Title: Fairy Tale or Not
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Spike/Buffy, Joyce, cameos put in by Xander/Dawn and a surprise Het pairing at the end, also references PAST Angel/Buffy, PAST Spike/Drusilla, and past Willow/Tara
Rating: PG/K+
Summary: Maybe some aspects of fairy tales do exist in this all too often terrible world, after all.
Word Count: 4,588
Written For: Seasonal Spuffy Spring 2023
Warnings: Future (Post-Series) Fic
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
He slipped into her room as silently as the night breeze whispering in beneath her curtain. He had warned her countless times to never leave her window open or expose herself to the dark of the night and all its evils. Just because his particular breed of evil required an invitation did not mean that there were not scores of others who would enjoy dining on her innocence. Yet, in all fairness, the whole world had been warned who this precious child was, and what would befall them if they harmed even a single strand on her sweet, dark head.
“I see you’ve got the window open again, Nibblet,” he remarked, striding into her room. “What have I told you about that?”
“I’ll be fine, Uncle Spike. They won’t hurt me.”
“What makes you so sure of that, pet?” he asked, casting a long look at where she sat upright in her bed in her slip of a nightgown that would offer no protection to any possible cruelty, monster or otherwise. There were far too many monsters in this world, he thought, but he couldn’t stay by her side every night and day. He barely had any time with her like it was, but at least her father had finally given up trying to keep him away from her. He might never have children of his own, but he was every bit as protective of her as if she had been his own — and in truth, she was the closest he would ever come to having his own.
“Because of you and Auntie Buffy and Momma and Daddy too. And Aunt Willow. And besides all that, when I grow up, I’m going to beat the bad guys too.”
He chuckled at her enthusiasm. He wondered if any of the Scoobies had ever been so eager to beat the bad guy. Even Buffy had fought her calling at first, until she’d learned she couldn’t fight it. Slayers had a choice that, in truth, was not too far from the choices that many of them were given, once they realized what was truly in the dark. That choice was to kill or be killed, to survive or die because you would not fight. He’d never known it until Drusilla, but once he’d come to realize what was truly in the world all around them, he had not stopped fighting.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true, he reflected, being honest with himself if no one else as he moved soundlessly across the room, pulled back his adopted niece’s curtain, and looked out into the night. If anything was watching her, they would see him now, and all knew better than to cross him. They’d stopped coming at him and Buffy finally, after decades of fighting a never-ending war, and generally left those they knew as theirs alone. It was the only reason why the original Nibblet, Harris, and their kids had a chance at a normal life. The evil ones had finally learned they couldn’t be the top Slayer and her watchdog, as he’d often been accused of being. He knew another attack would come — they always did eventually –, but they’d be ready and stop it too. He’d never let anyone touch this child, nor would any of them.
Willow had given up trying to have kids too. Even being a Lesbian, she could have easily crafted a child in another woman’s belly, or even in her own, but that was not the life for warriors. Besides, the Witch’s heart wasn’t really in it, not after losing Tara. She, like Buffy and himself, had largely dedicated her entire life to the fight instead, a fight into which his beloved niece seemed only too eager to charge headfirst but that he’d walk willingly into the sun, Buffy or no, before he ever saw her partake. “You don’t want this life, Nibblet.” His whisper surprised even himself, and he dropped the curtain and moved away.
“You’ll see, Uncle Spike! There’s a kid who brought his father to school today. He was so excited to tell us about what his parents do, because they both fight in the military, and his father’s got all these awards and stuff. It was everything I could do not to spill the beans.” Spike arched a dark, imposing eyebrow at her, but she continued on, having adapted the known babbling trait of the Summers women. “I so wanted to tell him all about his parents aren’t the heroes he thinks he is because they’re fighting for a — for a co-co-corrupted — bad government! And all my aunts and uncle are what actually keep us all safe against bad guys they don’t even know about while they’re off fighting over oil and money and power and stupid, silly things like that!” She paused to take a deep breath and must have only then noticed the way he was staring at her as she inhaled, sweetly smiled, and hurriedly assured him, “But I didn’t! I didn’t say a word! I was good!”
