Where Pies Go When They Die 5/9

This entry is part 5 of 10 in the series Where Pies Go When They Die
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Where Pies Go When They Die 5/9

Chapter Five: Damn Good Food!

Author: ghostyouknow27
Rating: R. Warnings for cartoon violence, bloody violence and naughty words.
Summary: Hell, as it turns out, serves a great cherry pie.
Words: ~ 17,500 for the story
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Joss Whedon and Eric Kripke. Sadly, I can’t blame the “plot” on “anyone” “else.”
A/N: This is crack. Pure crack. Crack with pie. Please, please don’t think about it too hard. YOU WILL HURT YOURSELF. Thanks (I think) to diamondtook862  and ever_neutral  for all of their help and encouragement. This was written faster than I’ve written anything ever. Any remaining mistakes are from my post-beta panicked fiddling.

Chapter Five: Damn Good Food!

At noon, Buffy carried a slice of cherry pie and two cups of coffee to Spike’s booth. She placed the pie and one mug in front of Spike, then slid into the booth across from him.

She cupped her coffee between her hands.

There was no point trying to talk to Spike. She had already used up her birthday candle talking to Thursday, and she wouldn’t be able to say any of the right things. So, Buffy offered up a weak smile and sipped her coffee. It tasted hot and bitter. She wished, not for the first time, that she could get cream and sugar. But apparently, this Heaven had gone all wrong, so creature comforts were out of the question.

That was if Buffy believed Thursday. Which, she didn’t. This place sucked. Suckage equaled Hell. Plus, Thursday’s angel impression wasn’t all that convincing. The guy didn’t even have wings! He looked like the kind of guy who sold ad space for A.M. radio. Buffy couldn’t picture Thursday running around with a bow and heart-shaped arrows, much less a flaming sword.

Spike fiddled with his pie. “You’re awful quiet today, love.”

Buffy shrugged and swallowed some more coffee. Yuck. There was a reason people didn’t buy bubble gum-flavored coffee creamer. What kind of Heaven went around forcing people to chew gum all of the time?

Oh, yeah. The Hell kind.

Spike’s fingers drummed against the table. He still hadn’t started in on his pie, and it had been – what? A minute and a half? That had to be a record.

“Notice it’s not my birthday today.”

He had to be freaking kidding. Buffy was stuck in Hell. She was stuck in Hell, because she’d been stupid enough to try and save Spike’s stupid ass. And because Spike was the stupidest stupid ass that ever was, he didn’t think he needed saving. The idiot hadn’t even figured out that he was in Hell!

Watching Buffy serve food for all eternity was perfectly fine in his book. It was better than fine. It was bliss! Which was totally sexist, now that Buffy thought about it. But the day she didn’t put a freaking birthday candle on his pie? That was the day Spike started complaining?

Buffy made an impatient noise in the back of her throat. At least Hell’s translators couldn’t twist non-words into anecdotes about Mort and the kids.

Spike rotated his plate, as if trying to figure the best angle of attack. “You still mad at me about that Heaven thing?”

Whatever gave Spike that idea?

“I told you, Buffy. I’m not bloody brain dead. I know this place isn’t perfect.” Spike hunched his shoulders. “But you have to admit – as far as afterlives go, I deserve a hell of a lot worse. No St. Andrew’s crosses. No brodequins. I haven’t so much as been tied to a sodding Catherine wheel!”

As in, there wasn’t enough torture in this Hell? That was a matter of perspective – Spike would be singing a totally different tune if he were the one in polyester.

Spike picked up his fork and started crushing the left edge of his pie slice. Red filling welled up between the tines. “You’re really not going to say anything?”

Buffy swallowed some more coffee.

Spike’s voice turned bitter. Almost as bitter as the coffee. “Figures I’d mess up. Say the wrong thing. I always do. What was it this time? I’m not acting miserable enough for you?” He mashed the tip of his pie splice into red, oozy roadkill. “Bloody hell! You’re not even really here, and I still manage to piss you off!”


