A/N:
Warning: A bit of darkness and abuse in this chapter in my attempt to shine some light on Xander's home life.
THANK YOU to the many people who have been reading this and leaving reviews. You guys are definitely making it easier for me to make the time to write!
Also, the disclaimer will be at the end of the chapter. Enjoy! :)
Indie rock music pounded through the speakers and the floor of the Bronze shook from the heavy bass and antics of fun-loving, dancing teenagers.
Xander, of course, was not one of those fun-loving dancers. In the past thirty minutes he had gone from a frenzy of laugh-induced hijinks to feeling strangely apprehensive. Willow sat next to him and they both were hanging out alone tonight; Buffy was patrolling at some park that had a few attacks occur there in the past week. He wasn't sure why he felt this way, he just did. There was a presence in the back of his mind and it felt like someone was watching him, but when he turned around there was no one there.
"So, do you wanna get going?" Willow asked him reluctantly with a small shrug.
He frowned. "Aw, Willster, I'm sorry that I'm not living up to my funky party animal reputation."
"You have a reputation?" she asked lightly with a teasing grin.
Quick as a whip he plucked his straw out of his glass of ice water and flicked a few droplets of water at her.
"Hey!" she protested with an amused laugh. "Meanie," she declared with a pout as she wiped away the offending droplets.
"Kettle," he said as he pointed to her. "Pot," he pointed to him. "Both black," he added as his hand motioned towards both of them.
"Yeah, yeah," she rolled her eyes with a grin. "Anyways, if you're tired we can go. After all, there is a great episode of CSI on tonight."
"Nah, that's okay," he said quickly. "I think I just need some caffeine."
"Let me guess – putting off that math homework?" she asked as he stood up to take off for the bar.
"You know it," he grinned. Except, actually, she didn't know. Right now it wasn't so much his waiting math homework but this weird feeling that there was someone here. And call him crazy, but he wanted to figure out who this person was.
Or, well, just figure out if maybe he was crazy.
As he walked to the bar he began to feel that itch between his shoulder blades start to fade – okay, maybe he was crazy. Some people made eye contact with him, some didn't. Some jock – Larry – ran into him and yelled at him to get the hell out of his way and Cordelia managed to deliver her clockwork-like jab before he fired off an insult of his own; all in all it was a typical Bronze night.
Which was why, by the time he reached the, bar he was feeling relaxed and at ease. That feeling from earlier? Just a case of the heebie jeebies – which is pretty common when you live in a place on the Hellmouth. He eased onto a barstool and held out a five dollar bill in a vain attempt to get the hulking brute of a bartender's attention. However, seeing that he wasn't a young, attractive girl he was getting zippo attention over here.
"Hey man, you know what time it is?" a voice next to him asked.
Xander swirled around on his barstool and took in the sight of a dark-haired thirty-something guy wearing jeans and a maroon button-up shirt with a tan jacket. Although he had a slight build, he looked for all the world like a 'guy's guy', except for one thing: he was sipping on a fruity looking drink that had a cherry in it.
He couldn't help it, he grinned in amusement. "Um, sorry man, I don't wear a watch," Xander shrugged.
The guy's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Then what's that on your wrist? Don't tell me you're some Star Trek nerd and that's your techy toy," he smirked.
Xander's lips pursed. "One, so what if I enjoy watching Captain Picard and his adventures every once in a while? And two, I don't have a—" He paused in the middle of his declaration as he saw a silver object on his left wrist glint under a passing strobe light. "What the—?" This was a nice watch. A very nice watch. But, he did not own nice things! What the heck…maybe someone lost it? But if they lost it, then how the heck did it end up on his wrist? Was it 'opposite day' and all the pick pocketers in town were giving people things instead of taking them?
"You okay, man?" the guy inquired in concern.
Suuure. Now he looked like the crazy absent-minded guy who forgot that he wore a watch. "Uh, sorry. I just didn't realize I, um, put this on tonight."
The guy grinned and held up his drink. "Tell me about it. I've done that a lot a lot; always forgetting where I put things."
"Yeah," Xander smiled in return, although he was still confused as to where the watch came from.
The guy's eyes glanced at his watch again and he gave Xander an interested look. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but what kind of watch is that? I've never seen those kind of engravings around the face like that."
"Um." Xander glanced down at his watch. Strangely, besides being heavy and looking shiny in that expensive sort of way, there were a series of weird symbols – like hieroglyphics. That was …weird. Maybe he should show Giles?
