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Hey all, look, new fic! It's actually a small little ficlet, general, Xander's POV on Christmas Eve.
It's not great, but I'm posting it anyway because I'm so rusty. Any feedback would be really appreciated. I'm working on a spander Xmas fic, so I'm trying to get back into the flow of it.
As he strung the 50-count strand of lights around the miniscule tree, Xander laughed bitterly. “Charlie Brown’s got nothing on me!”
The old television set was showering static over some old Dolly Parton movie he could almost recall seeing once before. If anything, the low volume helped to cover the sound of the washing machine bouncing against the cement floor in the corner of the room, and the clatter of objects and accusations being thrown across the room above him. His parents were at it again. But then again, did they ever stop?
Earlier in the afternoon, after getting home from his current job delivering greasy bags of early death to businesses all over Sunnydale, he had caught the annual showing of Charlie Brown’s Christmas, and it had put him in a festive mood. Two hours later, and he’d dug out the one measly box of decorations he owned and hunted down this Christmas weed at the nearest home and garden center.
Taking a sip of the wretched beer he’d weaseled out of Willy the Snitch – thank god I’ve got dirt on someone, Xander stood back and admired his handiwork. With the lights on the little tree, it didn’t look half bad. Now he just had to place the small collection of ornaments he’d saved over the years on the tiny branches and he’d be finished.
His parents had stopped trying to do the Christmas thing when he was still in grade school. For a few years after they’d stopped, Xander had gone into the basement and hauled out the tree decorations on his own, finding a manageable tree for a ten year old to carry alone, and had proceeded with the tradition. But by the time he’d gotten into high school, he’d realized that even that little tradition wasn’t worth it anymore. So he hadn’t protested a few years ago when his dad had gone through the boxes, pitching away most of the ornaments and decorations that had been selected or made with loving care in better years. Better years were long gone, and now all he had left was a couple dozen objects of memory he had rescued from the trash and a Christmas tree that even the Grinch would feel bad over.
The saddest thing was that this little torture trip down memory lane was lifting his spirits. He was able to see past all the drunken fights his parents had had on Christmas Eves past, eggnog being thrown in faces and glass ornaments being slammed against walls. He was even able to forget all the times he’d come down on Christmas morning and seeing only a dead tree with nothing beneath it.
What he did remember, though, was all the holiday dinners with Willow, whose parents said funny prayers before lighting candles. He could remember watching Charlie Brown’s Christmas since he was a tiny tot. Sledding over fake snow during school holiday breaks.
This year was more bittersweet, though. Everything just seemed bad, worse. Anya was gone. She’d gotten spooked after a bad fight with a nest of demons and had found a way to get her powers back. Xander supposed he should be glad she hadn’t done anything to him, but he missed her sometimes.
Buffy and Willow were so busy with school, he couldn’t actually remember the last time they had actually hung out. It used to be they couldn’t go a day without getting together to talk about stupid things – saving the world, who’d been eaten that day – the little stuff. Now he was lucky if he was even invited to kill things.
Dolly was singing on TV, “maybe I’ll move somewhere. Maybe I’ll get a car. Maybe I’ll drive so far, they’ll all lose track.”
“You said it, sister,” Xander mumbled, gingerly placing the last gilded glass ornament on one of the lower branches.
“…Maybe Ill just get drunk on apple wine…”
“Good idea!” Xander toasted the TV with his beer, finishing it and tossing it in the trashcan beside the bed. He grabbed another one out of the refrigerator, popping the top.
“…Im barely getting through tomorrow. But still I wont let sorrow bring me way down...”
He fished the star out of the bottom of the box, brushing the dust off the twinkle lights. The glass was chipped in places, scarred in others. But it was the same star he’d used on the tree every year since he could remember. Taking another sip of his beer, he lay the star back in the box.
“…Fine and dandy. Lord its like a hard candy Christmas. Im barely getting through tomorrow.”
Ain’t that the truth, he thought. Each day seemed to get a little worse than the day before, each month and year seeming to go down instead of up. A couple of years ago he’d had it: friends, family – well, okay, not family, but sort of – lfriend. He’d almost been happy then. What did he have now?
“…Maybe I’ll settle down. Maybe I’ll just leave town. Maybe I’ll have some fun. Maybe I’ll meet someone. And make them mine…”
It just didn’t seem to get any better. He was tired of getting by. More than anything, he was just tired. Looking at the tree, unfinished and dwarfed by everything else in the world, it seemed right, correct, somehow.
“I’ll be fine and dandy. Lord its like a hard candy Christmas…”
Giving in to the heaviness in his eyes, he kicked off his shoes, shut off the lights and fell onto the bed. Only the multi-colored glow of fifty twinkle lights and a snowing TV lit the room. Dolly was still singing, and as the world fell away from Xander, he knew she was right, despite everything.
“I’m barely getting through tomorrow. But still I wont let sorrow bring me way down. Cause I’ll be fine. Oh, Ill be fine.”
