Geniuses

“I need to be Batman,” Xander sternly told Ethan.

Dressed in sweats and a gaudy red & yellow dress shirt, Xander was in Ethan’s shop in the following loop, but the conversation in that repetition didn’t go well. The teenager couldn’t convince the Englishman to make him a special costume of Sherlock Holmes, forcing him to get creative. The very last thing he wanted to do was give up this sliver of hope, so he tried several approaches. Asking directly for Sherlock didn’t help. Threatening to shop at another store didn’t either, so Xander figured he had to trick the man. It’s been his goal for the past five loops.

Ethan took a deep pacifying breath, clearly withholding his annoyance. True to his hatred of all things pop culture related, he angrily told Xander, “young man, there isn’t a single character from a television show, movie, comic, or board game I will ever stock in this shop!”

Xander knew that to be true because he even tried to return a Superman costume he claimed was purchased as Ethan’s. No matter how much Ethan protested ever selling such a costume, Xander yelled, “I know my dad got it here and I don’t want it!” Xander left the shop without the Superman costume, hoping Ethan will do whatever magic he uses on the costume. However, Xander only found the costume in the dumpster at the back of the shop.

Knocking him out of his reprieve, Ethan continued, “If you don’t buy the wares I have available, you are more than welcome to vacate the premises this instant!”

‘There’s the right pitch of pissed,’ Xander thought before fighting back with a desperate, “but! But, I want to be the world’s greatest detective!”

The Englishman rubbed the bridge of his nose for patience before noting, “your publicly funded education is lacking far in a way that’s tragic. Clearly, the world’s greatest detective is Sherlock Holmes, of England. Not some trust-fund billionaire dressed in a cowl and black pyjamas.”

“Sherlock Holmes?” Xander retorted in confusion. “Never heard of him!”

“You’ve never-” a flabbergasted Ethan had to cut himself off. “Do your teachers no longer assign book reports, or are they simply biased against masterful authors from other countries?”

With an unimpressed expression on his face, Xander jadedly insisted, “I’ve never heard of Sherlock Holmes. And what kind of name is that, anyway? Sounds like the kind of guy smart enough to drown a fish in water.” That riled Ethan up just enough to do anything to get rid of Xander.

The young teen quickly moved on to confess with grief and misery in his voice, “Listen, I’ve been… there are these boys in school that keep making fun of me because I can’t solve problems as fast as they do. I just thought if I wore the costume of the world’s greatest detective, I might feel like I am. So, obviously, everyone knows that’s Batman.”

Fed up, an irate Ethan demanded, “do you want the costume or not?”

Xander stood quiet for a moment, pretending to be thinking lamely before finally asking, “he doesn’t look like an idiot, does he?”

Managing the smallest of fake smiles, he replied, “Your so-called friends will grow green with envy.”

“…Okay,” Xander pretends to reluctantly agree. “I’ll try this Sherlock dude out.”

It took Xander eight loops to figure out how to manipulate Ethan into making a custom costume, in addition to a combination of mentioning bullies and driving the British man crazy with agitation to finally get the result he wanted. When Xander returned to the costume shop with his friends that afternoon, his costume was ready. Paying for the outfit with money he’d taken from his hungover parents didn’t bother him. He’d pay anything to get out of this hellish nightmare.

Moments before the Janus curse was set to begin, Xander walked around the neighborhood, none too far from Buffy. He avoided becoming a chaperone so he could concentrate on the vital mission at hand. The young teen clasped his hands desperately and squeezed the blood out of them in sheer anxiety, simply hoping the brilliant man would figure out how to get out of the time loop. Seconds till the big moment, Xander rushed closer to Buffy, then he felt his consciousness slip, like the floor was pulled from under him, and was imprisoned in his own mind.

Ignoring the familiar numbing sensation of losing body function, Xander immediately began perusing the memories and intimate thoughts of one of the greatest fictional minds in history. The working mind of Sherlock Holmes felt like an anvil of knowledge falling on his head; an unparalleled wealth of detail and reasoning that felt heavy to think through. Feeling overwhelmed by his genius, Xander didn’t think a person could retain so much information. The way Sherlock viewed the details of the world around him, cataloged and cross-referenced it, was the most efficient system of information retention he’s ever felt.

