Title: Dust Becomes Him

Author: little_bit

Category:  BtVS, Parody.

Rating:  Um, PG-13 for bad language and copious amounts of sexual innuendo (Maybe).

Disclaimer:  Seriously, is this even necessary?  Do we really think Joss is posting stories here?  Not mine, blah, blah, blah. 

Summary:  Is this the end of the vampire Spike?  What happens when Spike's all dusty but he's left behind a video for the gang?

Author's notes:  I ripped off a part of this from that episode of WKRP in Cincinnati where Jennifer's really old boyfriend dies and they go to the reading of the will and lots of funny but touching shit happens.  Has anyone else ever seen that ep?  Boy, was Loni Anderson a beautiful woman.  And that purple suit and hat combo she wears?  Stunning.  Absolutely stunning.

Dedications:  No one brings the funny like the people in the Bad Buffy fic forum at TWoP.  Thank you so much Sea, ozfan, and Poly for inciting me to waste all my time at work and at home obsessing over fanfic.  Long may we reign.


The petite but highly-strung blonde was bawling like a big fat bawling baby in a dark, dirty, musty corner of the crypt.  Which basically meant she was in the centre of the crypt, as the whole damn place was dark, dirty, and musty.

"Jeez Louise, how the hell did Spike live in this place?"  Xander toed a few cobwebby liquor bottles out of the way as he steered the wet and shaky slayer to the couch.  "It's all dank and disgusting."

"Spike...loved...the dank!  Whaaaa WHAAA!" Buffy blubbered as she curled up on the rancid couch, clutching a coffee can to her chest like it was her ticket back into heeaa-ven.

"Xander!  Be nice.  Buffy's having a really hard time with this."  Willow had her resolve face on, which really didn't menace anyone, except those who knew that it was a bad idea to piss off a recovering ex-witch lesbian.  So basically no one in Sunnydale was afraid of Willow or the resolve face.  But of course, the people of Sunnydale were morons.

"I don't get it.  Hearing that Deadboy Junior literally bit the dust was one of the happiest days of my life.  Why is Buffy going all Halle Berry on us?  Fangy the Clown is not worth the tears."

Willow, Tara, Anya, and Dawn all exchanged meaningful womanly glances that conveyed their deep understanding of the situation.  Because they were women.  And women have intuition.  So they knew what Buffy was feeling.  As the estrogen level in the room reached dangerous proportions, Xander mentally reminded himself one more time to get some male friends.

"Well, Xander, you can't just expect her to get over it, POOF, like he never even existed.  When you die I plan on having an appropriate period of mourning, during which I'll wear attractive little black cocktail dresses while settling your estate." Anya frowned at the thought of Dead!Xander, but brightened at the idea of financial management.  "And each night I'll set aside an appropriate amount of time to cry.  You mean that much to me."

"Yes, An, but we're in love.  We're supposed to mourn each other when we die.  Buffy hated Spike. With a vengeance."  Xander rambled on as he collected more frequent flyer miles between Sunnydale and Egypt.  "She could barely stand to spend five minutes with the guy.  Am I the only one who sensed that seething tension that rippled between them every time they were in the same room?  Passionate, burning emotions.  Of hatred.  Why do you think he was always hiding in here?  To keep away from her.  Because she hated him so much."

"Huh!"  Dawn gave a perfect little teenaged dismissive laugh, coupled with a shoulder shrug and a totally gratuitous flip of her hair.  Then she sat down next to her puddle of a sister, who ignored her.  But that was nothing new.

"X-Xander, I-I-I th-think it was m-more than th-that.  Th-they w-were l-lov ---"

Willow began to frantically wave her arms at Tara.  In sort of a gay way.

"I-I m-mean they w-were involved in a-a re-relation ---"  More arm waving.  This time less with the gay, more with the urgency.  "B-Buffy and S-Spike w-were s-s-s..."  Tara couldn't think of an appropriate euphemism that wouldn't make Xander's head explode.


"What?"  Xander turned his perpetually stunned gaze back at Willow.

"You know, sparring partners."  Willow tried to give the necessary wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more swagger to her words, complete with jaunty air quotes, but it was hopeless.  Xander had at some time ripped out the part of his brain that picked up clues.  Even clues that took off their clothes and gave him a lap dance. 

Xander looked over at Buffy, who at this point was stroking the Nabob canister like it held the secrets to world peace, time travel, and the Caramilk Bar.  Buffy, he decided, was completely out of her gourd.

"Are you telling me Buffy's this upset because she doesn't get to kick Spike's ass anymore?"

"No Xander, I think she's upset because she doesn't get to lick his a-"

"ANYA!" Willow and Tara proclaimed in lesbionic symmetry. 

