The Best Intentions
Summary: John left his youngest boy alone to protect him from the things that go bump in the night. He didn't know he left him to grow up on top of a Hellmouth. Oneshot. Xander's Real Family.
Warnings: Language – PG-13 level. If anyone thinks this constitutes an M rating, I'll change it.
Disclaimer: Ha, I wish. Don't own Kripke's or Whedon's awesome worlds. Never will. Purely for my own fun.
A/N: Ok, so Buffy is canon through S7 and Supernatural through roughly S2 although John and Sam never died and Dean never made the deal. The timeline really isn't that important, so just try and go with it :)
Also, I completely made up the name of the demon, seeing as it bears no importance to the overall plot. Just a heads up.
000
The car ride up had been uncomfortably silent, having had all the yelling out three states back. The motel they'd pulled off at was no different than the hundreds of others that had come before it. John had made sure his room was several doors down from his boys, doing what he could to give them a little space, a chance to cool their heads. Hell, he knew they were angry with him, and they had every damn right to be. He was angry with himself most days, too. But, even as he lay down on the slab of stone that passed for a bed in his room, he refused to regret his actions, his choices. He'd made a mistake all those years ago, and he'd done his best to keep the consequence of his mistake safe… that consequence being his youngest son, Alexander.
It'd been a year since Mary, and he'd been hurting something fierce when he strolled into that bar in Sunnydale California, looking for comfort at the bottom of a glass. Then she'd sat herself down right next to him, and he'd seen in her eyes that she was hurting, too. One thing led to another, and two months later he got a call telling him he was going to be a father, again.
He'd never gone back to see her or the kid, and she got married to some man by the name of Harris. He sent money when he could, and always made sure she had his emergency number if something ever came up, but he made it clear that he was to have no part in the boy's life. It wasn't his place. And, more importantly, he didn't have the right to drag that boy into the hell his first two sons already lived in. Their mother had been taken from them, but his youngest still had his, still had a chance at a happy, normal life. Family was the most important thing to him, and he'd loved Alexander, the boy he'd never even meant… loved him enough to let him go.
Of course, now, everything was different. Him and his boys had gotten that yellow-eyed son of a bitch, gotten him right in the head and watched his damned spirit burn to nothing. It was finally safe for his family. Well, as safe as life got for those that hunt the beasts in the shadows, but safe enough. He'd known it was time to tell the truth, to come clean. And he'd done just that. Four days ago, while recuperating at Missouri's, he'd sat Dean and Sam down and showed them the only picture he had of Alexander. In it, the little dark haired boy was only four years old with a silly smile plastered on his face. The edges of it were faded and curled from the years, but his son's face was as clear as ever.
He couldn't say he was surprised by his oldest boys' reactions. Sammy was the first to yell, while Dean could only hold the picture in shock. Then, pretty soon, they were both yelling at him, cursing him for keeping something like this from them. Family came first, they shouted. Damn right, he'd told them, and that's why they'd stayed away. That, however, only shut them up for a few minutes. They demanded to go find him, and he hadn't tried to argue. He'd called Jessica, the boy's mother, the next day, managing to get the city Cleveland out of her before she hung up on him.
So now, here they were, camped out on the outskirts of the place where Alexander was supposed to live. And tomorrow, they were going to find him. Family was the start and end, after all, and it was about time they started being one.
000
"What do you think he's like?" Sam's quiet question cut through the dark of the room. Dean didn't answer right away, just stayed still with his hands behind his head, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
"Normal." Happy. His voice was too soft, and he cleared his throat loudly. The last thing he needed was to open the floor to a chick flick moment.
Sam sighed heavily, shifting in his own bed. "I still can't believe Dad kept this from us."
"He was right, though," answered Dean, and he truly believed that. He might not of at first. No, when Dad first told them they had another brother out there, he'd gone from shocked to furious to numb all in the span of a few hours. Now, he was finally at acceptance. No matter how much it hurt to think about not being there for his brother, not watching out for him like a big brother should, he knew his Dad was right. It wouldn't have been fair to the kid to expose him to their line of work or rough way of life. The cold hard truth was that Alexander had been better off without them.
Again, Sam sighed, breathing out through his nose. "I know."
