Title: William Summers, Vampire Hunter
Summary: A brief glimpse into the life of William Summers, Vampire Hunter. A short, one-shot, fluffy Spuffy future fic.
Author's Notes: This is just something that's been squirming around in my brain for a while and I had to get out. No spoilers here. Which is nice for a change. Rated PG
Feedback: Yes, please. It keeps me alive. PrettyPoppy@worldnet.att.net
Distribution: If you want it, just let me know
Disclaimer: Joss is a god. The rest of us are just his lowly minions. Joss owns everything. I own nothing, (except maybe William in this case, but I doubt that would hold up in a court of law).
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The full moon hung high above the oldest of Sunnydale's many cemeteries, casting a cool, revealing light over the manicured grass; throwing deep shadows into the trees and foliage. It was just enough. He was on the hunt.
There were vamps about. Always were. Every night they came out, prowled the streets of Sunnydale like they owned the place. They had to be stopped. And only one person was up to the task: William Summers, Vampire Hunter.
William crouched down among the bushes as he stalked his unseen prey stealthily through the night. He didn't need to see the vamp to know it was there. He could feel it. Smell it. A soft tingle had prickled at the back of his neck, first alerting him to its presence. That's always the way it was. First he would feel them, then he would pick up on their scent.
William narrowed his eyes, focusing intently on a distant shadow on the far edge of the graveyard. "Now I've got you," he mumbled silently to himself, as his eyes came into sharper focus and his night vision kicked in. He could see the vamp cowering in the darkness. Watching. Waiting. It was only a matter of time before the beast was cornered and reduced to a helpless cloud of dust.
Thumping his heels impatiently against the soft, dewy grass, he got ready to strike. His muscles were tense, his heart beating faster and faster. The blood was ripping through his veins at an alarming speed, urging him onward. Ever onward, to the kill. Stake in hand, William got ready to pounce.
"There you are," a familiar voice broke through the silence. "You insufferable little whelp."
Before William could even react, two very strong hands came down around him and gripped him, vice-like, around the waist. "Let me go," he growled feverishly, as he kept his eyes intently locked on his prey.
"Oh I will. Once I've got you home and given you a right good beating. You're mother's been worried sick."
In one swift move, five-year-old William Summers was unceremoniously hoisted up under his father's arm, and trapped there like a scrambling, feral sack of potatoes.
"Grrr." A low, rumbling growl reverberated through William's chest as he twisted around in his father's arm, trying desperately to break free. Squeezing his left arm out from under his father's iron grip, he raised the stake he had stolen, and tried to stab his captor.
"Hey! Watch it there," the bleached blonde vamp shouted, as he shifted the boy in his arms, trying to avoid the child's all-too accurate aim. "What are you doin'? Tryin' to kill me?"
William was trapped. He knew it. And there was only one thing he could do. Twisting toward his abductor and opening his mouth as wide as he could, he leaned forward and clamped his teeth down firmly on the sleeve of his father's leather duster.
"Bloody hell!" Spike screamed, almost losing his grip on the crazed, untamed beast writhing beneath his arm.
"Spike!" There was a shout in the distance.
Spike would have breathed a sigh of relief if he hadn't still had his hands full with the spawn of Slayer. "Damn bloody brat bit me! Again! We've gotta do somethin' about that. Can't have him going around biting people whenever he damn well pleases. Tried to stake me too. Would have succeeded if I'd given him half a chance."
Buffy barely seemed to notice. Before saying another word, she ran up to William and coddled his face in her hands, examining him for any sign of harm. "Are you all right baby? Oh my sweet, sweet little William. Are you hurt?"
She received her very own growl from the boy, for her trouble.
"Oh yes, precious baby," Spike said, as he shifted his burden in his arm, once again. "Brat tried to kill me."
"What?" Buffy finally looked up at Spike. "Don't be so dramatic. He's five years old." Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave him an insufferable look. "Don't tell me the great master vampire almost got staked by a five year old."
"A five year old who's half Slayer," he reminded her.
"Oh stop being such a baby. You'll be fine," she said, finally relaxing a little. "Is he all right?"
"Oh him?" Spike looked down at his charge, the little boy with the wavy brown hair and the piercing blue eyes. He was still kicking and squirming. "Yeah, he'll be fine, if we ever find a cage big enough for him."
"You think I'm joking? You tellin' me he isn't a little monster?"
Buffy moved around to Spike's other side and wrapped her arm through his lovingly, as they began to walk toward the entrance of the cemetery. "He's our little monster."
"Right. And of course, that makes it all right. When he eats half his kindergarten class, I'm sure we'll be very proud to call him our own. Maybe we can visit him in prison."
"He's fine. Just a little rambunctious."
They heard more hissing and growling from the little boy at Spike's side.
"Right. Just like his mum." Spike smiled down at Buffy cynically.
"He's not always like this. Just when he's on the hunt. What do you want? He's half-vampire, half-Slayer. You can't expect him to be normal. Hey, at least you know he's yours. I mean, you think anyone else could produce offspring like that?
"I didn't do it alone," Spike said tightly.
"Yes, I remember." Buffy grinned up at him.
