Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Lucky Day (Part 1)

“Well, boys… now we defeat the slayer!”

From the basement of his stepfather’s second home, Dylan “the Shadow Steward” Rice thus announced the beginning of the hunt. His proclamation was aimed to release the pent-up aggression of his partners, to be the whistle that released his hounds of war upon the one person who stood in the way of him controlling Sunnydale. The time of their triumph and the first step to total domination of the city had come at last.

His partners, Henry “Mystic Maestro” Fauler and Alphonse “Dark Portal” Perez, didn’t notice the importance of the moment. They didn’t even look away from their video game. Animated explosions and the cries of dying gremlins rumbled from an impressive speaker system, complete with a sub wuffer and surround sound.

“Shit, watch the flank!” Al cried out, “They’re swarming!”

“That’s not the flank,” Henry corrected him, “That’s behind us.”

“Well, whatever! Watch the ‘behind us’, then!”

Dylan waited, the straps of his stepdad’s hiking pack digging into his shoulders. He gripped the straps and bucked to settle his load in a more comfortable position. Well past overloaded, he lost his balance and had to totter a step to keep from falling.

Once he was upright again, the skinny teenager cleared his throat.

“Tonight, we capture the powerful, defiant, nubile Buffy Summers!” he grinned broadly, “The slayer will serve us from now on, however we want! And once she’s on her knees… the whole city will be ours!”

He giggled at the thought. First, they’d take the school, take revenge on everyone that had bullied them, rule over their classmates like men of their intelligence should. Then they’d conquer the business world, the world of crime, even politics! They’d dominate this city more than any politician or gangster ever could and after that, perhaps even the state! And then…

His only response was the rapid clicking of buttons, more explosions.

“Yeah, okay,” Al replied belatedly, his eyes still intent on the screen.

Dylan frowned, officially getting annoyed, “Come on, guys! Let’s go!”

“Nah, you go ahead,” Henry replied.

“We’re good here,” Al added, “We’ve almost got to six stars!”

That took the wind out of Dylan’s sails. He blinked, looking back and forward between them. Usually, he could get them fired up with a few mentions of having Buffy Summers, one of their high school’s hottest babes, as their slave girl. Add to that the idea of actually, really controlling the city like super villains should have had their eyes gleaming. Their lack of interest now left him speechless.

After Dylan’s mom and his stepdad moved to Malibu without him, Dylan had become the envy of most high schoolers by having a whole house to himself. Naturally, his friends Henry and Al spent most of their time there and in the basement, which they had dressed up as their “command center” or “lair".

The Command Center was part workshop, part planning venue, part game room. The windows were blacked out with construction paper, a projector shining the output from any number of computers or video game devices onto the far wall, creating a broader, more high-definition screen than any tv. Work benches were scattered around, covered in magical and technological projects at various stages of completion.

As would be expected in such a lair, posters adorned the walls, invariably of attractive women from various science fiction and fantasy franchises. Then to one side was a white board with a list of goals their dark triad planned to achieve. Written in red under the heading To Do, they included shrink Fort Knox, brain drain the football team, and summon Cthulu, among various other schemes. At the bottom, underlined in black, the last item was “make Buffy our sex slave”.

Dylan glanced at the white board, then back at the other members of his triad, fists clenching at his sides. Between his technological know-how, Henry’s incantations, and Al’s summoning magic, he knew they should be running this town, taking what was theirs, like the burgeoning super villains he believed they were. Instead, they were playing killing fake zombies.

Dylan had no choice. He uttered the words every gamer dreaded.

“Pause it.”

His friends groaned.

“Come on,” Al whined, “Let us finish!”

“Yeah!” Henry chimed in, “You’ll ruin our flow!”

“Pause it!” Dylan snapped, “I call triad conference right now!”

With that special phrase, the other two members of the Triad of Domination no longer had a choice. It was in their charter that any member could call conference during an emergency and the others had to drop what they were doing and attend. Plus, it was Dylan’s house and he could always throw them out if they acted like jerks.

The pause button was clicked, then Al and Henry looked over their shoulders at their host and teammate.

Dylan shrugged the pack off his shoulders with a scowl. It thumped to the ground, the contents rattling and clanging.

“I don’t get it,” he said, “The three of us are the smartest people in this town! We know things no one else does! We don’t deserve to be treated like… like nerds at school! And when we get the chance to do something about it, you guys just want to stay here and play video games!”

Al and Henry shared an uncomfortable look. Al scratched his fingers in his curly, sponge-like hair and Henry swallowed. Neither of them responded.

“What, do you guys WANT to be losers?” Dylan pressed, “Do you want to keep getting picked on, keep-keep not having girls look twice at us?! Do you not want to be super villains anymore?!”

