beer_good_foamy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
beer_good_foamy) wrote2013-12-19 10:08 pm
beer_good_foamy) wrote2013-12-19 10:08 pm
Entry tags:
- buffy,
- buffy/spike,
- christmas,
- oc,
- spike
Fic: Spike - Mall Santa
So here's this year's holiday fic.
Title: Spike: Mall Santa
Author: Beer Good (beer_good_foamy)
Fandom: Buffy, post-series
Rating: PG13
Warnings/Notes: ***Jokes about character death.***
Word count: ~1500
Characters/Pairing: Buffy/Spike
Summary: Spike: Mall Santa.
Spike: Mall Santa
"I can't take you anywhere," Buffy grumbled as Spike helped her lug a few dozen bags and parcels down to the parking garage.
He grinned. "What? They needed help. I helped. 'S what a champion does."
"I'm pretty sure that excuse doesn't cover… Oh crap. Shut up for a minute." Buffy closed her eyes, did a quick inventory of all the stuff she needed to buy, and groaned. "I forgot to get something for Kennedy. I have to go back again tomorrow. Urgh."
"You want me to go back and - "
"No."
* * *
One hour earlier
"Are you the manager here?"
Steve looked up to see a woman with snotty five-year-old in tow bearing down on him. He really didn't need this. Any toy store manager will tell you that with less than a week to go until Christmas, when you've spent two weeks living off Red Bull, coffee and donuts, with roughly 20 minutes sleep in four days, 19 of which were spent dreaming of a parade of psychotic toys screaming JINGLE BELLS JINGLE BELLS JINGLE BELLS at you... Well, dealing with stressed-out customers was bad enough without having to deal with offended customers on top of it. But whatchagonnado. "Yes, Ma'm, how can I help you?"
"Your Santa is evil!"
Not again. "Ma'm, I'm sure he – "
"Evil, I tell you! Santa Claus? More like… Satan Claus!"
By the time Steve made it to the corner of the store they'd transformed into Santa's workshop, complete with a throne, plastic reindeer, two bored (and quite possibly stoned) high schoolers in elf outfits and a constant line of squalling children waiting to hand Santa their wishlist, five more irate parents had latched onto him. "Yes, Sir, I – of course, Ma'am, I'm just on my way to – of course not, Sir, I agree, it's completely – yes, if you'll just let me…" Finally, he managed to duck around them and saw the Santa in question. Oh, right. That guy. He needed to stop hiring random people off the street to be Santa. They usually lasted longer than two hours before going psycho, but...
* * *
"Look, you were off making the merchants merry," Spike explained once they got back home and he could get out from under the blanket in the back seat, quietly thanking the Powers That Be that Buffy drove better when she was angry. "You didn't want me to come with you, I was trapped inside that mall all day, they've closed Virgin Megastore and Border's, and it's not like I could go outside in the sunshine. I had to do somehing 'til you got back."
Buffy glared at him. "And so naturally you took a job as a mall Santa."
"Wasn't planning on it." Spike shrugged. "But I was just passing the toy store when this bloke in a Father Christmas suit came running out, screaming like he had half the demons in hell after him, and then his boss came out and asked if anyone wanted a job. So I figured, how hard could it be?"
* * *
Little Timmy knew Santa wasn't real. He knew his parents wanted him to think he was, for some reason, but they also wanted him to eat his greens so they clearly had no clue. So after his mom parked him on Santa's lap and Santa did his Ho Ho Ho thing, he did what came naturally.
"Oi! Watch the beard!"
"You're not the real Santa!"
"Am too," Santa said and readjusted his beard.
"Are not."
"Am too."
"Prove it."
"Alright. But it's just between you and me, OK?"
Timmy nodded. "Uh-huh." Suddenly, Santa's face… changed. His face sort of wrinkled up, and his eyes turned yellow, and somewhere underneath that long and not very well-fitting beard, Timmy somehow knew there were teeth. Long, sharp, ancient teeth. "Woah. Cool!"
Santa's yellow eyes twinkled at him. "So what do you want for Christmas, then?"
Behind them, Steve waited for the little brat to get off the guy's lap before stepping in. "Excuse me, Santa? Could I just have a word?" He yanked the guy off the throne and pulled him away from the line of suddenly very disappointed kids. "OK, dude, what the hell?" he hissed after they were out of earshot (he hoped; with the constant din of holiday music and screaming kids, Steve could barely hear anything anymore). "Do you have any idea what your job is? You're here to make parents buy toys, end of story. Did you seriously promise that woman's kid," Steve pointed at the gaggle of fuming parents standing over by one of the reindeer, "that he'd get a real live pony for Christmas? We don't even sell those… I mean, his parents can't afford that!!"
