Good Friends

'Hold him now...'

The guards laughed aloud in hideously distorted voices. William fought, his heart racing out of control – both to break free and to stop the tears from escaping. He didn't want to cry like a pathetic child in front of his captors.

'This might get messy...'

A long sword was driven violently into his chest, splintering bone and sliding ever so slowly into his pounding heart. He was screaming... his lungs filled up with blood until his screams were nothing but broken gurgles... the pain was unbearable... he felt himself falling to the floor...

'--William! Hey!'

The loud voice in his ear made his body jerk, eyes flying open by instinct. His first feeling was one of deja vu. He was in a room that seemed all too familiar, as did the voice that had just called his name.

Then everything came flooding back, and relief washed over him so strongly that he couldn't breathe for a moment.

'I'm all right,' he whispered. He had been so caught up in his nightmare that he hadn't even realised he was awake, that he was safe.

'Yes, you are,' said the familiar voice in his ear, and he finally worked out who it was: Spike. 'Though you scared me out of my wits; don't do that again, please.'

William smiled a little. Then he realised that the poltergeist was actually holding him, cradling his head against his chest, and seemed to have been doing so for some time. He considered moving away, but the memory of that dream was still so vivid that he couldn't help but crave comfort. And since Spike obviously didn't have any problem with the physical contact, he decided to let it continue.

'Same nightmare?' the poltergeist asked.

'Almost exactly the same,' said William. 'I don't understand it. I used to barely dream at all, and now...' He trailed off, realising with an unpleasant jolt of embarrassment that his voice was scratchy and there were damp tear tracks on his face. He wiped them away, hoping Spike hadn't noticed.

'It's not fair,' said the poltergeist, and William had another surge of deja vu. 'That you should be plagued with nightmares over something that happened centuries ago.'

William privately agreed, but he didn't say so. He didn't want Spike to think of him as a pessimist or a coward. He just shrugged as best as he could and replied, 'That's the way things are. It doesn't make any difference whether it's fair or not – it can't be changed.'

Spike was quiet for a while, absentmindedly stroking William's grey hair. Finally he said, 'I guess you're right. But that doesn't mean I can't be annoyed by it.' William chuckled tiredly; he'd expected that. 'Sure you don't want to talk to me about it?'

'The nightmare? I thought you didn't want to know.'

'Yeah, but that was before. I still don't want to hear every bloody detail, but if you want to tell me a little bit... to help you feel better...'

'There isn't very much to say.' As quickly as possible, William recited the story that, long ago, he had told Anita. The story of how he died.

By the time he had finished, Spike had managed to work himself into an absolute fit of indignation.

'They just stabbed you? Right there and then? Without a trial? What sort of a hellish world did you grow up in, Alden?!'

'It wasn't that bad,' William lied automatically.

'Are you joking? You're joking, right?'

William sighed under his breath. 'Spike,' he said softly, 'does it matter? As you said yourself, it happened centuries ago. I can't change the past, as much as I wish I could. If I hadn't been stupid and listened at the Baron's door, then I wouldn't have died and I wouldn't have had to leave all my friends and family behind. I remember going back to find my mother after I woke up as a ghost. I stood in front of her, Spike, and she couldn't see or hear me.'

Before he could stop it, a sharp, gasping sob wrenched itself out of his throat. He fought it, grappled with it and tried to push it down, but it was too late; he was already crying.

'Damn – hey, hey. It's all right. I'm sorry.'

Spike pulled William's head closer to his chest and brushed his fingers through the older ghost's hair, muttering soothing nonsense into his ear.

'Sorry,' he said again. 'I shouldn't have asked about it.'

William hadn't touched another person – save Anita, and then only fleetingly – in years. He hadn't even realised until now just how starved for contact he was. The tears wouldn't stop coming, and eventually he stopped being embarrassed about it. There was no point. So he simply burrowed into the poltergeist's warm embrace and let himself enjoy the sensation of being held by someone.

Eventually, the tears slowed, and he stopped shaking. He felt exhausted, more emotionally than physically.

Spike stirred. 'You feeling better?'

'A little bit,' said William, wincing as he spoke. His voice sounded terrible. 'Thank you, by the way,' he added, incredibly grateful, but also a little humiliated that Spike had seen the more overemotional side of him.

'No problem,' said the poltergeist easily. 'You've had a rough time. Probably anyone would be crying after those nightmares.'

William smiled weakly. 'Maybe,' he said, not very convinced. He'd never seen either of his two friends cry before. Anita, he'd seen close to tears but never actually crying, and Spike... well, it wasn't something poltergeists were known for.

He started to move, with the intention of getting out of Spike's embrace so he could return to his own spot on the couch. He was completely unprepared for Spike to grab him in a headlock and pull him back down again.

'What?!'

'Ah, ah, ah,' said the poltergeist, waggling a finger reprovingly in front of his face while grinning. 'I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that it's stupid to cry, right? Well let me tell you, laddie, I've cried plenty of times.' This sounded so unconvincing that William would have laughed if he hadn't been so alarmed. 'And I won't have any friend of mine thinking it's embarrassing or... or wrong. So, I want you to admit that there's nothing wrong with crying. In fact, I want you to tell me exactly how many times you've cried since you met me.'

William did laugh, then. 'Never.'

'I'll keep you here until you do.'

'You're forgetting something – we're ghosts. You can't keep me anywhere, no matter how hard you try.'

With that, he let himself go intangible and slipped out of Spike's hold. Unfortunately, he'd completely forgotten that being intangible also allowed him to pass through furniture. With an undignified yelp, he fell clean through the bottom of the couch and the floor below.

By the time he'd caught himself and floated back up, the poltergeist was on the verge of choking from laughter.

'Th-that's... what I... meant for you to do... all along!' he spluttered, toppling over and beating at the couch with his fists. 'I knew you'd fall for it!'

William slowly settled back onto the couch, careful to keep his body solid this time. 'You're cruel,' he said. 'That was horrible.'

'Cruel? No way, Alden. OK, maybe I'm a tiny bit mean sometimes, but don't you feel better?'

William blinked. To his surprise, he did feel better, all because Spike's antics had distracted him from thinking about the nightmare. He finally realised that the poltergeist's intention all along had been to make him forget, and he had succeeded. The thought made him smile a little.

'Yes,' he said. 'Thank you.'

Spike grinned and tugged William against his side, ruffling the older ghost's hair affectionately. 'Well, I wouldn't have just let you sit there looking miserable all night,' he said in a gruff tone. 'I might be a mischief ghost, but I can still care about my friends.'

'And you're very good at it.' William gently extracted himself from under the poltergeist's arm. 'I only wish that it hadn't taken me so long to meet you and Anita. Things would have been so much more interesting with you around.'

'It doesn't matter. You have us now, and we're not going anywhere. The three of us are going to have great fun together. The ghosts and the ghost whisperer – all together forever.'

William knew this wasn't true, but he couldn't bring himself to feel melancholy when Spike looked so happy.

'Yes,' he said. 'I hope so.'