"Well when they fight, they fight. And when they come home at night, they say… I love you baby!"

Singing jauntily at the top of his lungs, Spike swung himself up and over a gate, cutting across a few front yards as he headed toward the park. Night had well and truly fallen, the sky above him a deep navy that felt heavy and grounding even as a bit of scotch and high spirits had him bounding along like a helium balloon in the wind. He'd spent a few hours at Willy's drinking and playing cards with Clem and a few of his friends, but had gotten an itch for something a little more strenuous, and so he'd left the comfort of the bar to find it.

What better way to end a pleasant evening than with a good fight?

Snickering to himself, just a little drunkenly, he brushed away fleeting, disconnected, dirty thoughts and continued on, deeper into the trees that edged the park. He sobered quickly the further in he got, still alert despite the alcohol and just a little bit twitchy now. He'd thought he'd gotten on well enough, but he still felt too large for his skin sometimes, especially when his brain did what it had just done, flashing back to long, blonde hair and a smile that was the perfect kind of wicked. Thought he'd gotten on, thought he'd gotten over, but here he was, still haunted by that bloody kiss.

Snarling this time, Spike fisted his hands deep in his pockets and cast about for something, anything close by, anything that would put up a good front. For a moment there was nothing, his sensitive ears straining past the low hum on night's song and movement, but then there was something, humans, three of them, all pounding feet and heartbeats. Zeroing in on the sound, he realized that they were headed directly for him and was quick to disappear himself into the dark, fading into the shadow and the silence.

He might be looking for a fight, but not with the little tin soldiers and their electro-guns.

Waiting, watching, it didn't take long for him to realize that it certainly wasn't a band of soldiers careening across the grass. A cool wind carried the scent of frenzied fear towards him, the rising thrum of heartbeats panicked and desperate as the wheezing, gasping sound of desperation became clear. Three of them, three humans, and this being good old SunnyHell, no doubt pursued by some minor big bag.

Well, he hadn't set out to play the caped crusader tonight, but beggars could not be choosers.

Crouching low, he kept his gaze fixed on the shrubbery as three teenagers came crashing through it in a blur of run for your life, held his position even as his demon surged to the fore until a small young man, dressed as an Native American brave of all things, came galloping along behind them, a the blade of a hatchet gleaming in his hand. Baring his teeth in a wicked snarl, Spike surged forward in a power moved designed to incapacitate, on a direct path to catch the thing around the waist and tackle it to the ground, but to his surprise he kept right on going, through and through and out the other side again to land in an inelegant heap in the dirt.

"Dirty pool!" he snarled between sharp teeth, even as the thing paused and turned towards him, eyes dark in its empty face. "Bloody incorporeal, that's not…"

He didn't get to finish because something crossed the thing's countenance like it had found what it was looking for and it came at him with a high yell and a swing, one he only just dodged by jerking hard to the side and rolling up onto his feet and then the fight was really on, though never before had a fight been this much of a dance. Every move he made was either parried or pointless, the brave apparently able to shift between solid and intangible at will. Dodging, ducking, leaping back and away from the strike of the hatchet, Spike roared in frustration as the blade nicked him on the upswing, slicing through his t-shirt and leaving a long, shallow slash across his belly.

"Oi! Watch the leather!" he snarled, crouching quickly to unsheathe the long, heavy hunting knife he kept inside his boot.

If fists didn't work, hopefully steel would, because now was certainly the point where he would consider retreat.

Unfortunately, ponces one, two, and three were all standing off to the sidelines, apparently paralyzed as they watched on, occasionally offering up gasps or shrieks that were more distracting than anything. Any idiot with half a brain in their head would have kept going, until they were safe once again behind a locked door, but these numbskulls were all rooted to the spot. Spike had never really felt a sense of obligation to anyone before, anyone other than Dru anyway, never really felt a sense of responsibility, but now all of a sudden here he was, fighting a losing battle for a bunch of stupid teenagers that he didn't even know, all because of the influence of one infuriating Slayer.

He might bite them all when this was over, just on principle.

Lunging forward, he watched with a growing sense of anxiety as his knife sliced cleanly through a whole lot of nothing that looked an awful lot like his opponent's lower abdomen. Leaping back in time to avoid a nasty retaliatory blow, he caught his breath as he danced neatly out of range, searching for an opening. As the hatchet came whipping towards him once more, he thought he might've found it.

This bugger might be ghostly on the defense, but to go on the offense, he had to be solid.

This time when the brave swung, instead of leaping back, Spike charged forward, and his hunch paid off. Both of them when crashing to the earth in a bone-jarring tackle, both weapons spinning off into the dark as they landed. Grinning evilly around a mouthful of fangs, Spike's demon purred as it went to work, pummeling the specter beneath it in a relentless barrage of blows. Caught off guard, it remained in its solid form, body wedged firmly beneath his own as he rained his fists down on it, until suddenly something shifted and he was being flung up and away, ass over elbow through the air to come down with a thud, the air driven hard from his lungs.