Dylan’s friends squirmed. Henry looked down and pretended to clean his glasses, not knowing how to respond. Al cleared his throat.

“Well?! Answer me!”

Al frowned at Henry and nudged him with his elbow, but the other boy just looked away, never good at confrontation. Al sighed and finally responded.

“Look, Dylan…”

“It’s Shadow Steward,” Dylan corrected him, “While we’re on Triad business, we go by codenames.”

“Look, Shadow Steward,” Al said patiently, “We do want to be super villains and… and all that stuff. But… well…”

He shifted in place, glancing at Henry for help. Henry examined a poster of Wonder Woman, pretending not to notice.

“Well?” Dylan raised his eyebrows.

Al huffed out a heavy breath, deciding to just get it over with.

“Well, she always kicks our butts. That or we don’t find her and something else kicks our butts. It’s embarrassing.”

“It hurts too,” Henry added.

“So?” Dylan crossed his arms, “No pain, no gain!”

“That implies that with each failure we’re getting closer to success,” Al shook his head, “We’re not.”

Dylan looked back and forward between his friends, lips screwed up in disgust at their defeatist attitudes. Of course, he couldn’t come up with any counter points at that moment, but that didn’t mean their attitudes didn’t suck.

“We’ll drive around for hours and not find her,” Al continued, “Or we’ll find her and she’ll be fighting some monster that will almost kill us.”

Dylan had a point to refute that. He snapped around and loosened the strings on the pack, digging inside for a prop.

“That won’t happen this time!” he said, shoving his arm in deep and feeling around, “I have a tracer on her! We’ll know right where she is and then we can ambush her!”

He managed to dig out the trace device, switched it on to show his friends, but they weren’t impressed. Henry had even plucked up his courage enough to speak.

“The last time we tried to ambush her, she kicked me in my intestines,” he grumbled, “Then she told us not to startle her and to go home. That hurt my stomach and my self-esteem.”

“Remember the time we tried to put her in that pocket dimension?” Al said, “And she jumped out of it, then threw a rock at me? My arm hurt for a week. I think she bruised the bone.”

“It won’t be like that!” Dylan protested, still digging in the pack, “I have everything ready this time! I have backup plans for backup plans! You guys helped me make them!”

Al and Henry looked at each other, then back at Dylan, forming a united front. They faced him, not the tiniest bit uncertain of what they wanted.

“We don’t want to go.” Al said.

“Not tonight, anyway,” Henry shrugged.

“She’ll find that tracer or it’ll fall if we wait too long!” Dylan protested, “We have to strike tonight! Now or never!”

The other two fledgling villains didn’t waver. Al crossed his arms and Henry followed suit a moment later.

“Then never.” Al replied.

Dylan’s eyes widened. Out of the three of them he was the de facto leader, or at least the most assertive. The other two had sometimes complained or offered alternative suggestions, but they’d never outright mutinied. It was shocking to say the least.

For several seconds he didn’t know what to say. He blinked at them, looking unsteady, then his face reddened. Eyes narrowing, he glared at his friends, fists balling up again. His shoulders grew rigid and his lips tightened, even shifting about like they were trying to contain the numerous, caustic words threatening to burst out. After several seconds, he chose one and spat it with pure venom.

“Fine!”

He turned around and began stuffing things back into the hiking pack with as much anger as he could. It barely fit and he had to sit down, then grab the pack and push with his feet, forcing all the gear inside.

The other two “super villains” watched uncomfortably as he grunted and struggled.

Once everything was stuffed back in, Dylan grabbed the draw string and yanked with more violence than was necessary. His hand slipped off and instead of drawing the bag closed with and angry snap, he smacked himself in the face.

“Damnit!”

He kicked the bag several times then drew it closed and jerked it up, throwing it over his shoulders again. He stumbled but managed to do it with some level of dignity.

“Then I’ll do it myself!” the Shadow Steward threw his head back, “By myself!”

Henry and Al shared a look but didn’t comment.

“And after I capture the slayer,” he snapped, “She’s mine! I get dibs! I don’t have to share her at all! Because you guys were too chicken to help me!”

Al shrugged looking away, while Henry nodded in agreement.

With a final glare, Dylan turned and stomped towards the door, the heavy pack giving him an awkward gait. He threw the door open, banged it into the wall, then began thundering up the steps.

“Um…” Henry called after him, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

The two Triad members still in the basement heard the third throw open the door that opened to the ground level.

“Yes, it’s a good idea!” Dylan yelled back down at them, “It’s a great idea! It’s a perfect idea! And you guys are going to be sorry!”

The door slammed shut and the two boys only heard Dylan’s more muted footsteps as he stormed outside. The van started, pealed out, and drove away, leaving them in silence.

Al cleared his throat then turned back to face the screen.

