Paragon

Note: So, as the summary said, in this AU, Joyce was a Slayer who was messed up by the initiative so that Buffy is born with her “Slayer Gene” activated. Not even sure if that makes sense canonically or scientifically, but my sciency mind is gonna try. And at this point, Joyce is dead and Buffy has been taken in by the Council. Spike is still William the Bloody! Happy reading!

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One

Buffy Summers knew the layout of the Watcher’s Estate like the back of her little hand. After all, she had five years to scour every nook and cranny of the sprawling five story mansion; five years to memorize which stairways creaked the loudest, which not-so-secret passageway led to the kitchen or to the training grounds and how to trick the intruder spells cast on every floor.

So it was no surprise that the dozen or so Watchers, three witches, and a five members of the maintenance staff slept soundly as the ten year slipped past age-old defenses meant to keep the ancient Council secrets safe. Because after all, the original casters of the protective spells weren’t think about having to keep in a pre-teen girl, just keeping out hordes of evil.

Buffy grinned, her eye lighting up with mischief as she past the last defenses. She was finally free to the night. Oh yes. This night was the night that Buffy was going to prove to Giles, Lydia, Mr. Travers all the other watchers that she was a true Slayer—that she deserved to be out here as much as that other Slayer herself, slaying vampires and saving all humankind from the night monsters.

When she had turned eight, Mr. Travers allowed her to finally combat the creatures—fledglings of course, and obviously in a controlled environment with Giles, Lydia and whole lot of more field-experienced Watchers around.  And Buffy was good— more than good, she was a natural. When she fell into step, it was like…dancing, almost. Except that it hurt a lot more and was honestly a lot more satisfying at the end. She was also sure she was as good as, if not better than all the Slayers that came through. In her five years living as ward of the council, Buffy had gotten to know three of them. Four if she counted her own mother.

But Mr. Travers refused to let her get real field experience. He refused to let her go on patrol, even with the Slayer, which was ridiculous in Buffy’s mind because she obviously had more knowledge and experience than each of the Slayer as they were newly called. So tonight, Buffy decided to go out patrolling on her own and show Mr. Travers once and for all that she was more than capable of doing the Slayer gig as well.

Dressed in a pair of worn jean and a pink sweater, with crosses and stakes and holy water stuffed in her pockets and red Hello Kitty backpack, Buffy confidently strode towards Hopewell Cemetery for her first patrol ever.

***********

It had been thirteen years since Spike did in his last Slayer, and what a glorious thirteen years it had been! The word spread like fire that Spike, William the Bloody, had done in yet another Slayer, and not just any slayer—Nikki Wood, a fierce woman living in the inner city of New York. Whenever Spike swaggered into a bar or a gathering, demons of all kind would throw him appreciative nods and words of admiration. Janus Kolti himself, the Demon mob boss that ruled half of New York City, personally congratulated Spike on his kill and even offered him a place in his powerful Family. Spike had respectfully declined. He was more of a one vamp demon, really. A lone hunter.

The best award of all came from his Dark Princess, who showered him with words of praise and endless nights of raw, vicious pleasure. He didn’t even need the aphrodisiac that was the Slayer’s blood this time; he was all demon, possessive, violent and endlessly horny. Oh yes, Spike was coming up higher in his demon glory than ever before, and he was determined to keep climbing.

Despite it all, there was one name he still couldn’t outshine or outdo, even after all the rumors about him marring his perfect viciousness: Angelus, his poofter of a Grandsire. The demonic gossip was that the head of the Scourge of Europe had gotten himself cursed with a soul by an angry tribe of Gypsies. Spike didn’t know if that was true, but with Darla abandoning Peaches right quick, and even Dru moaning angrily about it when Spike brought up the subject, he supposed it was. Hah…let the bloody git suffer with his goddamn soul, he’d say. Better off gone, and Spike could have Dru all to himself.

Plus, there was one thing Spike could do to obliterate Angelus’s shadow over him once and for all: bag himself another Slayer or two.

And that was what Spike was attempting to do at the present, prowling the streets of London. He was hunting for the Slayer, and to his immense luck and satisfaction, she was close. 

