(no subject)
Title: Dried Apples and Ammo
Author: slashmarks
Word Count: 725
Pairing: Buffy/Faith
Rating: G
Summary: Buffy returns from a supply trip.
Prompt: Written for warpedminded, who wanted Buffy/Faith with Human AU, Dark - scary - cold - alone atmosphere, and protecting each other, without non-con or character death, with an apocalypse caused by disease, Croaton from Supernatural or zombies.
Notes: I kind of left the apocalypse's cause open ended, but in my mind it was a plain old disease and most of the surviors went a bit crazy on the surviving thing.
Buffy hurried along the dark streets, huddling lightly in the football jacket she stole off her boyfriend in Hemery six months, six centuries ago.
She heard a creak and her hand went instinctively to the machete hanging off her belt as she wheeled to see - a signpost creaking in the wind.
Nothing more.
She took deep breaths, but started walking again immediately. The backpack hanging off her shoulders was heavy, loaded with the supplies that were the only reason she ventured out, and the streets weren't safe.
Besides. Faith needed her.
The injured girl had both of their shotguns and all of their remaining ammo, which was why Buffy was roaming the streets of after-the-end New York City, the Big Apple eaten down to the core, all on her lonesome with only a wicked machete and two kitchen knives to defend herself with. It was good enough but not great and she was only two blocks away from home sweet home, so it would really suck to die then.
She made it down the last block, stood in front of the bank and wished that she could just walk in, but no. Never that simple. She kept walking to two doors down, entered a grocery store. It had been long since cleaned out of anything preservable and strewn with rotting fruit and worse things.
She opened the door to the employees only section and heard pattered footsteps. Butthead whined for attention, rubbing his face against Buffy's leg.
She stroked the pittbull's head, then greeted Pussy, a German shepherd, likewise. The dogs didn't bark - Faith spent four months training them, who knew a Boston street rat'd be good with dogs, and they finally seemed to have gotten it - but followed her all the way through the tunnel they'd made through two buildings, whining at the door into the bank proper when Buffy shut it behind her.
She walked to the vault, entered and stared down the barrels of two shotguns. “Hey, Faith,” Buffy said casually. She walked further in, put down the bag carefully and then removed her knives before dropping onto the edge of their mattress.
Faith grinned weakly. “Hey, B. Watcha bring me?”
“Well.” Buffy pulled the backpack over. “I have... lots of cans...” she began stacking them at the wall. “Chicken soup... chile... peaches.. more chile... clam chowder... peas... yet more chile...”
“And, just a guess, yet more chile?”
“I found a grocery store that was blocked by debris. The soup section was pretty much intact, just hard to get to.” Buffy finished stacking the cans. “I also brought you some dried apples.” She tossed the package at Faith.
The package was ripped open and two stuffed into the other's mouth. “These always remind me of Williamsburgh.”
“You? Williamsburgh?”
“Class field trip.” Faith waved a hand. “All expenses paid. It got me out of the way of Mom and her boyfriend.”
“Right.” Buffy dug around more. “A couple of MREs, and your favorite - weapons.”
“Ooo, Santa.” Faith ate another dried apple slice.
“Come sit in my lap, little girl,” Buffy deadpanned.
“Ew. Weapons?”
Buffy carefully removed a handgun in its shoulder holster first, putting it down on the mattress. Then she pulled out two new switchblades and finally upended the bag to make a small heap of shotgun ammo.
“Ooo, weapons. Good haul,” Faith remarked.
“Yeah.” Buffy glanced at Faith's sprained knee. “Better when you can come with, though. I found a new Army Surplus place, the shelves were pretty picked over but they used a great steal door on the back, I had to pick the lock for real.”
“Thank god most of the crazies weren't crazy before.” Faith offered the bag to Buffy. “You want some?
She sighed and pulled a handful to start eating the sticky fruit. It was a rare treat.
Buffy glanced around their room. Mattress, stacked supplies against the wall. A few posters hung up on the walls, some hand drawn awkwardly. They'd covered the bare walls in grafitti, too. This was the rest of their life.
It would be nice to think it'd be over someday, but it wasn't the disease they were hiding from down here. It was the other survivors.
