The pounding in his head was so bad, even his subconscious was aware of it.

Starsky groaned, not fully awake yet and not wanting to be. He tried to burrow down in the covers once more, until he realized that there were, in fact, no covers to burrow into.

His eyebrows knitted together against the pain of trying to figure out where he was. Starsky licked his lips, his tongue dry and tacky in his mouth, then risked turning his head.

Something sliced through his brain with white-hot agony. Starsky whimpered, pinching his eyes shut tighter than they already were, and tried to catch his breath.

There was a secondary fire in his left cheek. It stung when he moved his head, and curiousness prompted Starsky to pry open his eyes and figure out where exactly he was. The view was familiar, though nowhere near comforting. Steering wheel. Dashboard. Speedometer. Starsky blinked, focusing straight ahead on the large crack zig-zagging across the Torino's windshield, and a little more consciousness crept into his mind.

He looked around, being very careful to keep his head still. The car was upright but at a horrible angle, the extreme gravity puling Starsky against the driver's side window and door. He looked to the left and winced. The driver's side window was shattered, completely spider-webbed from the impact of the large tree on the other side. Numbly, Starsky realized his head was still resting upon the broken glass.

With a held breath, Starsky lifted his head from the window and glass tinkled as it fell. So that explained the burning in his cheek. Starsky lifted his hand to his face, touching the torn skin gingerly. When he pulled back his fingers, they were wet with warm blood.

Starsky looked down at the uncomfortable pressure in his side. The tree outside his window had apparently stopped the car's slide down the mountain, but the force of the impact had bowed the car, pushing the driver's door inwards and against Starsky. A pain in his knee flared to life, and Starsky shifted his gaze to study the dashboard that had collapsed upon his legs.

If Merle could fix this mess, Starsky might consider him to be a god.

Starsky studied his knee. It was swollen and hot against the unforgiving denim of his jeans. Broken glass glittered as he tried to move, but the resulting pain that coursed through his leg left him weak and panting once more.

Frustrated and a little scared, Starsky let his head fall back against the seat. He swallowed thickly and looked in the other direction, towards the passenger door. He could see the tire tracks the Torino had left in the side of the mountain as the heavy car slid downwards, the grooves resembling the claw marks of a person dangling on the edge of a cliff. Above that, Starsky could see the ledge they had fallen from, and above that, endless blue sky.

His breathing and pain once more under control, Starsky let his gaze drop to his legs. There was no way to get out through the driver's door- that meant his only means of escape was to climb upwards, over the bench seat and through the passenger door.

Starsky jerked as if he had been electrified. Passenger…

"Hutch?" he called, his broken voice magnified by the eerie silence of the mountain. When nothing but a distant woodpecker answered him, Starsky's heart rate increased. "Hutch!"

Where was Hutch? Had he been thrown from the car? Starsky refused to believe that. Hutch had been tossed into the backseat when the Torino went over - he had to still be there.

First thing's first: Find Hutch. Starsky twisted in his seat, ignoring the pain that seared his knee and head. He couldn't see anything at this angle - he'd have to free himself first.

He planted his trembling hands on the glass-covered leather seat and braced himself. With his good leg, Starsky pushed, reinforcing his effort with locked elbows. The pain was crippling, but he was successful. Slowly, his leg slid free from the dashboard that pinned it.

Exhausted, Starsky let himself collapse against the seat once more. His chest heaved and his breathing sounded ragged in the silent car. Gently, he reached forward and touched the swollen knee. Starsky hissed in pain, even though he had been expecting it, but took comfort in the absence of blood.

He had to keep moving.

Starsky shifted and pushed again, literally fighting an uphill battle. He inched his way across the seat, his lungs burning and muscles straining as he dragged his useless leg, and finally came within arm's reach of the passenger door handle. Starsky braced himself so he wouldn't slide back down into the mess of broken glass and blood, then pulled on the door handle and pushed on the door panel.

It didn't budge.

Starsky dropped his hands and let out the breath he had been holding. The passing seconds were weighing heavily upon him now. He had to find Hutch.