“Come on,” he said, “We’ve still got this. Six stars, here we come!”

Henry sighed and turned back to join him.

They unpaused and the basement was once again filled with explosions and screams.

“He’ll be fine,” Al said, “I’ll bet my signed 7 of 9 poster to your Star Wars prequels special editions that he comes back in three hours, saying he couldn’t find her.”

Henry didn’t have to think on that for long.

“No,” he shook his head, “No bet. Definitely no bet.”

----

On the outskirts of Sunnydale, a housing development had almost been completed. The project runners didn’t know it yet, but they were about to lose a lot of money.

On the surface, Sunnydale looked ripe for expansion. It was a pleasant town in California, comfortably outside Los Angeles but close enough to commute, fair weathered with more people moving there every day. However, what investors didn’t know was the staggeringly high mortality rate kept the population about even, despite the consistent influx of new blood.

In addition, several of the newly finished houses were being destroyed in a battle between the slayer and one of the many demons drawn to Sunnydale’s hellmouth.

The demon swung a clawed hand at his attacker with a roar of frustration. The slayer dodged and the swipe only managed to gouge a hunk of dry wall from what would have been a cute, stucco-themed duplex.

“Raargh!” the demon gurgled, “Stay out of this, slayer! It’s none of your business!”

“Sorry,” Buffy replied, “Union rules. Demons doing creepy magic spells get slayed.”

The teenaged chosen one kicked her demonic opponent hard in the leg, then struck him with a leaping punch before she even brought her leg down. Girlishly athletic but petite, the power of the slayer gave her much greater strength than one would expect by looking at her. The kick hobbled the demon and the punch snapped his head back, making him stagger.

Fighting vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness was the slayer’s business and business was always booming on the hellmouth. Tonight, Buffy’s opponent was an amalgam lobster/human demon she’d found doing an occult ceremony in an empty lot. Like most of the demons in Sunnydale, he wore human clothing, but his turtleneck and khakis were stretched across a thick red carapace, his eyes entirely onyx black with hands shaped like pincers. Twitching antennae stuck out above his mouth and along his forearms were rings of crooked runes glowing with eldritch power, a symptom of the spell Buffy had interrupted.

The demon glared at her, “You don’t know what you’re talking about! Raagh!”

He lowered his head and charged, attempting to barrel through her with brute strength.

Buffy considered stopping him in his tracks with a kick but decided instead to cartwheel out of the way. The demon smashed through a window and wall into what would have been the duplex’s kitchen. Buffy kicked him in the back before he could turn and immediately regretted it as her shin cracked into what felt like a giant turtle shell.

“Ow…” she winced, but quickly shook off her discomfort as the demon whirled around to face her.

He sneered at her, his face antennae waggling, “What’s the matter, slayer? Break your toe?”

Buffy wrinkled her button nose and glared back, “I don’t break easy.”

The demon charged again, throwing looping, wide swings with his claws, but the spry blonde stayed out of the way, hammering him with punches whenever she had the opportunity.

The battle was quickly turning frustrating for both slayer and demon. The lobster creature was built like a tank, but his attacks were slow and clumsily, easily avoided and countered by the skillful, lightning quick girl opposing him. However, although the punches and kicks Buffy landed seemed to cause the demon discomfort, they were hurting Buffy’s fists and feet as well. She was regretting not paying more attention during Giles’ lectures on different demons and their weaknesses.

A powerful kick staggered the demon and he smashed a mailbox to the ground before catching his balance. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Buffy vaulted forward and picked up the wooden post before he could collect himself.

“You know what I hate about seafood?” she smirked, resting the mailbox on her shoulder, “It’s so darn hard to dig into sometimes!”

The demon charged her again, but this time took a baseball swing of the mailbox directly in the chest, jarring him and stopping him in his tracks.

“I mean, I like me some buttery crab as much as the next girl,” Buffy wound up, “But I almost burn more calories cracking open the shell than I get from what’s inside!”

She brought the post down between the demon’s neck and shoulder, dropping him to one knee for a moment.

“It’s like, if I’m going to splurge, I don’t want to have to fight for it, you know?” she struck him in the leg as his rose, “I chose those calories! Gimme!”

“You’re really starting to piss me off, girlie!” the demon snarled, “Go away!”

Buffy smacked him again in the chest, stumbling him back.

“Call me uncultured,” she chirped, “But do I need a hammer to enjoy my cheesecake? I think not!”

She swung the mailbox again, but the lobster demon braced with his arm and the wooden post broke in half across his shoulder. Blasted to splinters, the heavy end with the metal box flew into the grass and Buffy was thrown off balance from the force of the swing.

“S-see?” she quickly recovered, “Thanks for proving—Aah! Gross!”

