Hi! I saw a spuffy fic you wrote once, so I was wondering if you could do another one. Prompt: Buffy gets hurt during a hunt, and Spike takes care of her. Thanks!
note: sorry this is super late. i did just a quick one-shot. hope you like it.setting: S6rated: PG
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He smelled her long before she knocked on his crypt door. The scent of her blood strong and compelling. Not just because she was the Slayer. But because she was Buffy. Despite wanting to run out the door toward her, he’d waited. If some big nasty had come around he’d of intervened but now he had the upper hand in this little game they continued to play with each other since she’d come back from the dead and fucked him in that abandoned house.
“Slayer,” he said, taking her in while bracing against the open door. “Run into some trouble?”
“You could say that,” she said, holding her arm. He frowned as she swayed slightly.
“Well come in before I have unwanted guests at my door.”
He stepped aside and she entered the dark crypt. He did a quick scan of her. She had a blackening eye which would probably be fully healed in a couple days, a cut above said black eye, and another cut on the arm she was cradling. She walked with a limp and he saw some dirt on her right knee along with some blood seeping through the jean material.
“Come on, Luv, lets get you cleaned up.”
Buffy didn’t argue. Which let Spike know she was pretty hurt. He went down into the lower level of his crypt and he followed. She sat at the end of his bed, slowly lowering onto it as he rummaged for the First Aid kit. One he’d procured when he’d taken up hunting with her friends after she’d died the second time. It’d been used before, mostly on Xander, the nitwit always getting himself into a bind.
“All right, Slayer, Dr. Spike to your rescue.” She scoffed at that and his scarred eyebrow rose. “What?”
“Dr. Spike?”
“Would you prefer Nurse Spike? I could work with that, too,” he said, tongue pressing against his teeth as he took in her disheveled look. She again scoffed and rolled her eyes.
“Maybe this was a mistake,” she said, ready to stand again.
“Oh, what? You gunna go back out there now in the middle of the night with all the nasties out there looking to find themselves a tasty midnight snack?”
“Better than being here.”
“Oi. I didn’t ask you to come here,” he said, tossing the medical kit onto the bed. “I was perfectly fine watching the telly the rest of the night.”
“Let me guess. Passions?”
“Perhaps!”
Buffy stood and went to the ladder. He watched her struggle before slowly going up a rung at a time. When her ankle was level with his eyes he grabbed it and halted her movements.
“Slayer, Buffy, just... Please come down. Let me look you over.”
He was worried about her. He cared too bloody much. If she’d have said no he’d have followed her home and risked the sun to make sure she stayed safe. Instead she slowly came back down. Which let him know it was bad. He guided her to the bed and they said nothing as he started cleaning her up. First her face, ridding it of the blood and dirt. He bandaged the cut then went to the fridge where he kept his beer and blood cold. He handed her a cold can and instructed her to press it against her eye. Her shirt was in the way so he ripped it off her. She protested, loudly, but he ignored it.
“Spike! What the hell?!”
“I need to see your whole arm.”
“Then ask me to take the shirt off, don’t just rip it!”
“I have a shirt for you to wear.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“Fine. Next time I’ll ask. Now hold still.”
She hissed in a breath as he moved her arm at the elbow. He used her torn shirt to make a sling for her. Best he could really do. And boy did she look a sight, one arm in a sling with the other holding a can to her face.
“What happened here?” he asked, hands cradling her knee, making her hiss in a breath.
“Group of vamps caught me off guard. I dusted three of them, one tackled me and my knee slammed into a gravestone. As I finished the last of them two demons came out. They’d been waiting. My black eye is from a wheelbarrow they threw at me.”
“The mighty Slayer, taken down by a gardening tool,” he said with a smirk.
“Hey!” She pouted. “It was a big wheelbarrow.”
“I bet it was. Poor kitten.”
“And my knee really hurts.”
“Let us have a look, shall we?”
“Don’t rip off my pants, I need to wear them home.”
Carefully, Spike got her pants unbuttoned. He pulled them and her boots off, making her shiver each time his cooler hands touched her heated skin. The knee was purple all around the knee but nothing felt broken.
“Sprained it good, Luv, it needs ice. Sadly I have none.” He straightened up, grabbing his duster off the back of the chair. “I’ll be back.”
“Where are you...”
“Gunna get you some ice.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Need some smokes anyway.” He nodded toward the bed. “Relax till I get back.”
He climbed up the ladder, leaving her alone. She didn’t want to lay around in just her bra and panties so she dug around and found a black shirt that didn’t smell like smoke. She just managed to get the sling back on the right way when he came back with a bag of ice. He pulled out a couple plastic bags from his pocket and filled them both with ice. He motioned for her to lay on the bed and she did. He placed one bag on her knee and handed her the other for her face.
“Ohhhh cold,” she complained, but it felt so good.
