A/N: I told you! Another chapter in the same day! lol. As you can hopefully tell by now, this story is going to go in chronological order.
For the millionth time: Dodger/Oliver friendship, unless you prefer otherwise.
This chapter was inspired by:
Dodger watches as Oliver gets dragged away by Sykes and Nancy.
He hates this.
He trailed Oliver with the boys the next day, though everything apart from the now well-dressed-and-groomed boy was a blur. He kept his eyes on his back, the boy's form a small bit thicker than he remembered; he was relieved to see this new family was feeding him well. He deserved the best, after all.
Even so, he wasn't going to get the best, not today. Today and innumerable days afterward, he was going to get the worst, and then some. There was no going back, no way to go back, and that was what scared him the most.
What if Oliver hated him for participating in this, never mind that he was doing it to keep him safe? What if he shook him off and never spoke to him again, never looked at him again? What if he lost him?
That last thought made his eyes burn and head spin, but they soon cleared when he saw Nancy up ahead. She was so beautiful, too beautiful to be mixed up in the dealings of a murderer and cheater like Bill Sykes. She was a butterfly caught in a spider's web, and he knew as well as she did that there was no getting out once caught.
He prayed more fervently than he had in all his life that Oliver would not fall into the same trap of deceit and day-to-day discontentment. He didn't deserve that. He deserved so much better than he was getting even now.
Seeing his…cue as Nancy began walking toward Oliver, he sprinted to stand on the alley entrance's other side. He could only wait now, holding his breath, and not hearing the words Nancy spoke to Oliver as she got a reluctant, though tight grip on his shoulders and forced him to walk with her.
He could hear the boy protesting—in all reality, it was the only thing he could hear—and struggling to get away, though it was obvious he was happy to see his Mother figure again.
When he saw and was grabbed roughly by Sykes, however, one hand hard pressed over his mouth, his eyes were wide. Paling until he was the color of his snow-white collar and twisting in all manners to try to get away, he shrieked all the while.
Due to one of those maneuvers, their eyes locked. Freezing, they stared into the utter depths of the other's soul. The only thing Dodger wished for Oliver to see was how much he hated this, how sorry he was for everything.
He was finding what he had already known with Oliver: fear, confusion, and panic at what was happening, betrayal at seeing him there… Was he dreaming? He swore he saw the betrayal changing before his eyes into something he couldn't quite place. It looked akin to…acceptance, though, understanding, and he didn't know why he suddenly felt so relieved.
Abruptly, he noticed Sykes's face contorting, and he had no choice but to look away from his friend's hazel orbs. The man was grinning in that wicked, scarier-than-anything way of his, and he shuddered as his horrible eyes traveled down to the gunny sack clutched in Dodger's hand.
Paling, he looked at it. He'd forgotten about that…
Glancing back up, he saw Sykes staring at Oliver now with that same expression on his face, and he took a protective step forward. Sykes saw this and turned to him, shaking his head and, being sure to tighten his hold on the boy's mouth, took the hand pinioning Oliver's arms to tap the side of his coat. He was mocking him…
Feeling his mouth go dry and tears fill his eyes, he leaned against the wall for the necessary support as his legs went wobbly. He could do nothing.
The next moments were unable to be remembered. All he knew was that Sykes had taken Oliver into the alley, bound him as one would an animal, and beaten him mercilessly. The boy's stifled cries being the only sounds to meet his ears during that time, he wasn't ashamed of the tears that escaped his eyes and slid down his cheeks.
Unexpectedly, he was brought from his inner pain by a good-sized rock from the direction of the alley nailing him in the head. The sharp smarting and light trickle of blood that flowed down from his forehead above his right eye was felt for only a second.
Either Oliver was fighting back, or Sykes had had no other way of getting his attention. He hoped with all he was that it was the first.
Rushing into the blackness, he waited. Gathering his courage, he whispered hopefully.
"Oliver?"
"He's here, Dodger." Sykes's scornful, triumphant voice was heard instead of the twelve-year-old's, and the older boy felt himself blend in with the pitch darkness surrounding him.
"What did you do?" He demanded angrily, frightened that Oliver might be… He forced the thought from his mind and listened for the answer. He just got another, condescending chuckle.
"Now, now, don't you worry. He's not dead…" Relief flared through his body. "Yet."
That threat alone was enough to send him into a panic. He had to know how bad off Oliver was, for both of their sakes.
"Please…please, let me see him." He couldn't stop his voice from trembling, from sounding very unlike the Artful Dodger the boys, Fagin, and only a handful of other Londoners knew.
"You'll see him soon enough. Give me the sack." The edge had returned to that horrid voice, and he could only consent. If Oliver was as badly injured as the crook made it sound, there was no time to be spared.
He heard the sack's coarse material ruffle as the small boy started to be shoved inside. Apparently, it wasn't as easy as Sykes had wagered, for he was grunting and swearing every few seconds.
"Dodger, help me with him." He hesitated. Without warning, he was jerked forward by his collar and made to kneel a few paces from where he'd just been standing. Sykes released his front and took his hands, placing them on Oliver's shins. He was being put in head first.
"Wait a minute." His own voice took on the intimidating tone this time, and he was incredibly thrown off guard when Sykes did as he asked.
"What?" This wasn't right.
"Put him in the other way. He'll die so far from the air." He could only hope the stubborn cheat would listen to reason. His best friend's life depended on it.
"Fine, but hurry it up."
They lifted the unconscious, fragile boy and switched places as they turned in a circle, Dodger being as careful as he could while Sykes jostled the child as he liked. Something warm and wet began seeping through the seventeen-year-old's lower left pant leg, and Dodger knew by its smell what it was.
Blood. Oliver was bleeding.
All at once, he had to fight back the unimagined surge of the demon within him. Sykes would pay for this, if it was the last thing he did.
Oliver, tied up and in the bound gunny sack, was laid into his outstretched arms about fifteen seconds later. He wasn't sure how to carry him; the boy could be hurt far worse than he even dared to imagine, and if that was the case, wouldn't someone catch them if they saw blood soaking through the brown fibers?
"Come on. Let's get back before Fagin gets any older, shall we?" From beside him, Sykes whispered in dark humor, and a chill tingled down his spine. How he hated that man.
Gingerly raising Oliver to lay across both of his shoulders, figuring that would keep him the safest and be the least likely position to cause further injury, they stepped out of the black alleyway and into the white-yellow sunlight.
He no longer felt worthy of the warmth the Sun gave, no matter how odd that made him sound. The weight of Oliver was equivalent to something he had heard in the square once, a story of a god who had held the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He was barely aware of Nancy and the rest of the boys tagging behind them at inconspicuous paces, and he also did not notice the woman's worried glances toward the child she had involuntarily helped her lover kidnap.
The only thing he knew was that he had just been an unwilling accomplice in his best friend's snatching and—though he prayed he was wrong—possible death.
~Oliver didn't deserve this, just as he didn't deserve Oliver.~
A/N: Thanks for reading!