THE RED STROBE LIGHTS illuminate the shadows sporadically. His heart beats in tandem with the bass music. He's not alone. His instincts are prickling. He's being watched from the darkness.

Reid is ahead. Kane can feel his presence with every wound he sustains. His blood is hot in his veins with adrenaline is pulling him toward what he needs, his idiot. 

He keeps moving even though he can only see when the strobe flashes and casts red over the black tiling and foggy air that he has the urge to cover his mouth against, not knowing what it is, but it smells smoky. His head swims.

He's ready for the figure that rushes him from the dark. There's no thought of reaction. He's moving on instinct.

The light strobes.

The sword-wielding attacker is wearing a mask, and he hardly registers that the others coming from the dark are also cultists. He's busy blocking an attack. Parrying. Severing an arm. Ripping his blade free from tendons and muscle.

His back burns almost as much as his arms when his shoulder takes a slice from sharp steel before he dodges and arches his sword with a spray of blood in its wake.

He's shoving his sword into the chest of a bastard that's gurgling on the ground, when his flank erupts with blinding pain, followed by his hand, wet warmth drips down his fingers.

He looks down and only then realizes that he's grabbed the blade that's been thrust into his side. He tightens his hold, even though it cuts the sharp edge deep into his palm.

He raises his gaze, and brown locks escape from a dark hood. The mask conceals the woman's face, but he can see bone-chilled fear in her wide blue eyes.

No one else comes out of the shadows.

She could try to twist her blade. It's tip-deep in him. She doesn't. She drops the hilt and raises her hands with fast breaths.

The blade slips from his fingers, sucking air through his teeth as the pain soars. The weapon clatters to the body and limb-strewn floor at his feet.

"He's through—"

She never finishes because he cuts off her head in one sweep of his bloodied sword. He doesn't watch her fall, limping forward, pushing himself past his limit when all his body wants to do is lay down for a while, but if he does, he won't wake up.

He sheathes his sword, not wanting to risk dropping it and having to bend to pick it up again. 

He knows where Reid is, can feel him close by.

He doesn't expect the stairs, hardly able to see his feet because of the smoky shadows. He stumbles and stops himself from eating the tile with a palm, slapping the topmost step. 

His every breath hurts. He tastes blood.

He sits down heavily, leaning a shoulder against the railing. He looks down and never felt the blades catching his skin, but there are too many wounds for him to keep track of, blood glistening on the leather of his jacket.

"Fuck," he breathes, nostrils flaring. 

He takes his phone from his jacket pocket, and a swipe of his thumb smears blood across the screen.

He needs to get up right now.

He looks at Hannah's contact, and his finger hovers over the call button. 

He doesn't know what he would say. There's a good chance I'm going to die tonight. Maybe die for real this time. This pain feels real, and he's fighting for every breath. Fuck, I never deserved you. I love you and take care of Reid.

He presses the call button and places the phone against his ear. He inhales, his chest hurting with each breath as the line rings. There's a moment when he thinks she won't answer, but then, on the fifth ring, the call goes through.

"Kane."

"Hey."

"Shit. Kane. I did something—"

"Listen to me. I don't have much time." Kane looks at the floor, and past the smoky air and strobing lights, he can see the seeping of blood pooling at the bottom of the staircase.

Hannah whispers, "Did you find Reid?"

"We had a helluva fight."

"Kane," Hannah warns shakily. She must hear the strain in his voice. "Don't do this..."

"I should have told you before I left. I love you."

"Tell me when you come back."

"I'm sorry."

Hannah gasps, "No."

"I'm getting Reid out. But I might..." Kane takes in a deep breath that hurts his injured side terribly. He hisses through his teeth, and when the burn settles, he says hoarsely, "If I don't come back, take care of him."

Hannah whispers, teary. "I will."

"I fought to the end," Kane whispers. "I want you to know that. I tried everything to get back to you."

"I know you did," Hannah sobs. "I love you."

Kane smiles and wishes he could kiss her. "I love you too."

Hannah says sternly, past tears, "I'm making pasta for dinner again. Don't be late, or I'll have to beat your asses."

Kane laughs fondly, wiping the dampness from his eyes with the back of a bloody hand. "I wouldn't dream of it. What time?"

Hannah sniffs. "Right now." Her voice cracks on a sob. "So you both better hurry."

"We'll be there."

He hangs up the call and stares at the screen until the intense burn in his eyes abates, then he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

He lays a hand on the cold metal railing of the stairs and hoists himself to stand. He nearly trips up the last step, but the moment he's on solid ground again, boots scuffing the red carpeting, he's of a focused mind, moving forward on autopilot.

He's dying, but he'll hold off until after he gets to Reid.

He shoves past the draped fabric over the wide doorway. The hallway is reflective, with mirrors lining the walls. There are doors ever so often, but he doesn't slow, letting his blood guide him.

In the dim red-hued light, limping forward, he has a good view of how shitty he looks from every angle. He remembers taking a few hits to the face but didn't know the extent. There's blood dripping from a deep gash curving above his eyebrow, and he has the darkening of what will be grisly bruises in a few hours over his cheekbones and jaw.

