An Unholy Union

Days passed since Spike left. Sam had taken care of Dean for the first day before his brother recovered enough strength to push him away and close up. And as each day passed, Dean closed up even more. Every time Sam tried to talk to Dean about that night, mention Spike's name, his brother changed the subject. Avoidance was the Winchester way. At least for Dean and his father. Avoid the pain and it won't get to you. Avoid the hurt and it never really happened.

A week later, the brothers were alone in some dingy motel. Dean was cleaning his gun, finding comfort in the clicking of the metal and the smell of gun oil. The job they had taken on was with Bobby, who’ noticed something was up with Dean. Bobby tried to figure out what was going on with Dean, especially after Dean nearly got his head taken off by another baddie of the month. But Dean refused to talk, snapping at both Bobby and Sam to leave him alone, that he was fine. But both men saw, Dean was far from fine.

Dean seemed more concerned over the reason he hadn't got his head taken off. Some unknown force had pushed him through the air to safety. Bobby and Dean suspected Sam who shook his head innocently and claimed it wasn't him. If it had been him, wouldn't his head have hurt?
That was the question of the century.
After Bobby left, Sam, sat across the room, just watching his brother. Dean looked as if he was already dead. Inside. "Dean," Sam spoke softly but his brother wasn't responding. "He did it because he cared. He didn't want you to hate him later."

Dean just kept looking down, cleaning his gun, not responding.

"He said you had enough guilt. He didn't want to add to it," Sam tried again.

Dean just rocked a bit as he clicked a gun together.

"Dean," Sam tried yet again.

"Just shut up about it, Sam. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to talk about it. I'm fine. He got what he wanted. He left. It's over. Done." Dean was now looking down a barrel to see if it was clean.

"It's not fine. Dean, you haven't been fine since that day. You are ..."

"What did I just say?" Dean snapped. "Look, he left! He fucked me. Bit me. Took my blood and left. I'm not gonna cry over it. I'm not gonna dwell on it. I'm not gonna stare out the window and listen to moopy music." Dean looked back down, going back to cleaning.

"But you miss him." Sam put it simply.

Dean didn't look up.

"You love him," Sam pushed.

Dean finally glared at his brother.


* * *

Another moonless night. Was it a wonder it reminded him of the Winchesters? Of him. He wondered what sort of trouble his hunter was finding tonight. It was always something… fanged, clawed, bodiless…

Spike took a long drag on his cigarette, causing the red tip to burn a fiery red in the dark. Red hot, like Dean.

His phone vibrated again. He pulled it out of his pocked and itched to hit the ‘ignore” button. But the Slayer was persistent. As she was wont to remind him, she hadn’t made it to ‘forty something’ by giving up. “Alright Slayer,” he pressed the talk button.

“Finally. Was starting to think you’re ignoring my calls, Spike.”

“You wound me, Slayer. How are the kiddies?”

“I’d rather be out fighting demons.”

He snorted. “Thought so. Did warn you, yeah?”

She laughed. “How ‘bout you.”

“No. No kiddies yet.” He dropped the smoke, looked up and drew a silent breath. She prattled on, but he wasn’t listening.

“Spike, hey?”

“Here.”

“What about… you know, that other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“Family. You said… you said you found one.” She went silent, then spoke. “You’ll have to bring them over to meet me some time.”

“I will.” His voice broke. “Got to go, yeah?” He closed the phone and shoved it back inside his pocket.

Turning on his heels, he ignored the insistent vibration of his now silenced phone, entered the steel door of the club and strode to the bar, roughly pushing away anyone who got in his way. “Line em up… better yet, give me the whole bloody bottle.”

The bar tender brought a whiskey special over - it was enhanced to affect vampires. “You need to relax, man. Lots of choices here.”

“Here’s my choice.” Lifting the bottle to his mouth, Spike took a long drink, wishing it would burn out the images of green eyes challenging him, cursing him, begging him. Wishing he didn’t need to hear that sexy drawl just one more time. Maybe he’d find another pay phone somewhere and call to listen to his voice mail later. Or maybe he should just fucking get over it already. The bottle was back at his mouth. Tipping his head back, he swallowed down the burning liquid.

Another bar tender came around. “Other night, some guys were out here looking for you. Heard what went down in Dark Haven. Someone’s fucking pissed.”

Spike shrugged. “They can sod off. Not worried, yeah?”

“You should be. Keep low for a while, they were serious. I’m talking armada strength here.”

Spike’s gaze met his. “I’m flattered.”

