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DISCLAIMER: Josh’s characters, Josh’s stories, Josh’s money. I get the Spuffy Fun

CHARACTERS: Spike, Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Xander, Giles, Glory, Ben, Wedgy Chalk the Regurgitating Frovolax Demon and The Trio - Buffybot parts supplied by robotstore.com

Woo and Hoo - We're Back! Before we were so rudely interrupted, I'd posted as far as Chapter 4, but since it takes about an hour per chapter and the nice folks at VISA said I had to pay my bill today, I will have to work up to this slowly.


This story is dedicated to the beloved mrmonkeybottoms and that fine Buffybot story, The Whacky Adventures of Spike and the Buffybot at www.allaboutspike.com/fic.html?id=254 If you haven’t read it, cruise on over (after you’ve read this of course!) and laugh till you wet your pants. Be sure to give her a big SWAK for me.

Special thanks to the Faboo nmcil for this excellent banner. If you haven’t checked out her excellent Spuffy and other work, you can see it in glorious color right here: whedonworld

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Chapter 1 – Someone or Something



Spike punched his fist into the trapdoor leading from the sewer into the Magic Box.

“What you did, for me, and Dawn ... that was real, Spike. I won’t forget it, Spike. Bint.”

The hatch door banged open and he climbed into the basement. He shouldn’t have banged the door open. If Buffy was upstairs, she’d come running in a flash to see what or who caused the rumpus. Too late.

He hurt. Not as bad as two days ago when the Poufter Twins, Watcher and Harris, dumped him back in his crypt after being thumped royally by Glory the Slut Goddess, but bad. His left eye was still swollen shut, two ribs were busted and the hole Glory gouged in his liver was nowhere near healed. He’d dragged himself through the sewers, even though it was nighttime, because he was in no shape to fight off any of the dozens of vampires, demons and other standard issue supernatural enemies he’d made since he’d started fighting with the Slayer and loving the little tart instead of spending every day and night plotting her demise, as any self-respecting vampire would do. Only a sense of overwhelming horniness kept him from feeling deep, deep shame.

Princess Goldilocks stopped by his crypt with a couple of bags of pig’s blood the morning after he’d received Glory’s ferocious beating, then promptly and completely forgot all about him. Not that healing on pig’s blood was going to cut it, but she might have kept up the visits to the sick and infirm, namely himself, for at least a day or two. Worse than the pain, he’d been lonely, sitting in his crypt watching the television. “Ungrateful bitch.”

He checked the shelf where the moonweed plant was kept in a sealed glass jar. He needed some to speed along his healing. He pinched off a handful of the best top leaves, folded them into a scrap of paper and tucked them into his coat pocket. He popped another leaf into his mouth. The head rush from the leaf made him stumble backwards into a tall, draped object. He ate another leaf and lifted the drape. Under the sheet, he found his most prized possession.

Buffybot stood with her head quirked to one side and her eyes glazed.

“What have they done to you, darling?” They hadn’t tossed her in the nearest landfill, which he’d expected. They’d left her in the basement and forgotten all about her. Well, he hadn’t forgotten about her. She was his property, extorted out of that nit, Warren, fair and square and Spike wanted her back. He missed her, even loved her a bit for her own cheery robot self.

He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Gits forgot to plug her in. Battery must be dead.” He searched around the junk, swatted away the mummy’s hand that pranced across the work table and located the charging cord. He plugged in the robot and waited.

Buffybot blinked her eyes and righted her head slowly. The light on her leg flashed to show her battery charging.

He snapped his fingers again. “Buffy? Wakey, wakey.” The bot didn’t respond. “Hells, bells, I can’t give her any instructions. No telling what trouble she’ll get up to on her own. If you can hear me, luv, when you get yourself charged up, go to my crypt.” He smoothed her hair and straightened her blouse. He gave her a kiss, but her lips felt flat and rubbery. “Not as good as Other Buffy, but you’ll do.”

Buffybot made no response.

