Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or any of the characters. They are the creations of the brilliant Joss Whedon.
Warning: Implied neglect and child abuse
A Very Harris Christmas
Young Xander stood outside in the snow, staring at the house before him. The house belonged to his parents. It was the house he grew up in. But it didn't feel like home. Home was a place of safety and happiness. The house offered neither.
Xander surmised that home was where a father taught a son how to throw ball, where a mother prepared a delicious warm meal for dinner. At least, that was how his classmates described it.
The closest game to catch that Xander and his father ever played was more like dodge ball: avoid the beer bottle (though this game was typically played after ten p.m. on most nights). The warmest meal his mother served came out of a microwave, if he was lucky.
Christmas was also described differently by his classmates than what Xander called custom. Apparently, other children celebrated the holiday inside, around a Christmas tree, with a loving family; unless they were Jewish or some other religion, like Willow, his best friend. However, to Xander's family, Christmas was celebrated with large amounts of alcohol consumption and shouting matches. The frigid snow was preferable.
The snow had only begun falling an hour previously. A thin sheet of ice covered the ground, a little more than a centimeter deep. It fell lightly, and was barely noticeable… unless one was standing outside, of course.
Young Xander closed his eyes and made a wish. It was Christmas Eve after all, a night when dreams came true. And although he had learned years ago that Santa was imaginary, he wished that some type of miracle would occur that would end the fighting inside. It would be the best Christmas ever.
Sitting down in the snow, Xander was grateful that one of his Christmas presents that year was a new winter coat. His old one had been bought when he was six, and no longer fit him properly. Or at all. His new coat was bigger than him, so that he could grow into it, and went so far past his hands that he could fold over the material to keep the coat insolated.
Laying out his sleeping bag upon the snow, Xander took great care to avoid letting snowflakes wet the inside. He smiled to himself in a boyish way, thinking about the ten dollars (in quarters) his uncle Rory had slipped him for Christmas. He would be able to buy three X-men comics the next day, and still have some change left. As Xander settled down into his sleeping bag, this thought comforted him.
The snow stopped after a half-hour, during which Xander fell into a light slumber. When he woke up, his house was silent and all of the windows were dark. Groaning, he wiggled out of his sleeping bag, shivering slightly. He figured it was probably a little past three in the morning. Stomping through the inch of snow, he climbed the back stairs, gripping the doorknob. As he tried to turn it, he found it was locked. Had his parents even realized he was gone?
Frowning, the boy scurried back to his sleeping bag, cuddling against the soft material. It had been his birthday present last year, along with a single sock. Shivering, his eyes furrowed as he took one more look at the house. It was completely still.
As he closed his eyes, Xander decided that the sleeping bag was more of a home than the cold house in front of him. At least the sleeping bag offered warmth.