Crash, Bang, Wallop!

There was nothing like it, Spike decided. He'd just had a bloody good feed (pardon the pun) from a pretty girl, the highway was empty and the DeSoto was firing on all cylinders as if she were new. His fingers beat out the rhythm of "Pretty Vacant" as he sang – mostly in tune – not that it really mattered when accompanying ole Johnny Rotten – as he drove along.


There was nothing like it, Dean decided. He'd just had a damn good burger with the works, the highway was empty and the Impala was firing on all cylinders as if she were new. His fingers beat out the rhythm of "The Eye of the Tiger" as he sang – mostly in tune – not that it really mattered when the music was so loud – as he drove along.


Spike couldn't help but grin. He'd finally done it – he'd dumped Dru after one too many encounters with Fungus demons – what was it with that bitch and slime? Now he was heading back to good ole Sunnyhell to see what was cooking there and maybe annoy the arse off Peaches. Hell, maybe even have a shag or two.


Dean couldn't help but grin. He'd finally done it – got rid of Sammy for a couple of days – boy, did his whining get on his nerves – not to mention cramp his style. Never did do the ole ego much good when a hot chick made eyes at Sam instead of him. Now he was heading over to a place called Sunnydale to see what was cooking there. Maybe he'd find a few demons to kill or hell, maybe even get laid.


There was a sign for an intersection up a head but Spike took no heed, he had the right of way and so he kept his foot on the gas.


There was a sign for an intersection up ahead but Dean took no heed although he didn't have the right of way – there were no headlights in either direction and so he kept his foot on the gas.


Both drivers slammed on their brakes, their eyes wide with terror as they spotted each other at the last minute. Each tried to swerve but the sound of the two cars colliding would have been heard for miles but there was no one there to hear it. One minute the Desoto was driving west and the Impala south, the next the two cars ripped into each other with a sickening crash that sent them spinning around and off the hardtop onto the gravel at the side of the road.

Then there was silence.

Then there was the sound of soft groans.

Then there was a stream of curses from both vehicles that almost literally turned the air blue.


The passenger door of the Desoto opened with a creak and Spike crawled out, blood running down his face. The cobweb of cracks on the windshield told of how the cut was made. Staggering to his feet, he inspected his car – his pride and joy.

"Fucking hell!"

He put a hand on the hood and felt like weeping- his baby was all bashed up. The drivers' side was crumpled and the hood on that side was bent upwards. Spike turned his head in the direction of the other car, wincing as whiplash pain stabbed his neck.


The passenger door of the Impala opened with a squeak and Dean crawled out, with blood pouring down the side of his face. The crack in the side window told of how the cut was made. Staggering to his feet, he inspected his car – his pride and joy.

"Son of a bitch!"

He put his hand on the hood and felt like weeping – his baby was all beat up. The drivers' side was creased and the hood on that side was bent upwards. Dean turned his head in the direction of the other car, wincing as whiplash pain stabbed his neck.


"It was your fucking fault!" they yelled in unison, fingers jabbing towards each other.

They glared at each other for a moment before closing the distance between them and getting in the each others' faces.

"It was my bloody right of way!" roared Spike.

"How was I supposed to see you, when you had no freaking lights on?" yelled Dean, waving his arms about.

"You should have still slowed down to check," complained Spike, trying not to back down as he hadn't realised he'd not put on the lights – his night vision was almost as good as in daylight – better in some aspects as he didn't have to sodding squint.

"Oh, right!" Dean threw his hands in the air. "So it's my fault that I hit a black car driving in the middle of the fucking night with no lights on."

Spike grinned. "Well, yeah. Glad you accept responsibility and so pay up!"

"Pay up! Pay up! Only one paying up is you! I did nothing wrong."

"Nothing bleeding wrong?" Spike's grin was replaced with a scowl. "Look what your heap of shite did to my car!"

"Hea…heap of shite! You're fucking calling my car a heap of shite?" Dean could hardly get the words out of his mouth.

Shrugging, Spike said, "Heap of crap if you object to the English terminology."

"That's it!" Dean walked to the relatively unscathed trunk and wrenched it open. He pulled out the shogun and turned back to face Spike. "Insult my car again and I swear…"

"You'll what?" sneered Spike, pushing at the Impala's bumper with his foot, which promptly fell to the floor with a clatter.

