Fic: Dead Unlike Me PG-13, Buffy/Spike
OK, normally I don't do challenges because I suck at them, but this one, um, spoke to me. Ghod only knows what it was saying, though...
Dead Unlike Me
By Barb C
Characters/Pairing: Buffy/Spike
Rating: PG-13
Notes: This is set in the Barbverse, where... well, see below.
Mortflex stood at the peak of his fortress and cackled; lightning splitting the sky as he raised his twisted yew staff above his head. He thought of one name and bent all of his considerable will on it, calling its owner to him.
SPIKE.
Six hours later...
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!
The git, whoever he was, was still pounding on the front door of 1630 Revello Drive when Spike staggered groggily downstairs. The sun was at the rear of the house at this time of the morning, but even if it hadn't been, after listening to fifteen bloody minutes of knuckle Macarena, Spike felt ready to endure any degree of flambeing so long as he could be assured of visiting a few broken bones on the source of the noise.
He flung the door open. "What?"
Their visitor did not appear fazed by the sight of an unshaven, bleary-eyed vampire resplendent in a pair of low-slung black silk pajama bottoms and nothing else. Possibly because he (it?) looked like he'd walked off the set of a Harry Potter movie himself. "Spike," it intoned, raising one shriveled, boney arm and leveling an accusing finger.
"Present and accounted for," Spike growled, and slammed the door shut. Immediately the banging resumed, at deafening volume.
Buffy shambled downstairs, tying up her robe. "'Seighterclocknmorning. Wossermatter?"
"Door-to-door salesman." Spike wrenched the door open again, morphing into game face. "Listen, you dessicated prat - "
"SPIKE," the sepulchral voice rang out again. "I, Mortiflex, summoned you! Why have you failed to appear before me?"
Squinting into the morning light, Buffy shoved around Spike's shoulder. "Look, Mr. Voldemort, or whoever you are, Bloody Vengeance's business hours are from two P.M to ten P.M. I know it says two A.M. on the business cards, but that was totally the printer's fault. And normally, me? All slave-to-duty-ish, but we were up all night fighting the risen dead. So if you'll just go away and come to our Restfield office this afternoon - "
Lightning crackled around Mortiflex's staff as he raised it and pointed in the direction of the ebon pinnacle looming ominously on the horizon. "Enough of this babble! I am Mortiflex, and the dead are mine to command! Vampire, accompany me to my tower at once!"
Thunder crashed, the sky grew dark, and eerie lights played about the summit of the distant tower. Spike rubbed his chin, exchanged a look with Buffy. "Ah. I see your problem here, mate. I'm not dead."
Mortiflex blinked. One eye popped out of its socked and dangled against his withered cheek. With an exclamation of annoyance, he popped it back in. "Not dead?"
"Was for quite a long time," Spike replied genially. "Just went off it a few months back. Funny coincidence you showing up just now, innit? Me dead for a hundred and twenty years and change, and you just missing it. Now bugger off."
"But - but - " Mortiflex protested, pointing at Spike's ridged brow. "You're a vampire!"
"It's complicated," said Buffy. "And I'm not incredibly quick on the uptake at this hour of the morning, but speaking of incredible coincidences, some kind of robed mummy guy showing up on our front porch the night after a zombie attack? Might not actually be one."
"I am a lich, not a mummy, you ignorant - "
Buffy rolled her eyes and kicked the foot of Mortiflex's staff out from under him. Mortiflex lurched forward, off-balance. Spike's fist smashed into his face, and the lich windmilled backwards. Undamaged, he clawed for balance, blackened lips twisting upon the first words of a spell. The creaking bellows of of his lungs expanded, and...
Buffy snatched the staff from his skeletal grasp, flipped it end over end, and drove the narrow foot-end right through the right side of Mortiflex's ribcage. Spike surged forward and kicked the lich off, down the front steps and out onto the lawn. Buffy pounced after him, ramming the staff through the left-hand side.
"Fools!" bellowed Mortiflex, as the spell-summoned clouds overhead began to break up, and Spike darted back to the safety of the shaded porch. "Stake me, will you? Do you think I have the weaknesses of the lesser undead? Do you th... thffff...hffff!"
Buffy stepped back, panting, as Mortiflex tried in vain to keep enough air in his punctured lungs to speak with. "Thought so. Kinda puts a damper on the bibbity bobbity booage, doesn't it?" She raised the staff overhead in both hands, and brought it down across her knee with an ear-splitting CRACK!
A blue corona of lighting exploded outwards, knocking all three of them to the ground. In the distance, the marble spire with its battlements of crenellated bone shuddered, vast slabs of stone flaking from its sides and falling to sink into the putrid swamp at its base. A rumble, a groan, and the entire edifice sank away, back to the otherworldly mists which had spawned it.
Mortiflex stretched one piteous hand towards his vanished stronghold. "Hhhhhhfffff."
*******
"I almost felt sorry for him," said Buffy, as they watched the dejected necromancer shuffling off down Revello Drive. "If he weren't, you know, the embodiment of all evil and stuff. All these schemes for world domination and he picks the one vampire in the world he can't control. But he perked up a bit after you talked to him - what did you tell him?"
Spike grinned. "Just something in the way of a little Undead Anonymous pep-talk, pet. "
*******
Well out of sight of the house on Revello Drive, Mortiflex sat down on a bus bench and pulled from his voluminous robes the small rectangle of crisp white paper Spike had slipped him. The address, Spike had assured him, of an exceptionally gullible vampire who would be completely amenable to following Mortiflex's commands.
Angel Investigations
We Help The Hopeless
Mortiflex tucked the card back into his pocket, pulled out a bus schedule, and began to look up the Express route to L.A.
