Snippet: Squirt

[Jason Rune <winter_herald@xxxxxxxxx>]

A little off-topic, perhaps, but the Spike's-soul
discussion made me remember something from a while
back...

Title: Squirt (1/1)
Author: Jason Rune
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Season 6
Disclaimer: No vampires were harmed in the making of
this snippet. Vampires don't exist, silly.


"Make me like I was!" Spike yelled, his hand slamming
against the rough stone walls of the cave for
emphasis. The demon in front of him peered
speculativly from the shadows. Moments passed, and
Spike felt a cold surge of dread wash over his
room-temperature skin.

* * *

Two weeks later, in the town of Sunnydale, California,
a small blonde kicked open the door to an old but
well-maintained crypt. Her friends had tried to talk
her out of it -- "Buffy," they'd said, "Do you really
need to go back there just to see if Spike's really
skpped town? And what if he hasn't?" But she knew
what she needed to do. She strode into the middle of
the crypt, Slayer senses on full alert as she spied
something moving.

"Bollocks," the figure said. It was a small boy of
about twelve, wearing more tweed than a boy should be
exposed to in twelve years. His hair was in adorable
brown curls, which he was attemping to bleach without
much success. "Bloody wanker. Next time I see him,
I'll..."

"What are you doing here?" Buffy asked, sensing
something off about the kid. He turned around with a
start, dropping the bleach and spilling it all over
his polished black Sunday shoes.

"Bloody 'ell, Slayer. Can't a guy get a moment's
peace around here?" Buffy was taken aback for a
moment, as she realized what her senses had been
trying to tell her.

"I've never seen a little boy vampire before," Buffy
said, trying to decide whether to get out her stake. 
"You're kinda cute." It didn't have quite the
reaction she expected.

"Oh," the boy said, throwing up his hands. "Now you
think so, do you?" Buffy peered at him closer,
looking into all-too-familiar eyes.

"Spike?" she said.

"No, Shirley Temple. Yeah, it's me, Slayer," he said.
"Now, get out of here before I do something really
nasty to you."

"How did this happen?" Buffy said, not even trying to
restrain a giggle. Spike glared at her.

"Went to Africa, found a wishing demon," he explained.
"Told him I wanted to be like I bloody was. Didn't
reckon he had a sense of humor."

"But you're a..." Buffy started, waving her hands to
indicate his current crypt-bound self.

"Yeah. When I complained, he called me a whiny
little... anyway, he turned me back into a vamp. 
Wanker."

Buffy giggled, ignoring the increasingly intense
glares the boy vampire was sending her way. Her next
thought sobered her a little.

"But if you were trying to be like you were... you
were trying to get the chip out, weren't you!" she
said, reaching for her stake. "Bad vampire!"

"No, no!" the boy said. "I was... trying to get my
soul back." Seeing Buffy's doubtful glare but more
relaxed stake hand, he slowed down a little. "I just
wanted you to be able to accept me," he finished,
putting on what he thought was his best pout. He
hadn't practiced for a while. Buffy blinked at him,
twice.

"You're a little young for me," she concluded,
smirking again. Spike forgot the pout and glowered.

"Yeah, well, you've just given me an idea, Slayer. 
Now that I've been knocked back a few years, I am just
like I was..."

"Minus a few details," Buffy said, completely missing
the vampire's running leap in her mirth. Spike hit
her square in the chest, sending her back a few feet. 
Dazed, she tried to figure out what had happened, only
to see boy-Spike writhing on the floor in agony.

"Bloody 'ell!" he screamed. "That bugger of a demon
thinks he's funny, does he?"

Buffy nodded emphatically.

"Well, I'll show him, I'll show you, I'll show you
all! You'll see! I will be the big bad, Slayer, and
then you'll get a taste of what I can give you." 

"I think of you as more of a little bad," Buffy said. 
"Always have."

Spike's eyes burned.

"I don't think I can call you Spike anymore, either,"
the slayer continued, as Spike just glared at her. "I
think I'll call you... Squirt."

Buffy turned on one heel and left the crypt, not
looking back once, even as Spike -- that is, Squirt --
called obscenities after her that, had they come from
the mouth of any normal twelve-year-old boy, would
have warrented his mouth being washed out with a whole
bucket of soap. Buffy walked home in the crispness of
the morning, returning home to a certain redhead who
needed comfort.

END


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