It was too much for Dean; he aimed and pulled the trigger.

"Ow!" yelled Spike, leaping about at the side of the car. "Fucking ow! What did you do that for?"

Dean put another round into the gun. "You hurt my car again and I'll do it again," he growled, wondering why the man wasn't more worried by being shot. Admittedly, it was a salt round but he knew from experience that it hurt like a bitch.

Spike rubbed his chest, then peered at his fingers before licking them. "Salt? What sort of loon goes round shooting people with salt?"

"The sort that will use a normal round on you if you don't give me money to repair the damage that you did!"

"Hang on…" Spike snapped his fingers. "Salt…that kills ghosts – oh my, God, are you one of the Ghost Facers?"

This time words did fail Dean. Dropping the gun in the trunk, he took two steps towards Spike and punched him in the face.

"No, I am not one of them! I saved their sorry asses – that's what I did!"

Spike staggered back and then began to chuckle. "Just my bleeding luck to get hit by a sodding white hat!"

"What did you call me? Is that some freaking weird British slang?"

The vampire laughed all the more. "Haven't you ever seen a cowboy film?"

"Dude, you're really beginning to piss me off with the laughing."

"You're a good guy – the good guy wears a white hat!"

"Right," replied Dean. I'll just humour the freak until he gives me some cash for the car. "So, I'm a white hat – what colour's yours then?"

Spike sobered and looked Dean in the eye. "Black – obviously."

"Oh, you're the tough guy – right, I get it." Dean rolled his eyes. "Doesn't matter how tough you are – you're gonna be giving me dollars for the damage or I'll—"

"Did you hear that?" Spike interrupted looking around.

"Hear, what?"

"A vehicle's coming."

Dean cocked his head and listened intently. "I don't hear anything."

"It's a truck coming from the south."

Before Dean could say anything, he heard it too. He glanced quizzically at Spike. "Dude, you've got hearing like a bat."

Spike chuckled again and Dean stomped into the middle of the road to flag the truck down. "Freaking imbecile," he muttered.

Leaning against the twisted remains of his DeSoto, Spike watched the human with interest. Good job he'd eaten well, as he might just have had to take a nibble otherwise. All that testosterone...

The truck ground to a halt with a hiss from its brakes, Dean opened the passenger door and asked if there was a town nearby. The driver told him that there was a little place a few miles west and that he'd be happy to give them a ride.

Dean climbed down and turned to face the blond. The look he was being given was unsettling to say the least. It reminded Dean of how he'd stared at his burger right before he ate it.

"Yo! There's a town six miles west – says he can drop us there," he called out.

Spike pushed himself off the car and strolled towards the truck. Dean climbed in as Spike squeezed in beside him.

"Well, isn't this just cosy," Spike said with a smirk, as the human tried to move further away but to no avail. Their arms and legs were squashed together.

"You boys been and wrecked your cars?" asked the driver, a stout man of around sixty years old, sporting a beard that a member of ZZ Top would be proud of. He smiled a mostly toothless smile and the burst of halitosis had Dean leaning closer to the blond to keep away from him.

"No, we didn't wreck our cars." Dean inclined his head towards Spike. "He wrecked our cars."

"Hey!" protested Spike. "That is so not bloody true!"

The driver fixed Spike with a stony stare. "There'll be no cussing in my truck or you'll both be walking."

"I didn't cuss," said Dean petulantly.

"Don't care. He cusses again and you're both out."

Spike let out a hiss when he spotted a small plastic cross hanging from the rear view mirror. "Bollocks," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Will you keep your mouth shut?" snapped Dean as the driver glared at Spike again.

Spike wondered if he'd be able to snap the lad's neck and still have time to bite the old fucker before the truck stopped. But, being as well fed as he was, he was feeling kind of lazy and so did nothing.

Twenty minutes later the pair were dropped off outside a motel by their good Samaritan.

"So, we book into here and find the garage in the morning?" asked Dean.

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Hmm…best offer I've had all day." He slid a hand down his body and rubbed at his crotch. "Didn't figure that you were that way inclined." He leered at the human.

"What? Hell, no! Separate rooms – separate rooms!" blustered Dean.

"Easy, tiger, I'm only taking the piss." Spike grinned broadly. "As for your question…no, I'm not booking in here – well not before I get some liquor in me. This godforsaken town must have a bar."

