows on both the dwelling's first and second stories, regarding the 1959 Cadillac with utter awe as if it'd been the Second Coming. When Xander tried to cut short their visit by saying he was only here to ask for directions, it hadn't done him any good. The dinner their new guest been promptly invited to around a crowded table had definitely been delicious, all the same.

Remembering how friendly he'd been treated the last couple of hours, offered a meal and a bed without any hint a payment for these might be owed, Xander's attention was abruptly seized by the expectant silence now surrounding him. On the porch, this young man gulped at understanding he was being invited to join in the family ritual he'd been listening to just a minute ago. Praying he remembered it all, Xander took a deep breath, and he began reciting the names of every one of the Waltons in their home tonight:

"Good night, Daddy; good night, Elizabeth; good night, Grampa; good night, Erin; good night, Jason; good night, Mama; good night, Grandma; good night, Jim-Bob; good night, John-Boy!"

Caught up in the words, Xander added without thinking, "Good night, Marilyn!"

In a cheerful response from the entire house, a close-knit family chorused, "Good night, Xander! Good night, Marilyn! Good night!"

Xander resignedly closed his eyes and prepared to go to sleep. Yep, weird. He just hoped Marilyn wouldn't expect this same bedtime ceremony from him for tomorrow night and all the subsequent nights after that.

However, the amused gleam of reflected moonlight now seen running along Marilyn's windshield where she was still parked in front of the house indicated this classic car would without a doubt be demanding exactly that in the future from Xander. To be precise, she was thinking of no less than the following benediction:

"Good night, Buffy; good night, Dawn; good night, Willow; good night, Joyce; good night, Oz; good night, Jenny; good night, Cordy; good night, Jesse; good night, Faith; good night, Giles; good night, Marilyn! Good night!"

**27. Road Trip - Day 26**

Most of the time, Sheriff Andrew Jackson Taylor of Mayberry, North Carolina, very much appreciated his job. This good-natured chief law enforcement representative enjoyed settling peacefully the rare disputes and differences of opinion among the sleepy community where he lived before they got out of hand. When the even more sporadic cases of actual serious crimes occurred in the rural county he was responsible for, Sheriff Andy (as he was known to everyone) again did his best to protect and serve the grateful people who in response unfailingly voted him back into office at every election.

However, just like in any other profession, there were some rather exasperating details of his everyday employment that occasionally made Sheriff Andy very reluctant in the morning to get out of his nice, soft bed and go to work. To be specific, one particular person also serving as Mayberry's other policeman.

The really discouraging part was that Andy genuinely _liked_ Deputy Bernard Milton Fife and would have even if the other man wasn't his cousin. Barney was loyal, a hard worker, followed Andy's orders zealously, and could even be surprisingly brave when the occasion called for it.

That said…this was the same bug-eyed blowhard who was now crossly hopping up and down in the noisy police station Andy had just walked into from the front entrance before lunchtime. Stopping short, a startled sheriff watched how Barney clearly not knowing his boss was behind him then pointed an indignant finger at one of their jail cells, while at the same time shouting at the top of his lungs, "Nip it! Nip it in the bud!"

That same jail cell was currently occupied by a young man at the end of his teenage years rattling loudly a battered tin cup against the inside cell bars and yelling back at Barney in a matching commotion, "Attica! Attica!"

Looking over Barney's shoulder, that prisoner's eyes quickly widened in growing hope at seeing there someone in this hick burg who might actually be _sane._"Yo, officer dude! Get this guy to let me outta here!"

Whirling around on his feet, Barney did his usual twitchy flinch over how close a person had again gotten near him without this man noticing. Straightening to attention, the deputy formally nodded and reported, "Sheriff, I've just arrested this little punk for driving in an extremely dangerous manner pursuant to Section twelve, paragraph b-slash-two of the county ordinances-"

The young stranger bellowed over Barney's smuggest tone, "All I did was make an U-turn to park on the other side of the street a block away! No other cars were around for me to hit, and there wasn't even a road sign forbidding it! The next thing I knew, Deputy Dawg here was marching me into this crummy cell with a gun pointed very shakily at my back all the time!"

Sheriff Andy stared with real consternation at his subordinate. "Barney, did you forget and put your bullet in today?"

Barney had to pause to think about that. He eventually admitted, "Uh, I'm not sure-" The last word was accompanied by the deputy absently slapping his hand against his holstered pistol.

_BANG!_

The sole .38 caliber round which Deputy Fife was allowed by Sheriff Andy to carry around with him in the course of his duties blew through the end of the holster, hit the floor an inch from the side of Barney's right shoe, and then merrily ricocheted around the police station, shattering various objects in its journey. This bullet at long last came to a stop deeply sunk into one of the building's walls, where it joined the numerous extra bullets from Barney's other accidental discharges.

Glancing up from lying prone on the floor where he'd instantly dived there at hearing the detonation, Andy stared right into Barney's sheepish expression attached to the skinny body laid out in the same posture. The higher-ranking law officer's gaze then went past the cell bars to where onto the own floor of his jail cell, a sprawled-out young man had also joined with impressive speed the pair of older men.

Hastily trying to head off the added tremendous irate explosion he knew was about to start over there any second now from this member of the public, Sheriff Andy asked, "Barney, you collared your prisoner a block from here, right? Was it before or past the fire hydrant?"

"Huh?" Barney frowned at his boss, ignoring the rumbling growl of righteous fury starting to come from much lower in the cell behind them. "Past it, I think. His nice-looking car's still parked there. I figure if we run the plates, we might add a couple more charges for grand theft auto-"

A very weary sign interrupted the deputy. Sheriff Andy went on to explain in his most patient tone. "Barney, that hydrant shows Mayberry's city limits. Anybody does an U-turn on the road beyond, it's out of our jurisdiction and we can't arrest them because the ordinance you just quoted only applies to within the town. Now, why don't you go check to see if Miz Meredith left her front windows open when she went to visit her aunt on the other side of the county? Looks like it's fixin' to rain this evening, and she'll be glad you closed 'em if that happens. Me, I'm gonna have a little chat with our guest and hopefully work things out so's he won't go off holding a grudge against anybody here."

A very sarcastic "Ha!" showed what the young man getting up onto his feet thought about this unlikely prospect.

Perhaps less than a minute afterwards, Xander stood in the police station workspace, finally free from the cell where that incredibly stupid cop was now occupying, going inside to collect the former prisoner's tin mug after unlocking the door and letting Xander out. Glowering at the genial sheriff which he might've liked meeting anytime else, their upcoming discussion didn't even have a chance to start.

Instead, several noises came from the cell, one after the other. These were the soft _clang!_ of the cell door locking itself after Barney bumped it shut, the clatter of the dropped jail keys falling to the floor when the deputy clumsily juggled these and the cup, with next a scraping sound when the same keys were kicked out of reach into the police station, and then Barney's sad, "Oops."

Turning to where the sheriff dude now had his eyes tightly closed in frustration, Xander announced, "Hey, mister, you want to make up for today? Double his salary." That astonishing suggestion came with Xander jerking a indicating thumb into Barney Fife's direction at where he'd just locked himself inside the jail cell.

"What?!" was chorused with identical disbelief by the policemen at where Xander was vigorously nodding back at them.

"Oh, you bet," this young man declared to both officers. He went on in a very strange rueful tone, "All my hometown needs is for _him_ to join the police force there. Pay this guy enough, and that won't happen. I figure if there's even the slightest chance you'll do it, your deputy will stick around and never, ever head west to California, which suits me just fine."

* * *

A little bit later, Xander couldn't help wondering exactly how he'd gotten talked into this. While adjusting against one shoulder the fishing pole lent to him earlier, he looked down at his other hand holding onto the handle of a heavy picnic basket filled to its brim with their lunch. Even through the red-and-white checkered cloth laid over the contents there, he could still smell the delicious odor of the warm whole apple pie on top and straight from Mayberry's Bluebird Diner, picked up after reassuring a worried Marilyn everything was all right.

Walking on the other side of the sheriff dude and his kid as they all went down the dirt path, Xander had to admit it was a great day to be shown their private fishing hole, part of the apology being paid to him for having his summer road trip disrupted. Feeling his good mood improve even further in the North Carolina sunshine, Xander grinned at what both of these Mayberry natives now easily did, showing their extensive practice at a father-and-son routine.

