(no subject)
This is... indeed a fag end. But I wrote! I wrote Spuffy! Just look at me go!
Prompt: Burnt Out
Timing: Sometime post-Chosen
Word Count: 263
Warnings: Possible PTSD triggers? I am not so good at identifying same, but better safe than sorry.
He’s awake. They both know she knows it, but still with the pretending and she ought to be glad that he’s trying to spare her but tonight - so many nights, too many nights - it’s a yuck-tastic reminder that it’s always all about her and her needy needs. Always has been, probably always will be. It’s the way he’s made. It’s the way she’s made, which is so much worse because she’s trying to be good to him, she really is. It’s enough for him, which might be the worst of all.
She ought to be happy. She saved the world and got the guy, right back from the jaws of death which - wow, issues, even if she knows, she knows that it was different for him, no warm safe heaven to be ripped out of. No comfy final reward for Spike, of course not. Just a bed, with her in it, gasping awake again - again, what is it, the fifth time this week? - which he’ll studiously “sleep through.” He’ll lie there, not quite still as death, twitching just enough to remind her that he’s all well and good, and she’ll lie there and watch him out of the side of one eye to remind herself that he’s real, and he’s whole, and he’s not on fire, not again, all burnt out in a blaze of glory. Nothing so spectacular for him, oh no. Just a dingy bed and a dingy Buffy all gross with sleep sweat and a stupid subconscious that won’t stop showing him in a shower of sparks.
Prompt: Burnt Out
Timing: Sometime post-Chosen
Word Count: 263
Warnings: Possible PTSD triggers? I am not so good at identifying same, but better safe than sorry.
He’s awake. They both know she knows it, but still with the pretending and she ought to be glad that he’s trying to spare her but tonight - so many nights, too many nights - it’s a yuck-tastic reminder that it’s always all about her and her needy needs. Always has been, probably always will be. It’s the way he’s made. It’s the way she’s made, which is so much worse because she’s trying to be good to him, she really is. It’s enough for him, which might be the worst of all.
She ought to be happy. She saved the world and got the guy, right back from the jaws of death which - wow, issues, even if she knows, she knows that it was different for him, no warm safe heaven to be ripped out of. No comfy final reward for Spike, of course not. Just a bed, with her in it, gasping awake again - again, what is it, the fifth time this week? - which he’ll studiously “sleep through.” He’ll lie there, not quite still as death, twitching just enough to remind her that he’s all well and good, and she’ll lie there and watch him out of the side of one eye to remind herself that he’s real, and he’s whole, and he’s not on fire, not again, all burnt out in a blaze of glory. Nothing so spectacular for him, oh no. Just a dingy bed and a dingy Buffy all gross with sleep sweat and a stupid subconscious that won’t stop showing him in a shower of sparks.