This one was actually a lot of fun to write. Based after the episode Fear, Itself, so credit where credit is due - Buffy belongs to Joss and Co, as do all recognizeable quotes, characters, and plotlines. The song 'I'm so Bad' is the Property of Oingo Boingo. Enjoy -
"Why does Halloween almost always suck around here?" Buffy asked grumpily, swinging her basket jauntily as she strolled up the sidewalk.
On either side of her, Xander, Willow, and Oz shrugged.
"It'sh a Hellmouth," Xander said around a mouthful of chocolate. "It happens."
"Not tonight!" Buffy whined. "Not. Tonight. It is Halloween, the boogie men are supposed to stay in." With each word she stabbed a finger harshly though the air.
It wasn't so much to ask. All she'd wanted was to go to a nice college Halloween party, and given that it was at Oz's fraternity, she'd expected it to be fairly decent and just the tiniest bit acceptable. And she supposed for the first little bit it had been. Until the magic swirlies had sucked them into the house and freaked them all out of their minds, separated them and exposed them to their greatest fears, the ones they didn't admit to out loud.
"Well, to be fair, this boogie man was sorta the embodiment of Halloween," Willow piped up thoughtfully, tilting her head. "I mean, a fear demon? At least he coordinated with the holiday."
"She's got a point," Oz mused quietly.
Buffy chanced a quick look in his direction. He had been terribly subdued after the demon-slay-age, and Buffy thought she might know why. She understood what it was like to be afraid of yourself sometimes. When she'd smooshed the nasty little demon under her shoe earlier that night, it was Oz that she'd thought of when she'd done it. She had no doubt what his fear had been, and when Willow told her about his forced change and his mad dash away into the house, she'd felt an almost overwhelming sense of pity and sorrow for the werewolf.
And so they'd left, Giles and Anya splitting away first, the rest of them sticking around a bit to clean up the mess, double checking to make sure nothing was left behind, that any party goers left behind had found their way out of the nightmare house. Now they made their way to the Watcher's apartment, intent on an evening of sugary over-indulgence, but it wouldn't make up the difference for Buffy.
"Not the point!" she muttered sullenly, terribly upset, and mostly on the behalf of her friends. Her fear was something that she had to face every day, fighting mostly alone in the dark. The rest… well, Sunnydale was the poster child for living the oblivious life, wasn't it? They were rounding the block now, approaching the gates to the Restview Cemetery, and the black iron fencing pressed in against her side, oppressive and dark on her senses.
"I mean, who did that tiny twerp think he was?" she demanded auddenly. "Breaking the rules like that? Halloween is a sacred, demon-free, off-limits night. They stay under ground; those are the rules! That includes demons, little mini fear dudes, and vamp…"
Suddenly Buffy found herself bouncing off a firm, muscular chest, her senses swamped by a swirl of black leather. Stumbling backwards, she looked up into a pair of shocked blue eyes and froze.
Spike was having a great night – at least as far as Halloween went. He'd spent the last few hours at Willy's downing shots of bloodied vodka and playing kitten poker with a few other demons, and he'd won himself the pot before calling it a night. Quickly trading out his kitty for cash, he had taken the shortest and quietest way home that he knew. Truth be told, he was feeling just the smallest bit guilty for being out at all – he followed the rules of Halloween and knew that it was probably the only night off that the Slayer got all year.
'And what the bloody hell did that have to do with anything?' Spike snarled to himself as he marched along the empty streets. She wasn't any concern of his, least ways not until she was holding a stake to his chest. And it wasn't like he was doing anything he shouldn't be, was it? Just walking home, like a good little vampire. He'd even waited until it was late enough that all the little trick-or-treaters were in for the night, until there wasn't a chance that he might stumble across some little brat and be… tempted. The kiddies were never his thing, to be sure, but one never knew did they?
After all, look at him and the Slayer; spun together into another truce, like moons orbiting some greater star, drawn together when they would much rather spin apart into the darkness. It was damned maddening, it was! Like he couldn't get away from her, even when he tried. Gone all the bloody way to Brazil with his girl, and all he ever heard about was the Slayer they'd left back in soddin' Sunnydale. Covered in her, tasting of ashes, dancing in her sun…
Spike rolled his eyes, rounding the corner and heading along the black iron fencing toward the gates of Restview and his cozy little tomb with a view. The place had fixed up right nice too; a dark, cool, secure little bachelor's pad – if a little dusty. And Sunnydale wasn't so bad really; lots of mischief to get up to, a nice, exploitable demon community, good bars with good alcohol and good cards… almost made up for the blonde, stake-wielding bint that roamed around at night.