The guy slurped down the rest of his drink and raised the glass in the eye-line of the bartender, who was so busy talking to some high-school girl that he just held up his index finger before turning back to the girl.
"Shitty service," the guy snorted in annoyance as he tapped his fingers against the bar in impatience.
"Yeah," Xander rolled his eyes. "It's like that brainless wonder thinks that he can pick up high school girls just by giving them free alcohol, even though his head looks like something between a pug and a poodle." The bartender had the strangest scrunched up face and he had wild, curly poodle-like hair.
The other man chuckled lightly and glanced over at Xander in amusement. "You come here often?"
What? Uh-oh. Was this guy hitting on him? Oh great. First a She-Mantis, then a Mummy, and now a strange dude – his love life sucked!
"Uh, not like that," the other man winced. "I just meant that I'm in town visiting and I was wondering if this was the only bit of nightlife that Sunnydale had."
Oh. Thank god. Xander let out a breath of relief. It would be just Xander's luck that some dude – and probably a demonic dude – would hit on him next. "Oh, yeah, pretty much. I mean, there's a move theatre downtown, but that's about it." Unless you enjoy slaying vampires, of course. Sunnydale is home to dozens of cemeteries after all!
Yeah, that was something that *really* needed to go on the tourist brochure.
"Huh," the man grinned. "Sounds like a tough place to live in, let alone grow up in."
Hmm. As Xander gave the man a closer look he realized that it almost looked like this man was nervous. He wondered what his deal was.
"Eh," Xander shrugged. "It's alright. Better than some places." Yeah, like Antarctica.
The man laughed and Xander wondered what he found so amusing.
"I'm Xander, by the way," he introduced himself as he held his hand out towards the man.
The man paused for a moment before shooting him a grin accompanied by twinkling eyes. "My friends call me Loki."
"Loki? Weird name," Xander chuckled. And why did that name sound familiar?
Loki laughed loudly. "Yeah, I hang around an interesting bunch of people. Besides, Xander? That's not exactly typical."
Xander laughed along with Loki. "Well, my real name is Alexander, but I hate my full name."
"Hmm." Loki looked him up and down and grinned again. "Let me guess – you have an embarrassing middle name though?"
Xander shifted uneasily. "Eh, maybe…" he trailed off before giving a nervous smile. Honestly, what had his mother been thinking when she named him 'LaVelle'?
Luckily he was saved from answering thanks to the inept bartender. "Yo, what you want, old man?" the bartender glowered at his Loki; clearly annoyed that he had to ignore giving alcohol away to pretty girls when he had a paying customer.
Loki's lips curled into something that was a cross between a smirk and a sneer as Xander felt the air cool slightly – although as soon as he noted that change it was gone.
"Give me a Russian Fruitbasket and give the kid a beer," he gestured.
"What? Oh, no. No beer for me!" Xander hurriedly said. "Just a Coke, please."
The bartender just raised his brows slightly at Xander, shrugged, and went to fill the drink request.
"What? You don't drink, kid? Why not? Religious reasons?" Loki asked in an interested tone as he casually circled the inside of his glass with his straw.
"Religious? Naw," Xander denied in amusement. "My family's not religious." Hell, the only thing his dad worshipped was the blissful properties of alcohol every night.
There was a clinking noise of breaking glass and Xander looked down to see that the man's glass had broken and his palm was bleeding. "Holy crap, dude!" he exclaimed as he grabbed some napkins from the bar counter and handed them over. "You okay?"
He shook himself slightly and nodded curtly. "Yeah. Fine," Loki answered in a short voice as he pressed the napkins to his palm.
"So, uh, you're not religious, so why don't you want any beer? Isn't that what most kids your age like to drink?" Loki inquired with a casual shrug.
Xander snorted and his eyes met the man's dark brown ones. "Trust me, man. I'm no fan of beer." Ugh – even just the idea of beer made his stomach turn. Too many memories of his dad yelling at him, smacking him around, and even screaming obscenities at his mother were brought up by the idea of beer. His dad liked to joke that his nickname was 'Tyson' in school and there had been too many nights when he had liked to show off his 'boxing' skills.
No – he would never drink that vile stuff. His worst nightmare was become just like his alcoholic, abusive, asshole-a-riffic father.
The suddenly floor shook beneath his feet and someone yelled "Earthquake!" As the lights flickered Xander huddled under the overhanging bar and waited for the quake to pass – as a native Californian he was used to the random earthquake. After a few minutes everything calmed down as the earth stilled and the emergency lights flickered on.