Damn, but that whistled tune was _catchy._

**28. Road Trip - Day 27**

Keeping his arms folded across his chest, Xander peered ahead at the local street Marilyn was driving them through tonight. As expected on a Fourth of July evening, the neighborhood kids in this suburb of Nashville, Tennessee, were happily running around in the front yards and the sidewalks, waving in their hands the kinds of fireworks known as sparklers. As suggested from this name, these pyrotechnics produced displays of brightly colored sparks which lit up the area well enough. However, if what Xander had learned from the tourist guidebooks was indeed true, the _real_ show was going to start in the next few minutes.

Marilyn slowed down and turned off the street into a vacant lot. Holding on while the car slowly made its way over the tall grass covering the whole lot, Xander opened his mouth to ask if this was the right direction to where she was taking them. There was no need for those words to be actually spoken, since an answer was provided to him right away when Marilyn pushed her way through a narrow unpaved lane with high bushes on both sides. After she'd turned off her headlights, they stopped a couple yards further on in a small clearing overlooking the main city set out below in its sheltering valley from their higher location at the hills north of the Cumberland River.

Admiring the view, Xander glanced to the right and he noticed at the far side of the clearing another parked car. Even with the present radiance from the lit-up city skyline, the darkness of a summer evening shortly before 9 p.m. made this vehicle quite hard to see, with it being set deep into the shadows produced by the overhead tree canopies surrounding the clearing. From how the blocky outline of that other car was quite different from the sleek shapes of today's automobiles, Xander soon got the impression it was pretty old-style, maybe from even the same postwar big-car era which also produced Marilyn.

Straining his vision through the dimness for a few more seconds, Xander eventually spotted the shifting motions of somebody sitting in the driver's seat of the different vehicle. It looked to probably be just a single person there. He wasn't all that sure; it was simply too dark for Xander to confirm if that guy had brought along a passenger to watch the fireworks-

An ascending streak of combustion caught from the corner of Xander's eye swiftly brought back his attention to looking forwards through Marilyn's windshield, just in time to see the first glorious explosion in the sky lighting up the whole city. Once again, the Nashville Fourth of July fireworks show from Riverfront Park was about to prove to connoisseurs of these gaudy performances why it was ranked one of the best in the whole country.

Gawking at the magnificent presentation accompanied by thunderous booms and thumps, Xander suddenly heard a nearby voice singing:

_Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light_

Snapping his neck around, Xander stared again at the car a few yards away, from where this song was originating. Another burst of illumination by a dozen glittering-silver flares going off at once showed he'd been right. The revealed automobile was another Cadillac, maybe a few years older than Marilyn, but in this case instead of a convertible, it was a hard-top. Also different was the car's color. It was a little hard for Xander to tell, given how there next came a massive scarlet firework detonating, but he thought it was a pale red body with a white roof.

Darkness descended again before Xander could look at the driver, but the voice drifting from there continued:

_What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?_

Staring again at the continuing fireworks, Xander wondered if they were being synchronized with a radio broadcast of the 'Star Spangled Banner', and he was hearing it from the other car's dashboard radio:

_Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,  
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?_

Except…Xander was getting a really odd vibe he knew this voice from hearing it before. Not singing that exact tune, though, even if they were doing it absolutely right. A guy's exultant voice, which he was absolutely sure about, but who, exactly? Maybe some pop star doing a guest performance? It was almost on the tip of his tongue, but then Xander got distracted by the start of the grand finale which began in time with:

_And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,  
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there._

Squinting his eyes against the incredible blaze of multi-colored light produced there as the fireworks show's culmination, Xander put aside his puzzlement to loudly whoop in delight at the impressive sight. The intense rumble rolling across the city to where he and Marilyn were in the clearing arrived and almost drowned out the patriotic song's triumphant conclusion:

_Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave  
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?_

Blinking at where the horizon was dark again save for the city lights, Xander sighed in genuine disappointment about what was clearly the end of the fireworks concert along with the music. Glancing over at where the other car was again hidden in the deeper shadows, the teenager considered going over there and chatting with that Caddy's owner. Anybody who cared enough about classic cars to keep their ride in such perfect shape as seen in the several glimpses Xander managed during the last few minutes had to be another devotee of fine Detroit machines.

Just when he'd made up his mind to do exactly that, Xander saw from inside the other Cadillac a flash of light when the person there lit up a cigarette. Continuing to watch the red dot which had to be the cigarette's burning tip, Xander next saw this tiny blaze increase in brightness due to the smoker there drawing in a deep breath. This further produced enough of a glow so that Xander saw a man's very familiar face gazing back directly at him.

Then, the guy did a true Southern good ol' boy wink at Xander.

Carrying out in reaction a disbelieving double-take, Xander closed his eyes and shook his head a few times, not sure he'd really witnessed, uh, it, no, _him._ He opened his eyelids, and stared at…nothing.

The car was gone. Totally vanished, with only an empty space under the trees where a couple tons of metal, glass and rubber had been a moment before.

Naturally, the guy who'd been in this pink Cadillac was also nowhere in their vicinity.

From behind the steering wheel where he'd been sitting throughout everything, a numb Xander blankly eyed Marilyn's instrument panel. She seemed not to be bothered at all by whatever had just happened, even when her companion croaked out, "Well… I suppose since we passed up visiting Memphis and Graceland, here's as good as any other place in Tennessee for our very own Elvis sighting."

**29. Road Trip - Day 28**

Walking stiffly out of the Arkansas post office, Xander still maintained his very happy grin despite how much his entire body hurt. The muscles of his fingers, hands and arms throbbed at every heartbeat, the result of hours of digging with a shovel. His back ached due to having to lift and pour numerous filled plastic buckets of earth through a pair of box screens which shifted out the detritus to reveal the prizes he'd been searching for most of today. Hours of kneeling notwithstanding the pair of pads he'd rented explained his stiff-legged gait. To top it all off, this teenager could already feel all over his face the onset of a serious sunburn, even though he'd worn his cowboy hat the whole time and loaded up with sunscreen for the treeless fields where his labors had been accomplished.

It didn't matter. In the end, Xander had found the necessary number of souvenirs for which he'd just splurged the money at this post office to ship a small package back home by same-day express service. It might get there tomorrow, but the day after was more likely. Limping to where Marilyn was waiting in the parking lot, Xander's wide grin reached ear-to-ear levels.

Mrs. Summers and the rest of his girls were going to _love_ what he'd just sent them! He could almost imagine their reactions…

As a matter of fact, Xander would pretty much successfully hit the nail on the head regarding how his Sunnydale friends behaved at learning the exact specifications of their gifts from him. It was only a few other details taking place then that this young man on his summer road trip was ignorant of, but to be fair, this same thing applied to everybody else at his hometown save for one person.

* * *

Thérèse Renarde smiled with polite recognition at the woman who'd just entered her tiny one-room shop located in Sunnydale's business district. It was an entirely normal emotional response, but Amanda Darieux prided herself on always staying totally in character during the course of a scam. It did help that centuries of practice allowed this Immortal to maintain her composure through virtually anything up to and including decapitation, but she sincerely doubted the owner of a nearby art gallery was here to take her head.

Most Immortals in the know about the supernatural world were also aware of Hellmouths. Though, these individuals immune to old age and death unless beheaded tended to avoid those dimensional nexi whenever possible. Aside from so many vampires and other demons infesting the place, a Hellmouth's unearthly energies usually produced severe interference to the mental link allowing Immortals to sense each other. None of them particularly liked being unable to notice in advance someone who might be hunting down their next challenge. Also, these same energies had over time a corrupting effect upon most forms of holy ground, which lessened to some degree the protections offered to an Immortal seeking a safe refuge there.

It all resulted in Amanda probably being the only example of her kind here in Sunnydale right now, which was just fine with this 1179-year-old thief. She'd done so much work setting up a false identify and stocking this store with all necessary materials to maintain her cover that anyone showing up waving an oversize sword in both hands and declaring "There can only be one!" would be severely chastised by Amanda for ruining her con game. Said chastisement would include chainsaws, blowtorches, and an acid bath since this wrecked swindle would've hopefully culminated in stealing a demon clan's bank account passwords for all their funds totaling well above eight figures.

Not that any of this was expected from Joyce Summers, Amanda thought from deep inside her Thérèse Renarde persona. She'd paid a courtesy visit to all the other business owners in the district several days ago, handing out her newly-printed business card to them. It was done partly to sustain the fictitious character of a charming Frenchwoman new in town and also for Amanda to familiarize herself with the neighborhood. Most important of all to a very paranoid Immortal was finding which direction to run if such an unfortunate action was in truth required.