“Don’t be a baby,” he said, tossing the leftover ice in the fridge. It would melt eventually, but he wanted to try and keep it as solid as possible if she needed more. He reached for a bottle of whiskey and took a long drink before offering it to her. She took it, drank about two shots worth, and made a face before handing it back.
“Sun will be up in a couple hours. Rest until then.”
“Spike?” Buffy paused before continuing. “Thanks.”
“Anything for you,” he said before going up the ladder. Leaving her alone. She almost, almost called out for him to stay. Instead, she lay back on the sheets, pulled the blanket over herself, and let herself sleep.
Shortly after the fall of SHIELD Bucky tries laying low in Sunnydale. All he wants is peace and quiet, but Sunnydale isn’t a great place for either, except of the “silent as the grave” variety. While there, he runs into a strange group of people who are out to save the world. He is fresh from hell and their leader has just been pulled back from heaven and both of them are trying to learn to live again.
(In case you are wondering, the ship name is WinterSummer. I’m not even sure how I came up with it, but my sister and I were joking about these two and somehow we ended up naming the ship and once you name it you start getting attached to it. Somehow, that spiraled into this story.)
I’m finally posting in honor of Bucky’s 100th birthday falling on the same day as twenty years of BtVS.
Rated T
The Asset… no, Bucky, his name is Bucky. The man on the bridge, Steve called him Bucky. The exhibit at the museum called him Bucky. And Bucky had been running ever since. Literally, a lot of the time. He isn’t sure what he is running from, not most of it, just that he had to get away.
He stole a car a few times, to get further away, but walked a lot too. He just needed to keep moving. HYDRA might find him. Steve might find him. He isn’t sure which would be worse. If someone finds him, he might hurt them, and he is so tired of hurting people.
He wasn’t able to get very far the first week or two. He spent most of it hiding in abandoned buildings, coming down from withdrawals from whatever HYDRA had pumped him full of.
A couple of weeks later, he reaches the Pacific Ocean. Literally. He just keeps walking until he is standing on the beach of a tiny town called Sunnydale, staring out at the waves. For the first time that he can remember, which admittedly isn’t much, he feels almost peaceful. He has no idea where to go from here, but it’s a nice place for standing still.
He stands there for a long time, watching the sun set over the water.
An odd snarling sound from behind him snaps him out of his reverie. He wheels around, ready for a fight. The man creeping up behind him doesn’t look quite human.
Bucky raises his metal arm to block the attack and the… thing bites his arm. Bites him. Whatever attack he was expecting, that wasn’t it. Apparently, it wasn’t expecting his metal arm either.
“Owww!” it complains.
“Hey!” a woman shouts from a little ways down the beach. “Leave him alone!”
“Which one of us?” the creature asks.
She answers by ramming a wooden stick through it’s chest. It collapses into a pile of dust.
She looks back at Bucky. “Whatever you think that was,” she says, waving around, “it was an optical illusion. A biker hopped up on pcp tried to mug you, and the rest was an optical illusion. He… ran off. Yeah.” She’s obviously lying, and not going to any great effort to hide the fact. “You’re new to Sunnydale, aren’t you?” she asks, then continues without waiting for him to answer. “You shouldn’t be outside after dark, especially alone.”
Bucky glances down at the pile of dust, then back up at the girl. There is a lot he doesn’t remember, a lot of lies to sort through, a lot of things he is unsure about, but he is almost entirely certain that this is not, and never has been, normal.
“What was that?” he asks.
“I told you. A drug addict. You should get inside.” She flashes him a smile, bright but haunted by something most people would probably miss. She takes off at a jog down the beach. She is almost out of sight before it even crosses his mind to thank her. He’s pretty sure he used to be good with people, which adds another layer of frustration to his present condition.
He knows he should leave, now, before he can get caught up in whatever weirdness is happening here. He sighed heavily. He had liked this town. It was the first place he had been since everything where he felt like he could have settled down. But he has to leave. He has to get away. He has to report back to… No. There is no one left to report to in any case, and he doesn’t have to do anything. If he wants to stay, he is damn well going to stay.
He had stolen some cash several days ago and still has a little left, so he gets a cheap hotel room, under an assumed name of course. According to the museum, James was actually his name, but it felt like an assumed name, and Dugan he had gotten from the museum too. He had been cycling through the old team’s names on the rare occasion that he needed to use a name, although he hadn’t figured out why.
“What kinds of things can a vampire not bite?” Buffy asks.
“Depends on the vampire,” Xander says.
“Very funny,” Spike retorts. “Mock your allies. See what I do to you when I get this chip out.”
“I mean it,” Buffy interrupts. I could have sworn the vamp bit a guy, but he didn’t act like he had been bitten and didn’t look like he was bleeding. I think the vamp may have been hurt trying.”
“By the, um, by the actual bite, or by the retaliation?” Giles asks.
