A gently lit candle illuminated Chase's face in a warm orange, casting a light on his contemplation as he sat in his kennel in silence. He found himself staring at the wall where a single picture was hung: a group photo of the Paw Patrol. All six dogs were frozen in elation, smiles all around as they were eager to capture the moment forever. Even Rocky was happily standing next to Zuma, and Chase couldn't help but wonder what in the world happened to them.

"Ding dong!" A voice sounded outside his kennel, inappropriately cheerful for the dead of night.

Chase rolled his eyes and walked over to let the dog in. Even in his moments of doubt, he was always happy he had a friend to rely on. He lifted the door with his nose, coming face to face with a Dalmatian.

"I brought the stuff," Marshall held a plastic bag in his teeth, the clinking sounds of metal cans could be heard inside.

"That's not alcohol, is it?" The shepherd raised an eyebrow, "I'm a cop you know."

"Relax, it's just lemonade iced tea. I drink this stuff by the box."

"That's not entirely good for you," Chase moved aside to let him in, shutting the door behind him.

"If there's something out there that could kill me, I've probably drunk it already."

Although he was annoyed by his friend's recklessness, Chase felt warm inside that he at least had someone willing to share a drink with him. He could be honest with Marshall, he knew for a fact that close-mindedness would come from anyone but his best friend.

"You've been distant lately," Marshall set the bag down, although he was already milling through it before it even touched the ground. "I was wondering if you were okay."

Lowering his head slightly, Chase hung his head. "Yeah I… I really haven't. Things are tough." A can of tea was rolled across the floor, coming to a stop as it bumped his paw. Looking up, Chase saw Marshall's smile as the Dalmatian cracked open a second can, filling the air with a refreshing sizzle.

Marshall took an egregiously long chug of his drink, "so what's wrong then?"

"Aside from the literal murderer that's walking the streets, I've been dealing with something a little personal." Chase half-heartedly picked up the can. "I have a crush on someone, but the circumstances are… extreme."

"Extreme you say?" Marshall cooed, eager to hear more, "do explain."

Chase flashed him an annoyed look. "Whatever you're thinking, that's not it. It's a dog that I… wouldn't really have a problem being with, but there's a societal pressure that really won't reflect well on us."

"So a Romeo and Juliet thing?" The firefighter finished his drink, already fishing for another one. "When do you fake your own deaths?"

"No one is faking any deaths," the shepherd couldn't help but laugh at the joke, but deep down a sense of dread was rising. A part of him feared that death was coming soon, and it wouldn't be an act. "Look, can I be honest with you?"

"Well, I hope so."

"No I mean can I really be honest with you?" Chase pressed, walking forward a little. "You're my best friend dude, I already told you I was bi, but this is something else. This could make or break me."

Licking the top of an empty can, then perfectly tossing it aside into a bin, Marshall nodded as he gave the officer his full attention. "Of course, dude. You and I practically have a blood pact, remember when I told you that thing I did a few months ago?"

"Right, right." Chase nodded as he looked aside, remembering the dark secret Marshall had shared with him as a sign of trust. "Look, it just pains me to say this because you're going to be the first one to truly know."

"Know…?" The Dalmatian leaned his spotted ear in.

"That it's Rocky."

As if a bomb of silence had gone off, both dogs froze in place, either from disbelief or surprise that the truth actually came out. Marshall's blue eyes had gone stiff, processing the information as if he himself barely understood what he heard. Chase's ears gently nudged a hair downward, his eyes flicking to the side as worry crept up his spine. To finally spill a twisted truth, was it meant to be freeing, or had he just made the greatest mistake of his life?

Anxiety forced him to get a word in. "Uh, are you-"

"Him?" Marshall asked, voice sharp with disbelief. "You're- are you insane?"

A nervous chuckle escaped the shepherd. "I'd like to think that I'm not?"

"Chase, no. Not him, literally anyone but him." A surprising sternness rose from the Dalmatian, Chase had never seen such a tone from him. "Oh lord, that's who the gift was for, isn't it?" He turned to Chase's desk, where the small box that contained Rocky's gift stood like a hibernating animal.

"What, why?" Asked the officer, offended by the sudden rebuttal. "What's so bad about him, why do you hate him so much?"

"He's a danger to all of us, isn't it obvious?" Marshall gestured to the side, standing up on all fours. "Ryder has made it incredibly clear that he's mentally insane."

Baring his teeth, Chase felt heat boil within him. "He's not insane!"

"Well maybe insane isn't the right word," the firefighter shrugged, "I'm not exactly fluent on mental disorders. Chase, you can't stand here and tell me that he's sane."

"I- I can't believe what I'm hearing," the shepherd almost laughed in his anger, "you too, huh? Really? My best friend, you're one of them too?"

"It's not a 'me too' thing, we're not some hivemind!" Marshall argued, his spotted fur starting to spike, "dogs and people like Rocky grow up to be, you know," he tapped his paw on the ground, "shooters, serial killers, what else? He's a liability."

