Xander awoke in semi-unfamiliar surroundings after disturbing dreams of people he and Angel had failed to save in the past. It was frightening how much in common he and Dead-Boy had beyond personality. He guessed that as the clock showed 7:30, he should go ahead and start the day. He was shocked to find his body hair to be extremely long all over, but in perfect condition; he guessed that it had grown overnight in response to the time it would have taken to become the Arnoldesque wonder his wish had created. He found some scissors and a piece of ribbon, and disturbingly enough, hair remover. Fifteen minutes later, and he'd de-pelted himself and trimmed back the beard to something acceptable, and tied back his knee-length hair. The only clothes he could find to fit him were his boxers and the shreds of last night's costume. Sighing as a tapping came upon his door, he called out, "Just a minute, I'm trying to find some clothes that'll fit."
A male voice from somewhere in the room addressed him, "Alexander, there are some fatigues in the duffle bag. Please put them on, and the ring. We have some things to discuss. I'll go watch the Irishman in the front room."
Stunned, Alexander complied while complaining, "Buffy gets slayer dreams, I get a crazy Irishman and a voice." Entering the next room, he nearly stumbled into a worried Doyle.
"Xander," the Irishman began nervously, "There are voices in yer 'house. And it feels cold in here."
"I heard something, t—" Xander began, only be interrupted by a voice from the past.
"Hey, bro, can you get your bud to turn on the set," Jesse shouted from the couch, "the Major and I've been telling Sarah about cartoons and it IS Saturday morning. And the ghost thing…no touchy remotey."
"Jess…Sarah…how?" gasped a shocked Xander, slowly moving toward two of the people in his dreams last night.
"Some weirdoes in togas and painted faces showed up with a scaly guy with horns when we died," Jesse quietly conveyed as he took Sarah by the hand and walking up to face him.
The Major, at a nod from Jesse, continued, "Like the kid said, these three show up, argue about whether or not we get to stay or go on, then they tell us about your wish. The horned guy says we have to come here, but these toga twins say we're dead already and that some Power guys are really ticked at you and refuse to allow the timeline to be changed. So, to make a long story longer, some incredible raven-haired goddess and a swarthy tough-guy show up, and talking in a language none of us understands, argues with both sides. Anyway, the gist of it is, swarthy-guy and wow-woman hand that bag of yours to the horned guy and in plain English tells him 'it is the last of our earthly presence now that the curse is lifted. Make sure Alexander gets it.' The horned guy looked more than a bit worried, so you got the bag. She then turns to Jesse and Sarah, and tells them that part of the wish was the champion that Liam might have been, saving Sarah and dusting Darla. Angel should have been more active from the beginning, so Jesse should have made it. Then she turns to me, and says that if you'da worn the fatigues last night like you were planning, you'd've gotten my skills and memories and such to help you successfully play a role at the side of the slayer in years to come. So, I'm here instead, to train and advise you. Also, so long as you wear any of the fatigues or dog tags, we are of solid form, and wearing the ring of your mother, the four of us are also visible and such to others. We either need to stay within 5 klicks of the hellmouth or about 10 yards of you. Otherwise we end up back at the hellmouth. Am I missing anything?"
"Yeah," Xander says, "your name."
"Oh," Soldier-Guy apologizes, holding out his hand to shake. "I'm Major Charles Kawalsky, USAF."
"Call me Xander," He responds, successfully shaking hands. "This is Doyle, who might still be a seer…" Xander, looking at his hand, turns to a smiling Jesse, and the brothers cross the distance between them, embracing and trying unsuccessfully not to cry.
"Jess-man…" Xander gasps, "I'm sorry…"
"It wasn't me, Bro," his best friend choked
"H-how long are you here?" Xander questioned worriedly.
"Sarah and I are here until her brother says his good-byes. He'll be here in a little while, then we'll go to the Library. My folks already moved away, so only you and Willow are left for me to see. The Major's here until you die or you otherwise figure something out."
"But—" Xander began, to be waved down by Jesse.
