Disclaimer: Nope-don't own it. Bet that came as a surprise to you readers who actually read these disclaimer thingies.

IMPORTANT-The Setting: It's not strictly book-verse. I have taken a few liberties with the mental connection between Dracula and Mina, as you will see. But the time frame conforms to the book, specifically, the time in which Mina Harker and Abraham Van Helsing were traveling together. This is what I believe may have transpired.

Yeah, I was too lazy to write myself an actual begining...I'll admit. It's 4:39 am. I know that Part 1 is a bit sloppily tacked on to Part 2, but I was crippled by a horrible attack of writers block while I was doing my touch-ups, and I simply wanted to post something...

Nightmares
By Mrs. James Norrington

Pairing: Abraham Van Helsing/Mina Harker
Universe: Stoker's Novel

Chapter I: Fear of the Dark

"Shall I leave the light burning, then, Madam Mina?" He starts toward the door, and she catches his arm in both her hands.

He turns back and she blushes slightly, embarrassed by her forwardness. "No…Stay a while longer…Until I've fallen asleep."

She still clings to his arm, quite tightly, but not enough to be painful. He gently frees himself, peculiarly reluctant to do so.

"Very well."

She smiles back at him, beautifully, heartbreakingly relieved, and with all the charming thoughtlessness of a child, throws her arms around him.

He breathes in sharply, and thinking that she has offended him, she begins to pull away. Feeling this, he embraces her in turn, needing to keep her against him long enough to puzzle out the sudden whirl of emotions in his head.

"You are cold…" he murmurs, and that is the reason that he holds her so tightly, and that is the reason that he touches her face, and that is the reason that he wants to… "I'll fetch another blanket." Why does he have to shake himself into retreating to his own room? Why does he want to linger and watch her slip out of her dressing gown? And why, God, why does he want to pull her back against him and…and…

He leans heavily against the wall and exhales, a great rush of air breaking the silence of the darkened room. He presses his eyes closed—futile when all he can see is her. Her hair, her smile, her form…all burned into the insides of his eyelids. How pale she has grown—too pale! Too thin!

He returns with a bland, blank smile and some meaningless words of comfort, which she accepts with her usual brave attempt at good spirits. What good would it do her to know his fears?

It does not take her long to fall asleep--she has been so tired lately, ever since...No. Thinking about that will do him no good. He does not leave immediately, allowing himself to watch her for a few moments longer, resisting the desire to stroke her hair, to kiss her gently, maintaining to himself all the while that the desire in question is a mere rush of fatherly affection.

He forces himself out into the darkened hall and back into his cell-like room--it is clean at least, and they only plan to stay until morning, after all...

He lies down without undressing. He needn't bother; he will only be forced to redress in four hours...And he cannot sleep...Her face, her eyes, her lips...

Perhaps it is the strength of his thoughts that has called up the sound of Mina's footsteps in the corridor.

"Professor?"…a whisper from the doorway moments later, and a pale form slips over the threshold. Without rising, he turns his head slowly to look at her. Her silhouette blurs with the darkness, as if she is but a lighter part of the night. Her manner is timid, and her dark red hair tumbling about her face makes her appear even more of a child. But she is so lovely…It takes him a moment to register that she is wearing only a nightgown. He glances away.

"I'm sorry if I've disturbed you…" she murmurs. He can almost hear her shifting from one foot to the other.

"No…No, of course, Madam Mina…" He looks back to her, forcing himself to look only at her face, forcing a smile. "Forgive me…Are you alright?"

He notes with alarm that she is trembling slightly—with fear or cold he cannot say. Her bare feet make a soft slapping noise against the floorboards as she moves closer.

"Yes…No…I've…" She twists the sleeve of her nightgown in her hand. "I've had a…a dream. I know that I shouldn't…It's only…I hardly know what's real anymore!"

He doesn't know what to do. His mind can't seem to produce any method of comforting her that does not involve holding this slender, fragile creature far too close…He hates himself for it.

"Are you…" he inquires, trailing off, genuinely anxious for her. He sits up in bed, studying her intently. How lost she looks, and how defenseless! For the hundredth time, he wonders what sort of monster could bring itself to harm such a creature.

"I believe I am…alright…now, Professor. But I simply cannot bear the thought of being…of being alone with..." She shudders slightly, and her hand leaps reflexively to her throat. "I wondered…If it is not too much of an imposition…if I might…stay…with you?" Even in the murky light, he can see her face color slightly.