"No fair. No changin' the subject. We're talking about this little beast." Spike hiked him up again, securing him more firmly underneath his arm. "Snuck out of his room again. Damn killer instinct. Maybe we should think about chaining him up. Do we still have those chains in the basement?"
Buffy raised a curious brow at him. "Uh, they're not exactly in the basement anymore. Remember? We . . . moved them?"
"What? Oh right, right. Almost forgot."
"Forgot?" she asked indignantly. "How could you forget? It was your idea!"
"Sorry pet. Wasn't thinkin'. I seem to have something else on my mind right now," he said darkly, as little William continued to writhe at his side. "Maybe we need to find him a hobby. How about smoking? Never steered me wrong."
"Right, so he'll have lung cancer by the time he's eleven."
"Well, it might keep him from biting people."
"Never stopped you."
"Well I'm a vamp, remember? He's only got half my excuse. Although," Spike stopped walking for a moment, "come to think of it, I don't think he gets the biting thing from me."
"Oh really?" Buffy put her hands on her hips and glared at Spike. "And what exactly are you implying?"
"Nothin'." He shrugged it off and started walking again, knowing full well that it was going to make his Slayer mad.
"'Nothing?' It didn't sound like nothing. Are you implying that I have a biting problem?"
"Well, not really a problem luv. You won't get any complaints from me, but you do tend to go a bit feral when you're . . . well . . ." He smiled wistfully.
Buffy grabbed the sleeve of Spike's duster and pulled him to a halt, nearly dislodging William from his arm. "I am not an animal!"
"Whatever you say, pet."
"I mean it Spike. I'm not kidding. I am not an animal. I'm a woman. I--"
She was cut off as William let out a piercing howl and tried desperately to break free, one more time. Wrenching himself from his father's grasp, he landed soundly on his feet, and took off into the night at a mad dash.
"Spike!" Buffy screamed.
They both tore after him. Little William, with his slayer strength and vamp speed, was almost a match for his parents. Almost, but not quite.
Before they had sprinted even halfway across the graveyard, Spike overtook his errant offspring and effortlessly plucked him from the ground.
The little boy continued to squirm as his father passed him off into his mother's waiting arms. "Here. You take him. I've got enough bruises for one night."
"Let . . . me . . . go," William rumbled dangerously, as he momentarily stilled and focused his eyes at a point off in the darkness.
Spike followed his gaze. Crouching behind a nearby tombstone was a lone vamp. Apparently William's instincts had been right. Not much surprise there. Well, there was only one way to restore the boy to his semi-normal demeanor. Remove the provocation.
Spike pulled a stake out of his duster and took off after the vamp.
William watched intently as his father cornered the prey and deftly stabbed the creature solidly through the heart. A moment later, all that was left of the pesky vampire was a big pile of dust.
Wiping off his black leather coat, Spike turned around and headed back toward his family, carelessly flipping the stake through the air as he walked. When he finally reached them, he stopped and lowered his face to his son's. "Is that it?" he asked. "Is that the only one?"
William nodded wordlessly, finally beginning to relax.
"Good." Spike put the stake back in his pocket and looked up at Buffy. "You want me to take him?"
"No, I think I got it," she said smiling slightly, as she turned the little boy around and let him rest his head against her shoulder.
Together, they began their walk home from the cemetery.
"You know," Spike said, turning to look at William as they walked, "you can't keep doing this. I mean it. You get the urge to hunt, you tell your mother or me. You do not go running off into the night alone. You got that?"
William stared silently back and nodded. Then he yawned, and snuggled closer to his mom.
"Right, as if anyone ever listens to a word I say."
"Are we going home now?" William asked.
"Yes, luv, we are," Buffy whispered quietly, before placing a protective kiss atop his small head.
"Do you think there'll be more vamps tomorrow?"
Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but Spike cut her off. "Not for you. No more vamps William. I'm serious. You need to find some other way to spend your time."
"You're father's right," Buffy conceded. "What about your poetry? You like poetry, don't you?"
"Yeah." He brightened a little and pulled back to look at his mom. "Aunt Dawnie said she's going to get me a rhyming dictionary. Said she didn't know any words that rhymed with 'lungs,' so she'd get me a dictionary to help me out."
"Well . . . that's nice," Buffy said slowly.
"Can I go down now? I wanna walk with you guys."
"Sure." Buffy put the little boy down between her and Spike, and they each took one of his warm, little hands.
"I wrote a poem today, you know?" he said, looking up at his mother. "It was about you. Daddy has it."
"Does he now?" Buffy gave Spike a sidelong glance.
"Give it to her Daddy. I want her to see it. You put it in your coat, remember?"
Spike let go of William's hand and felt around in an inside pocket for the crisp, folded-up piece of paper. "Here you go, whelp," he said, handing it down to the eager little boy.
William unfolded the paper and handed it up to his mother. "Daddy, did the letters, but I wrote it."
Buffy tried to keep the sheet steady as they walked. She read the contents aloud. "My Mommy the Vampire Slayer."
My mommy is the Slayer.
She kills vamp after vamp.
And when there's no more vamps around,
It's demons she will stamp.