***

The scent grew stronger as he neared a cemetery. Typical—Slayers did their hunting in cemeteries. One would think the Sires would keep the bodies from being buried in cemeteries, especially when the current Slayer was Londoner herself; but most vamps these days were brainless as zombies. At least his Drusilla had an excuse of being starking mad when she buried him in 1880, and even she hadn’t done so in a neat cemetery where Slayers might patrol. Really, the standards for turning were bloody low these days

Presently, Spike was bathed in the scent of the Slayer; she was everywhere. It was powerful, with the heady aroma of sweat and the sweet waft of fear. Spike ran his tongue over his teeth in anticipation as he quickened his pace, cracking his knuckles, loosening his muscles—yes, this was going to be one, sweet, fucking fantastic—

Spike stopped abruptly, dumbfounded at the sight presented to him. Instead of the fierce lady warrior he was expecting, he found himself looking at a little blonde girl, standing normal as you like in between the tombstone. He couldn’t help but gawk a bit at the sheer oddness of the sight: the nibblet looked like she was waiting to be picked up from school or something, rocking on her feels and nervously tugging at the straps of her backpack. She even had one of those damned cutesy Japanese characters on her bag, and fucking little sparkly stars on her pink sweater.

But the scent of a Slayer was all around her and, if Spike could believe it, was actually coming from her—which he couldn’t. She had to be a sister or something, wrapped up in the scent of the Slayer. Spike snorted; whoever planted a harmless little thing all covered in Slayer in a cemetery was one evil bastard, and there was bound to be a brassed off Slayer somewhere.

 Finally, he stepped out of the dark towards her, letting out the smallest of growls.

****

Buffy whipped around at the sound of soft growling. She felt her heart skip a couple of beats out fear, if that was possible, when a strange man stepped out of the shadow. Her vampire tinglies went haywire.

Spike, for his part, was still marveling at how much the scent of Slayer was rolling off of her. What did the little girl do? Swim around in a pool of Eau du Slayer or something?

“You’re a vampire,” she stated, her girlish voice as firm as she could get it. Spike could hear her quickened heartbeat and the usual aroma of fear. Little girls wore that the best, according to his Dru.

“Yes I am,” said Spike, his voice light, “’M a Big Bad, sweet.”

Buffy frowned at his cool confidence; the vampires she had contact with were all with the ‘grr’ and bitey and sucky, but they were fledges. She wondered how old this vamp was. He didn’t look like he’d just crawled out of a grave. “Who are you?”

Spike had to give the little chit credit: she didn’t seem as nearly as frightened as she should be, and the fear she had was handled well. Slayer probably taught her little sis properly, it seemed.

“Name’s Spike, pet.”

Spike was given an even bigger surprise when the girl reached into her pocket and brought out a finely whittled stake.

Oh, tough birdie, ain’t ya?

“And what are you going to do with that, bite-size?”

Buffy glowered at him. “Dust you.”

Spike raised one scarred eyebrow in amusement. “Are ya know? Lil brave bitty thing, you are. Don’t you know morsels like you should be tucked in away in your beddy-byes at this hour?”

“Don’t you know vampires shouldn’t be insulting a Slayer?” she returned with a defiant glare, “You’re gonna end up dusty!”

Spike snorted out a laugh. “Oh, a Slayer are you? Lemme tell you, pet, you have to be the shortest Slayer I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah, and won’t it make the best story tell? ‘Stupid vamp get dusted by the shortest Slayer he’s ever met!’”

“Oh, fierce lil’ kitten aren’t you?” he sneered, coolly stepping back as Buffy lunged at him with her stake. “Have claws, do you?”

She charged at him again, but instead of trying for a frontal attack, Buffy dived to the ground and slid around Spike’s body and used her momentum to kick out his legs. Spike let out yelp of surprise fell to his knees, his chest down at her level, ripe and opening for a staking. Buffy swung the stake down at him, excitement and adrenaline coursing through her body at the thought of staking a vampire out on her own, especially one as dangerous looking as this Spike. He was a vampire and he looked the part of the bad man with his black coat, weird color hair and was that makeup? If this doesn’t get her the permission to go out patrolling, then nothing would! She was as good as the Slayer!

Spike, however, had other plans. He seized her small wrist just as the stake pierced his skin. An aggravated growl escaped him before he threw her back, sending her little body flying several feet much like a rag doll. She hit a tombstone and fell to the grass.

“Have to hand it to you, bite-size,” Spike said, getting to his feet, and rubbing the area that her stake had tore his shirt and broken skin, “That was the closest anyone has gotten to staking me in a while…”

Buffy groaned as searing pain wrecked her body. Her senses were going haywire, ringing danger alarms in her mind’s ears as Spike started walking towards her. Buffy slowly, shakily, pushed herself off the ground, her hand still tightly clasped around her stake. She looked around, her blurry vision clearing up as her head started to right itself again. Panic filled her at the sight of Spike stalking towards her, his vamp face at the forefront now. Buffy had seen a lot of vampire bumpies before, and they were always frightening and creepy; but Spike’s bumpies were…well…oddly interesting. It didn’t make him look that much uglier, just scarier and even cooler looking. What was that word Robin used a lot? Right, badass. Spike looked badass with his bumpies. Though his fangs were as scary as any vamp’s.

