A/N: All characters and settings in this story that you believe belong to someone else have a 99.99999999999999999999999999999% chance of actually belonging to them. In particular, Xander Harris, his father, his mother and the rest of the Scoobies are figments of Joss Whedon's imagination, not mine. Any Stargate characters, including Sam and Jacob Carter, belong to someone who is not me.
Disclaimer aside, I am looking for someone with both Buffy and Stargate knowledge to beta this story.
Read on and review
thought Xander as he trudged home from a long, hard evening of patrolling, those demons sure know how to pack a punch.
The glaring streetlights weren't helping at all. It was quite possible that the last demon, some purple and orange skinned monstrosity that had looked like a Hawaiian shirt, had thrown him against a gravestone and given him what felt like a concussion (It also didn't help that right afterwards the gigantic, blue, newt/octopus demon crossbreed had attacked both him and the Hawaiian shirt demon). I shouldn't even know how to recognize a concussion. I bet most boys my age wouldn't know what a concussion felt like,
he thought as he paused under a broken streetlight, soaking in the cool darkness for as long as possible, and it isn't just because I live on a Hellmouth
Xander checked the cheap rubber watch on his left wrist, swore, and started running down the street towards his house. The glare of the streetlights seemed to intensify as he ran, causing him to wince in pain. The sprint to his house seemed to take what felt like an eternity but was actually only a few minutes. Xander stumbled to a halt in front of his house and sighed, praying to every god he could think of (that didn't like human sacrifices or blood offerings, of course) and a couple that he was pretty sure Willow had made up to try and trip Giles up that his parents had already gone to bed. Eyeing the light shining out of the front windows, he was almost tempted to use the 'W' word, but refrained from action because the rest of the Scoobies would definitely go over the top if they ever found out.
As silently as possible he crossed the lawn and inserted the key in the door. Shit
. The key wouldn't budge. Xander strained against the evil demon-kind key and finally got it to twist in the lock with an ear-splitting screech that certainly sounded like a demon.
"Bad boy. Bad boy," he whispered at his key. Then Xander turned his attention to the doorknob. Grasping it firmly he twisted and pushed, hoping the wood hadn't expanded in the bipolar Californian weather, making it practically impossible to open the door.
Luck was on his side for once. But only momentarily. The door slid open with ease, highlighting the figure standing inside the living room knocking back a shot of vodka. Xander tried to be invisible, he really did, but the key had ruined all hope he might have had of sneaking down to his room in the basement unnoticed.
"Your curfew happens to be 11:00, not 11:30, Xander," Tony Harris said mildly, pouring himself another shot.
"I thought you were Mom," Xander replied, not changing the subject at all as his posture relaxed.
"She's sleeping," Tony told him.
"Passed out, you mean," Xander snorted.
"I believe she did have quite a few drinks before I got home from work, yes," Tony replied.
"And why are you drinking?" Xander asked, "You never drink!"
"I had a bad day at work," Tony sighed, "A really bad day. And don't think I didn't notice you change the subject. You can't blame your mom for getting mad at you if you break all of our household rules."
"I don't break all of them!" Xander protested, "Only the curfew one. Well, the curfew one and the cracker one. I mean, the curfew one, the cracker one, and the one about the milk. Okay, so it was the curfew one, the cracker one, the one about the milk, and that other one about-"
"Xander," Tony cut him off, "We put the rules in place for a reason. We are your parents, and I just want you to grow up into a man who people can respect. A man who can lift himself out of this town and become more than just another didn't-go-to-college-guy."
"I?" Xander asked, "Don't you mean 'we'? Or does Mom not even care about my future, and nevermind, just don't say anything, I'm going to bed."
Xander made a quick exit down to the basement where he curled up and slept, dreaming of a happier home life.