Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction ❯ Chaos ❯ What The Hell!? ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Heart of Warrior 
Anime/Manga: Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 06.23.2004 | Updated On: 12.23.2004 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.6K | Visits: 444 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Cowboy Bebop Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 06.23.2004 | Updated On: 12.23.2004 | Pages: 2 | Words: 2.6K | Visits: 444 | Status: Completed
Chaos
By: S-chan
Chapter 1
Spike sat alone at a booth in the back of the bar. Alcohol wasn't helping tonight, so he just pushed his empty glass around the table. He was already in a sour mood when he sat down three hours ago. Discovering that Faye had jacked his cigarettes was no help. Though he would never admit it, he really was lonely tonight.
'This really is pathetic,' he thought, annoyed at the world in general. 'The place is practically empty. It's raining and I've got nobody with me but my own shadow. That is completely depressing...'
Finally ignoring the empty shot glass at his fingertips, Spike propped his elbow on the table and sighed heavily. He rested his head on his hand, heaved another sigh, and just stared straight off into space. He was past hungry now - he just felt hollow, cold and fairly irritated, though he didn't really know why or care. The heating in the bar was broken, like most everything else he seemed to come across. He wanted to drag his sorry backside back to the Bebop and crash for a while, but his pride wouldn't let him...
'I said I wasn't going back until I was either half dead or dead drunk,' he thought fiercely, setting his jaw resolutely as an image of a triumphant Faye played irrtatbly in his mind. 'And damn it I meant it!'
Spike's ears perked up when he heard running footsteps splashing through the dirty, wet streets outside, waiting to spring into action if it called to him. When the footsteps faded and finally died away, he shrugged and figured it was probably nothing. Yawning, he stretched out sideways in the booth, leaning his back against the wall and folding his arms over his chest. Nobody would care if he just went to sleep for a while, right?
All of a sudden, the fronr door of the bar was flung open - an unusual event in a bar where most patrons just used the side door to keep people from knowing they went there. Spike jerked out of his half-awake state as a slender figure in white tore through the place like a shot. She slipped easily between tables and chairs, trying to beg different people for help. A few gave her sympathetic looks but did nothing to help. Some looked disgusted. Most people just ignored her.
She ran up to a young man three tables diagonally from Spike, who was now watching in silent, acute interest. The young woman took the man's hand and begged him to help her with tears in her catlike eyes. It was if she knew him or vice versa. He gave her a level stare, his lip curling up into a disgusted snarl. Growling, he snatched his hand out of her desperate grasp, ignoring her pleas.
"Slut," he spat, glaring at her. "I thought told you to keep away from me. Go back to the cat house. If I have to take you back then---"
With a menacing look and a threatening growl, he cut off his sentence and backhanded her across her face. The young woman, who didn't seem to be a day over twenty, curled reflexively and fell down with a soft groan. She lay motionless on the wood floor, temporarily stunned from the force of the blow. Her cheek was already starting to bruise, the skin darkening where blood vessels were badly broken.
Spike slammed his fist down on the table, making everyone in the whole place turn and stare at him. He might not have had the best concept of justice, but he couldn't stand it when someone hit a woman, so he couldn't just sit around and watch this anymore. Pushing himself to his feet, he started for the other man's table. He leaned down so that he was right in the guy's face, bracing one hand on the table.
"Listen here, punk, I'm already in a hell of a bad mood," he growled, thoroughly angry at this point. "Just tell me, where do you get off? Tell me fast and get the hell out of here."
The young man glared defiantly, nudging the woman with his foot.
"You seriously don't want to piss me off any more," warned Spike, his tone low and his expression menacing. "I swear, you'll be one unlucky bastard if you do..."
The guy's glare faltered for a brief moment. He pushed his chair back fast and reluctantly stood up. For a moment, he looked as if he was thinking about starting a fight. However, at Spike's cold stare, he thought better of it. Snarling angrily, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn black leather jacket. He roughly pushed past Spike, swearing before stalking out into the rain.
"Fuckin' bastard," muttered the angry space cowboy, running a hand through his wild green hair.
Forcing back his anger and keeping his movements slow, Spike knelt beside the girl in the white dress. Her cheek had already turned an ugly purple color and she was shaking in fear. Carefully, Spike cradled the young woman in his arms. Vaguely, he wondered what in the hell he could possibly be thinking. He shouldn't have got himself involved in this mess, he told himself sternly. Still, the girl's face was bruised pretty badly. The man's blow had knocked her unconscious and she seriously needed help. Not only that, but it looked like if he didn't help her, no one would bother. He held her like that until she started to come around.
