Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn't until ten past midnight when Petey finally arrived home.

Not his home, his nagging brain kept reminding himself. Dogman's home.

He shut the front door in a careful and controlled manner (fighting his best against the harsh winds brought on by a cold front), suspecting that both Lil’ Petey and Dogman were dead asleep. One of the side lamps was on, casting a warm inviting light throughout the entire living room. The soft scratching of a needle on a record filled the house. Records contained in their sleeves were strewn about on the floor, accompanied by a mess of empty juice boxes and animal cracker crumbs littering the carpet.

Petey almost laughed at the sight. Must have been some crazy night.

His suspicions were confirmed when he laid eyes on the couch: Dogman splayed out, his head rolled back, limbs dangling off the sides of the cushions with Lil’ Petey's sleeping form nestled right at his side, making biscuits on his work shirt. Petey stood there a minute, watching their chests rhythmically rise and fall, taking everything in with a feeling he couldn't quite define.

Careful not to step on any of the records, he took the needle off the record player before returning over to the couch and scooping up his son with both arms. Dogman shifted in his sleep at the action, exhaling sharply out his nose, but soon settled back into his loud snoring. 

The small kitten purred against his chest as he made his way upstairs, quietly, preparing to put him to bed.

Petey had not been truthful about his whereabouts for the day. Before taking off earlier, he mumbled something about attending a fancy showing at an art gallery to explain his attire away (red blazer paired with his blue tie, something he reserved only for special occasions). 

In reality, he had a job interview. Which he fumbled completely, confirmed by the swift definitely-not-written-by-a-real-person rejection email he received shortly afterwards. 

He suspected his newfound goodness (and perhaps positive press, thanks to the efforts of Sarah) had landed him the opportunity in the first place, but there's only so many gaps in a resume that can be hand-waved away. It didn't look particularly good, he supposed, that he had been carted away to cat jail a whopping 139 times within the span of the last couple years alone.

Lil’ Petey made no indication that he was awake as he was placed into the doggy bed, though a stray paw did wind up clutching Petey's tie and lingering a second too long. Petey carefully unhooked his son's claws from his clothing, giving him a tender look and a peck on the forehead before heading back downstairs.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as he made his way into the kitchen. His gaze settled upon a neon green sticky note with ugly chicken scratch handwriting scrawled across it:

Made baked ziti, some for u in the fridge.

-DM

Petey scoffed. He didn't need the note to be able to tell.

The kitchen reeked of onion and garlic (likely due to the mess of garlic peels and leftover onion bits stinking up the sink) and messy pots and utensils were stacked on the stove. There were droplets of crushed tomato paste splattered all along the countertop and decorating the backsplash. 

Petey's tongue clicked in annoyance. He had told Dogman to put a top on the pot when he was cooking sauce like a hundred times already.

Petey opened the fridge and leaned in slightly, spotting a tupperware on the top shelf with a bright pink lid. He peeled it open, greeted by a pile of powdered cheese covering the top of the ziti, just the way he liked it. The way his mom had always prepared it for him. His mouth betrayed him, edges curling up into a smirk.

Stupid dog. Stupid, dumb, thoughtful dog.

Hoping that the buzz of the microwave heating up his leftovers wasn’t loud enough to disturb Dogman’s slumber, he popped in his dinner and slowly shut the door. 

As he waited for his dinner to heat up, he looked around a bit, desperate to take his mind off the searing rejection from earlier.

A stack of mail sat precariously at the edge of the kitchen table. Petey eyed it curiously, wondering if his subscription of Feline Inventors Monthly had finally been transferred over to this address. 

He pawed through the pile.

Mortgage bill. Water bill. Internet bill. Electric bill.

The last letter piqued his interest, as the words PAST DUE in bold red letters were plastered at the bottom. Curiosity consumed him, as the temptation to rip it open and examine the bill became stronger and stronger.

On instinct, Petey's head snapped towards the doorway, expecting Dogman to be standing there and bark at him for going through his mail. But of course, he was still sound asleep. Petey peered down once more at the bill.

He knew it was technically a federal offense, but he has committed far worse before.