Chase got a step closer, nostrils flaring, "a liab- that is the most narrow-minded bullshit I've ever heard! And from you of all dogs!" He leaned directly in, leering into Marshall's blue eyes. "They only grow up to be killers when everyone around them treats like shit and doesn't help them! If Rocky becomes a killer, then it would be our own fault!"

"Hey, I'm just doing what Ryder told me!" Marshall retracted back, holding his paws up defensively. "He told us not to associate ourselves with Rocky, because not only is he statistically very likely to kill us all, but he's… you know, a mix."

"And you listened to him?!"

"I- well…" the Dalmatian stuttered, "yeah?"

Rolling his eyes, Chase audibly scoffed and sharply turned to the side. "Well congrats, you're just as lost as everyone else. And here I thought you were the only good one."

"We're dogs, Chase. We listen to our owners!"

"Even when our owners are wrong? Did it ever phase you that humans could actually be wrong every once in a while?"

Marshall opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Frantically, he searched for something to say, but he slowly hung his head in shame. Chase was beyond ready to start an argument, but Marshall was defeated before anything could really start. Seeing his friend's shame seemed to burn away his own anger, and Chase felt remorse for his own words. Sighing to himself, he sat back down, letting his eyes flick along the floor for a few moments.

"Marshall, please." He spoke finally, letting his desperation drip out. "I need support here, and you're my best friend, no one else is going to help me on this." Picking his head back up, he watched Marshall flick his saddened gaze back up to him. "Rocky needs help, and if we don't give it, then who knows what'll happen to him? I want to be that dog, and I'm not saying you have to as well, but I just… want you to be there for me. Is something you can do?"

It took the other puppy a long time to respond, but it was obvious by slight facial twinges that he was working things out in his head. After a solid minute, Marshall took a deep breath and hesitantly responded. "Alright, fine." He said, giving Chase a resigned look.

"You'll help me?"

"Only-" Marshall held up a paw to punctuate his point, "only for you, and only you. I… owe you that much, don't I? I don't think me and Rocky could ever truly get along, but I'll help you… help him, I guess."

Overcome with relief, Chase bowed slightly and breathed out, "oh, thank you. You don't know how much this means to me, dude. You're a real one for this."

"Sure, whatever. You gonna drink that?"

"Oh, right." Chase laughed, remembering the beverage can he was given. His spirits lightened, and he was more than happy to finally crack open a cold one. He whipped the can up and pulled the seal, finally refreshing the sad-soaked air with pure-hearted bliss.

"I'll give Rocky the gift tomorrow," the officer took a gracious drink of the tea. "Maybe you and I can take him somewhere, like a park or something. He needs friends, and I want to help him get it and anything else.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Dreams were Rocky's greatest enemy. Sleep was no escape, momentary bliss from the unending pain perhaps, but in his head laid a seed of vines eager to ensnare him. Dreams had a habit of provoking every little insecurity and fear lurking within your mind, tossing you into your very worst nightmare with little to do against it. No matter what he tried, he could never wake himself up from the slumbering turmoil, and oftentimes he woke up in tears having to endure traumatic events played on repeat.

After four nightmares in a row, Rocky began to reject sleep. The heavyweight of insomnia that dragged his exhausted body seemed to grow weaker as the nights went on, but was this the result of tolerance, or because his body was shutting down? The delusions progressively worsened, and the hallucinations became more frequent; nevertheless, he refused to confront his own mind.

He milled about in his desolate kennel, shuffling in circles as he stepped over molded trash and discarded food cans. His paws barely left the aimless static churned in his mind, an itchy noise that defied leaving. As much as his body craved the bed, Zuma had taken up most of it and Rocky wasn't excited about getting close to him again. He had already spent nearly half an hour being pressed against him, and natural tolerance could only keep his insomnia down. The feeling of the Labrador would never wear off on him, leaving a painful sting that lingered in his legs.

He had witnessed Chase and Skye returning home from their day out, the activities called to an early halt when another alleyway murder tripped the alarm. Watching from a cracked door as Chase slowly approached Rocky's kennel, only for Ryder to call him. Crestfallen, the mix watched as his old friend turned and walked away, and he retracted further into the darkness.

Now the clock struck three in the morning, and Rocky was growing increasingly antsy about Zuma's sleeping presence. Even his own head grew weary of glancing in his direction, the mere sight of the dog was enough to inflict severe anxiety. Eager for an escape, the gray dog quietly approached the door to his kennel, reaching out to push it open.

"Where do you think you're going?" A voice came up behind him, laced with exhaustion.

With a grim feeling inside, Rocky let his paw dejectedly fall back to the ground. It took him a few seconds to respond, his voice terrified to speak up. "I just want air," he said softly, "it's getting stuffy in here."

"What's wrong with stuffy?" Zuma stretched out on the dog bed, letting his limbs wrap around the cushion like a web. "Come lie down with me, I'll make you feel better."

"In all honesty," the mix's face twisted, "I don't think you could."

Zuma's gentle voice quickly shifted to a cold reprimand. "Cut the shit and lie down with me." A growl left his muzzle, "you shouldn't be walking around outside anyway."