The slayer’s banter was cut off when the lobster demon spat foam at her from his pincer mouth, catching her in the face and eyes. It seemed harmless but momentarily blinded her and she dropped the broken mailbox to wipe the bubbles away.

Buffy was only distracted for a split second, but it was all the demon needed. Moving with speed she didn’t think he had, he lunged forward and wrapped his chitinous arms around her, pinning her own to her sides.

Bellowing with satisfaction, the lobster demon picked the smaller teenager off the ground, her feet kicking in protest.

“Gotcha now!” he laughed.

Gritting her teeth, Buffy arched her back and strained to force her arms out, but it was no good. The demon had clasped his pincer hands behind her back and without her feet on the ground, all she could was pedal her legs and squirm as his arms tightened around her.

“P-personal… space…” she managed to growl, “Creepo…”

“Shoulda thought of that before you stuck your nose in my business!” the demon sneered, “I tried to tell you it wasn’t your problem, but noooooooo! You had to be all slayer Nazi on me!”

Buffy grunted and huffed as she struggled against the demon’s chest, trying in vain to reach his arms with her hands. He had grabbed too low on her elbows for this to work, but she shimmied and wiggled with her hips and chest, working herself downwards to give herself more room.

“All that food talk made me hungry. I could go for some pudding!” the demon looked at her straw-blonde hair, “A nice, lemon pudding.”

With that he flexed his arms and squeezed with crushing force.

Buffy let out a cry that was quickly pinched off when she could no longer breathe, her eyes shooting wide in shock. Her body bowed spasmically, legs shooting out and head thrown back, mouth gaping in a silent scream of pain. Her back popped several times and she began kicking frantically, feet beating at his knees. It felt like he was going to pinch her in half and he just kept squeezing.

“Yeah…” he growled, voice strained with effort, “Bet you… wish you’d listened now… cupcake…”

He squeezed her with everything he had. It would have been enough to break the spine of any normal high school girl, but Buffy Summers was far from a normal high school girl. The demon squeezed until his arms could handle no more and had to relax for a moment, adjusting his grip.

“Didn’t… expect…” he panted, “To take… down a… slayer…”

In the momentary reprieve, Buffy gasped for breath, red faced and exhausted from her own ordeal. She forced herself to struggle, trying to improve her position while she could, but he didn’t relax enough for her to slip free. She managed to loop one leg around his for leverage then banged her knee up between his legs, but his genitals were apparently somewhere else. He didn’t even grunt.

“But… I’ll take the props…” the demon waggled his face antennae at her, “And you… will learn not… to mess with me!”

With a grunt of effort he squeezed again and Buffy went rigid once more, not even having the breath to cry out. She was strong, but this guy was strong himself and his shell meant there was little give in his body. It was like being crushed in a vice made of bone.

Buffy struggled to think through the pain and panic, her legs kicking wildly, breasts threatening to be squeezed out of her tank top. Her muscles were helping to resist him crushing her internal organs or breaking her back, but she knew she was tiring faster than he was. She couldn’t breathe and her heart was pounding like a jack hammer, driven by the primal fear of being crushed to a pulp. Even if he didn’t snap her in half, she knew it wouldn’t be long before she passed out, at which point breaking bones was just one of many unpleasant things he could do.

Despite knowing all this, there was nothing she could do in this position. There was nowhere she could kick that would hurt him, and she was unable to use her arms except to stop herself from being crushed. She could only try to match his brute strength with her own; being unable breathe and without any leverage to help her meant that struggle would inevitably end with her as the loser.

When the demon paused to rest his arms, Buffy slumped with a croak, head nodding against his shoulder. She didn’t struggle this time, simply hanging limp and sucking in deep gulps of air, breasts heaving against his carapace.

The demon chuckled, enjoying having the nubile girl against his body.

“I warned you…” he hissed, “It didn’t have… to be like this… you forced me…”

He tilted forward so her head nodded back, looking at her face. Slayers were usually pretty, but Buffy stood out even among them. She had small, delicate features with large, almost haunted blue eyes, now lidded with exhaustion. Her features were generally soft and close together, baby-faced with a small, slightly upturned nose, decidedly cute. Her mouth gaped, lips flushed and pouty, blue eyes unfocussed in a way very similar to passion.

The demon reached out with his antennae to stroke her cheeks, tickle her nose, feel over the cupid’s bow of her lips as she stared and gasped, looking like she was about to faint.

“Maybe if you apologize now…” he chuckled, “I’ll let you go… without breaking your little body over my knee…”

Buffy blinked hard, struggling to focus, seeing spots in her vision.

