They gaped at each other wildly for a few seconds, then Alex closed his eyes briefly, struggling for control. "Ok, calm down. It was just a dream, right? Dreams are normal."

Wil scooted closer to him. "Yeah, but, the same one? At the same time? And what was with the jungle thing?"

"I don't think that was a jungle," Alex corrected with a grin. "Jungles are warmer than that."

"It was still weird," Wil retorted with a slight pout.

"It was a fluke. That's all. Let' just...go back to sleep."

"You sure?"

Alex pulled Wil to him, hugging the vampire close. He kissed the top of his head softly. "What else could it be?"

Wil sighed. "'Kay then." He yawned and let his eyes drift shut.

*****

Al tied his horse up to the hitching post outside the tavern, then walked down the dusty streets of the small town toward the mercantile. He was short on supplies, but flush with...newly appropriated wealth. He figured he could make a quick stop someplace where he most likely wouldn't be recognized, load up on the necessary goods, then hole up somewhere until things cooled down a bit.

He moved through the cluttered aisles of the shop, methodically picking out food, clothing and ammunition. Quickly, eyes kept downcast, he paid for his things, then strolled casually back outside. Al figured he could stop for a quick drink before heading out of town, and his mouth began to water at the thought of getting himself a few pints of decent whisky.

A commotion across the street momentarily drew his attention. It was just enough time for him to miss seeing the other person walking his direction. The young man, also focusing on the scene across the street, plowed right into him, sending Al's supplies tumbling to the dirt.

Al cursed under his breath as he bent to retrieve them.

"Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry. I didn't see you. Are you all right? Let me help with that." Slim, uncalloused hands began to scoop up Al's things, making a neat pile of them.

"Yeah, sure, no problem. I'm fine. Thanks." He buried his annoyance and looked up. His breath caught. Something...something about the earnest, blue-eyed boy tugged at his heart, sparking a pang of recognition in him. But he'd never met this youth before, he was certain of that. Irritated with himself now, he shook off the feeling. Grabbing back his things, he stood and started to walk briskly away.

"Sir? Um, Sir?"

Al stopped with a sigh, waiting for the young man to jog up to him. "Yeah?"

"You, um, you...dropped this as well." He held out a small leather pouch that clinked loudly as the coins inside shifted around.

"Oh. Thanks." Al juggled his armful of supplies until he could take the pouch, making sure to tuck it securely away. "I'm...rather surprised you returned it. Most wouldn't have."

"But that would be frightfully dishonest," the boy replied. A grin broke out on his face. "It wouldn't do for the mayor's son to be caught doing anything remotely unsavory," he told Al with a sparkle in his eyes.

"Ah." Al studied him for a moment, then made as if to continue on his way.

"Can I buy you a drink or something? To make up for running you down like that? Oh, I'm Willard, by the way."

Al sighed, then shrugged. "Sure, why not. And it's Al."

Willard smiled again and strolled next to Al as they headed for the saloon. "We don't get a lot of stranger coming through here," he told Al conversationally. "Still, the sheriff has been sending his deputies on extra patrols ever since that...incident up at Broken Ridge last week. Have you heard about that?"

Al bit back a groan. "I...may have," he responded, his jaw clenched.

"Oh, everyone's been talking about it," Willard continued excitedly. "They say it was an entire gang of outlaws, and they stole every last penny in the entire town! Why, they even--"

"Well, well. What have we here?"

Al froze at the sound of several guns being cocked. Very slowly, he turned around, groaning inwardly at the sight that met his eyes.

"Sheriff Creed!" Willard turned his cheerful grin on the foreboding man and his deputies. "Why, I was just mentioning to Al here that--" He broke off, eyes wide as he saw the guns leveled at his companion. "Sheriff Creed?"

"Back away, Willard. No need to concern yourself here."

Willard's eyes flickered between the lawmen and Al. "I-I don't understand..."

The sheriff dismissed him, glaring at Al. "So...Albert Wilcox. We meet again. I assume you remember me?"

Al glared back just as strongly, giving the man a tight nod. "Creed. Or the Angel of Death, as you were so fondly known among...my sort."

A predatory grin lit up Creed's face. "And I just *hate* it when scum like you try to avoid your proper fate."

Willard stood stunned, unable to move. "A-Albert Wilcox?" he breathed in horror. "But you...you...oh dear god..."

"Now, you just come along quietly, Wilcox, and we'll make this as painless as possible."

Al cocked his head. "You know, I'd *really* love to, but I just *hate* doing things the easy way." In a lightening move, he flung his armload at the sheriff, distracting him for the crucial second he needed to make his move. One hand went for his gun, drawing it smoothly, while the other reached out to drag Willard in front of him. He calmly pressed the barrel of the gun to Willard's head. "Now," he said evenly, "I do believe Willard here mentioned something about being the mayor's son? Well, I don't suppose the good mayor would take too kindly to having his child's brains splattered all over this street, now would he?"

