A fill for Round Four of buffy_genfic. The focus for this round was Halloween.
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Recipient/prompt: mierke
Three elements you'd like included: Trick-or-treating, a young version of one of the Scoobies, vampire costume.
Two things you don't want: Go nuts.
Warnings: None
Setting: Mid-1980's, S4
Betas: foxstarreh
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Once upon a time, Xander Harris hadn't been the only Harris of his generation. He'd had cousins: a whole bevy of them, a tumult of kinsfolk, a veritable gaggle of cousins - or so it had seemed to an only child. This gaggle of cousins hadn't technically been Harrises, since their mom had been Tony and Rory's younger sister and had married a guy by the name of Rodriguez (that hadn't gone over so well with Tony, but family was family, and little sisters were little sisters, even when they married guys with the last name Rodriguez), but they were Harrises all the same. There they were at every family event, every birthday party, every Christmas: Xander's older, cooler cousins, with their loud laughter and louder music, their quick tempers and quicker smiles, and the way they knuckled his head and called him kid and teased him about his footie jammies and his girl best friend.
Six year-old Xander had adored them. Almost as much as he adored Willow, and some days more. They were family. Always had been.
Always would be.
Xander had had entirely different parents in those days. Not literally; they were still Tony and Jessica Harris. But in those days, his parents had laughed just as loud, and smiled just as often as his cousins. His mother had cooked wonderful meals for neighbors and family, his father had doted on both his wife and his son, and at night, they had slow-danced when Xander had been put to bed and was meant to be asleep. The drunken rages and cold silences of the future were unimaginable in a house as warm and happy as theirs.
Maybe it all would have fallen apart no matter where they lived. Bad things happen to good people in every corner of the planet. But on the Hellmouth, it's inevitable. Evil sinks its claws into every family, one way or another, and the Harrises were no exception.
One week, Xander had had cousins, and the next, he hadn't.
One week, he'd been trick-or-treating at his cousins' house in full Bram Stoker Dracula costume, alongside Willow the Witch, with his cousins teasing him - Vampire, huh, bold choice for Sunnydale, don't you think, kid? - and his aunt shushing them and telling them not to put tall tales in his head, and the next, their house had stood empty and cold.
One week, his mother and father had laughed and danced, and the next there had been only hushed, staccato discussions about wild animal attacks and rising crime rates and we need to get the hell out of this godforsaken town, accompanied by the repeated clink of bottle to glass.
Xander had tried to tell them that it was okay, that he had seen Carly and Martin and Nicky one night outside his window, laughing the way they always did and beckoning him outside. Come play with us, kid. His mom had been mistaken - they weren't gone somewhere else (where was left unanswered, just somewhere and not coming back). They were in Sunnydale, same as always, and the only reason he hadn't gone with them was because he hadn't wanted to leave his mom and dad alone when they were so sad.
But his parents hadn't listened; instead, they'd gone on a month-long vacation to Cousin Carol's house (not actually a cousin, so far as Xander could tell, and certainly not a cousin he wanted to spend time with), and when they'd gotten back, the Rodriguez house had been bought by a new family, tempted to Sunnydale by the low taxes and affordable property.
His cousins didn't come back. Nor did the laughter, or the slow-dancing, or the family get-togethers. The family photos disappeared, along with the family dinners.
Xander began to spend more time with Willow and less at home, until it seemed it had always been this way.
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Xander watches, bemused, as Anya pokes around his basement love nest in between sweaty rounds of getting to know each other better. It isn't long before she discovers a box of old photo albums tucked into the darkest corner and pulls it out. He sits up, curious at first, until he realizes what it is. Family memories, oh joy.
Anya is far more interested, and can't be persuaded to give up the dusty past. She leafs through the faded Instamatics, cooing over how adorable he'd once been, and then peels off a birthday photo to inspect it more closely.
"Xander, who are these people at your birthday party?" she says.
"Mom and Dad and Willow," Xander answers, without bothering to look. Anya hasn't reached his teenage years yet, so no Jesse. "Oh, and if there's a guy in a velour track suit, that's Uncle Rory."
"No, not them," she says, holding the photo out for his inspection. "These very cheerful teenagers. Who are they?"
Xander dutifully examines the picture, and the laughing group of teens clustered around his cake-smeared younger self. An impression of happiness and love washes over him. Which is… confusing. And also ridiculous. Love and happiness? Not in the Harris household.
The sensation fades, leaving him as clueless as ever. And slightly uneasy. He studies the teens a moment longer, but nothing else triggers. Xander tosses the photo onto the end table with a shrug. "I have no idea," he says, and pulls her back down to the bed.
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