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Buffy The Vampire Slayer > BTVS - Season Seven
Whose Your Daddies? by Painbow
[Reviews - 3]

Disclaimer: Yeah, right. Like Joss’d set foot on the same continent as this.

A/N: For dovil, on this, the day of her ficathon. My the seas of fandom never be free of mpreg. Also, thanks to spikeNdru for the beta. God knows this story needed it.

My first mpreg story . . . *tear* (I fully expect people to respond with, ‘WTF is this, hor?!’)

Written for Arse Babies, the MPREG ficathon


@-‘--- @-‘--- @-‘---



Foot tapping.

Knee shaking.

Impatience in every line.

A had reached over, graspping the slim plastic tube.

A moment’s consideration.

*thump*

From the living room several pairs of eyes looked upwards.

Spike frowned. “Wos geek-boy doin’ up there?”

Xander bit back a joke, which was completely out of character for him. In fact, the rest of this story will take liberties with all the characters, so it’s best to come to terms with it now. Xander made no joke. And no one commented on it.

Spike and Xander climbed the stairs together. It was a bit tense. They hadn’t been alone together since . . . that day. And if Xander were checking out Spike’s ass a little, no one would mention it.

Spike could feel Xander behind him, which was sort of like déjŕ vu, since he’d felt Xander behind him . . . that day.

Xander tapped tentatively on the door. “Hello?” He said, again, not making any kind of a joke. Spike raised an eyebrow, which was entirely in character for him, and not strictly a comment on Xander’s lack of character cohesion.

There was no answer from within the bathroom. Xander opened the door to reveal Andrew lying passed out on the tile.

“Wos this then?” Asked Spike, raising the other eyebrow while he simultaneously lowered the eyebrow that was already up.

Xander leaned over and picked up the plastic tube clutched in Andrew’s hand. Looking at it he frowned a little. “I think Andrew’s . . . pregnant.”


*****



Andrew was sitting, surrounded by half-concealed grins, in the Summers’ living room. Buffy was having a hard time choosing between pounding him into a sludgy substance and laughing her ass off as she paced in front of him.

Eventually, the slayer stopped and put her hands on her hips. Normally this would have caused Spike to write atrocious poetry in his head and then plan to kill several demons in her honour, but he was more concerned with the line of Xander’s jaw and how rugged it was, even though the boy had put on a bit of poundage.

“How?” said Buffy, eventually.

Andrew looked nervously at Xander and then away. “I—I don’t know. I mean, I’ve seen Junior but I didn’t think that the Governator was in anything based on fact . . . except maybe True Lies, cause, you know, it’s built right into the title, and—”

Buffy cut him off. “Okay, then what on earth possessed you to check?”

“Well, I’d been feeling kind of nauseous, usually in the morning, and then I really wanted some pickles and ice cream, so I thought that I might be pregnant, since that’s always what people are like when they are pregnant and . . .” Andrew trailed off at the combined stares of the room’s occupants. Xander fidgeted.

“So . . .” Buffy gave him an incredulous look, “you decided to take an at home pregnancy test?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it seemed sensible . . .”

Buffy was about to launch into a tirade when Xander slowly raised his hand. Never a good sign. Buffy sighed with exasperation.

“Yes, Xander?”

“Um, are there any more of those tests? Cause I could really go for some pickles and ice cream right about now . . .”


*****



They were all pregnant. All of them. Angel had even called from LA to ask if Buffy had any maternity clothes around the house from when her mum was pregnant and if she thought they might possibly fit Wesley. And, oh yeah, he, Angel, was pregnant too (although he sounded strangely optimistic about the whole thing). And Gunn refused to even think maternity clothes.

Spike was sulking, Xander was alternating between panicking and deep denial (which was the first thing he’d done in a month that was at all like himself), and Andrew was taking the news in stride after coming home with a grocery bag full of various ‘Expecting’ magazines. Giles, however, was not doing so well.

There had been glasses cleaning, and several pregnancy tests, and a stealthy nocturnal visit to the hospital to use some medical equipment. It was all for nothing. According to the tests all the men in the group were pregnant.

