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buffy; i'm like a superhero or something! (superherolike) wrote in dunwichgame,
@ 2024-02-28 19:06:00

Entry tags:

!log/thread/narrative, buffyverse: spike, ∙ plot: 013 rock lobster, ◌ inactive: buffy summers (2)

Reunion!

characters. Buffy Summers & Spike

time. Right after her arrival. | location. Near Pickman.

rating. PG-13 | status. In progress!

She's new in town, and it might get worse.

"This sucks," Buffy griped under her breath. Her ankle was swollen and burned from whatever had dragged her back into the crumbling Hellmouth. She had been so close to that final leap onto the bus before it the wind got sucked right out of her. The gash on her head was still dripping blood, too, she realised as she dragged her forearm over it with a wince.

It had happened so quickly. One minute, she was on her way back down to Hell and the next she was on the sidewalk of some town with... giant lobsters running around? She had pushed herself up to a seated position against the wall of an alley, her presence overlooked by the meandering lobstrocity. That was ideal since she didn't want to put any pressure on her ankle just yet. It wouldn't take long to shake off, but if she could avoid exacerbating it, all the better.

Looking up, she noted it was nightfall and not just dark from the awnings of the building beside her — Pickman, though that much she didn't know. With her bad leg kicked out in front of her, Buffy leaned forward to begin massaging the injury gently and huffed in frustration with her circumstances. Between the vanishing act, the temperature jump (she was definitely grateful to have at least a long-sleeved shirt on to barely combat the temperature), and the oversized lobsters, her head was on the verge of a migraine.

Glancing to her side, she noticed the scythe beside her and breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wasn't completely at the mercy of wherever she had ended up. Everything still sucked though.

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bloodislove
2024-02-28 01:58 pm UTC (link)

Grumbling about the smell of bad fish, Spike wasn't in the best of moods as he dressed and suited up in his typical all-black attire, the best of which being the black leather trench coat and tall, buckled boots. They might have gone out of fashion in most circles, but it was an easy way for him to be identified, and that usually solved half of his problems before they ever got to the point of direct attention. Besides, black was slimming.

He sighed as he crossed the foyer of Pickman's, headed for the door and intent on getting his first drink in before he clocked the time-card. At least it was still close enough to winter that the sky was good and truly dark as he stuck a cigarette into his mouth, waiting until he was opening the door to light it. More to avoid additional aggravation from others than out of respect, but it worked out the same, so who really cared?

Stepping out he inhaled deeply so the ember would take, bracing himself for the tang of saltwater and rubbish that seemed to fill the walking lobster monsters. He tended not to breathe outside of smoking these days, but it was part of his security check. Caution born of experience, especially with the curve balls his recent home garnered.

Instead the sharp, metallic sting of blood filled his nostrils. He was instantly both hungry and alert and on guard, though he only paused and closed the door, feigning re-lighting his smoke as he scanned the area visually and sniffed deeper.

The scent struck memory, and he snapped around, eyes almost immediately finding her.

"Buffy," he inhaled sharply enough his cigarette was almost caught up in it, and the resulting slap of hot, toxic air immediately made him choke, though he managed to keep the resulting coughs minimal. Instantly he spat it out onto the concrete walk and stamped it out, going to her quickly as he recognized the blood, weapon, and general state. By the time he knelt near her (staying carefully out of scythe-range), he was looking her up and down with the critical urgency of somebody who'd seen her damaged plenty of times. Hell, he'd made her bleed worse, more than once.

Wincing internally at that thought he focused the energy into a scowl of frustration, hands open as he tried to remember where the first aid was in Pickman, or if it would be easier or quicker to get her to MIST or the hospital. "Bloody hell. What've you been fighting now?"

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superherolike
2024-03-02 03:44 pm UTC (link)

It was like seeing a ghost. Except, she'd only just barely seen him begin to burn to save the world.

From the time it took him to recover from the cigarette, to positioning himself in front of her, Buffy hadn't moved an inch. She was doing mental gymnastics, trying to sort out how it was possible that Spike could be there and not a pile of dust at the bottom of a demolished Sunnydale. He clearly wasn't the First Evil, she could feel him. He existed. He wasn't just an image.