Dean breathed out a sigh of relief. The Impala getting trashed and then getting the come on by an admittedly good looking British guy was making this day out to be one of his worst. The fact that he'd considered a guy to be good looking did nothing to cheer him up.

Spike took a couple of strides down the street, paused and looked back. "Are you coming then? I promise I won't bite!" Chuckling, he turned back and carried on walking.

Dean stood there for a minute – there was something distinctly off about the guy but, hell, did he need a drink and so he trailed after him.

The vampire pushed the door to the bar open and did his usual quick check for mirrors – no need to scare the locals. Spotting one near the far side of the bar, Spike kept well away from it as he went up to order his drink.

"Whiskey – a large one," he said digging into his pockets and throwing some dollar bills on the counter. Shite, he hated paying for things. "Keep 'em coming."

Dean hitched his butt onto a stool. "Same here." His bills joined Spike's on the bar top.

"Spike," said the vampire after they had both taken a good swallow of the liquor.

"What?" Dean scowled.

"The name's, Spike."

"Dean." He tossed back the last of his drink and gasped as it hit the spot. The bar keep instantly put another shot in front of him, and Dean nodded his approval.

"So what brings you boys to our town?" asked the barman. "We don't get a lot of passing trade."

"I'm not surprised," muttered Spike.

Dean stifled a snort of laughter. Neither had been impressed by the look of the place as they walked to the bar.

"What was that?" the barman asked.

Spike shrugged. "Just said we're looking for a mechanic. This joker hit my car." He nodded at his companion.

"Holy crap! You hit me!" Dean yelled loud enough to turn the heads of the half dozen others in the room.

"Whatever," sighed Spike. "Thing is – we need a tow truck and someone to repair the cars."

"No one lays a hand on my baby, 'cept me," said Dean. "I just need somewhere to work on her."

Rolling his eyes, Spike glanced at him. "Shite, how long is it since you got laid?"

Dean sat upright. "I told you I'm not freaking interested."

"What are you talking about, now?" asked Spike, scowling. "Just meant you're way too fond of that car for someone who's getting plenty of shagging. That's English for sex if you didn't know."

"I knew what you meant. I'm not stupid."

"No, course you're not. You just go straight over an intersection without stopping."

"And you drove with no goddamn lights on!" Dean nudged Spike's arm. "How the hell did you manage to see where you were going? Actually screw that – you couldn't see, that's why you hit me!"

Spike closed his eyes and counted to ten. He opened one and squeezed it shut again and continued to twenty when he saw Dean glowering at him. Why don't I just rip the git's throat out?

"Look," he said, forcing his voice to be level. "This is getting pretty old. I just want to drink, okay? Not bicker all sodding night. I'm not your brother!"

"Hey, you keep my brother out of this," snarled Dean.

Slapping his hands on the counter, Spike slid from his stool. "I'm going over there – and if you know what's good for you, you'll stay right here." He dropped more dollars on the counter and picked up the bottle of whiskey and a glass, before taking a seat at a table in the corner.

He glanced up, then rolled his eyes as the chair opposite scraped across the floor and Dean flopped down into it.

"What now?"

"Look, man, I just don't want to drink alone, okay?" muttered Dean.

"So, go sit with him." Spike nodded towards a scrawny man with a pockmarked face and buckteeth. "He looks like he could do with the company."

Dean snorted when he glanced over at him. Even the locals were steering clear of the man..

"Think I like it better over here," he grinned and raised his glass to Spike. "Truce then?"

Spike lifted his and clinked it against Dean's. "Truce."


They drank steadily and silently until both were beginning to feel the effects of the liquor. Spike leaned in closer to Dean.

"So what are you?"

Dean blinked. "What do you mean?"

"What sort of bloke has a gun that shoots salt if he's not a Ghost Facer?"

A tic worked in Dean's jaw as he gritted his teeth at the mention of those idiots. "I'm a hunter." His eyes opened wide when he said that. Why did he say it? He had no clue.

Spike leaned back and looked at him through narrowed eyes. He'd heard of hunters – what vamp hadn't? The band of humans who took it on themselves to try to do the job of the Slayer and more often than not got themselves killed. He decided to play dumb.

"Hunter? What – does salt kill deer now? Grizzly bears run away from it?"

