"Right," Spike muttered, half-heartedly teasing Jayne. "Good thing you warned me." He sighed, partly in frustration and partly from just plain feeling tired, and focused on the hotel. With a solitary focal point, the blurriness in his vision was easier to manage.
It was easier, as it always was, for Spike to just focus on his thoughts instead of how badly injured he was or what was going on around him. He wondered just how many more reavers would be released, if their captors would step in should someone be inches from death... or stand back and let it happen, confident that every life on the island was replaceable. Did he really care? When it came down to his own life, he wasn't particularly sure; three psychopathic men-turned-creatures weren't enough to change his fatalistic approach to life in general. But what about Ed... and Parker (who reminded him just enough of Julia that he felt compelled to protect her)? Just how bad was the situation going to get before the attack was called off and the reavers were shipped back to... wherever the hell they came from? Spike really did hate thinking, especially at times like this.
Luckily, he was dragged from the less-pleasant thoughts by another: the strange realization that he and Jayne were likely to get blood on the floor. Though he didn't speak the thought, he allowed himself a small laugh at the idea, and wondered if someone would try to make them clean up any mess that did occur. Faye probably would have, if she were there. Of course, he'd ignore her shrew-like demands, she'd get angry, and inevitably something (perhaps even a punch) would be thrown at his injured shoulder.
Wait... why was he thinking of that pain-in-the-ass? He really had lost too much blood, hadn't he?