"Hey, Xander," the Major speaks up, handing a scroll, "the lady told me to give you this to read…hey, ah, everybody…let's give the kid a minute, huh?"
Xander moved back into the bedroom, moving the duffle aside to sit.
Dearest Alexander,
Mr. and Mrs. Harris were not who they seemed. Many years ago a coup in the heavens changed the order of things, a result being that One of Power was rendered mortal and over a century ago was born of gypsies, her memories stripped and her powers used to enforce this state of affairs. She fought the evil many had accused her previous self of instigating, and the echoes of her past led her to become a mistress of warhorses and wardogs.
The Powers that had cast her thus allowed that if she passed through life as a champion, never knowing the fullness of wife and mother, she would be restored. But if she did, her and her consort, and any immediate family would be cursed to live without love or the support of family until such a time that the pain of her child would release them forever from this plane.
There was a brother who had fought at their side, and they were cast into there future to when the last of those they had known were dead, with altered memories they were placed at the Hellmouth to begin miserable lives with little love.
Alexander, your wish released them, and they love you and are very proud of you. Please do not take up vengeance against the Powers; the cause of Light is the just path, even if the Powers are enemies of our family. You are mortal, my son, but now gifted as though a champion. You are the champion of our family. We expect you to be what we weren't allowed to be for you, and what your name means: Protector. You have our journals of our early lives. You should definitely keep my true heritage a secret, but the rest is up to you, though we caution against it as right now you are untrained against those that would come for you and your friends on the basis of your line. Wearing the rings for the first time will reveal who we were and confer upon you knowledge of the gifts we've sent you in the bag, Go through life with our love and respect, Alexander. Knowing your family will always care.
Your Mother and Father,
Anna Jessica and Abraham Anthony
Your Uncle,
Verkan Rory
For an hour after reading the letter, the young champion of his family wept and raged behind closed doors at the double loss of his family by the Powers, unaware of the curiously disappointed Vengeance Lord who was waiting on the other side of the window for an 'I wish…' that would never come.
The shocked young man turned to the duffle, now-finding this mothers twin torches and twin swords, the rings of his family, the restored clothes and weapons his father had worn in his final fight against the-then greatest threat to the world, his mother's amulet to negate all magic cast against the wearer, and a cornucopia exacted from a former adversary that will produce three ambrosia cakes per day, with special properties including the fact that until eaten they will remain fresh and untainted.
Alexander stepped out of his room wearing the rings and the clothes of his father that had adjusted to his size. He knew who he should have been, and with the experience of Angel he resolved to carry out the fight
Doyle and four spirits ceased conversation as Alexander stepped into the room, attired in leather and dark clothing, dog tags, amulet, and fatigues underneath, the imposing duster secluding torches, swords, revolvers, knives, and other weapons and accoutrements. The three rings of his heritage worn on his right hand, his hair was now tied back, and beard trimmed to a respectably short length. Placing the hat on his head, he turned to the others, waving them toward the door. "We'll only be fashionably late if we go now." Seeing the ghost of the former vampire, he added, "everyone, meet us in the convertible."
"Angel—" the early-twenties-looking teen began.
"—It wasn't your fault, Xander, "Angel interrupted. "And I get to move upward…and that's a good thing. My sister forgives me and so does your friend. I'm just sorry you have all of my memories of…that time…"
"I wanted into the fight, and I guess I am, big time," Alexander continued. "And…I'll take care of Buffy as best I can. My word on my family name," he said, showing his father's ring."
"You're…" the former master vampire gasped as he stepped back.
"The son. After I've trained and properly prepared myself, I intend to change my name accordingly to honor my parents. Now, let's go. The others are waiting…Ghost Formerly Known as Dead-Boy."
"Be nice, or I stick around to haunt you."
"You be nice, or I'll mention the Nair in your shower."
"True perfection require proper grooming."
"And after two centuries, it's my turn because you still obviously weren't getting it right."
"Ouch, you win."
"Was there ever really any doubt?"