Xander simply watched in awe as the man deduced within seconds that not only he was in a different time period, but that he was in California, of the United States. He based his deduction of being in the late 20th-century on the advanced technology of cars, streetlights, pavement, and the architecture of the surrounding houses. He also knew he was in California because the blue scrub jay on the nearby tree was a bird native to that state.

The rational man initially reasoned the widespread panic and chaos must’ve been a neuroinhibiting gas or drugs of some sort. Then he noticed the supernatural demons and monsters hunting the running and screaming civilians. Instantly, a file cabinet opened in his mind and he began filling it with every detail he was observing until he was interrupted by Ghost-Willow.

Fortunately, he listened to everything Willow told him, hell-bent on learning more about every speck of information he could see, hear, touch, and taste. This persona was leagues different from the Soldier, and in Xander’s opinion, a giant improvement. Sherlock’s mind made leaps and connections about monsters, demons, and their anatomy Xander never would’ve guessed was possible, but at the moment, experiencing his rapid mind in real-time, it all made sense. He stuck close to Willow to learn all that he could and the redhead was super-thrilled to talk to the world-renowned detective.

Sherlock knew boxing & combat strategy, and didn’t let Buffy, Cordelia, or even Angel die throughout the night. When they were taking shelter in Buffy’s house from the mayhem outside and he looked at the photo of the three friends, Sherlock was convinced his mind was transported into the body of the teenager through some unknown fringe science and began trying to deduce why.

‘Yes! Come on, man! Figure it out,’ he mentally yelled. Sadly, there wasn’t enough time for the detective to think of a solution to Xander’s time dilemma.

The teenager had to do dozens of cycles as Sherlock to retain the mental pattern. Xander needed to keep the persona fresh in his mind so he could deduce how to break out of the time loop even if he wasn’t dressed as Sherlock. It wouldn’t be exactly Sherlock’s genius, but better than Xander could ever hope to reason. He looped enough times for a small voice in his head that sounded like Sherlock to tell him he needed to rule out all possibilities one at a time. Essentially, Xander needed to test, test, test everything.

From previous loops, he already knew he couldn’t die, along with Buffy, Willow, Giles, Cordelia, Angel, and, to his great dismay, Spike. However, to be more detailed about it, Xander tested dying, which was never a pleasant experience. Even though he’d wake up in his bed the second he died, there were many loops where dying took a long time, and he was forced to suffer on the floor, bleeding out, until his heart finally stopped beating. There was even a sadistic vampire with long black hair, a paper-white face, yellow eyes, and a lot of wrinkles in his skin who enjoyed peering into Xander’s panicked eyes as he slowly died.

Annoyed by the vicious vampire, with its demonic cocky smirk on his wrinkled face, Xander fought him often. Though he’s never been able to take on a vampire one-on-one, or many regular people, for that matter. Blocking the hard hits of a vampire hurt a lot, making his bones creak, and he’d lose his life often, but Xander still had his pride. With every loop, he’d pick up its next punch, its next kick, its next dodge, and Xander’s timing would improve until he could fight that homicidal vampire like he was playing a video game. The geek knew exactly what stones to throw, when to run, and where the tree branch was to surprise the vampire with a stake to the heart.

‘Dodge, dodge, back-step, punch,’ Xander would repeat in his mind to make certain he was doing the series of movements right. ‘Now he’s pissed. Run. Throw that dirt, then that rock, punch, punch, run. Grab that the branch. Get knocked down. Kick out its feet. Make sure his face hits the branch on the way down. Stab in the heart.’

After staking the sadistic asshole, Xander moved on to dying in other ways. He died via multiple vampires, demons of all sorts, a pirate killed him, a witch did with a poison apple, a bear mauled him, a car crash, stabbings, high-speed bullets, and even being thrown from the roof of a building. Xander wasn’t sure if it was fortunate, however, no matter how he died, he would always reset. By the end, he was slightly numb to the anticipation of assured pain from a fist, a kick, or horrible murder, but he had no doubt death will always make him reset.

