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Best Regards

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Summary: Spike loves to parody, Dean has a crisis and Buffy's stuck herself in the middle. It's not turning out to be the best of days for her.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Supernatural > Buffy-Centered > Theme: Humor(Past Donor)AnnelieseFR1512,110161,37920 Mar 0720 Mar 07Yes
Disclaimer: I don't own BtVS or Supernatural.

A/N: Written for Toniboo who for the spn_btvs fic-a-thon. Hope you enjoy!

_*_*_*_

Buffy ignored the gales of laughter spewing from Spike’s mouth as she slammed the door behind her.

The letters had been, believe it or not, Dean’s idea. It wasn’t that he didn’t like computers or know how to do them but they just weren’t practical. Not in the information age where nearly everything about you can be found out on the internet. His job was just too sensitive to run the risk of being tracked down through email. Besides, he didn’t have to leave a return address on envelopes. In fact, almost every letter she’d gotten had been written on hotel stationary. At least she was able to keep track of where he’d been and what direction he was headed that way.

The only regret she had was that the Billy Idol wannabe had gotten ahold of them. What was worse was that he’d memorized them and had decided to make a mockery out of them.

Buffy couldn’t really help but smirk. The whole thing had backfired on him, really. In a way, it was all that one website’s fault. It was some place he frequented where people wrote their own brand of fiction off of TV shows and stuff and they had some anniversary or something for their reviews. All reviews had to be done in rhyme that day. As a result, Spike decided to have a throwback to the ‘good old days’ and had turned the letters into his own brand of horrid poetry. He said it was not only a rhyming review but also a remix/redux thingy and that Dean would have to be honored if he ever found out. So that’s how Spike ended up standing on top of a chair during a picnic as lyrical prose flew out his mouth.

Unfortunately, he was living up to his namesake of ‘William the Bloody’.

”Dear Buffy, my Buffy,
The monsters I’m hunting,
They don’t want to die and my patience is stunt-ing.”


He practically yelled across the yard, his hands waving in a grandiose manner as his face contorted dramatically, his voice churned out his artistic literary changes in a manner so saccharine that it made her teeth hurt.

Damn him. Damn him and Dawn because if she didn’t think that she knew how Spike managed to find out they existed, let alone have enough time to find, read, memorize and parody them, she wasn’t as smart as she thought she was.

”If you were only here,
My heart would be at ease.
It’s so hard to protect Sam,
He is so hard to please.”


The basic gist of what Spike was saying was what was written in the letters but in reality Dean wasn’t so … pathetic. And it wasn’t even like it was obvious, the way he wrote it. You’d have to understand guy speech to even get the slightest gist of the underlying meaning of most of the stuff he’d written.

”I long for the day,
When you’re in my arms again.
I don’t know if I can say I love you,
But you’re more than just a friend.”


This had been the part where Buffy didn’t find Spike’s game so amusing anymore. They’d gotten to the point where they were amiable with each other but he was crossing the line. Before it was normal stuff that a not quite boyfriend/girlfriend couple might say to each other. Spike was getting into deep emotional stuff now. Stuff that they hadn’t even thought about before, let alone talked or even put pen to paper to discuss.

”When I close my eyes at night,
My dreams are no longer filled with battle.
Instead I see your face, your body,
And I awake with a distinct rattle.”


That was it. She was a self proclaimed non-violent person, no matter what Xander thought, but the time had come when the only possible avenue of action was, indeed, violence.

Buffy opened her bedroom window, grabbed a flower pot and threw it down at him. Problem was, she missed. The flower pot hit the windshield of a car, smashing it with a sickening crunch. Shards of glass from the windshield danced across the hood of the perfectly detailed Impala like diamonds across a still sea at the darkest hour of night.

When had they gotten there? Buffy hadn’t heard them pull up. Spike was loud and obnoxious, sure, but shouldn’t she have been able to hear an old car coming up the driveway? Seriously? Dean had already had time to park, get out, walk across the yard and put Spike in a headlock. Sam was sitting down on the pavement as he leaned his back against the garage door watching and an expression of familial amusement at his brother’s expense was fixed grotesquely on his face as everyone froze in shock.

Then it hit her. Things were too quiet now. The silence, it seemed to stretch on and on forever but in reality it was probably only a couple of seconds before the next explosion hit.

Dean, who had been in the middle of attacking Spike, let go of his throat and marched over to his baby. Sam looked up at her and smiled weakly before going over to the vehicle himself to assess any damage.

She heard Sam say something about it only being the windshield that was affected when Dean looked straight up at her window, eyes glinting with some strong emotion. Anger, rage, disdain. Buffy figured she could probably take her pick. He looked away after a single moment and started walking toward the house.

It was then that Buffy was able to shake herself out of her stupor.

“Crap. Crap. Crappity crap, crap, crap!” she said under her breath as she shut the window and closed the blinds. Slayer or no, Dean had a ‘special’ relationship with his automobile and Buffy never thought she’d be in a situation where she might have to pay the price for it. No one taught her how to deal with angry!Dean! during slayer training with Giles. It was too bad too. He could rival the worst of demons when appropriately provoked.

