Xander sat with head leaning against the window, staring at nothing as Giles steered the bus down the two-lane road away from the crater that was once Sunnydale. Dawn’s murmured question, “What are we going to do now?” and Buffy’s enigmatic smile in return were foremost on his mind. 

What was he going to do now? 

For the last seven years, he’d fought at Buffy’s side – but not without sacrifice. Jesse. Anya. Both had been victims in the battle against evil. He wasn’t without his own share of battle scars. None of them were. 

His hand unconsciously lifted to make sure the patch over his left eye was firmly in place. A shudder went through him as his hand ghosted over the hollowed-out socket; he still couldn’t bring himself to look at the damage done by Caleb. 

He never told anyone about the nightmares he still had. How he’d awaken, drenched in sweat. The sound of his flesh literally wrenching as his eyeball gave way under the pressure of Caleb’s finger. 

The bus gave a shudder and lurch, jolting Xander’s head away from the window. He glanced around at the others – his friends – on the bus. Buffy and Dawn were sitting with their heads bent together. Buffy was crying softly while Dawn awkwardly patted her shoulder – the two no doubt reminiscing on a glaringly absent blond vampire. Willow was huddled with Kennedy, their lips locked together as if to affirm they were still among the living. Faith was sitting with Wood, his head resting on her lap. She had a smile on her face and wonder in her eyes. She looked good, he thought. Giles was at the helm, Andrew in the seat directly behind him. There were curse words aplenty issuing forth from the watcher’s lips as he browbeat the bus into submission. 

A reluctant smile came to Xander’s face. These were his friends, the family he’d always wanted. A father in Giles. Sisters in Buffy, Willow, and Dawn. The crazy, psychotic ex in Faith, and who couldn’t consider themselves a man without at least one – though she was now supposedly reformed and, by the looks of things, eager to settle down in relationship bliss with Wood. 

As if sensing his regard, she looked up and gifted him with a smirk. He just smiled and shook his head. Turned away and went back to gazing out the window. 

The only thing lacking in his life was someone of his own. He’d had his chance with Anya. Glorious, outspoken Anyanka. The ex-demon that had taken to her human life with such zeal. Such life. 

Maybe that was why he’d clung to her for as long as he had. He loved the idea of being in love with Anya. Ignored the fact that she’d latched onto him because he was the first guy she’d encountered, the loss of demonhood rebound guy. He had no doubt that if she’d never come to him, naked, wanting to “interlock parts” that she would have gotten on just fine with some other lucky man. 

A part of him wished she would have done just that. Maybe then, she’d still be alive. 

And he’d not be grieving her loss. Silently. Alone. 

At some point, his adrenaline must have worn off and he’d fallen asleep. When the bus came to a jolting stop, he lifted his head away from the window and realized that they were in some city. 

Los Angeles, he overheard someone saying. 

Everyone was clamoring to get off the bus, murmurs of it being Angel’s hotel bouncing up and down the line. Xander waited for the mass exodus before finally standing and exiting himself. As the others made their way to the front entrance, Xander turned and walked off to the right. 

No one saw him leave. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Xander stood outside the monstrosity of a castle and wondered, not for the first time, how he’d come to be here. He knocked and managed not to fidget as the door was answered by a dour-looking butler. 

He’d learned all about thralls and mind control in the wake of Kendra’s death and Giles’ kidnapping; Drusilla had been a master at it. But then, the vampire he was currently being led to was far older than Spike’s crazy ex. More famous too. 

When he came face to face with the legendary vamp, it felt like he was coming home. A smile lit up Dracula’s face, and Xander felt infused with a sense of rightness, of well-being. 

“Manservant!” 

Xander cringed and immediately frowned. “The name’s Xander.” 

“Of course it is, Manservant.” 

Xander didn’t like the placating tone of the vampire, or the fact that Dracula had yet to say his name. He’d obviously made a mistake in coming, but then, he’d never made a conscious decision to come here. It had just been a feeling he’d gotten while roaming the plains of Africa, searching for… something. That thought had crystallized until he’d wound up here. Staring down the vamp that had made him his own personal buttmonkey. 

“The name’s Xander. And if you can’t use it, I’m outta here.” 

He turned around to do just that and jumped back as the door to Dracula’s study slammed shut like a great gust of wind had gotten hold. 

“I— apologize, Xander. Come. Sit. Would you like something to drink?” 

