I swear I posted the second half of this…

This is from @inventrix‘s prompt “finding out you have the wrong key,” and lilfluff‘s commissioned request for a continuation.

It had been a very clever idea.

Davyn stared at the cage door. It had been a decently clever idea, he supposed. His parents took the damn dog along everywhere, and left him at home with the nanny. Nevermind that sixteen was too old to need a nanny. Never mind that, unlike the dog, he’d never peed on the furniture or broken a priceless vase (just the one. The dog had broken three).

It had seemed like a clever idea. They threw a blanket over the dog kennel anyway, because the stupid thing was high-strung. This way, he could ride along, wherever it was they were going, and then show up at the end and get to have all the fun. It had seemed like a brilliant idea.

It had even worked. He’d locked himself in and curled up for a nice nap, comfortable by now with the sounds of animals all around (it wasn’t like the dog was even their only dog, just the one that got to come with them. He, on the other hand, was their only son). But they’d taken the kennel somewhere and gone off without a word, and here he was waiting for them to look for their precious dog and discover their son instead…

…It had been a pretty dumb idea. Since the key he was holding would have, he was pretty sure, opened the other kennel. The fancy one they used for road trips. Not this one, not the one he was locked in. Trapped in, that was the word.

“Help!” he called, feeling pretty stupid. His knees had cramped up, and his stomach was complaining. It had been a really long trip. “Help!”

“What the… ooh.” A pretty girl lifted the blanket and looked at him, smiling cheerfully. “Stuck, are you?” Her accent lilted in a way he’d never heard before, and she was really, really pretty. Stunning, really, and here he was…

“Yeah,” he admitted, more embarrassed than he’d ever been in her life. “Just a bit.”

“Locked in, is it? Well, then…” She dropped the blanket back over the kennel. “There’s a handcart around here somewhere…”

“Wait, what?”

“Hush, puppy,” she scolded, as the kennel tilted backwards precariously. “Good puppies don’t bark.”

—

Davyn skidded backwards in the kennel, yelping, startled. “What?” he repeated. “I’m not a puppy, I’m a boy.”

“Mm, if you don’t hush, I’m going to do something unpleasant. Now stay quiet, dear, and this will go easier.” He couldn’t see anything except the inside of his kennel, but it felt like she’d gotten the damn thing tilted back onto the handcart and started rolling it.

“Help!” he bayed, panic making his voice squeak. “Someone help me! Someone… ow ow owwww…” He lost his voice in a yowl of misery, as, inexplicably, his body lit up in jabbing pain.

“I warned you,” came the girl’s voice. “Good puppies are quiet. Now shush for me.”

He swallowed a whimper, curling as tightly as he could in the bottom of the cage. Pain wasn’t supposed to come out of nowhere. His brilliant plan was supposed to have worked.

It hadn’t been all that bad of a plan, anyway, if only he’d remembered the keys. He sighed softly and tried to get comfortable as the pain faded. What was going to happen to him now?

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