"Yuck," he whispered as he stood up. His pants were moist from sitting, apparently, in the middle of a pop spill. God, he hated earthquakes.
He glanced over at the guy that he had been speaking to and was surprised to see that he was gone. Xander glanced around the area, but he wasn't anywhere to be found.
Poor guy. He had said he was only in town visiting – he probably got freaked out by the earthquake and ran off.
After the quake, Xander and Willow had decided to call it a night. The Bronze was fun but with only a generator running the band couldn't play and there wasn't much of a point to staying then. He had walked her home and then headed to his house; throughout the trip he was examining his watch. Willow said that she had never seen symbols by then and she warned Xander that it might be evil so he should take it off. However, it didn't feel evil…okay, and yeah – maybe he wasn't the best judge of evil when it came to females but he knew evil when he saw it otherwise. Like Angel. And math. Both were clearly evil in his eyes.
As he walked up to his house he saw that his kitchen light was on. Great. The kitchen light being on could only mean one of two things: One, his mother was possessed by the Florence Henderson and was cooking for once, or two, his dad was still awake drinking away his 'sleeping medicine'.
Yeah, it was pretty easy to guess which one.
Xander walked through the door apprehensively. It was always hard to gauge what kind of mood his dad might be in. He walked into the house as quietly as possible and refrained from turning on the living room light so that way (hopefully) his dad wouldn't even notice that he was home. Carefully, Xander sidestepped a coffee table covered in ash; likely no one had cleaned up after the ashtray had been knocked over. Their living room was pretty eclectic – 'curbside furniture' was their decorating motif – and most of the furniture had been around since Xander was a kid. There was a fraying couch that sat in front of a nineteen inch television, a wooden end table, and two Laz-E-Boys that his dad had strapped to the top of his car after he found them during the big 'Move Out' weekend at the university. The ceiling and tops of the walls were a stale yellow color from the years of cigarette smoke and the carpet was threadbare at best.
Yup. Nothing like home sweet freakin' home.
"Hey! Who's out there?" his dad called from his 'throne room'. For whatever reason the kitchen had become his dad's favorite place to get drunk at night. There was a thirteen inch TV that he watched late night shows on and an old stereo that he jammed to classic rock songs on.
Xander wanted to ignore him but that usually just made things worse. "It's me," he called back.
"Oh," he heard his dad grumble. "Well, get me another beer outta the freezer, alright? And don't forget to put another one in; I like 'em cold."
He let out a resigned sigh and shuffled over to the kitchen. For whatever reason his dad always made either him or his mom fetch him beers – even though the man was only five feet away from the fridge. Apparently moving ruined his 'buzz'.
Head bowed, so as to not attract attention; he ambled into the room, grabbed the Natural Light can out of the freezer, and set it in front of his dad. He turned to leave but his dad spoke up first.
"Ah, I love the taste of freezing cold beer," he grinned as he popped the tab. "Wait, where you goin', Alexander?"
Ugh. Alexander. He hated that name. His dad was the only one who called him that.
"Uh, got homework, dad," he said as cautious eyes observed his father. Tony Harris' hair was disheveled, his eyes glowed with drunken energy, and a happy-go-lucky-grin lit up his face. Damn. 'Nice Drunk' Dad was better than 'Mean Drunk' Dad, but the former was still annoying. He bet that his dad would want to spend quality time with him…until something would set him off like always.
"C'mon, hang out with me for a while, buddy," he smiled genuinely as he patted the seat next to him.
Reluctantly, Xander slid into the low-backed, cheap wooden chair. If he declined to sit he knew his dad would blow up. If he did sit he knew that his dad would blow up eventually. It really was a no-win situation.
Still…at least Xander could pretend for a little bit that his dad was nice, his dad loved him, and that they enjoyed spending time together.
"Wanna play a game of rummy, Alexander?" his dad asked as he lit up a cigarette and began shuffling slightly bent playing cards.
"Sure, dad," Xander smiled. He began clearing off a pot of leftover instant-mixed mashed potatoes, he moved an ashtray and some glasses to the side, and then wiped down ash and god knows what else off the dark wooden table.
His dad began dealing the cards and Xander settled back into his slightly wobbly chair. Their game went easily for about thirty minutes and he was reveling in the attention. His dad only did this kind of stuff with him maybe once a week, if he was lucky. Most of the time when he drank he just watched the Weather Channel with the sound off as an old Led Zeppelin tape blared over the stereo.