“That’s very good, Nibblet,” he spoke softly with a single, short nod. “You know, we’ve talked about people won’t believe the stories.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know you say they’re not real, but I know they are! I’ve read Momma’s diary — ” He was going to have to talk to Dawnie about that, Spike thought. ” — and Dad’s weapons, and besides, don’t you know I remember when you guys were attacking that green-skinned guy with the pointy things coming out of him and there was this great gush of air and you grabbed me and told me to get over there?”
Spike sighed and dropped his head a little. “You have a very avid imagination, Nibblet!”
“No, I have a very good memory!” she exclaimed, crossing her arms determinedly over her little chest and sticking out her own chin. Her solid expresison reminded him so much of similar looks both her mother and her beloved aunt had worn over the years that Spike couldn’t help the lively chuckle that escaped him.
“Huh huh! I know better! You might fool the world, but you don’t fool me! Now about that night night story?”
Spike sighed again but could no more stop smiling at her than he could stop loving this wonderful but crazy family. “Fine. What’ll it be tonight, Nibblet? The girl who turned into a mouse because her determination was so great but couldn’t turn back to human? The boy who let the dog get the better of him and couldn’t change his world back? Or maybe the lovesick fool who fell for the dark Princess who gave him nothing but suffering for the longest time?”
“Nope!” Her little arms were still crossed in defiance, and she shook her head. “I want to hear about the other Princess, the better Princess, the golden Princess who saved the world every night! And still does! I know it’s Buffy, and I know you’re the dark Prince! Well, the good anyway!” Her face screwed up. “Not that other guy who ends up running off to the Land of the Angels with the other Princess, the one who didn’t like Princess Buffy at first!”
“Ah, the cheerleader,” Spike murmured.
“What?”
“Once upon a time,” he started blurting out before he could give too much credence to her belief that the stories he told her were real which, of course, they were, but it would never do for her to tell the outside world of what her family really did at night. Child services would surely come and steal her away, or worse, if it were ever known that she had been taught to believe in monsters, yet not such traditional characters that the humans thought to be real, like jolly, old Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. That thought brought a memory he’d not thought of in years. Spike’s lips twisted and his dark blue eyes sparkled as he almost laughed out loud again. Anyanka had truly hated bunnies, and that one Demon who had looked so much like the Easter Bunny had certainly set the poor, former Vengeance Demon off!
“Was it love at first sight?”
The child’s question caught him off guard, and Spike blinked rapidly as he was snapped out of his reminiscing. He had been talking the entire time, telling Nibblet Junior the story he knew by heart as he had, of course, lived it himself. After recovering from his initial surprise, he lifted his black lips again in an expression that hovered somewhere between a smirk and a whole-hearted grin. “You know it wasn’t, pet. Buffy — I mean, the Princess had a way about her, you see, that could make even the most depressed sod believe in happily ever afters, and other things that aren’t normally possible in this world.”
“Like flying pigs?” she asked, grinning, giggling, and sweeping her favorite stuffed animal through the air.
Spike grinned. He knew that pig well as Mister Gordo had served Buffy faithfully for decades before finally being passed down to the newest Nibblet in the family. “Like flying pigs,” he agreed, “and unicorns and other impossible things, like a bad man, for the first time in hundreds of years, the first time in his life, thinking he might be worth something, thinking he could do better than the monsters who had come before him, the monster he himself had been for years.”
“You couldn’t have been that bad!” Nibblet Junior giggled again.
“Oh, you’d be surprised. Don’t count an old man short.” He feigned as though she’d hurt his feelings, but quickly resumed the story before she could ask questions about the sorts of horrible things he’d actually done. Now feeling a little nervous, perhaps even a tad uncertain of himself, Spike started to reach for his cigarettes, but then thought better of it. Dawnie would have his ass if he smoked around the kid, just as she’d not allow her sister to wear any of her weapon jewelry around her, like her mʔ. He could hardly blame her for protecting her child from the dangers that could easily come from being around either, but he was still going to have to talk to her about keeping that diary locked and far away from Joyce’s reach.