Twisting quickly back to his feet, Spike felt his jaw drop as the brave rose to his feet, crossed his arms, and grew - broad shoulders, a massive skull, thick, black fur.

"A bear!" a voice yelped behind him, a voice that rang old, familiar bells in the back of his mind. "You made a bear!"

"I didn' mean too!" he shouted defensively, and then there wasn't any more time to talk because he was dodging out of the way of a deadly hug that would've crushed him if he'd been a second slower. Scrambling away from heavy forefeet tipped in razor-sharp claws, he felt something like fear tickle the back of his spine as he began looking, not for a way to kill the thing, but now just to safely retreat. His attention divided, a blow like a wrecking ball landed on his ribs and sent him tumbling into the dirt, gasping and choking in pain as the animal advanced.

"Oh bloody hell," he coughed as it loomed up over him, his hands searching the damp grass for anything that he could use as a weapon. This was how it was going to…

Opening its massive jaws, the thing bared cracked and yellowed teeth, a roar deep and primal rumbling up from its chest, and for the briefest moment Spike might've muttered something like a penance beneath his breath, but then as the creature leaned in for the killing blow, something came whizzing through the air and caught it right in the ear, make it bark a startled sound and straighten up again. A rock, nothing more, a small bit of earth, but then more and more were coming as the three teenagers who had run a first began to fling them in his direction, shouting and screaming taunts and obscenities all the while. They bounced off the animals thick fur and fell harmlessly, nothing more than flies to be swatted away, but in the second's distraction it afforded him, Spike's fingers closed around the leather-wrapped, wooden handle of the brave's lost battle axe and he surged up onto his feet, putting all his momentum and driving force into cleaving the weapon into the creatures skull.

He expected gore, a warm splash of blood that he could lick from his fingers like honey, but before his eyes the animal shrank, back into its human form and then away, dissipating into a fine, green mist until there was nothing left but the little hatchet that fell silently to the ground.

The air crashing out of his lungs in one fell swoop of relief, Spike felt his knees go almost to jelly as the adrenaline surge of the fight went immediately out of him. Disguising the waver and wobble by crouching over, he scooped up the brave's axe and turned it in his hand, huffing a chuckle. Tossing it up into the air, he caught it on the way back down with a grin, took a step forward when he remembered the three humans he'd saved, if only by association.

"Shouldn't be out so late," he said, turning towards them with a mocking tirade on the tip of his tongue. "There's…"

He was brought up short.

It was droopy boy and the Wicca, and the vengeance demon they'd picked up along the way - Anyanka, if he remembered correctly. They'd made a night or two of it together once, but that had been decades before.

He knew he'd recognized that voice from somewhere.

"Oh," he huffed, affecting disinterest though he suddenly found himself wary and uncertain. "It's you lot. Got some nasty Indian spirits after you then?"

"Native Amer…" the little redhead snapped, breaking off in a yelp when the Harris kid stomped down hard on her foot.

Spike swallowed, watched them carefully.

There were fear somewhere in both their gazes as they took a measured step back from him, buried deep but still there, and he supposed he deserved that but it wasn't helping his sense of anxiousness. Because there was new bravery in them too, new daring since the last time they'd truly crossed paths, and unless he was much mistaken the boy was harboring a hatred for him that went deeper than your typical good versus bad guy. No, that type of vehemence was personal. The demon girl was standing easily like she wasn't too concerned either way, though Spike wasn't sure she recognized him but it was the other two he was worried about. That fear, that courage and daring, mix it with a little stupidity and that was something dangerous.

If they decided to spring at him with a stake, what was he supposed to do?

He couldn't just let them get away with it with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. That went against everything he was, everything his nature urged him toward, and it was suspicious as hell to boot.

But… he couldn't hurt them either. Couldn't kill them.

And whether that was about him or Buffy it wouldn't bloody matter.

But they were still staring at him, with something a little but like awe or gratitude tainting the two women, and maybe that was something he could play on just long enough to get himself out of there.

"Best take this with you then," he said gruffly, spinning the hatchet in his hand and offering it up handle first. "Case you happen on another."

None of them moved.

Spike felt his pupils flare bright gold at the rejection, felt something unexpected like anger bubble up in the pit of his stomach. He'd soddin' well just saved their lives hadn't he? And it wasn't like he was hanging off any of their necks right now, though he could be if he wanted to!

"Bloody well fine," he hissed, narrowing his eyes and pitching the axe towards them, driving it into the ground at their feet. All three yipped, jumped back though the blade sank into the earth a good six inches from the toes of any of their shoes. "Piss on the lot o' you!"

Turning away from them, Spike snarled a curse under his breath and stalked off into the night, intent on his crypt and a long rest to heal his broken ribs.

Holy cow, it's been a ling time. But HOLY COW - I love this chapter sooooo much. It was one of the first scenes I saw in my head when I started this thing!

Also, the song Spike sings is called When They Fight, They Fight, and it belongs to The Generationals!