He finished the bottle, spun it on the bar top, then headed out. He might be spoiling for a fight, but if there were as many of them the bartender said, it was best he avoid them. He couldn’t risk getting killed, not for a few months yet.


******


Another month passed. The Impala sat on the side of an old dirt road in the middle of nowhere. It was the way the Winchesters traveled. Old back roads, avoiding major highways when they could. Dean was cleaning the trunk out. Sam stood beside him, taking items and setting them on the ground. The tool box was beside Sam's feet as well as the cooler for their beer.

Sam got two beers, then sat on the cooler, and handed one over to Dean, "Here."

Dean took the beer, "Thanks." He lifted up a box of Spike's cereal and stared at it.

Sam tried not to say anything. He missed Spike as well. Someone to side up with him against Dean or the other way around. There hadn't been many reminders but it was the little things that did it. Especially for Dean. "You should really throw that away. It's probably stale by now."

"Probably should," Dean nodded as he stared at the box some more. He placed it aside. "He always loved this stuff. Mixed in his breakfast blood. You would think eggs. Pancakes. But this?"

"Said he needed more fiber in his diet." Sam shook his head with a smile.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, and the words slipped out, "Miss other things about him too." Like his smell. His touch. The way he held him. The intensity of his gaze from anywhere in a room. His lips and his voice. So much and yet, here he was with no Spike.

"Then why don't we find him, Dean. You've been like this for weeks. I know you miss him. I miss him too."

"What good would it do? He was the one who left. He ..." Dean sighed. Silence dragged before he spoke again, "Wouldn't know where to look."

"We can start someplace. You said he was known as William the Bloody? We can start there." Sam stood up.

"I don't know, Sam," Dean was repacking things back in the car.

"What if we can find him?"

"Then what? What if he doesn't want to ..."

"Dean, if anything he will tell you face to face." Sam looked sadly Dean. It pained him to see his brother like this, carrying the weight of so much hurt. It was worse than when it had been about Cassie. Spike was really under his skin. In his heart and a part of his brother's soul.

Dean shoved the box of cereal back and slammed the trunk. "He left. He doesn't want to be found. Let's just leave it at that," he choked out.

Sam merely nodded, silently agreeing but inside him, he knew what he had to do.


*****

Darkness was just falling over the rambling plantation house. Had it been so many decades since he and the others of the fanged four had taken refuge here for a few months? Those had been the days when he hadn’t known loneliness. Now it clung to him like a second skin.
Leaning back on the old porch chair, Spike put his leg up on the antique table, and knocked back some more whiskey. If he had enough, maybe he’d slip into a dream about those days. Maybe he’d stop seeing the green eyed hunter who cussed him out in every dream, or his gentler brother who’d reluctantly let him into their home. Maybe.
Spike whistled a tune, intermingling it with his own words… one man’s poetry, another man’s trash. But it came straight from his heart, and fell on dead ears.

*

It had taken him a while. A while to research and find information to track back through history, cross reference the times and places he would need to look. Time that the younger Winchester didn’t feel like he had.

Time was ticking. Not only on him, but on someone dear to him. His brother, Dean.

Armed with the location of where to find the one person who could help them, Sam drugged his brother to sleep and took off in the Impala. Lucky, they were not far, but Sam still had to park the car far enough away so as to not give himself away to the vampire, in case he ran.

Now he was walking down wind, around the porch that belonged to an old plantation house and he was armed with nothing more than his wits.

He came around the corner and stopped, hearing the sad poem and waited a moment before he spoke. "You know it doesn't have to be this way."

Spike’s head jerked around. Sammy. He felt a lump rise in his throat as his gaze pierced the darkness, searching… searching for Dean. His scent… his unique heartbeat was nowhere to be found.

He waited for Sam to start climbing the stairs before he answered. “Sound like me, now. I was wrong.” Hadn’t he once said almost the exact same words to Dean, accused him of choosing to be alone? “Go home. Leave me the bloody hell alone, the lot of you.” Eyes burning, he took another swig of his drink.

"No. Because you are gonna listen to me. You and Dean are the two most stubborn, pig headed, afraid-to-admit-your-feelings people I have ever had the pleasure to be around. And it's gonna end. It has to end." He pulled his tall muscular form up the stairs to stand over Spike.

Spike looked up. Any other time, he would have been amused. Some things never changed, did they? But today, the look of determination on Sam’s young face scared Spike. He didn’t want to hear the things that hurt, he didn’t want to face them when he was awake… wasn’t it enough that they haunted him in his dreams?