Using a sharpened claw, he swiped under the seal of the envelope, managing to pry it open without leaving a noticeable tear.

He quickly scanned the numbers on the page, getting more and more nervous as his eyes traveled down to the AMOUNT DUE. The number seemed uncomfortably expensive, even for a house as nice and spacious as Dogman's.

The bill was paired with a graph showing the household's energy usage over time, and Petey couldn't help but notice the giant spike upwards that happened a mere couple of months prior. More notably, when Petey and Lil’ Petey took up (temporary) residence with Dogman.

Petey froze up.

Was Dogman struggling financially, supporting him and his son? Petey wrestled with the thought. He wasn't sure what Dogman's salary was, as the hybrid had insisted on doing his taxes alone a few weeks before, but surely he was living comfortably within his means, right? 

Right?

His thoughts were disturbed by a series of loud beeps.

Cursing under his breath at the noise, he took out his leftovers from the microwave and began shoveling semi-hot ziti into his mouth.

The two had not discussed Petey paying rent, not once. Given the state of his finances with taking out a loan to rebuild his lab, Petey was eating a bit into his savings and wasn't the most stable money-wise at the moment.

That's not to say he didn't pay for anything; he proudly swept through Lil’ Petey's school supply list without so much of a complaint. We'll, maybe not a single complaint. But did Lil’ Petey need to have such expensive color-coded binders for every subject?

Still, though. Was it enough?

He had never truly felt… bad, quite frankly, about it. At least until now.

A snore from the living room turned into a whine and some shuffling. Petey's heart lurched into his throat, tossing the mail pile away and peering through the doorway.

Dogman was still asleep.

Guilt rested as a pit in his stomach, weighing him down and making every bite of lukewarm pasta harder to swallow. 

The words “freeloader”, “moocher” and “burden” permeated in his head. His father's raspy voice was so clear and crisp, it was almost as if he was in the kitchen behind him.

Petey despised feeling indebted to another person. Completely hated it. Even more than that, he hated the idea of his father being right about him.

Still standing in the doorway, bowl of leftovers in hand and lost in thought, Petey couldn't help but notice Dogman's form beginning to quake a little from the corner of his eye.

Petey took a step towards the couch, setting his food down on a side table. Despite it being considerably warmer in the dog house than it currently was outside, the hum and drum of the unit blasting heat wasn't enough to stop Dogman from shivering. Petey paused, thoughtfully. He looked up and saw a thick fleece blanket, folded up into a nice square on the corner of the couch.  He grabbed it by the edges and slowly draped the blanket over Dogman.

His breath caught in his throat as he felt Dogman's hand take a hold of his wrist.

Petey hissed, recoiling away and clutching the wrist that was touched as if it had been burnt. Dogman's hand dropped to the floor with a light thud. Still asleep.

Even unconscious, Dogman was still annoying and crossing his boundaries. Regardless of the mixed emotions Petey felt for the mutt, he had already decided.

He was going to find a way to make it up to Dogman, one way or another.

Chapter Text

The obnoxious fluorescent lighting bore down on Petey as he poured a fourth sugar packet into his iced coffee. Nauseatingly sweet smells wafted from the counter behind him, assaulting his senses. Slowly he stirred with his straw, taking the occasional sip every now and then to test the taste. Still too bitter, he noted with a grimace. He peered through the plastic cup. Clumps of sugar sunk to the bottom, not dissolving. 

Although Dippy's Donuts never got his coffee order right, Petey was too caffeine-deprived to care. Plus, he had craved the cool fresh air and the time to himself to think while Dogman and Lil’ Petey were still asleep.

What could he possibly do to make things up to Dogman? You know, besides coughing up cold hard cash that he didn't have… given his seemingly inescapable bout of unemployment and all. He weighed his options with a noisy slurp of his iced coffee. Perhaps he could be more present around the house, taking on more chores?

He frowned. It just didn't seem like enough. 

With his intuitiveness and quick-thinking, being a supa genius engineer, he hated that he was stumped by such a simple predicament . No matter, he thought with a final swig, he figured he was humble enough to consult a second opinion.

