A/N: I believe I may have drifted on this one a bit, with the point, I mean... This is the scene where Bill makes Dodger follow Nancy. This scene is very AU, as in the movie, Dodger does it semi-willingly (he's getting paid; he is a broke rogue of England trying to get by, after all), but I didn't like that, so...well, you'll see. Please tell me if everyone's characterized all right!

Warning: This chapter has some violence in it, just to warn you. And one...other thing... (Nothing horrible, I swear, but...you'll see.)

Thanks for reading, as always! This chapter took forever and is a bit longer than the others, nearly 5 pages, while the rest are about 3 1/2 at most. Hope you enjoy! (Oh, and the last line before the 'squiggly-lined part' is a slight modification to a line from the Bible: Luke 23:34.)

This chapter was inspired by:

He smells the liquor on Sykes' breath as the glowing, violent eyes bear into him.

He glares back defiantly.

"You will help me, Dodger," the man sneers dangerously, "or you know what'll happen."

Nancy had left not four minutes prior, but already, Sykes was here, aura murderous even as he recovered from his fury-paced run. A dangerous light shone, raged, in his eyes, and Dodger was silently quite thankful that the other boys were out on the job at the moment. For an especially hung-over Sykes, they were little more than targets.

"Bill, calm yourself," Fagin ordered softly, looking to the youngest male in the room. Outstretching an arm, he flicked his ring finger into the air; it was their signal to fetch something strong. "Dodger, my dear, get the man a drink, will you?"

The boy moved to fulfill the request, but was stopped by the sounds of fists harshly striking the table. Instinctively, he jumped and turned toward the source of the noise, but regretted it as Sykes' shrill yells filled the room.

"I don't want a drink, Fagin, I want to know where she's gone!" Grabbing Fagin by his collar, Sykes brought the man so close that their noses were millimeters from touching. Eyes glinting in an almost wild fashion, he shook Fagin angrily, the older man himself sporting wide, fearful eyes and appearing not to be chancing breath. "She's betrayin' me, Fagin, I know she is! She's taken to that boy, that rotten little brat who's worth nothin'!" A few tears, most likely not withheld due to the mist and pain of his hangover, slid down his cheeks. "Nothin', I tell you!"

Then, abruptly, he shoved Fagin back—who promptly scrambled clear across the room, chest heaving and eyes terrified—and gripped one of the vertical wooden beams at his side for support.

Dodger wasn't paying any attention to either of them, though. Sykes had bashed Nancy for helping Oliver—as that was, in fact, what he knew in his heart she was doing, God bless her—bashed Oliver himself for being so very, innocently good: those were two offenses for which he would not stand.

Clenching his fists, he drew himself up to his full height and glared at the drunken fellow. "That's not fair, Sykes. Nancy's not like that, and you know it."

The man's neck snapped to look at him so fast Dodger swore he didn't see it, and the next thing he knew, he had taken up Fagin's position in the cheating assassin's chokehold. "What did you say to me, rat?" Sykes hissed through clenched teeth, and Dodger had to fight to keep from grimacing; honestly, did he think his beer-breath was attractive?

Instead, he added more heat to his glare and pulled his lips back into a snarl. "Nancy loves you, and if you love her or ever did, you may want to prove it with something other than your," he spat the next part, "daily beatings."

Angry as a bat from Hell, Sykes expressed something akin to insanity as he pulled his fist back and appeared more than prepared to kill Dodger and anyone else who defied him. Seeing this, the boy turned his head away, hoping to spare what little dignity he had left after being a rowdy pickpocket for eight straight years.

Luckily, he didn't have to hold out for long.