Forcing a hard edge into his voice, he spoke. “Listen, little brother. Not dealing with Dean here. Name’s William the Bloody for a reason. Don’t make me show you,” he whispered.

"You think that is gonna scare me? When we deal with a demon older and stronger than you? Now just shut up and listen." He grabbed the bottle from Spike. "I need you to come back with me. I need you to help me save Dean."

Spike shot up and slammed his palms into Sam’s chest, sending him backwards toward the stairs. “He doesn’t want to be saved… doesn’t need to be saved, not like that. Now get the fuck out… before I show you the side of me you haven’t met yet.” Turning his back, as if the matter was over, Spike picked up the bottle that was tilted onto its side, swearing at the fact half of the liquor was gone. Gripping it, he headed inside and barred the door shut behind him. Peace, all he wanted was peace.

Sam stumbled but neither the shove nor the vampire’s anger was gonna put him off his quest that easily. He stalked up to the door and tested it. When it didn't open, he stepped back. The door flew open and banged back loudly, enough to draw the vampire's attention. This time, Sam’s head didn’t hurt.

"He does want to be saved. He does want to live, damnit," Sam snapped at the vampire. "And don't make me show you the side of me you haven't and don't want to see." Sam lowered his head in giving Spike a very angry look.
Spike’s gaze flew to the door, then to Sam. He didn’t know what fancy new weapon the boy had used, but he didn’t care. He cocked his head to the side. “I don’t take lightly to threats, yeah? This is my home. You… you’re not welcome here.” Sam… Sam who’d let him in, when he could have shut him out, could have easily swayed his brother. A bitter taste slid down Spike’s throat. “Get out,” he roared. “Get out, get out, get out!” When Sam didn’t, Spike attacked, striking him, shoving him… wanting to get him the hell away.
Sam flew back into a table, his back catching its edge. It only fueled his anger… the bastard vampire was pissing him off much like his brother. Worse, like his father. His eyes flashed to a yellow hue. Sam was up on his feet while a strong invisible force shoved Spike, sending him flying across the room until he was pinned to a wall, held fast without Sam even touching him.
Sam hadn't wanted it to come to his, even as he approached and was wiping blood away from his own mouth. "I know who you are, Spike. Or shall I say William the Bloody." His voice was still laced with anger but he was calming down. "And I came here for a reason. I came here for Dean."
Spike struggled against the invisible force that held him to the wall, growled and swore up a storm. “What is this… fucking hell,” he arched off the wall, trying to push away, his eyes blazing with anger at Sam. How the fucking hell was he doing this… was this what the vampires in Dark Haven had been trying to trigger. Suddenly, he flagged and stopped struggling. “Have your say, then get out of here. Won’t make a bloody bit of difference.”

Sam strolled up, staring at Spike, "Maybe, maybe not," he started slowly as he looked down for a moment. "Since you’ve been gone, a lot has happened. Dean ..." Sam shook his head, "You know what it's like to keep someone from killing themselves? Throwing themselves at every dangerous situation they can?"

His chest was heaving from the exertion of trying to get free, but Sam’s words stopped him cold. Then again, he knew the boys were masters of using the right words. Stiffening his jaw, he answered. “If you can do this. You can protect him.”

"No, I can't," Sam admitted. "You broke his heart. When he woke and you weren't there and I had to tell him you left ..." Sam got a pained look on his face. "You didn't have to see his eyes. You didn't have to see ..." Sam cut off, his eyes glistening with tears. "I can't protect him. I can't save him from himself."

“Neither can I” Spike shouted, trying to ease the pain in his gut ... in his very soul. He tried to wrench his arm away from the wall and winced with pain. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see inside his head.” Swallowing, he looked at a point past Sam’s shoulder. “What would your father say to him if he found him with another man? Huh Sammy, answer me that? Give me the truth,” he shifted his gaze back to the younger Winchester.

"Christo," Sam answered honestly. "But then our father ... Well he's not here. You are. And Dean knew what he was doing when he asked you. He knew he couldn't be saved any other way. Damnit, Spike," He moved in closer. "I don't want Dean to become a Demon. Demon like those others. Did you know some of those demons down there were once human. And that is what Dean will become."

"You don't understand. I don't give a fuck what your father would think... not a fuck. But he does. Dean knows what his father would say to finding him with a man. Add to that a vampire ... someone with a demon inside. And take it one step further ... choosing to be demon." He tried again to get free, "Unbind me ... now!" He struggled to calm himself. "What if he can't handle that voice Sam? What if he picks up that bloody precious colt of his and blows his brains out? I won't be responsible for that. I can't ..."