Snapping back to reality, she seemed to try and recoil into the wall. Not out of fear of him, she hadn't been scared of Spike in a very long time, no. She was clearly confused. Giant lobsters, Spike smoking in front of her, and winter weather? It was a lot for her to process and it showed.

"Spike," she said quietly, warily. "How are you... here? Where is here?"

She had been down in the Hellmouth. She had been in heaven. This wasn't either of those places.

With a wince, her hand left the scythe to rest on the stab wound she had forgotten about. It was stitching itself back together already, but running for her life hadn't been conducive to the process. Her breathing seemed to hitch as a slight sense of panic set in, panic over not understanding her current situation, but that practiced predator in her — the slayer in her — inevitably pulled her back together.

"What is this?"

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bloodislove
2024-03-02 07:58 pm UTC (link)

She seemed stunned and out of sorts. That meant whatever it had been had been heavy hitting, and rarely meant this part would go entirely evenly. Still, listening to the questions, Spike's hands raised opening and peacefully. He wasn't armed, even if they both knew neither of them had to be.

"Easy, Goldilocks. We're safe at the moment," he said calmly, softly. His eyes didtn't stop scanning as he carefully reached into a coat pocket pulled a clean white handkerchief.

"We're in a town called Dunwich. Long ways off from Sunnydale. Alternate reality-level stuff," he grunted next, resting on his knee and looking at her matter-of-factly. "I'm probably not whatever Spike you saw last. You don't seem like the last Buffy who was here. You're back to looking at me like I'm a ghost. So, Slayer, when did you last see me? What state was I in? I know enough about the future, I could help you work that out."

It was difficult to take breaths, to remain calm and cool when he could see, smell, and hear her pain. Still, in the face of her struggling, he did his best to exude security, if nothing else. She had nothing to fear from him, and he could stay alert for them both from the rest. His voice softened. "It's alright, Buffy. Catch your breath, and tell me how to help." He offered the handkerchief out to her, knowing both the danger and unable to stop fixating on the head wound that still oozed. He forced his gaze down. "Just tell me what you need, I'll see it done."

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superherolike
2024-03-03 04:29 am UTC (link)

It really was him. Torn between launching herself at him and punching him, she opted to stay absolutely still while she listened to the tale he wove. It didn't clear things up entirely, but she'd been through stranger things, hadn't she? Insane asylums came to mind. Her breathing seemed to calm down, as it tended to do whenever she confided in him, but the confusion didn't completely abet.

"Dunwich," she repeated. "Alternate reality." Not the Spike she knew, but he was Spike. Still Spike. Not a pile of dust at the bottom of Sunnydale. With everything that had happened, her pride in his sacrifice, she'd never even gotten a moment to miss him. It was supernatural whiplash at its peak.

When he offered that handkerchief, she paused as her hand brushed his. Not because of any lingering sense of romance, that had been long gone and he knew it in a way before she really had. No, it was the return of a friend she had never expected to see in this life. Clutching the handkerchief, she gave into the impulse to launch herself at him and hugged him tightly. She wouldn't cry, that would come later.

"This," she responded quietly. "Just a minute of this. Okay? And then I can deal with the ouchies and wherever the hell Dunwich is. You were... you were saving the world, y'know? And I barely got to say goodbye."

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bloodislove
2024-03-03 06:39 am UTC (link)

He paused, running through the stories he'd heard about his own future, then sighed softly and turned just enough so he could sit down next to her, leaning back against the wall and settling within easy reach.

"Oh. The part where I get all nobel and burst into flames, eh?" he grinned, telegraphing his movements carefully as he found his spot. "Yeah. I'm from... before that. But my chip's out, soul's in. You helped me pull that off before. Don't worry about the me you knew; he'll be fine, too. Probably. Death doesn't stick so well to us hero types, right?"

He was trying to tease, to reassure her that things were fine. He could still see the shock of battle clinging to her, so he reached out carefully and touched her upper arm without grabbing it.

"It's going to be alright. Take the time you need, then we'll head inside and away from..." he paused as a particularly large lobstrosity scuttle-sprinted down the street, giving poor chase to a car. He sighed as he watched and listened to it clamoring down the street and out of sight.