So occupied in his thoughts was he, so devoted to the sight of the stars burning coldly above his head, that he didn't even notice the group of teenagers coming towards him up the sidewalk, didn't give heed the tingles creeping up his spine and lifting the hair on the nape of his neck, the warning that burned in his blood. And then a small, blonde figure dressed in a red hooded cloak bounced off his chest, stopping him dead in his tracks and filling his nose with the sweet scent of Slayer.
'Well hello Little Red,' he thought. Wasn't this just… neat.
The Slayer stood before him like a statue, stock still, staring at him with those big, hazel eyes, and he could only stare back. Shit, what now?
"Buffy…"
Spike's eyes flicked over her shoulder, adrenaline surging through his muscles as he saw her little group of hangers-on ranged out behind her, waiting for her to attack, shock and fear warring with surprise on each of their faces. Wondering why she wasn't making her move.
"I thought we squashed the fear-demon," the red-head warbled fearfully, backing away.
"Buffy, you realize Spike is standing right in front of you?" the floppy-haired whelp warned.
Spike rolled his eyes once more. Thanks for the memo, ya ponce. Attention back on the Slayer, he felt each second ticking by, an unholy waiting game as he tried to signal her with his eyes, to get something from the girl as her friends stood on, no doubt puzzling her inaction even as they stood.
'Come on Slayer,' he thought desperately. 'Move!'
Well if she wouldn't, he would.
His fist snapped out, popping her right in the mouth but only at half-strength, just enough to split her lip and send a spray of hot, coppery perfume into the air. Buffy stumbled back, one hand going to her mouth as she looked between her bloody fingers and his face with a look of shocked annoyance. He could almost hear the question – what the hell?! But it got her moving, and then it was all in the fight.
She landed a good, solid punch in his ribs, sending him staggering, and Spike smiled widely, his fangs slipping out in a vicious grin. Girl wasn't playing around. Leaping into the fray, Spike swept out a kick, catching her behind the ankle and sending her down on one knee, only just dodging a fist headed straight for his belt buckle. He snarled. Hadn't thought this Slayer to be one to fight so dirty. Feinting for her friends, she tackled him to the ground just as he'd expected she would, ever the protector of the innocent. Consequently he was ready when he hit the sidewalk, his body curling beneath hers, his feet planted solidly in her stomach as he pitched her up and over his head, into the darkened cemetery.
Jack-knifing to his feet, he leapt after her, vaulting a tombstone as his eyes flashed gold, searching her out in the dark. Her sweet blood swirled around him on the breeze but she'd disappeared, melting into the blackness with a finesse that he admired. Bloody good fun - hide and seek it was then.
He stilled, listening carefully as her three Scoobies charged off into the dark, deep into the graveyard as they called her name frantically. But she was still here, he knew it - close. He could feel her. Stalking forward, a predator on silent feet, he rounded a marble angel and got driven into the ground.
"Dammit Spike!" she hissed in his ear as they scrabbled in the dirt, "I already dealt with a fear-demon tonight; now you? What the hell are you doing out anyway!"
"Cemetery bitch!" he hissed back, throwing an elbow into her gut. "I'm livin' here!"
"It's Halloween!" she snarled, slamming her fist into his jaw. "You're supposed… to stay… in!"
Grabbing hold of her cloak at the shoulders, Spike wrenched her to the side, sending them rolling over and over down a row of headstones until they finally came to a stop, the vampire straddling the Slayer's hips.
"I shouldn't have to deal with you!" she snapped, shoving up lightly on his shoulders. The fight seemed to have leached out of them, Buffy slapping at his chest without actually trying to throw him off. "I squished the stupid fear demon; can't this nightmare of a devil's holiday just be over?"
"Aww, what'sa matter Slayer," he purred, his thumbs brushing over the blood-red fabric fisted in his hands. "Is Little Red afraid of the Big Bad?"
"Never Spike," she spat, pushing up on his chest until he climbed off of her.
For a second he almost offered her a hand, but then he thought better of it, stuffing both deep into his duster pockets. Buffy climbed easily to her feet, straightening her gingham dress, tugging the hem of her skirt back down and shaking the leaves from her hood. They looked at each other for a moment, almost shyly, before their head snapped to the side, the commotion of her friends thundering back in their direction drawing close.
Spike scoffed and turned away, ready to melt into the blackness before the Scoobies arrived, but Buffy stopped him.
"Next time Spike," she warned in a cold and deadly tone, "Don't pretend you'll go after my friends. They're not a part of this."
"Next time, pet," he replied, "Don't freeze up on me." Throwing a smirk back over his shoulder, he walked away, whistling a jaunty tune as he went.
Late at night, they're asleep.
I'm awake, get the urge,
Hit the street, jump a curb.
Alleyway, dark and wet.
Set the trap, I forget,
Who I am. But I know
I'll get you…
I'm so bad!