Additionally, his body always reverted to his start-of-the-day body. If he was maimed and lived to 3 AM, he’d awaken again with all of his appendages. And due to gaining marginally better mental timing for combat, he began feeling gross by how sluggish his body was; as if the mind of an athlete were transferred into the body of an overweight couch potato. Knowing his mind could interpret dangers in ways his body couldn’t react fast enough to stop made Xander feel detached from his body, like a stranger in his own skin. With every loop, that feeling only added to his growing anxiety. Xander bottled it up and kept going.

The small voice in his head that sounded like Sherlock inquired if there were any other enhancements—aside from gaining memories—at the start of a new loop. Other than recalling batches of fading memories from his different costumes—a soldier, pirate, ghost, chef, officer, doctor, cowboy, among others—Xander couldn’t think of any other boosts the time loop gave him. None of their physical strengths or special abilities ever transferred over. Once the curse was gone, he’d only have their memories and even that was subject to fade if he didn’t dress in the same costume repeatedly.

Still, the voice needed clearer tests and Xander took to Ethan’s shop to manipulate the British egomaniac. Thanks to Willow’s extensive knowledge of myths and legends across many cultures, Xander had a costume in mind. He incorporated the same tactics as ever to maneuver Ethan into making him a costume of one of the world’s greatest mythical fighters.

“You have to help me,” Xander yelled at the Englishman. “Look, I just need a costume that might help me feel more confident. I bumped into these crazy guys—and talk about overreacting! It’s like it was impossible for them to believe it was an accident. I looked around your shop cuz I thought if I dressed as the greatest warrior ever committed to paper, then maybe it could help me feel brave and not get my ass kicked.” Switching to the hook, Xander noted to Ethan, “but I don’t see a Wolverine, Iron Fist, or a Deadpool costume, you know, from Marvel, or even a Batman costume from DC.”

Ethan immediately inhaled and clenched his jaw, blatantly not appreciating any praise toward the comic characters. Xander continued to ask, “Did you run out? I know they’re popular. I mean, you can’t beat a good comic book character, am I right? But seriously, don’t you have any in the back somewhere? I’d even take the Karate Kid! You’ve seen that movie, right? A little wax on, wax off!”

Rather quickly, an irate Ethan groaned impatiently, “get out.”

Pumping peaceful palms in front of him, Xander begged, “alright, alright. Look, my friend told me about some other guy, in case I can’t find a cool character on short notice. She said his name was Achilles. I thought she was talking about my foot at first. I’m like, ‘how’s dressing up like a giant heel injury supposed to help me feel safe,’ you know? But my friend’s pretty smart. So, if you have, or could make something like that, I’ll pay whatever. Just please help me survive the night. I’m begging ya!”

Though Xander had to endure a few taunts about his failing education, the enigmatic Brit begrudgingly made the costume for him. The teenage boy didn’t appreciate wearing a brown leather dress and black sandals. The updraft made him take shorter steps, but at least he had a plastic sword and round shield Xander knew would become deadly once the curse began.

He walked the festive suburban neighborhood near Buffy and the children she was chaperoning for Trick-or-Treat when he felt the familiar feeling of falling backward and his consciousness being harnessed down. The round shield in Xander’s left hand became much larger, heavier, and sturdier, and the sword in his right became a double-edged, one-handed iron shortsword.

Oddly enough, Xander noted Achilles’ eccentric mental pattern was very similar to Sherlock’s, but rather than a genius in investigating cases, Achilles was a genius in the art of combat. Xander could recognize the same creativity pattern the warrior has when approaching an enemy that Sherlock has when approaching a crime scene. It was almost like the pattern of genius could apply to any discipline, and similar to the great consulting detective, Achilles was obsessed with combat. The more challenging the opponent, the more thrilling it was for him.

Upon meeting 18th-century Buffy and the gang, Xander sadly learned that the legendary fighter was also an egotistical horndog. When he couldn’t touch sexy ghost-Willow, he’d always end up fighting Angel to win Lady Buffy’s heart. Xander couldn’t deny Achilles had great taste, but with his combat ability, the armed warrior would always kill Angel, forcing the frustrated teenager to reset. Even if Xander didn’t exactly hate how easily he could kill Buffy’s beau, after six resets, he changed tactics.