"'S what the kid wanted. And they look pretty well off to me."
"Shut up. Rule number one: do not promise kids anything. And did you tell that man's son he was off the good kids' list?"
The scrawny little Brit actually had the gall to grin. "He was trying to convince me to take his sister off it so he could have her stuff."
"Shut up. Rule number two: all kids are good kids as long as their parents spend money. And did you call that woman a – "
"Seriously, mate, I was just saying hello the way you told me to. Not my fault she cut me off after the first one."
"Shut up. And – " Steve looked down at the dark wet stain on the guy's pants. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Yeah, but it's not mine."
"Shut up. I've had enough of you drunks coming in here and trying to make an easy buck off honest people. You're fired. Get out."
"Can't." The guy nodded to the increasingly restless line of kids. "Promised them I'd – "
Steve lost it and gave him a shove. "I. Don't. Care. Get the f- get the eff you sea kay out of my store."
It was at that point that little Timmy could take no more. He turned to the line of kids and screamed, as loudly as he could (which, for a five-year-old at Christmas, is pretty fucking loud): "THE BAD MAN IS HURTING SANTA!"
"Wait, what – NOOOOO!" Steve looked up to see a wall of little children jumping on him. The last thing he saw before tiny bemittened fists and dirty little boots beat him into merciful and actually very relaxing unconsciousness was the Santa pocketing the last of the limited edition ice skating Barbies (now with super-kneecapping action!) and ducking out.
* * *
So after Buffy used all her Slayer coordination to get the front door open without having to put down her carefully balanced parcels, and Spike helped her carry in some bags he was under very strict orders not to look inside or smell, she continued. "OK, I know you just thought it was a bit of fun, and i-it sounds like fun, but... Y'know, those kids really believe in Santa. The fake one, I mean, not the real one with the disemboweling. And I know it's sentimental of me, but I just think they should have a chance to hang onto that for a while, and - what's wrong"
Spike had sat down on the couch, staring pensively ahead. "Tell me about it. You know what happened? This one kid sat on my lap, looked up at me with these big, sad eyes, and said 'Santa, all I want for Christmas is my Mum back from heaven.'"
The frustration drained from Buffy's face in approximately zero point eight seconds. "Oh God. I'm sorry."
"And you know, I've been there, and I watched you go through it, and... I mean, I just wanted to help the little nipper somehow."
Buffy came over and sat down on his lap... on second thought, she sat down next to him on the couch and put her arm around him. "So what did you say to him?"
"I told him," and here Spike adopted a very unconvincing American accent, "'Sure, little buddy, Santa's on the case. I promise I'll have your mom back for you good as new on Christmas morning.'"
Buffy's eyes widened. "You didn't."
"I told him I might know a girl who knows a god..."
"You didn't."
"You should have seen his little eyes light up."
Buffy got up from the couch. "Do you even realise what you've done to that poor kid?"
"Hey, gotta give'em what they want, not what they need. You think Osiris takes reindeer blood?"
"You've lost your soul," Buffy whimpered as she started pacing back and forth. "I'm gonna have to stake you. With a yule log."
"I'm pretty sure your sister's baking doesn't actually qualify as wood." Spike got up from the couch. "And besides," he said as he cautiously put his hands on her shoulders and started kneading out some of the stress knots, "I don't go losing my soul willy-nilly, and if I did, I'd like to think I'd do something a wee bit more creative than work in a toyshop."
Buffy moaned as he found the right spot. "You were joking about that kid, right?"
"As one of the great philosophers of our time might say, uh-huh."
"You're sick."
"Are you still stressed out about gifts, though?"
She shot him an attempted death glare over her shoulder and quickly turned away again before he saw her crack up. "I'm gonna stuff your stocking so full of coal…"
"Promises, promises."
Title: Spike: Mall Santa
Author: Beer Good (
beer_good_foamy)Fandom: Buffy, post-series
Rating: PG13
Warnings/Notes: ***Jokes about character death.***
Word count: ~1500
Characters/Pairing: Buffy/Spike
Summary: Spike: Mall Santa.
Spike: Mall Santa
"I can't take you anywhere," Buffy grumbled as Spike helped her lug a few dozen bags and parcels down to the parking garage.