"Wait, Bill!" A wrinkled, gnarled hand closed over the enfolded fist, and Dodger was quite surprised when Sykes fell back a smidgen and peered at Fagin curiously. "The—the boy may be right, you know. Perhaps you should trust her." When Sykes started to look ferocious again, he continued hastily, "You—you've been together a long time, after all. I dare say, I wouldn't believe it if she were to turn on you now!" The old man gave a weak chuckle, but it quickly died, and the two older men stared at each other for a long time. "So—so why not let the boy go, Bill?" Fagin begged gently. "He's—"

"It's still not fair!" Dodger insisted, breaking into his caretaker's speech and ignoring his patronizing glance; no doubt Fagin was mulling over how very stupid he thought he was. Sykes turned back to him, breaths slow and deep as the fire came back to his ugly eyes. "What about Oliver, huh? You knew he never belonged here in the first place, but you went ahead and took him away when he'd finally found happiness in his life!" Another thought occurred to him, and his voice got louder in its righteous defense of the best friend he had ever had. "And he couldn't have peached while there because the traps would have been on all of our bums by now!" His eyes narrowed hatefully, voice unfathomably more intense. "But you—you have the nerve to play with his heart anyway, like his pain is of absolutely no consequence to you!"

The evil smirk and chuckle that rose from within Sykes in a moment's time were none too settling for Dodger. He gulped and gritted his teeth, daring himself not to give in to the side of him that was screaming bloody murder.

"Oh," Sykes whispered menacingly, voice lilting treacherously as he brought the younger male ever closer, "but it is, my dear…!"

And he threw Dodger to the floor with such force that a jagged, splinter-pricked gash was made across the back of the boy's ankle, his foot having gone through one of the more rotten floorboards. Severely biting down on his lip to keep from crying out, Dodger pushed back the impulsive tears in his eyes and did his best to distract himself by mentally dressing his wound—never had he been more thankful for the lessons in crude medical care Nancy had given him when he'd first enlisted into Fagin's little gang.

Once finished with this task, his rational mind exasperatingly reminded him that he couldn't stay under cover of his mind forever, and he grudgingly returned to reality. The first thing he found there was Sykes zoning in on the wound he'd caused with a disgusting leer on his face. Ignoring it in a show of revolted pity, Dodger turned to the more important matter at hand.

"What does that mean, Sykes?" he asked suspiciously, referring to the man's preceding words. Because of his foot, he lacked the ability to back away when the assassin knelt down in front of him; that horrid look was still there, in his face, in his eyes, and Dodger wondered if Sykes truly had lost his mind at last. Really, it wouldn't be at all surprising.

"It means, Mr. Dawkins, that you will be my pawn," he drawled, grinning malevolently all the while. Understanding the implications of such words at once, Dodger began to quiver violently, shaking his head slowly as his blood turned ice-cold and an all-encasing lump took residence in his throat. Sykes merely laughed wickedly and growled, "Yes, you will!"

With that, the cheat grabbed the boy's injured leg and cruelly squeezed the wound directly, making Dodger involuntarily scream at the white-hot pain that struck his heart and blinded his senses. He was let go a moment later.

Staring at the man incredulously, the seventeen-year-old's true fear was inadvertently revealed as he breathed heavily and began to sweat from the strain being put on his body.

What was this?! Some kind of sick, pleasing torture?!

Apparently, the answer was yes.

Sykes, maintaining the grin that made him resemble a madman seconds away from world dominion, repeated the agonizing action in the next instant. His sinister expression only contorted further when he was rewarded with a more intensified version of the initial reaction.

Forcing himself to work through the excruciating pain, Dodger set his jaw and reluctantly considered his options.

Defying Sykes again would mean more pain, and knowing the hateful coward, it would last until Dodger either begged for mercy or died. Even with his limited knowledge, he somehow understood that a young body like his wouldn't be able to survive this level of pain much longer, and besides, he wouldn't be able to help anyone dead.

But he also knew that whatever Sykes had in store was ultimately betraying Nancy—the only woman he'd ever dared to love after his dear Mother had died when he was just a kid—and Oliver—his best friend, the boy he cared for and protected, viewed as a little brother!

No! He couldn't!

Clearly, his loyalties did not lie with bullying, spineless psychopaths.