Just as he was about to dispose of his empty coffee cup and make his way back to Dogman's house, his ears perked up at a ringing bell behind him, followed by the sound of boots squeaking on freshly-mopped floor.

“Order for Helena?” an agitated voice asked.

“AH, order for Harold! Here you are,” another voice (Petey quickly placed it to be Dippy herself) replied, crinkling a paper bag. 

“I am not doing this again. Helena. He-le-nah. Okay? Got it?”

“Ohhhh, honest mistake,” Dippy quipped. “It'll be ready in a jiffy!”

Petey heard the ‘employees only’ door swoosh open and closed. An exaggerated annoyed huff filled the air. Swerving around in his chair, he spotted a familiar hooded figure tapping their foot impatiently while waiting at the front counter, before pulling out their phone.

A flash of purple hair quickly confirmed his suspicions.

“Butler?”

His ex-employee peered at him over her shoulder, her hood doing little to conceal her less than pleased expression.

“Ugh, not you.” She turned back around, clearly uninterested in engaging.

Cold response withstanding, it didn't seem to deter Petey as he got up from his chair to greet her. “Funny seeing you here,” he stated, almost thoughtfully. It was odd, striking up a normal conversation with someone he hadn't seen since before his reformation. The atmosphere between the two was awkward, and could be physically seen in Petey's tense manner of stance and the way he nervously folded his arms.

“It really isn't. I used to pick up your stupid coffee here on the way to work,” she replied flatly, eyes glued to her phone screen. “Now leave me alone. I'm on the job.”

“Uhhh, no you're not. You're just standing there texting.” Petey motioned dismissively with his fingers.

Butler rolled her eyes. “I'm a delivery driver, bozo. I'm waiting for an order.”

She gestured to an open app on her phone. Petey couldn't see what service it was for, as she pulled it away as soon as she showed it to him; all he could catch was a blur of white and orange. He blinked in surprise. 

“Really? An OhKay Eats driver? Relying on tips? That can't possibly pay well,” he remarked. Butler couldn't help but scoff at this, as she finally surrendered her attention to her former employer.

“Coming from you? Absolutely rich,” Butler snapped. “You still owe me. And yeah, it's kinda hard to find a job around here with the only thing on my resume being… you.” She trailed off a bit towards the end, her annoyance giving way to meekness.

Feeling an odd sense of empathy creeping up inside him for his old employee, Petey stared down at his paws.

“I'm… sorry,” he managed to muster out, wringing his hands together. “I've been looking for work too. I know how it is.”

Butler raised an eyebrow to this.

“Er… I was wondering if you… if it's not too much,” Petey continued. “Could you… give me some advice? It's about Dogman.”

Whatever goodwill Petey managed to build with Butler the past few seconds had collapsed instantaneously. She let out an angry sigh and smacked her forehead.

“Oh brother. When is it not about Dogman?” she asked in exasperation. 

“It's not in the way you think,” he quickly insisted with a hand wave. “Lil’ Petey and I have been crashing at Dogman's house for a while now. He's taken good care of my son and… I dunno, I wanna do something to make it up to him.”

Butler stared at him for a beat.

“You're coming to me for relationship advice? Don't you have friends? Maybe anyone else your age?” she asked. Petey felt his face grow hot with anger tinged with embarrassment. 

“Haw, haw,” he said venomously. “You're hilarious.”

With a brush of her bangs from her eyes, Butler pursed her lips. “I'm guessing paying rent isn't an option?”

“...No.”

“...You know, when I heard you'd gone good and all, I kinda assumed you'd be a bit less pathetic,” Butler lamented. “But you still are. Just in a different way.” Scowling at the insult, he opened his mouth to chime in with a retort back to her, but she prattled on before he was able to get a word in.

“Do something nice for him. I dunno, what does he like? A big dog bone?”

“I mean… I guess so?”

“You don't know?” Butler asked incredulously. “It really doesn't seem that hard to impress him. He's literally a dog. He'd probably go nuts over an old shoe for crying out loud.”

Petey nodded, humming. “You're right. He is easy to please. Maybe I'm overthinking this a little.”