"Yeah. Away from those." He rolled his eyes in playful exasperation, then lowered his hand away from her. Leaning forward he caught her gaze and held it, instead. "It's going to be fine, Buffy. Your Spike, your world, the girls. You'll get back to them and see. And till then I'm around here. ...Might not've proven I'd be willing to burst into flames for you yet, personally. But that doesn't mean I'm not ready to. So no worries, yeah? You just defeated Hell and prophecy and ages-old bullshit. This is supposed to be a moment to celebrate. You're a legend among legends, now. Just breathe."

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superherolike
2024-03-03 07:01 am UTC (link)

Settling down beside him, the closeness they had shared before felt different. He was different. That was going to take some time for her to adjust to being around, but she could do it.

Although he grinned, she flinched and lowered her gaze. Letting people go wasn't her strongest suit, especially not loved ones. While it wasn't the sort of love he had sought from Buffy in the end, it still mattered. She hoped it had mattered to him. Death may not have stuck to the likes of them, but if he found some measure of peace — she hoped it did, for his sake. She knew all too well how painful it was to lose that and be thrust back into the world of the living. It still felt like hell some days.

She didn't know how much time she had to collect herself, to be in this world. A part of her thought this might be some layer of hell that the hydra had drawn her into. The only thing she could be sure of was being sure of nothing at all. But, his presence was a comfort, even if he didn't remember their whole history.

"Yeah," she answered vacantly, clearly not committed to things being alright, but attempting to process the possibility.

Maybe staying in an alley in the cold wasn't the right place to process such things.

Bracing her hands beneath her, Buffy pushed herself up onto her feet. With her foot, she maneuvered the scythe into her grip. With her free hand, she pressed his handkerchief against the wound on her forehead. She was a bit of gory mess, but not in such bad shape that she couldn't handle a walk to wherever it was he wanted to take her. Absently nodded while she continued to mull over Spike's words, she met his seeking gaze again with a timid smile.

"Yeah. So. How does a legend celebrate in a place with giant lobsters in a town called Dumb witch? Er... whatever you said," she finished with a shrug.

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bloodislove
2024-03-03 07:21 am UTC (link)

Watching her carefully Spike tried to give her her space without moving too far away. He was happy when she placed the cloth against her forehead; it was a start.

"'Dunwich', not that you really got it wrong, either," he let out a mirthless chuckle, but eased it with a small shrug. "It's a weird place, chock full of creepy. You'll feel at home in no time. Just for now, avoid the fog. The lobstrosities are more of an eye/nose-sore than a threat."

He pondered the question, then smirked and followed her upright. "You know my answer to that kind of thing, Summers. Drinks, on me. But first, you have to knit yourself into mostly one piece. C'mon, this is the Pickman House. It's where most of us wind up staying... they like strays and don't charge rent. You can use my place to clean up, I'll track down whoever's at the front desk to get you something of your own."

He had no illusions. The other Buffy, Faith, Giles, and even the strange Fred had spoken about it. He never had earned the Slayer, but since his soul had returned the love had changed regardless. Where once he felt possessive and jealous, there was pride. Envy, in a way, but only of the light that shone off her when she stood for something and made a choice. Power was too easily abused, and it was humbling to watch her weild it with sureness and clarity.

He would always love her, respect her. He was too much of a romantic to forget those feelings. They weren't all that drove him, though, not anymore. It was enough to see her standing, to have her accept what he could give. There was an end where they were still side-by-side, and he felt no less driven to prove himself worthy of that.

"When you're up to it I'll show you the Tavern. It's this town's version of the Bronze, if that new place doesn't hijack all the business. Food's still good, though."

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superherolike
2024-03-03 07:57 am UTC (link)

"The fog?" She questioned, eyebrows raising skeptically. "Now it sounds like we've been teleported to some weird B-movie town." This was helping, oddly. She seemed to be easing back into her own skin. The initial shock of the whole everything about her circumstances wasn't falling off her shoulders so much as it was settling upon them like a familiar weight. Weird and inexplicable was her bread and butter, after all.

She trusted him still, that much was evident. If he said this was normal, so to speak, then she could accept that. The consequences of being there instead of leaping for her life onto the school bus would be compartmentalized accordingly. She could play ball with the Powers That Be, provided eventually she got to hit them brutally with said ball at some point later.

