Finding Family

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy: the vampire slayer or The Magnificent 7. I also don't own the ATF au of The Magnificent 7 that was first created by Mog (I think). I'm just playing, no money, and no harm. In the Buffy-verse this takes place before the first season and, in case you don't know about it, the ATF-verse of the Mag. 7 has the characters as a modern day team of ATF agents. Also, some mention of slash as two of the male characters are in a committed relationship.

Chapter One: Discovery and Journeys

"You got another postcard about your bastard son," Carol said, tauntingly waving said postcard in the air. "Seems he's moved again, more trouble at work you think?" she sarcastically said. Her triumph was short-lived as her husband snatched the postcard from her hand and pushed her into the wall.

"Shut up," he growled, "At least I have one son that's making something of his life, not like our worthless kid." His glare circled the room and landed on the door to their son, Xander's room. He took a step toward Xander's room, but Carol caught his arm, stopping him.

"Leave him alone," she quietly said, "He's doing as good in school as you ever did. Besides, I got paid yesterday. Let's go out to eat." With a slightly drunken smile, he agreed and they left with a yell to Xander about their plans.

After he was sure they were really gone, Xander crept out of his room. He retrieved the postcard that his parents had been arguing over and slowly read the message. It didn't say much – just a name, Ezra Standish, and an address in Denver. However, those few words changed Xander's entire world. He had a brother, well half-brother. He wondered if his father had kept any other postcards or if he had any pictures of his newly found brother. He set the current postcard down and rushed to the attic door. If his father bothered to keep anything about this Ezra, it would be in the attic.

After shifting lots of heavy boxes, well heavy to a skinny twelve-year-old who hadn't hit his growth spurt yet, he found a small shoebox labeled Ezra. It was filled with postcards and a couple of old grade school pictures, but nothing too recent. Well as neat as it would be to meet his brother, there wasn't much chance of Xander getting to Colorado. With a last sigh of longing, he put the shoebox away and went to look for food.

An hour and two sandwiches later, someone rapped politely on the front door. Xander inched his way to the door and peered through the peephole. Two police officers were standing on the porch; one raised his hand to knock again. Xander bit his lip nervously, he wondered if his parents had been arrested for something. With a deep breath for courage, Xander unlocked the deadbolt and pulled open the door.

"Alexander Harris?" the tall blond, non-knocker asked. Xander nodded, unable or unwilling to make a sound. He felt his stomach drop when the cop used the quiet voice – the voice adults used when they had something bad to tell the kids. "There's been an accident, "the blond gently said, "Your parent are at the hospital. We came to take you over there. Is there anyone you might want to call?"

"I guess I should call my Uncle Rory," Xander reluctantly replied, "He'd want to know." Uncle Rory was not Xander's favorite person. In fact, Xander dreaded being around his mother's creepy younger brother. However, he dutifully made the phone call, relieved when the machine picked up, and left his message. Then he followed the officers out to their car and they rode in silence to the hospital.

The emergency room was controlled chaos as doctors and nurses bustled from one patient to the next. The blond cop guided Xander to a seat in the crowded waiting area, while his balding partner went to the nurse's station to find out where the Harris' were. It wasn't good news, Xander could tell. Oh God, what if they were both dead? They were lousy parents, but they were all he had. If they died, the state would ship him to Uncle Rory's and Xander didn't want that.

When the bald cop stopped in front of Xander, he knew his fears were true. "I'm sorry kid," the cop said, "your mom didn't make it. Your dad's in critical condition, but it doesn't look too good." For a moment, Xander couldn't even breathe. Everything was moving too fast and he just wanted a second to process this news.