“You are acting just like our father!" Sam snapped and moved in closer. "He never gave Dean a choice in his life. And when Dean did finally made a choice - to be with you and hope that you would get him through this cause he trusted and loved you, you left him, just like our father, giving him NO choice in the matter!"

“It’s not like that ... it’s not.” But his eyes were on Sam’s, hungry to hear more ... aching to know. “He said that? He said he loves me?” Time stretched, seconds felt like hours.

"Then what is it?" Sam held Spike's eyes. "Yes, he did say that. He told me he loved you but like everyone else in his life, you left him. Left him alone. I'm the only one who hasn't and unlike you or my father, I'm not giving up on him."

“He’s not alone. He has you.” He looked away. “I haven’t given up on him. Let me go Sam.”

"It's not the same. You don't see how empty he is. He has always had me but nothing of his own." Sam released Spike, letting him drop to the ground on his feet.

“You don’t know your power over him, that’s your problem.” It was a problem that had bothered Spike to no end, before he got to know Sam. “Sam. I’ll be there on the day … reckoning day. More than one can make a deal, yeah?” He’d thought about it every single day he’d been apart from Dean. A way to save him. “Do you know how rare a vampire’s soul is? Plenty of human ones. Just two ... two vampire souls in the whole world. You’ll get to keep your brother. It’s the right thing ... and you know it. Go home and sleep now.”

"Dean trusts, trusted you. I do too. And if Dean means anything to you," Sam sighed softly, "You'll do the right thing."

“That is the right thing. You don’t want him turned, you never did.” It was the truth and they both knew it. Given the option, Sam would never opt for Dean turning, never.

“No, I don't, I'll admit it, but if it will save his life, in a way, keep him from hell, then ... besides, it’s not my choice to make. It’s Dean's." Sam turned and started to walk away.

“Sam. Take a message from me?” he asked, giving him an enigmatic look. When Sam agreed, Spike moved in and pulled Sam into his arms, pulling him down to reach him. Holding Sam tight, he fixed his mouth over Sam’s and kissed him, gently, but firmly, pushing his tongue inside and using all of his experience to elicit a response, to engage Sam’s tongue in a heated dance. God ... he wasn't Dean, he didn’t feel like Dean ... but there was so much that was alike, the way he moved, the way he tasted, even the way his heart skipped a beat.

Breaking the kiss, he let Sam go. “Just like that, Sam. That’s how he likes it. Him and you, do you get my meaning? Him and you.” Maybe he was like their father, maybe he’d just decided what was best for them. Turning, he walked away, telling himself it was practice. He’d have to walk away from the ones he loved one last time, in less than a month. And then it would be over.

Sam stood, half dumbfounded, half worked up. He gazed sadly after Spike and then knew what he had to do. He had to send Dean here. He started to leave but then stopped, "Spike," he called back to him, "I already know how Dean likes it." He only kissed his brother once, shortly after Spike left. It was a weak moment for them both. However it got Dean through their job. And it got Dean through without attempting to get himself killed. "But he still loves you." He gave a little snort laugh, "Still carries your wheat a bix cereal in the trunk." He turned and walked out.

* * *

Another week passed, they seemed to go faster nowadays.

Spike headed up the walkway of the rambling old plantation house with a paper bag in his hand. These days, his groceries were mainly liquor and cigarettes. All day long, he’d watch Passions and his other soaps, without fear of interference from certain noisy parties who liked to make fun… or who’d steal the remote… or sex him up and make him miss parts of the show.

Bloody fucking hell, I’m turning into a maudlin old woman. Climbing the porch stairs, he kicked the front door open and walked into the dark house. If he hadn’t had that much liquor running through his veins… if his mind hadn’t been preoccupied with things of the past, and things that would never be, he might have felt something was off. He might not have walked in or started to climb the stairs.

He stumbled against the wall, and his flesh burned. Just as he shouted, flood lights erupted from all sides of the large room. Spike put his arm in front of his sensitive eyes and blinked. Vampires… no, he heard heart beats… many many heart beats.


There were crucifixes…. All over. On the walls, on the floors, on the tables… there were full on large crosses brought in from the tombs on the plantation grounds … they were being used to block various exits and windows from the room. As if that wasn't enough, planks had been nailed across the windows, especially the ones high up. He'd make a fine target if he tried to get up there and had to work them loose before making his way out from there. Could the night get any more fucked up?


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