Buffy barged into Spike’s crypt. “Spike!” Buffy shouted down the hole to his lower level. “Spike!”

    “Be right there,” Spike called out, sounding woozy. A moment later he poked his head out of the cellar, his hair tousled, his eyes bleary, and without a shirt. She’d woken him. “What’d I do this time?”

    “Glory knows who Dawn is,” Buffy said without preamble. “She knows. She–” Buffy gasped, her fear fazing her. Spike climbed out to her quickly. She wasn’t in tears, but her panic was trembling just at the edge of her ability to hold it in.

    “Hey, hey, it’s okay, pet,” Spike said. He reached out and held her by her upper arms, and she was so distraught she just let him. He stared into her jade eyes, trying to ground her with his own. “We’ll get her safe, it’ll be fine. You and me. We’ll just go. She’ll never find us.”

    “No,” Buffy said. “Not after what happened to Tara, and to you. We’ve got to get out. Everyone.”

    “Everyone?” Spike said, disappointed. “Even wanker boy?”

    “Yes, Xander, Giles, even Tara, everyone,” Buffy said. “We can’t leave them for her to torture, even if she’s already gotten to Tara.”

    “All right,” Spike said. “So what do you want from me?”

    “I need you to help protect Dawn.”

    “You got that. Niblet’s got big bad between her and every other nasty. What else do you need?”

    Buffy shrugged. “We need to get out of town.”

    Spike smiled suddenly. “Good enough. I’ve got a way,” he said.
 

***

    “What are you doing here?” Tara’s father demanded.

    It was several months previous that Spike had made an unannounced visit to the camper of Tara’s estranged family. They’d had some brilliant idea about abducting their daughter to “protect the world” from the “hideous disgusting demon” they insisted the innocent witch was going to become. As much as Spike insisted he didn’t care what happened, he kind of liked the witch, and he didn’t like weaklings pretending they were strong.

    Spike looked up from the back of the camper, where he’d been rummaging through the Maclays’ things. He was a little hampered by the chip in his head – the Initiative blokes really should have been more discerning when they’d wired him to be unable to hurt anything living. What about abusive wankers who deserved to be eaten? Still – he could do some serious damage without any real intent to harm.  “Don’t you got anything better than this?” he asked, holding up packets of cup of soup and kool-aid.

    Mr. Maclay climbed up into the camper, followed by his son Donald and their cousin Beth. “Get out of my camper!

    “No,” Spike said casually. “You really ought to eat better than this junk,” he said, throwing it all down. He headed for another cupboard. “You got any crisps?”

    “Dad, you want me to get him out of here?” Donald asked.

    “No,” Mr. Maclay said, a little more temperate than his son. “No. Mister, ah...?”

    “Spike,” Spike said.

    “Mr.... Spike,” Mr. Maclay said, incredulous. “You seem to think that you can influence my daughter, and then just barge in wherever you want?”

    “Yeah,” Spike said with a bit of a grin. “Lots like you. Kindred spirits, you and me, eh?” He pushed past the family and opened up a cabinet on floor level. “Fishing gear?” he asked. “What are you gonna do with that?”

    “Go fishin’ you punked out, new-agey bastard,” Donald snapped.

    Spike stood up with a bit of a grin. “Nah, you don’t wanna go gettin’ me riled now, boy,” Spike said. He grabbed Mr. Maclay and patted him down roughly. “Ah! Here we go. I’ll get you the best fish and chips you ever had,” he said. “None of this ‘gone fishin’ bollocks.” He pulled Mr. Maclay’s keys and wallet out of his jeans, ignoring his attempt to stop him. “Just what I was looking for.” He sat down with a grin in the driver’s seat of the camper and started the machine up.

    “What are you doing?” Beth shouted, looking frightened.

    “Now don’t you go worryin’ pet,” Spike said, glancing at her. “Just a bit of a nasty. You just shut your sweet little lips. Ain’t that right, sir patriarch? Got to keep those ladies in line.” The camper lurched and lunged, swerving down the streets of Sunnydale.

    “Exactly what do you think you’re doing?” Mr. Maclay asked again. He seemed cool as a cucumber, but Spike could tell he was shaken.

    “I told you,” Spike said with an evil grin. “I like you. Gotta get you off that diet of salt and corn pone, show you how to really keep the ladies in line.” Spike shook his head. “Really, quite the piece of work. How long have you been playing that ‘all the girls are demons’ game? Does it keep ‘em locked in their rooms, or just in the house? Do they ever get to see the sun?” He glanced up at Mr. Maclay.“Good way to keep ‘em barefoot and pregnant though, right mate?”