"Yes, of course, Madam." Shaking himself at last out of his daze, he goes to her, gently takes her arm, and draws her carefully to the bed. How thin she is, how frail…and cold! Not at all the lively, thriving young woman from all those months ago!

"I hope you do not think me too much of a child, Professor!" She peers at him earnestly, clasping his hand in hers as she sits. "Frightened of the dark!" She gives a bitter little laugh as she lies down and covers herself with the blanket, and the sound pierces deeply into his chest.

"There is no shame in fear," he tells her quietly, reaching down and stroking her face, and despising himself for doing so.

"Yes," she murmurs, absently reaching out and holding his fingers for comfort. "I suppose I have enough of shame without it."

This pains him more than anything yet. He turns away, walks around the bed, and lies down beside her, turning onto his back and staring up at the shadowed ceiling.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, finally. "I am so terribly, terribly sorry."

"I didn't mean…" she answers softly, shifting closer to him, so that they are almost touching, and he turns to study her.

It is too dark now to make out the livid scar on her forehead—a cloud has come over the moon. He is glad of it; he does not think he could bear the sight. The whole mess is his fault—he knows it without a doubt. He should have seen it at the outset, he should have noticed the pallor, the empty, listless gaze…But no, he had been blind. And she had suffered for it.

"You must blame yourself for nothing, Madam Mina. Promise me that…And you must try to have courage—though, God knows, I know no one braver than you have been! We will, none of us, abandon you."

"I am so glad of it!" she whispers back, her voice weary. "I could not fight him alone…"

"Not one of us could." He waits until her breathing has once again settled into the even rhythm of sleep to add, in a voice barely more than a sigh, "I would die to see you safe again, Mina." He thinks that, perhaps, he might dare to call her "Mina" while she sleeps.

-oOo-

He does not know how long he has slept, but it is still dark when a noise from the young woman beside him wrenches him awake.

Her sleep is no longer peaceful; her breath comes in sharp, ragged gasps, and her hand presses fiercely against her throat.

She shifts fretfully and whimpers something, her body tense. "Please...No."

"Mina?" He touches her shoulder, attempting to wake her. She flinches at the touch, but remains asleep. How terrible it must be, he thinks, to have a nightmare from which one is unable to wake, and then he realizes the irony in this thought.

It is indeed terrible.

"No!" she whispers again, more desperately, her hand flying to her mouth, and then he knows, with sickening certainty, precisely what it is that she dreams. He has relived the night often enough in his own head…The dizzying horror of seeing her in his arms, her lips forced against his chest, her own blood trickling over the pale arch of her neck…The tiny, knowing smirk the Count gave him as their eyes met, the pointed way his fingertip traced the outline of her breast as he dropped her carelessly back to the bed, the tip of his tongue savoring the last of her blood on his lips…How terribly, terribly still she had been…Then the sound of her scream…

Still unable to wake her, he pulls her carefully into his arms and holds her against his chest, stroking her hair with one hand and murmuring to her, gentle words in his own language. Gradually, her gasps slow and deepen into dry, shuddering sobs. She presses close to him and buries her face in his shirt.

Her voice is hoarse and thin. "Professor?"

He presses his lips to her hair, forgetting everything but the simple desire to comfort her. "Yes. I am here, now…Shh…Shh..."

She quiets, still trembling slightly, and her arms slip tentatively around him.

He closes his eyes, but the images seem emblazoned on the edges of his every thought. That fragile, white-clad form, the monster against her, one hand tightly wound the hair that spilled over her shoulders…her own hands crushed in the Count's grip…and the blood!—at first he could not be sure how much was hers…

And he would never forget the monster's eyes. They mocked him still, in the shadow and silence of the night. "Yes, look at her," they had seemed to say. "Save her now."

"I will," he responds vehemently in his head, and Dracula only laughs.

He instinctively holds Mina a little more tightly. She responds with a soft, "Mmm…" into his chest, her breathing returning to normal, her shivering barely perceptible.

He feels a sudden, overwhelming rush of protectiveness toward this young woman in his arms, so much so that it is almost dizzying.

"I will," he whispers aloud, and he receives no answer.

A/N: Yes, there will be more, for those of you who actually made it this far without falling asleep and/or flaming me. Two more chapters, definitely, and a possible full-length if I get my plot worked out.