Buffy staggered to her feet, her stake still held threateningly in her hand—well, not so much since she was shaking a bit. She also threw him the meanest glare she could muster. Chilling fear seized as she realized that Spike was going to kill her, and she’d be dead, which, of course, what happens when you’re killed. But she couldn’t die; she was only 10! She didn’t want to die yet!

Spike stopped just a few feet from her, all hostility melting away from his demon visage. Puzzled by the inaction, Buffy looked at him, and found him just looking at her, curiosity written on that monstrous face. He tilted his head a bit in thought. Was he having second thoughts? Cause if he was, Buffy could use that chance to escape. In fact, she could use his current thinker moment to escape.

“All that strength from your scrawny little arms…that speed…and that scent…” Spike mused, “You really are a Slayer.”

All thought of escaping left Buffy at the moment; instead, she became angrily fixated on the doubt he was casting on her Slayer status. “Of course I am!” she shouted angrily, “Gosh! Hello, I’m the longest living Slayer in history!”

“But you can’t be,” he insisted, growing puzzled, “Thought Slayers weren’t called until at least they hit puberty. You’re like what, six?”

“Ten!” she squeaked indignantly.

“Heard the current Slayer was a pretty lil’ bint from the East End,” said Spike, looking even more confused, “Not a ten year old American blondie.”

Buffy let out an irritated snort. “Right, Abby,” she muttered petulantly, “She’s the other Slayer. And she’s not that pretty.”

“Ah right, that was the name. Abby.”

“Stupid name,” Buffy murmured, “I mean, how unscary and lame is that? Abby the Vampire Slayer? I mean, does that strike fear in you?”

Her comment elicited an amused grin from Spike. “What’s your name, pet?”

“Oh now you ask,” Buffy growled, “You weren’t interested before when you were all ‘grr’! What, is it eat first and ask later for you vamps?”

Spike let out a bark of laughter, unconsciously slipping back to his human face. He was absolutely taken aback by the...pluckiness of the ten year old Slayer girl cornered by the Slayer of Slayers. Really, she was fantastic. “Usually,” he answered, “We don’t get to the asking.”

“Well, I won’t get to the telling either,” she answered stubbornly.

Spike raised his brows at her. “You do know you are speaking with the Big Bad don’t you, sweetheart? I could rip out your throat before you could even scream for help.”

“Was that why I was the closest to staking you in years? Cause didn’t really see all the ripping out of throats happening then.”

“You really are asking to be eaten aren’t you, little girl?”

“No,” she answered with an intrepid roll of her pretty green eyes, “I’m obviously not.”

“Are you right in the head, nibblet?” Spike asked, mocking concern, “I said I can eat you.”

“And I can stake you.” She crossed her arms over her chest, “But none of that’s happening right now is it?”

“You have a big mouth for a ten year old.” And awfully sharp tongue, Spike noted with glee. God, she would magnificent in a few years wouldn’t she? Precocious lil’ chit, she was, even if she was starting to grate on his nerves.

“Yeah? Well, you…” she trailed off, unable to find a proper retort. She pouted, and Spike found it ridiculously cute. If this were any different, he’d haul off the pretty little girl for his Dark Princess to play with.  “You’re a big poophead.”

Spike snorted. “Uh-huh. Know why you’re not dead yet, bitty Slayer?”

“Uh, cause I’m a Slayer, duh,” Buffy answered, “And I can dust you. Ergo, you’re afraid to attack me.”

“That’s a pretty big stretch for an ergo, luv,” he muttered. He was surprised at her use of ergo; it was not a word he’d expect to hear from a kid who just called him a poophead.

“’Sides, how are there two of you?” Spike continued, almost conversationally. Because really, this was serious business. Demon world needed to know if there were two of these superpowered adolescents running around. “Thought it was ‘Chosen One’? ‘One’ being the operative word.”

She crinkled her nose in irritation. “Well, I…don’t really know.” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s Chosen Two now; maybe the rules have changed?”

Spike frowned, unconvinced. “Right. Two. You said you were the longest living Slayer, but you’re barely out of the nursery. When were you called?”

Buffy fidgeted a bit, and mumbled, “Not telling you.” Buffy didn’t want to let on that she wasn’t chosen by some divine force to become this pinnacle of anti-vampire/demon/dark forces. She was just…a freak of science.