Starsky gathered strength he didn't know he had and tried once more. He pushed against the door with his all his might, and it opened a few inches, only to fall shut against the strong pull of gravity the moment Starsky weakened.

Panic was taking over. Starsky's heart was beating wildly in his chest and he could feel the echoing pulse in his knee and temples. The big car's doors were heavy enough when it was sitting level, but pushing them open against the steep incline they were on - while injured - was damn near impossible.

Starsky refused to become prisoner of his own vehicle. With one last Herculean effort, Starsky put all of his energy into pushing upwards against the door and he finally succeeded, falling to the ground on his back and just barely catching the door before it swung back and clamped down on his legs.

Starsky lay on his back on the forest floor, panting loudly as he stared upwards, through dark tree branches and into the cloudless blue sky. His head was pounding and spinning even as he lay there. His injured knee was now bent painfully over the seat, and the discomfort was enough to prompt Starsky into moving again.

Planting his hands in the leaves and dirt beneath him, he rose up and dragged himself the rest of the way out of the Torino.

The door felt shut with an ominous bang.

Starsky's body wanted nothing more than to just collapse and let the impending darkness take him, but his heart spurred him on. He had to get Hutch.

Starsky rose up on his good knee, leaving the other stretched out awkwardly beside him. He reached for the door handle and pulled open the door, then quickly placed himself in between the door and the seat. He stifled a whimper as the heavy metal door swung back, landing hard against his back. Swallowing what little spit he had, Starsky grabbed the small lever on the floorboard and flipped up the seat.

His eyes immediately fell to the tousled mop of brilliant blond hair on the floorboard. Blessedly, his partner's ribs expanded and compressed steadily, assuring Starsky that he was not too late. Hutch was on his side, knees drawn up as far as possible in the tight space, and one arm was bent disconcertingly underneath him. Blood seeped from a purpling gash above his right eyebrow. The blood was pooling beneath his head, matting Hutch's hair to his left temple.

Starsky's heart sank. He glanced back towards the dashboard, not surprised to find the CB hanging uselessly by its wires. When had help ever come that easily?

"Hutch, come on," Starsky said, reaching out and grabbing one bony shoulder. The recent time spent trapped under his car had taken its toll on the detective, shedding pounds Hutch couldn't afford to lose. Starsky's other hand found Hutch's neck and beneath the cool skin, a light, quick heartbeat. Starsky gave his partner a gentle shake, only belatedly realizing he could be doing more harm than good. "Hutch! Come on, get up!"

Hutch remained limp and unresponsive. Starsky groaned in helplessness and frustration. He would have to pull Hutch out himself, and pray to God that there were no spinal injuries.

Starsky took a deep breath and reached in the car, grabbing Hutch under each arm and shifting his own weight to gain a secure hold. "Okay buddy, here goes," he mumbled, then held his breath and pulled.

The detectives slid towards each other, Starsky hitting the car's frame and using it as leverage to inch Hutch closer to the door. Hutch moaned as he shifted, and Starsky stopped to catch his breath and his strength. He could barely move his 170-pound partner on a good day - let alone when said partner was out cold and Starsky had but one leg to stand on.

Starsky let go of Hutch's underarms and patted his partner's bloody face. "Come on, Blondie, wake up. You're scaring me here."

Hutch's brows furrowed deeply as he turned away from the touch. He instantly whimpered and tried to curl in on himself, away from Starsky.

"I don't think so, buddy," Starsky said, grabbing Hutch's jaw and gently turning the face towards him again. "Come on, up and at 'em."

Hutch's face scrunched more, then his eyelids lifted, blinking rapidly, and at last Starsky was looking into blue eyes as familiar as his own.

"Starsk?" Hutch breathed, confusion written plainly on his face. "Ow - head hurts… what happened?"

Starsky caught Hutch's arm as it was raised towards his head. "Don't you remember?"

Hutch's eyes fell shut and Starsky jostled his partner. Wincing but making no effort to get up, Hutch replied, "No," then shook his head and immediately squeezed his eyes shut. "God… hurts."

