6 More BtVS Drabbles

[katleept]

"Dawn, eat your vegetables." Buffy watched her little sister poking at the potatoes and lima beans on her plate. "You need them."

"But they taste yucky!"

"That they might," Giles, sitting at the table's other end interjected, "but your sister is right. You do need them, especially the potatoes. You can not see it in their current form, but before they were cooked, they had eyes. Ingesting those will aid you in seeing the truths in the world around us."

"You mean like ghosts, Demons, and stuff?"

Giles smiled.

"Euuw," Dawn protested, "but cool, too." Dawn grinned and ate her veggies.

~*~*~*~

Okay, Buffy thought, rousing from her dream about Giles convincing Dawn to eat her potatoes, that was weird. She shrugged and flopped over in bed. The image of a shirtless Giles met her next. They were in the training room he had built for her in the back of The Magic Box. He circled around her, gesturing her to attack. She came at him, but instead of attacking, she let him catch her hands and pull her close against him. She smiled at they kissed in her dream and settled down to sleep more. Now that's more like it.

The End




Making a face, Xander quickly flipped the channel. Documentaries had always been more of a Willow thing, but he especially could no longer stand them now. Every mention of another country brought to mind some monster they had fought. Russia reminded him of Baba Yaga, Romania of Dracula, and Scotland of Witches far uglier, older, and blacker in the soul than Willow would ever be. But Peru was the worst, reminding him always of the mummy who had wanted to keep him forever. Bugs crawled across the television; Xander turned it off. That was enough of old girlfriends for one night!

The End




"Oh, come on, Spike, just try it."

"Eat your food, Nibblet."

"Help me." She poked a long, strangely shaped potato at him.

"Don't need to." Shrugging, he lit another cigarette. "We Vampires don't need to eat 'cept blood."

"Don't need to," she repeated, making a mimicking face, "but you enjoy it! Come on. Just try it! You'd like it! You like onion rings."

"Those fried onions are pretty good."

"And so are French fries. They're just fried potatoes."

"You don't fry a potato, or dip it in fake blood."

She laughed. "It's ketchup, Spike!" She grinned as he finally ate one.

The End




"Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere but Peru. I heard about the mummy Princesses there."

"There are going to be monsters anywhere we go," he advised, wrapping her in a big, bear hug from behind. He pulled her close against him; his next words came whispered against her neck. "But I'll protect you."

"I know you will," Cordy replied, angling her face to look up at him with adoring eyes and her beautiful smile. "You'll always protect me, my Angel." But then before him, the flesh of her ravishing face vanished into old bones, complete with crawling maggots. Angel awoke, again, screaming.

The End




She told the others she didn't remember much about what had happened to her body while she had worked to resurrect Buffy, but it was yet another lie. She was growing accustomed to telling those these days, but they had to be said. Xander and Tara especially could not know how much she had hurt to bring Buffy back. Buffy herself could not know that she had spilled innocent blood, that she relived the horror of calling the beautiful fawn to her just to kill it every night, or that she remembered the way her body had twisted and turned, inside and out, until she had puked the snake every time a virus hit her.

They couldn't know all she had done. They need only know that she had and would sacrifice anything, any one including herself, to bring Buffy back. Love, after all, did make you do the wacky.

The End




He wasn't supposed to hurt like this. His heart no longer beat and, therefore, wasn't supposed to feel. This was no virus; he couldn't puke it out, live it out, or anything else. He couldn't attribute the pain he felt to his chip. As the very girl who caused his tears had told him time and again, he didn't have a soul. Yet he couldn't stop feeling as though his whole world was gone as it lay, broken and unmoving, unbreathing, a few feet away from his own body. Buffy was gone; he wished like Hell he'd gone with her.

The End