Spike relaxed as two bright green, catlike eyes fluttered open and the woman shifted slightly in his arms. A soft, painful groan escaped her lips. She was still shaking and recoiled in unmistakeable terror as she found herself being held by a man. She closed her eyes and braced her arms in front of her in a shaking cross block.
Spike raised an eyebrow, wondering what had happened to make her so scared. She was biting her lip, nearly drawing blood from her soft flesh. Spike's teeth caught his own lip as he suddenly felt the need to comfort this girl. He didn't know why, but he tightened his arms around her, rocking her back and forth. It was like something told him that he should be trying to quiet her fears.
"Miss, he's gone," he said softly, trying to make his usually-gruff tone reassuring. "He won't hurt you again. You're safe..."
The young woman whimpered quietly - Spike was reminded uncomfortably of a kicked dog - her arms shaking more violently in front of her face. Gently, though firmly, Spike took hold of her wrists, one at a time and guided them down to her sides. She opened her eyes for a second before closing them and turning her face away.
What was going on with this girl? Spike asked himself. The man who had hit her had said she was a prostitute. Be that as it may, he thought firmly, she was still a woman and she still had dignity. From what Spike had seen, the girl - and she really didn't seem very grown-up to him, barely more than a teen, if that much - was just a victim. He had seen rape victims before and she was definitely a sad case. The girl shuddered in his arms as he stood up, taking her with him. She squeezed her eyes shut and stammered an almost-inaudible protest.
"I can't just let you go. You'll get yourself killed in a place like this," Spike said matter-of-factly. "I have a friend who patches me up all the time. He'll know what to do. Let's get that bruise taken care of."
The girl relaxed slightly against his chest and Spike held her closer. He looked down at her and finally got a look at the full extent of her condition. She was very thin - almost to the point of looking anorexic - but she still had a nice figure, he noticed. Long, sandy-blonde hair hung in a soaked, rather ratty-looking (though that was only to be expected) braid down her back. The white dress she was wearing must have once been beautiful. Now it was torn in more than a few places and stained with dirt and what looked horribly like blood. The fabric was thin, like a nightgown, and Spike blushed a little when he realized she wore nothing underneath.
"Miss, can you stand on your own for a second?" he asked gently, still wondering if he was going out of his mind or something.
'What the hell am I doing?' he asked himself. 'Oh man, Jet's going to have a fit... I don't even want to think about what Faye might do... I do NOT have enough patience to put up with another one of her tantrums.'
The young woman nodded a little, not looking at his face, and Spike carefully set her down, pulling her in a little and giving her the option of leaning against him if she wished. He shed his worn blue jacket and smiled reassuringly at her as he wrapped it around her thin shoulders. Gently he took her in his arms again, holding her close to his chest. She was still shaking a little, but her quiet whimpering had for the most part ceased.
Before he knew it, Spike was back at the Bebop with a shivering, drenched girl whose name he didn't even know. To top it all, he was in no mood to hear what Jet and/or Faye would have to say about this. Nudging the broken door aside, he tried to get in without being noticed. But of course Ed was like a human alarm system. A horrendous screech, rather like a broken record of a dying hyena, nearly drove Spike to his knees. Spike would have normally swatted her or chased her back up into the pipes. But today, he just gritted his teeth and sidestepped the flying monkey-child, who hit the wall and back-flipped around the room.
"Go away Ed," he said sharply as he laid the girl down on the couch, still wrapped in his jacket.
Ed paused, head tilted both amusedly and bemusedly, just long enough to give him a cheerful "oky-doky Spike-person". Then she made a noise like a broken trumpet and ran from the room with windmilling arms. Sighing in relief and slight exasperation, Spike checked on the girl in white and ambled off to find Jet. He found his friend - where else? - clipping his bonsai trees and muttering to himself. Laughing silently, Spike sneaked up behind Jet.
"JET!" yelled Spike, making the older man jump about three feet in the air and sending the clippers flying across the room.
Jet smacked a hand - thankfully his live hand or he'd've knocked himself out - to his forehead and turned around to see Spike leaning on the door frame, looking a little worried. Alright, this wasn't normal... Before he could ask, Spike cut him off.
"There's something you need to see," he said tonelessly, jerking his head toward the living room. "This might be a little bit of a... uh... surprise..."
Jet nodded and followed Spike, wondering what in the world was going on. When he saw the girl lying motionless on the beat-up couch, he turned and raised an eyebrow at Spike. He was even more shocked when Spike knelt beside the girl and took hold of her hand. Did Spike hit his head or was he just incredibly drunk?