Dean didn't bother responding, and Sam didn't speak again. Both boys lost in thought, trying to picture what the little kid in the worn picture looked like now, imagining and hoping that his life was everything that theirs wasn't. Neither one slept.
000
It just figures that they'd get themselves wrapped up in a job. It was freakin' inevitable. Something in their blood must just attract the damn suckers. Though, the particular nasty they'd just taken down a half hour before wasn't quite like anything they'd ever come up against before. It'd been ugly, probably the ugliest thing any of them had laid eyes on, and that was saying something. And it'd been tough. Lead and salt and bullets didn't phase the thing. Silver had worked well enough, but actually getting close enough to make it count had been the challenge. They still might be back in that dank alley fighting the monster if the other hunter hadn't shown up when he did.
He'd come running in, sword swinging, and made their efforts to take down the creature look like child's play. Whoever he was, it was obvious he'd been in the line of work for a while. After he made quick work of the demon, as he called it although Sam had never seen a demon like that before, he turned to them, letting them all get their first good look at him.
He was young, and Sam guessed they were around the same age. Slightly shaggy black hair framed his face, flushed with adrenalin. He grinned goofily at them, a strange sight with a beheaded monster behind him and a slime covered sword in hand. It was the eye patch over his left eye that was truly startling, however. Sam couldn't help the small shudder that coursed through him, wondering what it must have been like to lose the eye. No doubt it had happened hunting down some monster. Whatever the case, he bet it'd been gruesome and painful – monsters weren't known to be nice.
Currently, all four of them were settled somewhat awkwardly around a table at a hole in the wall bar the mysterious hunter had led them to, insisting on buying them a round of drinks. They hadn't said too much while they waited for their order, but now that a waitress had just given them all large mugs of beer, Sam turned his eyes on the stranger, several questions on the tip of his tongue, but not sure how to start. Glancing at his dad and brother, he could tell they were in similar states of uneasiness.
The unknown man, however, didn't appear to be feeling the same tension. A wide smile split his face as he took a sip of his beer. "Always hits the spot after a good slaying." He looked at each of them, sizing them up with his one, brown eye. "Names Xander, by the way."
When it appeared that neither his dad or Dean were going to speak up, both still unsure of what to make of the hunter, Sam cleared his throat, saying, "I'm Sam, and this is my brother Dean and our dad, John."
Xander nodded. "Now that the pesky introductions or out of the way, can I ask what you guys were doing trying to fight a Kladivo demon?"
"We're hunters." Xander frowned slightly at Sam's answer.
"And why do you keep calling that thing a demon?" Dean butted in.
"Because," said Xander, drawing his words out like he was explaining something very simple. "That's what it is."
Leaning forward, Dean looked annoyed as he shot back, "I've never seen a demon like that before."
"Well, not all demons look like that one," conceded Xander. "Some are more pointy, others more slimy, but they all have a pretty high gross factor. Not even faces a mother could love, if you catch my drift."
"What the hell-" Dean started, but their dad cut him off.
"Hold on, Dean," said Dad, his dark eyes unreadable. "I've heard of demons like this before."
"You have?" asked Sam incredulously. He'd never heard his dad or any other hunter mention them before. But then, he used to think vampires were only a myth a year ago, and that assumption turned out to be pretty damn far from the truth.
Dad shook his head. "Never thought there was any truth behind the rumors. Didn't even write it down."
"You can't honestly be saying that thing was a demon," scoffed Dean, still firmly in denial land.
"Not our kind of demon, son."
"Since when was there more than one kind? A demon is a demon!"
"Whoa, hold on!" threw in Xander, interrupting what was sure to escalate between father and son. "You called yourselves hunters, right?"
Sam answered quickly. "Yes." He narrowed his eyes, watching Xander's reaction like the pieces had just clicked together.
"Huh," he half-laughed. "So this is what G-man must have felt like with all his Watcher-ness know-how."
Dean raised an eyebrow, looking far from amused. "Was any part of that sentence supposed to actually make sense?"
"What? Oh, sorry," Xander appeared slightly sheepish. "I just meant, I think I know where this whole misunderstanding thing is coming from."
"Mind filling us in?" Dad said gruffily, and Sam could tell he was losing his patience with the odd, one-eyed man.
