Standing the Test of Time

Author: Erin-Starlight

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters nor am I making money off this. This is just for fun.

Summary: When captured in the aftermath of a battle Spike finds himself at the mercy of his old rival--Count Dracula. Will he be saved before it’s too late or will he be lulled into something even more dangerous than the Counts’ wrath?

Warning: This is slash. It will have some Spike/Dracula and Spike/Angel in it. This is a challenge I took up to do a Dracula slash fic with the guys. I'm not usually a slash writer but I did it for this challenge, where I had to set in up some in my last fic.

Authors Note: This story takes place after my one shot “William Restored.”

Spoilers: For the Peter David IDW comics Spike vs. Dracula 1-5.

The ordeal of being around the gang listening to boring gits discussing boring politics had prove to much for Spike to handle in his present state. He didn't argue for once when he was sent back to the upper floor though he protested going back to his bedroom for appearances sake. The castle had quiet down at this point with Illyria, Connor and Faith sticking close together like Angel wanted. The brunet vampire didn't trust the Counts' word enough to agree to keep them apart even though he had reluctantly agreed to stay for Faith. She had claimed that the Council was in the process of striking a deal with these people.

They barely tolerated Spike and him with their souls but were willing to work with Dracula for some extra power. The whole affair sickened Angel with the familiar sort of twisted power trips Worfram and Hart had set up. None of the slayers, and watchers seemed to see how being in command was warping their value system. A little favor here, a small lie there and before they knew it they would be more ready to settle for what was best for them not what was right. This was one of the many reasons he was glad that he was not there to witness the sort of woman Buffy was turning into. If Giles was willing to set this up who knew what the slayer would be like now.

Angel trusted Faith to work on that angle since it obviously meant something to her. Granted she wasn't really much of a talker but she could surprise you. As for him--he knew that he shouldn't put it off for too long. He was never good at facing his problems but they were in deep. Faith had asked him to make sure that Spike and him could manage to make peace enough to be able to work together. They were going to need all the help they could get since apparently they were in on yet another prophecy. Slipping out when no one was looking Angel followed the scent he was looking for to the upper levels. He was a little baffled that Dracula hadn't put him--all of them in cells. That was another question he would put aside for another time.

It didn't take long to find Spike lounging on a poofy sofa surrounded by plump pillows that seemed far too big for his slender figure. Face pressed into one such pillow with his lids closed the vampire gave the impression that he was sleeping. A closer inspection revealed lines of concentration as if Spike was trying to pick out a single scent in a crowd. Angelus had made certain that he had been able to do such a feat through harsher means. The livid marks on the slight body reminded Angel a little too much of the old days for his liking. Clearing his throat did the trick to get Spikes' attention. He pulled away from the pillow flashing wide eyed guilt before he realized who it was in front of him. The blank expression that smoothed over his features was pretty helpful for the brunet. Dealing with emotions was hard enough without having Spike pushing his buttons.

"Hey." That was an inspired start.

"'Lo." Spike said cautiously.

"Umm, well we're here." An eyebrow raised at that statement as if to say "obviously." Instead of helping Angel the elder was left to suffer in the awkward silence. Usually it was Spike who hated things to be too quiet struggling to fill the void with words. He on the other hand normally preferred the quiet since it usually meant peace. Or quiet broody sessions. There was no peace to be found now, just little bombshells waiting to go off with the slightest of glances. The body language screamed uncomfortable and hurtful things at him. No wonder small talk wasn't his speciality. "Faith wants to stay a little longer until this prophecy is dealt with. It's a thing about an impasse--an impasse sort of thing--that we can't hurt the other without messing up this Council...impasse...thing. "

Nope, talking really wasn't Angels' comfort zone.

"Er...anyway I thought that we--being ALL of us--"he clarified off of Spike curious glance,"could get out of this place until then. What with the whole history that we--you have. With him."

"Wot?!" Startled blue eyes gaped at him behind honey curls. It took Angel a few moments for it to click that Spike said something. There was something very distracting about a Spike without the punk persona.

"You know, the whole rivalry bit." Annoyance colored his words. Mainly that he had to explain himself more than he should have to. Was Spike trying to make this harder for him?

"Oh. That. Right." Of course Angel hadn't meant them. Hadn't meant anything about the "with" either. Good. Because there was no "we."

"Reckon that might not work on account that I've been forbidden to leave his good graces." The half amused half bitter smile passes over the chiseled face before he shook it off to discretely glance up through his eyelashes to see if the big lug caught anything. The signs of puzzlement Angel has quickly fades to a dumbstruck awe. To what Spike has no clue but his voice sounds far away when he braves on the stunted conversation.

"Think there'll be trouble?" His throat is dryer than it has been since his three month period under the ocean without a lick of blood. What the hell is going on?

"More than likely. Man likes to make grand gestures. Sort like that takes offense when his sworn enemy is taken from him." Tormented as a servant, abused and finally confused about Vlads' attention Spike didn't much like the idea of running away. Even if he did Vlad was sure to follow him. A thrill ran through him at the thought quickly followed by repulsion.