He patted her butt and was about to push off back through the sewers, when he heard Buffy, the real flesh and bone and tasty blood Buffy, walking around on the floor above and yapping.

“I need help. A fighting companion,” Buffy said. “I need more muscle if I’m going to protect Dawn from Glory. You saw what she did to Spike.”

Spike heard the scrape of a knife on wood. Right bastard Harris loved nothing better than to sharpen up pointy sticks for Buffy. Probably printing out Spike’s name on a plastic strip with one of those poxy labelmaker machines to attach to a big, fat, lethal stake.

“Yeah, Spike was whupped,” Xander said. “I hate Spike and I felt sorry for Spike. I don’t want to feel sorry for Spike.”

Spike snorted. “Your fault I got caught by the Slutbag’s minions.” If Lunkhead Xander hadn’t been distracting Spike and butting his huge nose into Spike’s personal business over the matter of the Buffybot, Spike would have heard the scabs coming and scarpered, saving himself a beating and a near dusting by the Slayer.

“I don’t know who you’re going to find,” Giles said. “I suppose we could call Angel.”

A fierce, hot wave of jealousy surged through Spike and shook him with fury. The last thing he wanted was Tall, Dark and Cliffhead hanging around, messing up his chances with Buffy. Spike picked up a bottle of phony newt eyes and tossed it at the nearest wall. The glass made a satisfying crash and newt goo dripped down the wall. “Bugger!”

He heard Buffy’s footsteps and ducked under the staircase when she opened the door to check for basement lurkers. She came down the steps in a wedge of light. Spike could feel her Slayer eyes piercing the dark, heard her sniffing for intruders, knew she was listening for any sound that would betray the presence of a Bumper in the Nighter. Spike closed his eyes so she wouldn’t spot them gleaming in the dark.

“Thought I heard a rat,” Buffy said. She walked back up the stairs. She left the door open a crack, which made it easier for Spike to hear what the gang was saying.

“We could use another Spike,” Dawn said.

“Damn right, Bit,” Spike said. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Too bad there’s only one William the Bloody in this hell forsaken town.”

“I’ll come up with someone,” Buffy said. “Or something.”

The meeting lasted another twenty minutes while the gang argued and came up with bugger all for defeating Glory. Anya made lewd sexual remarks to Harris and the two birds, Red and Earth Mother, cooed at each other. Spike wished he could say smarmy things to Buffy, but she’d crushed that idea and he didn’t think her current friendly mood extended to letting him renew his romantic pursuit of her. It was only a matter of time until she fell into his arms, but he’d have to wait until she forgot about the Chaining Up Incident before taking more positive action to get her attention.

The only thing accomplished at the meeting was Giles’s consumption of several glasses of scotch. Spike considered going upstairs to see if he could acquire a glass of said scotch, but not wanting to be seen in his beat up state, he lurked in the basement, chewing on another moonweed leaf and waited for Buffy to leave. He hadn’t stalked her in two days and he needed his exercise. At long last, the meeting was over and Buffy and the rest of the gang left the shop.

Spike climbed out of a manhole in the alley behind the store and paced after Buffy, giving her a long lead. The night fog picked up and amplified every sound so he had to keep sharp in order to avoid getting caught. She twirled around a couple of times, checking her back for nasties, but seeing nothing through the fog, she walked on.

It was late and he expected her to go home, but instead, she headed into a neighborhood on the north side of town. After walking for ten minutes, she stopped under a streetlight and pulled a scrap of paper out of her pocket. She read the paper, stuffed it back in her pocket and headed for the front door of a house on Maypole Street.

The house was dark. No curtains hung at the windows. Old newspapers left on the front porch rustled in the wind and weeds choked the lawn, which hadn’t been mowed in weeks. The house looked abandoned.

Spike circled around the house, cutting through the backyard of a house two doors down and crept behind a tree where he could observe her. “What the hell are you up to, Slayer?” She had no more sense than a miniature bousker demon, creeping around a dangerous, dead house like this.

Buffy pounded on the door. “Open up, Warren! I know you’re in there.”