“Come on, slayer,” the demon growled, “Just say you’re sorry… beg just a smidge… and it will all be over…”

Buffy coughed and wrinkled her nose as one of the antennae tickled at her. She already knew there was no way she would plead with this jerk. With so many demons and vampires in Sunnydale, she knew she wouldn’t survive long if word got around that she’d gotten her ass kicked and begged for her life. Anyway, even if she did as he said, she doubted he’d keep his word.

She winced as one of the antennae flicked at her eyelash and suddenly she remembered something from a lecture. Not one of Giles’ about demons, but biology class, discussing crustaceans. Something about them being mostly blind but having a lot of nerves in their antennae to make up for it. The annoying little appendage poking at her was basically one big nerve, protected by a much thinner shell than the one on his back.

“Maybe beg more than a smidge,” the demon chuckled, “Convince me. Maybe I’ll film it… that will get me some major cred…”

Buffy glared at him, nostrils flaring. She would have liked to grab the antennae and yank it straight out of his face, but without her hands she had to improvise. She narrowed her eyes, opened her mouth like she was about to speak, then suddenly snapped, catching the slender appendage in her teeth and bit down as hard as she could.

It worked better than she would have hoped.

“AAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

The demon’s smirk vanished instantly as he let out a shriek of horror and agony. He screamed loud and long, then screamed again, even higher in pitch, unrestrained by dignity or manhood.

“LEGGO! AAAAAAAAAAGH! LEGGO ME!”

He squeezed her again with desperate strength, enough to make her ribs creak, but the last thing Buffy was going to do was let go. The pain only made her bite down harder, hearing little crackles she hoped weren’t her teeth breaking.

The demon continued to howl, arms quivering with adrenaline.

“AAAAAAAAAAA-AAIIIIIIIIEEEEEEE! YOU CRAZY BITCH! AAAAAAAAAAA-AAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

Finally, unable to take the pain anymore, he let her go and jerked back, clasping at his wounded antenna with his pincers.

Buffy let out a gasp of relief and dropped into a crouch. She fell forward to brace herself with one arm, the other looped around her stomach, rasping and panting.

“AAAAA… URRRGHH…” the demon wailed, stumbling around in quiet desperation as he pawed at the slender appendage. It was bent at an angle compared to the other one. She’d almost bitten it off.

Knowing she couldn’t afford to rest for long, Buffy forced herself to her feet, stumbling but managing to stay upright. She didn’t feel like she could bring fists to her chin, much less throw a punch, but if she didn’t make a show of strength, he’d come right back at her for revenge.

Still rasping, red faced and haggard, she staggered towards him, ready to continue the fight.

The demon turned when he saw her in his peripherals. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, face screwed up as he fought sobs, and his eyes widened as he saw her approaching.

“Wait!” he put one claw over the other in a T shape, “Timeout! For the dark gods’ sakes, timeout! This isn’t what you think it is!”

Buffy snarled, still huffing, shoulders and breasts heaving. But as weary as she was she managed to bring up her fists, holding them fight ready.

“Demon,” she panted, “Slayer. Evil magic. Seems… straight forward to me…”

“It’s not evil!” the demon sobbed, “The spell is harmless! It’s a weight loss spell!”

That stopped Buffy in her tracks.

“A… what?”

The creature sniffled, slipping both claws down the length of his antenna, trying to groom it straight.

“You heard me!” he snapped, “It’s a weight loss spell! Congratulations, slayer, you’ve truly fulfilled your duty: embarrassing a Glaberetch demon!”

Buffy blinked several times. She stared at the creature, jaw hanging, considering maybe she’d passed out and this was a dream.

“That spell…” she raised her eyebrows, “Was… wingardium slimfastia?”

The demon sniffed again, sticking out his bottom lip and looking her up and down.

“Not like YOU would know anything about weight loss magic!” he glared, “Little miss hips and legs! YOU look great!”

“… Thaaanks?” Buffy tilted her head.

“But some of us aren’t blessed with slayer hotness!” the Glaberetch demon continued, “No! No matter how hard some of us work, we can’t shed a single pound! We have no choice but to use magic—expensive magic, I might add! I come out here to do the spell, alone so nobody would laugh, and then YOU come along and try to shove a wooden stake in my face!”

Buffy looked the demon up and down, hips shifting to one side, upper lip curling with a mixture of disdain and incredulity. She crossed her arms under her breasts, propping them up, along with the silver cross charm dangling into her cleavage. There were such things as mostly harmless demons, but her instincts weren’t usually wrong about magic. It was a slayer thing and she’d come to trust it. Still, it wasn’t infallible.

“You’re telling me,” she said slowly, “That spell… just magically makes you lose weight? Really?”

The demon sighed and rolled his eyes, shifting his weight impatiently from one foot to the other.

“It’s an energy dispersal spell,” he explained, “It collects energy from an outside source and uses it to disperse fat energy without exercise.”