He grinned. "What? They needed help. I helped. 'S what a champion does."
"I'm pretty sure that excuse doesn't cover… Oh crap. Shut up for a minute." Buffy closed her eyes, did a quick inventory of all the stuff she needed to buy, and groaned. "I forgot to get something for Kennedy. I have to go back again tomorrow. Urgh."
"You want me to go back and - "
"No."
One hour earlier
"Are you the manager here?"
Steve looked up to see a woman with snotty five-year-old in tow bearing down on him. He really didn't need this. Any toy store manager will tell you that with less than a week to go until Christmas, when you've spent two weeks living off Red Bull, coffee and donuts, with roughly 20 minutes sleep in four days, 19 of which were spent dreaming of a parade of psychotic toys screaming JINGLE BELLS JINGLE BELLS JINGLE BELLS at you... Well, dealing with stressed-out customers was bad enough without having to deal with offended customers on top of it. But whatchagonnado. "Yes, Ma'm, how can I help you?"
"Your Santa is evil!"
Not again. "Ma'm, I'm sure he – "
"Evil, I tell you! Santa Claus? More like… Satan Claus!"
By the time Steve made it to the corner of the store they'd transformed into Santa's workshop, complete with a throne, plastic reindeer, two bored (and quite possibly stoned) high schoolers in elf outfits and a constant line of squalling children waiting to hand Santa their wishlist, five more irate parents had latched onto him. "Yes, Sir, I – of course, Ma'am, I'm just on my way to – of course not, Sir, I agree, it's completely – yes, if you'll just let me…" Finally, he managed to duck around them and saw the Santa in question. Oh, right. That guy. He needed to stop hiring random people off the street to be Santa. They usually lasted longer than two hours before going psycho, but...
"Look, you were off making the merchants merry," Spike explained once they got back home and he could get out from under the blanket in the back seat, quietly thanking the Powers That Be that Buffy drove better when she was angry. "You didn't want me to come with you, I was trapped inside that mall all day, they've closed Virgin Megastore and Border's, and it's not like I could go outside in the sunshine. I had to do somehing 'til you got back."
Buffy glared at him. "And so naturally you took a job as a mall Santa."
"Wasn't planning on it." Spike shrugged. "But I was just passing the toy store when this bloke in a Father Christmas suit came running out, screaming like he had half the demons in hell after him, and then his boss came out and asked if anyone wanted a job. So I figured, how hard could it be?"
Little Timmy knew Santa wasn't real. He knew his parents wanted him to think he was, for some reason, but they also wanted him to eat his greens so they clearly had no clue. So after his mom parked him on Santa's lap and Santa did his Ho Ho Ho thing, he did what came naturally.
"Oi! Watch the beard!"
"You're not the real Santa!"
"Am too," Santa said and readjusted his beard.
"Are not."
"Am too."
"Prove it."
"Alright. But it's just between you and me, OK?"
Timmy nodded. "Uh-huh." Suddenly, Santa's face… changed. His face sort of wrinkled up, and his eyes turned yellow, and somewhere underneath that long and not very well-fitting beard, Timmy somehow knew there were teeth. Long, sharp, ancient teeth. "Woah. Cool!"
Santa's yellow eyes twinkled at him. "So what do you want for Christmas, then?"
Behind them, Steve waited for the little brat to get off the guy's lap before stepping in. "Excuse me, Santa? Could I just have a word?" He yanked the guy off the throne and pulled him away from the line of suddenly very disappointed kids. "OK, dude, what the hell?" he hissed after they were out of earshot (he hoped; with the constant din of holiday music and screaming kids, Steve could barely hear anything anymore). "Do you have any idea what your job is? You're here to make parents buy toys, end of story. Did you seriously promise that woman's kid," Steve pointed at the gaggle of fuming parents standing over by one of the reindeer, "that he'd get a real live pony for Christmas? We don't even sell those… I mean, his parents can't afford that!!"
"'S what the kid wanted. And they look pretty well off to me."
"Shut up. Rule number one: do not promise kids anything. And did you tell that man's son he was off the good kids' list?"
The scrawny little Brit actually had the gall to grin. "He was trying to convince me to take his sister off it so he could have her stuff."
"Shut up. Rule number two: all kids are good kids as long as their parents spend money. And did you call that woman a – "
"Seriously, mate, I was just saying hello the way you told me to. Not my fault she cut me off after the first one."
