Title: The Stray
Pairing: S/X
Rating: NC/17
Warnings: Will appear on chapters if needed – some M/M relations
Summary: Spike survived the Black Thorn but only because one of the Senior Partners had heard Illyria refer to him as suitable for her pet and decided to amuse themselves with devastating results
PART 1
Angel was dust, Gunn was dead, so was Wes, and Lindsay of course, and Lorne had disappeared. Only Illyria and Spike continued to fight on, back to back with the hoards of demons apparently not diminishing until… Just as Spike took a wild sweep to remove an ugly spiny beast, everything vanished.
The two were left standing bewildered in the middle of the alley. Spike dropped to his knees with exhaustion while Illyria simply tilted her head to the side and observed as all the dead demons melted into black puddles of ooze then were apparently absorbed by the pavement, leaving only the body of Charles Gunn slumped by a dumpster.
Spike took one look at Charlie boy and felt the loss of Angel on a visceral level, then thought of Wes and leant forward to bury his bloodied face in his hands and began to silently grieve.
"Grief weakens you, vampire. I too feel oddly saddened by the passing of the human Wesley…"
She was about to go on when the sound of slow clapping and "Bravo" came from the alleyway opening. Neither recognized Holland Manners – the middle-aged, former CEO of Wolfram and Hart - now deceased and still under contract.
"Well that was a show – and an excellent job with the Black Thorn. The Senior Partners have been trying to have a few of them 'retired' so to speak, for some time now.They have so many up and comers waiting for the opportunity to prove their worth and climb the corporate ladder to those dizzy heights… Isn't LA just such an exciting place when it comes to that competitive spirit!" Manners grinned at Illyria and looked rather disparagingly at the blonde ensouled vampire still kneeling on the ground tears tracking through blood and mud as he looked up at the speaker.
"So… to business. I am Holland Manners, Senior Partners' negotiation specialist and personal assistant of Mr Hart. It seems he has taken quite a shine to you Illyria, and feels you have been rather shabbily treated thus far at Wolfram and Hart given your immense power and feisty nature. We also are very aware of your former glory and bow to your greatness in that realm.
So… I have a proposition for you… You work for us 'on call' so to speak, and the Senior Partners will guarantee a restoration of an other dimension palace ready to be occupied and ruled."
Spike looked up to try to gauge his blue companion's reaction but couldn't tell if Illyria was insulted or interested. She finally turned very deliberately to Manners, "I would keep Spike as my pet, as supreme ruler, the court would not dare disapprove of my pet – regardless of his … limitations."
"Oi" croaked out Spike from the ground.
Manners gave a sly smile, "Oh I don't think that will possible, he is only a half breed you see. But I am sure we could arrange… something for his future as a pet. So you are agreed?"
"I am to be restored to my former glory. It is understood, and I trust that you will allow me to rule without encumbrances. And in exchange I will occasionally assist you as appropriate. "
"Oh most certainly, you alone will rule your domain."
"Then it is agreed."
"Wonderful!"
Spike heard the glee in Manner's reply and immediately knew there was something afoot. He tried to caution Illyria but instead succumbed to a wave of nausea as he registered spiraling prickle in the air as the magic increased one hundred fold. A maelstrom of energy hit them both, sweeping Illyria's essence up and placing her in a restored palace, yes, but there was no-one to rule and the palace was a much reduced replica of her former enormous. She had agreed and was now trapped in it alone. She tested the outer walls to no avail.
The same blast that opened the rift to capture Illyria's essence and Fred's shell and condemned her to an eternity of servitude, trapped in her personal jail in the bowels of the Senior Partners' true dimension, took hold of Spike's form, magically altered it then flung him painfully against the wall of the alley.
He shook himself as the air cleared, feeling very ill and altogether strange, and tried to take in just what had transpired. Illyria was gone but Holland Manners was standing in the same place as before the blast smiling as he turned to Spike. "Ah yes! You do suit the pet label far more now, but then so many pets get abandoned these days don't they… Oh I forgot… you are used to that feeling aren't you Spike. At least the name is appropriate. I am sure the Senior Partners will be thrilled to know you are no longer even a marginal threat… enjoy."