Something caught in Spike’s throat, and he had to choke through the next few words of his story. He had not thought of his niece-in-law by her given name all night. He tried to make it a habit not to whenever he was babysitting. As much as it hurt to think of all the things he would never be able to give with this child, or even the fact that he would never have a little girl like her of his own, it hurt more still to remember the kind woman for whom she had been named, and who had been lost to them years ago. The original Joyce Summers had been the kindest soul he had ever known, even looking pass his wickedness when her daughter still had not. He owed that woman a debt he could never repay, and would never have been able to repay even if she had lived to a ripe, old age as she should’ve. Continuing to take care of her family in her stead was only a small tribute he could pay, and it didn’t really count, because he would have cared for them otherwise. Even if Buffy had never loved him, he could never stop caring for Dawn, and this kid was as much a part of her as the night, whether he wanted it to be or not, was of him.
“So did they fall in love after defeating the dragon together?”
“No,” he said, once more recovering from the surprise she wrought in him. “Don’t you remember, Nibblet? The Prince dies.”
“You mean you died.” She tilted her head to one side, her long, brown hair falling behind her like a waving curtain. “Uncle Spike, if you can come back from death, why can’t other people?”
“This is a story, Nibblet,” he said, pulling out a cigarette and fingering its comforting length. “Not reality.”
“Yes, it is.” She jutted out her chin again. “It’s the story of how you and Aunt Buffy met and fell in love.” She made a face. “I’m glad she didn’t end up with that other Prince.”
“I am too, pet.” Joyce started to toss off her covers, and Spike rose immediately to his feet. “Now, now, you’re not getting out of bed.”
“But I wanna hug you!”
“Then I’ll come to you.” He crossed the floor, caught her up in his arms, and gave her and Mister Gordo both a tight squeeze before setting her back down and beginning to immediately tuck her covers back around her. She yawned, and he grinned. He didn’t have very many more questions to answer this night!
Yet she was a stubborn, little thing, like all the Summers before her, he was sure. Stifling another yawn, she peered up at him through eyes that were slid halfway shut. “But how come you can come back from death? How come others can’t? Jasmine’s grandmother just died last week, and she’s missing her so bad.”
Spike recognized the name of her classmate, but he had no answers he could give her, not yet anyway. There was a reason why every monster in the stories he told her became dragons or Imps or Goblins or some other fairy tale creature that did not exist in the way she would think of it. She was far too young to know the truth of what was out there, and sometimes he wished that these now-traditional bedtime stories had never began. That wasn’t his fault, thought, he quickly assured himself. Xander had started it after all, the first time he’d been left to care for her alone! Joyce Harris had been hearing the adventures of the Scooby Gang, and knowing darn well there was no bloody Scooby Doo involved, since before she’d been out of diapers. They had been her very first bedtime stories, long before her parents, or any of them had realized the possible danger it might present as she grew older and smarter.
And she was a wise one too, looking up at him now through big, expectant eyes that had just the right amount of plea to them. He could scarcely deny that look, not from her, or from her mother, and especially not from her aunt. But he knew he had to. Of all the truths for which his niece-in-law was not ready, Vampirism, and all that came with it, surely topped that list. It would also make it harder for him to deny all the horrendous things he had done over his centuries, and he could not stand the idea of how she would look at him when she finally discovered that ugly reality. He had little hope she’d never come across it. She was far too inquisitive and could read people far, far too well. What with Xander, the Zeppo who saw more than any other plain human had a right to, and the living Key, Dawnie, as her parents, it was a wonder she didn’t already read right through him any time he tried to cover anything up before her brilliant eyes.
“That doesn’t matter,” he said as her mouth opened to ask him again. He touched a finger to her nose, but it didn’t stop her from moving her jaw to voice the question yet again. Once more, he attempted to cut her off. “Remember this is a fairy tale.”
“No, it isn’t!”
“Yeah, it is! Princesses and Knights haven’t existed for hundreds of thousands of years!”
“Yes, they do! They do in Britain and other islands too!”
Spike bit his bottom lip. The girl was already too bloody intelligent for her own good! They weren’t going to be able to keep —
“Hey, there’s my munchkin!” Spike emitted an audible sigh of relief when Xander stuck his head in the room. After all these years as a Vampire, he still didn’t breath, but sighing was a very mortal habit he’d picked up from spending so much time with humans. Sometimes he wished he’d never stopped thinking of them as Happy Meals with legs, but then, if he had, so much like this girl in front of him, would have never entered into his dark and lonely life. And it had been lonely. Even with Dru, Angelus, and Darla, he’d still been lonely at times. Nothing had ever quite fit until Buffy.