"Spike, where did you find her?" Jet asked uneasily, more than just a bit nervous about what the answer might be.
"At the bar," Spike replied nonchalantly, as if this turn of events was something that he did on a regular basis. "I don't know what's going on but she came running in like Satan himself was after her, yelling for help. The last guy she asked hit her. Since it bruised so fast the only thing I could think to do was bring her here."
"Why?" inquired Jet, one eyebrow still raised and looking very confused - though there was also a twinkle in the ex-cop's eyes that spoke subtle volumes of amusement.
Spike gently set the girl's hand down on her stomach, stood up and shrugged.
"I dunno. I figured since you always know what to do with me - and I've been through worse than this - you could take care of her," he said, scratching his head and looking confused, as if he himself had no idea how he wound up in this situation. "Anyway, I couldn't just leave her there. She wouldn't have lasted another half hour with those bar punks..."
Jet sighed, leaning over the girl's thin frame. She whimpered as his callused fingers brushed her bruised cheek. He left for a short moment, shaking his head, and came back with the first aid kit. In his other hand was a towel wrapped around a handful of ice. Spike looked at him with one eyebrow raised, scratching his head.
"There's not really much I can do except clean it and get some ice on it to ease some of the swelling," said Jet wearily. "After that, just take care of her and hope for the best."
The young woman winced as Jet rubbed her cheek with an alcohol pad. Spike watched for a moment, frowned, and took the pad from his friend's hand. His touch was much more gentle, keeping the discomfort to a minimum. Jet rolled his eyes as Spike casually tossed the cotton pad over his shoulder, not really caring who had to go and pick it up. But he ignored it momentarily while he handed the ice-filled towel to his young friend.
Carefully supporting her on one arm, Spike eased himself down on the couch, settling the girl's head and shoulders in his lap. Her small body seemed to weigh nothing at all against his own wiry form. The girl squeaked a little - more in surprise than pain, it seemed like - the first time the ice-filled towel touched her skin. Other than that, she made no further complaint.
'She's warm...' whispered a quiet voice in Spike's head before he swatted it away.
Spike was extremely confused inside. He had no idea why he was going so far out of his way to help this girl. The Bebop crew was nearly out of money (again) and this girl was sure to be no help at all. Hell, he still didn't even know what her name was! But as his eyes took in the sight of her bruised face again, he shoved his questions to the back of his mind.
By: S-chan
Chapter 1
Spike sat alone at a booth in the back of the bar. Alcohol wasn't helping tonight, so he just pushed his empty glass around the table. He was already in a sour mood when he sat down three hours ago. Discovering that Faye had jacked his cigarettes was no help. Though he would never admit it, he really was lonely tonight.
'This really is pathetic,' he thought, annoyed at the world in general. 'The place is practically empty. It's raining and I've got nobody with me but my own shadow. That is completely depressing...'
Finally ignoring the empty shot glass at his fingertips, Spike propped his elbow on the table and sighed heavily. He rested his head on his hand, heaved another sigh, and just stared straight off into space. He was past hungry now - he just felt hollow, cold and fairly irritated, though he didn't really know why or care. The heating in the bar was broken, like most everything else he seemed to come across. He wanted to drag his sorry backside back to the Bebop and crash for a while, but his pride wouldn't let him...
'I said I wasn't going back until I was either half dead or dead drunk,' he thought fiercely, setting his jaw resolutely as an image of a triumphant Faye played irrtatbly in his mind. 'And damn it I meant it!'
Spike's ears perked up when he heard running footsteps splashing through the dirty, wet streets outside, waiting to spring into action if it called to him. When the footsteps faded and finally died away, he shrugged and figured it was probably nothing. Yawning, he stretched out sideways in the booth, leaning his back against the wall and folding his arms over his chest. Nobody would care if he just went to sleep for a while, right?
All of a sudden, the fronr door of the bar was flung open - an unusual event in a bar where most patrons just used the side door to keep people from knowing they went there. Spike jerked out of his half-awake state as a slender figure in white tore through the place like a shot. She slipped easily between tables and chairs, trying to beg different people for help. A few gave her sympathetic looks but did nothing to help. Some looked disgusted. Most people just ignored her.
She ran up to a young man three tables diagonally from Spike, who was now watching in silent, acute interest. The young woman took the man's hand and begged him to help her with tears in her catlike eyes. It was if she knew him or vice versa. He gave her a level stare, his lip curling up into a disgusted snarl. Growling, he snatched his hand out of her desperate grasp, ignoring her pleas.
