Title: Hunting Party
Fandom: BtVS The Pack
Pairing: we don't need no stinky pairings
Concrit/Feedback: Luvs it comments or email.
Summary: Sometimes it is better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven
A/N: Thank you to my beta spiralleds for holding my hand as my muse took off to parts unknown until Thursday night! She tried folks, all errors are mine.
The sky had darkened and there was another boom of thunder over the school. "Monster weather," someone muttered in the locker room, clearly a fan of Late Night Fright B-movies.
Xander snorted. Monsters didn't need a corny soundtrack. As he pulled on his burgundy sweat pants, Xander gleefully anticipated gym class. The storm was getting under his skin. Plus, another few minutes of Willow's math tutoring and he would have started growling. He needed to move. He sneezed. God, did they even try to clean the lockers? It reeked in here.
This was odd. Usually when they poured out of the locker room, he was jostled about like a shopper at the Thanksgiving sales. But today, not even a bump. Xander shrugged off that thought as Coach Harrold barked his instructions to divide into teams in his usual wannabe drill sergeant tone. Falling into place, Xander looked over to size up the competition. Wait a second, what were Buffy and Willow doing across from him? Xander glanced around and he realized that he'd instinctively drawn closer to his pack. Pack? He tasted the word, pack. It felt right. And, as the game was dodge ball, it was time to hunt.
Normally he hated the game, but today it appealed to him. Pick off the weakest, watch them yip in pain. His eyes met his pack, yes, this was much better than sitting in a class room. This was how it was supposed to be. Scanning those opposite, he noticed Willow's inattention and hurled the ball at her back. Now that was a way to get rid of the source of pain. And her look of betrayal? Perfect. A riff of laughter rippled through the others and he knew they shared his thought.
The high ceilings allowed the smacking of rubber on flesh to reverberate in a way that made his blood sing. As the thunder continued to crack, the bouncy balls slowly thinned the herd. For once, he remained in the game. No clumsiness had him tripping into the ball. In fact, he and the others were able to dodge everything sent their way, unlike their team mates. Or the other team. It was down to Buffy and them. But Buffy wasn't prey. And he wasn't ready to challenge that strong a predator. Not yet.
But Buffy wasn't the only available target; somehow Lance had also survived. They turned to slowly circle their unwanted team mate. Now this would be fun.
First was the whiff of Lance's confusion, followed swiftly by the heady bouquet of his fear. Oh, Lance wasn't a stupid one. God, it was so good to be on the other side of the tormentor/tormentee divide. Finally, he wasn't the oaf, but the one with power. Lance's eyes were wide as he cowered, trying to spin to see where the first ball would come from. His eyes flitted to all of them. He knew better than to underestimate any of the mean kids. Xander had to give him credit for being extra suspicious of the girls.
Lance turned to look at him, almost beseechingly. Why did he think there'd be mercy here? Wait, something wasn't right. What was going on? What was with the delay?
The others were tossing the balls from hand to hand, waiting for...something. One by one they took their eyes off the prey -- that was sloppy he'd have to teach them better -- and focused their gaze on him.
Him, he was the center of their attention. That wasn't unusual; he'd been their focus before, although this was different. They were waiting on his decision, his signal. Now there was a newness, but another thing that felt right. Leadership, who have thunk it? And with leadership came setting priorities. Lance had stewed long enough in his own sweat. It was time for action.
With a brief nod, all the balls started hailing down on their target.
Teamwork: many minds; one goal. And the disappointment, resignation and fear rolling off Lance was palatable, was sweet. Clearly prey.
Until the Slayer interfered. Why would the strong intervene for the weak? The weak were to be culled. The others were edgy, not happy with this turn of events, but they stepped back at his glare. It wasn't time for Buffy. Not yet. He had a different plan in mind for her.
Their silent face-off was ended when the bell rung. Buffy stood by Lance, keeping her eyes on him. Didn't matter, class was over and he was getting hungry. The hunt was just starting.