At that point, should dear, sweet Duncan had been around, he would've undoubtedly made some scathing remarks about Amanda also checking out what to take from the Summers gallery during this same hasty flight. Oh, _please._ That native blonde had a good eye for art and some of her items for sale would increase quite nicely in value over time, but Amanda had in her lengthy felonious career profitably looted the treasure vaults of historic kingdoms, down to the last speck of gold dust. A minor California business for middle-class artwork just didn't compare.

Warmed by so many delightful memories of how she'd gaily spent everything later on, Thérèse bestowed upon Joyce a stunning smile capable of reducing any male to gibbering idiocy. A friendly nod was returned in kind, though Joyce looked a bit distracted during this. The older (or so she thought) woman hesitated, glancing around the cramped quarters for a first-time proprietor which still glittered brightly from the front window sunlight reflecting from the shiny contents of the glass-enclosed display cases.

"Ms. Renarde," began Joyce, only to be cut off by a dismissive wave from the person she'd come to visit.

With only a trace of a Gallic accent in it, a declaration then came: "Please, call me Thérèse, and I will call you Joyce. Now that is settled, how may I help you?"

At this point, Joyce blushed a little. She offered to Thérèse behind the shop counter several brochures currently held in Joyce's fingers. Accepting with a mild frown of puzzlement, Thérèse opened the first brochure to read it, and her jaw promptly dropped in real surprise.

Seeing that, Joyce risked, "So, you know about the place, Thérèse? It's real, and not a fake or some kind of, of, a theme park with cheap souvenirs?"

Going through the rest of the brochures which turned out to merely be copies of the first, Thérèse absently replied, "Oh, the location is most real. There is no other kind like it in all of your country. Indeed, it is the only place worldwide where the public has free right of access to search for-"

Thérèse paused in both her speech and her thoughts. She next uttered a quite amused chuckle at what had just occurred to her. "Do not tell me! You have been there recently and found something which I am to examine for you?"

This time, Joyce's blush was far deeper. She hastily said, "Not just for me! A high school friend of my daughters named Xander Harris, he was there a couple of days ago on his road trip. The package he sent me had those brochures explaining where he'd been, plus a few more things he'd gotten there and an actual certificate of authenticity for them! I don't want to spoil anything for Buffy, Dawn, and Willow if it turns out Xander made a mistake or is trying to pull someone's leg. The problem is, I know how they look when they're finished, but not in their natural state. Can you check for me? I'll pay for your time, of course."

Another unconcerned flick of her fingers was made by Thérèse. "Pish! It will be a mere favor between us. Do you have them with you?"

From her other hand which had been closed tightly ever since she'd entered the shop, Joyce put down on the countertop four little packets of paper. The paper had clearly been torn from a single white sheet and then individually wrapped make a sort of envelope safely holding their contents.

Gazing at the packets now lined up in a horizontal row before her, Thérèse noticed a pen had marked the uppermost side of the paper with an initial. In order, they were: D, B, W, J.

An inquiring eyebrow from Thérèse had Joyce explain with a faint smile, "Dawn, Buffy, Willow, and me."

"Ah," wisely nodded Thérèse. She went on to tap the packets with a fingernail. "I am to keep these matching with the names of who is to be given them, I presume?."

"Yes, please."

Thérèse shrugged in acceptance, "All right. Now, let us see what we shall see."

With a continual crinkling sound, the packets were unwrapped to lie flat on the glass and show what was now atop the paper. A careful Thérèse picked up, breathed upon, and rubbed between her fingertips all of these objects. Putting them back down again in their identifying packages, a trade tool of Thérèse's profession was produced and used to closely examine them, one after the other. Last of all, an electronic device looking to Joyce watching it all in interest as if it was some sort of tv remote but with a triangular nozzle attached to the bottom was also applied to all four items.

At last, Thérèse expertly re-wrapped with quick fingers the briefkes and straightened up from where she was sitting at the counter throughout everything. Smiling again at Joyce, the Frenchwoman intoned, "Smooth and polished, with an oily feel. Fog from my breath went away at once. Translucent and a metallic luster, plus internal imperfections. Best of all, they passed the thermal absorption test. Joyce, each and every one of them is genuine."

The sudden giggles of glee were only to be expected from Joyce, along with her laughing, "Xander, you wonderful boy!"

Thérèse would've be quite willing to let this go on a bit longer, but Amanda had an upcoming appointment for the original reason she was here in Sunnydale, involving a great deal of money. So, in due time, a warning cough from the shopkeeper made Joyce catch her breath and stare in faint surprise across the room.

Lifting a finger to indicate this was important, Thérèse began, "There are some things I must tell you now…"

* * *

"What's going on, Mom?" asked Buffy, barely beating out her younger sister Dawn in saying this to their mother at the art gallery. A telephone call from Joyce had found Willow with them at the Revello house just before lunchtime during their summer vacation, and they'd all been told to come where a present from Xander was waiting for them.

"_Stop!_" Joyce snapped at Dawn, who'd been reaching to touch one of the four items laid out on one of the gallery tables. Immediately jerking back her hand, Dawn and the other girls gaped at where Joyce had barked out that order instead of answering Buffy.

Her earlier good mood returning, Joyce smiled at the trio. She told one of them, "Dawn, just wait a second! I don't want the surprise spoiled yet. Now, the first one's yours, after that is mine, the next Willow's, and the last one is yours, Buffy. Line up at the table, and look, but don't touch!"

Glancing at each other with mutual bewilderment, the girls obediently shuffled into proper position. As one, they all stared down at four sets of torn paper, and what were resting upon them.

They were little…rocks.

All were roughly the same miniscule size, about twice the end of a paper match. Their colors differed, though, with Dawn's pebble being a dull white, Joyce's dark yellow, Willow dark brown, and Buffy a lighter yellow.

After a few more seconds of shared bafflement, Buffy looked over at where her mother was smirking at them all. "Okay," the Slayer admitted, "I give. _This_ is why we're here? It's, I dunno, Take-Your-Daughter-To-Work-And-Show-Her-A-Rock Day?"

Now beginning to shake with laughter, Joyce brought up her right hand where she'd been holding it against her side and also concealing the several brochures gripped by her thumb and forefinger. She stepped forward to hand out to each of the younger females their own brochure. Willow, Buffy, and Dawn opened them at once, and a sudden silence descended in the art gallery.

In a disbelieving chorus a moment later, the trio of girls intently reading from their brochure recited, "_Crater of Diamonds State Park?_"

Willow was the first to get it. Dropping her brochure to the floor from slack fingers, she stared again at the quartet of little rocks innocently lying upon the tabletop. "Those…those…are…_diamonds!_"

Just as quickly, the other brochures fell forgotten to the gallery linoleum when Dawn and Buffy did a swift crouch forward in unison to examine from a scant inch from the tips of their noses those same small stones they'd thought to be perfectly ordinary a moment ago.

Soon enough, a sisterly Summers whine arose from both, begging for an explanation, "Mommmm!"

Having one of the best days of her life, Joyce informed them all, "Xander did it. He went to that place in Arkansas yesterday or the day before and dug in the fields where you can find diamonds if you're lucky or patient, no matter how long it takes. Well, as you can see, your friend beat the odds."

"And…and they're ours?" squeaked Willow still in a state of shock.

Joyce nodded, but then she shook a scolding finger at them. "Yes, although you have to know a few things about them. I went to a jeweler's near here earlier today, and she confirmed they were genuine diamonds. However, the bad news is that they're not really valuable. Trying to make them into ring diamonds with facets risks shattering the stones or cutting away too much. They probably also have too many internal flaws to make it worth the trouble, either. Even if you want this done, it'll still cost far more than they'd ever be worth. No, the best thing to do would be to mount them in their natural state on a pendant and wear it around your neck-"

Dawn apparently teleported to where she hugged her mother hard enough to choke off Joyce. Another prompt teleport had Buffy's sister back at the table, where she scrupulously re-folded the envelope around her particular gift and placed with care this cherished treasure into her pants pocket. After that, she drifted towards the front door to the art gallery, ignoring those staring after Dawn apparently going home to gloat for the rest of the day about her latest present from a long-held crush.

Humming loudly, "Xander sent me a diamond, Xander sent me a diamond…" over and over, Dawn left the gallery, with the door swinging shut after this departing teenage girl.

Buffy slowly turned to where her mother was still gawking after Dawn. Clearing her throat, Buffy mentioned, "Is it just me, or was she floating a inch off the floor all the way out?"

