"What were you doing up anyway?" Otabek threw the question through the wind as he and Yurio jogged around the streets of St. Petersburg, feet pounding, lungs beginning to sting. Going for a run straight out of bed wasn't ideal. Doing so at three in the morning without a jacket or shoes was even less so. Nobody had thought to put shoes on when they'd left, and they were probably all regretting it now, but that was besides the point.

"Couldn't sleep, was getting a drink." Yurio shrugged, keeping his eyes wide in the cold darkness of three A.M.

"We're lucky you were awake, we might not have known otherwise."

"Sure." Yurio couldn't quite believe anything about this situation was lucky. Yuuri was running around the streets, panicking, blind and scared. When he came down from it, he would be terrified and probably lost, which would almost definitely send him into another anxiety attack. Or worse. "YUURI! VIKTOR!" Yurio called out again, making Otabek flinch. He knew the blonde was loud, but for such a booming voice to come out of such a small person, it really was impressive, albeit mildly startling.

"We'll find him." Otabek couldn't take his eyes off of Yurio's. The usually stoic, mildly angry, definitely not approachable eyes had been replaced with a look of vulnerability. A soldier after war. Tired and afraid. All he wanted to do was snuggle up with his Yura under a warm blanket, hold him close and shut out the rest of the world for a while. He was too young to deal with so much. Too young to be so mature.

"I know." Yurio nodded, eyes forward, head forward, moving forward. Forward progress. Truth be told, he couldn't imagine a situation where they didn't find Yuuri. What concerned him was how he would find him. Would he be collapsed in a heap, tired of running? Or maybe curled into a ball crying because he was alone and afraid and confused? Or was the scene that Yurio kept picturing accurate?

He fought tears, trying to make the looping vision stop. It was too real, too gruesome, too vivid… more like a memory than an imagined image. It was genuinely terrifying.

"Spill." Otabek demanded, not caring that they would lose their breath faster if they talked. Yurio was about to cry, and Otabek needed to know why.

"I keep picturing him… running into the road and getting hit by a car." Yurio admitted, refusing to give into the stinging behind his eyes.

Otabek had to admit that thought had crossed his mind. "He won't do that."

"You've seen how he gets when he's panicking. He doesn't think. He wouldn't do it on purpose but…"

"Yura." Otabek snapped, needing to pull him out of his head before he got lost in thought and fell. That would only make him feel guilty about losing time that could be used to search. "He won't. We'll probably find him passed out from exhaustion somewhere."

"I hope so." Yurio forced the image out of his mind, choosing to instead focus on the memory of Yuuri moving into first place at the grand prix finals after the free skate. The looks of pure joy on his and Viktor's faces. The looks he hadn't seen in so long…

"This way." Yurio suddenly took a sharp left, leaving Otabek stumbling for a moment before he was able to chase after the blonde.

"Yura! A little more notice next time!" Otabek called as he sped up to catch Yurio.

"Sorry, I just know where we are." Yurio's eyes changed, a thought having crossed his mind.

"Where are we and where are we going?"

"We're close to the rink." Yurio slowed a bit, waiting for Otabek to fully catch up. "It's a long shot but…"

"No, it's a good idea." Otabek nodded as he reached Yurio's side. "We don't have any other ideas so why not follow this one?"

"My thoughts exactly. Right at the next corner."

Otabek stayed a few paces behind Yurio, following the directions that he called out every couple of blocks. Neither could deny that their eyes wandered over the cracked asphalt of the road more than a few times; especially whenever a car passed by. In fact, it was one of those times that Otabek found himself staring at the dark ground, searching for a body, hoping to god he wouldn't find one, that he found himself hitting an uneven patch of sidewalk and sprawling across the concrete with a grunt.

"Beka!" Yurio was on the ground next to him in a second, assessing the damage. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Yura." Otabek got to his knees, taking in his road burned forearm.

"You're not." Yurio gently took Otabek's right hand and elbow, turning his arm so he could see the painful looking scrapes better. The whole of his forearm was raw and red, small rocks and bits of glass shone in the low light. At least two or three layers of skin had been scraped off at the mildest parts of the injury. A slow trickle of blood was running down his fingers from a deeper cut on his wrist, but Otabek didn't care. It didn't even hurt that much, which was probably not a good sign.

"I am." Otabek took his arm back and picked up Yurio's chin with his left hand, making the younger boy look at him. His soldier eyes had melted again, leaving in their wake the shell-shocked version. "Let's find Yuuri."

And that was when they heard it.