AKT: hm. This is a prequel of a story I'm working on. It's a one-shot, so I promise the whole story will go up instead of me abandoning it halfway. Haha. Oh, and please don't take anything the wrong way; I just wrote it like I imagined it happening when I first read about the Armenian thing on Wikipedia. Enjoy.
Origins of the Fourth
September 21, 1984 11:35 P.M.
"Daddy? Where are we going?" The little boy asked his father as they traveled through the parking lot. It was very late – especially for the chestnut-haired four year-old boy, who was falling asleep as his dad half-dragged him to a desolate, broken-down building.
The preschooler's father, more commonly known as Anthony or Tony, made a growling sound. The noise might have scared any other young child, but Tony's son had heard it before. A little more alert, the kid squeezed his teddy bear harder, to the point it seemed he wouldn't let it go even if his life depended on it. For the little one that he was, Tony's boy still knew that when Tony growled it was a bad sign. He knew not to cross his father.
"Shut up and move quicker, you little brat," Tony hissed, lugging the object of his annoyance into the building and up some creaky stairs. "And don't ask questions," the man added. As father and son walked up the staircase, a billowing cloud of smoke filled their noses and the boy coughed. Stopping at the entryway of a room at the top both noticed four men sitting at a round table in the center.
"You made it," one of the men said, taking a puff of his cigar. "We were wondering if you left us in the dark. We don't like it when people leave us hanging, Anthony." He breathed out, the smoke billowing from his nostrils and mouth in large amounts. The child couldn't help but think of nighttime when confronted with the unfamiliar faces. They had black hair, smoke-colored eyes, and somewhat dark skin. Their leader, the one who originally spoke, seemed very big to the stunted four year-old. Tony's boy couldn't tell their heritage at the time, but in later years he would certainly relate the word Armenian to these men. The child hid behind his father, the former using the latter as a shield against any unknown attack these monsters might bestow on him, but said shield just pushed the little guy back in front.
Ignoring the unmentioned threat that hung in the air, Tony growled, "I brought the boy. Did you hold up your end of the bargain, Starvis?"
The leader raised an eyebrow and motioned to a leather suitcase on the table. "But of course," he drawled. He walked closer to get a better look at the small brunette. After a moment of studying the boy – which made the child very uncomfortable - he nodded and told the other three Armenians to bring over the money. "We have a deal, Mr. Harris? Half a million dollars for him, no more than that." Tony and the man shook hands before the suitcase was handed to the earlier.
It didn't take very long for the four year-old to realize what was going on. Eyes wide he screamed, "Daddy!" before being picked up by one of the other Armenians. Tony took one last look at his son before leaving with his money. The small boy, betrayed by the father he'd known his whole life, was heartbroken, and stopped trying to get away. The man holding him let him down.
The Armenian leader, known to the world as Raphael Starvis, knelt down to the child's height. He stared at the four-year-old and said, "You will come with us quietly." The threat was not said but very much implied, and even the poor boy could see that. But, imagining himself to be like the brave knights in his fairy tale books, he replied softly though with every word the volume increased, "No. I don't want to go anywhere! Bring me home!" He had a bad day, and every bad day to a four-year-old is never complete without a tantrum. Even if it had to be with old people he didn't know.
Raphael blinked and raised an eyebrow. "You are coming, little one. Whether you like it or not." With that, he motioned to his men and the closest one came to grab the boy.
Said boy was frightened out of his mind, and he closed his eyes, not wanting to be taken anywhere. "I want to go home!" He yelled at them, though out of fear more than anything else.
Raphael was getting annoyed and impatient, so he took out a knife and made the kid open his eyes. "Listen, I do not have all day. Either you join us or we will be forced to cut out your tongue, and take you with us anyway."
When the youngster's eyes were opened and he saw the knife, his breath caught and he closed his eyes once more, scared for his life. All he wanted to do was go home. Sleep. Play with Willow tomorrow. Live. As the large man started bringing the knife in a position to use it on the boy, blue and white balls of light encompassed the child. If the four-year-old had opened his eyes, he would have seen the surprised faces of the Armenians getting smaller and smaller as he seemingly transported out of the building.
The scared kid finally opened his eyes after a few moments, cautiously wondering where all the sound went. Curiosity changed to surprise as he realized where he was: his bedroom. He rubbed his eyes and looked around for a moment, before climbing into bed and holding onto his sheets for dear life, as if someone would steal him away if he let go. It would be the first of many nights of no sleep for the four-year-old Alexander Harris.
--
July 13, 1987 12:20 P.M.
As he sat in the middle of a circle in the living room surrounded by friends and family, seven year-old Xander Harris opened his final birthday gift. Well, opened probably wasn't the best word for it. Ripped is a better synonym for what happened to the wrapping paper covering up the present. He wanted a fire truck really bad, and he was extremely disappointed when instead his last gift was a t-shirt. "Thanks Cordy," he mumbled, looking over the shirt. It was designer, which would've been cool if he was into being popular.
The seven-year-old Cordy, also known as Cordelia to everyone else, rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "You could at least be more excited about it, loser," she mumbled, not understanding why he didn't want to try to be in her clique. She wrinkled her nose at him, his tongue sticking out as his reply.
Everyone at the party went back to their normal activities at the party while Willow and Jesse went to sit next to the birthday boy. "Aw, Xander, you look sad," the redhead said, "Why?"
Xander crossed his arms and grumbled, "I wanted a fire truck for my birthday."
Willow looked at her 'ex-boyfriend' and shrugged. "Maybe I would've gotten you one if you hadn't stolen my Barbie awhile ago."
Exasperated, Xander threw his arms up in the air as he almost yelled, "That was when we were five! Besides, you like Jesse now, right?" (at this, Willow blushed and Jesse's face went from neutral to a bit shocked) "Come on Wills, forgive me?" He showed her his puppy dog-like expression and the future Wicca smiled. Jesse just laughed at his attempt at amnesty.
"Alright, alright, I forgive you. And I promise to bring you a fire truck soon. If my parents give me money for it," Willow said, smiling.
Xander grinned back at her and replied, "Seeing a real fire truck would be sweet too. Especially on my birthday, that really is true." After a moment, he added, "Hey, that rhymed!"
Willow thought for a moment, then said quietly, pouting, "I'm sorry I didn't get you one. I'll make it up to you soon." She thought it would be a good idea to make her parents bring her to the mall soon so she could buy one for him.
Jesse nodded, then paused for a moment. He turned his head sideways, as if he was listening to something. "Hey, Xan, hear that?" Willow and Xander turned to the sound of a siren, and were greeted by the sight of the next-door neighbor's house on fire. Xander stared at the burning building for a moment as fire trucks started spewing out men who began to put out the fire. Xander's shock turned to happiness – not because of the fire, mind you, but because he got his wish. Thinking Willow somehow made one appear because of her previous sentence, he went up to her and hugged her deeply.
"Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you!" The birthday boy yelled, almost throwing Willow up in the air. The future Wicca went with it, confused, as she could feel it wasn't her doing. She said nothing.
Close to ten years later, the truth of what happened that day would be found out, and the meaning behind it would be brought into clarity. But until then, our favorite Zeppo and his two greatest friends would be content being as they were, not knowing anything was out of the ordinary in the nice little town of Sunnydale, California.
A/N: Yes yes, bad ending, but really, it doesn't matter. It's just a prequel; a little snippet of Xander's life for you to chew on before my actual story gets told. I do hope you like it. Oh, and a bit of a tidbit, it is indeed leading up to a BtVS crossover. With Charmed.