* * *

In the back storage room of her shop, Amanda examined the image she presented in the wall mirror. Unbuttoning one more of these to deepen her cleavage, a satisfied nod was sent to the mirror by this beautiful Immortal. Time to get ready for taking a bunch of excessively-wealthy demons to the cleaners, and then enjoying all their lovely money while they looked without any success for someone named Thérèse Renarde.

Yes, indeed, life was good. Even that little piece of amusement previously, how she'd been taken seriously as an actual gemologist, only improved her mood. Well, she'd certainly learned enough about precious stones over the centuries while stealing them that it'd made her an expert. What had been his name, who sent Joyce and some other girls those diamonds? Amanda couldn't remember offhand, which was a real pity. A male who made sure to send multiple valuable gifts which were each the exact same size or close to it so none of the receivers felt lesser than the others?

Now, _that_ guy was a keeper.

* * *

A couple of days earlier, Xander had wincingly sat down in the driver's seat of his Cadillac waiting to leave the Arkansas post office parking lot. A concerned flash from Marilyn's instrument panel made him quickly reassure her, "Relax, I'll be fine. Felt a lot worse taking punches from vamps every night back home. Before we go, though, I want to show you something."

At those last words, Xander reached into the front pocket of his shirt. He pulled out from there another diamond, with this one easily twice the size of any of the others he'd just sent via mail to Sunnydale. The valuable stone was also as clear as glass, without the slightest flaw.

Reaching forward, Xander opened the glove compartment, deposited the diamond inside there, and closed it. Settling back in his seat, Xander smiled at a stunned car, "That's yours, as thanks for everything, Marilyn!"

When they left the parking lot, a 1959 Eldorado's pleased purr rumbling through the air made heads everywhere within earshot turn into its direction.

* * *

Author's Note: For this crossover, I wanted someone with expertise regarding diamonds and a very good reason for keeping their true identity hidden while in Sunnydale. Among others, this included Selina Kyle and Parker from 'Leverage', but in the end, I chose Amanda if only because the actress portraying this character, Elizabeth Ward Gracen, is actually from Arkansas, being born there.

Crater of Diamonds State Park in Pike County, Arkansas, is for real. You can hunt for diamonds there (hand tools only) and keep anything you find. Don't count on getting rich, though.

**30. Road Trip - Day 29**

All right, California had so far in 1999 its usual earthquakes and wild fires and such other natural disasters from Hollywood as the latest Kristy Swanson picture where she locked lips with Selma Blair during the film _Cruel Intentions._ Even Buffy and Willow, two devotees of Ms. Swanson since her breakout role in Woody Allen's _Mighty Aphrodite,_ agreed that the curse of the Academy Award for best supporting actress might've had something to do with this young woman's movie career promptly crashing and burning since 1995.

That being said about his home state, at least it didn't have tornados. Xander glanced nervously upwards at the night sky which looked really menacing at the moment. The cloud cover up there was low enough that even with it being almost pitch-dark, he could see the deeper blackness of thunderheads about to dump their contents of chilling rain and possible hail right onto his head. In the distance, lightning flashed multiple times along the horizon, and the corresponding thunder was loud enough to rattle Marilyn's windshield.

Knowing it was a very good idea to find someplace to take shelter as quickly as he could, Xander stood in front of the Cadillac parked with her engine off at some rural crossroads they'd just come across, holding his street map with both hands. Trying to find their current location, Xander tilted the map in a futile effort to see it better by the light cast from Marilyn's headlamps. It still didn't help. After what felt like hours driving around this place's back roads, all Xander could say for sure was that they were somewhere in Mississippi.

Which, it must be admitted, wasn't all that useful, not with them being so thoroughly lost. Even Marilyn had no idea where they were, and that took some doing. Folding up his map, Xander glanced around at the three other directions they could take from their present position at the crossroads. None appeared particularly better than the others, with their worn-out, potholed asphalt and a total lack of streetlights or even traffic signs indicating few people ever drove this way or that way or the other way…

An immense flash of lightning then came from somewhere behind Xander, actually casting his shadow onto the center of the crossroads from being backlit by nature's illumination. The almighty _BOOOOOMMMM_ then ensuing was loud enough to sound like the front door to the universe slamming open. Moreover, the following echoes also resembled enormous footsteps tramping towards where a slightly deafened Xander was digging a finger into one ear.

Pulling out this digit, Xander knew he had to immediately make some decision on which way to go. His gaze sweeping around the empty crossroads at such a late hour, Xander mentioned out loud a random thought which had just crossed his mind, "Wonder what time it is?"

"Midnight, Mr. Harris," was answered by the person now standing in the exact middle of the crossroads.

Xander was a hardened veteran of Sunnydale's nightly battles between the Slayer, her friends, and the scum of the Hellmouth. Therefore, he responded to that truly unexpected comment by yelping, "GAK!" at the top of his lungs, jumping straight up into the air, and coming down upon his feet while brandishing towards the stranger there in one trembling hand the paper map as a totally incongruous weapon.

Sending what was pointed at him a rather disbelieving look, the black man clad in equally black formal garments dating from around the start of the Great Depression (down to the stylish fedora hat) cleared his throat. "I know quite well the route to my residence, Mr. Harris. Now, please calm down and let's begin our business. You may refer to me as…Mr. Black."

Opening his mouth to begin demanding, "_What_ business?" Xander never got a chance to say those words, since Marilyn promptly started her engine with an ear-splitting roar of fury coming from the car.

Mr. Black had a genuinely ugly expression flash across his smooth features at hearing this noise. He instantly thrust a stiff index finger directly at Marilyn's radiator, along with a threatening, "What's _she_ doing here?!" shouted over the Cadillac's ongoing mechanical growl which was just as hostile.

Xander said the first thing that came to mind. "_She_ does what she wants!"

Just as unthinking was for him to put out a hand behind himself and comfortingly pat Marilyn on the edge of her hood. In response, the 1959 Eldorado throttled down somewhat her motor, though this sound never lost any of its forewarning snarl.

From where a pair of glittering eyes narrowed dangerously under the brim of his fedora, Mr. Black stared hard at the human and his companion. Eventually, the angry expression there faded away into one of wary acceptance, along with a stiff nod sent towards the other pair. Adjusting his string tie to give himself a moment, Mr. Black grudgingly admitted, "Very well. It doesn't matter, anyway, since it was you who I'll be dealing with tonight. Shall we get on with it?"

An exasperated outburst came from Xander reasonably demanding, "I don't know what you're talking about! All we did was get lost and wind up here! Whatever you're selling - drugs, that kind of stuff - I'm not interested!"

Mr. Black just lifted an eyebrow before musing out loud, "Well, that's a new way to open negotiations." He then started again in a much more sarcastic tone.

"So, it's merely a coincidence you came of your own free will to _this_ crossroads" (a tap of one shoe sole against the worn asphalt produced a faint sizzling sound from there) "among all the others in the whole world, and stood here at _exactly_ the stroke of midnight indicated by the last lightning bolt? All while insisting your arrival is a complete accident?"

"Yes!"

There was now a strangely disturbing look of approval upon Mr. Black's visage, as he chuckled, "Young man, I haven't heard a better lying denial uttered with such truthful fervor in quite a long time. Thank you very much for that. Still, if it's absolutely necessary, here are the terms explained in the most simplistic manner possible: in return for your soul, I'll make you the most celebrated rock star who ever lived."

"Wha'?" Xander managed for an answer. He gawked at the very pleased individual a few yards away who then performed a complacent nod denoting things were at last going his way despite some minor initial difficulties.

In his most persuasive tone, Mr. Black continued, "Yes, indeed. All the fame you might possibly want, more money than you could spend in ten lifetimes, and numerous beautiful women eagerly yearning to share your bed every night from now on. All you need is to sign one little contract, and the recording industry will embrace its newest discovery. I think we should start off with something suitably modest for your first single, perhaps no more than a few million records bought by the public for the first month. Then, once you've established yourself, Bing Crosby's _White Christmas_ single will no longer be the best-selling single worldwide-"

"Excuse me," a very polite Xander interrupted. "Just stay where you are. Me, I'm gonna find the men in the white coats who have to be looking for you, okay? Maybe it'll be pudding night at the asylum. Won't that be nice?"

Mr. Black patiently shook his head. "My dear boy, allow me to show you something which will demonstrate that the offer you're receiving is quite genuine. Here it is…"

Reaching behind himself, Mr. Black next produced from thin air a battered guitar case. Placing the bottom of the case onto the crossroad asphalt so that it stood upright, and keeping one hand firmly pressing onto the top, a man from the _very_ deep South used his other fingers to unlatch the lid. Throwing open the lid next produced…the most magnificent electronic guitar ever made.

