The mission had gone horribly wrong.

Penfold's tiny paws trembled as he gripped the controls of the Mark IV, swerving desperately through the streets of London. Sirens blared behind him, and the orange glow of streetlights flashed through the rain-streaked windshield. But he couldn't focus on any of it. His attention was locked on the slumped figure in the passenger seat—Danger Mouse, his best friend, the world's greatest secret agent, and the very person who was now barely clinging to consciousness.

"Hang in there, DM! We're almost at the hospital!" Penfold's voice cracked with desperation.

Danger Mouse's usually bright and energetic demeanor was completely gone. His fur was ghostly pale, his breaths shallow and uneven. Blood stained the front of his white jumpsuit, the wound hidden beneath layers of emergency bandages hastily applied in the field. His body trembled uncontrollably, and his one visible eye, half-lidded, struggled to focus.

"P-Penfold…" DM's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Don't talk! Save your strength!" Penfold tightened his grip on the wheel. "You're gonna be okay! I promise!"

DM gave a weak chuckle, which quickly turned into a grimace of pain. "D-don't make p-promises y-you… can't keep…"

Penfold felt his throat tighten. No. He couldn't think like that. Not now.

- Earlier That Night -

It had been a routine mission—or so they thought.

An intelligence report had led Danger Mouse and Penfold to an old abandoned factory on the outskirts of town, suspected to be the hideout of none other than Baron Greenback. What was meant to be a simple reconnaissance mission turned into a disaster the moment they stepped inside.

Explosions. Gunfire. A trap set just for them.

DM had shielded Penfold from the initial blast, taking the brunt of the impact himself. But what really sealed his fate was the second attack—a well-placed energy shot from a shadowed figure in the rafters, striking DM square in the chest.

Penfold had barely managed to drag him out before the entire factory collapsed.

- Present -

The hospital came into view, a beacon of hope against the stormy night sky. The tires screeched as Penfold swerved into the emergency entrance, barely putting the car in park before scrambling to the other side.

"HELP! SOMEONE HELP!" Penfold screamed as he flung the door open.

Doctors and nurses rushed out with a stretcher, their expressions shifting from confusion to urgency the moment they saw Danger Mouse. Hands grabbed at him, lifting him onto the stretcher with practiced efficiency.

"He's in shock," one of the doctors muttered as they wheeled him inside. "BP's dropping, we need to stabilize him, now!"

Penfold ran alongside them, only to be stopped at the emergency doors.

"I'm sorry, sir, you can't go any further." A nurse placed a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder.

"But he needs me! I—" Penfold's voice caught, his chest tightening. He looked past the nurse, watching as DM was rushed into the emergency room, surrounded by medical staff.

The last thing he saw before the doors swung shut was his best friend's limp hand falling from the side of the stretcher.

And then he was alone.

- Hours Later -

Penfold sat in the waiting room, clutching DM's badge and his eyepatch in his paws. He had held onto it ever since the doctors cut it away during the emergency assessment, as if it were some kind of lifeline.

Jeopardy Mouse arrived first, her usual stoic expression faltering when she saw him. She didn't say a word—just sat beside him, staring at the emergency doors as if willing them to open.

Professor Squawkencluck arrived next, frazzled and breathless, still in her lab coat. "How is he?" she demanded immediately.

"I—I don't know," Penfold admitted, voice hoarse. "They haven't told me anything yet."

Squawkencluck clenched her fists, her beak tightening as she paced.

Then, after what felt like a lifetime, a doctor emerged.

"He's stable."

Penfold felt his entire body sag in relief. "Oh, Crumbs!"

"But—" the doctor's tone made his heart sink again. "He's not out of the woods yet. The damage was extensive, and the shock was severe. We're monitoring him closely."

Penfold nodded, swallowing hard. "Can I see him?"

"…Only for a few minutes."

The room was eerily quiet when Penfold entered.

DM lay motionless, connected to various machines that beeped steadily, tracking his vitals. The once-vibrant hero looked so weak now, swallowed up by the hospital bed and the IV lines snaking into his arm.

Penfold pulled up a chair, gripping DM's hand gently. "You scared me, you know," he murmured. "I mean, more than usual. And that's saying something."

He chuckled weakly, but his heart wasn't in it. "You better pull through this, Chief. I—I don't know what I'd do without you."

A long pause. Then—

"…D-did we w-win?"

Penfold's head snapped up, his eyes widening.

DM's eye cracked open slightly, a tired but familiar smirk pulling at his lips.

Penfold let out a watery laugh, gripping his friend's hand tighter. "You absolute numpty," he sniffled, shaking his head. "Yeah. We won."

DM exhaled softly, his grip relaxing slightly. "G-good…"

Penfold wiped his eyes, relief washing over him like a tidal wave. The danger wasn't over, but at least—for now—his best friend was still here.

And that was all that mattered.