With that he turned heel and sauntered out of the alley and disappeared.
Spike was so dazed from the impact on the wall and his painful injuries from the fight prior to Manners arriving, that he simply curled into as small a ball as possible and whimpered for a time, then realized he had to do something about Charlie's body, it was only then he began to discover the full extent of what had transpired.
The corner he was in seemed unusually dark, his night vision must have been affected by the impact, but his sense of smell still seemed fine as did his hearing. He rolled onto his stomach and made to stand but collapsed again as painful limbs did not want to cooperate.
Trying once more he eventually made it to all fours but that was now all he would be able to achieve. He whimpered as he looked down to see paws where hands had been, back legs that articulated in a different way… and fur and a tail! He experimented a little and found he could twitch his ears and lay them flat, still growl convincingly and really could control his tail.
He left Gunn's body for a moment and found a puddle in the middle of the alley in a place lit enough to provide a reflection (fearful that might not be available as a vampire). Obviously his status had changed as he stared into the reflection of a rather slender dog that had features akin to a german shepherd but not quite. Pale fur with a patch of dark on back, black ears, paws and tail, blue eyes and pretty markings on his face – more akin to a husky, all were marred by tufts of fur missing and abrasions consistent with those he had suffered in the recent fight.
He backed away from the image in disbelief but somehow knew it was true and in true Spike fashion began to shift into survival mode. He knew he had to shift Gunn at least to the entrance of the alley so his corpse might be found and given proper burial. The alley was near Gunn's former gang's headquarters so he would likely be identified – or even found by one of them.
Spike did the only thing he could, took hold of Gunn's arm and pulled with all his might, slowly dragging the body over the rough surface of the alley until he was lying face up just beyond the entrance. Spike licked the face of his dead friend gently, cleaning off a little of the blood and dirt then looked back into the alleyway.
He could see remnants of his own clothing strewn all over, but could only spot one of his boots. It did occur that sadly he wouldn't be needing shoes anywhere in the near future it seemed, so simply turned into the lights of the city night and made a painful dash for… he wasn't sure where, but knew he had to get out of LA.
PART 2
Unable to take the sewers, getting in not the problem but the prospect of climbing a ladder in his current condition not really an option, he kept to the shadows and where possible back alleys. Twice he came across other strays and gave them a very wide berth, the humans sleeping in the detritus of the streets gave him little attention – though one drunk threw a bottle in his general direction as he padded past, sending him sprinting for the next corner.
Daylight saw him nearer the north of the city in a suburban area that looked like any other really. He drank unnoticed from a sprinkler and tried as best he was able to look like any other neighborhood dog out and about. But he was more than aware of his injuries, his hunger and exhaustion.
In the end he could go no further, so mid-afternoon struggled up a slight rise finding a thicket of scraggly bushes in the front of a very unkempt garden, and crawled as far into it as he could. He caught several of his wounds on dead twigs causing them to bleed again, but hardly felt it, simply hoping that if he curled up small enough he could rest unnoticed.
It was a cool night but still and the thick brush and his own coat gave enough protection for him to fall into an exhausted sleep.
The next morning saw him once more crawl through the thicket but found that he was so stiff and sore it was all he could do to walk ever so slowly, occasionally lifting his right front paw and struggling forward on three legs. His shoulder had been badly slashed in the battle against the demon hordes, and the leg almost too painful to take any weight on it.
He walked and hobbled until late afternoon, always staying as close to bushes and trees when available or stumbling along small alleyways that ran parallel to the main road. He found two discarded ham and pickle sandwiches near a junior school, managed to tear off the plastic wrap and ate as fast as he could, finding his new jaw shape was still something he struggled with a little – at least he still had familiar large canines – albeit now a permanent fixture.
The only water he could find was a small trickle flowing from an unknown source toward the grill at the road corner mid morning. He licked as much moisture as he could, and spent the next few minutes trying to divest his tongue of the grit it had picked up.