He keeps limping and pulls his jacket down his shoulders. He hisses through his teeth when the inner lining pulls away from his wounds. He drops the ruined leather.

As the mirrors curve into another corridor of silvery wallpaper with golden swirls that catch the light, he lays his cut palm on the wall for leverage to remain standing, leaving a slow smear of blood.

He keeps moving towards the crimson double doors at the end, bathed in red light. That's where his instincts are tugging him.

His form wavers as he comes to a stop, taking hold of the long black door handle. His bloodied hand is steady when he takes his gun from the unfastened holster. He wipes blood from his eyes, dripping from the deep gash on his forehead.

He opens the door, leading with his gun.

At first glance, the expansive room is dimly lit. Then his eyes slowly adjust, taking in the low sectional seating with a platform of velvet fabric. There are tactics to keep in mind when entering a room, especially when you're expected. He forgets every one of them when he sets eyes on the figure slumped in a wooden chair near a large bed with messy satin sheets.

He limps across the room. His chest burns, panic escaping from his lips in quickened breaths. He's living a nightmare—he swears he's had one similar. But in reality, there's more blood staining the crimson carpeting that's been strewn over the floor haphazardly.

He shoves his gun in the holster at his side and lays his hands on Reid's cheeks, lifting his slumped head.

"Reid," Kane says gruffly, his heart sinking when he receives no reply.

He checks, and there's a pulse. Relief is instantaneous, feeling those soft thuds against his fingertips.

Reid's blindfolded. Not by a piece of fabric. This has buckles and fucking leather. Kane fumbles with the clasp behind Reid's ear, not wanting to let go and have him slump forward again.

When it loosens enough for him to rip it over Reid's head, mussing his blood-stained fair hair, Kane throws the damn thing with force.

It smacks a mirror that's hanging near the bed, shaking the gold framing.

Now he can see the extent of Reid's injuries. He's taken a beating. Bruises and deep gashes from someone wearing a ring.

"Wake up," Kane whispers, glad that no one hears the crack that takes his voice. "I'm here."

Reid inhales softly. He's rousing, but it's slow, his face scrunching as his returning consciousness must register the pain he's in.

"Open your eyes," Kane growls. "I'm going to kick your ass, and you've got to be awake."

He follows Reid's hands behind the chair of dark wood and finds the medieval fucking shackles around his bloody wrists that give him no slack. The thick chain bolts to the floor.

Then Reid's limp fingers slowly curl around the metal links, and Kane looks back at the idiot sharply.

Blue eyes stare at him, half-lidded and swollen. The crooked smile that rises in Reid's lips pulls the split on his lip open, beading blood. Even in his state, he causes a shiver to ascend Kane's spine when he rasps lowly, "Been waiting for you..."

Kane ignores his rising thirst and focuses on the chains. "Yeah?" He crouches, unfastening the shackles. There's a pair of thick metal rods he has to pull from the hinges. "Fucking made it hard enough to find you."

"It was the only way," Reid replies hoarsely. He rests his head against the back of the chair. "You would never have agreed."

"No, I wouldn't have, because it was fucking dumb." He pulls at the shackles harder than necessary.

Once freed, Reid grips the arms of the chair, and Kane rises and comes back around the chair. And when their gazes meet, Reid rasps, "You're hurt."

Kane would say, No shit, but worry rises to bubble in his constricting throat. "Get up," he says, sterner than he means.

Reid takes in a rattling breath. "I know the password to the crystal. Before Alma blindfolded me, I was able—"

"Get up," Kane growls, not caring about his crap, not when Reid is slumped and his chest is rising slower with every strained breath.

"The coin," Reid chokes out. "It was always the coin. He gave us... the bastard..."

"Shut up." Kane tries to hoist Reid up to stand. The raw noise of agony that slips from Reid's quivering lips will haunt him until the end of his days.

He's woozy with blood loss, and whatever was in that smoke is making him panicky. He's not thinking when he tries to gather Reid into his arms, only that Reid needs to get off this fucking chair right now.

"No!" Reid gasps, and Kane stills. "Shit..." Reid laughs breathlessly. He has tears in his eyes. "Just let me catch my breath."

Kane tugs the hem of Reid's shirt up, and there's no resistance when he uncovers Reid's slow-rising stomach that's nasty shades of purplish-blue.

He grows cold, his aching heart beating hard against his chest.

"Take my blood," Kane whispers shakily. Those injuries to his stomach might be the worst Kane's ever seen. A vampire beat him and didn't hold back his strength. They gave it their all. 

How many times did Reid have to heal in order to finally succumb?

Reid smiles, his teeth bloody. "I don't know how you made it here. You're bleeding everywhere."

For you. "I'm fucking standing. I'm good."

"Take mine," Reid says calmly, as if he's not on the edge of death.

"Don't be stupid."

Reid's quavering voice rises past the ringing in Kane's ears, rasping on a rattling breath, "Kill Azrael. The coin. Alma said it's the key. His whole plan was to hide in Shadow Peaks and invoke the runes he's been leaving—something to do with that beast. Alma didn't know all the details, only that it all happens in December."