“Must be nice.”

“Nice and hard and worth a month’s salary!” the demon held up his arms to show her the glowing runes, “I had already collected the energy and was about to finish the spell when you jumped on me! Now I have to use it quick before it explodes in my face!”

“Huh!” Buffy nodded, feeling educated, “So it’s like a fat burning bomb?”

“It is if I don’t use it! Then it goes right back to where it came from!”

“Which is…?”

The demon sighed again.

“All the newborns I drained it from, obviously!”

Buffy’s expression became flat, her body rigid. She stared at the demon without speaking for several seconds, still as a statue.

And there it was. Slayer instincts 1, lame demon excuses 0.

“It’s the equivalent of two days’ life force,” the demon smiled cheerily, “Drawn from about a hundred different human babies born on this—”

“Stop.” Buffy held up a hand, “Just stop. No.”

The demon tilted its head, “No…?”

“Yeah. No. No on draining the life force from newborn babies. Hard no.”

Flabbergasted, the Glaberetch sputtered a few word fragments, antennae flicking around with distress. As human as the creature could seem and sound, the fact was it didn’t have a soul or a shred of empathy. In fact, most demons saw empathy as a bad thing, a bad habit they tried to avoid. The Glaberetch truly couldn’t see why draining the life from infants was in any way undesirable.

“But… b-but the energy has to come from somewhere! I can’t do the spell without it!”

“Then don’t do the spell. Try keto.”

“I’ve tried keto!” the demon snarled, storming towards her, “I’ve tried intermittent fasting, I’ve tried 0 to 30, I’ve tried paleo, dukan, atkins, even herbal—”

Buffy kicked the creature in the face the moment it was in range, snapping his head back hard and dropping him on his back.

Dazed and back heavy, somewhat like a turtle, the demon shook his head and thrashed around trying to get to his feet. He bucked several times, starting a rocking motion, creating momentum he could use to get up.

Before he could sit up, Buffy stomped on his other antenna, stopping the attempt with a shriek of pain.

“I’m not going to lie,” the slayer told him, “I empathize with the whole weight loss thing. So, tonight I’ll be nice. Put the life energy back where you got it, promise to suffer through diet sodas like the rest of us, and I’ll forego my usual slaying routine.”

Cringing in pain, afraid to move lest the girl press harder on his sensitive antenna, the demon bared his teeth and snarled up at her, rage-filled and hateful.

“Your call, Mr. Krabs,” Buffy put her hands on her hips, staring back, “You’re not going to get that close to me again. Do you want to buy a treadmill? Or do you want me to start with the shell cracking?”

The Glaberetch glared up at her, little bubbles forming around his mouth. It looked like he was going to spit them at her again, but instead his lips slowly spread in a nasty grin.

“You want me to put the energy back, huh?” he sneered.

Buffy narrowed her eyes, beginning to tense. It didn’t take a genius to see that he was up to something.

“Okay, slayer,” the demon said with cloying sweetness, “I’ll put it back. I’ll put it ALL back.”

Buffy stared at him, nose wrinkling. She was about to say something when her eyes suddenly widened. She realized what he was about to do. She didn’t know how he would do it, but she knew what the result would be.

She began to back away.

“I’ll put it back,” the demon brought his arms up, “Right NOW!”

He slammed his rune-glowing forearms together and a blue spark flew from the clash, like metal striking against flint. It was the only precursor to the explosion.

Blue energy blasted away from the runes so fast it was impossible to see, leaving only a transparent shockwave that threw Buffy and the Glaberetch in opposite directions.

The demon skipped across lawns like a stone across a pond, banging and bouncing until he struck an air conditioning unit, the entire device crunching under his thick shell.

Buffy, on the other hand, was thrown straight back like a line drive, flipping end over end by the canted angle the blast had hit her from. She smashed through a fence, then the wall of a partially finished house, thankfully without hitting a support beam. She landed face down on thick carpet, amidst bits of broken concrete and plaster, covered in dust and rubble.

Neither demon nor slayer moved, lying where they fell, unconscious. Buffy had been further away and moving when the blast struck her, but the Glaberetch was built to absorb more damage than her. It had been a move of mutually assured destruction, neither of them coming out the winner.

The true winner would be someone who had been watching closely, hoping for a chance to act. When he saw it, he was momentarily paralyzed with shock. It took several seconds of licking his lips and trembling with nerves before he plucked up his courage and made his decision. Leaping from his hiding place, he scrambled, graceless and encumbered with an overloaded backpack, but making up for it with sheer adrenaline.

In the ringing silence that followed the explosion, Buffy lay on her stomach, only conscious by the strictest definition of the word. Her thoughts were scattered and mixed with memories, mostly of a time she had hid inside a rug while playing a game. The musty smell of carpet and the darkness of her hiding place confirmed seemed to confirm she was indeed playing hid and seek, though who she was playing with was still a mystery.