His third night as canine was spent curled up in the corner of the rear delivery bay of a drug store, sheltered from the slight breeze at least a little.
He was woken very early by the hiss of the hydraulic brakes of a large truck, then someone yelling at him. No need for any more trouble than he was already in Spike made his best effort to run from his sleeping space, managed to avoid the annoyed truck driver and one of the drug store employees and didn't stop for some time. But it cost him.
He had almost given up any hope of… anything really. He was not healing, he was so hungry and thirsty it was all he could do to pant and simply keep going forward... going north… if he could get out of LA then maybe…
Somewhere around midday, he managed to climb unnoticed into the back of a pickup that had the tray down, parked outside a block of apartments. Only a few minutes later he listened hard as a young couple made their way out toward the van. The young man driving was apparently the son of a plumber who was doing some work fifteen or so kilometers north of their location and had loaded his truck with a variety of materials, but stopped off to see his girlfriend en route to the building site.
Spike again curled up as small as he could in the back corner of the tray but need not have worried, the 'lovebirds' were too busy fare welling each other to notice anything amiss in the rear of the vehicle. The injured ex-vampire relaxed for a short while and enjoyed the hum of the engine and the warmth – even though the traffic fumes were rather stifling.
He worried a little as they turned into a building site and pulled to a halt but the driver was more intent on checking in than unloading immediately, so Spike waited a moment then jumped down painfully, squeezed through a gap in the safety fence securing the site, and hurried back to the main road as quickly as he could manage.
As he rounded the corner to rejoin the route he knew would take him north once more, he almost bowled over two girls obviously walking home from high school. They were about the age Dawn had been when he last saw her. Rather than make contact he attempted to swerve and his injured shoulder and leg gave out. He yelped with pain as he hit the ground on his sore side but simply could not garner the courage or energy to rise.
"Claire! Oh Ghod, Claire! He's hurt! Look he's even bleeding… we have to do something!
Claire, a petite brunette with pretty brown eyes and lips that were sparkling with freshly applied gloss, squatted down beside Spike. "He must have been hit by a car or something!"
"He hasn't got a collar… so how do we know…"
"Maybe he slipped it and that's how he ended up on the road and got hurt?..."
The girl with obviously dyed black hair and a pierced eyebrow squatted down beside the injured animal and extended her hand toward him slowly so he might sniff her and began coaxing him with a soft sing song voice.
"Come on puppy… It's OK, not gonna hurt you… come on… that's it… It's just me Karen… see? Just Karen…"
Spike operated on his new form's instinct and his own desperation, he rolled up enough to take in her scent, she smelt like… lavender. Had he been in human form he would have cried. His mother had favored that scent too.
The hand came a little closer and he did the only thing he could do for the small moment of kindness, he licked the back of her hand gently then bent down further so her hand touched his head between his ears as a sign of trust.
"Oh Claire, look! And he's so soft… poor puppy! We have to help him! He's obviously not from around here – look at the bottom of his paws, they're raw! He's probably lost his way after being hit – or even before."
"Maybe the family moved and just left him behind… that happens you know, I saw it on Sixty Minutes… heaps of people do that, bastards!"
"What-ever… Look can he stay at your Mum's place? I mean at least she has a yard kind of."
"She's renting and it's like no pets policy, anyways she'd have a fit if I brought something home as big as this."
Both girls were now stroking Spike's fur so he simply put his head on his front paws and gave in to the rhythm while they determined his immediate future.
"What about your Dad? I know your Mum's like mine but at least your Dad kind of likes dogs."
"Yeah but at the moment I'm not even on visiting terms – the bitch from hell girlfriend has fixed that right up… apparently I am too much to 'handle', as if she ever does anything except complain about my hair, my piercings blahh blahh"
"OK, OK… Well we'll tell my Mum it's only for a few days, 'til he's healed – and hey we can go to the animal shelter for the Vet thing first, it's not that far – and we don't have to register him until your Mum kicks up a stink… and by the time she sees him… Well we'd better move – I wanna be home with him before her then she can't say no."