Rather than staying close to Buffy, Xander moved his costumed counterpart to Maple Court in downtown Sunnydale, so he could spend more than a few minutes in the cursed outfit. When he did, Xander was thoroughly amazed by the warrior’s mental pattern in action. The man instinctively analyzed everything he sensed—sight, sound, touch, and smell—and no matter the disadvantage, he kept his mind incredibly calm throughout. Achilles didn’t care how strong the opponent was, whether vampire, demon, monster, larger human, or animal. He knew for a fact there was always a way to win and all he needed to do was pay attention to find it.

The first time Xander witnessed the legendary warrior fight, he couldn’t be happier. Achilles came across a seven-foot-tall, grey, hulking demon with large gorilla teeth and red eyes. Achilles didn’t fear it for even a microsecond. His acute eyes instinctively ascertained what hand the demon favored, what foot it led with, and how fast it moved all by the way it prowled forward. Even predicting how the monster would attack just by the contraction of its large musculature was elementary for the veteran warrior.

With Achilles’ mastery of distancing, it was effortless for the genius warrior to slip the predictable punch with superior footwork, whilst simultaneously impaling the monster’s chest with his sharp, double-edge shortsword in one fluid motion. It was like the world stood still when he moved and he saw everything so clearly, Xander was in awe. Achilles removed his sword from the hulking monster’s chest with a wet slick and kept walking before its face hit the street.

‘HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA,’ Xander laughed from within his mind. ‘He didn’t even wait!’

The exceptional warrior had the speed, skill, and strength to impale any horrific creature he came across anywhere on their body. He could fracture any bone with the edge of his shield and swiftly side-step around them with supreme balance and poise. Despite him using Xander’s body, Achilles slipped punches, dodged or parried kicks, sliced off limbs, and buried his sword in chests or skulls. If Xander were honest with himself, being able to kill so many monsters on a single night with ruthless efficiency made him feel like a superhero. It made him feel like Buffy.

By the end of the curse, Xander bellowed with girlish cheer, “Child’s play! Hahahahahahah!”

A giddy Xander replayed several dozen loops as the confident Achilles, absorbing as much of his style as humanly possible. Xander would even throw the sword and shield away in a dumpster before the curse began, simply to see how he fought unarmed. To his glee, Achilles was no less lethal with his bare hands. The fights may have needed a few more steps to get the kill, but he was a master of hand-to-hand combat as well.

After another dozen loops, Xander was addicted to the idea of being as lethal as Buffy and went to Ethan’s for a different mythical hero. Dejectedly, the same egotistical & hotheaded outcomes would happen when the teenager dressed as Heracles. The muscular costume was stronger than Achilles—able to throw heavy monsters over two-story houses—but he had significantly less tactical awareness or discipline. Xander thought he would be Kevin Sorbo from Hercules, but he became more like Wolverine’s berserker rage; all instinct.

Aside from combat, when Xander tried to get the mythical heroes to save Buffy or Cordelia, then defeat Ethan’s chaos curse, it always took Willow ages to convince them of what was going on and that would cost one of his friends to die—either Buffy or Cordelia, but primarily Angel—which would make him reset.

Despite the setbacks, Xander used Achilles’ costume enough times to understand the differences between the warrior’s impressive body movements and his own pathetic one. Compared to a Greek Demi-God with supernatural strength, Xander’s body felt fat, oily, sluggish, and dangerously uncoordinated. If the teen closed his eyes and stood on one foot long enough, he’d lose his balance as well. Xander felt disgusting in his own skin, and it made him want to get out of the time loop even more.

‘If I ever get out of this stupid time trap, it’s the Iron Life for me,’ he angrily thought. After dozens of loops satisfying a primal hunger for monster blood, Xander thought magic might help him cheat the steps to a muscular bod.