Creed snarled in annoyance, and his own weapon wavered slightly.

Chuckling bitterly, Al began to back up, pulling his captive with him. He positioned himself with his back against the wall of the saloon so no one could sneak up behind him. "Why don't you have one of your deputies be a gentleman and fetch my horse for me?" His finger tightened on the trigger, warning Creed not to try anything stupid.

Reluctantly, Creed motioned for one of his men to go for the animal. Once it had been brought back, Al nudged Willard into taking the reigns.

"Now, I want all of you to walk very calmly into the saloon there and have yourselves a drink. Because if I see you coming after me, then..." he rubbed the gun down Willard’s neck.

Teeth gritted with fury, Creed nonetheless complied, walking stiffly around the building and leading his men inside.

Quickly, Al holstered his gun and tossed the boy up into the saddle. He swung up behind him and dug his spurs into the horse's flanks. "Now, you behave yourself, and everything will turn our ok for you," Al murmured in Willard's ear as they raced out of town.

"Damn it." Al glared half-heartedly at his horse. The poor animal was limping pitifully, having picked up a stone that wedged itself into the fleshy part of a hoof. There was no way the nag would be able to carry the both of them any further, even if he could manage to pry the offending object out.

Eyes narrowed, Al whirled around, pulling his gun and cocking it. "I wouldn’t do that," he warned.

Willard halted, one foot still in the air from his attempt to make an escape.

"Get over here." He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for the boy to do as he was told.

Scowling, Willard trudged back toward his captor. "What?" he muttered sullenly.

Al unbuckled the saddlebags, tossing them toward him. He snorted in amusement as Willard staggered under their weight. "We have a bit of walking to do," he informed the boy. "Best get started." He motioned for Willard to start moving, following him with weapon still drawn.

It was only a couple of hours before they came upon a small, rundown shack. Although he didn't like having to stop, he'd started to form blisters that he knew would need to be taken care of. Besides, the boy looked ready to keel over if he didn't get a rest.

Al ushered Willard into the welcome shade of the building, Almost immediately, Willard dropped the saddlebags with a groan. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor. Al eyed his unmoving form for a moment, then sat and removed his boots. He rummaged through the bags, retrieving some ointment and bandages, which he used to doctor his blisters. Boots on once more, he dug out his canteen and took a deep swallow of the warm water inside. He again glanced at Willard, who was sprawled out on the floor, panting. He chuckled.

With a groan, Willard rolled over and sat up, grunting painfully. "It's not funny," he rasped out.

Al rolled his eyes. Wordlessly, he offered his canteen to the boy, who took it and drank, a look of bliss covering his face. Without asking, he tugged off Willard’s boots, causing the young man to start in surprise.

"What--?"

Ignoring any protests, Al slathered more of the ointment on the raw, blistered skin of Willard's heels.

Willard watched as Al sealed stored the container of medicine. "Why did you do that?" he questioned.

"Why not? Feels better now, don't it?"

Willard's face twisted into a grimace of anger and hurt. "Why would you care? You're...you're just a thief and a murderer! Everyone in the territory has heard about the things you've done, Albert Wilcox! And you kidnapped me, and dragged me halfway to the next county, and now I'm supposed to be *grateful* to you?"

Al glared. He snatched his canteen back and, while putting it away, removed a length of rope from his bags.

Willard gasped and tried to stand, but his tired muscles protested, and he crumpled again. He whimpered as he was callously manhandled against the wall, his hands and feet bound securely.

Satisfied, Al reclined a few feet away. He saw the boy's mouth open again, and spoke first. "One more word, and I'll cut your tongue out." He ignored the twinge of conscience that informed him he'd do no such thing.

Not doubting the outlaw would do as he threatened, Willard shut his mouth with an audible click. Glowering at the smirking man, he shifted awkwardly, trying to find a reasonably comfortable position.

Al tuned out the soft rustling, falling into a light doze.

It wasn't much later when his eyes snapped open and he bolted upright. "Shit." He crawled over to Willard, covering the boy's mouth with his hand. He listened with growing dread to the noises outside.

"We know you're in there, Wilcox!" Creed's voice bellowed. "Where's the boy?"

Willard bit down on Al's hand, managing to free his mouth long enough to yell out a quickly smothered cry for help.

"Give it up, Wilcox! There's only one way out of that building, and we're here waiting for you!"

Al cursed as he realized that Creed was right. He hadn't even checked for another exit, and that oversight was about to cost him. He let go of Willard and crept to the door, opening it a crack.

He ducked, and the bullet that had been fired splintered the wood just inches above his head. Taking a chance, Al returned fire, but his gun was quickly emptied of rounds. There was a lull in the gunshots from outside, and Creed spoke up again.

"You're out of ammo, aren't you? We found the stuff you bought and left behind. A man like you ought to know better than that." His voice was thick with amusement. "You just come out of there *real* slowly, and we can settle this without any bloodshed."