There was a strange keening in her ears and she felt like she was sinking, so for a moment she thought she was lying on a water bed, but that didn’t make any sense. That would be a terrible hiding place, unless it was hidden somewhere no one would think to look. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t hear anyone seeking.

But then she heard someone running, footsteps clattering, someone panting so rapidly they were close to hyperventilating.

“Where… come on, where… which way did she…?”

The voice wasn’t one she recognized, but it was a boy. A very excited or afraid boy.

“Ah, there!”

The rapid footfalls drew closer, the boy’s hasty breathing coming out with a “hah” on each exhale. Buffy thought she should probably try to move, find a new hiding place, but she was really tired for some reason and her body wasn’t responding. Plus, it was slowly beginning to dawn on her that she wasn’t playing hide and seek; that had been a long time ago.

“Come on… come on… come on…”

The strange boy rasped, his burden clunking and rattling with each step. If Buffy had been able to feel her face, she would have frowned. This was weird.

There was a scrape and a curse as the boy tripped, but he continued towards her until his footsteps slowed to a stop beside her.

“Hah… hah… hah…” he panted, shrugging something heavy off his shoulders and thumping it to the ground, “Come on… c-come on…!”

Zippers were ripped open and there was the sound of rummaging, various different items shunted around by a grasping hand. Whatever was happening was definitely not a hiding game. She’d… been patrolling. She was the slayer. She’d fought a vampire, probably.

“Freaking…” the boy tossed a few things out in haste, “Where is…?”

No, she’d been fighting a demon. Weird demon doing magic. She’d fought a demon and… stuff had happened, she was very sure.

“There! N-now… shit!”

The boy cursed as he dropped whatever he’d dug around to find. He scrambled to pick it up, knocking other things aside in his haste.

Whatever had happened, Buffy realized she was lying down. Lying down while patrolling was never a good idea. Things were starting to clear up now and when she told her arms to move, they obeyed her, though they were heavy and slow.

As she moved, the boy yelped, dropping the thing again.

“SHIT!”

Buffy slowly turned her head so it was easier to breathe, then groped about on the floor until she found a good place to plant her hands. As she started to wake up, she realized her head hurt and she had aches in numerous places. Groaning, she tried to push herself up.

“No… No, no, no…” the boy hissed.

Buffy barely managed to rise before a weight dropped onto her back, pushing her to the floor and pinning her with a grunt of surprise.

The boy’s breathing came from above her now, closer, quick with panic. He was sitting on her, holding her down. Buffy had only just realized this when his hands wiggled their way under her head, squirming to find her mouth. When that didn’t work, he pulled back on her forehead lying her chin on the floor.

“No… you stay there…” his voice was shrill with excitement, “A-and… take this…”

With that he clapped both hands over her mouth and nose, then leaned back, pulling tight.

No, it wasn’t his hands he was holding over her face, but a cloth. It had a sharp, herbal scent, almost like fancy shampoo.

“Mmhh…?” Buffy blinked, confused.

The cloth stifled her breath, but she was still too dazed to decide what to do about it or to understand what was happening. With her face no longer flat to the floor, she saw the room around her and the hole in the wall she’d smashed through. However, it was all foggy and too bright at the same time, stars dancing in her vision. She kicked once, in protest of being held so securely, but quickly gave it up, not overly bothered by it in the first place.

The boy on top of her continued to pant eagerly, pulling harder on the cloth, expecting her to fight back.

“Lights out, slayer,” he told her, “Go to sleep… come on, time for beddy bye…”

Buffy’s eyes closed for a moment, then she pealed them back open, blinking languidly. The sweet smell of the cloth was getting to her, making her head spin, her eyelids heavy. Things had been starting to make more sense, her wits returning to her, but now it was all slipping away. She was feeling heavier, more tired.

“Nhh… mhhh?” she mewled, eyelashes fluttering.

She really was tired. As her thoughts were smothered, her aches and pains were going away, though. That was nice, as well as the body warmth pressing into her. She pawed once at the hands holding the cloth, more out of curiosity than an attempt to struggle, then let her hand slip down to rest on the floor. Her eyelids drooped, the baby blues seeing nothing in particular.

“Yeah, yeah!” the boy encouraged, “Ha! Yes! Go on!”

Buffy made another sleepy sound and let her eyes close, the thought of resisting unconscious never crossing her mind. Everything was spinning pleasantly, sinking down and going dark, like she was circling a drain into a cozy, peaceful place beneath the waking world. She let her breath become deep and even, melting into that relaxing state.