Xander hesitated, glanced over his shoulder and saw Dracula indicating the chair in front of his desk, face devoid of all expression. All the while knowing he was going to regret it, Xander reluctantly sat down and took the glass held out to him, and that only because the liquid was amber in color as opposed to red. The last thing he planned on doing was drinking Dracula’s blood. 

“You don’t look so well, Man— I mean, Xander. You should be celebrating with the Slayer and the others, not sitting here on the other side of the globe.” 

“How did you—?” Xander began before cutting himself off abruptly. As old as Dracula was, there was no way he couldn’t not know of the Hellmouth’s closing and The First’s defeat. Spike had once claimed that the demon grapevine was better than CNN when it came to relaying news. He’d scoffed at the time. Told Spike he was full of shit, if he remembered right. But, then, he’d done that a lot to Spike – belittled and ridiculed him. 

Spike had had the last laugh though, going out in a blaze of glory to save mankind. He was probably driving the angels to distraction in heaven, playing pool, smoking up a storm, muttering about how his wings messed up how his duster settled around his shoulders and the halo detracted from his Big Bad image. At least Xander hoped that was what he was doing. It would suck if Spike was actually roasting away in Hell. 

Maybe when he finally broke down and called Willow, he’d ask if she was able to find out. 

Xander leaned back in his chair and swallowed his drink down in one. Didn’t even wince at the slight burn to his throat – he’d grown used to it in the last few weeks. He shrugged his shoulder at Drac’s quirked brow. 

After that, nothing was said as the bottle was systematically drained between the two. 

At some point between the second and third bottle, Xander passed out, his empty glass falling soundlessly to the carpeted floor. He didn’t feel strong, yet surprisingly gentle hands left him out of his chair and carry him up the winding staircase, later depositing him on the bed in the room next to the owner’s. 

For once his sleep was deep, untroubled by the nightmares that plagued him constantly. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Xander stayed a month at Dracula’s home. He was oblivious to the wistful looks cast his way by the vampire, but then, he wasn’t much for company. Instead walking the halls of the deserted castle at all hours of the day and night. 

Dracula gave him a week before he had put his metaphorical foot down and required Xander’s presence at every meal, and a few days after that, for an hour in the study before bedtime. 

Xander grudgingly gave in, not questioning the vampire’s influence. 

Mealtimes were awkward; silence dominated the large dining room, though it wasn’t like the two could carry on a decent conversation without yelling down the length of the table since they were situated at either end. In the study, Dracula talked about his past, in a general sense – the places he’d visited, the things he’d witnessed happen. Xander didn’t respond, or even encourage the stories, but he enjoyed them, nevertheless. 

Xander was there two weeks before Dracula’s demanded hour ended up lasting the entire night. Made no comment when his place setting suddenly found its way to Dracula’s right side the next day. Soon he was keeping “vamp hours” – asleep during the day, awake all night. 

It was during that last week that Xander finally broke down and talked about Anya. He cried during the telling, perhaps for the first time since he’d left his friends behind in Los Angeles. Nothing was left out – their initial meeting, his friends’ reluctant acceptance of the ex-demon’s place in his life, the wedding that wasn’t, his guilt at her death, his questionable feelings for her right up until the very end. 

And Dracula listened, listened to him blame himself and not try to make excuses for his behavior. Let him cleave to his guilt like a tangible thing. 

It was what Xander needed in order to make peace with himself and move on. To lay Anya to rest and return to his friends. 

“You’ll be leaving now?” Dracula inquired quietly as they sat side by side, staring out over the grounds. The sun was due to rise in an hour. 

“My bag is already packed,” Xander confirmed, his voice equally low. 

“Do you need—?” 

“No.” 

Xander reached out and squeezed Dracula’s hand, taking comfort from his “master” – though the vampire hadn’t once demanded anything from the bond. Soothing the sting of his denial with the touch. 

“I will miss you, Manservant.” 

“Xander.” 

“Xander,” Dracula acknowledged with a slight tilt of his head. 

“Will you return?” 

“No. Maybe. Buffy’s my friend. She wouldn’t understand.” 

“I could make you stay.” 

“But you won’t.” 

“I won’t.” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Dracula watched Xander walk out his front door into the sunlight, back to his friends. He stood in the shaded entryway until Xander was but a speck of dust on the horizon, then he turned and made his way into his study and proceeded to drink himself into a stupor. 

He was a fool to let the boy go, but knew it was for the best – at least for now. 

Xander would have to come to him willingly. 

Until then, he’d wait.

The End 

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