"Why? Because everyone hates me?" Rocky leered around, meeting the lab. "And if you hate me so much, why do you-" he hesitated, trying to find the words before fear sealed his tongue, "why do you do these things to me?"

Too tired to actually stand up and get in his face, Zuma huffed and rolled his eyes, adjusting his position slightly. Now it was his turn to fall mute, tapping his claws against the fabric. Rocky remained staring at him, a silent challenge that demanded an answer.

"I guess some of us just like free sex." The lab shrugged.

"That's all?" Rocky stepped forward slightly, a hopeful edge in his voice. "There isn't any, like… secret you want to tell me?"

"The hell are you talking about?"

With a slightly bashful look, Rocky gave it a shot. "You know, I wondered if you… secretly liked me?" A shy smile crept onto his face, "because if you do then-"

"What?" Zuma immediately cut him off, a disgusted expression on his face as he flinched all four limbs at once. "Fucking what? You really are delusional."

"I just," the mix became defensive, stepping back, "I just thought-"

"Well stop thinking!" Snapped the coast guard. "Look, I'm the only dog here who can actually bear to look at you, anyone else will throw you to the pound. You should be glad that you have someone who actually wants to touch you, it's all you're ever going to get." He punctuated the lecture by pointing his paw. "Fine, go outside. I'll still be here when you get back."

Completely backed up to the door, Rocky stared with a flattened head. A sinking feeling pulled at his heart, as he felt every bit of his composure breaking. He tried to growl and make a considerable effort to bare his teeth in an attempt to stand up to his former friend. But every bit closer he became to lashing out, the quicker and harder it would instantly die away. Knowing the darkness of the night would hide a crying fit, Rocky whipped around and opened the door, letting the cool night shroud him. He deserved to slink away, get away from the cesspool of hatred and bigotry even if it was to find his own death site.

The night was quiet and nonjudgmental, as it was known to welcome those who faced the darkness it spread. Adventure Bay was supposed to be scary at night, especially with the murderer on the loose.

Rocky stopped mid-step on the sidewalk. The murderer. He had forgotten about them for a moment, as his mind was too busy screaming obscenities at him. Looking out at the closed shops, their windows darkened from the inactivity, Rocky wondered if he wasn't alone. Taking a moment to look behind him, he pondered his duty of care in a scenario like this.

He was standing in the street, illuminated only by the moth-swarmed streetlamps above him. It was a perfect target, an easy victim for a dark figure lurking out of his view. Perhaps that would be how he finally went out, turned into dog food for whatever had been picking off the victims in the alleyways. He was supposed to be afraid but strangely felt calm at the thought of his life coming to a swift end. His heartbeat slowed, his tail and paws gone still as he trailed his gaze over every darkened corner of the surrounding buildings.

"Why don't I make it easier?" Rocky said to himself, looking to his left where the entrance to an alleyway stood like a dark path to the abyss. To walk alone in the big city at night, such was the very act that many warned the vulnerable not to fall into. People died doing such a thing, dogs died as well, and what was another to add to the pile?

Without even realizing it, Rocky found himself standing in front of the alleyway. "What's another one?" He muttered coldly to himself. "Barely anyone goes into my kennel, they wouldn't even know I was gone." His paws stepped toward the darkness, inching over the cracks in the cold sidewalk. They hated him, Chase didn't love him, and he would've even accepted Zuma's twisted affection should it have existed. But Zuma didn't like him even in the slightest, he was just another piece of meat to exploit, perhaps he truly did have nothing.

A cruel shade passed over him as he crossed into the alleyway, fully leaving the exposed light of the road. Stepping over scattered trash and discarded waste, the mix aimlessly looked at the brick walls that tightly encased him as he traveled deeper. Surely a predator was well zoned into him by now, his mind swirled in what brutal methods could tear him apart. He was finished, ready to throw in the towel of a life he didn't belong to. If the world wouldn't have him, then he didn't feel the need to stay any longer.

He soon reached the end of the alley, and sure enough, Rocky became aware of a shadow following behind him. The predator moved perfectly silently, his bloodstained paws barely making a sound as he stalked toward Rocky. The smaller dog was unafraid, but at least interested he'd finally get a look at who was causing such a ruckus for the past few days.

"Let's get this over with," Rocky huffed in annoyance, turning and facing the larger dog and taking in full view of the killer.

For a moment, he raised an eyebrow in confusion, and mistakenly thought he was looking in a mirror. The larger mixed breed was coated in dusted, patchy gray fur that reeked of trash. The dried blood on his feet browned out the dull white color underneath, the sadistic dog walked a path of death, although Rocky was more than happy to call it quits.

He didn't see it at first, but the puppy stared at the dog before him, and his mind began turning. Old memories awakened suddenly, frantically yelling at his head to wake up and realize who exactly was standing in front of him. Narrowing his eyes, Rocky tilted his head, trying to find something to say in his confusion. Luckily, he didn't need to, as the larger dog spoke with a twisted grin, hissing with an icy tone.

"Hello… Rocks."