A video camera over the door whirred, revolved and aimed itself at Buffy. A red LED on the camera blinked and the lens extended itself. From a window in the darkened basement, Spike caught the flicker of a blue computer screen and heard the shuffle of footsteps. Voices whispered.

“Shut up, butthead! It’s the Slayer! You were supposed to be watching the video!”

“Quit touching my bone! It Andrew’s turn!”

A hand smacked two faces. “Both of you shut up.”

Spike relaxed when he heard the voices. Buffy could certainly handle herself with those three dolts.

Buffy must have heard the voices, too, because she kicked the door open and went into the house.

Spike crawled closer to the house and peered in the dusty basement window. Ceiling lights flashed on and, after his eyes recovered, Spike saw Warren and his two moron companions.

The trio of idiots had moved into the basement of the abandoned house. The new lair looked about the same as the old one – shag carpet (rusty red instead of royal blue), white plastic bean bag chairs and banks of electronic equipment stacked on shelves surrounding the washer/dryer appliance combo. The washer bumped and whirred into its spin cycle.

Warren backed away with his hands raised as Buffy sauntered down the wooden stairs, twirling a stake in her hand. “Let’s not do anything rash, Slayer. I didn’t want to build the Buffybot. I told Spike I didn’t want to make any more girls. He threatened to destroy the Fett. He said he was going to bite me. I had no choice. You know what a mean bastard Spike is.”

Spike smirked. He still had the touch. Scared the piss out of Robo-boy without even showing his fangs.

“What’s a Fett?” Buffy said. “Spike threatened to bite you?”

Spike crossed his fingers and prayed Buffy wouldn’t reveal his current inability to bite anything more substantial than a handful of Weetabix.

“Never mind,” she said. “I’m not here about the Buffybot, although if you make another one, I’ll be forced to visit random and painful violence on all your parts.”

Spiked sighed with relief. Buffy no longer had her mad on over the Bot and she’d kept his darkest secret. Maybe his chances were looking up.

The dumbass with the stiff blonde hair combed straight up spoke up. “So, why are you here, Slayer? Hmmm? Have you decided to join the Forces – of – DARKNESS ?” He contorted his face and put his hand on his chin and tapped his fingers on his cheek.

The short, dark-haired kid thumped him on the head. “Shut up, Geekazoid. Buffy doesn’t join the Forces of Darkness. She’s the One Girl in All the World. She’s Good.”

“Shut up all of you,” Buffy said. “Warren, I want you to make me a robot.”

Warren smirked and hitched up his pants. “Boy Toy? Having trouble getting some action, Slayer? No need to go electronic. I could help you out in that department.” He adjusted the crotch of his orange plaid pants.

Buffy gave him a severe look, placed her fists on top of her narrow hips and tapped her boot on the rusty shag carpet. Pufft, pufft, pufft.

Warren assumed an innocent air. He put his hands in his pockets and fondled himself. “What’s in it for me?”

“I feed you to the nearest vampire nest if you don’t.”

That’s my girl. Short, to the brutal point and completely lacking in finesse. No wonder he loved her.

Warren nodded his head. “What kind of robot?”

“He’s got to be big and strong and able to fight a Hellgod. And, doesn’t talk too much.”

Warren’s eyes cocked in two different directions as they did whenever he contemplated some evil project. He looked like a flounder. “Any Hellgod I happen to know?”

“Don’t think so.” Buffy walked around the room, checking out the stacks of electronic junk. “Glory doesn’t usually hang around with ringworm basement squatters. Your wash is ready to go in the dryer.”

Warren clapped his hands together. “Okay! One big, strong fighter robot for Buffy.”

Buffy scrounged in the back pocket of her skin-tight black jeans. “Here’s the specs and the scenarios I want.” She handed Warren a photograph and some lined pages ripped from a spiral notebook.

Spike strained to see through the dusty window. “Damn. A photo of yours truly.”

“Uh, this is Spike,” Warren said. He punched the photo with his finger a couple of times. “You want your robot to look like Spike?”