Mentally, Al weighed his chances of getting out of this encounter alive. But he knew Creed; after all, there was a reason the man had been given the nickname 'Angel of Death'. Besides, he *was* wanted 'Dead or Alive', and Creed would be able to collect the bounty either way.

Things didn't look too bright for him.

He sighed heavily. Well, no one had ever said this was an easy way to make a living. He did have a hostage to use for leverage, though, so perhaps all wasn't lost quite yet.

Of course, with his luck, Creed wouldn't care and would simply shoot the boy himself, then blame the murder on him. Actually, that was a real possibility, especially since there were no witnesses other than Creed's posse of 'deputies'.

He glanced over at the trembling boy huddled in the corner of the small shack. Something inside him twisted at the thought of him dying. "Aw, fuck it," he muttered, then crossed the room.

Willard cringed and squeezed his eyes shut when Al pulled a knife out. He prayed silently, knowing he was about to die. Then he felt a tugging at his wrists, and peeled his eyes open again.

Al quickly cut through the ropes that bound Willard, and the boy stared at him in complete shock.

"A-are you going to...to k-kill me?"

Al snorted. "Nah kid. It'd be a crime in itself to mess up a pretty face like yours. Besides, I may be a murderer, but I ain't never killed children. That's more Creed's style than mine."

Willard scooted himself farther away from Al, flushing with anger. "I'm not a child!" he snapped.

"No," Al mused, "I don't suppose you are." He shook his head. Quickly, he checked his weapon again, hoping insanely that more bullets had miraculously appeared in the chamber. No such luck, though. He eyed the door.

"W-what are you going to do then?" Willard asked timidly, confused by this bewildering reversal of behavior.

Al shrugged. "Go out there and make the best of it." He grinned crookedly. "It's what I do."

Willard flicked a glance toward the door, knowing that outside waited several of the best sharpshooters in the county. "If you go out there, you'll die," he whispered, wondering why that notion upset him.

Again Al shrugged. "Everyone dies sooner or later. Nothing a man can do if his number's up." He steeled himself. "Well, guess this is goodbye, then." He tipped his hat at the boy.

"A-Al?" Willard timidly crept across the floor toward him.

"Yeah?"

"I...I don't think you're a bad sort. Not really."

Hardly knowing what came over himself, Al knelt in front of Willard. He gently cupped a soft cheek, inhaling sharply as long eyelashes fluttered against his fingers. "You have yourself a good life, kid," he said gruffly. Before he could reconsider, he pulled Willard to him and pressed a fierce, passionate kiss to his lips, tongue darting briefly inside as the boy's lush mouth opened in astonishment. Then, he stood abruptly, turning his back on the wide-eyed boy and striding out the door.

Willard sat, stunned, his lips tingling. His breath came in whimpering little pants, and he raised a hand to touch lips that felt hot and swollen.

The sound of multiple gunshots snapped him from his reverie and, with an anguished cry, he jumped up and stumbled from the building.

It was quiet now, and clouds of dust were settling in the stillness. Willard let out a soft cry when he spotted the bloody, shot-riddled body on the ground. He jumped as a hand settled on his shoulder.

"You all right?"

Willard shook Creed's hand off him, and he stepped numbly to where Al lay. He dropped to his knees, startled to hear a gurgling breath come from Al. "Al?"

Al's eyes flickered open briefly, and he offered up a tortured smile. Gasping out the words, he spoke haltingly, "You make...a...much...p-prettier..." He coughed up a lungful of blood, then continued, "A-Angel of...Death that C-Creed...ever did." A shaking hand rose and ghosted lightly over Willard's lips, then fell limply back to the ground. Al gave one last, shuddering breath.

Willard felt the tears well up in his eyes. "Al?" he whispered quietly. He sniffled when he got no reply, then gasped as something wrenched inside him. It felt like his very heart had been ripped out. Without knowing why, Willard began to weep. "Al..."l woke, a horrified scream stuck in his throat. He frantically fumbled for the light, then rolled over to face an equally horrified Alex. "Oh god," he whimpered, running his hands desperately over Alex, searching for any trace of injury.

"I'm ok, I'm ok," Alex panted.

Wil gave a sob of relief and pressed his face to Alex's chest. "You were...god, you were..."

"Shhh, I know. It's over now." He clutched the Wil to him, seriously rattled but still trying to offer comfort to his lover.

"Something's wrong, Alex. Something's really, *really* wrong. An' I don't like it!" He pulled away from Alex, glaring at him fiercely. "And if you *ever* do something that bloody stupid, I’ll damned well kill you myself!"

"I won't leave you, Wil. I *promise*."

"Yeah. Well, you better not." He sniffled. "What are we gonna do, luv? What...what's happening to us?"

"It's *got* to have something to so with that spell." Alex ran his hands through his hair nervously, then sighed. "That or we're going crazy." He clambered out of bed, tugging Wil after him. "C'mon, we're going to see Mellie and Dana *now*."

*****