"You see," Xander leaned back in his chair, preparing for a long explanation. "There are two kinds of demons. There's your biblical, spirit-y type demons that have to possess someone to walk around up here, and then there's my kind of demons who have their own bodies, like the one you meant up with in the alley."
"What do you mean, your kind of demon?" asked Dean suspiciously.
"Well, your hunters, right. And from what I've read, you usually handle ghosts and spirits or other things along those lines, like your demons. I'm a Watcher, and we tend to deal with the more Hellmouth-y type monsters and demons."
"Hold on," Dad spoke up, his dark eyes wide. "Hellmouths don't exist."
Xander laughed like that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "Hate to burst your bubble there, John, but they do. One's right here in Cleveland. I should know, I grew up on another one, even spent about three years of high school right on top of it."
Sam had rarely seen their Dad at a loss for words, but after Xander's declaration, he seemed stunned speechless. Expelling all the air from his lungs, he ran dirty fingers through his graying hair, looking like he'd just got hit in the gut. Dean, on the other hand, was now more confused then ever, his head whipping back and forth between them.
"Some one kindly want to tell me what a Hellmouth is, exactly?"
"A portal to Hell," Sam answered him, recalling a few brief passages he'd come across in research before. Until now, he'd always dismissed the idea that they were real. The thought that something like that could actual exist was chilling all the way to his bones. He couldn't take his scrutinizing eyes away from Xander, wondering if what he said was true, trying to imagine what kind of life he'd had growing up on one. Suddenly, the fact that he'd only lost one eye seemed lucky.
"A hell dimension, actually," Xander corrected, but upon receiving three bewildered stares, he quickly added, "Technicality, really."
"An entirely different dimension?" Sam echoed hollowly, the Hellmouth concept sounding worse and worse.
Shrugging, Xander casually replied, "There's a whole lot of other dimensions." Dean snorted in disbelief. "Look," the self proclaimed Watcher said. "Just think of a Hellmouth as a hotspot for supernatural activity."
"And you spent three years on top of one?" asked Dad, his tone grave.
Again, Xander shrugged like it was no big deal. "Yeah, I meant the Slayer my sophomore year. I couldn't really ignore all the demon stuff after that."
"The Slayer?" Sam asked, the term not ringing any bells.
Xander sighed, suddenly looking very tired. "You're not going to let this go until you've had the whole spiel, am I right?" They all three muttered in the affirmative.
Pulling out a cellphone, he checked the time, then turned back to them. "How about this," He dug out what appeared to be a business card and slid it across the table to their Dad. "Drop by this address tomorrow, and I promise I'll explain everything."
"Why can't you just explain now?" challenged Dean.
"Trust me," Xander said seriously. "It'll be a hell of a lot easier to show you."
000
This was by far the best 'vampires and monsters and demons are real' speech Xander had ever given, but he admitted he couldn't take all the credit. John, Dean, and Sam were hunters, and had been for a long time it seemed, so it only made sense that they wouldn't be yelling denials or having a panic fit. Still, he couldn't help feeling a small bit of accomplishment when he saw that their only reaction was to ask a few questions and remain mostly stone faced. At least, John and Dean were. Sam looked somewhere between horrified and interested, and he immediately pegged him as the research-y type. He thought he might show him their library later, the sasquatch sized guy would probably have a hey day.
But, for now, the front sitting room had fallen into an uncomfortable silence, a rare feat in a house that was home to a couple dozen of hormonal, crazy, slayerish teenage girls. Most of the girls were at home for the school year, though, and those that were left were all outside doing a training exercise. The only people in the house besides him were Giles, Buffy, and Willow, all of whom were visiting for a few days. Xander thought it couldn't have been better timing. It was a lot easier to convince the three hunters about the existence of Hellmouths with G-man, the Head Slayer, and an extremely powerful good Wicca in the house.
"So, Mr. Winchester," Giles quietly started.
"John."
"John, then. What brings you to Cleveland? Were you hunting something?"
"Uh, no," John shifted in his seat. "Not exactly."
"We're looking for someone," added Dean, shooting glances to his dad and brother.
"Really? Might I ask who?"
Clearing his throat, as though the words were hard to get out, John said, "My youngest son."