"We'll figure something out, Spike." Without thought about personal space Angel sat next to his occasion rival. The emotions were coming through without the usual bravado the smaller vampire often used to cover up his insecurities. This must have been bad. Of course he had never been much of a comforting person, he had of course known a few. Without thinking it through Angels' hand covered Spikes'. The two men instantly leapt apart to gape openly at the other. Neither had been immune to the sparks the simple touch had ignited.

Feeling very self conscious about the two rapidly darkening chocolate orbs staring at him Spike snapped. "Wot are you looking at?!"

"Y--you're not blond!" Angel stammered automatically.

"Just noticed that did you?"

"Of course not, moron! I...I haven't seen it like this for years--over a hundred at least. "His voice softened at the little pout Spike gave.

"Look like a right pounce, I do." The former blond grumbled.

"I think it looks good on you." Angel stated almost reaching out for a ringlet only to stop himself a second before he could.

"Looking like a pounce doesn't look good on anybody--'cept you, peaches." A smirk taunted him but Angel rolled his eyes not willing to take the bait.

"Gee, thanks." For the next few minutes they sat in silence unable to think of another safe conversation to have until Spike had to ask:

"Where do we go from here?" There was no answer to the true meaning behind that question that neither wanted to admit to. The cliche answer was given.

"We keep fighting and don't give up."

Wanting to make a quip about Angels' lack of originality Spike turned his head to see the brunet had inched closer. Frozen at the sight all Spike could do was watch as Angels' hand came in contact with his flesh. The feather soft touch brushed down his throat making him wish he could suppress the his shudder. This was wrong, they weren't lovers in fact they hated each other. Had to since it was clear that Angel never gave a damn about him.

Traveling to rescue him said otherwise. Then again maybe he was cashing in his reward from Spikes' body. This wasn't what he wanted, was it? Carefully Angel pulled at the collar right when Spike was about to refuse him. There was a gasp and it took him a bit to come to the conclusion that it hadn't been him. Angels' was staring at his neck with shock. The pieces slowly fell into place too slowly to do any damn good. The bite mark Vlad had left on him had not healed over yet. Bugger.

Angel couldn't stop himself from looking at the red marks clearly made by a vampires' fangs. A male vampires' fangs. There had to be an explanation Angel simply hadn't thought of one yet. Not all vampires were the Anne Rice sort that drank off each other. The older ones from the Masters' inner circle would do it during rituals and other outdated customs. A few did it during sex but that was ridiculous. Spike didn't have male lovers, even if he did they certainly weren't other vampires and more over he hated being bitten. A sicken thought sluggishly came to Angel that the only male vampires around would have to have been the ones at the campsite he was tortured in or Dracula himself. Not allowing himself to consider what happened in terms of Spike getting the mark he asked far more calmly than he felt: "Spike. How did you get this?"

Spike attempted to say something but words failed him. All he could do was stare helplessly not knowing why the hell he wasn’t telling Angel to piss off. His silence and troubled expression however was enough for Angel who recoiled. "Shit."

Dracula must have marked Spike off as his property which doubtlessly embarrassed the younger vampire to no end. Angel could relate, the Master had once bit him to prove to his court that no one in the "family" wasn’t his. As soon as his hands were free Angelus had taken a cloth drenched in holy water to burn the mark off himself. Some how he didn’t think Spike would feel like taking those measures at the moment. "It’ll heal over soon enough," he offered, "we’ll be out of here before he tries to do it again."

"...Right." Spike would kill--literally kill for--a fag right then. Smoking would be a needed distraction and nerve calmer. He pulled at the tassels of the pillow playing with them like he had never seen such a fascinating thing in his life.

"Umm, Connor’s really glad you’re alright. He missed you." Telling Spike how worried he personally had been would leave him too open to ridicule. If not to something else equally unwelcome.

"I know, kid always let’s me know how he feels. Refreshing, that is." Digging in his fingers Spike knows that with anymore pressure he’ll puncture the pillow. Its’ not quite as big as the great poofs’ head...

"Yeah, he’s a great kid." The brunet quickly agreeing not letting himself try to discover the meaning behind Spikes’ words. He always ended up getting it wrong anyway.

‘Wonder where he got that from’ is at the tip of his tongue but it’s beyond pointless at this stage to get through that thick skull. Stupid to think he ever could. Unless you’re a strong woman with a nice set of tits you never rank all that high on Angels’ priority list. No, Connor was the only guy that the dark vampire cared for. Not the ‘moron’ he never stopped using even after the souls.

With Peter there was a understanding of how a child looked for a father figure. That would have been nice to have once upon a time. Wife and kiddies but he wasn’t William, not in the ways that Angel said meant a damn thing. He wasn’t an innocent anymore, wasn’t a good man, wasn’t someone that could be loved. Spike wasn’t certain if he ever had that last trait. If he had been a father as a human he doubts his family would have ever respected him. These days he gets scraps of it when he does a deed that merits a traditional pat on the head. Like a puppy he races to the small affections and wonders why he’s being neglected again.

Who could really respect anyone like that?