"What time's that?"
"Around seven, seven thirty if the traffic is real bad."
Karen cupped her hand under Spike's chin and raised his muzzle until he stared straight into her near black eyes, "Can you do this puppy? Can you follow us?"
His only way of answering was to struggle painfully to his feet. The rest had made him stiff again but he did his best and momentarily leaned into Karen's leg then simply stayed between the two as they made their way to the animal clinic.
The wait was lengthy and the smell of terrified animals and somber mood of many of the owners put Spike on edge. Human hospitals were bad enough… but he'd never had to use one. Now he knew why all the Scoobies hated having to be admitted – for whatever reason.
Eventually 'Leo' as the girls registered him as, followed the two and the vet into the examination room.
The next hour was a series of X-rays (confirming no breaks), local anesthetic needles, patches of the thick fur being shaved from around wounds, and then stitching of the worst. He was then given several antiseptic needles and the 'regular shots' just in case. This was followed by him being washed down with warm water and antiseptic wash, the veterinary nurse very careful to avoid disturbing his injuries. When he tried to lap at the water, she held the hose close and waited until he had sated his thirst then continued her task.
Lifted gently from the tub, he resisted the temptation to shake as most dogs did post drenching. He was still numb in all sorts of places but knew instinctively that it would risk breaking the stitches. Instead he simply stood patiently while his fur was patted and squeezed until as dry as possible all the while being praised for being a "Good dog". This was followed, of all things(!) by a quick blow dry in a special, rather tight enclosure that blew hot air from all sides at once.
Last but not least the now clean, raw pads on his paws were treated and wrapped.
Karen and Claire had been there while his wounds were treated but availed themselves to the free coffee on offer in the waiting room while he was being bathed. Now they welcomed him as though he was a long lost friend both kneeling and petting his rather fluffy, freshly clean fur.
The vet report was a good one, "…but he is too thin – I'd say he has been abandoned. I'm happy for you to nurse him back to health – but I am sure with his quiet nature we could adopt him out if neither of you are able to keep him. We'll keep him on our register until you decide. And don't forget – we run on donations if either of you ever want to help out – you know fundraiser at the High School would be appreciated."
He smiled to himself as he heard the two chatting excitedly about various money making ventures in aid of the centre, at the same time feeling a sense anger that someone had abandoned such a handsome and obviously good natured canine companion. Thousands of animals were euthanized every year in LA alone and despite his positive words, he knew that the adoptions were more likely when it was a puppy or lapdog, or at least a pedigree.
………………………
PART 3
As was expected, Claire's mother was less than impressed with the introduction of an animal to the household – and a large, injured dog no less.
Spike had been settled outside on an old army blanket, just to the right of the back door, and did his best to look as docile, friendly and pathetic as he could as Claire's mother eyed him with a mixture of disdain and annoyance. So when Claire pushed past her mother and knelt down beside him he licked her offered hand (belatedly realizing she had smuggled a little salt in her palm), wagging his tail and in the process thumping the ground with the appendage.
Claire won the day, but her mother was insistent, "His food is to come out of your wages from the chemist; you are to clean up his 'doings'; and this is only until he is healed or two weeks whichever comes first, then you are to take him back to the shelter. And there is no renegotiating, understand?" Claire nodded. She had known it was a long shot just bringing 'Leo' home, so was quite relieved.
Their backyard, such as it was, comprised a tiny patio area, a pull out clothes line, two potted plants (one lemon and one cumquat) and a small patch of grass – total area around five meters by six meters. But for Spike it was just perfect.
He slept almost all of the first four days and nights, occasionally getting up to stretch and pad around the yard a little, careful always to use the one rather bald piece of dirt in the far left corner for his toileting. Claire was attentive when there, never failing to fill his water bowl or bring him a treat. Raw mince was his favorite, though the crunch of the occasional hard dog biscuit was fast becoming a favourite.