"I know, babe," Starsky murmured, feeling a swell of sympathy in his chest. But they couldn't stay here. "We were run off the road by a car full of teenagers," Starsky explained as he gathered his partner once more. "We gotta get you outta the car. Think you can help me?"

Hutch shook his head then grew very pale. "Gonna be sick-"

Starsky barely pulled his arm back before Hutch rolled forward, vomiting on the Torino's perfect black floor mats. When he was done, he collapsed backwards, eyes closed once more.

"No! Hutch, come on, stay with me," Starsky commanded, grabbing Hutch and pulling him away from the mess ever so slightly.

Hutch's eyes flickered open and he looked to Starsky with a red, glassy gaze. "Head hurts," he panted. "What happened?"

Starsky's heart tightened in despair. "I just told you buddy, we were run off the road. Help me get you outta here."

Hutch stiffened. "They're coming for me again?"

Starsky closed his eyes ever so briefly. "Yeah, come on." Desperate times, Starsky supposed. At least Hutch was finally trying to move, and between their combined weak efforts, Starsky was soon guiding his partner to the forest floor. Hutch's shoes thudded to the ground in the leaves and the passenger door fell shut without Starsky's body to hold it open. Hutch promptly vomited again, then lost consciousness. His own knee screaming in pain, Starsky rose to his feet and hobbled backwards, dragging Hutch to a deciduous tree ten agonizingly long feet away.

Exhausted but convinced of their temporary safety, Starsky dropped to the ground and leaned back against the tree, pulling Hutch's head and shoulders into his lap. He looked up, through the concussion-induced travesty of tree limbs and oak leaves, and sent a silent prayer into the perfect blue sky.

o0O0o

It was the cold-fingered slap to his cheek that finally broke through Hutch's unconsciousness.

The warm black clouds that enveloped him began to tear apart at the seams and unwelcome sensations started invading his awareness. He was laying on his back on something hard, cold, and unforgiving. His toes and fingers were nearly numb with the cold.

And oh yes- there was the pain.

He recognized that feeling and turned his head, attempting to slip back into oblivion and wake up again at a better time. But the cold fingers on his face grew insistent, and the slaps harder, firmer.

Hutch's annoyance swelled and swelled, quickly reaching its breaking point. He raised a hand, catching the one swatting his face, and tried to push it away.

"Hutch, come on. Open your eyes."

No. He didn't want to. They felt glued shut as it was, and Hutch was more than happy to leave them like that. Darkness was good - it brought serenity. Being awake was bad - it brought pain.

"Hutch, I'm serious."

No.

"Fine then."

Familiar calloused fingers pressed to his eyelids, and before Hutch could defend himself, Starsky pried open his left eye.

A bolt of pain worse than anything Hutch had ever known shot through his head. His eye instantly watered and burned at the bright light overhead, and it felt as if Starsky had rammed a stick straight through it. His brain seemed to explode, bits of it smashing against the inside of his skull like food exploding inside a blender. Hutch couldn't even begin to stop the cry that escaped him as he tensed and rolled on his side in a ball.

A position which found him in no better circumstances.

The taut muscles sent flames through his chest and sides. It hurt- in fact, he was in more agony than seconds before - and Hutch couldn't replace the air as fast as it escaped his lungs. Something gritty scratched at his cheek and the smell of mud and pine filled his nose. Where was he? Was he back on that hillside, trapped under his car? Did Forest have him again? How did he get here? He didn't want to be left to the elements or shot full of drugs again. He had to get away. He had to escape, he couldn't live through that again -

"…Sorry. C'mere. I just wanna see your pupils," the voice above him insisted.

Hutch felt a hand on his shoulder, tugging at him and guiding him to his back once more. Hutch turned his head away, very much aware of the hot tears trailing from the corners of his eyes, and tried to avoid his sadistic captor. Everything hurt - they must be depriving him of the drug in hopes of gaining information…

"I'll block the light this time, okay?"

No, it wasn't okay, but before Hutch could fight it, his eyelids were pried open once more.

