Disclaimer: The characters and world aren't mine.

A/N: Written as a fill at Comment-Fic for DrabbleWriter who prompted, "Any, any, a creature-focused apocalypse with any creature besides zombies."


"I didn't mean to," says Andrew. "You know that, right? I didn't mean to. Buffy? Guys?"

And, honestly, Buffy's this close to wringing his neck without meaning to, but she's got a big headache from how many times he's said these words in the past two days and also from overwhelming feces smell that's taken over the entire city thanks to Andrew's not meaning to.

Also she's a little busy with the fighting to survive thing, but when is that ever not happening?

The stabbing and swinging with the scythe isn't overly effective. It works fine if she lands a hit, but there are hundreds of them out there, all small and crazy fast.

But if she just keeps swinging, slashing, chopping, and dicing, she might be able to wait until Willow's spell is ready to freak out over the trauma of waking up to Spike's cat dropping a dead monkey corpse on her.

(Nah, she's not gonna get over that one.)