Rocky feared sleeping. It wasn't so much the act itself but what came after that shook him to the core. It was the dreaming, the transfer into one's own mind, the drop into your own subconscious. The mix had reasons to fear himself, the disturbing visions and dreams that ravaged his nights drained all mental stability. Tonight was no exception, as Rocky awoke in a dark hallway. His own breaths quivered as he placed one paw in front of the other, approaching what seemed to be a front door. His surroundings could only be described as a house of some kind.

The mix tried to calm himself, but lost all composure when a brutal shriek filled the air. Wood and glass were flung into the air as a car smashed through the front door, the headlights shining blindly into Rocky's eyes. He remembered stumbling, too overwhelmed to scream as the car surged forward. Bracing himself as the car ran him down, the world went dark around him. He then saw a vision before him: a simple polaroid photograph. In the photo were two teenagers posing while driving a car, dangerously drawing their eyes away from the road before them. A house could be seen in the background of the photo.

Rocky's eyes shot open, a muffled cry leaking from his terrified mouth. In an instant he darted his eyes around, relief soothing him as the world registered around him. He was home. Stifling his tears, the mix looked over to his left, expecting to catch the time on his wall clock.

He was met with the gaze of a demonic figure, crouched down low as it stared into his eyes, grinning a bloodied and horrific grin.

"Rocky!" Chase called, shaking the mix awake,

"Aahh!" screamed the grey pup, flailing his legs out and shooting upward,

"Are you alright?" the Shepherd drew his ears back in surprise, recoiling slightly, "I could hear you, mumbling in your sleep."

Rocky was currently unresponsive, as he turned his eyes over to his wall clock, fearing what he would see. The humble clock read the time of six in the morning.

"Is this real?" the fearful pup said without realizing,

"Of course it is, did you eat treats before bed?"

Rocky relaxed slightly, letting his gaze fall to the floor, "no, just... dreams."

Chase gave a small smile, "well, you're awake now, so they can't hurt you."

The mix's brain finally configured awake, and his lungs took a long breath. The smell of morning dew filled his nose, the chirping of birds meeting his ears.

"Come on, you can't stay in here," the Shepherd motioned for him to come outside, "let's go for a walk."

"A walk?" Rocky breathed,

"Yes, a walk, with your legs," Chase said with a raised eyebrow, "we're dogs, we walk."

"Yeah, yeah, sorry."

Shaking his head a final time to rid away the foul memories of his dreams, Rocky stretched for a second then drearily walked out of his kennel. Chase was already waiting outside, licking his paw. Of course he always had to look his best for the littlest things, something that made Rocky's heart soar. It was a bittersweet feeling, however, as the lingering whispers returned to him with the same message: a dog like him would never be desired.

A piece of food flying through the air smacked Rocky out of his thoughts. Chase frowned and turned his head toward the assailants.

"Morning, fag," Zuma waved boredly, eating out of his bowl. Skye was beside him, eating out of her own, and was visibly giggling at the derogatory comment.

"How pleasant of you," Chase replied sarcastically, "don't you have swimming records to jerk off to?"

The Lab turned his head at the comment, mild offense on his face, "I was talking to the garbage, Chase, not you."

The Shepherd gave a bored expression, "you shouldn't talk about Skye like that."

Both dogs immediately stopped mid-chew, their eyes widening to the extent one would them escaping their skulls. Even Rocky slightly recoiled from the comeback, his ears falling back ever so slightly.

"Come on, Rocky," Chase finished, twisting his tail into Rocky's and leading him away.

The two of them walked off the Lookout grounds, taking to the forest as they trekked through shrubbery and foliage. Rocky had to admit it was nice getting away from the tower every once in a while, although a gripping paranoia was climbing up his spine. Despite smelling a flower, he felt himself growing scared of his own surroundings. Chase showed no signs of sharing his current feeling, and also was completely oblivious to Rocky's panicking.

"Where are we?" the mix shivered slightly, staring up at the massive surrounding trees looming over him.

"Just a mile or two out, why?"

Rocky merely shrugged in response, lacking the words to convey his fear. He felt himself magnetizing to a bush like its leafy protection was enough to hide from the grinning faces that leered at him from the shadows. Chase however was smiling ear to ear, shining brightly in the sunlight. The forest was like a second home to him, and he longed for a few hours spent resting on the clearings.