The body of this musical instrument was pure red, the color of a fresh drop of blood. An ebony neck held the polished steel items which comprised the machine heads, frets, and strings. The remaining parts set into the guitar's lower body were also made of steel. Everything gleamed in its pure newness, and Xander Harris now understood this specific guitar belonged to nobody else but him.

Without even consulting the rest of his body, Xander's legs moved on their own, sending him stumbling forward to where Mr. Black was waiting. Another mutiny was declared by this teenager's arms, hands, and fingers reaching out to grasp and yank the guitar out of its case.

A triumphant smile of absolute malice was sent by Mr. Black towards that blessed car. It didn't matter how much she might rage out past the crossroads; the unwritten laws for these types of encounters were in his favor at this point. The Cadillac's companion had just chosen the unholy guitar of his own free will, exactly like Mr. Harris' absurd declaration that he'd stumbled upon the crossroads without meaning to. Now, all that remained was for the boy to verbally claim the guitar, and he'd be damned for eternity-

_Wait_ a second. Instead of rampaging with useless fury, that classic car was just…sitting there? And if a human emotion could somehow manifest itself upon the unmoving front section of interlinked automobile accessories, the one now present there suspiciously resembled a…smirk?

Mr. Black snapped his head around to stare at where Xander was posed in an unknowing imitation of the _Guitar Hero_ cover art when that computer game came out several years from tonight. Before the dark man at the crossroads could do anything, Xander's right hand came swooping down from being grandly held up high. The teenager's fingers slammed against the guitar strings.

Even though it wasn't hooked up, a teeth-shattering blast of discordant notes instantly burst forth from the electronic guitar. The horrible noise continued resounding throughout the crossroads when Xander carried on with flailing at the strings. Maniacally grinning at his success in doing what he'd always dreamed about, Xander ignored how Mr. Black had just stumbled in panicky reverse, as far away as he could get in the crossroads from that screeching guitar. It wasn't all that far; the rear of Mr. Black's formal suit soon slammed against the wards holding him prisoner until their deal was done.

Shouting at that idiotic boy to stop didn't work, he simply played louder and began to hop around in some sort of ritualistic dance similar to that of a drunken chimpanzee. Mr. Black began to whimper at the unhappy discovery involving his ears beginning to bleed.

Then, things got _worse._

Xander's mouth opened, and he began to enthusiastically sing:

"_There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold  
And she's buying a stairway to heaven…_"

Mr. Black screamed at how both his body and the guitar began to emit puffs of thick smoke.

A couple of minutes later, Xander finished with:

"_And as we wind on down the road  
Our shadows taller than our soul.  
There walks a lady we all know  
Who shines white light and wants to show  
How everything still turns to gold.  
And if you listen very hard  
The tune will come to you at last.  
When all are one and one is all  
To be a rock and not to roll._

_And she's buying a stairway to heaven!_"

One last jubilant thump of the now-fragile strings was done by Xander, and he stood there startled when the entire guitar burned to nothing but cinders then crumbled into ashes in his arms. Looking down at the remnants on the ground, an unharmed Xander sighed with fulfilled contentment. He next glanced at where a still-smoldering Mr. Black was curled up in agony at the far end of the crossroads. Strolling over there, Xander addressed the man lying onto the melted asphalt.

"Hey, dude, thanks a lot! I'm really glad for getting the chance to say Oz didn't know what he was talking about, the only time he let me try a few chords on his guitar. Who knew he could yell all those words in one unbroken snit fit? Less talent than a spastic octopus, my ass! Anyway, thanks again. Oh, by the way, the whole soul thing? Don't think so. Good luck with finding some other poor sucker, who won't be me since I didn't come right out and say I wanted your little present. One of Giles' dustiest books mentioning that loophole tells me I'm free and clear. Have a nice day!"

Spinning around to walk at where Marilyn was waiting, Xander heard from behind a gasping, "Wait!"

Stopping to see what Mr. Briquettes wanted now, Xander turned in a half circle to eye this person feebly pushing a piece of paper over the road surface into the teenager's direction. Also with this came a pain-wracked moan, "Take it! _Anything_ to make sure you don't show up there one day and start singing again!"

Xander glanced at where Marilyn still had her headlights on. They blinked once.

Shrugging, Xander faced at where Mr. Black was…gone. Nothing at all remained of where that dark man had been a moment before, save to the piece of paper next to a scorched spot in the crossroads. After a few seconds' thought, Xander went to collect that object, and then he headed back to his car, reading what was printed upon this paper along the way.

Seated behind the driver's seat, Xander was momentarily lost in thought again. This continued until Marilyn acted on her own, driving ahead and then to the right to take that road into the Mississippi night. During the necessary curve, Marilyn took a vicious satisfaction in grinding under her left front wheel the scattered guitar ashes.

Xander paid no attention to this. He kept on reading over and over the slip of paper clutched in his right hand, until carefully tucking it away into his shirt pocket. Then, Xander announced to Marilyn who was very proud of her companion right now, "Honey, even if this Get Out Of Hell Free ticket is just a big fib, it's also one really great road trip souvenir."

**31. Road Trip - Day 30**

Well, he was due, anyway.

Until tonight when he'd fought that vampire in the Mobile waterfront alley, the whole of his road trip so far had passed by without Xander encountering a single one of those fangsters. It was probably the longest time since meeting Buffy Summers during her first week at Sunnydale High two years ago that this young man hadn't come across any sort of vamp. Frankly, he'd have been more than happy to continue this record-breaking streak, but the woman's sudden scream heard from a narrow passageway in the Alabama seaside city didn't leave Xander any choice.

Marilyn skidded at a stop on the street where they'd been driving to find a place for her companion to sleep after visiting the Battleship Memorial Park earlier today. Jumping out of his car, Xander heedlessly ran into the alley, leaving an anxious Marilyn behind since there was no way the wide car would easily fit into the pedestrian lane between a pair of bars.

Xander found at the closest bar's rear entrance a familiar scene of a vamp in game face threatening his latest victim. It was some unfortunate woman probably working as a drinks waitress at the noisy tavern where nobody either heard or bothered to pay attention to what was occurring outside in the back. Picking up a metal garbage can lid lying atop its overflowing container, Xander threw it as hard as he could at the vampire's head. The spinning disc bounced off the side of this monster's skull, distracting him enough so that the terrified waitress managed to flee back into the tavern through its kitchen door.

The next minute or two were pretty busy for Xander. The vamp must've been turned no more than a few nights ago, given this fledgling's inexperience all too apparent due to how ineptly he tried to murder that interfering human. It didn't mean the Sunnydale native came through the short fight completely unscathed, however.

Just when he shoved through the vampire's chest a pointed length of the discarded wooden crate kicked into pieces during their battle, Xander had that demon's fist smash down hard onto his right shoulder. Falling to the alley floor the same time as the defeated vampire's ashes, Xander groaned out loud in his abrupt agony centered at the young man's right side. Rolling over onto his other side, Xander staggered back up onto his feet, looking with dismay at where his now-useless right arm limply dangled. A cautious examination with the fingers of his left hand revealed the bad news about the injury there: he now possessed a dislocated shoulder where his right arm had just been forced out of the socket there by the vampire's final blow.

The same thing had happened to Xander a little over a year ago during one of the usual fun-filled nights on the Hellmouth involving the run-up to last May's apocalypse. It'd hurt just as much back then as it was doing now, and Xander knew he needed someone to return his arm to where it was supposed to be. Just like the G-man had done with a quick tug, twist, and shove which almost made the teenager pass out from the consequent pain during this. Giles had also explained how you could do that on your own if absolutely necessary, but Xander hadn't been paying all that much attention, what with him feeling so much better then.

Now was not the best of times to experiment about this, Xander conceded. Wincing at every step he took, Xander stumbled away from the bar and down the alley, making very sure he didn't brush his aching limb against the building walls. Nobody came out of the bar where the waitress had run inside. Either she hadn't told anyone what almost happened to her or they didn't believe it. Sunnydale Syndrome wasn't confined to this same California city, after all. Finally, he emerged from the alley mouth, where Marilyn was waiting parked close by in the street.