“By the actual bite. The guy didn’t hit the vampire back or anything. It just recoiled and I dusted it. The guy came across as human, but kinda distant, barely said anything.”
Willow and Xander exchange a guilty glance because the same could be said about Buffy.
“He had just seen a vampire turn to dust,” Tara points out. “That’s a little freaky the first time.”
“I could check,” Willow offers. “There’s a spell…” she breaks off at the disapproving looks from Giles and Tara.
“Do you think he wants to buy anything?” Anya asks.
“I don’t think that’s a high priority right now, An,” Xander points out. “Um, what is the priority right now?”
“For now, I don’t think there is much we can do,” Giles says. “I mean, it might be worth looking into, but he doesn’t sound like an imminent threat. Keep your eyes open of course, but I hardly think a man surviving a vampire attack is cause for alarm.”
“That’s right. That’s good,” Dawn agrees.
“You’re probably right,” Buffy concedes. “It’s a good thing. Everybody lives. That’s the goal, right?” she adds with false brightness.
“Buffy,” Giles starts.
“You know what, I should get back out there.” She snatches up her jacket and heads out into the night.
“She just needs time,” Giles says, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.
“Because time will totally make this better,” Xander retorts.
“We should get her a card,” Anya says.
“I don’t think a card will help,” Dawn says.
Bucky wakes from a confused dream, teaming with the woman from the beach to save a much smaller Steve from a fight in what he thinks is a familiar alleyway. It’s better than most of the dreams he has been having. There is a brief moment of fear. For so long, waking had brought pain.
He sighs heavily and swings his feet onto the floor. He doesn’t have a plan. Staying had looked so much more reasonable the night before, or at least a properly defiant stance. But in the bright light of day it looks more like a quaint little beachside town. And his memory is questionable so he isn’t sure anymore about the man turning to dust. It’s frustrating, not being able to trust his own mind.
He gets dressed in a hoodie and gloves like usual to hide his face and his metal arm. It’s a little warm here for that. He may have to head north where he can wear more clothes without drawing attention.
On his way out he flashes a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes at the receptionist. She smiles back.
“There’s a free continental breakfast in the dining room,” she says.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he says with a nod, making the effort to be polite. He isn’t good at it like he thinks he used to be, but it is important. HYDRA never had time for niceties.
He hadn’t eaten with HYDRA either. It had taken him nearly a week to be able to keep anything down, but now he is enjoying trying different things. He isn’t sure, but he doesn’t think most of this was available back in Brooklyn in the old days. He doesn’t stuff his pockets with food, well, maybe a few muffins. He has enough money for a couple more nights and doesn’t want to blow it on lunch.
Southern California is a little warm for his usual hoodie and gloves, even in early November. Oddly enough, he isn’t even the most completely covered person. Gloves, hats, sunglasses, scarves… It’s ridiculous. And he loves it, because he suspects he’s not the weirdest one here. For someone on the run, that is a very good quality in a town.
He isn’t sure what jobs people have these days, or which ones are open to people born in the twenties whose only recent job experience is murder.
He is making his way through the town, just having a look around. He has the feeling someone is following him, but he is afraid he might just be paranoid. Just in case, he makes his way to the busiest part of town. That doesn’t always help, but he is pretty sure he was almost never sent after people on busy streets. Except that one time.
Someone is definitely following him. It’s one of those people in a ridiculously large amount of clothing.
The stranger catches up with him on the busy street and punches Bucky hard in the face. Then the stranger screams.
“Ow! Bloody hell!” the stranger shouts.
Bucky doesn’t let the man’s odd reaction throw him. He retaliates, striking with his flesh and blood hand, knocking the stranger into a wall.
“Woah! What the hell are you? You’re not a demon but that wasn’t a human punch.”
“What options are there, other than human?” Bucky asks, keeping a close eye on the stranger as he stands to his feet. Instinct tells him to finish his target, but this stranger may or may not be a target.
“So you don’t know about demons? Never mind then. But how did you throw me through a wall? Hate to break it to you, but no normal human could do that to me.”
“Get out of my way,” Bucky says quietly.
“Not until you answer my question.”
Bucky looks around, sizing up possible escape routes. Seeing none that are reliable, he hits the stranger hard across the jaw. The other man manages to hit back before pulling away clutching his head.
“Spike!” a woman’s voice snaps. The blonde woman from the beach is hurrying toward them. “Are you attacking random people?”
“No. I’m getting answers. For you if you must know. And for me,” he added, backpedaling quickly. “I was curious. He’s human, if you were wondering, but that punch is stronger than any human I’ve ever met. Present company excepted of course.”
“Get out of here, Spike,” she says
“What is the other option?” Bucky asks.
“He stays and I kick his ass into next week.”
Bucky lip twitches into almost a smile at that. “I mean other than human.”