"So what were you dreaming about?" he asked, barely noticing his partner's discomfort,

Rocky gulped, sticking close to his crush, "just... things."

"What kind of things?" Chase tilted his head, "I dream about bacon sometimes,"

"Just... things,"

The Shepherd looked at the ground for a moment, then spoke again, "sorry about Zuma, you know he's an idiot,"

"He's right though," Rocky shrugged,

"No, no," the Shepherd waved off, "just ignore him. Pretend he doesn't exist for a while, it's just me and you here."

Lovely, just the two of them together. Rocky could go over a whole list of things he wanted to do with Chase if they found a moment alone. The last time they were alone was yesterday night when Rocky kissed him. The Shepherd measured it to "mental illness" and called it a night.

"So now what?" Rocky looked around,

Chase sat down, letting his paws rest in the cool grass, "talk to me,"

"About...?"

"Anything," Chase smiled, "tell me what's on your mind."

No, he couldn't know. Chase couldn't know a single thing that went on in the mix's head. If even a single one of his inner thoughts slipped out, he'd lose the one friend he'd ever have. The rest of them already hated him, wouldn't even blink if he suddenly died, he couldn't afford to turn Chase against him.

"Nothing, sorry," Rocky sighed, feeling his soul get dragged even further down.

"Nothing?" Chase asked, disappointment bleeding down his face, "oh, sorry then."

Rocky hung his head, shame flooding him and drowning out what little light he could've had. Deep down, he wanted someone to open up to, to finally release years of crying, venting, and rage out into the air.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't because dark thoughts plagued his mind and tongue. If anyone knew the horror that leeched in his head, he would surely be outcasted even further. Yet he couldn't help the stabbing regret he felt upon seeing Chase's expression. He wanted to help his friend, see Rocky smile for once, and feel better, but it was obvious he was getting nowhere. Chase sighed and lowered himself down, laying on his stomach.

"Well, you wanna know what I did yesterday?"

Rocky shrugged, "alright,"

Chase lightened up a little, "I went with Marshall into town on a mission. Apparently, a concerning amount of strays are turning up dead," his face fell, "you should've seen the alley, the higher-ups are working to give us a lead."

"I used to be a stray," Rocky pawed at a flower,

"You were?"

"Of course, no one wants a dirty mix," there was a drop of venom in his voice, "we don't deserve homes like that."

"Rocky you know that's not true,"

"Anyway, it was just me and my brother," Rocky discarded Chase's comment, "we survived as best we could... saw some awful things back then. Still see it in my dreams."

Chase listened intently, tilting his head, "you have a brother?"

"I 'had' a brother," the mix corrected, "he's dead."

The Shepherd drew back, his eyes gone soft, ears falling in dismay, "Rocky, I-"

"We were jumped by a pack of strays," Rocky continued, "he told me to run, never saw him again after that."

After a moment of silence, the mix swore he was mere minutes from crying. Chase seemed locked in a trance of disbelief before he suddenly came forward and wrapped Rocky into a hug.

"Chase, my fur isn't clean,"

The Shepherd only hugged his partner tighter. Chase never knew his family, for all he knew he had been born on the streets, left to die like everything else. He and Rocky started the same way, so why was he the loved one, and Rocky was hated? How was that fair? Nothing was fair any more, and for a brief second Chase hated the world he lived in.

Rocky weakly hugged back with one arm, half not believing he even deserved pity.

"I'm so sorry," the police dog whispered,

"Don't be," Rocky replied quietly, "maybe if I wasn't a fucking coward I could've stood with him... fought with him,"

"Who?"

"Dakota, that was his name," the mix explained, "he tried teaching me to fight, but I was always more interested in reading or something stupid..."

"Rocky, it's not your fault," Chase tried to say, but was cut off.

"How do you know that?" the mix narrowed his eyes, pulling away, "you weren't there."

"Well, sure," the Shepherd admitted, "but it sounds like there was nothing else you could do, the only alternative was dying."

"Maybe that was a right option then," Rocky turned, starting to walk off, "if I died then, I'd be spared from all the shit I take from everyone else."

Chase watched him go, feeling there was nothing he could say to genuinely convince the mutt otherwise. He wouldn't give up on Rocky though, he just needed to open up more. Perhaps he just needed a little kindness? Hundreds of possible options went through Chase's head, but he knew it was pointless trying anything now. Even then, he wasn't forfeiting Rocky anytime soon. He'd get to him eventually, it was just a matter of how.