Kane loses his mind. "I don't fucking care about Azrael!" The softening of Reid's eyes and gentle smile pulling at the split on his lip hurts Kane deeper than any gutting sword ever could. "I came here for you, not Alma. I don't care about any of this shit. Just you."

"Kenneth...people will die."

"Didn't you hear me?" Kane growls. "I don't care."

"Liar."

Kane gathers Reid out of the chair, and doesn't let the lance of guilt that settles in his stomach from his words. They're both in pain from their injuries, and the choked-off cry Reid gives when he's forced to stand makes Kane's agony overwhelming. There's a trembling arm tossed around his neck, holding hard enough to hurt.

He's fully intending to carry Reid out of this fucking room and back to the others, but then, near his ear, Reid whispers, "I can't." He's known the idiot for nearly his whole life, and never has he heard Reid's voice so calm. Pain is an edge, but the resignation stills Kane's breath, and all he can think is no, please.

Reid's hand settles on the back of his head. He's only staying upright because of Kane's hold when he whispers, "Sit down with me." He grasps Kane's hair loosely. "For a minute."

"Only a minute," Kane whispers back, his eyes burning. He shoulders his sword off his back, feeling impossibly heavy, and lets the sheath thud to the floor.

Kane tries to be gentle, but his body gives out when he nears the bed. He ends up with his legs sprawled on bloody carpeting, Reid's knees bent and his head resting on Kane's thigh. Kane props his back against the end of the mattress, his lulling head cushioned by a silken sheet hanging over the edge. 

It's not comfortable, but fuck, he's tired.

He checks his cell phone, at least to fire off a text to Lucas or Kiernan, but there's no service. He leaves the useless device on the bloody carpet. "No service."

Reid laughs. "That's so funny."

"Fucking hilarious."

Reid lifts his hand, and without thinking, Kane entangles their fingers, holding tightly, palm aching. "Shit, Kenneth. I'm freezing."

Kane's died enough times to know the signs. He takes a gentle hold of Reid's hand with his other, to free his bleeding palm. "Take it. I'm not letting you die."

He tries to bring his bloody hand closer, and his heart sinks when Reid turns his face away.

Blue eyes stare off, glazed and distant. "Only one of us can heal. I knew this was a chance."

"You'll heal, then I'll heal."

"It won't work. I'm too weak. And you're drugged, Alma gloated. Whatever you take will be my last."

Kane grasps Reid's face, yanking his heavy gaze back. "Then I'll die and come back. Fuck, I'm bleeding everywhere. Take it." He's about to stuff his hand down Reid's throat, whether the idiot wants it or not.

"Last time, it nearly didn't work," Reid whispers, and damn him for being logical. Where's the idiot who can't even wash his own laundry? Now, he's making sense and sacrificing himself to save people. He's such a moron. "I won't chance it, not when you're more important."

Kane can't breathe. He gasps out, "What the fuck are you on about?"

"You're meant to kill that beast, right? Not me. I can die here. I've been ready since the motel." Reid smiles with blood and fangs, but for a moment, Kane sees the beaming boy he thought he had lost. "You have Hannah and the others." He whispers, "Let me go."

There's anger, and then there's whatever bubbles up from Kane's churning stomach and out of his constricting throat when he snarls, "Fuck you. Fuck you for thinking I could go on without you." At Reid's widening eyes and quivering mouth, Kane's expression withers, and he chokes out, "Was this your plan, dumbass? To fucking die?"

"No," Reid rasps soulfully. "I knew it was a possibility. Killing Azrael is all that matters. That future, where Rowan and the baby can be safe, is worth more than I am."

Kane's eyes burn. "You never thought what that would do to me?"

"I..."

"Never thought I would die without you?"

Realization is slowly dawning on Reid's face, and when it does, it's despair and silent tears.

"Yeah," Kane says. "You die. I'll die too. You assholes call it what? A sorrowful death or some shit. You're gone. No withdrawals. I'm dead. You thought I'd continue and live my life without you? How dumb are you?"

"No," Reid whispers shakily.

"No? I fucking love you," Kane whispers, and his voice cracks with emotion. He doesn't realize he stuck his hand in the pocket of his jeans until he's holding Reid's ring so tightly that the metal cuts into his injured palm. "Whatever this companion shit has done to my head hasn't changed that. If you're not here, there's no point in any of this fighting."

Reid smiles, letting Kane grasp and lift his bloody fingers. "I always knew..."

Kane scoffs.

Reid laughs thinly, and with half-lidded eyes, he watches Kane slide the signet ring onto his finger. "Thank you."

"Fuck you."

Reid reaches up, his finger splaying against Kane's jaw. The metal of his ring is cold against Kane's sweaty skin. "I love you too."

Before Kane can curse the idiot for daring to make this a goodbye, Reid closes his eyes. Kane clutches his wrist before his hand can fall to his chest, his fingers limp.

"Hey." Kane pats Reid's cheek, and there's no reaction. His panic soars. "Idiot, open your eyes."

He shoves his bleeding hand against Reid's slack lips, blood is dripping from the gash on his palm.

There's nothing.