"Is he a hunter, too?" Buffy asked, honestly interested. Xander realized this was the first time the Slayer had heard of hunters. She probably found the idea of hundreds of regular people choosing to fight the evil nastys in the world intriguing, especially since they weren't her normal brand of nastys.
"No," John snapped, like the idea was offensive. "No, he isn't."
"Oh," Willow joined in, trying to defuse the tension that had just sprung up. "Well, when was the last time you heard from him? Maybe I could do a locator spell for you or something."
"It's a little more complicated than that, I'm afraid. And I'm not too keen on using magic, no offense," said John, turning his eyes down to the floor.
"What do you mean? Is he in some kind of trouble?" Xander asked, already deciding that he was going to help them find their wayward family member. They were fellow evil fighters, which made them sort of like family in his book. Plus, he just had a feeling in his gut that he couldn't quite put a finger on, but it was telling him that finding John's missing son was something he needed to do.
"No," Dean answered. "Or at least, we don't think so."
"See, we've, um," Sam spoke up, stumbling over his words. "We've never actually meant him."
There was a beat of silence as the Scoobies processed exactly what Sam was trying to say.
"Ah," Giles adjusted his glasses. "I see. Did you only recently…" he trailed off.
John ran a hand over his face. "The boys just found out, but I've always known."
"Why are you just now trying to find him, then?" asked Buffy, meanness in her voice, and Xander knew she was thinking of her own absentee father.
As John turned his dark eyes to the Slayer, Xander could see true regret and sadness on the old hunter's face, the first real emotions he'd been able to read from the man. "It wasn't safe until now. The demon that killed Dean and Sammy's mother, that was after my family… it's dead. We finally killed the son of a bitch a few weeks ago. I left my youngest son with his mother so he wouldn't have to grow up on the road, hunting. I left him so he'd have a chance at a normal life."
Buffy had the decency to look away, having been effectively put in her place. It was painfully clear that family was important to this man, and it had hurt him to leave one of his sons behind. Of course, that didn't excuse him altogether, all of the Scoobies having dealt with their fair share of distant and inattentive parents, but his intentions had to count for something, Xander thought.
"What's his name?" he asked. "We've got a lot of contacts in the area, they might know something. Though, I can't think of any Winchesters-"
"Harris." Xander locked eyes with John, startled, not remembering having given his last name to the hunter.
"Excuse me?" he stammered, momentarily thrown.
"His last name isn't Winchester," John elaborated, and Xander felt dread well up in his stomach, suddenly very sure he wasn't going to like what was said next. "His name's Harris. Alexander Harris."
Xander swore his heart missed a whole two beats. He could feel the shocked eyes of his friends on him, but he couldn't so much as move, frozen with shock. He stared blankly back at John, willing it all to be some bizarre coincidence.
"I'm sorry," Buffy cut in. "Did you just say Alexander Harris?"
It was Sam who answered, narrowing his eyes, "Yes…"
"He didn't by chance grow up in California, did he?" squeaked Willow.
"Yeah, actually he did. In Sunnydale."
He wasn't aware of moving, but Xander suddenly found himself on his feet. He turned his one eye desperately to Giles, Willow, and Buffy, begging one of them to tell him this was all a joke, or some big bad sized prank.
"Does that mean something to you?" Dean asked eagerly, obviously encouraged by his reaction.
John, however, was eyeing him with his dark, dark eyes, searching. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out what looked like an old photograph, but Xander couldn't make out what it was of. The hunter glanced between the picture and him, a light of recognition growing in those shadowed depths. He stood up then, and took a step towards him, holding out the picture. "This is him," he whispered.
Xander couldn't help it, his arm moving mechanically. He took the photo in a shaky hand. Slowly, hesitantly, he brought it up to his eye, and was meant with his four-year-old face. Instantly, the picture slid from his fingers, fluttering to the floor. He took a step back, eye darting up to meet John's… his father.
"Dad, what's going on?" Sam asked, both him and Dean getting to their feet as well. Willow, mean while, quickly snatched up the photograph from where it'd fallen. She took one look at it and gasped, turning to her oldest friend.
"Xander…" She breathed.
He shook his head firmly, as if he could chase away what was happening. "No, no this is some demon, or spell, or… something," he muttered, casting about for a more logical reason for why some random hunter he'd randomly meant was randomly looking for his son who just so randomly happened to look just like he did when he was a kid and who randomly had his name.
