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There’s a knock at his door.
No-one ever knocks on his door.
Well, that’s not strictly true. Clem does, but not really anyone else that matters.
Point is, there was a knock on the door of the crypt that Spike was living in, and it was definitely not Clem.
Clem follows it up with quickly stating his name and intention, as he’s been taught to by the not-so-evil vampire who lives in the crypt.
So, it isn’t Clem.
It was a human, Spike could smell, but they ran off to quickly to pinpoint more than that. And, by the daylight and everything else about the thing, that could’ve been abduced anyways.
He pads over to the door, knowing there likely isn’t anything behind it, but needing to check nonetheless.
For all he knows it could be one of those army guys again, planting bombs wherever the hell they like and going out of their way to cause harm to demons upto nothing good but nothing strictly anything bad either.
Who says a little pest control isn’t good for people?
Keeps them on their toes.
Anyway, there’s possibly a bomb at the door, and Spike intends to trace it back to the Army guys and shove it right up their- dog?
A small, ginger and brown scruffy dog.
Or, puppy, really, if you look at it.
Without telling it to leave him alone, it rushes in, uninvited.
The cheek.
He chases after it, the small creature only seeming to find this more fun, running faster and faster away from him. He groans in frustration, slowing down in an attempt to calm down and look at this rationally, watching the thing run around his television, chomping on the wires every time it jumps over them.
He growls, and jumps towards the thing, which ultimately does get it closer to him, but only really makes it lick him furiously and bite his nose.
He growls again, which increases the ferocity of the licking and biting, and it hops all over him, making tiny little huffs of excitement.
Spike sighs, waiting for it to hop back off before pouncing upon the small creature, with a triumphant noise, picking it up by the scruff of its neck, like a mother cat holding its kitten.
The dog wriggles, makes a few futile puffs of disagreement, before ultimately accepting its fate with a final, loud, huff.
She (and it is a she, now he’s checked.), simply looks at him with big eyes and suspicion, and licks her lips sadly. He glares back at her,
“Look, I had nothing against you til you burst into my house. Just..behave, and I’ll put you down.”
She stays put in his hand, and he brings her unto his face, supporting her a little more. She’s quite pretty, for a dog, but she’s probably not a purebreed of any sort. Too many features. Looks sorta like a dog he saw some hunters carrying with them a while back, but still. Not an established dog. She has fleas, definitely. And probably all sorts of issues, but he’ll let someone else deal with those.
The fleas can’t be comfortable, there’s not really very much dog to eat, Spike’s already considered it. And there’s only room for one bloodsucker in this crypt, so he’s going to do all he can to get rid of them.
He grabs his kettle and a few bottles of water, grabs a popcorn bowl from the side, and empties it out. He puts the kettle on and grabs another bottle of water, pours some soap in the bowl, and mixes a slightly warm mixture to plop the creature into.
She starts swimming, which is inconvenient as the bowl isn’t really big enough for her anyway, and it splashes water all over him just from the movement. He grabs the bowl to hold it still, and tries to keep her in there long enough to splash the fleas off of her.
..Which, luckily, doesn’t seem too hard to do. A few decent scrubs and they’re all off, and she’s half the size she originally was and sat in a bowlful of dead fleas.
She’s skin and bones really, she looks like someone’s been neglecting her.
Which, actually, probably makes sense of the whole, dumped on a bloodsucking-demon’s doorstep.
And, honestly, he has surprised himself by how much he doesn’t actually want to eat this creature. He’s never really had a thing for small, cute things. Drusilla did, and he was always one to get her a fluffy dog or cat every once in a while, or lure a child to her, but it wasn’t really his thing. The fur got stuck in your teeth, and the way they looked at you just before, with fear, or worse, with trust, just turned his stomach just a little.
What does surprise him, however, was the fact that someone with a soul had let this creature come to him.
It’s not like he cares, but he knows that people are supposed to care for small fluffy things like this animal.
She has somehow managed to get a few bubbles stuck on her nose, and she’s sneezing and knocking water all over the place. He groans as he gets splashed once again, more drenched than he thinks he’s ever been in his life, and he curses the damn thing for coming anywhere near him, and for its neglectful owner for abandoning it on his doorsteps. He absolutely hates this bubbly creature, he hates her fleas, and he hates anyone who could even think about leaving her in this state on his doorstep to just be eaten when she’s already been eaten enough by bloodsucking fleas.
Speaking of bloodsucking…he’s starving..
He grabs a blanket off a nearby chair, and wraps the dog in it, once again letting her free onto the floor. She scuffs her little face on the blanket, and begins to roll her body across it, getting the excess water off.
He rolls his eyes at the thing, and saunters over to his fridge, pulling a nice bag of blood out, and ripping the bag open with his teeth. It’s sweet, cold, and gorgeous as it rolls across his tongue. It’s not as good as the real thing, fresh out a living creature, but it’s not too bad cold, especially when it’s decently warm inside, like today. He goes to get some weetabix to mix around in there, when he hears a loud, piercing noise cut through the air.
He whips around, to see the little bubbly dog sat at his toes, waggling her little tail, and looking curiously at the blood in his hand.
He glares at the dog,
“Get your own.”
She barks again, as if to say, I’m a dog, how am I supposed to do that?
“Yeah, actually that makes sense,” He looks around for something resembling a bowl that isn’t full of water and fleas, and finds a mug that he stole from Giles. He smiles, pours out a little of his precious blood, and plops it down on the floor for Bubbles to enjoy.
She actually can’t reach into the mug because she’s too short, so she sort of knocks into it a few times, in hopes of a way around it, which comes in the form of knocking the mug over, and spilling blood all over the floor, which she then laps up. It’s weird, and it’s probably not sanitary, but considering the malnourishment and fleas, that’s probably the least of her worries right now.
He just hopes she does a good enough job of tidying up…
He wonders vaguely who would know him well enough to think he’d clean a puppy up off the street, but he’s coming up all slayer friends, and he’s not sure any of them would want to murder a small dog. They’re all too…good
Not that him not wanting to murder a small dog makes him good.
It’s just the chip, and his distaste for fur in his teeth.
And…she’s sleeping on the cold, hard floor, and he wishes he had carpet because he’s passed out on that damn floor before and it is not comfy. And he doesn’t like her, but he’s just sort of understanding what it feels like right now to be vulnerable, to be the one who can’t eat, people being shitty to you for just existing. To have your blood sucked, instead of being the blood sucker.
He’s spent nights sleeping on cold tile, on cold floors, and he doesn’t wish for it again.
Obviously, later on, he will take her to the pound.
…but right now, the small creature can be scooped up off the floor, wrapped in a blanket, and put on his only armchair.
Only because he doesn’t like fur in his teeth…