    “Dad!” Donald pleaded.

    “It’s all right, Don,” Mr. Maclay said. “Tara’s friend here seems to think he’s exempt from the proper rules of society.”

    “That I am, chief,” Spike said. He swerved the camper again, narrowly missing an oncoming truck, and the three Maclays staggered.

    “And what makes you think that, huh?” Don asked, belligerent. He pushed past his dad and tried to get Spike out of the chair.

    Spike ignored him. He was driving with one hand and sorting through the wallet with the other. “Quite a lot of cash in here,” Spike said. “One of those who don’t trust those newfangled ‘banks’, eh?” He pocketed the cash before letting the wallet fall beneath the seat. Spike swerved the camper again and Donald fell before he managed to dislodge Spike. He looked startled. Obviously, until that moment, Donald had considered himself strong. “You had a strong box in the back,” Spike added. “Got more in there, do you?”

    “You are breaking the law,” Mr. Maclay pointed out. “This is abduction, and grand theft auto.”

    “You know,” Spike said, swerving the camper again. “It probably is.” He looked up at little Beth. “Fun, isn’ it?” He looked ahead into the night. “The fish ‘n chip shop is just up the corner. You like tartar sauce?” he asked Beth. “Never been fond of it myself. Prefer something with more of a bite.”

    “Mr.... Spike,” Mr. Maclay said, sounding more forceful. “If you do not cease your recklessness and vacate this vehicle immediately, I warn you, you will suffer the consequences.”

    “Was that a threat?” Spike asked. “He’s so cute,” he added to Beth.

    “I am being most serious, sir,” the man said. When Spike only started to whistle, Mr. Maclay sighed. “I did warn you.” He opened up the cupboard over the passenger seat and pulled out a double barreled shotgun. Spike glanced at it and laughed.

    “I assure you, this is no joke, sir,” Mr. Maclay said. “If you do not pull this camper over and allow me and my family to go in peace, I will be forced to use this.”

    “Hang on a sec,” Spike said. Without stopping the camper he shrugged his coat off his shoulders. “Hate trying to repair that. Get on with it.”

    “Excuse me?”

    Spike turned his face away from the road completely, his foot still on the accelerator, and looked Mr. Maclay right in the face. “Get on with it.”

    “I did warn you, sir,” Mr. Maclay said. He cocked the gun and pulled the trigger.

    The smell of gunpowder filled the small space, and the camper swerved again as Spike absorbed the impact. He glanced down at the spray pattern in his chest, made a quick glance at the road and swerved back into his lane. “Ow,” he said sarcastically, and turned back to Mr. Maclay. “Got anything more scary in there?” he asked.

    The terror of the three Maclays went from level three to level twelve.

    “Daddy, what the hell’s goin’ on?” Donald asked.

    Spike made another swerve and spun the camper into the parking lot of the Sunnydale battered fish shop on the edge of the highway. He stopped it with a screech and stood up, slipping his coat back on. “Yeah, what the hell is goin’ on?” Spike asked. He darkened his face and glared at the two abusive men through his yellow vampire eyes. “I thought you menfolk knew how to handle demons.”

    They panicked. Donald scrambled for the camper door, and his father let Spike take the shotgun out of his hand as he followed. Spike happened to be between Beth and the door. Left all alone, her uncle and cousin disappeared into the night, she stood facing a true ‘disgusting’ demon, her face white with terror. She backed up the camper away from him, almost in tears.

    Spike went up to her, his fanged mouth in a bit of a seductive smile. “You know, pet,” he said, gently backing her against the wall of the camper. “If you really did want to be a demon, I could probably arrange for that. My sweet tumble needs a shopping mate.” He let his hand touch her hip. “You could take those wankers out in a blink. Your great protectors. You know... the ones who just abandoned you to me?” He grinned wide, his teeth sharp as knives.

    Beth did start to cry. “Don’t... hurt me, please,” she whispered, and Spike’s smile broadened. Without really letting her go, he gestured with his eyes toward the door of the camper, which he was, coincidentally, not really blocking anymore. Beth ducked out from between him and the wall and bolted. He let her.

    Can’t hurt anyone with a chip in his head. Two panicked wankers and a seed of real doubt sewn in their last remaining slave. Not to mention a nice spare lair for emergencies. Take that, Initiative, he thought. He went off to pick up some fish and chips.