John just looked at him with tears in his eyes.
"Wait," Sam said, his voice quiet as he put together the pieces. "Xander… as in short for Alexander?"
He sounded so hopeful, it shot a spike of fear through him.
"Alexander?" Dean echoed his brother, his eyes widening as he looked at him.
Xander pointed to the picture Willow still had clutched in her hand. "Where did you get that?" he demanded of John.
"Your mother sent it to me." The words were so quiet, so soft.
"My mother doesn't know you! Why would she… it doesn't… why?" he struggled, feeling lost and angry.
"Because," John moved closer to him, reaching out to touch him. "I'm your-"
"No." Xander pulled away, his eye shadowed and his voice low. "Don't say it. Don't you dare."
And with that, he left the room, left the house, and left the people who claimed to be his family, who left him behind so he could lead a normal, safe, happy little life.
Too fucking bad that didn't work out.
000
He watched his son bolt out the door, and couldn't help the tear that slipped from his eye. He wondered how he hadn't seen it earlier. Alexander – Xander – looked more like him than Dean and Sam, the same dark hair and eyes… or eye. This thought sobered him, and he slumped down into the chair he'd previously occupied. His son had lost an eye and God knows what else fighting the very things he'd left him alone to protect him from. He cradled his head in his hands, wallowing in the completeness of his failure. He'd failed his wife, he'd failed his boys, and now he'd failed the son who didn't even know him. The only good thing he'd ever done turned out to be as wrong as wrong could get.
He heard people talking, but couldn't focus on what was being said. Someone was shaking his shoulder, and he looked up to see Dean's worried face. Numbly, he let his two oldest boys drag him out of the strange house and shove him into the back seat of the car. Sometime later, he found himself back in his small motel room, alone.
He sat down in the frayed, ugly looking armchair off in the corner. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the table and took a long swig. Even the burn as it raced down his throat couldn't chase away the horror at what he'd unknowingly done, couldn't chase away the look on his youngest son's face as he ran away from him.
Again, he lifted the bottle to his lips.
And again.
And again.
000
"Look," Dean snapped, his fuse just about all used up. "I don't give a damn what you think, neither you or your little witchy friend are gonna get my ass of this porch until you tell me where Xander is."
"Dean," his brother warned, but he ignored him.
The short, blond, girly slayer took a step closer to him which he was sure was meant to be intimidating, but, honestly, after the shit he'd seen, he wasn't impressed.
"Oh yeah, tough guy?" she questioned. "Want to test your theory?"
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Give me your best shot, sweetheart."
"Oh," Buffy, seriously, what the hell kind of a name is Buffy, narrowed her eyes. "That's it, hunter boy. Don't say I didn't warn ya."
She moved into a fighting stance, and Dean ran his fingers over the hilt of the knife tucked into his jeans, but before either could make a move, a voice from inside the house called out.
"Buffy, stop."
The supposed Slayer relaxed slightly, turning to look behind her just as Xander appeared in the open doorway. His mouth was set in a frown, his own eye flicking back and forth between him and Sam.
"Xander, you don't have to talk to them," the girl started to say, but Xander put a hand up to stop her.
"Yeah, I do." He gave her a small, reassuring smile. "I'll be fine, promise. Just give us a minute?"
Buffy cast him one last glare before agreeing. "Fine, I'll be right inside," she stressed, and Dean had to hold back his snort at her threatening skills. She moved back into the house, shutting the door after her.
Dean looked at Xander. Xander looked at him. He looked at Sam. Sam raised his eyebrows.
Well, this was awkward.
Admittedly, Dean hadn't quite thought his plan through this far. He'd only known after seeing his father passed out this morning, a near empty bottle of Jack dangling from his fingertips, that they had to do something. He'd only seen his dad like that once before, in those hard weeks and months after Mom died. As a kid, he'd been too young to know how to help his father then, but not this time. So he'd dragged Sammy into the Impala and gunned it over to the secret training school for super powered munchkins with the goal of finding and talking to their brand new little brother.