“Hmmm, no? Really?” she answered, laying on the sarcasm thick. “You share custody with the guy, too, remember? Why don't you ask your kid what to do for Dogman? He's obviously close with him.”

“...Pfft, right, yeah. I thought of that.”

“No you didn't.”

A lull in the conversation between the two was filled only by the buzz of the overhead lighting and distant muffled shuffling coming from the back of the shop.

Suddenly, a devilish smugness overtook Bulter's face. She looked slyly over at him, filling Petey with a sense of unease. 

“Y'know, maybe in some weird sort of way, it's a good thing you failed all that time I was working for you,” she remarked. “If you really had killed Dogman, you would've gotten rid of your boyfriend.”

The implication of the term caught Petey completely off-guard, and before he knew it he was doubled over, wheezing. It knocked the air in his lungs clean out of him. The thought had never dared cross his mind, but now that Butler had spoken it aloud it into fruition it was now there, buzzing around so loudly it rendered all other thoughts null. 

Were there people out there who viewed his and Dogman's current arrangement as them being a couple? They were literally just roommates… who happened to co-parent. And tolerate each other. Why can't two guys tolerate each other without other people making crazy assumptions?

Dear God . That explained why all of those PTA moms were acting so weird towards them during that one bake sale. And that time last summer where they were approached in the park by a man who said that he “supported them”. And that other instance…

Petey couldn't think straight. Gripping the countertop for support, he thought he was going to be sick.

“WHAT?! I never said we– you're out of your mind if you– AUGH!” he sputtered out, throwing his hands up in the air. “That's disgusting. I would never allow myself to be saddled romantically with some… some… dog!” 

Clever insults that normally came natural to Petey's tongue when it came to Dogman were frustratingly absent at the moment. Just when he needed them the most.

Butler was full-on grinning. “Mm-hmm. Did you think about that before or after building that one stupid ray-gun to make him fall in love with you?”

“You’re misrepresenting me COMPLETELY! It was to get him to do whatever I said! Not for him to marry me!” Petey cried defensively.

“I didn't say anything about marriage,” she retorted teasingly.

Smoke practically erupted from Petey's ears; he knew he'd been bested. He was rendered weak, with a loss of words.

“You… you just… BLAH! You're too young to understand the nuances of co-parenting relationships!”

“Whatever. I don't actually care,” Butler replied with a smirk. 

The employee door burst open, revealing Dippy carrying a takeout bag triumphantly. “Order for Harriet!” she announced with confidence. 

“Close enough.” Reaching across the counter, Butler snatched the bag. A quick camera flash came from her phone, and with a couple of taps on her phone's keyboard, she made her way towards the exit.

“Later,” she called out to Petey, not turning around.

“Uh, bye,” he replied with zero enthusiasm.

Although Butler was successful in working him up into a tizzy, she was right in some things she had brought up.

Some things. Definitely not all.

Mentally he altered his course of action, setting his targets on consulting his son. As the exit was drawing him near, he halted in his path.

He was already here… he could sweeten the deal by picking up some breakfast for the two.

But seriously, though. 

Him and Dogman?

Dogman awoke, cozily bundled up under a blanket he didn't remember pulling over himself, to a beam of morning light hitting his face. With an elongated stretch, he let out a yawn, feeling the stiffness of couch-sleeping still tightly wound in his back and neck. Still brushing off sleep for a few moments, he looked out into the living room and was quickly reminded of the night before when he saw the mess in front of him. Oh, Petey would scold them both when he… Petey . He scrambled up and off the couch, slowly craning his neck to peer into the kitchen. 

Petey was notably absent, as he usually spent his Sunday mornings seated at the kitchen table with his regular cup of coffee and book. Dogman sniffed around for him, alarmed. Did he ever come home last night?

Dogman spotted the pink-lidded tupperware he had prepared for Petey now emptied and in the sink, letting out a relieved woof. He also noticed Petey's keys were gone, but figured he must've woken up earlier and gone out to get groceries or go on a morning walk.

Whatever the case, he was probably okay.

Wooden paneling creaked under the weight of little paws prancing down the staircase. A small orange blob rounded the corner.

