Disclaimer: Totally not mine, I'm just playing with the Tin Man verse.

A/N: Fairly lengthy chapter! Also, this chapter would have been a disaster without the guidance (and hand-holding) of my new Beta, Flitch! Thanks Flitch!

Cain kneeled on the hardwood floor, with DG's trembling hand on his cheek, and his hand dancing uncertainly around the hilt of the knife that protruded obscenely from above her right breast. He knew he couldn't pull it out, not without risking her bleeding to death, but he also knew if something wasn't done, and soon, she was going to die right there in front of him.

DG was staring into his eyes, her own blue eyes, wide and emotive, were pupil-blown with shock. She held his gaze, searching, imploring, speaking to him without words. Her shaking fingers ghosted lightly over his cheek. Her lips, now pale with shock, moved to form words she had no breath to speak.

Cain was no damn fool, he knew exactly what she was trying to do, trying to convey. "No, no. You are not sayin' goodbye here goddamnit!" he snarled, gripping her hand to his cheek and squeezing her fingers, trying to swallow down the panic rising in his gut.

Even with a knife in her chest, which in all likelihood had punctured her lung, and surrounded by a growing tide line of her own blood, DG managed to look a little exasperated at his denial. When her body shuddered and her eyes went dark with pain, Cain saw the desperation flit across her face. Her fingers pressed tighter to his cheek and her eyes ghosted shut, her nose crinkling in a familiar expression of concentration.

A faint glow of magic appeared at her breastbone, and then it sparked up to her shoulder and travelled down her left arm, and out of the corner of his eye, Cain could see DG's hand glowing at his cheek for a brief second. Then, with a gentle warmth, he could feel DG's magic slip into his skin. It slid through his body, grew stronger, spread. It felt like warm fingers were caressing him, like someone was murmuring soothing words to him. As strange as it sounded, it felt like DG had slipped briefly into his skin. It felt, oddly enough, like how DG smelled (sun-warmed skin, vanilla and fresh rain), it felt like mischief and laughter, like stubbornness and a fierceness tempered by selflessness and love. It felt like too many memories to follow, and regret over the ones that should have come next.

He felt that warmth, that confusing bundle of emotions, settle somewhere inside him, and he touched a finger to his chest, right above his heart, in awe.

It felt like goodbye.

DG's hand slipped from his face, and she stilled without a sound.

Cain stared at her for a long moment, disbelieving, and then he uttered a hoarse cry that was something between a whimper and a scream and he scrambled to recapture her hand (small, so small). With hands that shook he let two fingers hover over the pulse point at her throat. He felt like he was swallowing his heart, but he forced himself to press his fingers to her neck. There was a brief instant of panic he felt nothing, a moment where his thoughts replayed the scene when she turned to him, face needy and confused, and one of her hands had flitted to the hilt in her chest before she crumpled and fell to the ground, like his mind was his very own TDESPHTL.

Then, so faintly that he was sure he had imagined it, there was a slow, weak thump underneath his fingers. Then, another, and another. They were too far apart, but they were there, and right now, Cain would take what he could get.

The danger was far from over, however. So Cain gingerly gathered the girl into his lap and took as much time as he dared to formulate a plan of action. First he had to find Raw, so the Viewer could pull DG back from the brink of death, and he would have to avoid the militant mercenaries still prowling the hall. He couldn't fight if he had an armful of unconscious princess, and there was no way in hell that he was leaving her alone. After that he had to find Queen, her Consort and Glitch, and make sure they were unharmed.

It didn't occur to him that his first priority should have been to the Queen, or if it did, he brushed the thought aside pretty damn quick.

It took a couple of false-starts before Cain could get to his feet while cradling DG to his chest like a child, but he managed to do it without jarring her injury, and once he was up he readjusted his grip slightly to hold her better. DG was feather-light and limp in his arms that it made his heart give a agonized thump, and the urge to keep her safe (and breathin', added his mind helpfully) became even stronger.