Of course, now, looking at Xander's tired face and his haunted eye and that chilling eye patch, he didn't have a clue in hell what to say. This man, this hunter, wasn't supposed to be his brother. His little brother was supposed to be innocent and naïve about the monsters that hide under the bed and in the closet. He wasn't supposed to be tough, and hard, and weary like him and Sammy.
Looking between his two younger brothers, Dean couldn't help but wonder what higher power their family had so royally pissed off to have their lives end up like this.
"Xander," Dean started, feeling ten times more nervous now than when he'd been facing the girl with super strength and deadly aim with a wooden stake. "I, we…"
"What," Xander said mockingly. "Come to say sorry? Sorry for never checking up on me? Sorry for all the crap I've been through?" He smiled humorlessly at them. "Or maybe you've come for a big ol' happy family reunion. Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but that won't be happening."
"Xander," Sam tried, using his lawyer voice. "If you'd just give a chance to explain…"
"Explain what?" Xander spat out, his anger making itself known. "As far as I'm concerned, you can drive on out of town and never contact me again."
Dean shook his head. "We can't do that, Xander?"
"Why, worried I might get hurt? Get a paper cut or skin my knee?" Xander shot back sarcastically. "Well, I think you're a little late."
"No," Dean bit out, struggling mightily to keep his older brother temper from lashing out. "Because we're family, and-"
"Ha! Family!" Xander laughed in his face, cutting him off. "That's a good one, really! Where were you then when my drunk excuse of a father hit me, or when my best friend was turned into a vampire, or when a gigantic demon attacked my graduation, or when a psycho priest with freakish strength crushed my eye with his thumb?"
Dean felt the blood drain from his face as his little brother let slip details of his life, and one glance at Sam told him his brother was just as shocked and horrified. But he couldn't dwell on this new information now. All he had to do was get Xander to listen, to give them a chance.
"Enough!" he shouted. Drawing himself up to his admittedly shorter height, pulling on years of experience as the oldest brother, he stared down Xander. "We get it. You're screwed up. We're screwed up," he gestured to Sammy and himself. "This whole situation is fucked up to high heaven, don't think we don't realize that. All we're asking for is a chance, one chance, to talk. That's it."
Xander snapped his mouth shut, looking at them suspiciously. When it was clear he wasn't going to say anything further, Dean pulled a scrap of paper with their motel's address scrawled on it. He held it out.
"You can find us here, rooms 15 and 16."
After a few seconds, Xander slowly reached out and took the paper.
000
He'd been sitting in his car for a good fifteen minutes. His legs were like lead, weighing him down. His heart was keeping an up tempo drum beat against his ribs. The neon motel sign glowed brightly above him, casting everything in an unpleasant red light.
Three days. That was how long it'd been since he found out his father wasn't his father. Not that he could really complain about not sharing DNA with that lousy waste of space. But still, revelations of this kind weren't an easy thing to swallow, especially when the reason his real father never contacted him was because he thought he'd be safer not knowing.
Oh, the sheer, bone crushing, mind blowing, big bad exploding irony.
In fact, given the choice, Xander would much prefer a big bad, world ending type of situation to face at the moment. Anything would do, really, so long as he didn't have to face the father and brothers he never knew he had.
Somehow, he managed to make his body work on autopilot. Reflexively, he unfolded himself from his car and walked up to the doors marked with the rusted over numbers 15 and 16. He raised a hand to knock, and left it there in midair like an idiot. Only now did he comprehend the fact that Dean and Sam had told him two room numbers, and he had no idea who was in which room.
He had two choices. One, go back to the car and wait sneakily for one of them to either go in or come out, or two, take a whack at it and just pick a door.
Deciding that if he got back in his car now, he'd simply drive away and never look back, he resolutely brought his knuckles down on the door marked 15, fervently hoping it was Dean or Sam who answered. He didn't think he was ready to face…
"Dean, Sam, Goddammit I told ya to leave…" John Winchester growled, throwing open the door, only to stop when he caught sight of him. The older man's eyes widened to nearly comical proportions, and Xander might have laughed if all the air in his lungs hadn't mysteriously disappeared.
Both of them were still, suspended in mid action, like the artist that was drawing this twisted story had lifted his pen. Then, suddenly, time resumed for the both of them.
"This was a bad idea," Xander mumbled, turning to leave.
"No, wait!" John cried out, clasping a strong, callused hand on his shoulder, only to pull back the next instant. "Don't go, please."