Lil’ Petey rubbed his eyes sleepily. “Mmph… Papa?” He squinted up at Dogman with a lazy smile.

“Oh hi, Dogman,” he greeted. “Where's Papa?” 

Dogman answered with an honest shrug. He scooped Lil’ Petey up in his arms and planted a firm kiss square on his forehead, earning a purr from the kitten.

He carefully plopped him down at the table.

He wasn't sure when Petey had left, but he figured he'd be back soon enough and could start on breakfast for the three of them.

Grabbing the pink apron hanging off a hook by the oven and tying it tightly around his waist, he started sniffing out ingredients. His ears perked up as he caught the scent of some sugar and cinnamon in the cabinet.

“What're you making? Can I have five eggs on mine?”

Dogman playfully rolled his eyes. For whatever reason, the kitten was absolutely fixated on eating eggs on everything with every meal.

“I'm ready for this stupid egg faze to die out,” Petey had complained to Dogman previously. “Especially with how much they cost nowadays! That kid is killing me.”

He went over to the supply cabinet and retrieved a box of crayons (somehow miraculously still in-tact in spite of how often Lil’ Petey throws it around) and a stack of fresh printer paper. This seemed to tide the kitten over, and he gleefully reached for his materials.

The two jumped at the sound of the front door opening.

“Ah-ah-ah, take off that apron!” Petey's voice rang out. He strutted into the kitchen, holding out a pink and white box for both of them to see. “Look what I brought, everyone,” he said with a smirk, showing off his find.

Lil’ Petey's eyes widened at the sight.

“Donuts!!!” Lil’ Petey exclaimed gleefully. Leaping from his chair, he ran to hug his dad by the leg. “Thank-you Papa!”

Petey gave his fur an affectionate tussle. “Anytime, kid. Now get yourself a napkin. And try not to get sprinkles everywhere like last time!”

“I'll try,” he giggled in response.

Lil’ Petey did what his father asked of him, returning to his spot at the table and reaching forward for a napkin.

Petey turned to Dogman expectantly, box still in hand. “Hey,” he greeted, casually as ever. Dogman motioned a single wave in response. His apron was folded up neatly, hanging from his arm.

“You still like the strawberry frosted best, right? With sprinkles?” he asked. His green eyes seemed more piercing than usual. 

Dogman nodded a “yes”.

“Good. You have plenty in there.”

Dogman tilted his head, questioning.

The lack of action made Petey bristle. “Well? Do you want some or not?” He shook the box impatiently, the sprinkles at the bottom rattling around at the motion.

Dogman's ears shot up and he eagerly dug in, not wanting to annoy him further. That was more like the Petey he knew.

The three sat at the kitchen table, Dogman and Lil’ Petey eating while Petey looked on.

Looking eager to doodle while he munched on his chocolate-frosted donut, Lil’ Petey pushed aside the printer paper and opted for the sleek white inside of the donut box to be his canvas instead.

With a hearty shake to the box, Lil’ Petey grinned as crayons clattered on the table, rolling all over.

A stray yellow crayon was caught last minute by Petey. “Pick those up off the floor when you're finished,” he reminded hotly, placing the crayon back in the center of the table. His son merely hummed in reply.

A lone glazed donut sat untouched in the box. Dogman reached out for it and attempted to hand it to Petey. 

“No thanks. I ate already,” he stated.

Doubt flooded his features as he kept nudging Petey with the donut. It took about seven pokes for him to groan in exasperation, finally snatching the glazed donut from his grasp and taking a bite.

“Ugh. Whatever. Stupid…” He muttered, mouth full of fried dough. “Anyways. It looks like you guys had a fun night while I was out.”

The statement seemed to jolt Lil’ Petey out of his focused stupor. He looked up from his drawings, beaming.

“Yeah! We watched a movie, aaaanddd played some music, aaaandddd drew some stuff!” he happily exclaimed. “Well, I drew some stuff. Dogman just watched me.”

“Ruff,” Dogman barked.

“Oh, Dogman wanted to know how your art thingy went.”

Petey stopped chewing with a frown. “Art thingy? What are you talking about?”

