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It rained the day of Giles’ funeral.  

Xander didn’t bother with an umbrella. Just huddled in his parka, hands shoved down in his pockets. His hair was plastered to his skull, drenched. So, too, was his face. But that was alright as it hid his tears. Tears he’d been unable to shed before now.  

Buffy stood to his right, the only indication of her grief the way she clung to her sister beneath the umbrella they shared and stared at the wooden casket in front of her. Willow was on his left quietly crying; Kennedy had one supportive arm around her shoulder, the other held an umbrella. Behind him stood a sentry of slayers and council members, all come to pay their last respects. 

The preacher finished his sermon and the group reluctantly turned away and walked to their respective vehicles. The plan was to return to Headquarters, eat their way through the massive amounts of food that had been accumulating the last few days, and remember the watcher. 

“Come on, Xander,” Buffy called out when he continued to stand there. 

He vaguely heard Willow murmur something to her about him needing a minute. Of all of them, Willow was the only one to have guessed at his and Giles’ relationship, but she didn’t know for sure. He and Giles had never come out and said they were together, but there’d been signs, the most glaring of which was him moving into Giles’ townhouse and not returning to Africa. Neither had wanted to deal with the possible weirdness with their friends. Later, they’d both promised. Only now there would be no later. Giles was… gone. 

Xander wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring at what would be Giles’ final resting place before he said one final goodbye and walked off. 

He didn’t join the others. Instead, he returned home, grabbed his passport and threw some clothes into a small duffle bag. With Giles dead – gone, his mind cried again – there was no way he could stay there anymore. No way he could stay in London anymore.  

Too many memories. 

He was on his way out the front door when something caught his attention and he detoured into the living room.

On the mantle above the fireplace were many pictures. Buffy. Willow. Dawn. His family. His and Giles’. 

The one he couldn’t look away from, though, was the picture of him and Giles together. They were both smiling at the camera; Giles had his arm slung loosely around Xander’s shoulder.  

It took Xander a moment to remember where it had been taken, and a wistful smile came to his lips when he did. Dawn’s high school graduation. They’d had a picnic afterwards in the park. Dawn had received a new digital camera as a graduation present from Buffy and had spent most of the time running around taking pictures of everyone. Giles and he had happened to be standing together talking about something when she’d bounded up to them, demanding they pose.  

Xander picked up the picture and ran his finger over Giles’ face. Before he could change his mind, he quickly shoved it in his bag.    

Stifling a sob, he turned and practically ran out of the townhouse. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“Manservant.” 

Xander’s shoulders slumped. He should have known that his staying in the small town outside Dracula’s castle would not have gone unnoticed by the vampire. Still, he couldn’t not come; it was just a feeling he had. A sense of home, of belonging. Something he’d not felt in the two years he’d left London behind and disappeared… back to the wilds of Africa and into a bottle.  

He felt a hand on his shoulder, felt it tighten briefly when he said, “Dracula” in acknowledgement of the vampire’s presence. The hand retreated and Xander knew that was his cue to stand. He reluctantly pushed the chair back and stood, weaving slightly as he did, the alcohol he’d consumed making him unsteady on his feet.  

The trip back to Dracula’s home was made in silence.  

Xander still hadn’t said anything as he followed behind a simpering servant as he was led upstairs to his room. He could feel Dracula’s displeasure as he walked behind him, but didn’t much care. He was drunk and not up for conversation.  

“I will see you tomorrow evening,” Dracula said as they stopped before the door to Xander’s room. 

Xander grunted as it was opened for him by Dracula’s servant and he made a beeline for the bed. 

“Manservant. Manservant!” Dracula snapped the second time when Xander didn’t acknowledge him. The servant had wisely disappeared. 

“What?”  

“There’s no call for such rudeness.” 

Xander sighed and reluctantly turned around. “You’re right. Look, I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow night, alright?” 

“Very well. I’ll bid you good evening.” 

Dracula left, pulling the door closed behind him.

“My name’s Xander, not Manservant,” Xander muttered under his breath. He quickly stripped out of his clothes, climbed into bed, and was asleep moments later. 

For once his dreams were untroubled. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Dracula let himself into Xander’s room in the early hours of the morning.  