Things were looking up again.
The End
Dead Unlike Me
By Barb C
Characters/Pairing: Buffy/Spike
Rating: PG-13
Notes: This is set in the Barbverse, where... well, see below.
Mortflex stood at the peak of his fortress and cackled; lightning splitting the sky as he raised his twisted yew staff above his head. He thought of one name and bent all of his considerable will on it, calling its owner to him.
SPIKE.
Six hours later...
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!
The git, whoever he was, was still pounding on the front door of 1630 Revello Drive when Spike staggered groggily downstairs. The sun was at the rear of the house at this time of the morning, but even if it hadn't been, after listening to fifteen bloody minutes of knuckle Macarena, Spike felt ready to endure any degree of flambeing so long as he could be assured of visiting a few broken bones on the source of the noise.
He flung the door open. "What?"
Their visitor did not appear fazed by the sight of an unshaven, bleary-eyed vampire resplendent in a pair of low-slung black silk pajama bottoms and nothing else. Possibly because he (it?) looked like he'd walked off the set of a Harry Potter movie himself. "Spike," it intoned, raising one shriveled, boney arm and leveling an accusing finger.
"Present and accounted for," Spike growled, and slammed the door shut. Immediately the banging resumed, at deafening volume.
Buffy shambled downstairs, tying up her robe. "'Seighterclocknmorning. Wossermatter?"
"Door-to-door salesman." Spike wrenched the door open again, morphing into game face. "Listen, you dessicated prat - "
"SPIKE," the sepulchral voice rang out again. "I, Mortiflex, summoned you! Why have you failed to appear before me?"
Squinting into the morning light, Buffy shoved around Spike's shoulder. "Look, Mr. Voldemort, or whoever you are, Bloody Vengeance's business hours are from two P.M to ten P.M. I know it says two A.M. on the business cards, but that was totally the printer's fault. And normally, me? All slave-to-duty-ish, but we were up all night fighting the risen dead. So if you'll just go away and come to our Restfield office this afternoon - "
Lightning crackled around Mortiflex's staff as he raised it and pointed in the direction of the ebon pinnacle looming ominously on the horizon. "Enough of this babble! I am Mortiflex, and the dead are mine to command! Vampire, accompany me to my tower at once!"
Thunder crashed, the sky grew dark, and eerie lights played about the summit of the distant tower. Spike rubbed his chin, exchanged a look with Buffy. "Ah. I see your problem here, mate. I'm not dead."
Mortiflex blinked. One eye popped out of its socked and dangled against his withered cheek. With an exclamation of annoyance, he popped it back in. "Not dead?"
"Was for quite a long time," Spike replied genially. "Just went off it a few months back. Funny coincidence you showing up just now, innit? Me dead for a hundred and twenty years and change, and you just missing it. Now bugger off."
"But - but - " Mortiflex protested, pointing at Spike's ridged brow. "You're a vampire!"
"It's complicated," said Buffy. "And I'm not incredibly quick on the uptake at this hour of the morning, but speaking of incredible coincidences, some kind of robed mummy guy showing up on our front porch the night after a zombie attack? Might not actually be one."
"I am a lich, not a mummy, you ignorant - "
Buffy rolled her eyes and kicked the foot of Mortiflex's staff out from under him. Mortiflex lurched forward, off-balance. Spike's fist smashed into his face, and the lich windmilled backwards. Undamaged, he clawed for balance, blackened lips twisting upon the first words of a spell. The creaking bellows of of his lungs expanded, and...
Buffy snatched the staff from his skeletal grasp, flipped it end over end, and drove the narrow foot-end right through the right side of Mortiflex's ribcage. Spike surged forward and kicked the lich off, down the front steps and out onto the lawn. Buffy pounced after him, ramming the staff through the left-hand side.
"Fools!" bellowed Mortiflex, as the spell-summoned clouds overhead began to break up, and Spike darted back to the safety of the shaded porch. "Stake me, will you? Do you think I have the weaknesses of the lesser undead? Do you th... thffff...hffff!"
Buffy stepped back, panting, as Mortiflex tried in vain to keep enough air in his punctured lungs to speak with. "Thought so. Kinda puts a damper on the bibbity bobbity booage, doesn't it?" She raised the staff overhead in both hands, and brought it down across her knee with an ear-splitting CRACK!
A blue corona of lighting exploded outwards, knocking all three of them to the ground. In the distance, the marble spire with its battlements of crenellated bone shuddered, vast slabs of stone flaking from its sides and falling to sink into the putrid swamp at its base. A rumble, a groan, and the entire edifice sank away, back to the otherworldly mists which had spawned it.
Mortiflex stretched one piteous hand towards his vanished stronghold. "Hhhhhhfffff."
*******
"I almost felt sorry for him," said Buffy, as they watched the dejected necromancer shuffling off down Revello Drive. "If he weren't, you know, the embodiment of all evil and stuff. All these schemes for world domination and he picks the one vampire in the world he can't control. But he perked up a bit after you talked to him - what did you tell him?"
Spike grinned. "Just something in the way of a little Undead Anonymous pep-talk, pet. "
*******
Well out of sight of the house on Revello Drive, Mortiflex sat down on a bus bench and pulled from his voluminous robes the small rectangle of crisp white paper Spike had slipped him. The address, Spike had assured him, of an exceptionally gullible vampire who would be completely amenable to following Mortiflex's commands.
Angel Investigations
We Help The Hopeless
Mortiflex tucked the card back into his pocket, pulled out a bus schedule, and began to look up the Express route to L.A.
Things were looking up again.
The End