He wasn't going to get his second, as the police officer ushered him to the elevator and then up three floors. Xander was shown into the room where his father was, well, dying. A dark-haired twenty-something intern was adjusting an IV and turned to Xander as the door opened. The intern finished his task and walked out the door, telling Xander not to touch any of the wires. Xander wondered what to do, if he should say something to his unconscious father. The pale form stirred no real sadness or sympathy in the boy, as he recalled all the pain his father gave out over the years. He felt a twinge of sorrow that he could never please his father, that the man never seemed to love him, but the blue-tinged lips and broken body didn't deserve any sympathy. In fact the only thing he thought as he stared down at the rapidly fading life was "what a waste". His thoughts instead turned to Uncle Rory and how he'd react to Xander.

It was fear of the mostly unknown, but decidedly unpleasant that drove Xander's thoughts to Ezra. It would be a gamble, but he could dig out his parent's strongbox of money and take a bus to Denver. Maybe his half- brother would let him stay there. Xander decided it was worth the risk of rejection to escape Uncle Rory. A loud alarm interrupted Xander's plotting and nurses and doctors rushed into the room, pushing him aside and feverishly working on his father. Gradually, the frantic movement stopped and Xander knew his father was dead. In a daze, Xander wandered out into the waiting area where he saw the blond cop who had brought him to the ER He asked for a ride home, telling the cops he'd wait for his uncle there.

As soon as the door shut on the well-meaning police, Xander went into his parent room and found the strongbox. He counted out the money, it turned out to be only a couple hundred dollars. Then he went to his room and threw some clothes in a bag, along with some comics and snack food. With a quick check outside to make sure the cops were gone, he headed out the back door to the bus station.

The walk in the moonlit night afforded Xander some quiet time to ponder the enigma of his parents. Somehow, he felt like he should feel bad that they were dead, yet he couldn't quite force the emotion. Maybe it was all the years of punches and kicks from his father, or his mother's silent warnings to not get his dad mad. She never let Xander forget that it was his fault for getting his father mad and he deserved the abuse. Maybe he'd feel bad later, when he could remember good times – if they had any good times.

When he reached the station, it was surprisingly easy to spin a story for the ticket lady that he was traveling alone and meeting his brother in Denver. After all, it was true, in a matter of speaking. It was a long trip with loud babies and strangers trying to start conversations with him. He mostly ignored everyone, listening to his Walkman or re-reading Ezra's postcards that he had stuffed into the bag. Xander wondered how exactly he was going to introduce himself to his brother. He also worried that Ezra wouldn't want to know him, or wouldn't want him to stay.

The bus pulled into the Denver station, bring Xander out of his worried thoughts. He swung his bag onto his shoulder and looked around for a map. It was very early in the morning, about five o'clock, and the station was pretty deserted. Everything had just been polished and cleaned in preparation for the day, and the floor reflected his exhausted pallor and tired eyes. Most everyone else in the station echoed his appearance, as it appeared they all came in on one of the red-eyes like Xander. A helpful, and way too perky, redhead worker directed him to the maps as she cheerfully talked about the city's attractions. He nodded along until he could escape her clutches and plot his route. Munching on a cold Poptart, he found the address on his brother's postcard and discovered that it was a federal building.

A quick bus trip later and Xander was in front of his destination. Squaring his shoulders, he picked up his bag and walked through the rotating doors. Somewhat overwhelmed by the security guards and stark white walls, he cautiously made his way to the front desk. "Hello, I'm looking for Ezra Standish, he works here," Xander said using his most polite adult voice.

The lady behind the desk smiled at the boy and replied, "He has the day off sweetie. Why don't you try calling him at home?"

Xander's face fell and he sighed, "I don't have his number. All I got was this address."

The secretary felt bad for the boy and was about to give him Ezra's number, which could get her fired, when Vin and Chris walked through the doors. She smiled in relief and decided to let the two members of Team 7 handle the kid's request. She motioned the men over, telling Xander, "One of these men can help you get in touch with Ezra." "Gentlemen," she said as she turned to the two team-members, "this young man wants to see Ezra, but he doesn't have his home phone number or address. Maybe one of you could help him?"

