A/N: See, Rosebud? As promised! A little late, but I was reading and writing and talking it up with a new friend... lol. Sorry. I did it, though! School starts again tomorrow after a week of spring break, so...yay... Updates might be slower, then, just to warn you.

This chapter includes a bit of Charley near the end. Not sure if he was even in the 1997 version, but oh well. As I haven't gotten to his and the others' part of the book yet (and from what I've read in fanfiction about him), I've probably gotten him all wrong, so sorry. I'm showing a bit more of his sensitive side, though, for those wary. (Also, I can't remember if Oliver's Mom is the daughter or daughter-in-law of Mr. Brownlow, so if I got that wrong, please tell me.) Again, I paraphrased the below quotation in the text (hopefully well); sorry, but sometimes it seems the best way, you know?

Disclaimer: Don't own "Oliver Twist"/Oliver Twist. Charles Dickens, ABC, and Disney do. (For the hundredth time...)

This chapter was inspired by:

"You know what I said about friends, mate. They become your enemies, sooner or later."

But all the while the heart strings are pulling as Oliver's young face crumbles.

"The rich blokes' place…" Dodger intones mischievously, a comforting smile forming. "Go back there, and stay there."

"Dodger…?" He paused in his walk and turned around slowly, recognizing the voice instantly. Warm eyes strove to mask his taxing worry, though he knew full-well its futility. The boy was too clever, knew too much of him, for that.

"Yes…Oliver?" he questioned confusedly, brow wrinkling at the child's thoughtfully scrunched face. Coming closer, Dodger ducked to sit beside him on the bunk, a worried expression overtaking his face. "Something wrong, mate?"

Oliver hummed, just barely tilting his head to the side. "I—I overheard Charley whispering today…" Dodger rolled his eyes; he'd told Oliver to keep his ear out of the other boys' business, especially when they were acting all 'private like' about it, "…and I heard something…"

Exasperatedly curious, Dodger let out a flash of a smile before becoming serious again. "What was it?"

If it were something about Sykes, about Nancy, even about Fagin, he could smile grimly and place the blame on his or her respective demons.

If it were about the other boys, he could wave off and explain their well-known issues.

If it were about Oliver and his purpose for being here, though… Perhaps he could try to figure it out on the spot; after all, he'd always been told he was insightful for his age…though he didn't think only just realizing—with Oliver's arrival, in fact—how disgusting Sykes, Fagin, and their livelihood could be accounted for that.

…Unless the world had turned upside down while he'd slept…and he didn't doubt that it could have. It seemed his life had been nothing but backwards and top-hat over ever since he'd brought the boy home months earlier.

"It was…" he turned to Dodger, voice still weighing somewhat on the floored side, "…about you, actually."

Dodger cocked an eyebrow. "Me?"

The boy nodded. "Yes. They said you'd gotten so attached to me that they didn't fancy you'd let any trap, let alone Bill Sykes, get at me without a…fight..." Oliver's words held back a bit as he took in the embarrassed, telling expression on Dodger's face. Placing a warm, companionable hand on his best friend's, the boy asked quietly, "What's it mean, Dodge?"

Gazing into the twelve-year-old's eyes, he grinned and grasped the hand that held his. Normally, talking about him in such a way behind his back would merit wringing the boys' necks, but…

He chuckled lightly, smiling at the irony. It was the perfect safeguard, really, and he should have known—honestly, this was Charley—that they'd use it against him one of these days. After all, it's not like there was any roughing to be done if what they said were true.

So, he decided to tell him straight. He owed him that much.

Lowering his voice for intimacy's sake, he delicately shook their joined hands and beamed at the boy tenderly. "It means, Oliver, that I care for you very much. It means that, coming down to it, I would go to jail in your place." The youth's eyes widened as he sucked in a breath, and Dodger was glad he understood the true extent of his devotion. "You don't belong there, Oliver." The twelve-year-old sat back, closed his mouth, and nodded solemnly with understanding eyes. "It means that I will protect you from whatever I can as well as I can until you find something better than this." With an undertone of humor and a flick of his eyes, he indicated the room at large. "Because we both know your place isn't here."

"Yes…" Oliver was happy for a moment, a meditative smile lighting up his countenance and hazel eyes, but a sudden fall came and shattered it. Looking down at his bare, filthy, blistered-and-callused feet, there was such a melancholy, electric feel to the air around him that the seventeen-year-old was immediately uneasy.

"Dodge…" the boy looked up at him now, eyebrows dipping, "…what'll happen to you if…when I…?" This seemed to be difficult for him, so Dodger stepped in to help.

