tamingthemuse | Dust - Nebula, Prompt #1

authoressnebula.livejournal.com posting in

Anyone want to guess the character? ~_^ C'mon, he's just my favorite...

Title: Dust
Fandom: BtVS
Prompt: #1 - Pickpocket
Warnings: Slight Spuffy, I suppose. More Spike musings than anything.
Rating: PG, PG-13
Summary: Some things never change.

Wordcount: 1344

Please let me know if things should be changed or things should be improved! Concrit is really accepted here. ^_^

The market was fairly crowded for the time of day. The sun was just rising above the lowest building, and the fog that had covered the area all morning was retreating. People were out, some selling, some buying. Men offered their fruits and produce to the crowd that had gathered. The crowd always gathered: the market was their chance to bring food home, to meet with neighbors and friends, to share the latest stories and gossip.

That meant that they'd be distracted. That was good news for him. The more distracted they were, the easier the pockets were to pick.

Casually he sauntered forward, whistling a tune as he stepped around the various baskets on the ground. He glanced over to the right and spotted a beautiful red apple. He continued whistling, and when the shopkeeper finally turned away to help a potential customer, his hand darted forward, and the apple was his. He quickly turned away and took a bite, smiling around the juicy fruit in his mouth. It was rare to find fruit this fresh, this tasty. Most of the fruit he knew tasted like dust.

Everything tasted like dust. It was in the air, in the food, in their clothes and hair and minds and hearts. It clouded up everything, and he hated it. He wanted to go somewhere where everything he did, everything he touched, everything he was wasn't dust.

Someday he'd leave. He imagined it some days, when he let himself. He'd sail around the world and find the place he was destined to be. There was a place out there where he was supposed to be, a person he was supposed to become. He'd never get anywhere in this dusty town.

That was why he was about to do this.

His mother didn't know about it. He was her sweet little boy, her child that liked to write sometimes with the pen and journal she'd given him. Her sweet little boy wouldn't be running around the streets like an abandoned orphan, like a common urchin they found in the alleys. He was just the quiet son who always came to dinner on time.

She didn't understand, though. She didn't understand the urge he had to be someone different, someone better, someone stronger. He loved the danger of almost getting caught doing bad things. He shouldn't, but he did. When he did those things, he felt stronger, older, more powerful. He had complete control of everything.

He didn't have control of his world otherwise. Didn't have control over his father dying, didn't have control over his mother's horrible coughing.

He almost had that with his journal she'd given him. All he needed was a piece of paper and his trusty pen, and he could control that world, too. He could take charge of everything, and give things a happy ending. He liked the happy endings best, where no one died. No one got hurt with his words. He could write out his dreams and his hopes and his plans to leave one day. His mother didn't know about those, yet. He'd take her with him, and they'd leave this town forever.

She'd thank him one day. She'd understand.

The clicking of shoes nearing him made him pull out of his thoughts just in time to get shoved against the wall. “Out of my way, you street rat,” the man snapped, striding away with his nose in the air.

Right; he'd just spotted his new target.

Cautiously he followed behind the man. He was close enough to keep his eyes on every part of the man, but not close enough to attract any attention.

He finally spotted a bulge in the back right pocket, and his eyes lit up. There was his payback, his revenge for the man's cruelty the man himself had probably already forgotten about. After all, he was nothing but a boy that was dirty and in the man's way.

He quickly moved around to the right, placing as many people between him and the man as possible. He reached the street corner well before the man did, and he leaned back against the wall and simply waited.

The man didn't even spare him a glance as he walked near. As soon as the man had reached him, he turned to walk the opposite way, his arm smoothly extending just so. Slender, deft fingers dipped inside the pocket and pulled out the leather purse. The man didn't even pause as he continued on his way.

He glanced back at the man, lips slowly curving into a devious smile. “Not this time,” he whispered. This time, he was the winner. This time, the happy ending was his. He'd changed things because he'd wanted to, because he'd been able to. He'd had the power, and he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling.

Then William shook himself, dust tumbling from his golden curls, and he headed back to the house. His mother would still be out visiting, and he could get himself washed up before she came back.

“Thought you were givin' that adorable trinket to me.”

“I...I can't.”

“What happened to that champion speech?”

“You are. I'm just not letting anything happen to you.”

“If you think I'm gonna let somethin' happen to you...”

“Angel said that thing was dangerous. I've pulled you too far into the world of slaying as it is. This is my task, my sacred duty. That was a horrible thing for me to do to you, and I'm sorry.”

“Did I look like I minded?”

“I can't do that to you.”

“Buffy, I don't mind takin' the...”

“I won't do that to you.”

He sighed, hanging his head. “I don't want you gettin' hurt,” he said softly. He couldn't bear watching her fall again. Whether she was swan-diving off of a rickety tower, or she was sinking to the ground from too severe a hit, he wasn't going to let her die. Not again. He'd sworn it to himself years before, and that personal oath still held true.

Her face softened, and she stepped forward. The school was dirty and dusty, the grimy tiles beneath their feet begging to be cleaned and restored to proper order.

If everything went as planned, there wouldn't be any tiles left. The Hellmouth would take the school, and possibly the entire town, down with it.

Gently her fingers brushed against his face. To their left, the last of the girls was stepping down into the hole. The seal had been unlocked, and the Hellmouth was opening itself to them, ready to swallow them whole. He knew already that some of the people that went down into that hole wouldn't be coming out of it.

Buffy just wasn't going to be one of them.

“I'm sorry,” she said, and he leaned into her touch, trying to remember it, trying to cling to the feeling of her skin against his. She pulled away, taking her hand with her, using it to retrieve the amulet from his own hand. Carefully she tucked the item into the back pocket of her jeans. “We'll be fine,” she promised, giving him a smile and heading past him for the stairway down.

His arm extended slightly, and slender fingers deftly slid the chain and amulet from her pocket. She continued down, unaware of what he'd done.

He watched her descend, his lips curving into a sad smile. “Not this time,” he whispered. This time, he'd be the hero. This time, the happy ending would be hers. He had control this time; he was going to change things. She wouldn't die this time. He had the power, and he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the memory of her hand caressing his cheek.

Then Spike shook himself, and headed down into the hole to the place he was destined to be. The entire place had a gritty, dusty feeling to it, and he wouldn't be washing up after this one. He'd join the dust around him for good this time.

~Nebula