Buffy lurched to her feet and leaned forward, slamming her mug on the table. “You don’t think I’m real!?  What is wrong with you! Also, if your fantasy version of me just serves you pie all day, we’re going to have a talk, Mister.”

Of course, Spike didn’t hear any of that. Just a load of crap about unemployment checks and Mort’s temper.

Spike smiled, wistful. “It’s nice to see you all fired up.”

It was nice to see her mad? Well, if Spike wanted mad, Buffy would show him mad.

Buffy picked up her coffee and poured it over Spike’s plate.

There wasn’t enough coffee left in her cup to overflow into Spike’s lap. Though, come to think of it, third degree crotch-burns would do a lot to kill Spike’s ‘We’re in Heaven” theory. Buffy would have to keep that in mind for tomorrow.

As it was, she turned Spike’s cherry pie into a soggy mess.

“Hey! My pie!”

“You do pie know this pie attacks me every pie day?”

“I guess this means you’re talking to me again?” Spike pouted. “Did you have to ruin the pie?”

“Yes! I really pie did! Because these pies are unhealthy, and you eat pie too many of them!”

Spike scowled. “I think you’re just pissed off about having to fight them every day.”

“You – you know about that!?”

Was the cherry pie right? Did Spike just sit back and watch the floor show of Buffy getting stabbed every day?

This was the same guy who thought he was in Heaven just because she spoke to him. That kinda implied that he cared about her. Was Buffy getting stabbed part of Spike’s Heaven?

Buffy knew that vampires – even souled, Champion, self-sacrifice-y vampires who loved her – were bound to be super freaks at heart. But could Spike really want to watch an evil pie shove glass into Buffy’s calf? What kind of place did he think Heaven was, exactly?

“‘Course I do! Seeing you in action? It’s the closest thing I get to a good fight. You’re bloody poetry in motion.” Spike had that look in his eye – the one he got whenever he had wads of cherry pie stuffed in both cheeks.

“What the pie kind of poetry do you read?” Buffy sat back down, sliding as low into the booth as she could go without ducking under the table. “You do realize I get stabbed in the leg every pie-ing day?”

“Yeah. I hate seeing that.” Spike’s eyes lit up. “But you’re always cured by morning. You can’t know how bloody wonderful it is, seeing you hale and hearty the next day. You getting hurt is like a bad dream, yeah? It never lasts.”

So, Spike sat helpless while Buffy bled all over the floor every day, and he still thought this was Heaven? Because she got better?

That…  well, it would be kinda touching, except for the burning, fiery pain and her blood gushing all over the floor. Spike could watch that every day and still think this was Heaven? He’d gone insane! Insaner!

No matter what happened in Hell, Spike was determined to see it as a positive. How could Buffy fight that? She knew that Spike had an uncanny ability to cling to delusion. How else could he have pursued her for so long prior to his soul? He’d convinced himself that he had a chance with her, that she loved him. All of her denials and objections were removed by Spike’s I-don’t-want-to-hear-it filter, and he hadn’t clued in until his own actions shocked him into reality.

But that was because Spike was stupid and stubborn, not because he was an uncompromising, unrelenting optimist. He was more realistic than that. Wasn’t he?

What was Buffy going to do? If Buffy didn’t return with Spike sooner rather than later, Willow would pull her out of Hell whether she had convinced Spike to leave or not. What would happen to him, then? Would he finally wake up? Would he sit out the rest of eternity, tortured by the knowledge that he had chosen Hell over Buffy?

“God-pie-it, Spike. You know I can’t wait for you forever, don’t you?”

Spike eyed her hand – the one with the wedding band – and looked away. “I know, love. But it’s better that I stay here. At least this way, I’m out of it. I told you I wanted to rest, didn’t I? Well, I’m resting, Buffy. I’m at peace. It’s best you leave me be.”

What the pie!

Buffy heard glass shatter. For once, Buffy was glad to hear the sound.

“This conversation isn’t over.” Buffy told Spike. She didn’t wait for his response.

She just slayed the shit out of some pie.



Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/427654.html

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