it's like a buddy movie (only without the buddy part)
Chapter Twelve: The “No” Card
Spike made a move to swat Xander on the arm, but Xander flinched and sidestepped him. “Follow him, you git, that’s what we do!”
Xander’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, see, that’s two bad plans you’ve had recently. I’m thinking it’s time I pull the ‘no’ card.”
“The ‘no’ card?”
Xander held up his palm. “Picture me. With a card. That says ‘no’ on it.”
Spike sniffed. “That’s cleverness right there,” he said scornfully. “You want to tell me what merits the use of this imaginary certificate of declination?”
Xander gestured wildly at the window. “Not that I don’t love the idea of you bursting into flame usually, but at this point, I really don’t! Man, are you nuts? You can’t get outside right now, and, hate to say it, but…” Xander gulped. “I, um, need…” He balled his hands into fists and let out a small, frustrated growl. “You know.”
Spike grinned. “You need me?”
“Shut up.”
Spike stood up straighter and turned toward the girls. “I’m needed!” he called to them smugly.
Dawn giggled.
“That’s cute,” Anya said distractedly, paging through her inventory ledger. “Shall I procure matching sweaters for you two now?”
“If you don’t shut up, I’m gonna shove you through the door so fast you won’t have time to notice you’re on fire,” Xander spat out.
“But you can’t do that,” Spike said, a mocking singsong tone to his voice, “’cause you NEED me.”
Xander stalked to the back of the store.
“Where you goin’, lad?”
“Quite possibly hell, if I’m not there already,” Xander muttered.
Spike bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, then winced as he noticed his ankle was still smarting. He glared down at his right boot, crouching down to loosen the laces and check the swelling. Pulling the tongue out enough to get a good look at the damage, he was surprised to see a nasty purple bruise blooming around rather too much reddened puffyness. When Spike experimentally prodded his ankle bone, he had to grit his teeth together to keep from letting loose a whimper of pain.
He wasn’t particularly concerned, though. After all, Spike had endured countless hours of torture at Glory’s hands that made a broken ankle pale in comparison. But he and the boy had work to do, and willing himself to heal up quick wouldn’t necessarily get it mending any faster.
He laced his boot back up, careful not to do it up too tightly, and before Spike had a chance to stand up, something dark flew over his head. He whipped it off – a musty-smelling sleeping bag – and stood.
“What’s this for?”
Xander’s eyes looked slightly bloodshot, and he appeared more tired and irritated with every passing moment. “What do you think? So we can get you outside. Which, I might add, we should do pretty much now-ish if we want to catch up with Bambi out there.”
Spike had no opportunity to protest. The sleeping bag was tossed back over his head, and he felt himself being yanked roughly out the door.
Then Xander was abruptly cursing, rather colorfully.
“What’s the matter now? Hurry up, gettin’ warm under here.”
“I need your keys,” Xander explained.
Spike froze. “Oh, God, no.”
“Just hand ‘em over.”
“No sodding way!”
Spike felt the distinct point of a stake being shoved against the outside of the sleeping bag, perilously close to the left side of his chest. “So help me, Spike, if you don’t give me your keys this second…”
Spike quickly fished around in the pocket of his duster and flung the keys with a musical clatter onto the sidewalk.
“I can drive, though,” Spike insisted as he heard Xander whisk the keys up. “Done it in the daytime before, and ‘s fine, really it is!”
Xander said nothing, just pushed the vampire into the passenger seat and swung in behind the wheel.
“Lad, you got no idea how to handle an automobile like this!” Spike said angrily, flinging the sleeping bag into the back seat. “Got to be gentle with it, you do. Don’t treat it like it’s your buggering construction van or that great waste of metal and springs Rupert used to drive. Needs to be coaxed to life, and --”
Xander thrust the gear shift around, eliciting sickening grinding sounds from the transmission, before pulling away from the curb with a squeal of tires and a whiff of burnt rubber.
Spike slumped down in his seat and buried his face in his hands. “Tell me you can drive a manual,” he pleaded. “If you have any shred of humanity in you, PLEASE tell me you can drive a manual.”
“Okay,” Xander said, punching the accelerator to the floor. “I can drive a manual.”
Spike glared at him.
“Of course, I haven’t done it in a couple of years, and I might be a little rusty,” Xander continued. “But it’s the kind of thing you don’t forget how to do, right?”
Xander yanked the gear shift hard, and the car lurched.
Spike shut his eyes tight. “Lesson the first,” he said. “Thing on the left’s called a clutch. Endeavor to use it.”
Xander looked down at the floor. “Oh, the little pedal here?”
“We’re buggered,” Spike said sadly. “Had high hopes for this caper, but that’s it. Might as well rip our arms off right now and call us demon fodder. Stick a fork in us --”
“Hey, is that him up ahead?” Xander suddenly asked excitedly. “Bet I can catch up to him.”
Spike dared a peek through one of the few bits of windshield not coated with copious amounts of black paint. “He’s down four blocks at least,” Spike observed. “No way you can make it ‘less you can get the car to grow wings.”
Xander smiled broadly. “You’re talking to the master of Red Bull ingestion. I can make pretty much anything grow wings. Put on your seat belt.” He stamped down hard on the gas again, and the engine roared.