The voice in Dean's head was telling him not to say anything else but again, the words just popped out.

"No. I'm a demon hunter – okay. I go places with a problem and sort it out so the people are safe."

Spike poured himself another drink – he was drinking two to every one that Dean drank and was still slightly the more sober.

"Wow. Sounds exciting, and kind of dangerous."

Dean shrugged. "Well, when there's evil afoot, someone's gotta do something about it."

"And that would be you?" Spike raised and eyebrow and smirked slightly.

"Damn straight it's me."

"So what sort of demons have you killed?"

"Easier to say what I haven't," replied Dean, staring at Spike with a smirk of his own.

"Oooh, you're so butch." Spike grinned.

He expected the human to get all antsy again and scowl, but Dean returned the grin.

"I know. And so handsome and athletic with it."

Spike scowled. That's my sodding line.

"'S up, dude? Can't hold your liquor?" asked Dean, pouring himself a shot that almost completely missed the glass.

"I can hold it a damn sight better than you," replied Spike snatching the bottle and pouring some into his glass with a flourish. "See?"

Dean squinted at him. "Man, are you feeling all right 'cause you look pale."

"I'm English – we're always pale," replied Spike quickly. He was enjoying sitting and talking to someone other than his mental ex girlfriend. It'd been a while since he'd hung out without hunting for a meal. Changing the subject he said, "So, what sort of car is yours then? It looks old."

Glowering, Dean grumbled, "I thought we had a truce about the cars."

"Just asking is all."

"It's a 1967 Chevrolet Impala. She was my dad's; I've known her all my life. She's one sweet ride," replied Dean going a bit misty eyed.

"Shite, no wonder you never get a shag if you harp on about the car like that." Spike shook his head sadly.

"What about yours?" asked Dean, blinking rapidly.

"Ha! Well I beat yours by a couple of years. My baby is a 1959 DeSoto, bought her brand new." Stole her brand new. He inhaled deeply. "I can still remember the new car smell that she had." God, mingled with the salesman's blood, it was just fabulous!

Dean nodded and grinned while his brain tried to get his attention to the fact that he'd missed something. Realisation dawned finally and Dean looked at Spike sharply. "New? You got it new?"

Bollocks! Never should get pissed around humans – always end up saying the wrong thing… "Um…my…er…uncle bought her new but hardly ever drove her, so when I got her – she was still like new." He looked off and hoped that Dean would buy it.

Dean's brain decided that thinking was too much like hard work and happily accepted the reply as not being even the slightest bit odd. "Cool," he muttered.

"Excuse me, guys."

The strange voice made both of them look up.

"We're closing and if you're intending on staying in town I suggest you go and get booked into the motel – they'll be closing too – no need to keep the front desk open all night in a small town like this."

"Oh, right." Dean stood up, wobbled and then sat down again with a thump.

Spike began to laugh.

"Just got up too quick," grouched Dean, as he tried again.

This time his legs held him, even though he swayed as if on a ship on the high seas.

Spike got to his feet without incident and smirked at his companion. "Lightweight." He turned to the barman. "Can I have a bottle to take out?" He stuffed a hand in his jacket and pulled out more bills, which he offered to the man. My next meal better be bloody rich!

"Sure thing." The barman took the required amount and walked off to get the bottle.

"You gonna be okay to walk? 'Cause I'm not carrying you," said Spike, feeling slightly seasick as he watched Dean sway.

"'Course I'll be okay," Dean retorted. "Like a wimp like you could carry me anyway – you could do with working out, man."

For a moment, Dean thought Spike's eyes glittered yellow but he dismissed it as a trick of the light.

"Fuck off! I'm strong – stronger than any puny hu—er…hunter! Yeah! Stronger than any hunter! Good catch, Spike. He mentally patted himself on the back for not making another mistake.

The barman returned and Spike took the bottle before they were walked to the door. "Take care, now," said the barman.

Both man and vampire reeled as the fresh air hit them and after a short but heated argument about which way the motel was, they staggered off in search of somewhere to sleep.


"What!" cried Dean. "That can't be right!"

"I assure you, sir, that it is."

Spike leaned casually against the wall watching Dean freak out.

"How can you only have one freaking room?" He waved his arms about. "There is no one in the town – how can you be full?"

"We're not full, sir," said the receptionist patiently. "We have one room available. I just told you that."