She kicks them and she punches,
And beats them till they're dead.
And if there's no more vamps around,
She beats on Daddy instead.
"And you helped him write this?" Buffy asked Spike when she had finally finished.
"Can't stifle the kid's creativity."
"Just promise me you won't let him bring this in for show-and-tell. I really don't need another call home from his teacher."
"No, I think we'll just keep this one to ourselves. At least it's not as colorful as it could have been. We left out the part about the bleeding entrails. More's the pity."
"Good, I'm not sure I could take it. Besides, I don't really remember ever eviscerating anyone. Other than Adam, of course."
"Who's Adam?" William asked.
"He was a big, lame, hulking government experiment gone wrong," Spike said, as he tousled the little boy's hair. "Your mum dated him for a while."
"Excuse me?" Buffy interjected.
"Oh wait, that was Riley. I seem to be getting him confused with his brother. Adam had a lot more going for him actually. Typical Frankestein's monster type. You would have enjoyed watching your mum rip out his insides," Spike said, looking down at William. "Heard it was quite the show."
"Neat! Can we write one about that someday?"
"Sure. No problem. I'll fill you in on all the gory details. And if it's not bloody enough, we'll make something up."
"Creative license?" Buffy asked, eyeing him curiously.
"Somethin' like that."
"Daddy says it's always okay to make things up for a story. Says it's okay to lie in real life too, as long as it's for a good reason."
"Oh does he now?" Buffy narrowed her gaze at Spike.
"Oh yeah, like when he told you that he didn't know how that Holy Water had gotten mixed in with Uncle Angel's tube of hair gel, last time he came to visit. He also said that it's okay to cheat at kitten poker and steal cigarettes too, as long as your mother doesn't find out."
"You mean as long as his wife doesn't find out?"
"No big deal pet. Just harmless fun." Spike tried to blow it off.
"You know," Spike said, looking down at the little boy. "Maybe next time you should write about something a little less dangerous. Although I can't imagine there being any topic on earth that wouldn't somehow get me in trouble with your mum. We could write about puppies and flowers and sunshine, and she'd find someway to find fault with it."
"Hey!" William interrupted, tugging on his mother's sleeve. "Didn't you like my poem?"
Buffy tore her eyes away from Spike and looked at her son. "Yes sweetheart, I loved it." She stopped walking and knelt down beside him, pulling him into a warm embrace. "Thank you so much."
"Your welcome," William said politely. "It's much better than the one Daddy wrote."
"What?" Buffy looked up at Spike. "Daddy . . . wrote . . . a poem?"
Spike snickered in agitation and pulled his eyes away. "No, I--"
"Yes, he did. Look." William took the piece of paper from her and turned it over. "See, it's on the back."
And indeed it was. There, in Spike's most elegant Victorian cursive was another poem, this one apparently penned by William the Bloody Awful Poet Senior.
"It's not very good though," William said thoughtfully. "He didn't even mention that you were the Slayer or that you killed vamps. How can it be any good without any violence in it?"
Buffy stood for a moment and silently read the poem to herself, while Spike paced along the pavement nervously.
Beyond all logic I have searched in vain;
Discerning no reason to calm my soul,
For the love that cometh like warm Spring rain,
To heal my wounded heart and make me whole.
She comes like morn, the one, far above me;
Light and warmth which I shall never deserve.
With shining eyes and radiant beauty;
Daybreak gleaming against night's dark reserve.
What reason is there for her warmth and love?
What spark hidden but to her eyes alone?
I am beneath, she is always above,
But still her endless grace I own.
Unworthy though I ever shall be,
Only she has found the man in me.
Buffy looked up at Spike, tears misting her deep hazel eyes. "Spike," she whispered lovingly.
He turned to look at her, fear and tension clearly evident in his gaze.
"Thank you. It's beautiful."
"It's not terribly good. You weren't meant to . . . It's nothing really."
Buffy walked around William and moved up closer to Spike. "It's everything. I love you. You do know that, don't you?"
"Yeah, pet. I have a pretty good idea."
"Good. Then do me a favor," she said, moving in closer and whispering in his ear.
"What's that luv?"
"Write me another."
"Please," she said softly, staring deeply into his dark blue eyes.
"They're not very good. They weren't meant for you to . . ."
"I know, but I want to see them. If you let me have another one, when we go home tonight I'll--"
"Bunny!" William screamed, before Buffy could finish.
"What?" She swung around to look at her unattended offspring. He was pointing to a small, brown rabbit that had taken up refuge on someone's front lawn. He already had that crazed look in his eyes.
"Aunt Anya says Bunny's are evil," William said, his eyes locked on the small, startled creature. "Just like vamps. She says they have to be destroyed. All of them. She . . ."
Spike came around behind his son and firmly clamped one hand over the boy's mouth. With the other arm, he hoisted the little demon off the pavement. "Nope. Not again. I think you've had enough adventure for one night."
Buffy smiled at Spike. "Okay, so maybe the cage isn't such a bad idea."
Spike just grunted in reply, as they continued on their way home - Buffy, Spike, and little William Summers, Vampire Hunter.