"Slut," he spat, glaring at her. "I thought told you to keep away from me. Go back to the cat house. If I have to take you back then---"
With a menacing look and a threatening growl, he cut off his sentence and backhanded her across her face. The young woman, who didn't seem to be a day over twenty, curled reflexively and fell down with a soft groan. She lay motionless on the wood floor, temporarily stunned from the force of the blow. Her cheek was already starting to bruise, the skin darkening where blood vessels were badly broken.
Spike slammed his fist down on the table, making everyone in the whole place turn and stare at him. He might not have had the best concept of justice, but he couldn't stand it when someone hit a woman, so he couldn't just sit around and watch this anymore. Pushing himself to his feet, he started for the other man's table. He leaned down so that he was right in the guy's face, bracing one hand on the table.
"Listen here, punk, I'm already in a hell of a bad mood," he growled, thoroughly angry at this point. "Just tell me, where do you get off? Tell me fast and get the hell out of here."
The young man glared defiantly, nudging the woman with his foot.
"You seriously don't want to piss me off any more," warned Spike, his tone low and his expression menacing. "I swear, you'll be one unlucky bastard if you do..."
The guy's glare faltered for a brief moment. He pushed his chair back fast and reluctantly stood up. For a moment, he looked as if he was thinking about starting a fight. However, at Spike's cold stare, he thought better of it. Snarling angrily, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn black leather jacket. He roughly pushed past Spike, swearing before stalking out into the rain.
"Fuckin' bastard," muttered the angry space cowboy, running a hand through his wild green hair.
Forcing back his anger and keeping his movements slow, Spike knelt beside the girl in the white dress. Her cheek had already turned an ugly purple color and she was shaking in fear. Carefully, Spike cradled the young woman in his arms. Vaguely, he wondered what in the hell he could possibly be thinking. He shouldn't have got himself involved in this mess, he told himself sternly. Still, the girl's face was bruised pretty badly. The man's blow had knocked her unconscious and she seriously needed help. Not only that, but it looked like if he didn't help her, no one would bother. He held her like that until she started to come around.
Spike relaxed as two bright green, catlike eyes fluttered open and the woman shifted slightly in his arms. A soft, painful groan escaped her lips. She was still shaking and recoiled in unmistakeable terror as she found herself being held by a man. She closed her eyes and braced her arms in front of her in a shaking cross block.
Spike raised an eyebrow, wondering what had happened to make her so scared. She was biting her lip, nearly drawing blood from her soft flesh. Spike's teeth caught his own lip as he suddenly felt the need to comfort this girl. He didn't know why, but he tightened his arms around her, rocking her back and forth. It was like something told him that he should be trying to quiet her fears.
"Miss, he's gone," he said softly, trying to make his usually-gruff tone reassuring. "He won't hurt you again. You're safe..."
The young woman whimpered quietly - Spike was reminded uncomfortably of a kicked dog - her arms shaking more violently in front of her face. Gently, though firmly, Spike took hold of her wrists, one at a time and guided them down to her sides. She opened her eyes for a second before closing them and turning her face away.
What was going on with this girl? Spike asked himself. The man who had hit her had said she was a prostitute. Be that as it may, he thought firmly, she was still a woman and she still had dignity. From what Spike had seen, the girl - and she really didn't seem very grown-up to him, barely more than a teen, if that much - was just a victim. He had seen rape victims before and she was definitely a sad case. The girl shuddered in his arms as he stood up, taking her with him. She squeezed her eyes shut and stammered an almost-inaudible protest.
"I can't just let you go. You'll get yourself killed in a place like this," Spike said matter-of-factly. "I have a friend who patches me up all the time. He'll know what to do. Let's get that bruise taken care of."
The girl relaxed slightly against his chest and Spike held her closer. He looked down at her and finally got a look at the full extent of her condition. She was very thin - almost to the point of looking anorexic - but she still had a nice figure, he noticed. Long, sandy-blonde hair hung in a soaked, rather ratty-looking (though that was only to be expected) braid down her back. The white dress she was wearing must have once been beautiful. Now it was torn in more than a few places and stained with dirt and what looked horribly like blood. The fabric was thin, like a nightgown, and Spike blushed a little when he realized she wore nothing underneath.
"Miss, can you stand on your own for a second?" he asked gently, still wondering if he was going out of his mind or something.
'What the hell am I doing?' he asked himself. 'Oh man, Jet's going to have a fit... I don't even want to think about what Faye might do... I do NOT have enough patience to put up with another one of her tantrums.'