"B—but…it's a double!"

"Yes," replied the receptionist. "I told you that, too. We're renovating the other rooms – there is only one double room available tonight."

"Look, I don't mind sleeping somewhere that's in the middle of being painted," said Dean desperately.

Deciding enough was enough, Spike pushed off the wall and approached the counter. He gave the middle-aged woman behind the desk his patented one hundred watt smile and reached for the register.

"It's all right, love. He's just shy." He turned to Dean. "Aren't you, pet?" Spike rubbed his arm affectionately, then leant over the counter. "Only just come out. Bit repressed still." Grinning at the twin looks of horror on both Dean and the receptionist's faces Spike winked at the woman, signed his name as Bella Lugosi, picked up the key and dragged a shell-shocked Dean outside.

Once outside, Dean furiously shrugged off Spike's hand. "What the fuck did you say that for?"

"Oh relax!" said Spike, feeling quite hurt at how mortified Dean was. "Was only joking." I mean, it's not like I'm a sodding monster … erm…well, yeah I am but I'm a good looking one!

"Well, you don't see me laughing," snarled Dean, adding under his breath, "It's bad enough that people think me and Sammy are a freaking couple without this."

Spike glanced down at the room key and strolled off in the direction of the room. He didn't look back. If the bloody human wanted to sleep on the sidewalk that was his problem, but he wasn't surprised when he heard footsteps behind him.

Unlocking the door, Spike stepped inside and winced at the dated interior. The last time this room had seen paint must have been in the sixties, but it looked reasonably clean. The queen-sized bed had a quilted cover on it in mottled shades of yellow. At least Spike hoped the pattern was mottled and that it wasn't stained. He'd seen the sign that said rooms could be rented by the hour. In a town as boring as this, he reckoned the motel had a lot of hourly trade. Spike turned to see Dean hovering at the threshold.

"Come in or stay out, but either way shut the door."

Dean glanced back over his shoulder and then shrugged before walking inside. He scanned the room in the hope that it contained an easy chair in addition to the bed but it didn't.

Spike shucked off his duster and then pulled his t-shirt off over his head. Dean's eyes bugged out.

"What the hell are you doing?" he squeaked, then coughed and repeated it in something more akin to his normal voice.

Rolling his eyes, Spike sighed dramatically. "What does it look like, brain trust? I'm getting undressed and then having a shower and then I'm going drink some more and then I'm going to sleep. That okay with you?"

"Oh, right," muttered Dean, colouring slightly and staring at his feet. "Um…well don't use up all the hot water."

The vampire licked his lips. "Could always join me…"

Dean moved faster than Spike thought possible and he found a hand at his throat and his back slammed against the wall before he could blink.

"Look, stop with the freaking come ons, okay? Or I swear, I'll—"

"You'll what?" asked Spike glanced at the hand and then Dean's face.

Pushing Spike harder against the wall, Dean then let go. "You're not worth it. This was a goddamn stupid idea – I have no idea why I'm even here."

For a moment, Dean looked lost and Spike felt an unusual surge of sympathy for the human. He obviously had issues. So instead of vamping out and eating him, Spike held his hands out. "Okay, I'll stop – it's just you're so easy…"

Dean nodded and so Spike pushed his boots off his feet and unbuckled the belt on his jeans. His hand was on the zipper when Dean yelled out.

"The bathroom, dude! Get undressed in the bathroom! I so don't need to be looking at 'little Spike'."

Spike snorted. "Trust me, mate. There is nothing little about Spike." Without waiting for a come back, he crossed the room and disappeared into the bathroom.

The bedsprings twanged as Dean sat down heavily. He rubbed a hand over his face. What the hell am I doing? Sharing a room with some weird English guy, in a backwater town? Should have stayed at Bobby's with Sam. Digging into the front pocket of his jeans, he took out his cell and tried to call his brother, cursing quietly when he saw there was no signal. Typical.

His attention was caught when Spike walked in smelling of lemons.

"Water's still hot," said Spike.


Dean stood up. "I'll sleep on the floor seeing as you paid for the room."

"Let's toss for it," said Spike. "With a coin – you know heads or tails," he added quickly as Dean scowled. "God, you see double entendres everywhere."

"Do rock, paper, scissors," said Dean.

Tilting his head on one side, Spike sneered, "What are you twelve?"