Immediately noticing that he was hurt, the concerned Cadillac opened her left door for him in a flash. Nodding his head with thanks (and then grimacing because it throbbed like hell, too), Xander gingerly got into the driver's seat. Cradling his unworking right arm with the other arm held under the malfunctioning one, Xander then directed, "Marilyn, I spotted an all-night medical clinic a few blocks behind us. Take us there. All I need is someone to pop my arm back in its socket. A hospital or ER would take too long or insist I spend the night and fill out a whole bunch of forms. There's no reason to set any speed records; it isn't all that bad."

A solicitous Marilyn nonetheless made sure the short ride was as smooth as she could make it. Pulling up to the small, one-story clinic with a glowing neon red cross sign indicating it was indeed open, Xander got out of the Eldorado parked by this health center. Taking a needed breath, he then walked across the sidewalk to the shut front door. Xander wasn't too surprised that this shatterproof glass portal was barred and locked given it being about the middle of the night and in not exactly the most salubrious of Mobile neighborhoods. A push of the security buzzer and a hasty explanation of "Bar fight" through the building intercom got Xander inside once the graveyard shift nurse had a look at him through the door.

The slightly shabby inside of the clinic certainly wouldn't give the fictional County General Hospital from the tv series _ER_ any run for its money. Still, the black nurse, a mature woman who was short and wide and with a definite no-nonsense attitude about her, took Xander to one of the examining rooms. Ordered to sit on the metal table there with its centered strip of sanitary paper, Xander had his shirt taken off by the nurse. Fortunately, he'd been wearing the only button-top he owned, because there was absolutely no way his dislocated shoulder would tolerate the effort necessary to pull a t-shirt up to and then over Xander's head.

Once the shirt was folded away by her latex gloves and tidily placed next to Xander, the nurse left the room, but not before telling him she'd go get the doctor working here tonight. While waiting, Xander did another check of his arm, only to find it was just as bad as before. During this, he was interrupted by the sounds coming from where the examining room door hadn't been completely closed after the departing nurse.

Outside, the nurse was vigorously scolding someone, "Doctor, this is a _free_ clinic! It's also not like you have to do anything but a closed reduction, so forget about charging him ten thousand bucks for it! That's exactly why you got a thirty-day suspension from your practice up north, and it sure would've been a lot longer if you hadn't agreed to revisit your old hometown and work off your punishment here! Now, will you please go treat your newest patient?"

A very jovial chuckle which even so made the hairs on the back of Xander's neck rise straight up was the immediate result of this haranguing, followed by a man's voice rumbling, "Oh, fine. Stop making such a fuss, will you? It was worth a try, that's all."

A moment later, the examining room door opened and what looked like a fairly off-kilter duplicate of Bill Cosby's television character Dr. Cliff Huxtable entered the tiny area. Beaming at an increasingly-nervous Xander, this black man wearing a doctor's white coat advanced towards the table, lifting ready his beefy hands protected in their own gloves, fingers extended and about to clamp onto and then wrench that kid's arm back into place. All without any form of administered anesthetic, but hey, like it'd just been mentioned to him, this was a free clinic and costs had to stay low to keep the place in business.

Just before his doom descended, Xander heard from the doc, "Don't worry, son, this won't hurt a bit. Well, for _me,_ that is. A-heh-heh-heh," was chuckled again from somebody named-

Xander's horrified gaze then zoomed in to read all too vividly the nametag on the front of the white coat now within arm's reach: HIBBERT.

* * *

Author's Note: While googling for 'fictional characters from Alabama,' Doctor Julius Hibbert who appears in _The Simpsons_ was included in Wikipedia's provided list. That's all it took…

**32. Road Trip - Day 31**

Eating his early breakfast at one of Pensacola's donut shops, Xander realized then that counting from his first full day with Marilyn after acquiring her from that weird Bob guy, they'd now been a whole month together. Thirty-one days. He wondered if she was aware of this, and if so, whether she'd be expecting some sort of commemoration regarding their anniversary.

What was he thinking? Of _course_ she would. Putting aside the little fact of Marilyn being a sentient car, she was still a female and would get in a definite huff with Xander if her companion forgot to celebrate their time spent in each others' company. So…what was he going to do about it? Take her someplace special?

Reaching for the Florida map stuck in his back pocket, Xander paused. Another testing wiggle of his right arm checked again that not even a twinge was left over from last night's fight with a vampire and the resulting necessary visit to a nearby clinic and its really peculiar doctor. Oh, this Hibbert guy had been good at his job, true enough, but that damn chuckle of his had stuck inside Xander's head for the rest of the night, giving him rather strange dreams of a whole town filled with yellow-skinned people without chins.

Pulling out and unfolding the paper map onto the donut place's outside table, Xander looked at where to go in Florida that Marilyn might like to visit. His gaze roamed all over the displayed state's roads and highways, which eventually led down to…Key West, the southernmost part of the whole country.

Hmmm…there was something he'd once read about that place in the tourist guidebooks Xander had gone through back in Sunnydale while planning his road trip. Now, what was it? He didn't think Marilyn would be particularly interested about some writer's house there, so that was out. Lessee, something about the…sun? Oh, yeah, that's it!

Frowning, Xander checked the possible routes and estimated the distance. He looked at the wall clock inside the donut shop displayed through their front window to him eating outside. If there weren't any traffic delays and he kept short the essential bathroom stops at rest areas plus a really quick pass through a fast-food place for lunch, they might make it. However, there were some points which had to be discussed with Marilyn in advance.

Glancing again at the donut shop, Xander noted with satisfaction the two employees inside there were busy and weren't paying attention to him. He was also the only one around so early in the morning at the outside tables, so this meant he could safely do this.

"Marilyn," muttered Xander under his breath at the Cadillac parked next to the table, "You listening?"

The car's right headlight flickered once.

"Good. Here's what I'm thinking. We've been together a month now, and I'd like to mark it with something special, us seeing together a really amazing show in the sky. It's pretty far away, though, and we'd have to take the trip at one go without stopping anywhere else for long because there's a time limit. Also, even if we make it, there's no guarantee of us getting lucky enough to see what we came all the way for in the first place."

Both of Marilyn's headlights came to life with a steady illumination, indicating she was genuinely interested and also wanted more information from her companion.

An encouraged Xander continued, "The place I'm talking about is in Key West, all the way down the state. Judging from the map, it's over eight hundred miles from here. We'll have to leave right away, and stay on the freeways all the time until we get there, with you needing to go at your fastest speed every minute of the trip." Stopping, Xander peered at where Marilyn was, trying to see if she didn't like the sound of that.

Instead, the Eldorado's lights stayed on, then they flashed a couple of times. From the looks of things, Marilyn wanted to know just why Xander was suggesting this.

He explained at length, wanting to lay it all out for her. "It's all because of what I read in a guidebook, about the Florida green flash. If Giles were here, he'd be using his biggest words to explain about the meteorological phenomena there. Basically, it works like this: you need a really clear sky during sunset and it has to be going down at the horizon without any clouds or lower stuff blocking the view. An ocean view works the best, and Key West has the reputation of being the finest place in the country for it happening, but nobody can promise it'll go just right when you're there. If it does, you'll have seen the sun setting with its light rays passing through the air and changing colors during this. Everyone's watched the sunset turn from yellow to orange and red, but at very rare times, just before the sun vanishes completely from sight, the next color in the spectrum will be shown, as a bright green that lasts just a single second or so. That's why it's called the green flash."

Marilyn's headlights blinked once at her high beam level, and then the Cadillac's engine started. It sounded as if she were eager to leave right away.

Wanting to be absolutely sure, Xander asked, "You okay with it? We're going to Key West?"

A happy surge of horsepower rumbled through the humid Florida air.

"Cool," Xander smiled. Getting up from his dining table and gathering the remnants of his breakfast to be disposed of in the nearest trash can, he said with utmost conviction in his tone, "Key West, here we come!"

* * *

Almost fourteen hours later, Xander was bitterly regretting his overconfidence. Yeah, okay, up to the last half hour or so, things had gone just fine. They'd hit the highways, following the best route to Key West by driving straight east and then turning south at the Atlantic Ocean. Marilyn cheated a little by going well beyond the speed limit when the traffic there was lighter than usual. Apparently, like she'd done a few times before during their road trip, the classic car could put out some sort of unawareness field causing everyone in her vicinity to somehow not notice a pure-white 1959 Eldorado was zipping past them at over 120 mph.

It'd worked quite nicely on the roadside cops and their radar speed guns, too. Sometime much later, though, Xander did have to wonder why Marilyn was evidently including within her illusion the maniac in his Porsche chasing them. That guy back there just wouldn't stop!

Making it even worse, Xander still had no idea at all about what'd set off everything, starting with the gun battle at the last island miles ago on the Overseas Highway also known as U.S. Route 1.