"Alright darlin', let's find fur-face and get you fixed up," Cain murmured, eyes questing over the crowd, trying to find the familiar figure of the Viewer in the questionable lighting.

In the end, Cain found Raw only because the Viewer was already looking for him. They practically ran each other over in their fervour to get to the other, and Cain made an aggrieved noise, clutching DG to his chest. He was caught between shielding her from any outsider and pressing her to the Viewer to get him to just stop the bleeding, please!

"DG hurt. Raw must heal, soon, or heart will stop," Raw told him, bristling with rage over what had been done to his friend.

"We have to get somewhere out of the way, c'mon," Cain instructed brusquely, unwilling to pay the last of the Viewer's statement any heed.

As they skirted the wall, trying to avoid people and find a safe place to heal DG, Cain inquired (perhaps with a bit of accusation) where the hell Raw had been when the fighting broke out and DG was attacked.

"Raw tried to get to Cain and DG when lights go out. But people panic, people scared, people angry. Feeling overwhelmed Raw," he explained, hanging his head slightly and one of his gloved hands reached out to stroke the hair out of DG's face apologetically. "Then Raw tried again, but Raw kept finding people who needed Raw's help. Raw did not know Cain and DG were attacked."

Cain clicked his tongue against his teeth and gave a terse nod. It made perfect sense that Raw would feel obligated to stop and reassure those who were upset, he couldn't help but feel their emotions. He tried not to feel resentful of those people, who in truth had only served as an obstacle to keep Raw from getting to them right away.

He led them to an alcove that was largely hidden in shadow. At Raw's request, he gingerly lowered both himself and DG to the floor, sliding his back against the rough wall, but unwilling to put her down, he simply readjusted his grip on her so Raw could access her injury and gave the Viewer a look that dared him to try and release his hold on her.

Raw wisely said nothing, but gave him a shuttered look, and instead he took a deep, calming breath to center himself and eyed the knife for a moment. "Knife is problem. Cannot heal around knife."

"But we pull it out and we deal with the bleedin'," Cain swore, realizing the dilemma. The knife could be all that kept the kid from bleeding out, she could literally exsanguinate in seconds and they would be helpless.

"No choice," Raw shook his head. "No time."

Cain inhaled through his nose as the Viewer wrapped his hand around the hilt. The urge to stop the Viewer was fierce, and he wondered at his sudden over-the-top protection streak. He knew this would cause DG pain, and more than anything, he wanted to save her that. His fingers twitches and then fisted in the material of DG's silky gown and he managed not to interfere. Raw drew the knife out in one smooth movement, although the force he had to use to pull it tugged DG's limp body up and Cain had to hold on tight to keep her in his arms.

DG's body twitched faintly, but otherwise she didn't react. Cain took that as a sign of how very serious this was, as if he didn't already have a clue. The girl was, by rights, dead to the world. That was only slightly less disturbing than if she had awoken and reacted to the pain. He tried to be thankful that she wasn't suffering, Cain had seen this girl suffer more than her fair share, and he would do anything to save her from that.

Raw immediately clamped his hands over the wound, but blood spurted up through the gaps in his fingers. Raw looked grim and serious, and when he closed his eyes, his face looked like a man going into battle.

"Lung has puncture," Raw confirmed, and shifted his hand slightly.

DG convulsed, either with as a side-effect of the healing, or from pain. Cain thought the last was a damn solid theory, he could attest to how badly a healing hurt. It was like days, weeks, months of natural healing all sped up into a minute or two. It hurt like hell. Raw made a reluctant, anguished look, and then he pushed his fingertips into the wound, opening it further, and a surge of new, thick blood gushed out. DG spasmed so violently in his arms, arching her back to the point where he thought she would snap her own spine and he fought to hold her down, fingers digging into her shoulders and hips hard enough to leave bruises.

"What the hell are you doing to her?" Cain bellowed, forgetting to keep quiet in the face of DG's pain.

Raw's fingers sunk to the first knuckle and he didn't open his eyes as he concentrated. "Wound deep. Raw need to heal layers far down first."

