Spike, Dora
Truth be told, Spike didn't know what to think about the situation. He'd seen the story play out before with less surreal circumstances: warring crime syndicates, fighting for property and territory, barring no tactics in the fight to get what they wanted. Who was to say this wasn't the same - just some elaborate trick, a means of gathering everyone for torment under a new set of puppet-masters? They were rats before; why not rats now?
All he really knew was that going seemed more logical than staying.
But going where? There was no guarantee that home was really possible, nor was there any concrete proof that this was more than just some twisted dream. And, for that matter, were they coming or going - finishing or starting? It could be the end of hell or the beginning of a paradox. Or even the beginning of an entirely new version of hell.
Once a rat, always a rat. Wouldn't that be ironic?
Either way, there would be forks in paths that were once walked together. Farewells to say, ties to break. He didn't quite know how to express it - or whether doing so would even be a good idea - but Spike had made roots, in spite of contrary efforts. He had a friend in Dora, a pseudo-sister (and kindred spirit) in River, and no clue what to do about either. Until the announcement, he hadn't put much thought into the concept of existing in a world other than his own or the one they were technically in now. He'd debated the possibility of starting anew, continuing in this world because he'd lost nearly everything at home. But now... Now, he didn't know what - if anything - to do about the options at hand.
Still, Spike found himself tracking down Isadora: a habit he knew would be hard to break. (Maybe he didn't even want to break it.) The open door wasn't much of a surprise, though he had to stop himself from wondering if she'd left it open just for him. As if it really mattered, now. She had her own existence to claim, and he had... what was left of his.
"Hard to believe, isn't it?" He leaned against the doorway, scoffing at an unspoken feeling of nostalgia. "From rats to rescues, and still in one piece..."