Disclaimer: Buffy The Vampire Slayer was Created by Joss Whedon and is property of many companies but not me. The Walking Dead was created by Robert Kirkman and the show, which is the world I am referencing in this, is shared with Production Creators Frank Darabont and Angela Kang.

Arthur's Note: Picks up where the last one ends, jump soon after.
There's so many shows where dead man's blood is used as like vamp kryptonite, I tried to sift through the Buffy Lore to determine if it was mentioned but I couldn't find it being stated. To me, if it's not congealed there wouldn't be a concern, if someone remembers otherwise can you let me know in the comments or message me what ep/source material you found it in? I like to stay true to the universe(s) within reason.
This is short in comparison to my others, one to get this out there but also the rest I wanted to work on felt so separate it did not seem right to have it in the same chapter.

[19]

The front door to the Sportsman was quiet but two men's voice drew Michonne's attention as they came muffled from beyond the cooler door, the chains of her shadow men rattling at the intrusion. "Look at this shit. Don didn't mention these guys."

The second man's reply did not carry over, but by the heavy thuds against the door, it was obvious the walkers had been disposed of. Kneeling, she was reaching for the handle of her blade, standing to get her katana when the door was yanked open, one man entering with his weapon drawn, the other entering behind him, "Ah, ah, ah."

Light colored hair capped a burly frame, the second man demanding, "Wouldn't do that, doll." Eyes roaming over her, he nodded at the weapon she did have, "Gonna have to ask you to drop that." Spike must have moved somewhere in the vicinity behind her because the man's attention was diverted momentarily, "You too, drop it."

"What would I be dropping?" The blonde was not amused by her friend's sarcasm, the barrel's focus shifting as he directed,

"Show me he's clean." As she raised her hand, knife still held in it, he demanded she release it again and she set it on the shelf beside her, blade facing out. Brow raising, she continued to step back until she stood by Spike, "His jacket, open it." Showcasing the insides of the jacket were empty, along with the front of his jeans, the man with the piercing voice asked after the two dead ones that had been guarding the front,

"Which of you jack offs did that?" When he did not get a response, he moved to go through their things. Watching as he opened her pack she stilled in the process of her search of Spike.

"Did I tell you to stop?" Lighter hair growled, the little light that had filtered behind him was beginning to fade, casting the inside of the cooler in shadow, "You turn around, show me his back."

Spike turned towards her, moving slowly, eyes whispering over the blade she had set down. Fingers clasped on the back of his head as directed so she could pull the duster away, the two intruders laughed at the sheathed knife, ordering it be disposed of. When Spike moved to remove the weapon himself, the man holding them at gunpoint stepped closer, "She can do it."

Spike persisted, unhooking the strap that kept it in place, "If I'm losing it, I'll be the one to do see it go."

"I said, let her do it." The man pilfering through Michonne's pack knocked it aside at the change of tone, standing as Spike began to turn and instead of waiting for whatever bit to play out, shot him instead. White knuckles gripped the handle in pain, refusing to drop is as Michonne stepped back, hitting the shelf beside her as the Brit cursed, grunting,

"You deaf?" Thinner than the other man, he carried himself with purpose, crossing the distance to strike Spike down when he still refused to drop the knife, punching the shot in his side when he saw Spike start to raise his hand. The blade was kicked away when it was dropped, skittering under the shelf by Michonne as he hit Spike again in the side and face to bring him down before finishing checking him, "He's clean."

"Good," weapon lowering, the other man smiled, "then we can talk."

The night was long in the small building, the two men interrogating Spike about his connection to their dead and missing members while Michonne was forced to witness, wondering how long it would take before Spike lost consciousness from blood loss. Given how long the men had been in the building she began considering if the men were alone, if this was just to confirm if Spike was really the perpetrator or not before they killed them. After the first hour she doubted anyone was following, that if they were a scouting party, it was to a group so whittled they would not follow unless they returned.

"You told our boy Dave you were alone, but the way I'm thinking; you take off with our truck, next group we come across won't let our guys look around for you causes a whole bunch of mess, and then we spend winter playing hide and seek around here, trying to stay alive. I can't see one man, taking out so many men on his own."

"Sounds rough mate, do you need a hanky?" The enforcer struck again at his lack of respect, blood splattering the floor.

"Enough," his partner sighed, rubbing along his brows, face drawn, "We wanted to give you the opportunity, confess before you meet your maker, but we don't have all night…" His gaze drifted to her, lips pulling up tight, "Is there anything you want to share, while you can?"

Spike was obscured from her view as his attacker pulled his weapon out again, the speaker leaning down in close to her, "No?" When the shot filled the room, the man blinked but Michonne forced herself to stay focused and struck his forehead with hers, reaching out for his wrist as it came up and twisted his arm until his back was to her. Unable to drag him within reaching distance of her weapon, she shoved him forward and swept down where she had seen the knife disappear.

By the time the man recovered from stumbling, he turned to find the discarded blade in his his chest. The two staring at one another, eyes locked for a moment before his gun hit the floor and Michonne twisted the knife as he reached up. Choking on the pain, he groaned and Michonne pulled her arm from his grasping fingers, watching as he fell forward.

"Feisty," Spike wiped his face as he stood, his attacker's head angled oddly above the where his throat had been, "I like that in a partner." Once Michonne had taken possession of her katana they rifled through the deceased's pockets, finding only a set of keys, a pack of gum and,

"There's the ticket," Spike grinned at the half pack of smokes. Tapping it he looked over at her, holding it open to her to share but she waived him off, "Suite yourself."

By the time the men reanimated the Sportsman was empty, the only indication of its former tenants the walkers that had been left behind.

[Break, Early Spring, Sunnydale]

A bounty of crops laid heavy on their vine, the group moving down each aisle to pull those already ripe. The first and second wheelbarrow were found with loud calls and crowing, the tiny group relieved they would be sustained on more than just canned goods. It wasn't until the second week without rain that they realized it was not food that would be the issue.

The West Coast heat was steadily rising and if they could not get a better system for containing rainwater whenever they managed to be blessed with it that they were not going to be able to stay put.

[Break, Cleveland]

All but one pair each of the constraining clothes of winter were packed away after the first day of Spring, both Ohio native and transplants celebrating the freedom from being locked inside away from the cold. The sisters ran on the roof top without worry of skidding over ice and over the top, using the ledges and AC equipment as substitute jungle gym. Though the streets were still full below, it was hard to let the smell bother them after being shut in for months.

[Letting time pass by]

[New way of life becoming the everyday]