“Hey, Dawn!” Xander called over his shoulder. “We’re in time to tell her good night!”
Spike bolted up off of the Nibblet’s bed and turned to face Xander, eager to leave before that dreadful question concerning death could be posed yet again, but Joyce called him back to her. “Uncle Spike?”
He grimaced, a look that he knew Harris immediately caught. He turned back to her, quickly bent down, and kissed the top of her head. “Good night, little bit,” he spoke fondly, hoping she’d not ask him again but dreading the next words coming out of her mouth. It was funny, but he didn’t think he’d ever dreaded the attack of an enemy the way he was now dreading that particular question being asked in front of her parents. They’d likely not let him sit for them again, or even let him anywhere near their kid again —
“Fairy tale or not,” little Joyce said, beaming up at him, “I’m glad you won. I mean,” she glanced at her father and her mother, who was now entering the room behind him, “I’m glad Princess ‘Lizabeth chose William the Brave.”
“William the Brave, huh?” Xander asked, piquing an eyebrow at him.
“Hey, you started it, Harris, and you’re her da’.”
“I know I am — “
“Hush, both of you,” Dawn cut through the beginnings of what she knew very well could easily explode into an argument between the two of them. “I’m glad he did too,” she commented, knowing those simple words would end anything else her husband might have been about to say, most likely about Spike either not being brave or about that not being his actual name. But Spike had been brave. He had stood far too often alone in taking care of her during her sister’s and mother’s absence, alone in a world where the good guys feared and didn’t trust him because he had been evil for so long and was still a Vampire and where the bad guys all wanted him dead, wanted her dead, and either abhorred or, at the very least, teased him for having gone what they considered soft. It had taken her sister for Spike to actually find the person he’d always been meant to be, and just like when he had cared for her all those years before, there was no man Dawn would rather have her child be protected by, no one with whom she would ever trust Joyce’s safety more, especially after having read her mother’s journal, including her own sister. Buffy might be the greatest hero int he world, but Dawn knew very well the dangers that came from being such.
“Good night, Spike. Thank you.” Her eyes touched gratefully on him, warming him, before she moved on to her daughter’s bedside.
Spike tucked his head. “‘Night, Nibblets.” He slid pass Harris, who stood, caught by his wife’s simple, pleasant words. Their eyes met for a moment. Spike paused, halfway through the door, and looked back at the boy who had annoyed the heck out of him over the last several decades, the boy who had grown into a man who had never, at least not for very long, let down the Summers women. “You’ve done well with them, Zeppo,” he said with a honoring nod and then walked out into the hallway.
He was still shutting the door behind him when he heard Joyce thrill, “Zeppo?!” It was funny how she had such difficulty pronouncing some words, and yet took to others she’d never heard before straight away. Dawn burst into giggles. Spike could easily imagine the expression that most likely clouded Harris’ face, and smiled to himself, containing his own laughter with the expert ease that had come from so many years of dealing with Buffy’s cherished friends, as he moved on through their little home. His Nibblet had done well for herself, and he couldn’t resist the swell of pride he felt in his chest as he moved through her things, noting several with fond memories. Both those annoying kids had become good people, honorable and dedicated to the very best things in their short lives.
He could hear Harris beginning to fume, Joyce having no doubt been finished laying to bed, as he moved down their steps and onto the cool grass. The blades were still damp with the evening dew, and for a moment, as he stopped to light his cigarette at long last, it occurred to Spike that, except for the British bloke standing on their tiny lawn in a heavy, black leather duster, their quaint, little home looked like any other home on the block.
Then Buffy stepped from behind a tree, and everything felt right in his world once more. He smiled at her from around his cigarette and fell into a rhythm, walking beside her, that had become as natural as — well, he’d almost say breathing, but again, that was one mortal thing he still didn’t do. But it was as natural as her breathing, or as her beautiful heart beating powerfully in her chest, both of which sounded like music to him on the night breeze.
“Thank you for sitting for them. They haven’t had a date out in a long while now.”
