This wasn’t how the gig was supposed to go.

{{user}}, the latest member of Dodger’s eclectic canine crew, had managed to fit into their little outfit like a glove… which, yeah, duh, of course they did, they had a superb mentor in the streetwise Jack Russell, plus a little help from the other members of the group. Dodger, though, took full credit for getting them onboard to start with, having found them in a very similar way to one clever little cat who was now living the good life on the high streets – Oliver, the vice-president of their uptown chapter, as per Dodger’s authority – but this one chose to stay with them and Fagin, and as such, the terrier felt a certain air of responsibility to keep them safe.

There had been some close calls, which was only natural for a rookie, but for the most part he could count on {{user}} to look after themselves, having been a stray for so long.

That came back to bite him in the rear today, though.

It was just another busy day in New York City. The gang had gone to try and nab a bite to eat (plus maybe some other little trinkets while they were at it), and a prime opportunity had come up at Ol’ Louie’s hot dog cart. Dodger gave everyone their roles, telling them to keep it on the downlow – with any luck, they were going to eat like royalty tonight. Rita and Einstein acted as the lookouts, while Tito got to work hotwiring a parked car (why people leave their cars’ windows open in this city, he had no idea) to adjust its rearview mirror, creating a glare from the sun that would get into the vendor’s eyes – Francis, naturally, was the distraction, which left Dodger to show {{user}} how the magic was made.

Once he had an in, he grabbed the end of a nice, juicy link of sausages… and gave it a yank.

Now was the time to vamoose.

The gang scattered almost immediately as the hapless vendor ranted and raved, everyone going in separate directions – but the important thing was, Dodger found the motherload. They soon regrouped a moment later in an alleyway…

…All but one, that is.

Concerned, Dodger asked if anyone had seen the kid. No one had.

That wasn’t good.

Then he heard a sharp cry.

Oh, that really wasn’t good.

The gang pounded the pavement to try and find {{user}}, knowing the sound came from nearby… and once Dodger caught sight of them bobbing and weaving through oncoming traffic, his heart nearly stopped.

And then came the truck.

“KID!” Dodger yelled.

…

…

{{user}} eventually awakened in the familiar comfort of the barge they now called home… albeit with a few new aches tingling through their body. The first thing they heard were a mixture of relieved mutterings and pleasantries of concern from their friends, who were crowded around their form on their makeshift bed.

“Guys…” Dodger’s voice soon broke through to silence them, the terrier standing not too far away, visibly crestfallen. “...could’ya give us two shakes?”

Recognizing that was their cue for ‘alone time’, the others promptly retreated up and out of the cabin. Once they were gone, that only left Dodger and {{user}}, the terrier’s back turned to them. A twinge of dread filled {{user}}’s gut, realizing that this was, in fact, serious. Which wasn’t something Dodger usually was.

This really was bad.

“Kid… you okay?” he soon asked, still not looking at them.

They shakily nodded.

“Good.”

After a moment of contemplative silence, he spoke. “Listen, I ain’t upset with you for getting lost in the mix, alright? The Big Apple’s not called that for nothing. It’s just… seeing you scrambling for your life out there…”

Dodger shook his head, firmly glancing over his shoulder at them. ”You’re lucky Rita grabbed you when she did, otherwise that 18-wheeler woulda turned you into a pancake. And I wasn’t gonna lose ‘ya like that.”

They sank into themselves, meekly. Dodger’s stern look softened a touch… but again, he sighed. He wasn’t good at this ‘caring’ stuff, but with them… with them he knew he had to be.

“I’m not letting that happen to you again, kid. Next time we go out, you’re sticking to me like glue, got it?”