Buffy had checked to see if this was a town-wide occurrence. Nope. Just them. So . . .how? And more importantly: why?


*****



Willow had all them men gathered in one room. Not that they needed a big room. Definitely the minority in Team Estrogen, the Scooby guys. Willow said a silent thanks that Oz had left. For the first time she was actually relieved. She didn’t want him to give birth to a puppy.

But back on topic, Willow had gathered all the guys together. It was interrogation time. Most probably, this was some sort of spell, but it was always possible that one of the guys had invoked the great something-or-other. Or pissed off the great something-or-other. Buffy was doing the same thing with the Potentials, and since it was likely that any Buffy/Potential time would end in a stirring speech about sacrifice, Willow was more than glad to volunteer to interrogate the men. Besides, it’d been a while since she’d done this. She only wished Jonathan was still around.

“So,” she began, arms crossed, pacing. She stopped in front of Xander. “Read any good magic books lately?”

Xander leaned back in his chair. “Why would I do a spell to make myself pregnant?” He blanched. “Oh, god! Where is the baby going to come out?”

Spike and Andrew looked sick for a moment, and Giles answered, in a tight voice, “I do believe we will be delivering via the rectum.”

Xander maintained his pallor. “I’m trying to decide if that’s good or bad news.”

Spike looked disgusted. “We’re bloody preggers, mate. We’re havin’ arse babies. How can anything fall under ‘good’?”

Willow tried to get the conversation back on track. “Has anything out of the ordinary happened recently? Anything that might explain pregnancy? Any . . . rowdy demons?”

All the men were suddenly very preoccupied with their fingernails.

Willow blushed. “Really? Rowdy . . . rowdy demons?”

There was a tight-lipped and embarrassed silence until suddenly Andrew exploded (but not, you know, literally). “I didn’t mean for it to happen!”

“Shut UP, Andrew!” growled Xander.

“Half a mo, why do you care what he has to say, Harris? Or . . . I KNEW I smelled—I just thought it was from when you two spent the afternoon looking at comic books.”

Xander looked down at his hands again. “It was.”

Spike growled at Xander, looking hurt.

Giles rolled his eyes. “Really, Spike, I don’t think you’re in a position to throw—” He shut his lips sharply.

Xander’s eyes bugged at Spike. “You and Giles? But—”

Giles shushed Xander. Andrew looked distraught. “But, Mr. Giles! You said we’d go to England when this was all over!” He turned to Spike. “And you promised to let me ride the motor bike next time!”

The room disintegrated into bickering and accusations.

Willow stood open-mouthed. She didn’t want to believe her ears. All of them? Together? And now . . .

Willow cut in. “Did you . . . could you . . . are . . . does the timing work?”

Giles thought for a moment. He blushed. “I believe it does.”

Xander sighed. “Gives new meaning to ‘who’s the father’.”


*****



“When did all this happen?!” Buffy couldn’t believe it. For one thing, it was the first time her sex life was the least interesting subject in the room. She gave Spike a little extra glare. She knew all this ‘love you forever’ stuff was bull. He shrugged at her look.

“Okay, fine.” She said at their blank looks. “How?”

Xander mirrored Spike’s shrug. “Well, there’s always been a lot of subtext. I guess it just became . . . text.”

Buffy wasn’t quite sure what to do with that answer.

“So, what are we supposed to do? I don’t think Sears carries a men’s maternity line.” Besides, Buffy didn’t think any of them would look very good in muumuus.

Spike’s eyes widened. “I’m not keeping it!”

Giles looked horrified also. “I should think not. We don’t even know what you’ll give birth to. It’ll pop out with a sneer and a cigarette.”

Spike looked wistful for a moment before shaking his head. “It’s not popping out anywhere. ‘Sides, yours’ll come out dying for a cuppa.”

“I hope my kid likes Wonder Woman more than Fantastic Four, because otherwise I may have to disown them.”

Xander stared at all of them. “I can’t believe that you’re all considering their personalities!” He stood up from the couch. “We’re about to give birth! To babies! From our—babies!” He shook his head and stormed out of the room. The assembled heard one last disbelieving cry of, “babies!” before the door to Xander’s bedroom slammed.