“Look like him, fight like him and … whatever. Get to work. I’ll be back tomorrow. Have him ready.” Buffy pounded up the stairs without looking back.

Spike lit a cigarette and sat down behind a huge aloe vera plant to think.

What the hell was Buffy up to? What did it mean? She was carrying around his picture, probably nicked it from Dawn who was always pestering him with her little camera. Slayer wanted the kind of help only he could give her, but she didn’t want to run to him. Embarrassed most likely at the shabby way she’d treated him.

When his first cigarette burned down to the filter, he lit a second cigarette from the glowing butt of the first. He considered Warren’s suggestion that Buffy wanted the robot for more personal reasons. Plainly, Buffy wanted his handsome and sinister body, but she was afraid to say so. Afraid of her friends, afraid she’d fall in love with him. Hah! Afraid he’d ruin her for any other man.




Jinx, and his subordinate poonlarp demon, Dank, waited in the shadows at the edge of the Bronze dance floor and watched Dr. Ben dancing with a young female he’d picked up at the bar earlier. Jinx held a red satin dress and Dank held a pair of red glitter high heels. Jinx expected Dr. Ben to disappear and Glorificus to appear in his place at any time, but since these appearances could not be predicted, he and Dank followed Dr. Ben from the apartment with the clothes Slook anticipated would be acceptable to Her Satinous Slinkiness.

Glorificus slid into consciousness and took over Ben’s body just as he was putting the moves on the girl, who scurried off the dance floor when she found herself bumping and grinding, not with the handsome young doctor, but with a curly-haired woman.

“Jinx! Dank! Attend me!” Glory picked at her brother’s clothes.

Jinx ran over holding the dress in front of him. “We live to serve you, Your Galactic Graciousness. Perhaps you would like to change into something more suitable for displaying Your Most Feminine Fleshiness?”

She snatched the dress away. “What were you thinking, Jinx? First you let Brother Ben appear in public in a tacky button-down shirt and brown pants, then you let him dance with a slut wearing shoes from Buy*Mart. I’m sure she got them on sale.” She paused to ram her fingers into a passing cute guy’s brain and suck out the alcoholic goodness. “That’s better. I feel all tingly.”

When she came out of the restroom a few minutes later dressed in her own clothes, she fluffed her hair and looked around. “JINX! Where are you, you little cretin? Why weren’t you keeping tabs on Ben?”

Jinx slithered up to Glorificus, bowing and cricking his head to one side in what he hoped was a nauseating combination of devotion and obsequiousness. He kicked Dank, who assumed a similar position. “We attempted to persuade Ben to wear something more fashionable, but he struck Dank on the forehead.” He indicated the bandage on Dank’s head.

Dank, who in Jinx’s opinion was young and foolish, incapable of excellent toadying and didn’t know when to keep his scabby mouth shut, spoke for the first time. “How may we make up for our dereliction of duty, Your Creamy Deliciousness?”

“You can find my damn vampire, so I can get my Key.”

This was a sore subject which Jinx was very sorry to have mentioned. The vampire, known as Spike, escaped two days ago before providing them with information about the Key. It was necessary to sacrifice Lunk and Mange, two of the lesser poonlarps to assuage Glorificus’s rage. Only a large and subtle lie, larded with a generous dose of stupidity, would do in response to her demand. “Dank and I are searching constantly, but we don’t understand why Your Luscious Lithesomeness wants this pathetic Creature of the Night. As you said yourself, he’s impure and not even good for brain sucking.” There. That was an excellent point. He waved his fingers and Dank produced a tray with a sparkling glass of liquid refreshment. “Mojito, Your Celestial Yumminess?”

Glory snatched the glass and drained it. “I don’t want the vampire, twit, but he knows where to find my Key. Do I have to search a bunch of skanky crypts myself to find him?”

Jinx folded his hands and bowed. “Certainly not, Most Beautificious Bachelorette. Dank and I will track down this loathsome blood rat and fetch him around immediately.” He was most satisfied with this offer. If they failed to find the vampire, he could blame any disappointment on Dank, while highlighting his own efforts to serve.