"Fuck," he snarled, borrowing one of the kid's Otherside curses. "Can you do this any quicker?"

Raw ignored him, and after a minute he withdrew his fingers and cupped her gash with his bloodied hands, and began to rock back and forth as he forced her body to knit blood vessels, muscles, tendons and skin back together at an unnatural speed. The Viewer began to shake with the effort of the healing.

Finally Raw pulled back his hand, and although there was an astonishing amount of blood (on Raw's hands, all over DG, the floor, Cain's chest), Raw gave him a tight nod to let him know the wound was closed.

"DG still in danger. Wound healed, but Raw cannot replace blood."

Cain clenched his jaw and looked down at the girl resting in his lap. Her face was so pale that it was nearly translucent, and touched with gray around her mouth and under her eyes. Her chest fluttered each time she drew a breath, and when his fingers checked her pulse this time, he found that her heartbeat had gone from slow to erratic. He stroked a piece of hair out of her face and finally he looked at Raw.

"We need to get her to the infirmary, get her a blood transfusion," Cain mumbled, thinking aloud. "But I need to get to the Queen and the Consort, get them out of here. I need to find Glitch, as well. And do all that without gettin' myself killed."

Raw made an inquisitorial noise at him. "Cain get DG, get Queen out how? Door is locked from outside."

Cain sat up a little straighter and peered around the hall, his thoughts whirring with plans and strategies. "There's a servant's entrance 'round the back, near the portrait wall. I'm bettin' those haven't been blocked off, since they lead to the kitchen. You're going to have to take the kid and try and get out that way. If they are locked, or you see trouble, I want you to lay low with her. I'm going after the Queen."

Raw rumbled in agreement and opened his arms so Cain could transfer the unconscious girl. "Raw protect DG. Raw get DG out, if Raw can."

"It seems to me I should threaten you with what I would do to you if she gets hurt while she's with you, but I think we're both of an understandin' about that," Cain told him, as he hesitated to hand over his precious cargo. His arms seemed to have locked tight around her without his say so.

"Raw will protect DG, Cain know this." And he did. So he reluctantly made the awkward exchange, not letting go until he was sure that Raw had a firm grip on the kid.

Cain gave a sharp nod of agreement, and reached over to squeeze Raw's shoulder. As he moved away he let his fingers drop and pressed them briefly to DG's soft cheek. He turned without saying goodbye, and slid into the shadows gathered along the wall. The spot in his chest that DG's magic had made its home gave a painful flutter as he turned his thoughts from the pair with great effort and focused his attention on the rest of what needed to be done.

He had a sudden urge to do violent things to those who had hurt his friend. A part of him he had kept locked away for a long time reared its ugly head, and black images filled his head.


In the end, Cain had managed to find a small band of men and women who had banded together and fought the intruders. They were a motley crew perhaps twenty, made up of former resistance fighters, retired guards, civilians and one young man dressed in a server's uniform who Cain thought he recognized as the glass dropper.

They had broken up into two groups; one group had split off to go after the mercenaries, the others had gone to protect the Queen and her Consort.

Cain elected to go to the band protecting the Queen and Ahamo, and there he found Glitch, who once more demonstrated his impossible dance skills, and by the time Cain had arrived, the fighting was all but over. Queen Lavender and Ahamo were safe, tucked into the relative safety of the columned alcoves behind the thrones at the fore of the hall. They were surrounded by the band of fighters.

When the tide of the fighting began to turn against the mercenaries, and the makeshift guard was preparing for the men to surrender to take them prisoner, the man Cain was advancing on gave him a sharp salute and dropped his knife.

Cain gave an inner sigh of relief, enough blood had been shed this night, much as a part of him disagreed with that notion. As he moved in to arrest the man, however, the mercenary stuck his thumb and forefinger in between his lips and gave a short, sharp whistle that pierced through the din. He then pulled a vial of some viscous fluid from his breast pocket.

