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Principles and Shit

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This story is No. 2 in the series "Miles to Go". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: A fist to the jaw will shut most men up, but then Oliver Pike wasn’t most men. (Series: Miles to Go)

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Supernatural > Other BtVS/AtS Characters(Moderator)AvaFR1353,942184,6483 Jul 1310 Mar 14Yes

Principles and Shit

Title: Principles and Shit
Series Title: Miles to Go
Word Count: 1155
Prompt: #362 malleable @ tamingthemuse
Rating: FR13
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all related characters are copyright Eric Kripke, Kripke Enterprises & The CW Network. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all related characters are copyright Joss Whedon and ME. No infringement intended.
Note: These shorts takes place before 'Oleander Wine.'

Synopsis: A fist to the jaw will shut most men up, but then Oliver Pike wasn’t most men



A fist to the jaw will shut most men up, but then Oliver Pike wasn’t most men. It helped that he’d spent the better part of the last year traveling around America’s Midwest hunting things that frightened normal people and those things hit harder than any human. That practice in taking hard knocks was what allowed him to keep his feet as he felt the inside of his mouth grind against his molars.

His head jerked and he stumbled back a step, a step that he extended so he’d have enough time to get his own fists up in response, as the copper tang of blood reached his tongue. Blue eyes narrowed on the thick-necked sonofabitch that seemed to have more muscle than sense and Pike smirked at the dirty look being tossed his way.

Pike’s head inclined and he couldn’t help but scoff, “My ex-girlfriend hits harder than that.”

The next swing came quicker than the first and sloppier, much easier to dodge, but the jab that followed found a solid connection with Pike’s ribs and the forced exhale left him breathless and coughing. He wheezed, attempting to draw in a breath as the guy dove for him and Pike forced himself to straighten, putting his back against the bar and it shuddered with their impact. His beer toppled, rattling against the worn wood holding him up and his brows tugged together at the familiar sound of a shotgun being pumped.

The arms around his middle tightened, cutting off his breath and Pike brought his left fist forward to connect soundly with the side of his attacker’s skull. Those arms released him and the sonofabitch rose, clutching his ear and swearing up a storm which gave Pike the distraction he needed to bring a closed fist against his sternum. The much larger man’s breath exploded outward, but the memory of the shotgun stopped Pike from finishing him with a well-placed boot.

His time spent with Summers had taught Pike to take every advantage and, granted, a steel toe to the balls wasn’t the most sportsmanly of things, but that wouldn’t stop him—hell that mentality had saved him more than once. Human flesh was on the weaker side and Pike had never been one to just allow his flesh to just be beaten, torn or eaten. Though his time with Summers had provided him with the opportunity to learn how to have his ass properly handed to him.

Repeatedly.

Pike caught sight of the shotgun out of the corner of his eye and knew it was leveled at the other guy as he finally righted himself. Brown eyes narrowed on it and Pike cocked his head away from the barrel as the owner of Harvelle’s, who was a bigger ballbuster than most, stated calmly, “Get outta my bar.”

The idiot frowned at the words, as if they confused him, before he snapped. “I didn’t start—”

“I don’t give a shit about the starting. I’m finishing.” Ellen Harvelle kept the barrel steady beside Pike’s head as she questioned, “Now are you gonna go peaceful, Pete, or do you want a chest full of rock salt?” There was an exasperated sigh before Ellen tacked on, “Again.”

“I’m going. I’m going.” The sonofabitch, apparently named Pete, groused.

His whole demeanor deflated, but Pike kept an eye on him as he grabbed his leather jacket from the back of his chair and made his way towards the exit. He spared Pike one more narrow-eyed glare before he snatched open the screened-door and made his way out into the sunshine. Pike waited until the door slammed closed before he allowed some of the tension in his shoulders to ease and he tilted his chin back and to the right far enough so that he could gaze up at Ellen as he offered, “Thanks.”

The smack to the side of his head wasn’t unexpected and he let his chin fall back towards his chest as Ellen lowered the shotgun to the bar and righted his beer. A rag was tossed in his general direction with the order, “Clean up after y’urself.”

Pike obliged, snagging the rag and set to work sopping up the mess that had once been a deliciously cold Miller. He frowned at the fact that he’d just wasted five bucks, but calling that idiot Pete out on being a fuckin’ liar had been worth the hassle and lost beer. Pike could give a shit less if other hunters took credit for his kills, but when they did it to his girl—not that Summers was his anymore—it just didn’t sit right. Especially when he knew how much she’d lost facing off against Lothos and to have some sonofabitch take claim of her hard work and split blood just hadn’t been something Pike could allow to stand.

He finished mopping up his beer and set to work righting his knocked over barstool as Ellen came back from the kitchen area with a mop and another rag. She paused a few feet from him and quirked a brow before questioning, “I’m guessin’ you know what actually happened in Los Angeles.”

“What was it that gave me away?” Pike snarked, “The part where I told that shithead to shut his lyin’ trap or when I hit ‘em?”

The other brow rose to match the other and Ellen handed him the rag, this one damp, and set to work mopping up the little bit of beer that had trickled down from the bar and the few specks of blood that decorated the floor. Pike turned back to the bar and wiped away the last traces of his beer, ensuring there wasn’t any residue left that could and would later turn into a sticky mess later.

“The way I understand it,” Ellen spoke over the scrapping of the mop against the wooden floorboard, “It was a lady hunter that handled the vampire outbreak in Los Angeles.” She glanced up, blue eyes narrowed on him, “You’re pretty enough, but you don’t much look like a lady to me, son.”

Pike snorted and turned his head to look at Ellen over his shoulder, “You think I’m pretty?”

Her mouth turned in at the corners, but she dipped her chin and continued to scrub at the floor before snapping, “The point. Stick to it.”

He sighed and turned back to the bar top, arm working furiously at a spot he’d already cleaned as he stated, “I knew the hunter that handled Lothos.” His arm slowed as he offered, “She had a rough time of it and I didn’t like him taken credit.”

“Understandable.” They were quiet a moment, both lost within their mutual tasks before Ellen offered, more to the room at large than Pike in particular, “Still in love with her then.”

He answered her statement as if it were a question. “Apparently.”

Ellen’s quiet chuckle was her only retort to that.



The end.
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