He’d tried to stay away and give the boy his space, at least for the night, but after five years, three of them that Xander spent in the company of another man, and he knew it would be impossible.  

Dracula rationalized his nocturnal visit as him wanting to see for himself that the boy was alright. The alcoholic fumes pouring off Xander had been easily discernable, even without preternatural senses. It was as if he’d been trying to drink himself to death, the sooner the better. He was skin and bones, worse than the first time Xander had shown up at his door. 

‘No more,’ Dracula thought as he stretched out on the bed beside the boy and ran a hand through Xander’s hair, brushing it away from his face. Xander stirred, mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep, but didn’t waken. 

“Sleep,” Dracula murmured, and gently soothed the slight furrow between Xander’s brows. 

He’d given Xander two years to work through his grief over the Watcher’s death before finally intervening, determined to end the boy’s self-destructive behavior. The pull he’d exhibited had been subtle, but no less compelling, forcing Xander to his side.  

Now he was here, and Dracula wasn’t going to make the same mistake by letting him leave a second time.  

The downstairs clock chimed six o’clock and Dracula knew it was time to seek his own bed. Before he left, he leaned over and kissed Xander’s neck, then couldn’t resist taking a small taste. The blood was bittersweet, still liberally laced with the alcohol the boy had consumed. But, the flavor was distinctly Xander.  

Something he’d craved even when he’d been pursuing the Slayer those many years ago. He regretted not taking Xander with him when he left Sunnydale after his showdown with the Slayer; Xander’s life had been hard in the aftermath of his absence – an almost-marriage to a former vengeance demon, his home sinking into a crater, the situation with the watcher.  

Xander moaned in his sleep and Dracula was hard-pressed to make himself stop. It would be a simple matter to turn Xander now and keep him by his side forever. He took one last swallow and reluctantly pulled back to stare down at the boy. There was a slight smile on his face; the lines of tension around his mouth and eyes were gone. 

Dracula caressed Xander’s cheek and carefully removed the patch from his eye, tossing the scrap of leather on the table beside the bed. His temper flared at seeing the sunken eye socket firsthand – he’d known, of course, as there wasn’t a thing that the boy did that he didn’t find out about eventually – and if the Slayer had not already killed Caleb, he would have sought the preacher out and exacted his own revenge. 

And he would have been far less merciful than she had been.  

“Good night, Xander,” he whispered, then kissed him softly on the lips before leaving. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Xander fingered the marks on his neck as he lay in bed and sighed. He wasn’t sure returning to Dracula’s home had been such a good idea. But, he’d come when he’d been mixed up over Giles’ seeming one night stand; it seemed only right that he come at the man’s death.  

Dracula had been, if not exactly supportive, a good listener. Now, feeling the evidence of the vampire’s bite, Xander had to wonder at his ulterior motives.  

Strangely, he didn’t seem all that upset by them. Not anymore. 

For one thing, he’d woken without his customary hangover. He was also – surprise of surprises – hungry. Starving, in fact. Like he’d not eaten in weeks, or months. In truth, he really hadn’t; a bottle had been his source of nourishment since leaving London behind and returning to Africa. That had been his coping mechanism. 

Like father, like son. 

Pushing that thought from his mind, he climbed out of bed and walked naked into the bathroom. He bypassed the mirror not wanting to see how truly awful he looked. Sober for the first time in what seemed like forever, he could actually feel the dirt and sweat that clung to him like a second skin, smell it too. A shower would do away with the worst of the mess, thankfully, and he turned on the water and stepped beneath the spray. 

Looking at the dirty water as it ran into the drain, Xander had to wonder how he’d been served at all, let alone been given a place to lay his head once the alcohol finally did its job enough so that he could fall into a mind-numbing coma. He had to wash his hair three times before it felt clean. The bar of soap was but a sliver when he was finally through scrubbing his body. The water had long since run cold. 

When he emerged from the bathroom clad only in a towel, he wasn’t surprised to see the bed remade, hopefully with fresh sheets, and new clothes laid out for him to wear. Dracula’s servants were nothing if not efficient.  

He pushed aside the creepy feeling he got that the vampire knew way more about him than he probably should. 