"Come on!"

Shaking his head, Spike held his hand out next to Dean's. "Whoever wins decides who sleeps where, right?"

Dean nodded and then they counted together as they moved their hands up and down.

"One, two, three!"

Dean's hand was in a fist – a rock.

Spike's was flat – paper.

"Ha! Paper beats rock," yelled Spike triumphantly.

"Damn! Best of three?" said Dean hopefully.

"As long as you give me your word that you won't argue with the result, when I win."

"Okay, okay – but you won't win."

Together they chanted. "One, two, three!"

Dean's hand was flat – paper.

Spike's hand was in the form of scissors.

"I win," smirked Spike.

"Holy crap, I suck at this! Best of five."

"Oh, no. You gave me your word. What I say about the sleeping arrangements goes."

Dean sighed. "So, I'm on the floor?"

Grinning broadly, Spike said. "Nope. You're on the right side of the bed and I'm on the left."

Scuttling backwards a couple of strides, Dean shook his head frantically. "Uh, uh…no freaking way."

"Your word…" reminded Spike.

"I'm keeping my jeans on and you do too!" Dean replied, looking anywhere but at Spike.

"Deal." Spike sat on the bed and leaned down to pick up the bottle he'd bought in the bar. I think I saw a couple of beakers in the bathroom – want to go get them?"

"Hell, yes!" If Dean was to survive this very strange night, he needed to get well and truly wasted.


Spike watched the human slowly drink himself into a stupor and soon was wincing at the sheer volume of Dean's snores. Usually a light sleeper, Spike wasn't too worried about kipping next to a hunter and so, as dawn was beginning to hint at the fact it might break, he snuggled down into the bed.

Woken by a loud banging, Spike opened his eyes, and blinked blearily. He didn't want to move. He was all comfy, and cosy and …warm. A grin split his face as he realised he was laying half over his bed mate in much the same way that Drusilla used to do with him. Before he could fully appreciate the fact, Dean woke up and let out a blood curdling cry before shooting backwards so fast that he fell off the bed.

"Wha…you…wha…" Dean's mouth opened like a fish and made about as much sense.

"Not a morning person, I see," said Spike, laying back and cupping his hands behind his head. "Answer the door then, mate, seeing as you're up."

The banging recommenced.

Dean staggered to his feet and groaned as his head decided to choose that moment to wake up too. He opened the door and squinted against the bright light.

"Yeah?" he muttered.

"Jake over at the bar said that you boys needed a tow truck? I can take you out there and bring them back. Can load one on the truck and tow the other behind it – save you money that way," said a tall, lanky man whose hair was as greasy as his hands.

"Um…yeah…right…give us a minute and we'll be out. Er…thanks."

"No problem. I'll wait in the truck."

Dean was already closing the door. "Who made it so fucking bright out there?" he grumbled as he searched for his boots and shirt.

Spike reached into the pocket of his duster, took out some cash and tossed it on the bed. "Here – that should cover my share. Ask him to get the Desoto on the road by tonight. Don't care what it looks like. I'll fix it up later."

Dean stared at him.

"What?" asked Spike, frowning.

"You don't care what your wheels look like when you drive her?"

"Not especially, no. Got places to be, can't hang around here 'til she's fixed, much as I enjoy your company."

He gave Dean a bit of a leer that had the human gritting his teeth. Pointing at Spike he said, "We'll talk about the freaking snuggling! And get your lazy ass out of bed and come help with the cars."

"I'm not going out there in that sun – without my cream I'm bound to freckle and it'd ruin the image, yeah? 'Sides, if the truck's anything like the one last night, we'd have to snuggle to fit in. So still want me to come?"

Dean was out of the room before he'd finished the sentence. Spike lay back and closed his eyes, letting his natural nocturnal tendencies ease him back to sleep.


Spike was woken when something hit his chest. He was off the bed and standing fists raised in an instant.

"Whoa, dude! Relax," said Dean. He nodded towards the bed. "Brought you some lunch."

Spike glanced across and smiled sheepishly. Lying in the middle of the bed was a take out paper bag. He'd overreacted for sure, but vamps were pretty sensitive about things hitting their chests.

Dean sat on the bed and opened his bag. "Double bacon cheeseburger. Fries and a side of onion rings."

