Sunflower Kindergarten, Sunnydale. 1985.

"I broke the crayon."

Willow Rosenberg stared in shock. A dark-haired boy was standing by the teacher and holding out the remains of the item in question. But...but...she broke it! And he knew it! He was lying! Lying was bad, mommy and daddy said so! No, Ira and Sheila. She had to remember that. 'Mommy' and 'daddy' were...rem-nants of a pay-tree-ark-al sai-ko-so-shall siss-temm.

"I see. And what do you have to say for yourself, Alexander?"

He bowed his head and mumbled a 'sorry', to which the teacher sighed.

Then he came back and smiled at Willow. "There ya go."

She felt herself go beet red. "You told a lie!"

"Yup." He didn't seem the least bit sorry. In fact, he seemed proud!

"Buh-buh-but you shouldn't tell lies! It's bad!"

He shrugged. "Not always." Then he held out his hand. "M'name is Alexander."

She blinked, then shook it solemnly like her parents had showed her. He had pronounced it really funny-like. "Willow. What kinda name is Alsaner?"

"No, no, Ah-leh-xan-der." He was still smiling, and she liked his smile. A lot.

"Alazander."

He sighed. "Ah-leh-xan-der." She pouted, feeling the familiar tears starting to well up, and his eyes widened. "No, no, no, no, don't cry, please don't cry, crying is so of th'bad! Just, uh, call me Xander."

She swallowed a sob, and tried it, tentatively. "Xander."

"You got it!"

Grinning, she tried again. "Xander. Xander, Xander, Xander."

"Yeah!"

She felt her tummy grow warm. Okay, maybe, maybe kindergarten wouldn't be so bad after all?

Maybe...maybe she could even show him her Barbies.

.


.

Bright Day Elementary School, Sunnydale. 1987. February.

"You're a puke!"

"Nuh-uh, you're a puke! And your balls haven't dropped!"

The older boy scrunched up and bunched up his fists. The smaller boy noticed, but didn't back down, mainly because behind him was a girl who was very close to crying because her books were all over the ground. "You take that back, Harris!"

Something changed. The smaller boy's brave face went away, replaced by something angry. "Don't call me that."

"Yeah? Whatcha gonna do, huh? Go cryin' to mommy?"

"Naw." Larry didn't even see the punch that hit right in the huevos rancheros, causing him to squeak and fall over. Xander blinked, surprised. "Huh. His balls have dropped."

"Alexander Harris, what did you just do!?" The teacher rushed up and grabbed his arm harshly. "We do not hit people here!"

"He hit Willow first!"

The teacher barely glanced over at her. "That's no excuse! You're going straight to detention, young man!"

To everyone's surprise, he didn't seem to object. Only that he would go alone. "Well, what about Larry, he's a meanie who hits girls!"

"I only saw you hitting him, Xander!" The teacher winced. "I mean, Alexander!"

"Yeah, right, 'cause you never look at him when he's doing mean things!"

"Now, that's not true." But he looked a little guilty.

"Unfair!"

He ignored the cries, dragging the boy through the halls to the detention area and plopping him down in a chair before leaving.

Xander Harris sat there for w while, then looked over at the brown-haired, big-eyed boy next to him. The boy had a very prominent nose. "Hey."

"Hey. Uh, Jesse."

"Xander. So, what're you in for?"

.


.

Harris Residence. April.

"...well what the hell do you want with me, he can't just disrespect-"

"He's six years old, Tony! He's never seen a real clown before!"

"I paid good money for that damn clown, and the kid just screams and screams and, and, I got a little angry, I said I was sorry!"

Xander shut them out. Easier than shutting out the ringing in his ear.

Daddy never hit him before. No...no, he wasn't daddy. He was Tony. Stupid fathead Tony. You hit someone, you didn't deserve names like 'daddy'.

He was sitting out by the swing da...Tony had put up years ago. It didn't work, because d...Tony sucked. Tony sucked big time.

"Y'know, it's not safe to be outside after dark."

Xander jumped, looking around. "Who's there!"

A shadow disentangled itself from the trees. "It's okay, I'm a friend."

"I got enough friends!"

There was a low chuckle. "Didn't say I was yours."

Xander frowned. What kind of logic was that? Anyway, mystery guy was wrong. "Mommy says there's nothing bad outside, that's just my imagination."

"Mommy's wrong. There's monsters out there, Xander. But there's things you can do to keep them out."

"Yeah?" This should be good.

"Never invite anyone in. Not even in daylight, no matter how nice they seem. Always keep a cross on you. If someone looks really weird, don't go over to look closer. Which would be rude if it wasn't a monster, so that's good advice either way." There was a pause. "Did...did your, uh, father do that?"

He knew what the man meant, the bruise on his cheek from earlier. "...I fell."

"Uh-huh." Somehow that sounded like he didn't believe it. "Look, if he...if he hits you, I could, uh, I could hit him back. Just a little."

Xander stared at the shadow. He sounded all friendly, but you never knew. "...nah. You shouldn't hit people."

"Sometimes you have to."

"Well, you shouldn't." He glared at the shadow. "Who are you?"