On the third afternoon Karen came to visit, the two girls walked Spike up to the clinic again.
This time the visit was a quick one, the veterinary nurse checked his near healed paw pads and the stitches which would likely be healed by a week or so hence. There was no need to report back unless he was going up for adoption – which Claire sadly reported, was very likely.
Over the course of the next week Claire's mother warmed to the quiet canine in her backyard. His hair on the bald wound patches had begun to grow back, and the strikingly unusual blue eyes with their long black lashes looked at her with what she could only interpret as friendly interest. On Sunday morning, her only day off, Peggy sat outside in her favorite old robe at the small table reading the paper and drinking a freshly brewed coffee. Spike ventured over and when not told to leave, settled beside her chair and simply shared the moment of relaxation and enjoying the morning sun.
An hour or so later Claire stood silently at the door and watched her mother lean down and begin stroke 'Leo', and was privy to the one way conversation.
"I'm really sorry we can't keep you, I really am, but you can't live inside and you deserve a bigger space to run in and better company than we can give you. Somewhere with lots of kids, I'm sure you'd be great with kids." Spike leaned into the stroking hand.
Eventually Peggy sighed and stood, picked up her coffee cup and paper and headed inside. Claire was still at the back door, and gave her mother an understanding smile and said a quiet, "Thanks for letting Leo..."
Peggy just patted her daughter on the arm. "He's still got five more days here, that's something."
"Yeah…"
Spike knew he would have to escape somehow in four days' time, the adoption cages were too much like the Initiative, and in that same moment he decided that he would make the most of the time he had in comfort.
The following days he slept as much as possible while everyone was out; ate with relish and licked the bowl until it shone; leaned gratefully into the hands that petted him; and tried to convey his thanks. Karen came every day and Peggy bought him a lovely T-bone steak on the second last night then filled his water bowl with milk and dropped a raw egg in the middle – claiming that it would cause his coat to shine more, making adoption more likely. Later in the evening, Claire silently, sadly, brushed him with her own hair brush as they sat outside together.
…………………………………
"Hi Mrs Kuchanski, Claire… I um… I think I've found a home for Leo."
In unison the two Kuchanski women said, "That's so great! Where?"
"Dad's got a mate who works as a trucker and wouldn't mind the company. He said he could take him on Saturday when he heads through to Salt Lake City. Dad said he has always had dogs, so it sounds pretty good. Do you think?"
"Well it gives us one more day and at least we get to say goodbye properly."
Spike could hear the conversation, and much as he liked the idea of not being kenneled, and of 'travel', he wasn't so sure of the 'trucker's mutt' scenario.
He was walked daily, groomed and pampered in every way by all three women until Saturday at ten in the morning, when Jock Burbage rolled up in front of the house in his twenty-two wheel Mac truck to check out the dog. He had his doubts but the German shepherd-Husky cross was big enough to be useful and seemed obedient, time would tell.
Jock was a balding, very generously proportioned man wearing old blue jeans that rested under his stomach and seemed to require a lot of hitching up. He had a rather off-white wife beater with the trucking company's dark blue shirt over the top and wore an aging Yankees baseball cap. Jock's hands smelt of oil, cigarettes and whatever else he had been loading/touching that morning. His pat was rough and without the loving touch Spike had so quickly become accustomed to.
Jock shook Peggy's hand and nodded to the girls.
"Right well, he looks a might mangy but your dad told me he'd been injured. He get a clean bill of health?"
Karen piped up, "Oh yes… he's had all his shots and everything. The vet said he's fine. And he's really friendly and well behaved."
"Hmmpf… Hope not too friendly, need a guard dog for the truck as well as travel companion."
"Well he looks kind of big and mean?" Claire offered.
Jock leaned against the back wall of the house, lit a cigarette and stared at the dog which was now pacing rather nervously around the back yard.
Spike was on edge, he had to choose this or the adoption pens. He decided on the 'bird in the hand', and upped the anti by growling viciously at an imaginary foe behind the cumquat, his ears flattening as he snarled for several seconds.