He didn’t mention that they didn’t get nights out alone, that they never really had. That didn’t matter; their lives had never been meant to be like that. After all, it had taken him over two hundred years to find the one woman who had been made to complete him. “You know you don’t have to thank me for that,” he murmured instead, sliding his lighter back into his pocket and reaching out for her hand. “I enjoy it. She would’ve liked to have been visited by her auntie too.”
“I had more important things to do — “
“Yeah, I know. You usually do.” He meant no judgement. He knew she had no choice but to live a warrior’s life. Even with all the other Slayers called, there were still, and would always be, threats that only she could stop. Threats that would otherwise end or, worse yet, control not only little Joyce’s life but all the others he would have once, in what almost felt like another lifetime, call Happy Meals.
“Like saving the world,” she muttered in a tone that meant she was judging herself, if not making herself think he was judging her. Nonetheless, she reached her hand out, took his, and threaded their fingers together.
“You have no choice, pet.”
“There are many choices in this world.”
“Yeah. And you choose to do what you need to protect your family in a way that no other woman can.”
“There are other Slayers.”
“There’s only one you, luv. You’ll always be the best.”
“Will I?”
He squeezed her hand. “Yeah. I’m certain of it.”
“How certain are you?”
He turned suddenly and drew her close to him. Now holding both her hands, he confessed, “As cheesy as it is, I’m as certain you’re the best one to protect this world as I am certain that you’re the one I was always waiting for, the only one who could have made this old, nasty boy into a real man, the one who turned not just one Vampire but two into — not heroes. I won’t call us heroes. We’ve both done far too many wicked deeds to ever be that good. But you changed us, Buffy. You changed everything for us. You changed the whole, bloody world! Only you could’ve done so many of the things you’ve done! There’s a reason your soul called to us both, and a reason why you were able to break traditions that caused so many Slayers, and others too, to die over the centuries. There’s a reason your little class all those years ago gave you that golden parasol I know you still have, and a reason why your family still trusts and believes in you even when they don’t see you for months. There’s a reason your presence in my life changed everything for me, something to believe in, something to work towards, something to hope for, some one to believe in and hope for.”
She was beaming, but blushing as well. “Spike, shut up. I already love you. I chose you long ago. You know that.”
“I know, but I’ll never stop being thankful for it, or for you.”
“Just shut up and kiss me.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“There you go with that cheesiness again — “
He smiled, letting his fangs show in the moonlight, and she did not refrain or pull away or not look at him. Instead she closed what distance remained between them, and when he kissed her, she let the tips of his fangs gently graze her lips. She had chosen him. She had accepted him. She loved him. And that, for Spike, really did make all the difference in the world. It really did make an old, nasty Demon believe in such things as true love and happily ever after endings actually being far more than just fairy tales. She had made his every good dream come true.
“I’m proud of them,” a voice unheard by all mortals said.
The figure standing beside the mother longed for the spectacles he had not needed now in many years. Cleaning them had always been a very useful distraction, after all, from such tender and emotional matters.
“Oh, stop looking like that, Mister Giles!” Joyce exclaimed, teasingly slapping a hand at his shoulder. “I know you are too!”
“Quite.” His hand dropped to hers, and their fingers threaded together in the silver moonlight. “Although I thought we had settled that you would call me Rupert from now on, Joyce?”
She smiled, a teasing light in her eyes. “Old habits,” she remarked.
“Can sometimes mark new beginnings,” he said, and drew her close and kissed her. The kids had done well for themselves, but life was far from over. Young Joyce had many questions about death. Having seen her grandmother two nights ago, that certainly was not a surprise, but it was no longer their place to teach or otherwise guide. Their time was over, Spike and Buffy’s adventure was still continuing, and little Joyce’s was only now beginning. Who was it, he thought, trying to remember through all his many years of literature and the pursuit of knowledge, who had said that life was the grandest adventure of them all? Whoever the chap had been, Giles thought, pulling Joyce closer to his side and leading them to walk away from the Summers-Harris household in the opposite direction from whence Spike and Buffy had gone, he had been right. Life, with all its ups and downs, all its tragedies and loves, truly was the grandest adventure of all.
The End
Originally posted at: https://seasonal-spuffy.dreamwidth.org/982855.html
