Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy, Angel, or any related characters. Making no money here.
Spoilers: Post Buffy and Angel's final seasons… doesn't follow the comics, save for a few ideas plucked here and there.
Prompt: 080. Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Spike/any or gen - vampires vs zombies. It's a messy old world.
Summary: When Buffy and Angel went to find where, exactly, Spike had gotten to for the last year or so… this was the last thing they expected.
Author's Note: This story is just meant to be a funny little thing, written forzombi-fic-ation 2013 over at livejournal. Actually, I sort of, accidentally, chose the same two fandoms to write for as I did last year... and accidentally did the same genre for said fandoms as I did the year before. Life's funny like that, huh? Hope you enjoy!
Following the Trends
"You've gotta be freakin' kidding me," Buffy huffed from her place in the stands.
Well, "stands" was a bit liberal. Sure, it was shaped like a stadium, but Buffy had a sneaking suspicion that the former construction area was meant to be a bit more than this. As it was, they were high above a coliseum-like ring, high fencing topped with barbed wire the audience's only protection against the action about to begin on the dirt-covered ground below. Granted, Buffy was about ninety-percent sure that the audience could've probably held their own… but an effort to keep them separate from the action was appreciated she supposed.
She glanced to her right, Angel shaking his head down at the open arena. Catching his ex's look, he shrugged.
"Should we really be that surprised? I mean, it's Spike," he said.
Buffy pursed her lips, arms crossed. When Willow had finally told the Head Slayer and her former—one of two—vampire lover that she had finally located her other former vampire lover, Buffy hadn't been quite sure what to expect. Spike had been off the radar for about a year now, following the whole LA fiasco. But when big trouble had begun to brew once more in the world—and in that, Buffy was most certainly not surprised—she knew she had to have her best players on the board. Hence, the search for the platinum vampire.
But this… arena? Thunderdome? Whatever the hell it was, it had honestly caught her off guard. Buffy stepped a bit closer to the fencing, her eyes falling over the two, caged doors—one underneath them, a little to her left and the other directly across the arena from the first. She couldn't make out anything, and it didn't take long before Angel gently jabbed her in the side with his elbow. She glanced at him, seeing him gesture to her other side. A blonde haired, buxom vampire—not Harmony, thank God—was walking about with a tray full of pamphlets, happily passing them out to whatever human, vampire, general demon wanted one.
"Hey!" Angel called to her, sticking a finger in the air. "One."
She happily obliged, moving quickly on. Angel held the tri-folded paper out to Buffy, who sighed once more.
"Spike," she said, as if that was explanation enough.
The pamphlet cleared stated on its front "Zombies vs. Vampires—Seven Nights a Week!" Inside were all nifty tidbits about past fights, and it promised more bloodshed each time. And it encouraged—and explained how to place—bets, as well as advertising some of the arena's—Fleshdome, apparently—reigning champs. One name immediately stood out, and Buffy almost made mention of it before it was clearly announced over the speakers of Fleshdome.
"You've seen him defeat George the Gorging. You've seen him rip limb-from-limb Max the Mutilated. But can he take on Brian the Brain-feaster? Here he is to answer that very question… please welcome to Fleshdome, your champion, William "Never Too Much" the Bloody!"
Buffy's brow arched, and both she and Angel exchanged yet another look of disbelief as the barred door on the opposite side of the arena rose to reveal Spike, his hair still the same shining platinum as always, shirtless and in black jeans, enter. His hands were thrown up in the air, urging the crowd's loud cheers—there was minimal booing… apparently all bets were on Spike this round.
"And now," the announcer called again, "please welcoming that disgusting pile of decaying flesh, Brian the Brain-feaster!"
The door nearly underneath Buffy and Angel slid open, and hobbling out came the vilest thing the Slayer had seen in a while. Bits of greenish-bluish-purplish flesh falling off to reveal a sickly red underneath, and half of his face missing—the hair was completely gone—stumbled a zombie that had once been a young man. He groaned incoherently, and the crowd had switched to loud booing and minimal cheering. Buffy took a deep breath, and instantly regretted it. She gagged, the smell of rotted flesh strong even in the sea of various creatures, and she shoved a hand to her nose.
"And… fight!" the announcer called.
Spike was already pumped, leaping from foot to foot, sizing his enemy up. Meanwhile, the zombie appeared to be sniffing the air for him, grunting in between. Buffy leaned as close as she could to the fencing, trying to get a look at the creature's face. Brian turned, screaming up at the crowd—which was now practically riotous—and Buffy confirmed her suspicions. Both of the zombie's eyes had a milky film over them… he was blind.
