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Death is a funny thing. Not funny-ha-ha, but funny like clowns and high school and syphilis.
The first time Xander saw a body was on his fourth birthday when Uncle Marlon had one schnapps too many and fell face-first into the vaguely car-shaped chocolate cake. The second time Xander saw a dead body was when he watched Jesse's face morph into the face of a demon.
There are only two vampires left. The slayers have already taken down the other five, and are now scattered around the graveyard, making sure that there aren't more. Twenty, even ten years ago, Xander would have been paralyzed with fear, but now he just shifts his grip on his sword and sets out towards the demons.
Like all teenagers, he used to think he was immortal. Seat belts, bicycle helmets, flu-shots, and healthy food - it was all irrelevant because death was something that happened to other people. Even after Buffy, after Jesse and the graduation, it was still always other people, and mostly he just felt bitter about having been left behind.
Even though it's been only a routine patrol, Xander approaches the vampire slowly, signalling Judy to take the other one and to watch his back. He's thirty-seven and one eye short - he's learned to take things carefully.
But the thing is, even when he admitted he was mortal - those times when he looked at vampires, and immortality had a face and a price - death seemed an almost too absurd thing to even consider. He was Xander, the Zeppo. He was doomed to be killed by a mob of spellbound women or the 99 cent special at the Fabulous Ladies' Night Club. Remembering to put on clean underwear in the morning would make his death only marginally less embarrassing.
The best scenario he could come up with was being killed by Spike or Angel, his death a final "I told you so" after years of saying that a soul or no soul, a vampire can never be good.
When it happens, it's not because of bad luck, not because of lack of skills. He trains with the sword every night with Giles, and does boxing and tai-chi in the mornings. He can do a mile in under seven minutes and bench press more than 230 on a good day. He's a senior watcher in charge of fifteen slayers, and he's neither reckless nor afraid.
Death is a banana peel left on the floor, and afterlife a brightly-lit Studio where Saint Peter sits him down on a sofa to the sound of the audience laughing. This was your life, Xander Harris, and it's been a laugh.
The blade misses the vampire, embedding itself to a tree. Xander calls out for Judy and scrambles for his stake.
The vampire lunges.
Death is a funny thing.