“Oh. Well… Nothing. There’s no such thing as monster. Everyone knows that.”
“Of course there are,” Bucky says softly.
“Look, you’re new in town. Just turn around and leave again. If you don’t know about the monsters, you can keep sleeping soundly at night.”
“A bit late for that,” he admits.
She narrows her eyes, studying his face. “It really is, isn’t it.” She frowns in thought. “Show him the other option, Spike.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is? You want me to stick around as an example of not being human?”
“You don’t like humans,” she retorts.
“Too right, I don’t. Fine, Slayer. I’ll show off.” He… changes. His teeth elongate into fangs and ridges form on his forehead.
“This is a vampire,” the woman says. “Normally we kill them.”
“Hey!”
“But Spike can’t hurt people.”
“He punched me. Twice,” Bucky argues at the same time as Spike exclaims “Hey! Way to keep up my fearsome reputation!”
“He has a chip in his head that causes him debilitating pain when he tries,” the woman clarifies.
“I see you’re keeping my secrets so well. Maybe I should let slip a few of your deep dark secrets, love.”
“Don’t you dare,” she says evenly, a hint of threat in the way she half turns toward Spike. Then her shoulders slump. “Please,” she adds in a much softer voice.
The vampire sighed. “You know I won’t. I should. I should march straight back and tell Willow on general principle. Remind you and the whole lot of them that I’m a vampire, evil bloodsucker, that’s me.”
The woman almost smiles. “Yes, Spike, you’re so terribly evil. It would really be much better if I just staked you.”
“Too right, it would. As soon as I get rid of this chip…”
“You’ll disembowel all of us on the spot,” she says, shaking her head.
There is somethings of the familiar in their bickering, not so much that it reminds Bucky of anything (although he can almost hear Steve, his voice fond, calling him a jerk,) but that the two strangers are clearly comfortable and familiar with this dynamic. That means that it is unlikely to change, unlikely to become a problem, in spite of the threats their bickering contains.
“Don’t mind him,” the woman says as the vampire jogs off toward welcoming shade. “He’s all bark.”
Bucky nods.
“So how are you taking the existence of vampires so well?”
“I’m not easily freaked out,” Bucky says. It’s not entirely true. He nearly panicked when a train blocked his path a few days before. <Freight train> He pushes that thought aside and manages a strained smile at the woman.
"I can see that. If you're really intent on staying in Sunnydale, my name's Buffy. I tend to be around so if you need anything, check in at the magic shop downtown."
"Bucky," he says, offering his hand.
"Bucky? Is that a name?" she asks.
"You're one to talk, Buffy," he retorts with a smile.
Prompt: Spuffy, season 6 in their sneaking around phase. Maybe one night Spike sneaks in through Buffy's window... Or any scenario that would work for S6 :)
here u go blondekunoichi
"What the hell are you doing in here?" she hissed, gently but firmly closing the door behind her.
She was tired and cranky after having dealt with customers all day at the Doublemeat Palace and all she wanted was a shower. She smelled like french fries and burned hamburgers and she was pretty sure she had mustard in her hair. She was in no mood to entertain a certain bleach-blond vampire who was currently lounging on her bed. She glared daggers at his boots, which were still on his feet, and caked with mud.
"If you get mud on my sheets I’ll stake you where you lie."
"Wouldn’t that just defeat the purpose of wanting clean sheets?" he asked slyly, scarred eyebrow raised.
"You know what I want," he said softly and she tensed, looking over her shoulder at the vampire who was licking his lips in a suggestive way. She rolled her eyes, slamming her dresser a bit louder than she meant to. "I’ve been thinkin’ about you all night."
"Don’t really care," she said. "I’m busy right now. I’m sure you can find something else to occupy the night."
"C’mon, love," he said, slowly standing, reminding Buffy of a jungle cat slowly tracking their prey. She remained where she was, but was hyper aware of him in that moment. The scent of smoke and leather clung to him and she knew if she kissed him now she’d taste the whiskey she smelled on his breath. "Give us a kiss."
"I said no," she said. "Dawn is downstairs and I have to go on patrol."
"After?" he asked.
She huffed her breath, pulling her fingers through her hair, wincing when she felt the sticky mustard. She looked up at him, wanting to be annoyed, but that familiar dark feeling of arousal and want was filling her. Ever since being brought back from the dead she knew there was something wrong with her. Something missing. He helped fill that void and it both scared her and excited her.
"Giles said something about increased attacks over at the high school. You could help me out."
"Then after?" he asked.
"You cease to be my problem," she said, sharply turning on her heel to head to the bathroom. "Dumb, British, annoying, pain in the ass, vampire!"
She slammed the door, making the items on the wall rattle, and he just chuckled. Reaching into his coat pockets he pulled out his smokes and brought one to his lips as he strolled to her still open window. He looked back at the bed and shot the stuffed pig a wink.
