Disclaimer: I own nothing. All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters and DC Comics characters are the property of their original owners.
Uncaring of the danger -- or indeed anything else -- he’d taken a room at one of Sunnydale’s crummiest motels, in the area of town which Xander knew quite well the local vamps referred to as Buffet Row. Still in his groom’s outfit, a numb young man had walked into the front office of the squalid building, tossed a couple of twenties on the check-in counter, and simply stared blankly at the motel clerk sitting in his shabby chair inside the small cage with steel bars rising vertically from the counter to the ceiling.
A quick grab of his fingers instantly making the money vanish, the clerk in turn shoved a key and its attached tag with the room number engraved upon this through the narrow slot cut at the bottom of the protective bars. Not bothering to say anything during all this, the clerk then incuriously watched the motel’s newest guest shamble out of the office. Shaking another cheap cigarette out of its box resting on the counter, the clerk continued his chain-smoking for another few minutes, building up yet another geologic layer of ashes in his lap.
Shortly after this, a thought slowly drifted through the bored mind of someone who’d managed for years to survive in one of the most hazardous jobs on the Hellmouth: *No luggage. Shit. Means when he disappears, I can’t lift his stuff. Well, fuck it. Maybe Willy will pay something for me telling him about that guy. Yeah, worth a try, could score a drink or two for it. What do I care about the fucker anyway, whoever he is?*
Trudging down the stained and worn carpeting of the motel hallway, Xander found his room, fumbled open the door, and after stepping inside, he’d absently kicked it shut with the back of his heel. Barely conscious of the sheer awfulness of his surroundings, Xander staggered towards the bed. Falling forwards onto the mattress which sagged under his weight and released a stench which would’ve made a zombie vomit, Xander curled up on the malodorous bed while fully-clad down to his dress shoes, and he started crying.
Much later, the weeping still continued, only this time it was being done by someone else entirely different. In the pile of empty clothing now on the bed, a nude young woman sobbed while lying on the emergency Twinkie Xander always brought along with him through everything. It had been a major struggle to pull this snack cake free out of his suit pocket and then get the wrapping off, equivalent to shoving into place a pickup truck set in neutral and then removing a tarpaulin that covered the entire vehicle. Fortunately, she was far stronger for her size than anyone might’ve thought, so the miserable girl eventually finished her task.
Wretchedly curled up on her side on top of the small example of Hostess baked goods, a two-inch tall member of the Legion of Super-Heroes was presently doing something that Xander Harris had been dreaming about ever since he’d been affected by the Chaos magic which had over the years randomly transformed him into various DC Comics characters. Except, after leaving Anya at the altar during their wedding ceremony earlier today, the young man in his new body now simply didn’t care that he was lying on an enormous Twinkie bigger in comparison to him as he was to that already-suggested pickup truck.
Rolling over to end up resting prone on the soft surface, Xander buried his tear-stained face in the yellow cake, and the miniature body of Salu Digby, known to her fellow superheroes as Shrinking Violet, resumed her heartache, fully knowing her present tiny size corresponded to Xander’s dwindling self-esteem at this point. And he completely deserved this.