Chapter Text
Dogman mindlessly wandered through the kitchen, grabbing a pan from the cabinet before setting it on the stove. He was getting ready to cook for Lil Petey and probably Petey as well; they were due any minute to arrive. As he bustled over the stove, throwing together vegetables and chicken in a sort of stir fry, his mind began to wander to Knight.
He was used to these thoughts, but the smell emanating off the food brought back a vivid memory of his beloved friend. It was the Thursday before the incident, and Knight had come home from the grocery store with his arms stuffed with food he had bought. Greg had happily followed him into the kitchen, watching him cook, smelling the dinner he was making for himself. While the memory was bittersweet, Dogman couldn’t help but look down at his own hands, his mind flashing back and forth between perspectives. He could almost swear he could see the memory, but from Knight’s view.
He could feel the weight of the groceries, the movements of cutting the vegetables, the wave of heat coming from the stove as he turned the dial on and set the pan on top. Dogman’s breathing hitched, his mind racing as he tried to fight the memory, to shove it back into his mind and off his body, but it wasn’t his body, was it? It was Knight’s body, Knight’s hands, Knight’s muscles. Tears welled in Dogman’s eyes, and he hurriedly attempted to turn off the stove, but his hand only slumped itself against the dial.
For a reason beyond his explanation, these hands refused to move for him, and laid there like stones. Dogman could feel the weight of these hands. It was like they had become a foreign entity, refusing the demand to move. That’s when the panic set in, and with careful movements, Dogman lowered his mouth to the dial, using his teeth to turn the stove off. The panic only increased, and breathing became a challenge. His mind raced with thoughts.
‘Is Knight’s body finally recognizing that I’m not him? Is there a part of Knight still alive? Is that part waking up? Will these hands suddenly be tearing at the sutures in our neck, trying to separate the body and the beast? Was the surgery actually unsuccessful? Are the neuron pathways degrading? Am I going to be fully paralyzed soon?’
Dogman began to spiral, slumping against the stove and descending to the floor. Hot tears ran down his face, and he whimpered lightly, fighting with himself to pull through this and regain control. But control of what? This wasn’t his body. Right? He began to sob, crying out for Knight to come back, but all that came out was a series of whines and howls. He didn’t notice the sound of the door opening. He didn’t notice Lil Petey being ushered upstairs to play, and he didn’t notice Petey rushing into the kitchen.
A soft hand hesitantly clasped itself onto Dogman’s shoulder.
“Gregory?”
Dogman looked up, hardly able to see through the tears. All he could see was a blur of yellow. He raised his hands to his face to try to wipe his eyes, using his wrist to accomplish the job, and then he just stared. His breathing was shallow and rapid, and his gaze was fixed on a set of emerald green eyes.
“Gregory, what’s wrong?” Petey asked. His voice was soft, almost motherly. It was a tone Dogman had never heard Petey use before, unless he was talking with Lil Petey. Dogman raised his arms, showing the limp hands to Petey. He watched the cat stare at them for a moment, as if seeing them for the first time.
“Did you burn yourself?” Petey questioned, taking Dogman’s hands into his, looking them over. He noticed quickly how limp they felt. His heart began to race as he flipped the hands over, looking for any sign of injury only to be met with none. Petey took a deep breath before looking back up at Dogman, about to ask a question.
“Greg, have you…” he stopped in the middle of his sentence, a new realization dawning on him. Without his hands, Dogman couldn’t communicate. He couldn’t take care of Lil Petey, nor himself. “Gregory, I’m taking you to the hospital here in a bit. I’m going to reach into your pocket and call Chief, and see if he can’t watch Lil Petey for a bit, OK?”
Dogman nodded, sniffling and leaning slightly to the left, making his pocket more accessible. His mind was scattered, and he couldn’t really piece together the outside world, his inner mental landscape crowded with thoughts about the line between Man and Man’s Best Friend, and just how much the one on his neck meant. He descended back into the thoughts, losing track of the world around him. He didn’t hear Petey on the phone with Chief, nor did he hear Chief come in and assure Petey that Lil Petey was safe with him. He didn’t remember getting picked up by Petey and Chief so that they could put him in the car, nor did he remember the ride to the hospital.
By the time he finally came back to reality, He was already in the doctor’s room. There was a soft pressure on his back, moving in circular motions. Dogman looked over and saw Petey, who was rubbing his back while he talked to the doctor about what had happened. Dogman was so exhausted, and attempted to lift his hand to try to sign Petey’s name, but his fingers dangled defiantly, and were useless.