"I...my name is...uh, you can call me Angel."

Okay, even Xander knew that was a big fat fib. "You're no angel."

"No, I mean, that's my name. But you're right, I'm no angel."

"So, uh, you hang out in people's gardens often?"

Another chuckle. "I, yeah. Kind of. I lurk."

"Why?"

"Well, sometimes I like keeping watch over people."

Xander frowned. "...that's kinda creepy."

"It is?" Pause. "Huh. Yeah, I can see that. Sorry."

"'s okay. Uh, maybe I should get back inside..."

"No, it's all right. I can keep an eye on you. Besides, they're still fighting. Just quiet-like."

"You can hear that?"

"I have good ears."

Well, maybe he didn't have enough friends. This guy seemed kinda nice. "So, you watch everyone?

"Not everyone..."

.


.

1988. May.

"...and Cordelia, she's this snotty rich kid, she walks right in and slips, and, I apologize to her but she kinda looked hilarious and I may have laughed a little, so she got mad, and I apologized again, and then she realized all the mud was now on her fancy-shmancy dress, so she says, I swear to God, 'Xander Harris, you will rue the day!' I mean, who says that?"

His mouth was on autopilot, as usual. It was funny, he'd tried to tell Jesse and Willow about the mysterious shadow in the garden, who now hung out outside his window instead since, y'know, it wasn't safe being outside after dark, but they thought he was talking about some imaginary friend or something. Willow's parents had said that it was healthy, even. And Jesse had called him a nut. But Angel listened to his stories about his days, about his friends. He listened. It was like having a grown-up who actually cared.

...and Angel was laughing.

"What?" He didn't mean to sound so angry.

"I'm sorry, I was just picturing it..."

"Yeah, well, I'm so happy my life is funny to you."

Angel sighed. "Xander, you have to realize there's a difference between someone laughing at you and someone laughing with you. By the way, girls like it when you let them think you're a little weak in some areas. Just FYI."

"Girls are groady." This was truth, as far as Xander knew it.

"What about Willow?"

This confused him. "What about her?"

"Well, isn't she a girl?"

He stared at the shadow. Oh yeah. "Uh, I guess. So?"

"Well, is she...'groady'?"

More confusion. "What? No! She's Willow."

"There you go. If Willow is a girl and isn't, uh, 'groady', then all girls aren't...'groady'."

It was like the heavens had opened at night. "Whoa. That's, like, totally deep."

"I try." There was a laughing undertone to the voice. After a long moment of silence as Xander pondered this new way of looking at girls, it started anew, a little hesitant. "So, uh, how's things with...your dad?"

Xander let out a noise. "He's an asshole."

"Language!"

"Sorry. But he is."

Another slight pause. "He hasn't...hit you again, has he?"

"No." Well, not lately. "Too busy drinking, I guess. Sometimes I wish-"

"You, uh, shouldn't wish stuff. Not out loud."

Xander rolled his eyes. "What, there a monster for that too?" So far there were monsters who came after sick children, monsters who ate skin when you were all alone, monsters who made you sing and dance, and that was just too ridiculous...

"Actually, yeah. They grant wishes in the meanest possible way. Like, you say you wish for something like your dad to get tied in a knot...and the next thing you know, he is. And dead. Because, y'know, people can't survive that."

"Oh." Xander wrinkled his nose. "Ew. Gross. So, uh, you can't wish for anything?"

"Sure you can. Just not out loud."

He sighed. "Okay. Y'know, you're taking the fun out of everything."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Not your fault the world sucks."

"Language!"

"Sorry." But Xander was grinning. "So did I tell you what Cordelia tried to do for revenge?"

"No, please, do."

"Okay, so we were in English class, and Mrs Wasserman had this..."

.


.

1990. July.

There was a gasp from the bushes by Xander's window. He winced. He'd wanted to close the curtains, but they were stuck because Tony hadn't been all that good at putting them up.

"What...Xander, look at me. Did...did Tony do that?"

Xander shook his head. "I, uh, I fell. I'm really clumsy."

Okay, so he used that excuse a lot. But he knew Angel would be mad, and he didn't want Tony hurt. He didn't want to be Tony, hurting people because he felt miserable. Just because Tony was a jerk didn't mean Xander had to be one, too.

"You broke your arm and got a black eye because you fell." The voice was flat, so flat you knew it was hiding a lot of angry.

"Yeah."

"...Xander, you can't let him treat you like that."

"He didn't hit me!" Much, he didn't say.

For a long time, he thought Angel had left. Then the voice drifted in, closer to the window than ever before. "Xander...has anyone ever tried calling the police?"

He didn't answer.

"...they have, haven't they? And they came here, looked around, saw your bruises and did nothing."

Still no answer.

"I want to help, Xander. Tell me how I can help."

"You can't. Nobody can." There was a little strangled noise from the boy. "Sometimes I wish you were my dad."

He didn't see how the shadow staggered, hissing. "Oh, no. Xander, Xander, please, don't..."

"Angel?"

No response.

"...Angel?" He hated how his voice sounded, all squeaky and needy.

The night stayed quiet.

.


.