The front door opened with a creek and his dad's head snapped up as a dark look passed over his face. "Jessica! That you?" he shouted.
Xander cringed slightly; he knew what was coming. The same thing that had been occurring regularly since he could remember. Nothing ever changed. The happy moments didn't last, ever.
"Yes, Tony," his mother's faint reply could be heard.
"Get in 'ere," his dad growled.
Xander put his cards down and readied himself. He wasn't five anymore, he wasn't ten anymore, he was sixteen, almost seventeen, and he'd help his mom if he could.
His mom walked into the kitchen apprehensively and her jaw was taunt with worry. Red hair sat in a messy bun on top of her head and she was clad in an over-sized 'Sunnydale' shirt along with slightly baggy blue jeans. His mother's figure wasn't as thin as Cordelia, but she was only slightly heavier than average. The only make-up she wore was concealer – and Xander hedged a bet that she was concealing another bruise alongside her left jaw.
"Hi Tony, how are you?" she asked timidly as she clung tightly to an off-white shoulder bag.
Xander closed his eyes for a moment and swore silently. He hated, hated his life and his family at the moment. Well, his mom didn't really deserve that. But he hated the weakness in her voice when she spoke to his dad – he so badly wanted her to fight back and kick the bastard out sometimes!
"How am I?" he asked in a quiet voice. "Well here I am playin' cards with the kid, enjoying a cold brew, when you come waltzing in here late at night like some tramp outta L.A." His words ended in a frightful snarl and Xander's eyes twitched at the angry tone.
"Tony, you know that I picked up that gas station job two weeks ago! I gotta work the night shift or else we're never gonna pay off the plumber for the job he did last month!" Her tone was placating and smooth; but in the end Xander knew it would be as useful as a bucket trying to scoop out the ocean.
"Oh, sure," he rolled his eyes as he crumpled up a beer can and threw it angrily into the garbage, just narrowly missing his mom's right ear. She stilled like a deer in the sight of a wolf and Xander held his hands up in a peaceful manner.
"Okay, dad. Maybe we should all get to bed, okay?" Xander said gently as he stood up and maneuvered himself in front of his mother.
"Like I'm going to bed with that whore," he grumbled as he jerkily stood up and grabbed another beer from the freezer.
He could feel his mother starting to slink off, and apparently his dad noticed it too. "Where you goin'? Hell, if you have tha' time to fuck every neighbor of ours on the street, then at least you can 'ave a beer with me," his dad slurred angrily as he handed Xander's mom a beer. "Now sit down, botha yous."
Xander and his mom obliged; this game was nothing unusual to them. Sometimes Tony Harris liked to play with his food before he ate it.
"So, how was work, whore?" his dad grunted.
"Dad, come on," Xander begged in a silent voice. Every time his dad called his mom a name, he could visibly see her self-worth crumble like an ancient building that used to house so much happiness only to be demolished for something far less interesting, like a parking lot.
His dad turned to him then and sneered. "Stickin' up for your mother again, boy? God, that's just like you – a simpering little mama's boy. You think your mother's perfect, doncha?"
"No, dad, no one is perfect, but she is a human being," Xander responded calmly, but his blood was boiling underneath his skin. He hated, absolutely hated living in fear of this jerk. God! Why couldn't his dad be normal? Or at least loving? Seriously, what the fuck! He could only take so damn much! Sixteen years, sixteen years of this! God, just let him be eighteen already so he can get the hell out of here!
It was all he could do to rein in the anger so it wouldn't leak through his pores like burning lava.
His dad snorted and his mom just fiddled nervously with a thread hanging from her purse handle. "Trust me, kid, your mom is no saint."
Xander glanced up then and his heart lurched as he watched his mother's crestfallen face. His dad always said stuff like this, about how his mom was a whore, but he had never explained – and Xander had never wanted to know. Once, when he was nine, his dad had said that Xander wasn't even his 'goddamn kid' and he had ordered him to pack up a suitcase. Luckily that night his dad had passed out quickly after that, but that experience scarred his memory.
"Okay, dad. Let's go to bed. Come on," Xander encouraged in a quiet, yet stern, voice as he grabbed his dad's arm to lift him up.
"Git off me!" his dad slurred as he backed away suddenly from Xander and fell backwards into their little-used stove.
Xander winced. God, his dad was so…pathetic was the word that came to mind but he felt bad thinking of his dad like that, even if it was true.
"You stupid fucking bastard!" his dad yelled as he scrambled up. "You did that on purpose!"