"Come on, you great rotting git!" Spike calling, making the zombie turn to face him. "Give me what you've got!"
The shambling corpse roared once more, and the crowd roared right back as Brian the Brain-feaster charged at William "Never Too Much" the Bloody. Buffy rolled her eyes as Spike rolled and dodged weak attempts to grab at him.
"Doesn't Spike have enough nicknames?" she murmured.
Angel smirked. "At least 'Spike' is better than the one he's using here. Oh for crying out—are you seeing this?"
Spike's grandsire pointed down at the fight, watching as now Spike was just playfully shoving at Brian's shoulders, knocking the zombie back with little to no force. Buffy shook her head, turning to scan the rabid crowd. They were into it. Every single person watching. She huffed.
"I don't get it," she concluded as Spike was diving in.
He gripped one of Brian's arms and tore it from its socket with ease. The crowd cheered its approval, and he repeated the action with the other arm. He held up both rotting limbs, shaking them at his adoring fans before chucking them carelessly behind him. The zombie was still charging—if one could count its slow moments as such—but Spike was not concerned. He ducked another bite attempt, hitting the ground in a cloud of dust as he gripped Brian's right leg and tore it off too. Now, hilariously, the zombie face-planted to the arena floor. Spike, once again, repeated the act with the other leg, tossing both of those limbs aside as well. Turning, he addressed the crowd.
"You call this guy Brain-feaster? Well, let's see what the bloke thinks about this!" the vampire called to his fans.
The cheering was deafening now as Spike turned, bent over the zombie, and cracked its skull in a single punch. From within the crumbling bone structure, he withdrew a dark gray matter, holding it up for all to see. The zombie twitched, and, missing its own brain, moved no more.
"And that's it, folks! William, once again, is our champion! Don't forget to collect on your bets, you lucky winners, at the front gate! Good night!" the announcer said as Spike returned to the caged door he had emerged from.
"Come on," Buffy said, grabbing Angel's arm. "We've got to find out what the hell this is really about."
It wasn't in some locker room that Buffy and Angel had caught up with Spike. Instead, it was inside the promoter's office. It had taken some Slayer-style convincing to get to that point—some of the more vampiric workers were now piles of useless dust—but now the two of them stood before a wide desk that held stacks of money. On the other side, seated and grinning, was a now fully dressed Spike.
"So, wait," Angel said, holding up a hand. "You own this place… as well as participate?"
Spike shrugged. "Of course I do. Well, I didn't fight at first, but the vamps I kept pulling in were losing. Can you believe that? Losing to those miserable piles of death out there. So, if you want something done right…"
"It's rigged," Buffy gaped. "You deliberately choose zombies that are slow and stupid… and then you build them up to be these great fighters. And you collect on those who are dumb enough to bet on the zombie rather than you."
"You caught me, luv. But I'm gonna have to switch the scheme up a bit. People are starting to make large bets on me. Gonna have to take a forfeit or something."
Buffy shook her head. "That's… that's… That's not right! And yet… I'm not surprised."
Angel nodded in agreement. "How did you even come up with this harebrained scheme anyhow?"
Spike stood, stretched, and shrugged once more. "What's the matter, peaches? Don't you follow the trends?"
Angel huffed. "This coming from the Billy Idol look-alike."
"Hey!" Spike shouted, pointing a pale finger at his grandsire. "You know as well as I do that that bloody git stole his look from me, not the other way around!"
Buffy held up her hands, indicating for the two to stop for a moment. Glancing at Spike, she asked, "What do you mean, follow the trends?"
Spike held up a hand, ticking off as he said, "Hunger Games, The Walking Dead… Hell, even that fairytale show had a zombie episode. So, I took the best of both worlds, combined them, and here I am… ankle deep in Benjamins."
Buffy's mouth was threatening to fall open. "So this is why we haven't heard from you in a year?"
"Takes a while to set up an establishment like this, luv. Now, was there something you and Captain Forehead needed?"
Buffy sighed. "Want to help save the world? Again, Mr. William "Never Too Much" the Bloody?"
Spike grinned. "Why not? Like I said, I need to take a forfeit next match anyhow. Might be good to have some time off. What's the big bad this time?"
Angel and Buffy looked to each other before saying, in unison, "Possible zombie apocalypse."
Spike nearly bent double with laughter. "Well, then you came to the right bloke, didn't you?"