- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [10/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [9/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [Master Post]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [1/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [2/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [3/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [4/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [5/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [6/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [7/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [8/11]
- Fic: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed [11/11] FINAL CHAPTER
Title: The Spuffy, the Witch, and the Utility Shed
Era: BTVS between s3 & s4
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Summary: When Buffy encounters Spike at her college orientation, the last thing she expects is to be hurtled with him into a demon dimension. Now they must battle together against hordes of unnatural creatures, talking beavers, and… is that a lion?
AU set between seasons 3 and 4. Don’t let the hints of plot fool you, this is mostly just an excuse for some smut. Well, smut and mayhem; it is Spuffy.
With deepest, most heartfelt apologies to C.S. Lewis for the mutilation of his characters and bits of his dialogue.
Warnings: NC-17 for violence and sex. (As of initial posting, 5/15, the smut is still Future Smut, but is on the way soon!) Lots and lots of beloved childhood character death. Sorry!
Thanks to the_moonmoth, who inspired this fic by sending me fic prompts and then egging me on as I got sillier and sillier, and then beta-reading at the very last minute. I am the luckiest ever.
Chapter 4: A Day with the Beavers
Spike followed the trail of ripped branches that the slayer had conveniently left, running at top speed, hoping that the stubby little legs of the dwarves would allow him to outpace them, and that they were stupid enough to lose his trail. Not that he harbored any expectations – more than a century of living life on the edge had cured him of expecting things to go smoothly, ever – but it would make for a nice change.
In any case, there were demons on his trail, and conveniently there was a specialist in the extermination of demons just a little way ahead – he could tell from the scent of fresh non-human blood that she’d already gotten a head start on the extermination, good on her – and while he knew he wasn’t precisely in Buffy’s good graces, he was at least a familiar face, a familiar face that had teamed up with her on several occasions to fight a mutual foe, and on top of that, he had an excellent bargaining chip.
So when he reached the clearing where Buffy was, for some inane reason, twirling a red umbrella over her head and squinting off into the distance, he pulled up just out of stake’s reach, shrugged out of his duster, and held it out invitingly.
“Here, Slayer,” he grinned, glancing nervously over his shoulder. “Have a coat.”
Buffy dropped the umbrella and shoved her arms into the sleeves, wrapping the leather close around her and shuddering in bliss before giving him a suspicious glare. “What did you do?” she hissed.
“Oh, that’s very nice!” Spike huffed. “Why is it always that I’ve done something? Why can’t it be that I’m an innocent victim?”
Buffy raised her eyebrows.
“Well, all right, I did something,” Spike admitted. “But it’s no more than what you do. Slaying of the demons and all that. The point is, we’re going to have to work together if we’re going to survive.”
Buffy frowned, looking off behind Spike. “God, what is that noise?”
“Perhaps we should find some high ground,” Spike said with another look behind him. “And, um, what weapons do you have?”
Buffy rolled her eyes. “A stake, and an umbrella. I didn’t exactly get to pack for this little vacation.”
Spike shifted to vamp-face. “That’ll have to do,” he muttered, turning to face the rampaging dwarf-horde, which – as expected – had not gotten lost after all. “Heads up, Slayer!”
The first of the dwarves spilled into the clearing, and the battle began.
Buffy was going to kill him. She was going to kill him. It wasn’t enough that she’d had to deal with creepy sexual-predator donkey-man – no, Spike had to go and find a gaggle of evil Munchkins and lead them right to her – and she didn’t know what Spike had done to piss them off, but it must have been a hell of a thing, because they were rabid.
She managed to stake a couple before they realized she was dangerous, but then her stake went flying, and the damn umbrella wasn’t sharp enough to do any serious damage, so she tossed it aside after a few practice swings. She managed to snatch up the donkey-demon’s red scarf and choke a third into unconsciousness, but the damn dwarves just kept coming, like cockroaches. Spike’s back was to hers, so at least she didn’t have to worry about them sneaking up on her as she punched and kicked and even swung one into a tree by his beard, but when they were done, if they survived, she was definitely going to kill Spike. Especially now that she had his coat.
It was a nice coat. Toasty and warm, and it swung flashily as she fought, making her feel like she was in the Matrix. Very nice indeed.
One of the rabid hobbits came at her with a knife, and she managed to catch his wrist and break it, snagging the knife in midair, and that made all the difference in the fight, because her arms were twice as long as the little creeps’, and after that it didn’t take long before she and Spike were the only ones left standing, small bearded corpses piled around their feet.
Spike turned to her with a grin. “That was brilliant!” he laughed.
Buffy punched him in the nose. “No!” she shouted. “That was not brilliant! That was the exact opposite of brilliant! It was…” Dark? Muddy? Dull? What was the opposite of brilliant? “It sucked!”
Spike rubbed his nose, still grinning. “Well, I had fun,” he shrugged.
Buffy was raising her hands to strangle him when she saw something moving among the trees, and she raised her gore-streaked knife instead. “Geez, Spike! What did you do to these demons, whine about your love life?”
Spike set his back to hers again, scanning the underbrush. “Oh, like you’re one to talk. Angel finally give you the heave-ho? I hear he’s gone off to the big city.”
There it was again, more movement. “I should’ve just let you pick up Harmony. She’d have annoyed you into dusting yourself before you even got around to biting her, and that slime demon would never have even noticed me. But noooooo, I had to save her moronic ass and kick yours across the quad…”
Spike cast her a narrow look. “What, that blonde was a friend of yours?”