It's not great, but I'm posting it anyway because I'm so rusty. Any feedback would be really appreciated. I'm working on a spander Xmas fic, so I'm trying to get back into the flow of it.
As he strung the 50-count strand of lights around the miniscule tree, Xander laughed bitterly. “Charlie Brown’s got nothing on me!”
The old television set was showering static over some old Dolly Parton movie he could almost recall seeing once before. If anything, the low volume helped to cover the sound of the washing machine bouncing against the cement floor in the corner of the room, and the clatter of objects and accusations being thrown across the room above him. His parents were at it again. But then again, did they ever stop?
Earlier in the afternoon, after getting home from his current job delivering greasy bags of early death to businesses all over Sunnydale, he had caught the annual showing of Charlie Brown’s Christmas, and it had put him in a festive mood. Two hours later, and he’d dug out the one measly box of decorations he owned and hunted down this Christmas weed at the nearest home and garden center.
Taking a sip of the wretched beer he’d weaseled out of Willy the Snitch – thank god I’ve got dirt on someone, Xander stood back and admired his handiwork. With the lights on the little tree, it didn’t look half bad. Now he just had to place the small collection of ornaments he’d saved over the years on the tiny branches and he’d be finished.
His parents had stopped trying to do the Christmas thing when he was still in grade school. For a few years after they’d stopped, Xander had gone into the basement and hauled out the tree decorations on his own, finding a manageable tree for a ten year old to carry alone, and had proceeded with the tradition. But by the time he’d gotten into high school, he’d realized that even that little tradition wasn’t worth it anymore. So he hadn’t protested a few years ago when his dad had gone through the boxes, pitching away most of the ornaments and decorations that had been selected or made with loving care in better years. Better years were long gone, and now all he had left was a couple dozen objects of memory he had rescued from the trash and a Christmas tree that even the Grinch would feel bad over.
The saddest thing was that this little torture trip down memory lane was lifting his spirits. He was able to see past all the drunken fights his parents had had on Christmas Eves past, eggnog being thrown in faces and glass ornaments being slammed against walls. He was even able to forget all the times he’d come down on Christmas morning and seeing only a dead tree with nothing beneath it.
What he did remember, though, was all the holiday dinners with Willow, whose parents said funny prayers before lighting candles. He could remember watching Charlie Brown’s Christmas since he was a tiny tot. Sledding over fake snow during school holiday breaks.
This year was more bittersweet, though. Everything just seemed bad, worse. Anya was gone. She’d gotten spooked after a bad fight with a nest of demons and had found a way to get her powers back. Xander supposed he should be glad she hadn’t done anything to him, but he missed her sometimes.
Buffy and Willow were so busy with school, he couldn’t actually remember the last time they had actually hung out. It used to be they couldn’t go a day without getting together to talk about stupid things – saving the world, who’d been eaten that day – the little stuff. Now he was lucky if he was even invited to kill things.
Dolly was singing on TV, “maybe I’ll move somewhere. Maybe I’ll get a car. Maybe I’ll drive so far, they’ll all lose track.”
“You said it, sister,” Xander mumbled, gingerly placing the last gilded glass ornament on one of the lower branches.
“…Maybe Ill just get drunk on apple wine…”
“Good idea!” Xander toasted the TV with his beer, finishing it and tossing it in the trashcan beside the bed. He grabbed another one out of the refrigerator, popping the top.
“…Im barely getting through tomorrow. But still I wont let sorrow bring me way down...”
He fished the star out of the bottom of the box, brushing the dust off the twinkle lights. The glass was chipped in places, scarred in others. But it was the same star he’d used on the tree every year since he could remember. Taking another sip of his beer, he lay the star back in the box.
“…Fine and dandy. Lord its like a hard candy Christmas. Im barely getting through tomorrow.”
Ain’t that the truth, he thought. Each day seemed to get a little worse than the day before, each month and year seeming to go down instead of up. A couple of years ago he’d had it: friends, family – well, okay, not family, but sort of – lfriend. He’d almost been happy then. What did he have now?
“…Maybe I’ll settle down. Maybe I’ll just leave town. Maybe I’ll have some fun. Maybe I’ll meet someone. And make them mine…”
It just didn’t seem to get any better. He was tired of getting by. More than anything, he was just tired. Looking at the tree, unfinished and dwarfed by everything else in the world, it seemed right, correct, somehow.
“I’ll be fine and dandy. Lord its like a hard candy Christmas…”
Giving in to the heaviness in his eyes, he kicked off his shoes, shut off the lights and fell onto the bed. Only the multi-colored glow of fifty twinkle lights and a snowing TV lit the room. Dolly was still singing, and as the world fell away from Xander, he knew she was right, despite everything.
“I’m barely getting through tomorrow. But still I wont let sorrow bring me way down. Cause I’ll be fine. Oh, Ill be fine.”