And Never Die

by D. M. Evans


Pairing: Dru/Spike
Rating: R
Summary: Spike and Dru meet an old friend at Woodstock who makes them an offer they can't refuse.
A/N: All lyrics are from The Who's "Heaven and Hell".

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 Complete


Part 1: Dancing with the Stars

On top of the sky is a place where you go
if you've done nothing wrong,
If you've done nothing wrong.

***

"I'm dancing with the stars," Dru giggled, rolling in the wet grass and mud. Her peasant skirt with its soft red roses on white scooted up her legs. She and Spike were at the very tail end of the mass of people thronging the stage and the rolling grounds around it. They had stolen their clothing and their new vehicle the night before, taking the time to drop the bodies in a millstream not too far away hoping they wouldn't be found. Afterwards they headed for the real action at Woodstock.

The vampires had rarely seen so many people at one time; the urge to turn into gluttons was amazing. They had waded into the mass soon after dark but there were so many bodies rubbing together it had spooked Dru so Spike had fought their way back to the fringes of the crowd. He had to agree, it was disconcerting.

Spike laughed watching his hands move in the air above him as he lay on a blanket under the stars. The wetness soaked through to his skin but he couldn't care less. His large hands fluttered to The Who's Heaven and Hell. "I'm sure you are, ducks. I can see the music. It's coming from the tips of my fingers," Spike replied, pulling her back onto the blanket with him just as a trio of half-naked, painted-faced girls danced by.

"We should feed off flower children all the time," Dru bubbled, struggled to her feet.

"I'm not sure I can handle this all the time, Dru," Spike said, glancing toward the tree line. He snickered as the trees shot upward like multicolored missiles and dissolved into a shower of sparkles. He never had sensations like this in his long life. It was amazing. He wanted paper to write it all down on so he couldn't lose a drop of it.

He watched Dru gyrating to The Who's music, seemingly entranced. A white light emanated from her lithe body as she moved with the music. It changed colors with the beat, whirling around her like smoke. The love beads around her swan-like neck made a counterpoint to the movement of her hips. Spike watched the colors flow and ebb like the tide until Dru dissolved into nothingness. Her name tore harshly out of his throat and she winked back into view, her arms snaking around, motioning for him to join her.

Spike got up and dusted off his bell-bottoms and fished for his fags tucked into his fringed vest as The Who launched into Acid Queen. The cigarettes were wet and resistant to his attempts to light them.

"Here, man."

Spike glanced over at the mortal man offering him a smoke. From the sickly sweet smell he knew it wasn't tobacco. He took the joint with a grateful nod. "Thanks."

"Your woman?" The man nodded at Dru, his long mud-brown hair swaying.

"Yes," Spike said and something in his voice warned the other man off. He faded back into the crowd.

Spike went up to Dru and offered her the joint. While she puffed, he took her in his arms, moving with her as she danced. The soft cotton of her muddy dress felt good under his hands and it clung wetly to her body in spots. Dru handed him back the joint as two blondes, sisters maybe, with flowers ringing their heads, beckoned to her. Spike watched them all dance. All he wanted was to grab Dru away and throw her to the ground. He'd take the blondes, too. He didn't mind sharing but something was odd, beyond the fact that all three women's arms had melded into one large ring. His groin felt strange and heavy. He rubbed at his crotch, feeling three dicks, one for each girl. He dropped the joint into the mud with a startled cry. Dru hurried over to him.

"What's wrong, Spike?" Her hands caressed his face.

"I think I've grown extra cocks!"

Dru giggled and reached between his legs. "Doesn't feel like that to me. Just one, all sweet like flowers, feels like a maypole."

He pulled her back toward the blanket. "Maybe it wasn't such a bloody good idea to snack from hippies," he grumbled, embarrassed at the things his mind was trying to convince him of.

Dru just purred and nipped at his shoulder. He took her to the ground, bunching her dress up over her hips. She tugged off his shirt and vest at the same time, he having to fight to get free of them. No one even so much as looked at them as he pushed her dress up further so he could play with her pert breasts. Her nipples hardened as he sucked hungrily on one then the other. Her hands tore at his pants. He sat up long enough to worm them off. As The Who started "Smash the Mirror", Spike's lips trailed down to the cool wetness between her legs. She moaned, her fingernails cutting into his shoulders as he rose up and dived into her. His hair flopped into his eyes with his rhythmic motions. Maybe he'd have to cut it. He had tried to be fashionable and let it grow. Instead of long flowing tresses he ended up with a blond Afro that caused strangers to shove the 'Black power' fist in his general direction.

