Disclaimer going forward: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Story Notes: Not a happy little jaunt. Would love feedback, this was a writing exercise for me.
Original writing prompt (from maxkirin's tumblr) was something about writing from the perspective of a person stuck in space with only ten minutes left before their oxygen runs out. I took that and twisted it for my purposes.
I set a timer on countdown (one countdown for 10 minutes, another for 5, and another for 1 minute) for a total of 16 straight minutes for content writing. Pretty nerve wracking. I edited for little mistakes, not content. Interested to hear what you think.
Wouldn't read this if you're looking for happy-feel-good.
Ten Minutes
The announcement comes over loudspeakers in the Initiative facility. Noxious gasses will choke off and destroy all evidence of the Initiative movement. In ten minutes, they were all going to be dead. With the doors blasted shut, Buffy doesn't know how to escape, but she's the goddamned Slayer, she's going to try.
Buffy runs up and down the hallways, looking for an exit, but also for Oz. Heart pounding in her throat, in her ears, Buffy skids to a stop in front of a line of electrified cages. Demon, demon, vampire, vampire, slimy looking thing-y...
A soldier rushes by, apparently unconcerned with Buffy or what her business was here. Buffy clotheslines him.
"Where do you keep werewolves?" The soldier grunts, eyes wild, the whites showing all the way around.
"Hands off, girlie."
Buffy punches him across the face.
She's already died from drowning she doesn't want to repeat the experience with deadly gasses.
"I'm looking for someone. A werewolf, you captured him two days ago, his name is Oz. Where is he?"
The soldier struggles in her grip, trying to break the hold of her hands. Buffy is unmoved. "I'm not letting you go until you help me."
"Fuck, didn't you hear? We stay here, we all die."
"I don't care. Where—"
"All new acquisitions were put down already," the soldier snarls. "Everything picked up in the last week has already been slaughtered."
Buffy feels her stomach try to turn itself inside out. A human, killing her friend, a demon. The panicky shouts and roars from humans and demons alike buzz in her ears. She's gripping the soldier so tightly around his throat, his face is turning blue. He's choking. Buffy can't think, can't move. What was she going to tell Willow? Oh, god. Oz. Sweet, quiet, supportive, cucumber cool Oz.
The soldier goes limp in her hands. Buffy comes back to herself. The man is dead.
Buffy wanders the cold white halls of the Initiative. Spattering gunfire sounds off nearby, but Buffy doesn't hurry along or duck or anything.
She killed a man.
And now she was going to die.
Why was she even here? Why was this her life? God, she is just so tired.
The air is hazy and rancid, burning the back of Buffy's throat and making her eyes sting.
She passes a cage containing a slimy porous creature. The thing has melted all over the floor. It would look like a chemical spill except for the eyes and mouth.
"Five minutes." The mechanical voice says coolly from the ceiling.
Buffy eyes are watering so badly that tears slice down her cheeks, burning the whole way.
The smell of ozone and a sharp crackling draws her attention.
Leather, bleached hair, furious vamp face.
Spike, captured, and flinging himself at the electric wall, trying to escape. Buffy walks up to the invisible barrier.
Spike pauses and looks at her. Panic is clear in his expression, unhampered by his ridged features.
"Two minutes, thirty seconds."
Spike's chest is heaving with unnecessary breaths. His golden eyes are streaming false, red-tinged tears.
Buffy punches through the command console and the electric barrier fizzles.
Her head spins and she drops.
Buffy's world rattles as she's slammed against the wall. Spike is shouting at her but his words are fuzzy.
Buffy touches the bumps and ridges of his forehead, gentle strokes. Spike goes quiet.
Something to the left of them is screaming in pain.
Buffy's legs give out and she slides down the wall. Spike slides down with her, arms around her. He shakes her. Buffy sees his mouth form the word: Slayer.
Buffy gropes for him with numb fingers. Her hands close around his throat.
She killed a man, just like this.
"Thirty seconds."
Spike's eyes are blue. It's the only color breaking up the white. It's beautiful and calm. The familiar vamp tingle across her neck is a comfort to her jangling nerves. Spike's mouth moves again: Buffy.
His strong arms banding around her numb body feels good. Not restraining, holding. Embrace. Buffy leans into it. Cool, smoky leather against her cheek.
She never wanted this but it's all she gets. Her and a vampire, dying in one another's arms.
Darkness clouds her vision. There's just the coolness of Spike's touch against her skin and the taste of blood in her mouth. Then the sensations fade and Buffy floats away to nothing.