"Shut up. And – " Steve looked down at the dark wet stain on the guy's pants. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Yeah, but it's not mine."
"Shut up. I've had enough of you drunks coming in here and trying to make an easy buck off honest people. You're fired. Get out."
"Can't." The guy nodded to the increasingly restless line of kids. "Promised them I'd – "
Steve lost it and gave him a shove. "I. Don't. Care. Get the f- get the eff you sea kay out of my store."
It was at that point that little Timmy could take no more. He turned to the line of kids and screamed, as loudly as he could (which, for a five-year-old at Christmas, is pretty fucking loud): "THE BAD MAN IS HURTING SANTA!"
"Wait, what – NOOOOO!" Steve looked up to see a wall of little children jumping on him. The last thing he saw before tiny bemittened fists and dirty little boots beat him into merciful and actually very relaxing unconsciousness was the Santa pocketing the last of the limited edition ice skating Barbies (now with super-kneecapping action!) and ducking out.
So after Buffy used all her Slayer coordination to get the front door open without having to put down her carefully balanced parcels, and Spike helped her carry in some bags he was under very strict orders not to look inside or smell, she continued. "OK, I know you just thought it was a bit of fun, and i-it sounds like fun, but... Y'know, those kids really believe in Santa. The fake one, I mean, not the real one with the disemboweling. And I know it's sentimental of me, but I just think they should have a chance to hang onto that for a while, and - what's wrong"
Spike had sat down on the couch, staring pensively ahead. "Tell me about it. You know what happened? This one kid sat on my lap, looked up at me with these big, sad eyes, and said 'Santa, all I want for Christmas is my Mum back from heaven.'"
The frustration drained from Buffy's face in approximately zero point eight seconds. "Oh God. I'm sorry."
"And you know, I've been there, and I watched you go through it, and... I mean, I just wanted to help the little nipper somehow."
Buffy came over and sat down on his lap... on second thought, she sat down next to him on the couch and put her arm around him. "So what did you say to him?"
"I told him," and here Spike adopted a very unconvincing American accent, "'Sure, little buddy, Santa's on the case. I promise I'll have your mom back for you good as new on Christmas morning.'"
Buffy's eyes widened. "You didn't."
"I told him I might know a girl who knows a god..."
"You didn't."
"You should have seen his little eyes light up."
Buffy got up from the couch. "Do you even realise what you've done to that poor kid?"
"Hey, gotta give'em what they want, not what they need. You think Osiris takes reindeer blood?"
"You've lost your soul," Buffy whimpered as she started pacing back and forth. "I'm gonna have to stake you. With a yule log."
"I'm pretty sure your sister's baking doesn't actually qualify as wood." Spike got up from the couch. "And besides," he said as he cautiously put his hands on her shoulders and started kneading out some of the stress knots, "I don't go losing my soul willy-nilly, and if I did, I'd like to think I'd do something a wee bit more creative than work in a toyshop."
Buffy moaned as he found the right spot. "You were joking about that kid, right?"
"As one of the great philosophers of our time might say, uh-huh."
"You're sick."
"Are you still stressed out about gifts, though?"
She shot him an attempted death glare over her shoulder and quickly turned away again before he saw her crack up. "I'm gonna stuff your stocking so full of coal…"
"Promises, promises."
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I do hope Steve appreciated his nice bout of unconsciousness.
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I think he did. He's not a bad guy at heart, really. Working retail at Christmas will steal anyone's soul.
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It's not theft. It's payment for a job well done. :)
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I've never worked in a toy store but I worked in a mall long enough to know that this is spot on.
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I haven't worked retail in a very long time, but man... How more people don't go postal every year, I'll never know.
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Mall retail is hours upon endless hours of boredom with a few concentrated bursts of chaos and three solid months of hysterical misery.
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Thank you for a very entertaining seasonal one.
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Yeah, I mean really, what did she expect? It's nice that she trusts him and all, but...
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I'd so want Spike to be my mall santa. And I think Buffy will like the doll. :D
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I'm sure she will. Especially after he steals some Barbie-sized weapons to go with it. :)
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wait we have subject lines again?
Took me way too long to get that. Bwah!
I love that Spike is giving Buffy ice-skating kneecapping Barbie for Christmas. (And that he's not allowed to sniff the presents.)
Lovely!
(Anonymous) 2020-09-24 01:23 pm (UTC)(link)I know it's been a while, but excellent writing!!