After a whole day of sitting in his car, Xander had been glad enough to stretch his legs after pulling off the highway onto one of the other small islands known as keys which the route built onto pilings over the ocean occasionally passed through towards its culmination at Key West. It'd be the last stop for Xander and Marilyn until they also finished their trip there. From what he could figure, their arrival at Mallory Square ahead down the highway would be done in plenty of time to catch the green flash if it indeed happened. Before that, a quick dinner meal of something called deep-fried conch fritters at the No Name Pub sounded good.

Contently patting his stuffed stomach shortly later, Xander was walking back to Marilyn while ignoring the small group of guys huddled around their cars in the other parking lot next to where his own vehicle was located. In the very next second, everyone there had pulled out enough guns to bring peace to the Balkans, and they started shooting each other.

Xander promptly dived into Marilyn's front seat, and the car took off on her own. Along the way, one guy running for his life in the course of clutching to his chest one of those oversize cargo bags pulled up next to where Marilyn was turning out of the pub's parking lot. Under Xander's horrified gaze, several bullets smashed into the fleeing man's back. In a last unthinking reflex, this dying guy thrust away his burden, and the tossed cargo bag landed onto Marilyn's rear seat, tumbling further down into the foot space.

The pair on their road trip had thought that was the end of it, until just moments later, a Porsche convertible caught up with the Cadillac now back on Route 1. The German vehicle's driver next pointed over his windshield an Uzi machine gun in the general direction of Marilyn's back tires and unloaded a full magazine of .22 LR rounds at these targets. He missed, due to that classic car immediately exceeding 150 mph, which Marilyn mostly maintained for as long as it took while Xander cowered in the front seat.

In the continuing pursuit, Marilyn began a strategy of doing a high-velocity dash to the next key onwards, turning off the highway at the exit there and crossing under the overpass to get back on the road again in the opposite direction, once more with her indicator needle stuck at the far right of the speedometer. Holding onto his hastily-buckled seatbelt, Xander eventually figured out Marilyn was trying in this unending circuit to get the other car to run out of gas in some safe spot where that driver couldn't hurt any innocent bystanders. That let out luring him to the nearest police station, since the Uzi was still being waved around by Mr. Gun-Happy. This was probably also the reason why the unawareness trick was being applied to the other car, too.

One problem with Marilyn's strategy that their pursuer was slowly catching up with them. She could easily outsprint the other car in a straight run, but every time they had to slow at the turns on the keys, the nimbler Porsche freely took this opportunity at overtaking them. Now, Marilyn had been chased all the way to Key West, with the guy only a few miles behind and maintaining throughout his fanatical hunt.

What Marilyn couldn't tell Xander was the really worrying part she'd sensed over the course of the recent course of events. Just as her companion was an avatar of Janus, that man in his stolen Porsche was as well an avatar of Nemesis.

Serge A. Storms was an obsessive, psychopathic, schizophrenic, and frequently homicidal Florida native. That said, once he was taking his meds, Serge could be a fairly likable person as long as you didn't get on his bad side. Whenever this occurred, however, often due to meeting some criminal carrying out violent acts of which Serge thoroughly disapproved, it was serial killer time for a man who'd memorized volumes of trivial facts about his home state. Not only wouldn't Serge ever stop trying to murder by various inventive means (though currently an Uzi would do just fine) that guy driving away in his classic car after hijacking a certain cargo bag, it'd be to the cheerful accompaniment of, "On December 28, 1968, CBS broadcast an episode of the cartoon series _Wacky Racers_ called _The Overseas Hi-Way Race_ covering the entire actual route from Key Largo to Key West."

Marilyn was coming to the reluctant conclusion that a…sacrifice had to be made to keep Xander alive and safe. She made up her mind for once and all when both cars arrived at Key West when sunset was just about to start. Shutting off her unawareness field resulted in the whole island soon resounding to police sirens at learning two crazy drivers were presently rampaging throughout the city's streets.

Finally, the chase ended at Mallory Square at the end of Whitehead Street. Just because the road finished there didn't mean Marilyn couldn't keep going, though. Tonight's crowd in the square waiting to see if this time they'd witness the green flash from the sun now almost completely down heard first the overwhelming roar of a car's engine running at meltdown levels, then they turned to observe this same vehicle racing directly at them through the plaza. Instantly showing remarkable reflexes and good sense, everyone in the oncoming car's path ran, jumped, and scrambled out of the way.

Knocking aside now-empty dining chairs and tables scattered throughout the square, Marilyn aimed right at the far edge of this gathering place, where a low metal seafront fence kept people from falling into the Gulf of Mexico. With a tremendous _crunch!_ sound, the car hit and smashed through the fence, sending bits of railing flying outwards far and wide. Instead of plunging right away into the briny deeps, the Cadillac still had enough impetus to hurtle in a short arc above the awaiting waters for a fraction of a second.

In that same minuscule portion of time while Xander scared out of his wits was gripping with both hands onto Marilyn's locked steering wheel, the setting sun in a straight line ahead of the in-flight car had its very last red-tinted semicircle abruptly flash into a brilliant emerald color.

The 1959 Cadillac Eldorado and her companion immediately vanished into thin air, a bare inch before this car's tires would've touched the ocean's surface.

Astonishingly, nobody at all in the crowd saw this, being too busy picking themselves up where they'd fled from that car zooming past-

It happened _again._ Another automobile moving at extremely unsafe speeds burst into Mallory Square. Seeing at once the open path left for him by the divided crowd plus the evidence of the present gap at the fence, Serge aimed his car there. Mere survival didn't concern him. All that mattered to this insane individual was making someone pay who'd caused him so much trouble today. Just like that dead bunch of Columbian drug-runners back there, one of them having the nerve to toss into some old car during the last moments of his life the cargo bag filled with close to a half-million dollars in untraceable U.S. currency that Serge had been after in the first place. Hey, a little soaking wouldn't hurt these dollar bills limited to tens and twenties, and it'd been quite a while since he'd drowned anyone.

Grinning wildly, Serge also drove the Porsche out into the Gulf of Mexico, but this time that car landed with an almighty splash into the ocean. A few seconds later, Serge's head popped out of the foam bubbles and other ripples where his automobile had just sunk like a stone, looking around in sudden bewilderment at seeing no trace of the other guy who should be swimming here too.

A motorboat pulled up at where Serge was treading water. Waving for assistance, Serge climbed into the boat and then collapsed onto the craft's floor. Lying on his back, Serge feebly waved to the boat's only other occupant, its owner who then bent over to see what the man he'd just rescued wanted to say.

A swift uppercut decked this unfortunate good Samaritan. Collapsing out-cold beside Serge, that man's yachting cap was picked up and placed on the head of a seriously disturbed person. Knowing nobody at the square would've seen this with their vision blocked by the boat's side, Serge calmly got to his feet and moved to the steering wheel. Taking his seat, an experienced sailor easily figured out the controls and Serge motored off at a rather staid pace into the oncoming tropic twilight, soon fading away into the darkness.

Leaving behind a very confused crowd, Serge quickly shrugged off all of his recent failures - kill the disappeared guy, get the lost money - and instead recited something far more important to him, "In 1926, Pan American World Airways better known as Pan Am first got its start as a seaplane service to Key West."

**33. Road Trip - Epilogue**

Xander landed hard on the grassy ground, his fall broken solely by the lumpy cargo bag which had somehow wound up under his back. Groaning, the teenager rolled off what he was lying upon and spent the next minute or so resting on his side to recover the breath mostly smashed out of his lungs, blearily gazing all the while at very close range the nearest bunch of straggly grass only inches away. There was the occasional _whoosh!_ of cars passing close by, the air felt dry and warm, and from how everything was lit up, it was late afternoon.

*Huh*? Xander mentally blinked. They'd been about to hit the water just a second ago! Him and Marilyn had been chased all the way to Key West, arriving there at sunset and forced to drive right into the Gulf of Mexico to escape their pursuer-

Jerking upright to sit on the ground, Xander gazed down a very familiar road where he was presently occupying by his reckoning the left-hand unpaved section of this wide street. Off in the distance, there were farms, forest land, university fields, and other undeveloped areas leading to the coastal hills which US Route 101 skirted before beginning its northwards course to Canada alongside the Pacific Ocean. Xander had seen this exact spot so many times before that he knew exactly what was behind him now…

Closing his eyes for a moment, Xander braced himself. Then, he got to his feet, and slowly turned around, only then reopening his eyes once more.