Xander dressed in the t-shirt and jeans, retrieved his patch and settled it over his eye socket before leaving his room to explore. He wouldn’t have bothered with the patch, but he wasn’t up to hearing the servants screaming in horror just yet. He could be the freak show some other day. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

The place hadn’t changed all that much in the years he’d been gone. The garden he found himself in was just as lovely as before, and Xander sat down and availed himself of the late afternoon sun. A servant appeared almost immediately with a tray of food and left before he could say thank you. 

His eye wandered as he ate, subconsciously seeking out the room he knew to be Dracula’s. He thought he saw the curtains flutter but figured it was his imagination. The sun was still out and he doubted very much that Dracula would be up, let alone risk getting singed by spying on him. 

Xander finished his lunch then settled back in his chair to wait out the rest of the day. 

It would be time soon enough for his meeting with Dracula. 

Beside, he wasn’t quite sure he was going to live to see another sunrise and wanted to make the most of what might be his last one. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Epilogue 

Xander wasn’t turned, at least not yet. The yet being relative. Dracula, for the first time in, well, ever, seemed to have a thing about having his – Xander’s – permission, and he had yet to actually give it. He was content, for now, to be among the living, a first since Giles had died.  

Dracula was content to let him.  

What he did get was a visit from Buffy, armed to the nines and wielding her scythe. How she’d found out where he was staying was anyone’s guess. Xander had a sneaky suspicion it had been Dracula. He seemed to have a thing for unresolved issues, Xander’s specifically. 

He’d been subject to her “what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” lecture followed by the “why didn’t you tell us about Giles” guilt trip. Fun times. Not! She’d left, finally, after he’d promised her that he wouldn’t do anything “drastic” – he’d had his fingers crossed behind his back at the time – and because, try as she might, she’d been unsuccessful in her attempts to stake Dracula. A source of amusement for the vampire. 

Xander just thanked god for small favors. 

Willow had been the next to show. She’d been much more diplomatic in her attempts to deal with Dracula. A shovel had been mentioned. There’d been hugs afterwards, for Xander, at least. And the resolve-face. Something about him visiting London. Preferably while he was still alive.  

He’d caved, but only after a brief nod from Dracula.  

Things settled down into relative quiet once Willow was gone, something he’d come to appreciate in the months he’d been there. Dracula was an exemplary host, his small bevy of servants were as perfect in their duties as they were unobtrusive in their presence.  

Xander was sitting in the study late one afternoon when Dracula found him. Surprised him really, given the time. Dracula was very adamant about keeping what he considered vampire hours. He didn’t say anything other than a polite “Good evening, Manservant,” as he settled in the chair next to Xander and retrieved the book he’d been reading the night before from the table next to it. 

“Hey,” Xander mumbled back. 

They sat in companionable silence, broken only by the occasional pop and hiss of the fireplace. The servants were discreetly absent. Xander concentrated on his crossword puzzle for a time but soon gave it up, too distracted by the vampire sitting next to him. 

“Why did you let me go? Before, I mean,” Xander asked. He’d been wondering for some time now, but had been too afraid to ask. What he didn’t say was easily understood: back to Giles. 

“You were not ready to remain with me, as much as I might have wished otherwise. The watcher… complicated things.” 

“And now?” 

Dracula’s hands tightened on the book he held but he said nothing. 

“Dracula?” 

“Do you wish to leave, Manservant?” 

“No, and it’s Xander, not Manservant.” 

“Xander,” Dracula allowed, somewhat stiffly. 

“Well, it’s not like I serve you, is it? So you may as well call me by my name.” 

Dracula frowned in his direction, but didn’t refute what Xander had said.  

A servant knocked then and at Dracula’s “enter!”, swept into the room to announce dinner. Xander stood, as did Dracula, and together they walked towards the door.  

Xander’s mind was still troubled, however. No, not troubled. But as if he couldn’t get the last piece of the puzzle to fit. 

“Would you let me leave now if I wanted to?” he asked abruptly and found himself pinned up against a bookcase, Dracula’s face mere inches from his own.  

He felt a thumb trace the healed bite marks on his neck and closed his eye as a shudder wracked his body. 

“No, Xander, I would not,” Dracula murmured, as he leaned in and replaced his thumb with his mouth. Bit down just hard enough to break the skin when Xander hissed, “Yes!”

The End

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