Feeling went away, her senses leaving her body. The last thing she heard was the boy on top of her giggling excitedly, like a child on Christmas day. She heard it but didn’t think anything of it. She wouldn’t remember.

----

Dylan held the cloth in place much longer than necessary. He thought she might be playing possum and he knew the slayer could crush him without effort if she returned to her senses. He wanted to be sure—absolutely and completely sure—that she was out. She couldn’t overdose on the herbal unction Henry had made to put her to sleep, so there was no point in taking a chance.

After close to a minute, he still kept the cloth in place, silent except for his heavy breathing. His heart was pounding, his hands trembling with nerves. Despite logically understanding Buffy Summers, the vampire slayer herself, was at his mercy, he couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t even put up a fight and now he could feel her firm body beneath him, her breath whispering into his palm through the cloth. Nothing had ever come this easy for him, especially not something he wanted this much.

After another 30 seconds, he dared to remove one trembling hand from the cloth, using it to wipe his clammy brow. He squeezed the cloth with the other hand, gripping the unconscious girl’s jaw in case she tried to jerk away. But she didn’t move, didn’t notice the opportunity to fight free.

Not sure what else to do, he leaned down almost to her ear.

“Buffy…?” he whispered, his voice tight with nerves.

Buffy didn’t respond. Her body remained soft beneath him, still breathing gently into the cloth.

Dylan licked his lips, then cleared his throat.

“Buffy!”

She didn’t flinch at the louder tone, didn’t even shift in her sleep.

“BUFFY!” He almost yelled.

Dylan’s heart was pounding faster now than before, excitement driving it. If she were just having a nap and he’d made that sound in her ear, he was certain she would have awoken with a start. Now her eyes didn’t even twitch, her brow remained smooth, body entirely relaxed. She was dead to the world.

A nervous grin pulling at the corners of his lips, he took her wrist and lifted her arm. The hand dangled. He raised it high then let it drop. The limb plopped limply to the carpet, a lifeless weight.

An excited giggle, almost hysterical, bubbled from Dylan’s lips.

For several seconds, he stayed just as he was, sitting on top of her, holding the cloth over her mouth, shivering like a nervous chihuahua. He was too excited to think. Despite his ostensible confidence, a part of him had thought this time would be just like the others, had seen the slayer as an unattainable, unbeatable creature. That part of him only slowly realized that he was on top of her, that she was warm, pert, still, and completely at his mercy.

His heart was pounding. He could feel her lips and nose through the cloth, smell her feminine scent, which roused the raw, clumsy hunger so common in teenage boys. It gave him the urge to do several things at once but his inexperience left him paralyzed, coupled with an illogical fear that if he did anything more, he would wake up from this wonderful dream.

Slowly, almost reverently, he lowered her head back down to the floor, letting it tilt so she rested on her cheek. Leaving the cloth beneath her mouth like a pillow, he wiggled his hand free and sat upright, looking down at her.

“I-I won,” he whispered, then said louder, “I beat you. I won. I win!”

He laughed then, a triumphant cackle, and fell forward to clamp his hands down on her wrists, pinning them to the ground. Wiggling his hips back, he spread himself across her, lying down on her, positioning himself on instinct, his face so close he could count the lashes on her peacefully closed eye.

There had been many times Dylan had fantasized about this moment. He’d even rehearsed what he’d say, come up with clever one-liners, returning the favor for every dry remark or eyeroll at his expense. He couldn’t remember any of them now. He just said what came to mind in a voice husky with desire.

“I got you, slayer.” he told her with a manic grin, “Your ass is mine. Heh heh heh. Your ass is mine, Buffy Summers.”

Biting his lip, his eyes darted about the sleeping girl, details he had overlooked now standing out in his lust-sharpened vision. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, little blonde strands sticking out like loose straw, cute and purposefully disheveled. With her profile towards him, he could see just how long her dark eyelashes were, how her lips pouted out as she slept, the precise way her nose turned up at the tip.

She wore a black, spaghetti string tank top and snug, khaki pants with lots of pockets. He didn’t know what type of pants they were, but he could feel the tight seat against his hips and crotch. In fact, his… little self was lined up where the seat stretched across the gap between the globes beneath. Without thinking, he pushed in deeper, smooshing the firm shapes down and forming a groove between them, grinding himself along the valley where they met. He ground in deep, then drew back to drag across once more, slow and forceful.

“Mine,” his voice came out rough, “And I’m going to—"

A sudden crash broke the spell and Dylan jerked upright, his mouth open but throat too tight to cry out. He looked around for the source of the intrusion, his confidence shrinking instantly, eyes wide and guilty.

There was a distant groan, then a clatter, followed by barely audible grumbling in a deep demonic language Dylan hadn’t mastered yet.

Dylan stiffened with fear. The Glaberetch demon was waking up.