Buffy the Vampire Slayer Preferences + imagines/one shots

Spike - Drink

Nobody seems to be worried that Spike's just disappeared.

It's not like I should be worried. I'm pretty sure he threatened to kill me in the last conversation we had and I'm not 100% if he was joking or not. But, alas, I do care, because I've stupidly fallen head over heels for the idiot and the fact he's gone without a trace worries me. 

After being met with eye-rolls all round when I brought it up to my friends, I've decided to do some sleuthing of my own. It's been a week, and nothing has gone from his crypt, so whatever has happened can't be good. I find nothing after snooping around his abode, so go to Willy's Place because even without Buffy there to threaten him, I know I can get Willy to give me the latest demon gossip.

Willy insists he knows nothing and after a few punches, I believe him. But I find Spike's silver, metal lighter on the floor outside the bar when I leave. It's in an odd place - it only caught my eye because the moonlight reflected off it just so - right in front of a garage door, tucked between a few abandoned shops. There's a large, rusty lock on the door (it doesn't look like it's been touched in years) but something feels off. I find myself creeping closer. I run my hand over the decaying panels of wood. I hear a rustle from inside and jump backwards, my heart in my throat. After a second or two, I dare approach it again.

"Hello?"

"Hello?" a familiar voice calls back, laced with apprehension.

"Spike! What the hell are you doing in there?"

"Y/N? Oh, thank fuck. Open the bloody door!"

I fiddle with the rusty lock and quickly realise that it is a waste of time. I look around, searching, until my gaze lands on the tool shop across the street. "Hang on."

After purchasing a bolt cutter I will definitely make Spike pay me back for, I run over, break the lock and kick the door open. 

I curse under my breath at what I see. 

He's sitting in the shadows of the dirty garage, his back slumped against the wall. He forces his head up when I come in, eyes red-rimmed and glazed over. The bags under them are coal-black, standing out against the white of his skin. And I thought he looked sallow before... An image, as if from a cheesy young adult novel, flashes in my mind: me nursing him back to health and tending to his wounds, which I quickly push out of my head. Gross. Cute, maybe, but I have to stop.

He slowly pushes himself off the floor, unstable on his feet as he makes his way over to me. 

I stop him gently with a hand on his shoulder.

"You look..."

"Like a living skeleton?"

"Well, yeah."

He looks tired as he huffs out a laugh. "I'll explain when I'm home, yeah?"

"Yeah..." I say uncertainly, putting my arm around him to help him walk. 

Back at his crypt, he slumps against a coffin, his body boneless and weak. His fridge is empty when he tells me to check it for blood. At this time of night, the butchers will be closed, and the supply he gets from the hospital is only collected on certain days of the week - not this one. 

"I can make it 'til mornin'."

"Are you sure about that?" he tries to wave his hand in dismissal but winces and proceeds to cradle said arm. It's almost pathetic. I know he's in immense pain but he's too proud to admit it. "Is there any chance Buffy will know where to get some blood last minute?"

"Think the slayer will like that idea? Helping me out?"

"Probably not." I run a hand down my face, "What the hell happened?"