"I won't!" he cried boldly, never mind that the pain had started to take a tight hold, causing tears to form in his eyes and his voice to shake. "You can't make me betray them!" he growled, glaring at the man fiercely. "Oliver's about, and Nancy's just out somewhere, probably at work or at Bet's!" No matter what, he was their friend first, their confidant, and he would uphold such honors until the day he died, whether that be today or in eighteen years. "Why can't you get that through your thick head?!" His mouth was running, and his words, fueled by his hate for the man that had built up over the years, could not be stopped once started. "There's nothing going on, you paranoid lout!"

Two sharp, hard slaps to the face, one right after the other and quick as lightning, got him quiet. The force of the blows knocked him onto his back, and already, he felt a bruise developing on his cheek and a black eye forming, bitter-tasting blood pooling in his mouth before trickling down his chin. And this is only a small fraction of what Nancy has to go through every day, he thought sadly.

Suddenly, Dodger yelped as he was picked up by the front of his shirt and swiftly flipped onto his stomach, grunting a little as his newly-acquired ankle wound was jostled. A large hand tightly grasped a handful of his long hair and slammed his head down to collide with the floorboards, making his other injuries scream silently in protest as he scrunched his eyes shut and ground his teeth against the abrupt, terrible pain.

As the impact had definitely possessed more than enough strength behind it, he was surprised when he didn't feel the numbing sensation that came with a broken nose in the next few seconds. Even so, he would have been more relieved if he had failed to recognize the cold metal of a gun barrel against his temple.

Initially, he went rigid and held his breath; the thought of fighting back crossed his mind, but he dismissed it as he remembered that Sykes was far bigger and far stronger than he was, not to mention the fact that he had firepower on his side.

Just as quickly as his fight-or-flight reflex had come, it passed, and he concluded to resign himself to his fate as Sykes, who practically lay on top of the boy with one of his elbows stabbing him in the back, pressed the gun's muzzle to Dodger's head in a final manner. Exhaling slowly as he closed his eyes, the seventeen-year-old proceeded to use his last seconds to pray for the two most important people in his life.

Suddenly, warm breath filled his ear, and he became stiff as a board at once. Dear Jiminy, here it comes…!

"This is what'll happen to that good-for-nothing wretch of yours, Dodger," Sykes snarled, and the boy felt his heart beat rapidly. He was relieved to be alive, but furious at the treatment of his absent friend. Oliver wasn't—! "And don't you worry about the whore..." the underlying threat was there, in all of it, and he clawed at the floor desperately, "…I'll have her done..."

Unexpectedly, his many assailants disappeared—the heat, the weight, the gun, the breath—but Dodger continued to lay there, paralyzed with fear. Dear God in Heaven…Oliver and Nancy! They would be— Sykes would—

No, that wouldn't happen! It wouldn't!

He gulped.

But…but that would mean…

All of a sudden, he swore his heart was lower in his chest than it should be.

"All right," he conceded shakily, trembling as he pushed himself into a sitting position with one hand. Taking in the room at a glance—anything to keep from looking into Sykes' eyes so soon—he saw just what had happened to silence Fagin: the old man, slumped against the back of his favorite armchair, had at some point gotten much the same abuse as Dodger, his bleeding lip and nose being direct proof. The adolescent gazed up at the murdering cheat with soulless eyes. While it was true that this was the only way to keep Oliver alive and Nancy as unharmed as possible…that didn't mean he liked it. "What will I have to do?"

He cringed as an awful laugh filled his ears, and the tears he'd been holding back all this time were allowed to flow.

Dear God, forgive him; for he does not know what he is doing…

~It scared Dodger sometimes, to think that he was at Oliver's absolute mercy.~

A/N: Thanks for reading! (And sorry for calling Nancy a...well, you know... I don't even like it, and I never use that word in my stories--never have--but I didn't want to use her name and I hoped to keep Sykes as cruel and himself as possible... XP)

Oh, and if you're wondering, yes, Dodger is becoming more and more religious as the story progresses. Really, I think it fits, but perhaps that's just my Narnia muse talking. lol. It will, however, play an important role later on in the story.

I think, at this rate, I'll have over ten chapters for this! Yay! Wish me luck!