“Basic physical exams show no sign of external injury, and the multiple X-Rays we’ve done in the past have already concluded the successful bridging between the spinal cords. We’re unsure what could have brought this on, but until Dogman get’s use back in his hands, there’s really nothing we can do. It’s a waiting game. We can keep Dogman here at the hospital, but based off his state it’s my opinion that he’s having a mental episode and,” the doctor paused, looking over at Dogman. His eyes were filled with a mixture of pity and disgust, bouncing back and forth between the sutures and Dogman’s eyes. He sighed before continuing. “It’s my opinion Dogman is suffering from a mental episode, and being here in the hospital may not be the quickest way to recover. Loss of precise motor functions is possible with severe trauma, and it’s my recommendation that he stays in an environment that’s comfortable and positive.”
The doctor seemed to refuse to ignore Dogman, focusing more on Petey. Petey was hardly aware that Dogman was mentally back, clinging to every word the Doctor said. It wasn’t until Dogman barked that Petey turned to look at him. Something in Petey’s eyes crushed Dogman’s heart. It was a look of concern, a look of worry. It was almost the exact same look he wore when Lil Petey caught the flu last winter. It made Dogman feel even more helpless.
“Greg?” Petey softly said, continuing to rub his back. “It’s all gonna be ok. The doctor thinks your hand paralysis is temporary. I’m gonna take you home, but…” his voice trailed off, looking into Dogman’s eyes as if searching for an answer.
“Gregory, I’m gonna leave Lil Petey in the care of Chief for a little while, and I’m gonna be taking care of you in the meantime. I know we haven’t always been…good… to each other, but my… our son needs you, and I know you want to be there for him. In a few days we’ll come back to the hospital if nothing improves, but I’m going to be here for you. I promise.”
The words fell on Dogman’s ears like snow. Something about Petey was different. He was never this kind, never this soft spoken, and certainly never this caring. Maybe it was his concern for their child, Dogman didn’t know. He only nodded in response, standing up. Petey stood up as well, thanking the doctor for his time as they made their way out of the room. It wasn’t a long walk back to the car, but it felt like forever. The hospital was eerily quiet, and the tapping of their feet against the floor sounded unusually loud.
Inside the car, Petey huffed, looking over at Dogman.
“Ya know, I hate hospitals. How come is it that everytime you and I are in the same vicinity, I end up getting dragged somewhere I don’t wanna be. First it’s jail, now this?” Petey joked, trying to lift Dogman’s spirits. The canine grinned sheepishly, a soft curl of the lips that declared his amusement, but also betrayed to Petey that pain was still heavy on his heart.
The drive home was silent, almost unbearably so. Petey kept mulling over what to say, and more importantly, attempting to devise a way to communicate with Dogman outside of ASL. He didn’t realize until this moment how important sign language had become to him, and how intrinsic it had become to his life. Petey parked the car alongside the street, rushing out to get to the passenger side, and open the door for Dogman, who was still struggling to undo his seatbelt.
Thoughtlessly, he reached over Dogman, unclipping the belt and pulling it back. It wasn’t until he stopped midway to look at Dogman that he noticed how close their faces were. He could feel Dogman’s breath tickle his nose, and for a split second he paused. He turned away, letting Dogman get out of the car, trying to figure out what he was going to do now. The walk up the house was slower than normal as Dogman took small paces, on the verge of collapse from mental exhaustion.
When they entered the house, Dogman made his way to the couch, slumping over on it and closing his eyes. Petey, however, moseyed into the kitchen, eyeing the now cold stir fry. He picked up the pan, raking the food into the trash, and briefly contemplated cooking for Dogman. He looked over into the living room, listening intently. The sound of gentle breathing was soft, but noticeable in the otherwise still atmosphere. Dogman was asleep, and Petey figured that cooking now would be a wasted endeavor. Instead, he began to clean up the kitchen, washing the used dishes and utensils, and placing everything back where he knew they went. It was just a thought, but Petey did stop for a moment to notice how familiar he had made himself with Dogman’s kitchen over the last few months they had spent sharing Lil Petey.
After getting everything cleaned, he walked into the living room, looking over at the sleeping form on the couch. He didn’t know how long he had been standing there, staring, but he eventually realized it had been long enough to look very creepy. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from taking the time to genuinely look at dogman. The brown fur, the muzzle, The sutures on his neck, the uniform he was still wearing, the way his back rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. Maybe it was that Petey was tired, or maybe it was the events of the day, but a small part of him felt the urge to crawl next to Dogman, to hold him in his slumber.
Petey quickly dismissed the idea, settling for the armchair. He reclined it slightly and soon found himself drifting between being awake and asleep. His eyes fluttered for a brief moment, and he could have sworn he saw Dogman’s Pinky twitch.