“Now don’t be a brat, bite-size. I was planning on not killing you, but if you—”

“What? You weren’t? Why not?”

Spike again took a moment before he answered, tilting his head like before. “Nah, pet. Would be tragedy. Not much stock in killing a Slayer who’s not quite…”

“Quite what?” Buffy prompted sharply, brows furrowed angrily.

“Well…you’re tiny,” Spike answered, “A baby Slayer. Be a pity to kill you now, pet. Wouldn’t do anythin’ for my reputation.”

“I’ll have you know I’m as good as any Slayer!” Buffy exclaimed hotly, “Did you just forget I almost dusted you minutes ago?”

“I was caught off guard, bite-size—didn’t think you were actually a Slayer.”

“So you’re not gonna try to kill me cause I’m not Slayer enough?” Buffy asked incredulously, “How unfair is that? I’m so Slayer enough!”

Spike grinned when he realized that the girl was brassed off because he didn’t want to eat her. The little chit had a bit of inferiority complex about being the young slayer did she? Abso-fuckingly adorable. Really, Spike wondered if he should just drag the girl off to Dru, give both of them what they wanted.

Nah, the chit had too much potential to be killed right away. If Spike wanted a Slayer to kill that would give him the best fight of his life, it was this one, he realized. A tiny Slayer trained by the early age would grow up to be a brilliant and unstoppable force. A kill like that would solidify his status in the demon world, and even fucking Angelus would have to step down from being known as one of the most dangerous vampires to grace Europe, if not the world. He just had to be patient. Just let the morsel to grow up to a fantastic meal, and then win her blood, life and legacy in a marvelous hunt and brawl.

Buffy charged at him again, but Spike knew this time not to underestimate the nibblet. He caught her wrist and twisted it to unarm her, but the clever little thing followed the momentum, flipping in the direction of his twist and kicked him in the face. Spike yelled out in pain and released her, his hands coming up to his bruised nose.

The small Slayer landed softly on the grass like an experienced gymnast and dashed towards the vampire again, her stake poised so that she could again kick out his leg and have him come down on her stake as she thrusted it up. Spike sussed out what she was planning right quick; he aimed a low kick that was evaded by the girl, but threw her off her little tactic.

Spike growled, his vampire face bursting out as he lunged at the little body, caught her around the middle and hoisted her up. She struggled, kicking and punching with that supernatural strength, but Spike brought forth his demon even more to still her. He brought his fang to just graze her neck. She stiffened immediately, wave of hot fear washing over her, her mind immediately registering the absolute danger she was in.

But the bite never came.

“Don’t struggle luv, or you’ll be my pre-morning snack,” Spike snarled in her ear. Buffy let out a small whimper, tears forming in her eyes.

“Good, sweets,” he murmured into her ears, “Now you be a good lil’ morsel, kay? I’m gonna release you, pet, but I can’t promise I won’t snap your neck if you attack me again. Understood?”

She nodded quickly, breathlessly.

Spike threw her down unceremoniously. Buffy quickly scrambled to her feet and turned around to face Spike. She was trembling, the tears rolling down her face and her mouth set in a tight grim line, as if she was fighting off sobs.

Spike loved the tremble, loved the fear, and even the salty tears. That was more like it, he thought in satisfaction, shaking in the presence of the Big Bad. Girl needed to know where she stood.

Then, Buffy’s face turned determined a flash. “I will kill you,” she bit out bitterly, her voice shaky but hard, “If not today, I’ll dust you someday, Spike.”

Spike grinned wickedly. Exactly what he wanted. “And I’ll be waitin’ pet. Go on, hate me, fucking hate every fiber of me, bite-size. Get stronger. In a few years, I’ll find you and we’ll have ourselves a dance, bitty Slayer.”

“Just you wait,” she returned venomously, her cute little face twisting with anger, “I’ll get so strong that you won’t even be able to get that close to my neck again! And you’ll be sorry that you didn’t kill me now.”

“I look forward to it.” With one gleeful last look at the small Slayer, Spike turned around and walked away. He swore he could feel her eyes burning into his back.

“And my name is Buffy!” she yelled out after him, “Buffy Summers! Remember it, stupid vampire, ‘cause I’ll be the last thing you see!”

“I’m trembling in anticipation, wee little Buffy,” he returned blithely, still walking away from her. He had something to look forward to in the next decade or so…and he was going to have a fucking fantastic time of it.

****************

Note: So Buffy has kept her American accent even though she has lived five years of her formative life in London, but I do have sorta an explanation for that that will be explained later, so…if you were going to point that out, I’ve got it somewhat covered.