spiceblueeyes | Progression Into Night

I couldn't sleep last night, so I killed Xander again.

Title: Progression Into Night
Rating: R
Warnings: character death, suicide
A/N: Inspired by the line "Do not go gently into that good night" from the poem by the same name by Dylan Thomas.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, I just play around with other peoples stuff.
Word Count: 358

The first time Xander thought about It he was very surprise. Shocked even, and more than a little bit scared that he would think of that at all. The idea that there were so many little pills in his medicine cabinet, and hiding in various places around his basement apartment. They were left over from different injuries he’d sustained over the years, being a Scooby was hazardous to his health, being a Harris even more so. The thought that all of those left over tablets might be enough…had him getting up and heading over to Willow’s house. She wouldn’t question him if he showed up spooked, and they’d spend the night watching bad sci-fi movies together.

The second time Xander thought about It he was less surprised, and less scared. Obviously thinking about It didn’t mean he was going to do It. He did worry about why his brain was throwing that at him though.

The third time Xander thought about It he wasn’t surprised, or scared. He just shook his head at himself and labeled It a Bad Idea and shoved to the back of his mind.

The fourth time Xander thought about It he was calmly fascinated at himself when he realized that somehow It had been elevated to the position of Option. Of course it wasn’t Plan A, more like Plan Z to the max. It was less on the table, as kicked under it and forgotten.

The last time Xander thought about It he was desperate. The table of possibilities had been demolished, and that Bad Idea, Plan Z, last option ever, was now his only option. There just were no other options, no other plans, nothing that would fix that damned metaphorical table and make everything better. It was the only way OUT. So he gathered up all those pills and swallowed them. One by one, two by two, three by three. Every single one, he had to be sure. After, he lay down on his bed and closed his eyes. Should he have written a note? Oh well, too late now. He could no longer keep his eyes open.

He went gently.