He took a step back and saw his mom do the same out of the corner of his eye. "No, dad. You jerked away. I was only trying to help."
"Help? Help! The only thing you can do to help is let me kick your fuckin' ass," his dad snarled in a voice twisted by years of anger and hatred. A meaty fist swung towards Xander and the teenager held his arm out to block the blow – last time he had gotten his ribs bruised.
The sound of snapping wood suddenly drew all of their attention, and Xander was saved from his father's fist. He looked towards the back door that led into the kitchen and gasped as splintering wood flew forwards as sizeable cracks shot through the wooden door. The glass window shattered so violently that it exploded into billions of pieces that glinted like pixie dust. Another thunderous sound later and the door flew off its hinges to reveal the culprit.
Mike Tyson?
"What the h-hell?" his dad stuttered. "What the hell did you do to my door?" he added in an angrier voice.
Mike Tyson – merciful Zeus! – just grinned wickedly at his dad and beckoned him closer with just one finger.
"What the fuck?" his dad asked in outrage. "Are you…are you…Mike Tyson?" he asked with squinted eyes.
It was a logical question. The dark-skinned bald man had the build of the former boxer and even his crazy facial tattoos. However, why the heck would Mike Tyson break down their door?
"Y-you b-better pay for this!" his dad spat in anger; appearing both agitated and fearful.
Mike Tyson smiled innocently. "Box you for it?" he asked in a eerie high-pitched voice.
"Wha—?" But his dad didn't get another word in because Mike Tyson punched him in the face and sent the smaller man spiraling backwards.
"Tony!" his mother gasped as Mike Tyson picked him up and delivered a rib-cracking punch that echoed through the room.
Xander could only stare in confusion. What the…What the hell was going on?
"Xander! Do something! He's going to kill him!" his mother begged through frantic tears.
He shook himself and observed the blood dripping down his dad's face and how his arm was twisted very strangely. "Hey! Stop that!" he yelled but Mike Tyson just kept on pummeling. Seeing that this wasn't a time for diplomacy, Xander picked up a kitchen chair and smashed it over Mike Tyson's backside.
The former heavyweight champion turned so slowly that the suspense of his reaction was almost enough to make Xander pee his pants.
Dark eyes blinked at him and of all things the boxer sighed. He sighed. "This is the wrong time to play hero, kiddo," he stated in a low voice.
"Yeah, well I won't have you kill my dad, either," Xander retorted angrily.
Strangely, a sad look entered Mike Tyson's eyes before he blinked and raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Don't worry kid – he's getting his just desserts." Then he raised two fingers – his index and middle – and touched Xander's forehead.
And everything else faded into darkness.
"Hey. Hey, kid. You alright?"
Xander blinked wearily and looked up into the concerned face of a police officer. "Wha' 'appened?" he mumbled groggily.
"We found you passed out, kid. Your mom too. My name is Officer Daniels. Do you remember what happened?"
Oh god. Xander jerked up and nearly hit the cop in the process. "Where's my dad?" he asked urgently as he climbed to his feet.
"Easy there, kiddo. Hey, why don't you come outside with me and we'll have a medic come check you out."
"No, I need to see my dad. Is he—"
Officer Daniels grabbed Xander's arms and pushed him out of the kitchen. "Trust me, you don't want to see your dad. Your mom woke up just a few minutes out and is in pretty bad condition, emotionally; you should probably go check on her."
Panic slithered down his spine like a snake from hell and suddenly Xander was feeling feverish. Trepidation clenched his heart and the image of Mike Tyson pummeling his father flashed in his mind. "He's…dead?"
A squeezed shoulder and a pitying look were Officer Daniels primary response. "I'm sorry, son. He passed."
Coldness clenched within his stomach and he wrapped his arms around himself; feeling suddenly very vulnerable. He nodded slowly in Officer Daniel's direction and began to walk into the living room, and in the process tripping over an empty Twinkies box.
Yet he was so overwhelmed with sudden grief that he didn't even realize that their box of Twinkies had been full just hours earlier and that Xander was the only one in their house who ever even ate them.
A/N:
So…do you get who the dad is now? If you watch the show 'Supernatural' then you have probably figured it out by now. This 'Real Family' idea just popped into my head the other day and there aren't very many 'Trickster/Gabriel' fics out there and I thought this was a well needed addition to the fanfic world ;)
I hope you agree :)
Please review and let me know what you think!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the TV show 'Supernatural' – Eric Kripke & Co do. I am only playing with the characters for my own sheer amusement.