At some point in their lovemaking, Dru turned into a woman made entirely of roses but Spike decided not to tell her that. She might start giggling at him again. He woke up, he didn't know how much later after round two, feeling somewhat exposed and starting to mind it. He struggled back into his wet pants. Dru sat up, wiggling to get her dress back down around her.

"I smell sunshine," she said over the music of Jefferson Airplane.

Spike nodded. "It's coming. We'd better get inside."

He led her back to the green and white VW van they had taken from their kill. It had plywood with peace symbols painted on it over the windshield. They had found enough coverings for the other windows that it was relatively light proof. They snuggled down completely mummified in the sleeping bags. It wasn't the best shelter but Spike felt like living dangerously.

They woke to someone banging on the tailgate of the van. Spike felt horrible. Vampires shouldn't be able to get hung over as far as he was concerned.

"I'm eating whoever this is," he grumbled.

"Share, my sweet." Dru ran a languid hand over his bare buttocks as he struggled up.

Spike flung the door open, feeling the sun was down. Standing there was a blonde in an "Indian" suede halter-top and fringed pants. She smirked at him.

"I thought I saw you two. Nice hair, William. You look like a dandelion," she said.

"Ooo, it's Grandmummy. Invite her in," Dru ordered, bouncing like a child presented with a treat.

Spike dropped back on his haunches, hanging his head. "Just what I bloody well needed. Darla."

She climbed inside. "Nice to see you, too."

"What are you doing here, Darla?" Spike grumbled.

"I was about to ask you the same." Darla stretched out her legs in front of her, wiggling her bare dirty feet.

Spike was surprised. Darla was usually so perfectly coiffed. The hippie look didn't suit her. It didn't really suit him either but Darla and Angelus, as much as Spike loathed to admit it, had taught him the importance of keeping up with fashion. Slayers and other vampire hunters could pick out vampires who were out of step with the times.

"Heard about all the people and thought, easy pickings," Spike said honestly.

"My Spike wanted to hear the music," Dru said, wiggling to the leftover tunes in her head.

Darla rolled her eyes and Spike growled seeing that expression. "Why are you here, Darla?"

"Same thing, looking for an easy meal," Darla said. "Spike, we have something called pants. Why don't you try them out?" Her eyes flicked to his lap and back up again.

He curled his lips at her but he pulled on clothes. "I don't believe you, Darla."

She shrugged, unimpressed with his suspicions. "Any reason?"

"This doesn't seem like your style, easy pickings or not," he replied, fluffing up his long hair. "What would Angelus say if he saw those feet? Could they be blacker?"

Darla tucked them up under herself, self-consciously. "Angelus isn't here. Last I saw he was dirtier and smellier than any of the hippies roaming around here."

"No kidding. Easy meals or not, these people reek," Spike said.

"Not breathing is good but you can't suck blood without smelling them." Dru wrinkled her nose, fluttering a hand on front of her face.

Spike pulled her close, kissing her as if in apology. "And I don't believe for a minute you're here for the stinkers so what's up, Darla?"

Darla pursed her lips, playing with her long blonde hair. "Why not? I might be able to use your help. I'm looking for the Wanateh Tome."

Spike's brow creased, making the scar over his eye twist. "Here? Isn't that a book that has a spell of immortality?"

"We already live forever, twinkling like the stars," Dru said, perplexed.

Darla gave her an impatient look. "I plan on selling it for a lot of money. I have bidders for that particular item."

"And you need us, why?" Spike sensed danger.

Darla hesitated. She almost changed her mind about the whole deal. "The Watchers' Council wants it, too."

Spike rocked back. "Not a smart idea going up against Watchers. You got them, you get Slayers."

"Is this the same man who dragged our family all the way to China just to hunt down a Slayer and kill her? What happened to your balls, Spike?" Darla showered him with a coquettish smile.

He frowned, his hand coming up to slap her but he thought better of it. "Didn't say I wouldn't fight her. I was just stating the obvious. It's not smart."

"And no one said my Spike was smart," Dru said.

Spike cocked his head to the side, his blue eyes opening wide. "Drusilla!"

She tucked her hands and chin to her chest. "It's true." She gave him a mischievous look.

He snagged her and kissed her quick. "Maybe so, since I'm considering helping Darla. Tell me how the trail to the text led here."

"Grady Grimshaw. He's the one who has the book. He's set himself up as some sort of magical guru. Probably into it for all the empty-headed chicks who flock around him waiting for the magic to start and all the great drugs he gets his hands on. How they force themselves to have sex with him, as fat and reeky as he is, I'll never know. How appropriate is it that he's working with the Hog Farm up here. He's a pig." Darla inspected her nails. They were a little too perfect for the image she was projecting.

"Hog Farm?" Spike asked, hopping out of the van for a smoke.

"That's what they're calling their soup kitchen," she replied.

