Fantasy A Police Dog? (for ianbabyyy)

[Sparkleish]

Charles liked to think of himself as a personable guy. He got along with everyone at the station, always making the effort to remember names of those who were around often and ask them about their kids or partners or whatever other life situations they had spoken about in the past. It had always been important to him to be liked, and to make others feel like they were liked in return. One day, he had hoped, those pleasant conversations with co-workers would become a genuine connection of friendship.

After six years working here, it didn’t seem to be going that way. He was invited out to drinks with the rest of the station, included in the times they went for food and he liked to think he did and said all the right things when they were out together. Regardless, it was the rest of his co-workers that ended up bonding into various groups, enjoying each other’s company, and he was left heading back to his one-bedroom apartment and feeding his cat.

After a while of the same behaviours, Charles had decided that trying to connect with the people at work just wasn’t going to work for him. Keeping up the same friendliness as he always had was a must, of course, but he didn’t bother trying to go out to every event in the hope that someone would pay him attention.

That was about when he had started noticing the gentleman who seemed to live – or at least spend a lot of his time – outside the station. At first he hadn’t thought much of him, just giving him a nod, a smile, and whatever change was rattling around in his wallet. After time, they had started talking a little more – sharing names, conversation, catch ups. Unlike the rest of the people he shared pleasantries with, however, Charles found himself growing rather fond of this one. He seemed … genuine.

Which was why, when the city was bunkered down for a hurricane that was starting to tear through, Charles was in his car and driving through the wind and the rain. His window was down, and he was looking out through the whipping water. The short hair on the top of his head was plastered down, soaking wet, with water dripping down lightly-tanned skin. He was left trying to blink the water from his brown eyes, and shouting over the sound of the wind.

“Andrew!” Was this the stupidest thing he had ever done? Quite possibly, but who knew how a homeless man was supposed to brave through a damn hurricane. “Andrew Grace!”

 

[awriternamedian]

How could he be so hot and so cold all at once? It felt like his whole body was going up in flames, and yet the rain cut through him like ice. Each drop was a dagger slicing through his already torn flesh. Blood had stained his pale fur, seeping from his wounds and leaving streaks of red behind him on the concrete. It was a trail that would have led his enemies straight for him if not for the storm. Nobody would be crazy enough to hunt him down yet, not and risk dying themselves, especially not with most of them recovering as well. He winced as he stumbled over a rock, nearly tumbling to the sidewalk. It took all of his willpower to stay upright, knowing that where ever he went down, he wouldn't be getting up from any time soon.

He wasn't going to die like this. His wounds weren't bad enough to kill him. And a hurricane certainly wasn't. The two combined could be dangerous, but he was stubborn. All he needed was some shelter, somewhere to wait out the storm, but unfortunately nothing had popped out at him yet. He'd accept even a cardboard box at this point, but the streets and alleys weren't feeling particularly generous today.

A low groan escaped the wolf as he paused, limbs trembling, fighting to stay up against the gusting wind. Golden eyes flicked around the street, searching for any source of help though he knew none would come. The storm had cleared the streets of people, which meant no help for him. Though the presence of people could be problematic. Who knew what the reaction would be to a small, injured wolf dragging its way through the city. No, all he needed was some shelter, somewhere he could wait until the chaos lessened and he could find his hideaway. Then he could regroup, lick his wounds, decide what would happen next. If he should leave, find a new home. Or if he should fight for this one and to say to hell with werewolf law. Why should he have to leave here?

His eyes fell on an awning on the other side of the street, positioned just right that it would cut a chunk of the wind and rain. It was a little more in the open than he would have wanted, but beggars couldn't be choosers. With a soft whine, he changed directions, limping across the street, even as black tendrils started to creep across his vision. His body was going numb, shock setting in. He was so close, it was just within reach. Tears started to form in his eyes as his legs gave out a little over halfway across, sending him tumbling onto the slick asphalt. So this was it, this was how he died, he thought as consciousness slowly started to flicker. Not at the hands of his own, but most likely by being hit by a fucking car.

 

[Sparkleish]

It seemed the wolf came real close to dying in just the way he feared.

Charles saw the injured animal with barely enough time to react – the rain was making it hard to see anything, even with full beams on, and he had been so focused on calling out for the man he was looking for that he had almost failed to notice the canine that was slumped in the middle of the street.

“Shit!” The brakes locked up on the slick ground as Charles struggled to get the vehicle to a sudden stop, turning the wheel in an attempt to direct away from the mass of fur and blood on the road. It was by no means a certain thing, but he managed to pull the beaten-up sedan over to the wrong side of the road and stopped in time before anything disastrous happened.

Letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, Charles quickly stumbled out of the car and headed over to the beat up dog in the road – at least, he assumed it was a dog. It was kind of big. And furry. And real big, actually. But hell, they were in the middle of the city; what were the chances it was anything else?

Still real big though.

Charles was no stranger to blood, and taking a second to look over the dog in the light of his headlights he couldn’t even be sure it wasn’t dead. Leaning over to take a closer look (probably not his smartest move), he was relieved to see a light rise and fall of its chest – good. Still, poor thing was definitely in bad shape … Biting his lip, Charles took one last look around the empty street before resigning himself to the thing he had known before he had even left his home that evening; he was never going to find Andrew out here.

Putting his hands underneath the dog, murmuring quietly to the creature as he did so with soothing words, he tried to lift with his legs and was surprised by the amount of weight he was currently trying to shift. What kind of dog was this? Grunting with the effort, he made the short trip over to his car and pulled open the back door to lay the creature over the back seats.

“Guess Andrew will have to wait. You just stay back there, okay pup?” Pushing the door closed, and now soaked to the bone, Charles got into the front and let the heaters do the work to warm him and his new passenger back up. It was then that he started the drive back home, wondering quite what he was going to do with a dog, particularly one that probably weighed close to the same amount that he did, in a hurricane.

 

[awriternamedian]

There was some sort of sharp sound, echoing at the fringe of his consciousness, making his ears twitch. A screech, the slam of a door. They just penetrated the fog in his mind, though he couldn't seem to comprehend what they meant. He floated inside a pool of ice, even the pain of his injuries faint. The soft murmur of unintelligible words reached his ears just moments before his pain spiked, dragging a whine from his throat and waking him up. It took a moment to figure out what had happened, to notice the arms wrapped around his limp, heavy body. He was being moved, dragged up off the road and set into what he realized was a car. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually been inside of a car.

The sound of his name made his ears twitch again, and he managed to get his eyes open in time to catch sight of the man who'd moved him. He looked familiar somehow, though Andrew couldn't quite place it. The wolf tended to see and remember things differently than the man, and it sometimes made crossover difficult. Sighing and enjoying the fact that he was out of the rain, he settled down, letting his eyes slip shut again. He didn't know what would happen now, whether this man was going to take him to a vet, or to a pound, or whatever could possibly still be open at the moment, if anything was. No matter the destination though, he was relieved and thankful. Even if he just stayed on this back seat for the duration of the storm, it was dry and it was warm, and that was all that mattered to him.

He did wish he could thank the man. Wished the wolf could use human words. He'd hate to take advantage of his hospitality and then just leave without a word. Even he had better manners than that. Though he supposed animals weren't usually in the habit of thanking the humans that had helped them, and he wondered why this was running through his mind. The fog had receded enough for him to think, but none of his thoughts were being particularly helpful.

 

[Sparkleish]

Charles couldn’t think of anything to do apart from bring this poor creature back to his home. There was no way there was anything still open and running right now, and he would just have to take as best care of this creature until they were. He was sure as hell no vet, and wouldn’t be able to fix the dog up at all, but he could at least make sure he was warm, comfy and well fed until the morning.

The drive back was, thankfully, uneventful, and Charles was able to draw into the assigned parking outside his apartment building. Dithering for a moment over whether to leave the car running while he went inside, he eventually decided no one was going to steal a car with a massive dog in the back and left everything running with the heat on while he hurried inside.

It was almost five minutes later that he returned, shutting off the car and completing the difficult task of gathering the dog back up in his arms and starting what felt like the gargantuan journey to his apartment. The main entrance wasn’t far, and he kicked the stopper he had been using to hold it open out of the way as he stepped inside, before taking the stairs up to the next floor and then heading to his own apartment.

Stepping inside, it lead directly into a joint living room and kitchen. In the light of home, as thankfully the power was still holding, he was able to get a closer look at the canine and was a little less convinced that what he had just brought home was definitely a dog. Still, what else could it be?

Carrying him over to the pile of cushions and blankets he had set up with some grunts, Charles did his best to be gentle as he laid the dog down in them. He grabbed a couple of towels he had laid out off to the side then, wrapping one around himself and using the other to gently start drying his strange new friend off.

“Sorry about all this Fluffy – you can rest now, and we’ll get you to a vet once this hurricane has cleared and they can check you out. Reckon you’re okay with that?” Why Charles was talking to a dog he wasn’t sure, but he had always enjoyed the company of them – at least, in theory. He’d never had the time to own one himself. “Once you’re dried off I’ll get you something to eat and drink, and then we’ll ride this storm out together. Did you get hit by a car or something, hm? Poor thing …”

It was good to have something to distract Charles; it stopped him from thinking about the person he had actually been out looking for.