Vin and Chris exchanged glances, silently agreeing that the boy was no threat. "I'm Vin and that's Chris," Vin said, "we work with Ezra. Why do you need to see him?"

Xander shuffled his feet nervously. This was getting more complicated than he expected. He wasn't sure what or how much to tell these people. "It's kinda personal," he stammered, "I'm not sure if he'd want you to know or not."

"Well," Vin slowly replied, "Is whatever you're going to tell Ezra a good thing or a bad thing?"

If possible, Xander fidgeted more, "I think it's a good thing." There was a pause as Xander chewed on his bottom lip and worried, "I'm not sure what he'll think."

Vin was becoming mildly alarmed. If he didn't know better, he'd think that the kid was Ezra's son. It was an outrageous thought; Ezra had never mentioned anyone that he stayed with long enough to father a child. Although, it didn't take but once. Vin sent a questioning glance over to Chris, who responded with a nod. "All right kid," Vin said, "I'll take you to Ezra's condo and he can decide if he wants me to know what's going on."

Xander nodded and picked up his bag. Then he followed Vin out to the parking garage. As they were climbing into Vin's battered jeep, the man asked, "What's your name? I can't keep calling you kid."

"Alexander Harris, "he replied somewhat timidly, "most people call me Xander." He yawned widely as the past day's event started to catch up with him. His exhaustion waged war with his worry and excitement over meeting his brother. Still, his eyes fell to half-mast as the jeep rolled along the road. In his head he practiced what to say -- Hello Ezra I'm your brother. Hi, I found these postcards that say we're brothers. My name's Xander and we have the same father. When the jeep stopped in front of a very nice looking condo, Xander still didn't know what to say.

Vin walked the kid up to the front door and knocked a few times. When there was no answer, the man rolled his eyes and pulled out his key, unlocking the door and deadbolt. "He's probably still sleeping," Vin confessed as he ushered Xander inside, "He just got off a tough undercover assignment and was pretty tired."

While Vin disappeared down the hall, presumably to wake- up Ezra, Xander looked around the rather posh living room. Dark greens and burgundy rugs and curtains gave the room a rather regal air, while the elegant-looking couch probably cost more than his parents made in a year. Tons of leather-bound books sat neatly on rows of shelves, which also held various dvds and cds. The flat screen TV in the corner also gave the appearance of wealth. Xander began to feel a little uncomfortable standing amidst this luxury.

Meanwhile, Vin had eased into the master bedroom and sidled up to the king- sized bed. God, Ezra looked good all tousled and messy from sleep. Vin shook away his thoughts and leaned down to kiss his lover's eyelids then mouth. A slight quirk of those lips told Vin that Ezra was waking up. "Hey, babe," Vin whispered, "I'm not your only visitor this morning, so ya might want to wake up a bit more."

Ezra blinked open hazy eyes and stretched his arms above his head. He was confused, he was sure that Vin had left for work earlier this morning, so what was he doing back here now? And what was that about another guest? "Who's with you," Ezra asked Vin, "and why are they here so ungodly early?"

Vin smiled, amused eyes flicking to the alarm clock. Anything before nine o'clock was too early for Ezra. "Hey, it's almost nine," he teased, "just about time for you to get up for work, if ya had to go that is."

"Precisely," Ezra replied, finally looking awake and aware, "but I don't so why is there someone here to see me? It can't be one of our coworkers because they all know I have the day off."

"No," Vin said becoming serious, "it's a kid, looks about twelve, goes by the name Xander Harris. Ring any bells?"

"Not in the least," Ezra puzzled, "I do not recall anyone with the surname Harris, and certainly not anyone with a child."

"Are you sure," Vin pressed, "and no pretty girls about twelve, thirteen, years ago? Because I'm telling ya Ez, he looks the slightest bit like you."

Ezra shook his head in denial; there had been nobody in his life at that time, not even one-night-stands. Vin was looking a little concerned, so Ezra hurried and found his robe and motioned toward the living room, "Well, let's go out and get this straightened out shall we?"