Alarmed, Cain moved to tackle him, but the young man popped the top of the vial with a thumbnail and swallowed the liquid before the tin man could reach him. By the time Cain got close enough to grab his arms, the man was already convulsing, eyes waxen and wide. He ended up with the man in his arms, watching the light fade from his wild eyes, and when the man died, Cain lowered him to the ground with an oath so dark it would have made DG proud.

He was so frustrated, he gave the man a firm kick in the side, 'Goddamn coward!', but that only made him feel worse. Kicking a man when he was down was something his own dad had taught him wasn't what an honourable man did. Kicking a dead man when he was down probably hadn't entered his father's mind when he was handing out life lessons.

In the end, none of the men who had stormed the Great Hall were left breathing, and Glitch came to him, his normally cheerful face grim and bruised, and presented him with a hand of empty vials. "They all took this unpleasant concoction, those that weren't already passed breathing."

When they were sure the hall was secure, they allowed the Queen to step out from the alcove, Ahamo at her side (fuming over the fact that he had not been allowed to join the fight) and she had immediately sought Cain out.

"Where is my daughter, Captain?" she asked him quietly, her face tight with worry. Glitch and Ahamo crowded in to hear his reply, both looking anxious.

Cain fought the urge to fidget under the Queen's amethyst gaze. "We were attacked, your Majesty, DG was injured. I left her in Raw's care, and instructed him to get her to the Palace Infirmary by way of the kitchens."

"Injured? How badly?" Glitch cut in, his words slightly marred by the rapid swelling of his split lip.

"One of them threw a knife, she was stabbed in the chest," he had to quell a feeling of intense rage and guilt, and he turned his gaze to the Queen. "When I left her, she was unconscious, but Raw had healed the wound as best he could. She needs a blood transfusion, though."

The Queen pressed her fingers to her mouth and closed her eyes briefly. "Ozma, no. This is so horrible. We were supposed to be safe now. She was supposed to be safe. She did her part!"

"I take full responsibility for the Princesses' injuries, your Highness. I should have protected her better."

"Captain, I have no doubt you did everything you could. There isn't a man alive I would count on to protect my daughter better than you," Ahamo interjected, encircling his wife in his arms.

Cain said nothing to this, but his fist clenched at his side, and a vise constricted his chest.

"I want to see my daughter, Captain. Find me a way out of this gods-be-damned hall," The Queen ordered quietly, her mouth twisting unhappily.

Cain thought that was the best idea he'd heard in ages.


They were gathered in the infirmary, clustered around a bed that held the impossibly fragile, diminutive figure of the Princess.

She was still too pale, her lips looked bloodless and pale, and she had been arranged in an unnatural position that reminded Cain too much of someone who was not merely unconscious, but taking a dirt nap. Her hands were folded on her chest, her curls had been brushed back from her face so that her hair lay like a dark halo around her face. Even hooked up to the syringes and tubes that connected her like an exterior vein to her mother and gave her the much needed transfusion of blood hadn't yet helped restore her natural colour.

Cain had elected to be the blood donor, but he had been told he had the wrong blood type, and so Queen Lavender sat by the kid's bed, stroking her hair back from her forehead and murmuring nonsense at her, her dress sleeve pushed up, and a syringe affixed to the crook of her elbow.

The healer had offered to treat Cain's bloody knuckles, and the shallow knife cut he had on his upper arm, but he had declined. Glitch stood at his left side, lower lip puffy and a nasty looking bruise forming underneath his right eye, but he knew they both shared the sentiment that they had gotten off lightly.

"Your Majesties, the workin' theory at this point, until we had the intell to prove differently, is that this was an assassination attempt. We don't know who these men are, but I'd place my bets square on a pocket of disgruntled longcoats, but we do know they managed to kill two dozen of our guards early in the night and take their place." Cain told them, annoyed that he didn't have all the facts yet, only theories and postulations.

"They murdered all the guards? How? Wouldn't there have been a commotion?" Glitch interjected, his face puzzled.