Dru had never understood Spike's liking of human food, but he still enjoyed the taste and as long as it wasn't everyday, he didn't get any unpleasant side effects.

"You ever had one of those deep fried onion blossom things?" he asked as he sat down and began to eat.

"Awesome," said Dean around a large bite of burger. "They're freaking awesome."

Sighing happily as he picked up an onion ring, Spike wondered whether he should sire Dean. He liked the bloke and he'd be fun to hang out with. Nah, leave him be. Spike wasn't sure why it didn't seem right but it didn't. He'd leave as soon as it was dark.

"So what's the score with the car then?"

"Not as bad as they looked – well apart from the obvious dents – no really major damage. My radiator's busted and you've got a couple of flat tyres and the suspension looks shot on the nearside. Johnny said your's will be ready today. I'm heading out to his garage to see if I can beat some of the dents out. Get the old girl looking pretty again."

Spike nodded. "Cool."

"Sure you don't want to work on yours? Maybe get you on the road sooner?"

"I'll leave it in Johnny's capable hands. Come and get me later, okay?"

Dean nodded.

Their meal finished, Dean left for the garage and Spike turned on the TV in the hope of catching a good show.


As dusk began to fall, Spike began to get restless. He was getting hungry and the need to hunt was making him twitch. Cocking his head to one side as he heard footsteps, Spike dashed to stand behind the door as it opened.


Dean didn't get the chance to say anything else as Spike hit him over the head with the table lamp. He dragged Dean's inert body to the bed and whistled as he put his plan into action.

It was an hour before Dean began to stir. Spike stood watching him. The human's eyes flickered open and a smile began to form on his lips when he spotted Spike. But as he tried to move, he found that he was tied securely to the bed.

"What the hell are you playing at?" he snarled, bucking against his restraints. "Jesus!" he added when he saw that he was stark bollock naked.

"Relax. Nothing else is gonna happen to you," said Spike walking a little closer. "I paid for another night. Then I called that brother of yours and told him to come to pick you up."

"What? You called Sammy? How do you know his number?" Dean yanked again and let out a string of curses when if anything the bindings got tighter.

Spike waved Dean's mobile phone at him. "Bloody clever these are, aren't they?"

"But, there's no signal!"

"Are you really that thick? You've got lots of numbers in the memory – remarkably few women – are you sure you're not…"

"Fuck you!"

Leaning down towards him, Spike said, "If I really thought you would, I'd let you!" Laughing as he straightened up. "Where was I? Oh, yeah – your brother. He didn't seem too surprised by the fact that you were in trouble when I called him on the payphone outside.

"I will kick your ass, when I get out of here. I will hunt you down and I will kill you – you bastard."

"Yeah, you'll try – 'cause that's what you do, isn't it - hunt demons?"

Dean scowled. "What do you mean?"

Spike ran his tongue over his teeth. By the time it had moved from left to right, his fangs had dropped. He winked one of his amber eyes at Dean.

"I am one – you idiot! Vampire, yeah? Evil, bloodsucking fiend!"


"I know – I seemed such a nice fella. Well, I am – sometimes. I like you, Dean. I really do. Thought about turning you – but we'd only have ended up arguing over whose car we drove. But, I've started to feel peckish, and so if I'm not going to end up eating you – I've got to go."

Dean's eyes were wide and his breath rattled harshly in his chest as Spike knelt on the bed beside him.

"But first, I'm just gonna have to have a taste."

Dean shuddered violently as the vampire slowly licked along the line of his jugular vein.

"This might hurt a little," Spike whispered in Dean's ear.

Dean tensed and grunted as the fangs sank into his flesh. It hurt but then…holy cow it felt good – so good that he moaned as Spike withdrew and ran his tongue over the wound.

"Be seeing you, Dean."

Spike let his features shift back to human and smiled at him sweetly.

"Been nice getting to know you." He smirked. "Maybe next time you'll let me take things a bit further – little Dean looks all perky."

"What?" Dean looked down, but he didn't really need to see it to know that he was hard. "Son of a bitch!"

Spike's laughter rang in his ears as the vampire swaggered out of the motel room, flicking on the TV as he passed.

Dean let his head flop back and groaned. Porn. The bastard had the TV tuned to porn. He wondered what the hell Sam would make of this when he got there.

Oh, Christ, don't let him bring Bobby!

The End