Peggy was a little shocked, "Gosh, he's never done that before!"
Jock took one more long drag of his cigarette and flicked it toward the back fence, "Well seems he might work out after all. So… if you all say your goodbyes, time I hit the road – already a half hour behind 'cause of the detour here."
Spike rubbed lovingly against each of the women – accepting hugs and trying to convey his heartfelt thanks and sadness at having to leave. But then it seemed to have happened that way all through his very long existence. Just as something was right in his life… it all disappeared, or was ripped away, or he cocked it up somehow… Why should being a dog alter that?
He was glad to see a large bag containing dog biscuits, two huge bones and a quantity of meat being handed over, and accepted the rough rope with slipknot as it slid over his ears and stopped around his neck. It doubled as a leash but was hardly necessary. He had 'said' his goodbyes and jumped up into the truck's cabin with relative ease.
The rope stayed even though Spike waited patiently for his new 'owner' to hoist himself up into the driver's seat and wedge his belly just under the steering wheel. As soon as settled, Jock pointed to the floor of the passenger side, "Down! You gotta earn the right to git up here with me, mutt."
Spike got down as demanded into the rather dark, though spacious, area and curled up. He just knew he would get motion sickness if he couldn't see, but tried to imagine he was still a vampire and was in the boot of a car for sun protection. In the end he dozed off to the hum of the engine.
Several hours (and a few too many country tunes and cigarettes) later, the truck stopped. His door opened and he was ordered out, tied to a half ring on the front of the bumper bar and told to "Mind the truck – anyone comes near you do that growl thing, got it… and if that don't work, feel free to bite the bastards." And with that, Jock headed into the diner.
The cabin had been air conditioned, but now he was tied up in full sun on a stiflingly hot afternoon. He tried to take some shade from the truck itself but the lead only managed to let him get half way under. He chose to let each end of him take turns at staying a little cool but really all he wanted was a drink of water. Hunger be damned – it would probably just result in him being sick in his cramped travel compartment, but thirst was becoming critical.
Jock took his time, and the sun shifted a little until Spike was able to angle his whole body into the shade but he was still panting profusely.
One of the young pump attendants must have noticed his distress, because just as he though he might pass out, a plastic container of lukewarm water was pushed near enough for him to reach. He blinked grateful blue eyes at the lad and was rewarded with a quick scratch between the ears. By the time Jock came out replete with food but minutes later, the water was gone.
Fortunately for Spike another truckie wandered over to chat to Jock and got a little too close to "Candice" (apparently Jock's truck was female?) and Spike had his first chance to prove he should be sitting up on the seat in the cabin looking out. He growled and bared his teeth at the man, only to get a sharp smack on the muzzle from Jock for his trouble.
"Sorry Larry, mutt's new, got 'im today. One of them 'rescued' jobs, don't know 'is place yet."
Minutes later the disgraced ex-vampire was again on the floor with nothing more to think about than how he had got it all so wrong. Even with Angelus at his most erratic, at least vampire rules were clear, and punishment or reward fairly evenly metered out.
By the time they reached Salt Lake City, he had been fed once – two dog biscuits and a chunk of raw meat the size of a fist; watered twice; allowed to 'do his business' a couple of times; and hit or kicked for a variety of misdemeanors so minor that he was beginning to cringe away every time Jock even approached him. The worst was the first night when, after a few beers, Jock decided to 'train' his new pooch to be 'tougher'.
Spike was humiliated, demeaned and despite trying his hardest, given a hiding, then tied up outside with little protection from the rather cold wind that whistled between the truck's underbelly and the ground he lay on.
The load was dropped off in Salt Lake and another taken on – this time the destination was Portland (with two deliveries in between) and from there they headed for Seattle. Apparently this was Jock's regular run, but by Seattle, Spike had had enough.
His fur was back and his injuries healed but the constant whacks and minimal food was too much. The night before they were due to do the reverse trip, he spent several hours chewing at his leash, eventually biting through the rope and disappearing into the night.