Buffy turned to Willow. The funny of the situation, and her knee-jerk irritation at having to deal with it, had finally worn off. “Wil? Research?”

Willow simply nodded.


*****



Four months of research had revealed nothing. Giles plucked at his floral print shirt, the only thing available in his size, and put down his bowl of ice cream. With jalapenos. And custard. They didn’t know what they were missing.

He’d given in to the indignity a month ago. Yes, he was a distinguished Watcher, he was a gentleman of a certain age, and he was pregnant. At least he had his friends around him, who could keep him out of public. He didn’t care how often Andrew quoted Junior, this was not something people would be comfortable with. After the laughing, there would most likely be the chasing with pitchforks (if he knew America).

Of course, when he said friends and family, what he meant was Buffy and Willow. The Potentials mostly just stared at him when he asked them to grab him some more cottage cheese with spumoni ice cream. Buffy and Willow had stopped staring and laughing long ago, and now simply suffered the role traditionally reserved for husbands: meeting the every whim of a hormonal time bomb.

His . . . comrades in arms (he tried not to think of the literalness of that statement, which had led to his predicament) were coping with their situation to varying degrees. Andrew had taken to reading comics aloud to his stomach, having decided to give his child an early start on wedgies and school beatings. Spike moaned, complained, and occasionally winged, and looked lovingly at his belly when he thought no one was looking. And Xander . . . hadn’t been out of his room for months. Occasionally Spike would go in there, but to limited success, and usually plate-shaped bruises. Everyone was certain that Xander blamed Spike for his situation, after all, Spike had happened first, but Giles wasn’t certain that was fair. After all, it’s not like Spike carried anything other than Cold, Dead Seed, and it wasn’t like Xander had any ovaries, and Giles was still having a hard time believing that their various dalliances had really been the cause of their predicament.

Giles, himself, found it best not to dwell too much on their state. He was here, and there didn’t appear to be any options. Willow had tried many spells, and had even offered to turn them all into women to make the process easier on certain parts of their anatomy, but no concrete solution had been found. Giles had pretty much resigned himself to delivering a baby via his arse, and most likely naming it Junior.



*****




In a dank bar in LA a man sat in the corner, nursing a beer. He was older, English, and not quite as good looking as other Englishmen in a nearby town.

Ethan Rayne smirked. “Bloody convenient, innit? Here I sit, nursing my beer and startlingly free of military types, when every male who’s ever crossed me, and a couple who justknow people who’ve crossed me are about to start changing nappies.” He took another sip. “Of course we all know that their tęte-ŕ-tętes couldn’t ‘ave led to buns in the ovens, but it’s too easy, luv. I love chaos too, but you can’t pull me out whenever something happens in Sunnydale that you can’t explain. You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

Ethan turned back to his beer, stifling a giggle at the image of Ripper in a floral print top.

The author blinked, nonplussed, and wrote in a nuclear disaster upstream that had occurred several months earlier, perhaps missing Ethan’s order to try harder.




Epilogue

Several months later, four prophetic and pre-destined arse babies were born of their various fathers. They were meant to unite the human and demon . . . something or other, but would not know their combined fates until the Powers That Be came unto them and made a big stink about their births, which the Four wouldn’t have heard about, having been told their mothers all died in the same car crash (Xander Jr. having been told this from the cat-flap in his father’s door, as the man had never emerged from his room). It would lead to much angst and in-fighting, and a sense that they were ‘othered’ in society for having had to wait much longer than most to see their first vagina. This would lead to avoidable, and trouble-causing, melodrama, which some agent of the PTBs would tell them, was the purpose all along, conveniently relieving the author of the responsibility to explain all the inexplicable plot points.

And then the Three would come from LA, having had a similar chat with the PTBs, and a similar, yet darker, melodramatic experience, and the seven would wield the rings, in their halls of stone, or . . .wait. The Seven would save the world from . . . er, look, it’s not really clear, alright, but it’ll be pretty damn important!


The End






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