When Buffy turned around Dawn was standing between her and the doorway.

“You know, just because he can’t see you now don’t mean he doesn’t realize that you’re here. He’s not a stupid dog or something,” Dawn said, arms crossed and typical teenage ‘I know so much more about the world than you ever will’ look firmly established on her face.

Buffy would have counted down to the subsequent eye roll if she wasn’t so frazzled.

“This is not funny. First he’s mad because Spike’s editing his letters quite artistically, then I smash his windshield! This is not of the good. Outta my way,” Buffy ordered and started for the door. If Dawn didn’t move she’d just get bowled over. Such was life.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

Dean came into her room then, looking as menacing as she’d ever seen him. Dawn was about to say something sarcastic and witty but Dean just put his hand up, that’s all, just put his hand up into the air, and she shut her mouth so quickly Buffy could hear her teeth click together. Then she looked between her sister and the elder Winchester brother and calmly walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Buffy so had to learn that one.

It probably didn’t hurt that his face had turned red and that she could see the faint protrusion of a vein on the left side of his forehead.

Buffy smiled brightly.

“So, did you have a good trip here? Was the weather nice? I heard that it was going to be nice except that there was supposed to be rain last night in Vegas and that’s probably when you were going through there and …”

Dean cut off her Willow-esque babbling in a quite unexpected way. As she was in the middle of trying to explain what had gone wrong he’d walked over to her, grabbed both her hands which she’d been waving around as she spoke, pulled them down so he was holding them against her hips and pressed his lips against hers. Hard. It was one of those kisses where if there had been any foreplay, the little pinches of teeth against skin would have felt good. Buffy jerked her head away and looked him in the eye as she rubbed her lips together the way she usually did after she finished putting lipstick on. It did nothing to get rid of the tingles that were left behind, or to ease the slight tickle she felt on her cheek from Dean’s scruffy face. He apparently hadn’t had enough time to shave that morning.

He let go of her hands and brought his own up to her forearms before gliding them up over her shoulders and cradling her head in his hands. He leaned down until his forehead was touching hers before he closed his eyes and started asking questions.

“How?”

Buffy took a breath, “Spike was being stupid and I was aiming for his head.”

“The letters?”

“He read them.”

“You kept them?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know. Because.”

He took a deep breath of his own and Buffy watched him as he struggled to contain himself. He was going to say something about the Impala now, she just knew it.

“This is the most important question I’ll ever ask you,” he warned her before letting her go and stepping away from her.

“What is it?” She was a little afraid now. She could face an apocalypse any time of the day but hand her one pissed off Winchester and she was a goner.

He looked her square in the eye. “Do you know of any twenty four hour windshield repair places?”

Buffy smiled a little too brightly and nodded. “I totally do. Hang on.” She ran out of the room and downstairs to go to the phone.

She’d lied. There was no way that she knew anything about anything when it came to cars or how to fix them. That was what 411 was for. She was about to dial the number when she noticed Sam come in.

“Let me guess, twenty four hour glass place?” he smirked.

Buffy glanced at him, distractedly as she punched in the numbers. She heard the generic sound of an operator over the line before she noticed Sam was holding a cell phone up in his hand.

“I already found one. They’ll be here in half an hour.”

Buffy felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“Thank you. Bless you. I thought he was gonna go postal on me in there.”

Sam chuckled. “It didn’t use to be this bad. The Impala got totaled a while back and he rebuilt it practically from nothing. He’s been a bit … protective of it ever since. Way more so than ever before.”

“It’s weird, yeah?”

“What is?” she heard a deep male voice say from behind her.

She turned around and quickly came up with a story. “The fact that the windshield repairers are going to take a whole half hour to get here. Don’t they know that this is an emergency? Don’t they realize that the Dodge Impala is not just any vehicle?”

She said something wrong. At first Dean seemed to be on par with her but she’d lost him somewhere. His face darkened and he stormed out the front door.

Buffy looked to Sam for answers. “What?”

He had his hand covering his mouth and his shoulders were shaking. He was laughing at her.

“I’m just glad it’s you and not me,” he answered.

“Why? What?”

He led her over to a window in the kitchen and had her look out toward Dean’s car. “Because,” Sam answered her, “for some reason I think you’re the only one who could get away with letting a vampire get ahold of Dean’s letters to you, parody them, loudly and publicly, smash in his windshield with a flower pot filled with daisy’s and then have the audacity to call his Chevy Impala a Dodge.”

Buffy felt her jaw drop slightly and looked up at Sam.

“Oh god.”

He nodded and pulled his arm away from her shoulders.

“I’ll go do damage control,” he said and Buffy could hear him chuckling some more as he left.

She looked outside again and saw Dean gently picking up the pieces of his smashed windshield off the hood of the car and inspecting it for scratches.

“Oh god,” she muttered to herself again.

The End

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