"What?  I often find that type of activity to be extremely pleasurable."  Anya explained, as her constant interest in anything sexual was about to send her off on a dangerous tangent.  "And I always assumed that with his tight ropey muscles, long expressive fingers, and wicked rolling tongue, Spike would be an amazing lover.  Not to mention the large bulge in his pants.  If you know what I mean."  Anya winked playfully at the girls.

Tara, lesbian through and through, shook her head at the phallic reference, while Willow tried to hide her nod of obvious understanding.


"What, I wasn't always gay!  And it's not like you can forget a thing like that.  But don't worry, I'm totally GAY NOW." 

Tara hid her sad eyes from her former lover as she went over to sit with the still weeping uncontrollably slayer. 

"Buffy, hon, how you doing?"  Tara asked gently, as she was the only person in the room to still have actual concern for her fellow man.  Or womyn, as it were.

Buffy wiped a snotty nose on the sleeve of her stunning new black cashmere sweater.  She may have been broke, twice undead, and at the memorial of her recently dusted vampire lover, but a girl had to look good, after all.

"Tara.  How did this happen?  Just last week, Spike and I were lying naked on this couch after another incredible, wall-quaking, earth-shaking marathon sex session –" Both Tara and Dawn jumped up off the couch and carefully wiped off their clothes. " – and now he's, he's…WHAaaaa."  The sniveling slayer lost the ability to speak once more as phlegmy sobs wracked her body.  It really wasn't pretty.  In fact, she was a set of antlers away from looking like a Chaos demon.

"Lining a coffee canister?"  Xander finished Buffy's thought with glee.  His selective hearing had allowed him to avoid all of the Buffy-and-Spike having sex talk.  Living in oblivion truly was bliss.

Xander's offhand comment set the slayer's lip a-quivering and her body a-shaking.  All her pent up emotions, which had been flowing in an Amazon of tears and snot and phlegm, were now redirected in a venomous little hissy fit of rage and anger, and just a bit of PMS.

"How can you?  How – you – you carpenter!"  Buffy stomped her little bitty foot, which was surprisingly strong and actually put a hole in the concrete floor.  "You didn't know him.  I knew him.  Spike was strong and sweet and evil and endearing."  She stormed towards Xander, backing him into the wall. "He helped me and all of you and my god you should have seen him naked!"

"Uh, Buffy?"

Buffy's dewy eyes stopped shooting figurative daggers at Xander for a moment as she cast a glance at her glowy sister.

"Buffy, you're, uh, spilling Spike."

"What?"  Buffy glanced down and realized that in her haste to beat the crap out of Xander, she had let her can o' Spike tilt slightly and that she was now pouring the really-dead-this-time sexy vampire's ashes all over the crypt floor.

"Oh, NOOOO!"  Buffy wailed.  "Does anyone have a broom?"

As the by now certifiable slayer attempted to gather up with her hands the last earthly remains of the best lover she'd ever had, Xander rejoined his kabble of friendly females and thanked good Godfrey Cambridge that Nabob!Spike had saved him from the wrath of Buffy.  And it really chafed his hide to admit that even dusty, Spike was still helping him out.  And that he still had better luck with women.  I mean, just look at how Buffy was fondling the dust.  If Xander didn't know better, he'd think maybe Buffy had a little thing for Spike.  Nah.

As Buffy deposited all the dust, ash, dirt, and cobwebs that she could into the coffee can, she resolved to find a more suitable receptacle for her to carry Spike around in.  Maybe a cute ashtray for around the house, a crystal tumbler for more formal occasions, and a nice sturdy and compact Tupperware container while slaying.

"So what exactly are we waiting around here for?"  Xander was getting impatient.  And hungry.  He had forgotten to eat his usual meal between breakfast and brunch.

"Clem s-said he'd m-meet us h-here with the p-papers.  It s-seems S-Spike had a will."

"Now this, I gotta see." Xander snorted.

"Someone's at the door.  Someone's at the door.  Someone's at the door."  Buffy chanted in an eerily quite voice, her earlier hysterics replaced, apparently, by the psychic abilities of a dead character on a long cancelled TV show that was really good and never should have been cancelled in the first place.  Ahem. 

"Don't worry Buffy," Willow cooed in an excellent friend like manner, trying to prove to Tara that she thought of other people besides herself by settling Buffy back down on the sofa of sex, "I'm sure it's just – "

"Angel." Tara stated.

"Angel?" Xander, Anya, and Dawn questioned.

"Angel!" Buffy shrieked.

And sure enough, there stood Angel in the doorway of the crypt.  All dark and broody and mysterious and, aw, hell, who was he kidding.  There stood Angel in the doorway of the crypt, looking like a gigantic dork.  A gigantic dork holding a baby carrier.




Simpson's Quote of the Day:  "Me fail English?  That's unpossible!"