“Quit yapping and find him! Find him now!” Glory stomped off to find another brain to suck.

Jinx and Dank left the Bronze by the back door and slunk off into the foggy night to search for the blonde vampire named Spike, who was most precious to Buffy, the Slayer girl.

“Where shall we look?” Dank asked.

Jinx pulled a handwritten list of demon haunts from his grubby brown robe. “No use going back to his crypt. That’s the last place he’ll go. Let’s try Willy’s Place. We can question the patrons. I hear Willy serves an excellent frozen yak urine concoction.”

“Who’s paying for the frozen yak urines? You stuck me with the tab last time,” Dank said.

Jinx, who did not care to have his somewhat parsimonious nature called into question, made an executive decision. “I believe we could put the libations on the household expense account.”




After Spike burned his fingers with his third cigarette, he decided he didn’t care what Buffy was up to, just how he could turn the situation to his own advantage. If Buffy wanted a strong fighter, he would supply the muscle. It wouldn’t be his fault if she fell in love with him under the circumstances. He walked around the front of the house and kicked in what was left of the front door after Buffy’s entrance.

He stomped down the stairs. Since he couldn’t actually hurt Warren, he was forced to rely on bullying. Fortunately, Warren and the other two were so cowardly, bullying would more than suffice.

Warren and the two nits were watching Raquel Welch in One Million, B.C. on a 50-inch plasma flat screen they’d liberated from Buy*Mart. Spike found himself momentarily distracted by the site of Raquel in her furry bikini. Raquel bent forward and displayed her goodies in a skimpy prehistoric Wonder bra made of animal skins. It was a sight that could jumpstart a vamp’s dead heart. Buffy would look good in a furry bikini, too. He shook his head to rid himself of that image and jerked the television’s electrical cord out of the wall.

“Hey! We were just getting to the good part, where Rocky fights for her mate,” the shrimpy, brown-haired one said.

“Am I going to have to manhandle Mr. Fett again?” Spike glanced around for the toy. He spotted it on the shelf over the washer, displayed next to a bottle of fabric softener.

The shrimp and the blond with the gelled-up hair jumped in front of the washer and held up their arms to protect the miniscule plasticene statuette. “We will give our lives to protect the Fett!”

“Christ on a crutch. You two are a couple of retards.” Spike jerked Warren off the sofa by his collar and slung his arm around Warren’s neck. He brought his arm up in a near choke hold, as close as he dared. The chip in his brain fizzled a warning, but he gritted his teeth and ignored the pain. “Warren, mate, what did the Slayer want?”

“Buffy? She stopped by to chill. We went to high school together and she wanted to talk over old times - Flying Monkeys, Hell Hounds, the Mayor Snake Demon, the day her friend Xander and his buds turned into hyenas and ate Mr. Flutie, her first sexual experience. You know, good times.” Warren giggled.

Spike wrapped a fistful of Warren’s hair around his fingers and tugged. “I haven’t the faintest what you’re talking about, Brainiac. She told you to make a robot. A robot like me.”

“Okay, okay, okay. Slayer put in an order. I had to go along, Spike. You know how strong she is. She could beat the crap out of me with her pinkie finger. I wouldn’t dream of making another robot, especially one that looks like you.”

“Damn right, you’re not making a robot of me.” Spike squeezed Warren’s throat a little too hard. The chip ramped up a painful shock and Spike shoved Warren back onto the couch with his two friends.

“Uh, Spike, the thing is the Slayer will be back tomorrow. What am I going to tell her?” Warren bent his spine into a rat-like curve. His left eye bobbled in the direction of the washing machine. “What’ll I do when she shows up? You know what a mean bitch she can be.”

Spike growled at Warren for calling Buffy a bitch. She was a bitch, true, but Spike didn’t want anyone but himself calling her one. “So happens, I’m in the mood to help you out, Mr. Wizard. I’ve got a couple of projects in mind. Here’s what you’re going to do.”