Xander hesitated at the emotion in the old hunter's voice. The man who had seemed so tough, like nothing could faze him, now sounded so broken that it made his resolve waver. He met John's eyes, eyes the same color as his.
"Okay," he mumbled, casting his gaze around, looking anywhere but back to those broken eyes.
John's whole demeanor seemed to relax, and he stepped to the side. "Come in," he gestured, and Xander stepped through into the seventies era motel room. Closing the door, John brushed past him, swiping several empty beer cans off the single bed.
"Have a seat," he said, glancing at him for half a second before moving over to the only chair in the room. On the table next to it were even more empty beers and a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels. Xander winced as he lowered himself onto the lumpy mattress. It looked like the old man had been drinking constantly since he'd last seen him three days ago.
An awkward silence fell between them, neither quite sure what to say or how to start. Xander took the opportunity to study the man who was his father. And he had no doubt of that fact. A few hours after he'd stormed out of the house, he'd finally calmed down enough to call his mother and demand answers from her. She hadn't wanted to admit it at first, but he eventually pulled the whole story from her. She'd told him about the night they meant, how he was young and handsome, but she could tell he was hurting. She told him how even though he said he didn't want to be a part of his life, that he always sent money a few times each year.
Looking at him now, Xander could easily see the resemblance, and not only in their physical traits. Both of them had seen too much, done too much. Both of them had scars that went deeper than the skin.
"I never wanted this life for you," John whispered, so softly Xander had to strain to hear. "I couldn't save Dean and Sam… I was all they had left. But you," He looked up with tears in his eyes. "You had your mother, you weren't a part of this." He shook his head wearily. "I just don't understand where it all went wrong."
Xander looked down at his hands, not sure how to answer. He could understand perfectly where John was coming from, trying to protect people by staying away, keeping secrets. But he'd learned from experience that that never worked. Evil was a disease that touched every part of your life, even those parts you ignored or hid away.
"It was the beginning of my sophomore year in high school," Xander said, not really sure why he was telling this to John, but not knowing what else to say. "My best friend, Jesse, was turned into a vampire."
"Xander, you don't have to…"
He looked up, meeting John's gaze steadily. "I killed him."
John's mouth shut, swallowing whatever words he was going to say. An understanding passed between them, one that didn't need to be spoken aloud. They were hunters. They did what needed to be done. And nothing either one of them could do would ever change the past. There was no point in looking back. All they could do was move forward.
Sighing heavily, John looked at him with imploring eyes. "If I could have spared you from all the evil in this world, I would have. No question."
Xander nodded once. "I believe you," he said. "But that doesn't mean I forgive you."
"Why should you forgive me when I don't forgive myself?" John replied.
They were quiet for a few minutes, letting the ramifications of their conversation so far sink in.
"What about when you were younger?" John ventured tentatively. "Did you at least have a good childhood?"
Xander shifted uncomfortably, thinking it was probably a very bad idea to tell an experienced hunter that the man who'd raised his kid made beating him one of his favorite past times. As much as he hated Tony, he couldn't bring himself to sick his new relatives after him. He was pretty sure that would be as good as signing his death certificate.
"Uh, yeah, I guess," he stumbled, hoping his poker face wasn't as miserable as he suspected it was. "As happy a childhood can get when you grow up on a Hellmouth."
John stiffened at the reminder, and Xander mentally berated himself for the bad try at humor. Where was Willow when he needed her? Or Giles? Anyone to tell him when to shut up would do.
"If I had known…" John started to mutter, his hand searching for the bottle of Jack.
"Tell you what," Xander jumped in, perhaps too enthusiastically. "Let's not talk about the past right now. At least until we know each other better." His expression froze as he realized what he'd just implied, that at some point they would know each other better, meaning that this would not be the last time they talked. Strangely, this idea didn't seem as terrible to him as it had not twenty minutes ago when he was still sitting immobile in his car outside.
John paused, then slowly withdrew his hand from the whiskey. "Maybe you're right," he grunted, giving him a sort of grimace that Xander assumed was meant to portray some sort of gratitude.