"No book here," Dru said, her head lolling. "Sparkling lights, tall mirrors touching the sky and people everywhere. The book is there. Makes me all tingly just thinking of it."

"I think that's her way of saying he has the book stashed in New York City," Darla said and Spike's eyebrows rose. "And I agree. The only reason he'd bring it here would be to impress his flock but I think even this idiot knows better than to bring the tome to a concert. Too many people and no safe places to hide it."

"But he could be thinking free sex and a whole host of new girls to impress, free stores all around, no need to fear being robbed. That's not their way." Spike glanced back at Dru. "But if my pet says it's not here, it's not."

Darla nodded, slithering back out of the van. Mud squished up between her toes. "I trust nothing about either of you except for Drusilla's visions."

"Isn't Grandmummy kind?" Dru asked, also getting out of the van. She giggled as the mud tickled her toes and wormed her feet in deeper, playing like a child.

Darla patted Spike's cheek. "Talk to her, dandelion. If she calls me that again I'll cut out her tongue and nail it to a tree."

Dru growled and Spike put a restraining hand on her even though he really wanted to let her tear Darla apart. The lure of Darla's prize gave him the strength to be calm. "Play nice. As much as I'd love to watch a cat fight this isn't the place for it." He stared at the mud, giving it an experimental tromp. "Then again."

Darla looked at him like he was a lugee hawked up on the sidewalk. "You'd get off on that, wouldn't you?"

Spike made a show of licking his lips. "Oh, you bet I would."

"I have to be nuts to want to include you two in this," Darla moaned.

"Snack first?" Spike ignored the insult.

"Why not?"

They picked off the three closest women and popped them into the van once they were drained. As Blood, Sweat & Tears' "I Love You Baby More Than You Ever Know" floated over the field the three vampires made their way to the soup line. In hindsight, waiting like the rest of the humans would have been the better bet. But Darla was never one for waiting.

Spike spotted the man who had to be Grimshaw. Darla was right. Pig was a good word for him. Spike could smell him from where he was. He had a florid round face that oozed oil. His thinning blond hair was pulled into a greasy tail. A spotted and stained orange and yellow caftan that seemed inadequate to contain his bulk, trailed in the wet grass. He had more rolls than a bakery truck under the straining fabric. The round wire-rimmed glasses perched on his wide nose completed the piggy image.

What bothered Spike was the look of fear and recognition in Grimshaw's squinty eyes. Either he had spells that could alert him to demons or he already knew Darla. He heaved his bulk across the food tent intending to run. Under normal circumstances Grimshaw wouldn't stand a prayer of outrunning three vampires but there were too many people for anyone to get around. Grimshaw picked up a few bulbs of garlic and started winging it at them as he ran.

"Bloody hell," Spike cried, batting one away.

Grimshaw grabbed a pot off the stove and whirled its contents into Darla's face. She shrieked as the soup scalded her, going to her knees, blinded. Grimshaw burst free of the kitchen tent and was off and waddling as fast as he could go. Spike and Dru propelled people out of their way, clearing a path. Neither bothered to stop for Darla. But the crowd was too thick and now confused and milling about like cattle after a kid tossed a firecracker over the fence. Someone slammed into Dru, knocking her down. As Spike scooped her up so she wouldn't be trampled, Grimshaw got into a delivery van and gunned it.

"Ah, fuck me," Spike muttered.

"Later," Dru said, rubbing at her muddy peasant skirt.

"He got away?" Darla asked, coming up behind them, her face red and blistered. There were a few people around her trying to convince her to go to the medical tent. She could barely refrain from going fangy on them.

"Yep. I can't run down a van. Any bright ideas now?" Spike snarled, trying to push free of the crowd.

Darla nodded then winced as the motion made her skin feel tight and painful. "I have a place in the Village. He lives down there somewhere, too. He has to be heading back there after the damn book. I know a wizard living there. He might have ways to track Grimshaw. He told me he'd be here but he thought Grimshaw wouldn't let the book out of his sight."

"Well, he was wrong. I'm sure he didn't belong to that delivery truck so his ride is here somewhere which is of course no help." Spike rumbled, frustrated. "We don't have a clue what it looks like."

"Back to our pretty van and roll on?" Dru asked.

"Yes. Let's get a move on. You can stay with me in the city," Darla said. "I'm going to kill him slowly for this." She gestured at her scalded face.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't," Spike said, striding off toward the van.

"And Spike, if you're going to be seen with me that dandelion afro has to go," Darla said and he shot her the two-fingered salute.

"Grandmummy can cut your hair and make you beautiful, Spike," Dru said.

He sighed. The last thing he needed was Darla working on his hair. She was likely to do something embarrassing to him knowing he had no way of seeing it. "We'll see, ducks."


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