The darkness was obliterated and for a moment, Hutch was terrified and breathless. But then his brain processed a brilliant blue sky above him. Tree tops were blurred together in a dark, ominous lump at the bottom of his vision. And right in the center of it all, was a Starsky-sized blob.

"It's okay, I'm here."

Hutch blinked rapidly, trying to rid his eyes of the burning and tears. Starsky was blocking the sun's direct glare, and after a few agonizing seconds, his surroundings slid into focus.

"Starsk?"

"In the flesh."

The hands left his face, and Hutch's eyes rested at half-mast. His head felt as if it were in a vise. "What happened?"

Starsky's hands were moving, but Hutch couldn't focus on what he was doing. "We were ran off the road, remember? A car full of kids came around the bend head-on. I swerved to miss them and here we are."

What road? Were they going somewhere? Hadn't he been alone in the car? Something cold and wet was pressed to his forehead and Hutch whimpered at the pain it ignited, closing his eyes once more.

"I know it hurts. There's a lot of blood here. Try to hold still."

The thing kept rubbing over his tender forehead. It was rough and persistent, like the tongue of the old female Golden Retriever Hutch had played with as a kid.

Except Suzy's tongue had been warm, and it smelled different.

At last, the ministrations stopped and Hutch let his exhausted muscles relax. He opened his eyes once more and Starsky was again doing something beneath Hutch's line of vision. It hit him, then - with the speed of a three-legged turtle - that if he was hurting this badly, Starsky might be hurt as well. "You okay?" he croaked out, suddenly realizing how dry and sticky his mouth was.

"I twisted my knee, that's all. The gash on your head is going to need stitches but we have some butterflies in the first aid kit. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Hutch concentrated on the words as they raced through his brain. Was he hurt anywhere else? He nodded and winced as his skull bounced over a rock beneath his head. "My ribs… broken?"

A palm was on the back of his neck and his head was lifted up. When it was lowered, there was something soft where the rock had been. His sense of movement was all screwed up - Starsky seemed to be moving faster than what Hutch could see. And words… they zoomed by at an incredible rate, leaving Hutch to only guess at what Starsky was saying.

Cool air pin-pricked the skin on his stomach and chest, and Hutch looked down to see Starsky had pulled up his shirt. Starsky's rough fingers slid over his ribs in a gesture that would have been sensual for a member of the opposite sex. But at the moment, it was torture.

Starsky's left hand hit a bad spot and something inside of Hutch shifted. He cried out as a stabbing pain exploded through him, and he brought his knees up in an effort to escape it.

Starsky jumped at the unexpected reaction. His brows were furrowed and his skin glistened at the hairline. "Sorry," he murmured, running his hand over his face before elbowing Hutch's legs back to the ground. "I'll go slower."

Don't go slower, just stop completely. Hutch panted through the fire, which in turn created its own kind of hell as his ribs expanded and collapsed.

Once again, Starsky was running his fingers over the hard ridges of Hutch's ribcage, checking for further injuries. There were several areas that hurt under the pressure, but by now, Hutch's entire body was an exposed nerve. The intense pain was wearing him out.

"I'm gonna have to wrap these," Starsky said, and Hutch's belly was covered once more. "I'll shred some shirts and use those."

It was getting harder and harder to pay attention. "Wrap what?" Hutch echoed, fighting the pain in his skull. His eyes fell shut and he found - with pleasure - that the darkness lessened it.

The next thing he knew, Starsky was inches from his face. "Hey, come on, I need you awake. I'm going to sit you up. I want you to lean on me, okay? Let me do all the work."

Hutch's brows furrowed. Awake. He had to stay awake. Starsky needed him awake. What was going on?

There was a hand on the back of his neck and one pushing underneath his shoulders. He shifted reflexively, arching his back and instantly wishing he hadn't.

"Starsk… I don't think…"

But he was already being pulled up; the sky rushed down to greet him as he was laid over Starsky's left shoulder. Knives seemed to be ripping through his chest and the piercing pain radiated all the way to his spine. He couldn't breathe through the pressure. He was panicking and scared. The world grew dark very quickly, and the only warmth Hutch felt was from the contact of his head in the crook of Starsky's neck.