The young woman nodded a little, not looking at his face, and Spike carefully set her down, pulling her in a little and giving her the option of leaning against him if she wished. He shed his worn blue jacket and smiled reassuringly at her as he wrapped it around her thin shoulders. Gently he took her in his arms again, holding her close to his chest. She was still shaking a little, but her quiet whimpering had for the most part ceased.
Before he knew it, Spike was back at the Bebop with a shivering, drenched girl whose name he didn't even know. To top it all, he was in no mood to hear what Jet and/or Faye would have to say about this. Nudging the broken door aside, he tried to get in without being noticed. But of course Ed was like a human alarm system. A horrendous screech, rather like a broken record of a dying hyena, nearly drove Spike to his knees. Spike would have normally swatted her or chased her back up into the pipes. But today, he just gritted his teeth and sidestepped the flying monkey-child, who hit the wall and back-flipped around the room.
"Go away Ed," he said sharply as he laid the girl down on the couch, still wrapped in his jacket.
Ed paused, head tilted both amusedly and bemusedly, just long enough to give him a cheerful "oky-doky Spike-person". Then she made a noise like a broken trumpet and ran from the room with windmilling arms. Sighing in relief and slight exasperation, Spike checked on the girl in white and ambled off to find Jet. He found his friend - where else? - clipping his bonsai trees and muttering to himself. Laughing silently, Spike sneaked up behind Jet.
"JET!" yelled Spike, making the older man jump about three feet in the air and sending the clippers flying across the room.
Jet smacked a hand - thankfully his live hand or he'd've knocked himself out - to his forehead and turned around to see Spike leaning on the door frame, looking a little worried. Alright, this wasn't normal... Before he could ask, Spike cut him off.
"There's something you need to see," he said tonelessly, jerking his head toward the living room. "This might be a little bit of a... uh... surprise..."
Jet nodded and followed Spike, wondering what in the world was going on. When he saw the girl lying motionless on the beat-up couch, he turned and raised an eyebrow at Spike. He was even more shocked when Spike knelt beside the girl and took hold of her hand. Did Spike hit his head or was he just incredibly drunk?
"Spike, where did you find her?" Jet asked uneasily, more than just a bit nervous about what the answer might be.
"At the bar," Spike replied nonchalantly, as if this turn of events was something that he did on a regular basis. "I don't know what's going on but she came running in like Satan himself was after her, yelling for help. The last guy she asked hit her. Since it bruised so fast the only thing I could think to do was bring her here."
"Why?" inquired Jet, one eyebrow still raised and looking very confused - though there was also a twinkle in the ex-cop's eyes that spoke subtle volumes of amusement.
Spike gently set the girl's hand down on her stomach, stood up and shrugged.
"I dunno. I figured since you always know what to do with me - and I've been through worse than this - you could take care of her," he said, scratching his head and looking confused, as if he himself had no idea how he wound up in this situation. "Anyway, I couldn't just leave her there. She wouldn't have lasted another half hour with those bar punks..."
Jet sighed, leaning over the girl's thin frame. She whimpered as his callused fingers brushed her bruised cheek. He left for a short moment, shaking his head, and came back with the first aid kit. In his other hand was a towel wrapped around a handful of ice. Spike looked at him with one eyebrow raised, scratching his head.
"There's not really much I can do except clean it and get some ice on it to ease some of the swelling," said Jet wearily. "After that, just take care of her and hope for the best."
The young woman winced as Jet rubbed her cheek with an alcohol pad. Spike watched for a moment, frowned, and took the pad from his friend's hand. His touch was much more gentle, keeping the discomfort to a minimum. Jet rolled his eyes as Spike casually tossed the cotton pad over his shoulder, not really caring who had to go and pick it up. But he ignored it momentarily while he handed the ice-filled towel to his young friend.
Carefully supporting her on one arm, Spike eased himself down on the couch, settling the girl's head and shoulders in his lap. Her small body seemed to weigh nothing at all against his own wiry form. The girl squeaked a little - more in surprise than pain, it seemed like - the first time the ice-filled towel touched her skin. Other than that, she made no further complaint.
'She's warm...' whispered a quiet voice in Spike's head before he swatted it away.
Spike was extremely confused inside. He had no idea why he was going so far out of his way to help this girl. The Bebop crew was nearly out of money (again) and this girl was sure to be no help at all. Hell, he still didn't even know what her name was! But as his eyes took in the sight of her bruised face again, he shoved his questions to the back of his mind.