“The art thingy you went dressed up all nice for!” Lil’ Petey answered.

Dogman nodded, eager to hear more about the occasion. It was rare that Petey got dressed up nice– or dressed at all, really.

“Oh, yeah yeah. Um, it was boring. Overrated. You know how modern art is,” Petey insisted. “They paint a square on a canvas and sell it for a million bucks.”

Lil’ Petey kicked his legs gleefully with a laugh.“That's silly, Papa,” he said.

“Sure is, kiddo. Your art surpasses all of those suckas’ in a heartbeat.”

Watching Petey lovingly pinch Lil’ Petey's nose, Dogman couldn't help but smile.

Having lived with the cats for a little bit now, he had become fully accustomed to the domesticity they brought to the home. He much preferred this to the previous arrangement of only having custody of Lil’ Petey on the weekends, and rarely seeing Petey at all. It made Dogman feel happy in a way he lacked the words to describe, to have a place almost in the middle of it. Like they were a family, somewhat.

Overcome with love, he leaned forward and licked a straight streak across Petey's cheek. Petey, in turn, recoiled out of disgust. He furiously wiped his face of the slobber.

“Dogman says thank-you for the donuts!” Lil’ Petey shrieked.

“...You're welcome,” Petey grumbled, wiping the slobber off his paw onto a nearby napkin. He then stood up from the table, moving from the kitchen to upstairs, likely to his room.

Dogman watched silently as Lil’ Petey continued to draw, smiling at the way he burst with creativity at almost every hour of the day. 

He was just about to get up himself and get a glass of water, when the floorboards creaked behind him, catching him off-guard.

A paw grazed his shoulder. Goosebumps rose on his human arms at the light touch.

“Dogman, I'm starting a load of wash in a minute. Are all your uniform clothes in the white basket?” Petey asked.

Since when did Petey ever voluntarily wash his clothes? He was always going on and on about how much the dog reeked. To willingly go through his dirty garments was startlingly out of character. Plus, rarely did Petey and Lil’ Petey ever even wear clothing, so the bulk of the load would be just his.

Dogman shot a puzzled look at Lil’ Petey, but the kitten didn't meet his gaze, too preoccupied with doodling on the inside of the donut box.

Dogman's hand shot up and he motioned that he was going to go upstairs to check.

“Okay, yeah. You do that.”

He slipped up the staircase, making the trek towards the attic.

The white basket sat just under the windowsill, shaded from the stream of sunlight peeking through. Dogman went over with the intent of digging through and assuring all that he wanted to be washed was in there, but something caught his eye:

Petey's formal wear laid in a messy bundle on top of the pile of clothes. Almost taunting him, compelling him forward.

Curiosity got the best of him.

Leaning forward he sniffed the blue tie, expecting it to smell of that sterile museum scent, perhaps a paper pamphlet or the distant stench of oil paint, but was puzzled by the actual smell.

Instead, he was greeted by sticky notes, cardboard boxes and… Styrofoam?

Dogman sat there, confused. Why would Petey lie about going to an art gallery?

Perhaps it wouldn't do him good to pry. Petey was his own person after all, with his own business. And he didn't tend to be forthcoming about a multitude of different things. 

As long as he wasn't doing anything evil again, he supposed it didn't matter all that much.

Still, it nagged at Dogman a bit. He thought that after all this time, at this point in their relationship, Petey would be a little more honest to him about things. They were co-parents, after all. His business and Lil’ Petey's business often intersected, and Dogman felt that on that ground, he had the right to know what was going on.

A stray fear tugged at his brain. What if he was still being blackmailed into doing Dr. Scrum's dirty work?

“Kid, what did I say about leaving Dogman's records on the floor?” Petey suddenly called out from the living room. His voice reverberated off the staircase walls and into the attic. “Someone could step on ‘em and they'd break. They're fragile.”

“Okay,” Dogman heard Lil’ Petey remark absentmindedly.

Derailed from his train of thought and worrying what-ifs, he raced back down the stairs. Was Petey cleaning up after them? Usually he scolded Dogman and Lil’ Petey to do it themselves. All of these little inconsistencies in Petey's demeanor were seriously freaking him out.