1992. September.

He hadn't seen – or rather, heard – Angel for two years. He knew the guy wasn't an imaginary friend, an imaginary friend was someone you made up in your head. He was twelve, he knew the difference between make-believe and really real. Maybe he'd known it even back then.

It hurt. But he lived his life, he taught Jesse and Willow the little stuff like never inviting people and to always have a cross in your hand when you met someone new for the first time, just little stuff. 'Don't sweat the small stuff', that's what one of the role-playing game books in Jesse's collection said. Right next to that was written, 'It's all small stuff'.

He liked that. It's all small stuff. Everything mattered, and didn't. Especially the little things. Willow said it was 'zen', whatever that meant.

He was twelve now. It didn't feel like that big a difference, except now girls weren't quite as grody as before, in fact some were starting to become shaped in a very intriguing manner. He didn't really chase any girls, though. After the first disgusted refusals, he'd realized he wasn't interesting to the opposite sex, so he'd stick with his friends. Maybe some day he'd meet someone really special that would make him make an effort, but he doubted it. Girls might not be grody, but they were certainly weird.

School was really stupid, too. He did okay in gym and great in wood-shop, but everything else always felt so hard. Granted, he was taking all the same classes as Willow and Jesse, so maybe it was just that they were really, really smart.

...except, Jesse could be a real moron sometimes.

Like this thing with Cordelia. So what if she had gotten boobs? She was still Cordelia. They still had the We Hate Cordelia-club, so how come Jesse was acting like she wasn't still a stone-cold...not-nice person? Jesse could be so shallow for a guy who kept track of the latest current last decimal of pi.

He wished he had someone to talk to about girls. Jesse just rambled on about Cordelia, Willow blushed and squeaked. So who could he talk to? But there was nobody.

There was a rustle by the window. He peered at the darkness suspiciously. "Hello?"

No reply.

"...Angel, if you're out there I'm so gonna kick your a...butt."

Was that a chuckle?

"Well, whatever. Good night, butthead."

.

Outside, Angel smiled softly to himself. It had been a close one. To hear his son say...no, best not to think about that. He'd fled town, just in case, seeking out the temple in LA to get advice, maybe even get them to check if he was...

...he wasn't. He'd managed to avoid it. This time.

Not that those bastards would help anyway. Cryptic pseudo-prophecies and callous disregard for the fact that if he lost his soul again, he'd probably do something awful to Xander.

He couldn't let that happen. Even if they didn't care. So he'd set up a spell. The Furies had helped, even if the request had been confusing to them. Hopefully it'd last long enough. A few years was all, and by then maybe he'd be safe enough or would just renew it. And when Whistler asked, Angel had grinned and told him Angelus might be a smart monster regarding self preservation, but brains can't outrun a spell that sets your bones on fire the moment you lose your soul.

The people Whistler worked for hadn't liked that. He'd almost had a happy moment right then and there as they frowned and berated him for risking the future for selfish gain. He'd told them that if they risked his son's future, selfish gain would be the least of their worries.

Even so...he couldn't talk to Xander again. Not yet.

Maybe some day. Hopefully soon.

But for now, all he could do was watch over him.

.


.

1994. Late May.

"This is stupid." He was muttering to himself. The suit looked...awful. It had been cheap, and mom had insisted on it, but it was ugly, and didn't fit him. Yeah, sure, the Hawaiian shirts were more his style, but he knew a bad, ugly suit when he saw one. Just because he never wore fancy clothes didn't mean he didn't know what they were.

And it wasn't like he could dance, either! Well, he could, just not in any way humanly recognizable as good. The Snoopy dance, sure. Anything else was him flailing about like a total palookah.

He was pretty sure Angel was still around, too. Sometimes he caught glimpses of a shadow outside, moving past the window. He didn't let on. He'd stopped being mad years ago, and besides, if the guy didn't wanna talk, he didn't wanna talk. No use pressuring the guy, that never went well.

And who needed to know how to dance, anyway!

"The, uh, you tie the knot on the tie the other..."

He froze.

"...seriously, please don't tell me you finally came out of your hiding place just to teach me to tie a tie."

There was a long silence. Then, "Uh...sorry. But you're ruining a nice tie. The suit could be better, but the tie is nice."

"It was my grandpa's."

"Oh." Another silence. "Would you like me to teach you?"

"To tie a tie?"

"And...and other stuff. Like, how to dance well...enough to maybe impress a girl?"

"You're not my dad."

"No, thank God for that."

Xander chuckled. "Yeah, I'd be passing out from the stink of cheap beer by now. Okay. But I can't tie a tie from spoken cues. Wanna come in?"

"No!" Then, in a quieter voice. "No invitations. None. No exceptions, Xander. Not even for me. But if you get up to the window I could...I could maybe help you."

He hesitated only briefly. "Okay."

Angel turned out to be a handsome guy in his twenties or so, a little pale, same hair as Xander, similar eye-color, but nothing too weird-looking. Why he had been hiding in the bushes all this time was maybe a mystery, but it was one you wouldn't really care about. Not like Xander was all that normal either. The guy wore nice clothes, too.

"Okay, you tie the tie like this..."