Rather than ask Giles or Ms. Calendar, Xander went to Amy and asked if she’d be open to testing any of her magic on him. He doubted the pretty girl would be the key to ending his never-ending nightmare of impermanence, however; there was a slight possibility magic could transfer over from loop to loop. And that was enough for him and the Sherlock within to try. Sadly, Amy was only strong enough to change him into a rat or switch minds with her, but, as ever, he’d loop back to his disgusting room with no change to his morning.

Xander had to use a few loops to convince Amy to let him read some of her tomes, and for several loops, he found himself in her house after school. He didn’t know how to read Latin, however Sherlock did, which meant he could too, though much slower. It certainly wasn’t nearly as fun as reading Klingon, but he was able to read the Latin in some of her books. The pair of teens were sitting at her kitchen table reading in peace when he read something that completely floored.

“Qu’vatlh,” Xander aggressively cursed in Klingon as his brown eyes bulged.

His hands shook and his chair scratched the tile loudly as his whole body scooted closer to the old stained pages of the tome he was reading. Startled, Amy asked if he was alright, but Xander’s hyper-focused eyes could only pay attention to the details of a love spell on the page. Not once since this entire bloodcurdling, soul-crushing crisis began, did it ever cross the hormonal teenager’s mind to use the time loop for sex; ever!

“Qu’vatlh,” he cursed even louder at his stupidity, prompting a concerned Amy to ask, “What? Xander, what is it?”

Xander ignored her as his mind ran through quick possibilities. Though he refused to use a love spell on a girl, as it’s no different from date-rape in his opinion, he felt hopeful the time loop could help him learn how to speak to gorgeous girls. After all, gaining the confidence to talk to hot girls like Buffy—or others he can’t even think of—would definitely be worth suffering the hell of repeating time. In his warped and desperate mind, Xander even convinced himself that the key to breaking out of this nightmare had to be sex.

‘I need to lose my virginity,’ he thought in all seriousness. In his mind, the solution wasn’t about his personal glee or sexual satisfaction. This necessity was about saving his life. The Sherlock in him would not hesitate to test the theory, and with that, he felt some hope for the future. Running to get himself killed via fighting a vampire, Xander leaped in joy as he yelled, “finally! Something!”

In the following loop, Xander quickly learned he was astonishingly bad at talking to beautiful girls, let alone convincing them to have sex with him. He couldn’t shake his nerves or the sweat that poured out of him. Just approaching their magnificent form made him dizzy, and when he did, he’d either talked too loudly, stood so unnaturally he looked constipated, or was caught staring at their breasts.

Openers like, “y-you smell nice, l-like, rainwater,” or, “s-sooo, do you live in, uh, a house… near here,” or, “Hi, thanks for not running away,” only seemed to creep them out. After dozens of catastrophic failures with random women who’d shoot him down without a second thought, he attempted to flirt with the girls in his immediate orbit.

Buffy would always let him down easily with a friendly pat to the shoulder, Cordelia couldn’t stop laughing—which was extremely demoralizing—and Willow was a punch in the emotional gut that never got softer no matter how many loops he tried. Pushing the sweetest and most adorable girl in his life into sex on the same day he confessed disingenuous emotions made him feel atrocious. When she happily agreed to date, she was so excited, it would shred his insides to know he was only using her for sex. To preserve the loving friendship they have, he quickly abandoned that idea and set a hard boundary on that path.

Xander moved on to the other hot girls in school, then hot teachers—which was only Ms. Calendar—hot women in his neighborhood, in gyms, in stores, and even girls he wasn’t attracted to. Ninety-nine percent of the women he approached rejected him outright, and the often public embarrassment of being rejected didn’t go away for at least ten cycles. The two girls that agreed to date him were categorically not his type, and they certainly didn’t want to do anything sexual right away.

Xander considered paying for sex, but the most he could steal from his parents was seventy-eight dollars and thirty-four cents. The dejected teenager was on the verge of asking his love-rival, Angel, for help picking up women when it dawned on him. There was already one source of magic at his disposal that could offer him the insight he needed. He laughed at himself for being so stupid and rushed to the bus stop in the very next loop.

Mopey and sadder than a kicked puppy, Xander entered Ethan’s Costume Shoppe and once again duped the British chaos warlock into making him a costume. This time of Cupid.