Even so, it was still a lot of information to take in. She continued to run a quick tally of all the little bits and pieces she'd gleaned thus far and found herself absently shaking her head in disbelief. Hellmouths were easier to swallow than this whole thing, but she carried with the grace her years of being the Slayer afforded her.

"Sure. I probably shouldn't go walking around looking like the next Scream Queen 'round town, right?" She quipped halfheartedly, her smile reluctantly returning.

Buffy nodded to the building he pointed out. "Lead the way, O Captain, my Captain."

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bloodislove
2024-03-03 08:08 am UTC (link)

"Weird barrier around the town. Not too big a deal usually, unless you try to run through it. Don't. Or, bring along a mate with a rope who can pull you back in if you do," he snorted, only catching his own mistake in setting a challenge at the last minute.

His smile, sad and gentle as he'd been assessing, eased with more authentic humor at her responses all the same. Offering his arm, he snorted at the quote and walked them forward at a gentle gait when she was ready, minding and matching her steps as she got her footing back. Still, it worked out well enough, and the Tavern could wait.

"If you ever became a Scream Queen you'd look a lot worse than this," he chuckled. "Proper terror would be your thing, not Hollywood's primped version. But some warm water and a few ice pack's'll remind you that better. Even have a first aid kit knocking around if you need stitches."

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superherolike
2024-03-03 03:37 pm UTC (link)

"A weird barrier around town... Got it." The list of things to keep in mind grew. She wasn't going to make much of an effort to remember any of it either, that was what her Scoobies had been for. Even if they hadn't been terribly reliable lately. Maybe being here in Dunwich was a blessing in disguise.

With a tiny smile given in return, she linked her arm with his. Although she was exhausted, her wounds were feeling better already. The bleeding on her forehead seemed to have stopped due to her healing factor and the pressure from his handkerchief. She tugged it down and waited to see if any new blood spilled and gave a quick sigh of relief when that didn't happen.

The stab wound in her waist was another matter. Anyone else might have been crippled by it, but she was the Chosen One... One of many now. Chosen, nonetheless.

"You think?" She lapsed into their old banter, a more relaxed smile supplanting the sadder one they'd shared. "So, like. On a scale of Laurie Strode to Carrie, you're thinking... Sissy Spacek Buffy? Might even scare a few demons walking around town like that."

As for the rest, she nodded in agreement. Her greater injury would need those stitches, she suspected. The warm water and ice would suffice for the rest. "Thanks... for um. This. 'Cause it's kinda a lot, huh? The everything about this?"

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bloodislove
2024-03-03 10:54 pm UTC (link)

"Don't worry. There's a lot to process, but mostly it's just weird around here. You'll be fine, just don't touching anything glowing or get touched by anything drooling," Spike chuckled at her reception. He was also cheered by her bloody head steming, though he could tell from her cadence that she was far from healed.

He just grinned back at her with his Devil-may-care face, before she spoke. He hummed softly to himself as he led her down the clean corridor, stopping at a room and taking out his key.

"It's a lot. Was for all of us at one point or another. But we'll get you set, and your wounds treated, and then we'll move forward from there. Same old routine," he said, trying to seem reassuring.

The apartment was small and sparcely decorated, with a heavy bit of ripped canvas from last year's Lobsterfest was secure over the window. Spike's unmade bed and the empty liquor bottles next to his armchair made him sigh inwardly. "If I'd though I'd be hosting, I would've... well. At least thrown this rubbish in the closet," he snorted to himself, before leading Buffy carefully to the bathroom and to take a seat on the wall of the tub. Starting the warm water he reahed out for one of the clean towels, offering it. "I'll go get the kit. And I have a clean shirt you can borrow, if you like. Then I'll go hunt down the desk attendent. You'll be cozy in your own apartment in no time."

He was trying to be reassuring without overbearing, the last few memories of her in his own world always tainting their first interactions. The Buffy from before had known about him, helped him with the chip and reclaiming his soul, and it seems he'd lucked out with this one accepting his aid for what it was. He'd always wondered exactly what it had been that changed the Slayer's mind, but after the mental breaks he'd already been through he preferred to enjoy it and not press for more information.

Still, his last question came with a grin and playful head tilt. "How's that sound, Savior of the World? Enough of a celebration for tonight? I'll come up with a bigger party idea later, but after you're on your feet proper."

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