"So," Xander fished about for a safe topic. "What are you going to do now? I mean, you said you finally killed that one demon…" Way to go, Xander, bring up the demon who killed his wife. It was official, if anybody ever needed to talk to the father they never knew, he was the absolute worst person to bring along.
John's brow furrowed, and he looked at him with shadowed eyes. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "Same thing I've been doing, I guess. Hunting."
"You don't want to retire? Do something a little less… life threatening?" Xander attempted to joke, failing badly. No more humor! A very Willow sounding voice screamed in his head.
"I used to fix up cars, but," John shrugged. "I don't think I could stop hunting, no matter how bad I wanted to."
"I understand," Xander replied. John shot him a questioning glance, so he elaborated. "Once you know what's out there, you've got an obligation to protect all those that can't protect themselves. You can't just sit back and let people get hurt because they don't know what's really out there. You've got a responsibility."
An expression that Xander couldn't quite identify stole over John's face, his eyes almost glinting, examining every inch of him. Feeling self-conscious, he shifted his weight, making the bedsprings groan.
"Alexander," John said, making him start at the use of his full name. Normally, he hated the sound of it, seeing as the only people to call him by it were his mother and Tony, but he found he didn't mind it so much coming from John. "I can't say that I know much of anything about you, and I can't claim to have had any part in the way you turned out, but," he paused, taking a deep breath.
"I'm proud of you, son."
Xander's heart squeezed painfully at that one simple phrase. Never before in his life had he heard those words, at least not from his parents, from the people who mattered the most despite how much he told himself he didn't care. And now, hearing those words come so easily from the father he'd only just meant, it struck something deep inside him. He felt his throat growing tight, and his eye getting wet as tears threatened to spill over.
"Do you mean that?" The whispered question slipped from him faster than he could comprehend what he was saying.
John didn't answer right away. His heart sank, thinking the man's silence meant he was taking it back, because he never really meant it in the first place. Suddenly, he felt strong hands pull him to his feet, and then he was breathing in the sent of stale beer and tobacco and gun powder and leather as his father, his real father, pulled him into a tight embrace.
He was sure his heart would burst. Here was the father he always dreamed of having. Yes, Xander knew they had a long way to go before the past could be forgiven, but he was willing to walk that road. He was more than willing.
"Dad!" A loud voice called from outside the room, followed by several loud raps on the door. "Open up, you've got to eat something!"
John pulled away, and Xander hurriedly struggled to erase any sign of his recent tears. His father looked at him, his mouth twitching into a half smile.
"What do you say?" he asked. "You hungry?"
Xander allowed himself to grin, straightening out his shoulders. "You really gotta ask?"
Chuckling, John said, "Oh, you'll fit in just fine." He moved to the door, pulling it open just as Dean raised his fist to knock again. Xander could just see Sam standing behind Dean, a couple fast food bags in his arms.
"Hey, boys," John greeted a surprised Dean. "Hope you brought enough food for four."
"Four?" Dean questioned, him and Sam stepping into the room only to stop short when they noticed him.
"Xander?" Sam was the first to regain his voice.
"Hey," he mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed and unsure after the way he'd acted to his older brothers, as if that thought wasn't totally bizarre, when they'd come to the house two days ago. "If you want, I can… come back later, or-"
"No!" Dean stopped him. "Stay, we brought extra." Sam dropped the grease stained bags on the table. Pulling out several foil wrapped burgers, he tossed one to him.
Xander smiled as he caught it.
"Wait," Dean asked, his face serious, making Xander nervous. "Do you like pie?"
Confused by the seemingly random question and the exasperated "Dean!" from Sam, Xander decided to take the moment in stride. Grinning widely, he answered, "Pie? I love pie."
One second, two seconds, then Dean smiled brightly at him, slapping him on the back.
"Welcome to the family, little bro."
Xander looked down at Dean, making obvious note of their height difference. "Little?" he asked.
"Shut up," Dean groaned while both John and Sam chuckled.
Xander smiled, looking at each member of his new family. He'd decided he'd have to thank the next Kladivo demon he ran into before he cut off its head. After all, if it wasn't for one of them, his father and brother might never have found him. And that wasn't a future he liked to think about.
Evil might have torn his family apart, but, in the end, it brought them together.
And that was really all that mattered.
000
The end!
Got a little fluffy there at the end, but I couldn't help myself : )