Sure enough, there was a big road sign standing there on its two posts and proudly proclaiming to anyone about to enter the small California city ahead: WELCOME TO SUNNYDALE

Xander then frantically looked all around, twisting his head back and forth and even spinning in a complete circle. Except, no matter where he searched in his vicinity, there wasn't the slightest suggestion of the presence of a pure-white 1959 Cadillac Eldorado. Not even a single tread mark on the ground.

Continuing his increasingly futile seeking, Xander eventually became aware of how his every clothes pocket was stuffed full to their brims. Yanking these items out from there soon produced a double handful of souvenirs from his recent road trip, both of the mundane and genuinely weird kind from every part of the country.

Numbly returning these mementoes to his pockets, Xander then noticed around his waist something there he didn't recognize nor had he even the merest memory of acquiring it anytime in the past. After a few unsuccessful contortions of his head and upper body to see it properly, Xander gave up and unbuckled the belt he was wearing, next slipping the leather strip out of his pants loops. Holding up the belt horizontally in front of his face, Xander gaped at a metal fastener which had by some means altered in the last five minutes. Before then, there'd been a simple steel frame with an attached prong for the row of holes punched into the other tongue end.

Now, there was a silver oval shield with a worked image of the words CADILLAC 1959 ELDORADO, the car company logo, and below that…an absolutely perfect representation of Marilyn with her top down.

The fingers of Xander's right hand moved to trace the icon of someone he'd come to love very much, and this teenager staggered at the sudden message flooding into his mind.

It was from nobody else but Marilyn…and she was saying goodbye.

She didn't want to leave Xander, but there'd been no choice. Marilyn had sworn to safeguard him from everything and everybody who might do him harm, and when it became necessary to use all the power she possessed to make this so, it'd been done willingly. The green flash they'd experienced at Key West wasn't just an ordinary incident of nature as others not in the know about the supernatural might think. Under the right conditions, it could be used for transportation purposes between other realities or more prosaically to elsewhere in the world.

However, as in all magic, there would be a price to those using this ranging from minor to severe, and Marilyn had taken every bit of the cost of it for herself. Their time together was now at an end, and Marilyn was required to return to her former existence before she'd gone journeying with Xander. It didn't mean she was dead or anything of the kind, the message hastily reassured a suddenly-worried young man. Just that while she would always keep him lovingly in her thoughts, they would have to stay apart, him in his life and she in her own. For how long or even if it'd be permanent, nobody knew, but Marilyn felt otherwise.

*Be well, Alexander, protector of your friends and family. Think of me as often as I shall think of you. Until we meet again, my companion, which surely will happen one day.*

With that, the message ended and the belt buckle became virtually no more than it was before. From where he was standing there with tears brimming in his eyes, Xander sensed a last faint presence touch his fingertips and then vanish altogether.

The Sunnydale native never knew how long he stood there, unconscious of his surroundings. At length, he finally put his belt back on, snuffling all the while, and then Xander wiped at his eyes with the palms of both hands. Incuriously glancing down at the cargo bag on the ground which'd remained there throughout everything, Xander smiled sadly towards the cowboy hat leaning against the far end of the bag. Squatting on his haunches, the teenager picked up and put on his head this Stetson. Seeing how he was here, might as well as see what the hell was inside the bag anyway which kicked up all the fuss back in Florida.

Unzipping the bag, Xander yanked apart the heavy casing and contemplated the contents consisting of numerous stacks of banded currency. At a guess, there was something close to half a million dollars there, and it didn't belong to anybody right now except a formerly dead-broke high school graduate.

"Well," Xander mentioned to nobody in particular, "Looks like I won't have any trouble paying for college."

A few miles on, walking with the rezipped cargo bag strapped over one shoulder, Xander was going through Sunnydale's outermost suburb and he realized he had no real idea of where to stay tonight. Glancing at the sun on its way to meet the western horizon, he estimated it was about dinnertime. In a few more hours, that specific word would apply to those vamp bastards stalking around in the Hellmouth's darkness, so it'd be quite prudent to find someplace to be inside then.

Go home? Like he really thought of it as _that._ Besides, even drunker than usual, his dad Tony could literally smell cash money to swipe from a mile away. No way in the Boca del Infierno would Xander show up there with a bag crammed with untraceable bills.

Hmmm. Wils mentioned she was gonna spend the summer with her parents gone the whole time at the Buffster's. Sure, that'd work! Mrs. S wouldn't mind doing him a favor, letting Xander crash on her downstairs couch for the night even if he showed up so unexpectedly. After that, he'd find his own place. It's not like Xander couldn't afford it now, being rich and all.

Brightening at these thoughts, Xander increased his strides, eager to get to the familiar El Casa del Summers residence.

Several hours later, Dawn Summers was sitting at her bedroom desk, brushing her hair after dinner. In a few minutes, she'd go down and have dessert with Mom, Buffy, and Willow, if her greedy sister hadn't already eaten all the ice cream. Idly glancing out the front window, Dawn saw someone hiking down the Revello Street sidewalk. It was a guy in a cowboy hat and carrying a big fabric bag on one shoulder-

Abruptly freezing in shock, Dawn gawked at recognizing him, even as far away as an entire block. It was Xander, and he was back! Nobody knew that but her! This hadn't been mentioned by anyone at the dinner table tonight!

Tossing away her hairbrush onto the bed and springing up from the desk chair, Dawn rushed at her clothes drawer. In a blur of action, six different tees and tops were tried on, each after the other, helped along by Dawn discarding her bra after the first rejected shirt. Standing in front of the full length room mirror after making her choice, Dawn nibbled at her lips to increase their redness and made a mental note not to take any too-deep breaths lest her supremely tight top ripped at the seams. Spinning in a half-circle to check her butt in the mirror, Dawn beamed at how cute her shorty-shorts looked with the rhinestone lining. Thank god, she'd shaved her legs this morning even though they really didn't need this, and had done it without a single razor nick.

The entire house shook when Dawn thundered down the stairs in her bare feet, bringing out the three other females there from the kitchen where they'd been in the middle of setting out bowls, spoons, and the chocolately goodness. Buffy, Joyce, and Willow all watched in mutual astonishment at the young girl unheedingly zipping past them towards the front door. None of them knew why Dawn was acting like this. She certainly wouldn't behave that way when the youngest Summers daughter started high school next fall, assuming the new one got built in time to replace the older educational facilities taken out by the same accidental gas explosion causing multiple deaths such as Sunnydale's mayor and a good many other people.

Grinning at how he'd surprise everyone there with just a single ring of the doorbell, Xander's smile congealed on his face as the front door slammed open, and a Dawn-missile soared right at him.

Knocked over backwards to lie flat there on the pathway from the sidewalk, Xander found himself being rapidly kissed by the nubile feminine form sprawled atop his own body. In between smooches all over his face from top to bottom and side to side but not bypassing the lips, a dazed Xander heard an ecstatic chant, "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I just _love_ the diamond you gave me! Here, I put it in a pendant like Mom suggested!"

Blinking at where an outthrust piece of jewelry dangling from Dawn's neck was held right in front of his eyes, Xander's gaze couldn't help looking past at where the pair of barely-contained mammary glands were pressing against his own chest.

At that point, Dawn suddenly squirmed, announcing, "What's poking me?" She next lifted her body clear and looked further down, before exclaiming, "Oooo, that's new!"

Wiggling backwards, Dawn closely examined the silver belt buckle with its really cool car that she wouldn't mind taking a ride in someday. Especially with her future husband, natch. Dawn next ran her fingers all over the buckle, tracing it out, with this little minx knowing exactly what she was doing to Xander.

The trio now outside on the porch observed in shared disbelief everything there: how Dawn was apparently molesting Xander, how red Xander's face was getting, and how…

Clearing her throat, Joyce asked as firmly as she felt it necessary to attract the attention of the young man she was currently having mixed feelings about, "Xander, just why is there a lot of money in my front yard?"

Even Dawn looked up at where Xander had turned his head to stare at the cargo bag resting upon the ground a yard away their prone bodies. Sent flying when Dawn brought him down, the bag had come open and a few stacks of bills tumbled out into a small pile by the bag. Even more cash was to be seen inside the bag.

Bringing his gaze back at the waiting older woman and the two other girls, Xander smiled weakly at Mrs. Summers. "Funny story about that. Actually, I've got a lot of 'em. How's this sound? Dawn gets off me, I pick up the loot, we go inside, and I tell you _everything_ about my road trip."


End file.
