have i written 52,000 words in less than three months on my buffy x hellblazer crossover fic sequel that me and exactly one mutual want? yes, yes I have
this is shaping up to be the longest thing i’ve ever written, and i’m really worried i’m going to just run out of steam because i really want to finish it, but so far they’re still finding things to talk about (only some of which is how much they both hate morrisey) and I think it’s got a fun roadtrip vibe and isn’t just 50k of me describing airports.
i’m still not sure if i ship them, and nor are they because spike has literally never had a friend before and john self sabotages like it’s his job, but i’m just kind of letting the dynamic delevop naturally and seeing where it goes. like, it’s definitely a slow burn something, I’m just not sure what yet
i’m enjoying writing it a whole lot though, which is nice. I think the fact that it’s so incredibly niche is working in its favour there - Insert Hell Pun Here has 60 kudos (i’ve been spoiled by the fact that i actually shipped reasonably popular ships back in my teen wolf and sherlock days but I do know that 60 people reading and enjoying my silly little story is still pretty amazing really), and this is definitely going to appeal to even fewer people than that, so I don’t feel like I’ve got to live up to anyone’s expectations except my own
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(disclaimer for anyone who’s struggling with time rn: it’s not wednesday, i just forgot I was going to do this this week, and since it’s a snow day in lockdown time is doubly meaningless, so I figured why not do it today)
Fic: let me take you by the hand (and drag you through the streets of london) - BtVS x Hellblazer crossover
There’s a little welcome committee waiting on the sidewalk for them when Spike and Giles pull in outside the Magic Box in the stolen car; Anya, Xander and Dawn huddled outside like they’re waiting for alms.
“They’re doing something… weird,” Anya says, like that word has any meaning at all coming from her. “We ran away.”
“We made a strategic retreat,” Xander corrects. “Because magic is creepy and it smells gross.”
“How gross?” Giles asks immediately.
“It’ll air out,” Anya says dismissively. “I wouldn’t let them do anything that would impact sales.”
“Okay, well. Good.”
“Anyway, you’re one to talk. Is that cigarettes I smell?” Xander asks. “You boys been sneaking off to smoke behind the bleachers?”
“It was behind the bike shed, in my day,” Giles says, unruffled.
Everyone turns to look at him, so Spike shrugs. “They still thought it was medicinal in my day.”
“Wow. You’re so oooold,” Dawn says, wrinkling her nose.
“I’m dead, Bit. And I didn’t actually smoke when I was alive.” His mother couldn’t abide the smell, said it brought on her trouble. Darla had been the one to teach him - she’d smoked like a chimney all the years he’d known her. Cigarillos, cigarettes in a holder once they became the fashion, and even a pipe occasionally. She’d had a long-stemmed clay pipe, the one thing from her human life she’d kept, and on rainy evenings when it was just the four of them sitting around by the fire pretending to be a real family she’d lie on the settee in her chemise and drawers and smoke, while Dru or Angel brushed out her hair for her and Spike read aloud the most amusing obituaries and murders from the paper.
“Wait, you didn’t smoke. You.”
Spike shrugs. There’s a lot about his human life he prefers not to think about, but it’s not like his lifestyle was exactly unusual back then, at least not among respectable middle-class families. “I was pretty straight-edge. Didn’t smoke, didn’t drink to excess, never even considered trying opium or hashish. It didn’t last.”
“Clearly.”
They stand around in awkward silence for a bit. Spike rolls another cigarette, to give himself something to do, and then rolls one for Giles as well just to draw it out. Giles takes it without comment, letting Spike light it for him before taking a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs for long enough that he coughs a little when he finally exhales.
“Don’t get any ideas,” he says, pointing at Dawn with his fag. “Smoking isn’t cool.”
Dawn, bless her sarcastic little teenage heart, rolls her eyes. “I know. Anyway I get that lecture enough from Spike, I don’t need it from you as well.”
The others turn to stare at him. Spike shrugs. “I’m not getting any deader, but I’m not having her give herself lung cancer.”
“Well I for one am glad Dawn isn’t dying of cancer,” Anya says brightly, like the absolute lunatic she is.
