bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,
bmblbee
bmblbee
bloodclaim

White Lightnin' 12/37

Title:White Lightnin' 12/37
Author: BmblBee
Rating Adult overall
Paring: S/X
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this story and make
no profit from them
Summary: Set in the early 1940's, Spike is a G-man sent on
a mission in the Applachian mountains to search for
and destroy illegal alcohol when he has an accident.
Xander is a moonshiner who takes him in.




Stepping onto the front porch, Xander steeled himself for a less
than warm welcome, and opened the door.
"Where the fuck have you been? Jesus, I thought you forgot
about me."

Spike's anger quickly melted to overwhelming gratitude when
he saw the cases in Xander's hands.

Trying to appear casual, Spike smiled broadly
"Oh, good, I see you found them. Well come on, join me for
a drink."

"Spike.."

"I know, I know. You don't drink. Well I do so be a good boy
and pour me a bit in a cup, yea?"
Spike was licking his lips.
His fingers twitched like they wanted to reach out and grab
the bags from Xander's grasp.

Xander watched him, disgusted.
The flood of memories washed over him, and it was almost like
having the old man himself back again.

Only this time he was the one in charge.
No more being slapped or punished when the bottle was empty.
No more fear of the rage.
No more hiding in his own home.
Besides, he was supposed to do this.
The signs and omens had told him so.

With a great deal of satisfaction and a barely suppressed smirk,
Xander dropped the case to the floor.
The sound of the broken glass caused an instant and expected
reaction.

"What the fuck did you do? You stupid fuckin' asshole!
If I could get off this bed I'd kill your stupid fuckin' ass.
I NEED A FUCKIN' DRINK!!!"

Silently watching, the small smile never left Xander's face.
'O.k. then. Guess we're off and running.'

"Didn't do nothin' Spike. Your bags got thrown around in the
car when you got stinkin' drunk and slammed into that there tree.
I checked, but weren't nothing left unbroke. Guess you're
just fucked."

The last part was verbalized very distinctly with no hint of ignorance
or stupidity.
Xander crossed this arms over his chest, shifted his weight to
one side and looked the salesman straight in the eye.
If anything, the smile stretched just a hair wider.

Spike stared at him as the reality of the situation slowly sank in.
'No no no no'
"Xander, please, you don't know what you are doing. I'm sick.
I need that stuff. It's the pain, Xander. I need it for the pain.
Please Xander. You don't understand."

Calmly, Xander turned to the shelf on the wall and took down a
jar of soup beans.

"I'm going to fix you something to eat, Spike. I suggest you try
to take in as much food and water as you can today, because
you probably won't be able to keep anything down tomorrow."

Sobbing and nearly hysterical, Spike continued to beg.
He was terrified.
Not only of going through the DT's but of what he might say
while out of his mind.
What if he gave himself away?

Spike had a sinking feeling he had seriously underestimated Xander.
What if he knew some of the bootleggers Spike had been
sent to this part of the country to find?

If those cut throat murdering moonshiners were to find him here,
crippled and unable to defend himself, well he didn't want to
think about what they would do.

The New York office had held training sessions.
A few of which he had been sober enough to attend, and they
were all warned that these backwoods animals would butcher
them, bury the bodies and no one would ever find them.

Not that anyone would look for him.
Spike knew he had been given this assignment as a last chance.
Achieve results or be killed out here in the boonies.
Really made no difference to the government that
sent him. Either government.

Forcing himself to calm down, Spike desperately tried to think.
Clearly begging would not work
He had to reason with him.
He had to make him understand how bad this situation
was going to get.

Watching Xander's back as he whistled and stirred those
disgusting, stinking beans, Spike wiped his eyes and nose on
his arm.
"Boy, those smell swell. You must be a really great cook."
Xander rolled his eyes unseen, and kept stirring.

"See fact is, Xander, I got this problem. Hate to admit it, but
truth is I drink a bit to much. Actually,"
Spike chuckled sourly "I drink a lot too much. So if I don't
get it I am going to get sick. Really sick. Puking and shaking sick.
So I would really appreciate it if you could run into the nearest
town and get me some help for my legs and bring me
back a bottle. O.k? I can pay you."

Spike held his breath and waited.
Scooping some hot beans into a wooden bowl, Xander turned
back around.

Approaching the bed, Xander blew on the beans and stirred
them to cool, never looking at the man whose life seemed to
depend on Xander's benevolence.
He tried to suppress the glee he felt in the shifting power play of the
drunk/Xander dynamic.

"First up, you ain't got no money. I already saw your wallet.
Second, town is a long days walk away. Can't leave you
alone that long and last, I already know what it's like to see a
drunk go through a body's cleanin'. My Pa did it more
than once, but if you want I can fetch you some of them headache
powders you had in your pants pocket. Now, you best eat
up while you can."

Xander stood back and waited, finally meeting Spike eye for eye.
Spike threw his head back. His face turned a furious purple and
his hands clutched the sheets.

"FUCK YOU!! GOD DAMN YOU!! I NEED A DRIIIIIIIIIINK!!!""

Calmly Xander sat back down in his chair and ate the beans.
This might take a while and there was no sense in both of them
going hungry.
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