"Get back?" he offered, and Oliver nodded gradually, biting his lip. "Oliver, please, promise you won't worry about me. I'll be fine, I swear." Pursing his lips, his eyes were somehow more vibrant. "As your friend, trust me, okay?" He gave the boy a tiny, hopeful smile.

Swallowing slowly, eyes flashing, Oliver unexpectedly threw his arms around Dodger's neck. The seventeen-year-old was momentarily shocked at the abrupt action before wrapping his arms around the boy and holding tightly. "I promise, Dodger, but…you're my best friend, Dodge. I think I have a right to worry."

He had more to say, made obvious by the second breath he took, but his friend stopped him with a whisper. "'Friend'… That's a very strong word, you know."

Oliver pulled back slowly, looking into his eyes determinedly. "Yes." Then, his tone took on a different, almost older quality. "And I meant it, Dodger. You know I did."

Dodger's blue eyes shadowed a moment as he stared at the boy, brow furrowing and lips forming a thin line. "Yeah, I know. And that's what scares me."

Rubbing Oliver's arms affectionately for a moment, he lay back on the bunk with his arms folded behind his head. His hat slid almost all the way over his eyes, and Oliver pushed it back a little to make him more comfortable before flopping down beside him. There wasn't much room on the bunk, but they didn't mind.

After several minutes of quiet, Oliver couldn't contain his bubbling curiosity anymore. "Dodger…" the older boy, having closed his eyes, felt the bed shift as his friend turned on his side to look at him, "…why does it scare you?"

Sighing roughly through his nose, Dodger squeezed his eyes shut for an instant, wishing to block out the world…before being forced to succumb to its reality. Opening them, he blinked a few times to get his slightly blurry vision back to normal prior to fixing his eyes on the twelve-year-old's face.

"I've seen what happens to friends on the streets, Oliver. They turn on each other; peach when the other filches, sing where they're staying, let the other get caught when the traps see them at their game." He watched Oliver blanch, eyes wide and filling with tears all at once. Sitting up, he was surprised when the boy didn't back away. His face was firm, voice matching. "I trust you, Oliver. Please don't think I don't." His eyes were pleading, small tears gathering strength. "I would never betray that." His voice wavered a little. "I'd die first," he admitted sacredly, a few of the tears falling.

"Dodger…" Oliver was white as a sheet and shaking, and Dodger brought him close, curling him into a protective embrace against his chest. His mouth was dry as he started up again.

"It's just…the things I've seen… You don't get over them so easily, Oliver. You just—" his voice splintered as more tears fell, "—don't…" He grabbed fistfuls of the twelve-year-old's shirt as they both otherwise relaxed into the other's embrace, Dodger finally allowing his tears to flow.

They wiped their eyes and sniffed numerous times upon pulling apart minutes later. Faces still red and slightly tear-stained, Dodger's hat was slightly askew and Oliver's hair was sticking up at odd angles. Still, there was a sense of action shrouding the older.

Staring hard at the younger boy's dirty face, he took the lad's hands and gently entwined their fingers.

"We have to get you back there. If Mr. Brownlow is your grandfather, the Father of the woman in your locket, you can have the life you deserve, Oliver." He squeezed the hands he held kindly, voice going low again. "You know that's all I want for you."

Yawning, Oliver lay down on his side and looked up at Dodger, one of their hands still intertwined. Dodger lay down next to him, brushing the boy's dirty hair from his forehead, gazing at him with such protectiveness and care that Oliver tenderly wrapped his arms around his chest and buried his face there. Dodger cradled his head in one of his hands as the other snaked around his skinny frame and hugged him strongly.

"I know, Dodger," Oliver mumbled sleepily against him, nearly-but-not lost on the more alert boy. "Thank you…"

The seventeen-year-old grinned.

"You're welcome, Oliver. You're welcome."

Home from the job at last, the other boys barged through the door in their usual loud manner, but Fagin instantly quieted them with a finger to his lips and a point in the direction of the two curled up on the bed. Seeing it for what it was, the boys inclined their heads, most of them nevertheless snickering and laughing behind their hands as they ventured off to have dinner and play a game of cards.

Charley, however, hung back, walking over to them as silently as possible, his stealthy footwork making little to no sound. Draping a blanket over the pair, he caressed their heads with a feather-light touch, his eyes soft and sad.

"You're getting in too deep, Dodge."

~Dodger had fallen inside the black a long time ago, but he'd be damned if Oliver followed him.~