"All the guards were found in the barracks, not a damn mark on 'em, but dead as dead gets. Stripped of their uniforms," Cain growled, his mouth sour with the idea of someone murdering good men and then robbing their corpses.

"Magic, then?" Ahamo asked testily, although it was less of a question than a statement. The Consort had been raging the entirety of the night, at feeling useless during all the action, and for not being there when his daughter had fought for her life.

"They did have a mage tonight. The Princess took him down," Cain couldn't help the note of pride in his voice.

"DG took down a fully-trained mage? She isn't trained!" Queen Lavender contested, surprised.

"She shielded us at first, and when he attacked her shield, she pulled it down while he was reloadin' and blasted him. Took him and a few others out."

"Why is anyone surprised by anything DG manages anymore?" Glitch queried, amused.

Cain tried to hide a snort of laughter behind his fist, and he saw Ahamo's eyes twinkling. At that moment, the healer bustled back into the room. She was a serious, matronly woman, all hard angles and expression lines. She checked the tubes with a frown and then reached over to pull the Princesses' lower lip down to peer at her gums.

"Her colour is coming back," she informed them. "I think we can stop the transfusion."

As she disconnected the tubing and gently removed the syringes from the women's arms, she told them firmly that the Princess must be allowed to rest for the night, and that she would likely not wake until morning.

"You can all leave now," she told them pointedly, not in the least cowed by their titles or positions.

As they left, Ahamo nudged Cain with an elbow. "Subtle she is not."

Giving DG one last look to reassure himself that she wasn't going anywhere, Cain left the infirmary and prepared for a long, sleepless night. He wanted to have a full report for the Queen in the morning, and to do that, he needed to send his men out, and have Jeb lead the intelligence officers out to see what they could get from their connections. He wanted to know who in the hell had orchestrated this whole thing, why, and then he wanted to be there when they hauled the bastards in.

Even as his thoughts drifted to the work ahead, his fingers crept up to rub his chest, directly above his heart. He didn't even notice the gesture until there was a flare of gentle heat, like an someone blowing warm breath on his chest. The feeling was both disturbing and comforting in equal parts.

His thoughts once again strayed to DG, to the look on her face as a dagger suddenly blossomed in her chest, to the wistfulness in her eyes as she tried to say a silent goodbye, and he thought 'I- We almost lost her. She nearly died because I wasn't payin' attention. She nearly died for my mistake'.

Cain promised himself such a mistake would never be repeated, even if it meant never letting the kid out of his sight again. His mind was determined to repeat the moment over and over again, and a similar loop of memory insinuated itself. He saw Adora and Jeb, being beaten and tortured, while he was helpless to stop it.

His mind was looping the scenes, one after the other.

Flash- Adora screaming his name as he is kicked and pummelled, Zero hauling her up by the arm and backhanding her just to see the effect it has on Cain. Flash- DG falling to the floor in slow motion, the front of her lovely gown morphing from blue to a grisly purple as blood streams down her chest. Flash- Jeb, so much his boy, kicking and biting as he is dragged through the mud, determined to give as good as he got. His young son, who believed if he fought hard enough, he could save his father. Flash- DG again, her chest crackling as she struggled for air and-

'Oh Ozma, no. Please, I can't take anymore.'

With a heart that felt irreparably damaged, eaten by years of guilt and loss and remorse, Cain sent a silent plea for redemption. He didn't know who he was praying to, and he didn't believe he deserved it, not truly, but even still he prayed for it.


A/N: The blood transfusion scene was based on the old practices circa the 1850's, wherein the transfusion is done with tubings, needles and syringes. I am by no means an expert on the subject, so any inaccuracies are mine.

I just started my final year of school, and this semester is going to be a fairly heavy workload, so I can't promise weekly updates, but I'll do my best, and if I have the time, I'll try and write multiple chapters at a time for those weeks when I can't write at all (or think about anything but adjournments and advocacy and the rules of evidence, weep for me!).