He stood at the base of the stairs, witnessing Petey mid-sweeping up animal cracker crumbs from the floor. Trying not to startle him, he let out a soft bark.

Petey looked up and met his gaze. “Oh! Your clothes are in the basket, then?”

Against what was expected of him, Dogman didn't nod “yes” or “no”; opting instead to walk right towards him with a blank expression. He stopped until they were chest-to-face– so close that he could see the individual strands of fur on him, slightly catching the window's rays of light.

A little too close for comfort. Seemingly a bit flustered, Petey scowled and looked away.

“Outta the way,” he huffed. Dogman didn't budge.

“What?” Dogman motioned to the broom, attempting to grab it from Petey. With a sharp hiss, he retracted his hand backward, guarding the broom from being taken out of his grasp.

“Hey! He’s my kid,” Petey stated defensively. “It's my responsibility to clean up after him when he makes a mess. We're guests here.”

Something about the phrasing of Petey's words bore a hole in Dogman's chest, creating a burning sensation. It lingered for a touch too long and he let out a pitiful whine before retreating back into the kitchen.

Lil’ Petey was still seated at the table, the array of donuts from the box now long gone, with only crumbs as evidence that there was any food in there in the first place. He had completely covered the inside in doodles of trees, flowers, woodland animals… and other amorphous blobs that Dogman couldn't quite identify.

He had moved onto using the printer paper, now designating his drawings to be contained inside little squares in what Dogman recognized to be a comic strip.

Petey entered the kitchen without fanfare, shaking the contents of the dust pan into the trash can. He returned the pan and broom to their rightful spots in the closet. “Why don't I take Lil’ Petey out today? Just the two of us?” he suggested, seemingly out of the blue. “I can hold off on laundry until I get back. You can stay home and do… whatever it is you do.” 

Only Lil’ Petey and Petey? Dogman's mood just kept plummeting. Sundays were the days he now looked forward to the most just to spend his day off from work with two of his favorite people. 

He hoped the look on his face was accurate to how miserable he felt.

Petey snapped his fingers impatiently. “Lil’ Petey. C'mon kid, you listening?”

Lil’ Petey blinked. “Oh, sorry Papa,” he apologized bashfully. “I was just supa concentrated is all.”

“That's okay, kid. Why don't you get your coat on? We're going out,” he said.

Gasping, Lil’ Petey got up from his seat and skipped towards the coat hanger near the door. “Yay! We're going out!” he shouted.

The kitten's absence was immediately felt in the kitchen as Dogman's whines increased in volume. Petey sighed, looking down at him with pity overtaking his face.

“Oh, come on, Dogman” he started. “Don't you ever want some time to yourself? We should get out of your hair every once in a while.”

Dogman shook his head vigorously, a stern “no”. 

“You have 80-HD to keep you company if you need it,” Petey offered.

Lil’ Petey appeared next to his father, now dressed in a blue puffer jacket. “80-HD's been out for upgrades this week, remember?”

“Oh. Right.”

A turn of his heel towards the door made Dogman's heart lurch and he did the only thing he could think of in the moment: tightly latch onto his leg and plead with the biggest puppy-dog eyes he was physically able to produce.

Lil’ Petey was immediately affected. “Aw, please, Papa! He looks so sad,” he cried out.

However, the last act of desperation didn't seem to work on his dad. He didn't quite meet Dogman's gaze as he sneered. “No. Dogman isn't coming with us and that's final.”

He shook his leg defiantly. “Let go of me. Now.”

With a reluctant slowness, Dogman did what was asked of him, undoing his clasped hands from Petey's ankle.

“Dogman, stay. Don't follow us,” he commanded, voice unwavering. “That's an order.”

Lil’ Petey approached him, remorse gracing his expression. He wrapped his little arms around his neck in a brief but tender hug, and Dogman hugged back.

“Don't worry, Dogman! We'll be back before you know it,” he reassured him with a smile.

As they headed out, Petey took his son's hand. The front door bolted shut, the lock dully clicking.

Dogman curled into a ball on the couch with a soft whimper. He was by himself and left to wonder:

What had he done wrong?