Author: slashmarks
Word Count: 725
Pairing: Buffy/Faith
Rating: G
Summary: Buffy returns from a supply trip.
Prompt: Written for warpedminded, who wanted Buffy/Faith with Human AU, Dark - scary - cold - alone atmosphere, and protecting each other, without non-con or character death, with an apocalypse caused by disease, Croaton from Supernatural or zombies.
Notes: I kind of left the apocalypse's cause open ended, but in my mind it was a plain old disease and most of the surviors went a bit crazy on the surviving thing.
Buffy hurried along the dark streets, huddling lightly in the football jacket she stole off her boyfriend in Hemery six months, six centuries ago.
She heard a creak and her hand went instinctively to the machete hanging off her belt as she wheeled to see - a signpost creaking in the wind.
Nothing more.
She took deep breaths, but started walking again immediately. The backpack hanging off her shoulders was heavy, loaded with the supplies that were the only reason she ventured out, and the streets weren't safe.
Besides. Faith needed her.
The injured girl had both of their shotguns and all of their remaining ammo, which was why Buffy was roaming the streets of after-the-end New York City, the Big Apple eaten down to the core, all on her lonesome with only a wicked machete and two kitchen knives to defend herself with. It was good enough but not great and she was only two blocks away from home sweet home, so it would really suck to die then.
She made it down the last block, stood in front of the bank and wished that she could just walk in, but no. Never that simple. She kept walking to two doors down, entered a grocery store. It had been long since cleaned out of anything preservable and strewn with rotting fruit and worse things.
She opened the door to the employees only section and heard pattered footsteps. Butthead whined for attention, rubbing his face against Buffy's leg.
She stroked the pittbull's head, then greeted Pussy, a German shepherd, likewise. The dogs didn't bark - Faith spent four months training them, who knew a Boston street rat'd be good with dogs, and they finally seemed to have gotten it - but followed her all the way through the tunnel they'd made through two buildings, whining at the door into the bank proper when Buffy shut it behind her.
She walked to the vault, entered and stared down the barrels of two shotguns. “Hey, Faith,” Buffy said casually. She walked further in, put down the bag carefully and then removed her knives before dropping onto the edge of their mattress.
Faith grinned weakly. “Hey, B. Watcha bring me?”
“Well.” Buffy pulled the backpack over. “I have... lots of cans...” she began stacking them at the wall. “Chicken soup... chile... peaches.. more chile... clam chowder... peas... yet more chile...”
“And, just a guess, yet more chile?”
“I found a grocery store that was blocked by debris. The soup section was pretty much intact, just hard to get to.” Buffy finished stacking the cans. “I also brought you some dried apples.” She tossed the package at Faith.
The package was ripped open and two stuffed into the other's mouth. “These always remind me of Williamsburgh.”
“You? Williamsburgh?”
“Class field trip.” Faith waved a hand. “All expenses paid. It got me out of the way of Mom and her boyfriend.”
“Right.” Buffy dug around more. “A couple of MREs, and your favorite - weapons.”
“Ooo, Santa.” Faith ate another dried apple slice.
“Come sit in my lap, little girl,” Buffy deadpanned.
“Ew. Weapons?”
Buffy carefully removed a handgun in its shoulder holster first, putting it down on the mattress. Then she pulled out two new switchblades and finally upended the bag to make a small heap of shotgun ammo.
“Ooo, weapons. Good haul,” Faith remarked.
“Yeah.” Buffy glanced at Faith's sprained knee. “Better when you can come with, though. I found a new Army Surplus place, the shelves were pretty picked over but they used a great steal door on the back, I had to pick the lock for real.”
“Thank god most of the crazies weren't crazy before.” Faith offered the bag to Buffy. “You want some?
She sighed and pulled a handful to start eating the sticky fruit. It was a rare treat.
Buffy glanced around their room. Mattress, stacked supplies against the wall. A few posters hung up on the walls, some hand drawn awkwardly. They'd covered the bare walls in grafitti, too. This was the rest of their life.
It would be nice to think it'd be over someday, but it wasn't the disease they were hiding from down here. It was the other survivors.