“Not a friend. I hate her. She still doesn’t deserve to become your midnight snack.” There! Something had definitely dashed from tree to tree. Something unpleasant.
Spike raised his eyebrows. “Haven’t been in touch lately, have you?”
“Not since graduation.”
“Huh.” Spike smiled evilly. “Got some news for you then, about your little not-a-friend…”
Buffy huffed in frustration. “Just shut up, Spike. I don’t have time to catch up on gossip, what with all your newfound enemies trying to kill us.”
Spike looked like he was about to argue with that, but then a whiskered, furry face popped out from behind a tree, beady eyes glowing a malicious red. The fell beast lifted its paw, and pointed straight at Buffy with a single ragged claw. “Murderer!” it cried, glaring death at her. “You murdered him!”
“Me?” Buffy said, startled. “I didn’t murder… Oh.” She looked back at the body on the ground, the first body, the creepy perv-o goat, now half-buried under dead dwarves. “Oh.”
The furry creature let out an unearthly howl and charged at her, flecks of foam spattering about it.
It was squat and lumpish and covered in wet brown fur, and it smelled like Xander’s basement, and Buffy wondered as she fought it what the hell it was. A muskrat? An earless rabbit? It had buck teeth, sharp ones that it was slashing and biting with, and it looked vaguely rodent-like, but she didn’t think rabbits came without ears, and then it whacked her viciously with its tail, and she realized it was a freaking beaver, except the hugest beaver ever, slavering and snarling and muttering curses, and then she wondered what the hell Spike was doing while she fought the hell-beaver, because she was pretty sure this counted as one of the things they were working together to survive.
“Spike!” she shouted, slashing at the beaver-demon with her newly-acquired knife. “A little help?”
He moved into her peripheral vision, lighting up a cigarette. “Thought this was something you needed to handle alone,” he said offhandedly. “Seems like the beastie’s got a grudge.”
Buffy rolled her eyes, but not too much because the damn beaver was fast, clawing and biting while it muttered streams of angry nonsense – and how creepy was that, a talking beaver? Did everything in this stupid dimension talk? – and gave the creature another good slice. “Get your ass in the game, Spike!” she bit out.
He tossed the cigarette aside and launched in with a grin, kicking the beaver in the head, and that gave Buffy the opening she needed to slash at the thing’s throat. It let out a final choked gasp and fell to the ground.
“This is the crappiest dimension ever,” Buffy fumed, bending down to scrub her knife off in the snow.
Spike was looking down at the corpse of the demon-beaver with a puzzled frown on his face when she straightened. “Funny thing,” he said slowly. “Something about this world feels strangely familiar. Like I read about it somewhere…”
“You can read?” Buffy sniped.
Spike flashed his fangs at her. “’M a man of many talents, love.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and tucked the knife in her belt. “Whatever. Let’s find some shelter before nightfall.”
Buffy gathered up a few more knives from the dwarves’ bodies, tucking one in each boot and the others in the duster’s wide pockets – she really hadn’t enjoyed being without a weapon – and started off into the woods in what she thought had been the direction of the smudge of smoke, because nice as the duster was, she was pretty certain a toasty fire would be even better. Spike followed her, whistling cheerily. After a few minutes, the ground began to slope downwards, and the trees thinned, and they found themselves out in the open air under the shining sun – Buffy noticed that Spike lifted his face to the sunlight with an expression of bliss – looking down at a frozen river that ran along a narrow valley.
There was smoke, a comforting puff of it coming from a structure that spanned the width of the river, covered in icicles. The beaver-demon’s dam.
Spike whistled. “I’ll be damned.”
Buffy elbowed him, trying not to grin at the well-timed pun. “Shut up. It’s shelter, it’s available, and it seems to have a fireplace.”
They carefully descended down into the valley, and Buffy was about to knock on the door when it burst open from the inside and a flurry of fur and teeth and wicked red eyes came barreling out.
Buffy leapt back, barely dodging the assault. “Goddammit! It has a mate!” She slashed at it two handed with her knives.
“Allow me,” Spike laughed – he was having far too much fun, the jerk – and he snatched up the beaver from behind, sinking his fangs into the beast’s throat. It thrashed and twitched and snarled futilely in his grasp.
“EW!” Buffy shrieked, averting her eyes. “Gross, Spike!”
Spike dropped the blooded carcass to the ground, cracking his neck. “What, can’t blame a fellow for having a snack,” he said with a grin, licking his lips. “Not like you weren’t going to kill her just as dead.” He rolled his shoulders.
“Yes, but it’s different,” Buffy pouted, unwilling to admit that he was probably right. “Anyhow, how did you know it was edible?”
Spike shrugged. “It’s kind of a boutique blood back home. Tastes a bit like otter. A tad gamier.” He licked his lips thoughtfully. “Though this one tastes a bit like strawberry jam.”
Buffy sighed. How lame was her life, that she was forced to team up with Spike to fight demon beavers. But they were stuck here, until they figured out a way home – or someone else brought them home – and awful as he was, Spike was better than being alone. She supposed he could be useful if there were more nasty critters around, too.
She stomped forward and peered in the door of the little dam-house. “Ooh. Homey.” And there was a fire, with a comfy-looking rocking chair in front of it. The fireplace had some strange symbols painted on the stone, and there was a disturbing collection of rusty bladed implements hanging on the walls, but… Well. It was really freaking cold.
Buffy sat in the rocking chair, stretched her feet out to the fire, and sighed in relief.
Warm at last.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/555818.html