“Me too,” a rough voice says behind them, and they turn to see John, Buffy, and the witches coming out of the shop. John gives Spike a smile that makes something long forgotten shiver through his chest. It’s been a while since anyone looked at him like he was their equal, no animosity or fear or even irritation in his expression. “Tara’s done a tidy bit of spellwork, the blood will keep as long as you need it to.”
“We’ll pick up some more on our way out of town,” Spike says. “It’s on our way.”
“I guess this is it then,” Willow says. She’s still pale, doesn’t sound quite her normal self, but that’s better than he would have expected given what she’s been through. “This is weird. I kind of thought we were going to be stuck with you forever.”
“I’m going to miss you so much,” Dawn says, flinging her arms around him in a tight hug.
Two hugs in one day.
“I’ll miss you too. But I’ve got your number, and I’ll call you, as soon as I’ve got a phone, okay?”
She nods against his chest, her hair making a soft noise against the leather of his coat, and then lets him go. “I’m okay.”
Tara wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close at once. No one had asked her and Willow to be parents, but they’ve done a pretty good job, all things considered.
“Well, I’m not going to miss you,” Xander says. “In case you were wondering.”
“If I ever get this damn chip out you’re first on my list,” Spike tells him, and then, mostly just to be a dick, pulls Anya into a hug.
“X’ttrk,” he says, one of three words of Ashma’har he’s picked up over the years. It only means goodbye but Xander doesn’t know that and Spike can see it’s absolutely killing him, which is all he wanted. “Keep being you.”
“I don’t see how I could be anyone else,” Anya says, and because she’s Anya she means exactly that. “You should… also continue to be you.”
“That’s the plan.”
He’s not going to risk hugging the witches, even though he would if it were only Tara here. He offers her a hand to shake instead, and she takes it solemnly. “Look after yourself.”
“You too.”
He doesn’t try to touch Willow - it wouldn’t be welcomed. He sticks the hand not holding his cigarette in the pocket of his coat, and says, “Look after them. All of them.”
“I do my best.”
He doesn’t get involved in relationship drama that doesn’t involve him if he can help it (getting weekly updates from Dawn on the Chad - Emma J - Emma C love triangle doesn’t count since he’s only hearing about it forth hand) but he’s seen some fucked up relationships in his time, and he’s not stupid. He knows there’s something going on between the witches, and the fact that they’ve been all lovey dovey again the last couple of weeks isn’t enough to make him think they’ve actually fixed anything. “Look after Tara.”
Wide eyes, and Willow looks at John before she looks at Tara. Maybe he’s being a pessimist and it’s just that John cussed her out for it as well, but he doesn’t think so. Which is a damn shame, because they’re bloody cute together when everything’s working like it’s supposed to.
She juts her chin out pugnaciously and says, “I always do.”
So that’s not getting fixed any time soon.
Still, it’s not his problem. They’re adults, technically. It’s up to them to figure out what they’re fucking up.
Which just leaves Buffy, the one goodbye he’s been dreading. “Slayer...”
She cuts him off. “We’ve said everything that needs to be said. Don’t do anything to make me need to hunt you down.”
“No promises, pet. You know that.” For a moment they just stare at one another, but Spike forces himself to be the one to turn away first this time. He wishes that didn’t feel like a metaphor. “Alright, let’s roll.”
“You’re driving,” John says, sliding into the passenger seat. “On account of I never learned.”
Spike slings his bags into the back seat before he gets into the driver’s seat. The one that holds the blood feels cool to the touch, like it’s just been taken out of the fridge, and tingles like magic. “You never learned to drive?!”
John shrugs. “I’m a queer londoner. Plus my best mate’s a cabbie. He’ll generally take me where I need to go when I’m in town.”
“Yeah but this is America.”
“I hitch-hike.”
“Dangerous.”
“For them more than me.”
Spike snorts and twists the screwdriver they’re using for a key. The engine purrs to life under his hands. It’s going to be a bitch to keep it in fuel, but he already knows he’s going to like driving it. Good call, Ripper. “So what exactly are you contributing to this trip?”
“Charm.”
“Lucky me.”
Dawn waves as they pull away, and when he glances in the mirror at them, still standing there, he sees Anya is too.
