Night was approaching quickly and there wasn't a damn thing Starsky could do about it.

He leaned his head back against the rough tree trunk behind him and sighed quietly. His knee was throbbing now, and every muscle in his body ached with fatigue. His head ached from the exertion he'd applied in removing Hutch from the wreckage.

But his heart... it ached with sympathy.

Without moving his head, Starsky shifted his gaze to the unconscious figure beside him. It had scared the hell out of him when Hutch passed out - images of punctured lungs and drowning in one's own blood filled his head with nightmarish intensity. But then rationality kicked in, and Starsky realized he could still feel Hutch's heartbeat and respirations, even if they were a little fast and labored. He could deal with fast and labored - it was the silent, still heart - the one that no longer beat - that Starsky was worried about.

So Starsky had continued, taking comfort in the feel of his partner lying against him. He worked quickly and actually gave thanks for the fact that his partner was not awake for the painful, but necessary, procedure. The shirts he'd used had been his - Starsky had snatched them from the duffle bag he had packed for this trip. Now they were in tattered strips and bound tightly around Hutch's chest.

After that, Starsky had ventured back to the Torino and salvaged what he could of their supplies. Excluding the fishing poles and board games and other recreational items that were of no use, Starsky found a small supply of snacks - trail mix and granola bars supplied by Hutch, most likely - and the bottles of water they had just bought at the last gas station they stopped at. There was the small first aid kit, which included a way-too-small bottle of aspirin, some hydrogen peroxide, triple antibiotic ointment, gauze, and bandages.

Starsky wasn't satisfied.

Their clothing was of no real help; neither of them had thought to bring anything heavier than a jacket. There weren't nearly enough pain relievers, and the safety flares had been left at home in favor of fitting in an extra tackle box.

But it would have to do or suffice. They had a few day's worth of food, at least.

Starsky had even tried starting the Torino - an effort he would never attempt again. After dragging himself and his useless leg into the driver's seat, the car gave way with the shot-gun sound of wood snapping and the car started sliding downhill, backwards. With his heart in his throat, Starsky pushed open the door and flung himself to the ground seconds before the rear tires caught on a large rock and the Torino jerked to a halt on the side of the quiet mountain. As he lay there, panting, and gripping his swollen knee so tightly his knuckles turned white, Starsky cursed. The car hadn't even tried to start - turning the key only produced the small, tell-tale click of an unusable battery.

He blinked, bringing his thoughts back to the present. Starsky looked down at his partner as he continued to massage Hutch's warm scalp. The act was intimate and embarrassing and self-comforting, like thumb-sucking or sneaking into bed with your parents, and Starsky was grateful that Hutch was still unconscious.

What should he have done differently? Starsky had barely had any time to react as he came out of the turn and found himself face to face with a car full of laughing, careless teenagers. Instinctively, he slammed on the brakes and swerved to avoid them. Would he feel any better if it were the kids stuck down here on the side of this God-forsaken mountain? Of course not. Should he have let the cars hit each other, and risk killing all of them? No.

So maybe there wasn't anything he could have done, but that didn't stop him from feeling guilty and helpless. The kids wouldn't bring help. That would mean confessing to reckless driving or driving under the influence or who knows what else. And kids don't like to confess, Starsky remembered that much.

Starsky hated feeling helpless. It was a foreign emotion. He was one-half of the best detective duo in Bay City. Other departments came to him for help. He had awards and medals to back that up. He and Hutch were the ones you went to when you were in trouble. And he was proud of that.

But this… the sitting around and twiddling his thumbs, merely assessing and stabilizing and thinking… he hadn't been so helpless since he sat at Terry's bedside, watching her die.

He would not sit here and watch Hutch die.

Starsky sucked in a breath and held it until it burned in his lungs, then he blew it out slowly. He looked down to the bulge where his knee should be and winced, reaching out a trembling hand to touch it. It was hot under the tight denim, and very painful since his stunt with the Torino. He glanced up, looking down the hill to the large red car and all its pretty silver grille-work and sparkling headlights. It seemed to be staring at him. Leering.

Starsky shook his head and snatched the bottle of aspirin. He wanted to save the entire bottle for Hutch, but he would be no good to his partner like this, with a leg so messed up that he couldn't get his ass off the ground. Starsky popped the lid off the bottle, took out two pills, then a third, and recapped the bottle and set it aside. He grabbed the dirt-covered water bottle and quickly downed the pills, wincing as the action pulled at the many cuts on the side of his face.

A whimper at his side prompted Starsky to refocus on Hutch. He looked down, seeing Hutch squeeze his eyes shut, his breathing getting quicker - a sign that he was waking up. Starsky planted his hands in the dirt and shifted so he could face Hutch better.

"Hey," he said, rubbing Hutch's bicep. "You awake?"

Hutch started to roll backwards, but the sun must have been too bright even behind closed eyelids, for he quickly rolled face down onto the ground. "Hurts," came a murmur from the dirt.

"I know," Starsky replied, smiling softly at just being able to hear his friend's voice. "I'll help you sit up and you can take some pills."

He was answered with a snort that turned into a cough, then Hutch pulled into himself even more. "Starsky?"

Starsky reached down and took hold of Hutch's fisted hand. "I'm here."

"What happened?"

Starsky's heart dropped. "We were ran off the road, remember? We're kinda stuck about half-way down the side of this mountain. Can you sit up?"

"Hurts."

"I know it does, Blintz. I've got some pills for ya, but you gotta sit up." Starsky slid his hands into Hutch's armpits and tugged, barely suppressing a groan at the pain in his knee.

After a hard-fought and painful struggle, Hutch was more or less sitting up and leaning against Starsky's side. "Here," Starsky said, grabbing Hutch's nearest hand and placing 4 pills in it.

Hutch just stared at his hand, so Starsky nudged it up towards his face. When Hutch tossed back the pills, Starsky gave him the bottle of water.

"You'll feel better soon," Starsky said, relaxing a little now that he had gotten some medicine into his friend. He took back the bottle of water before Hutch could start gulping. "You'll get more in a bit."

Hutch was breathing heavy from the exertion. "What are we going to do?"

"We're going to survive this," Starsky replied, because he had no better answer, and then he felt Hutch tense suddenly. "Hutch?"

Hutch began taking deep breaths. "Gonna be sick."

"No you're not," Starsky argued, placing a hand on Hutch's back. "Just stay calm and ride through it, you hear?"

Hutch shook his head and began tilting forward.

Starsky grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back, keeping one hand on his spine in between his shoulder blades, rubbing in circles. "Hutch, listen to me, just take deep breaths and concentrate. I've seen more than my fair share of vomit today, I do not want to see any more, got it?"

He heard Hutch swallow and breath heavily through his nose. Starsky willed Hutch to keep down the precious medicine. They didn't have any to spare.

At last, he seemed to calm down and Starsky let his hand drop from Hutch's back. "You okay?"

He was met with a small groan. "For now."

That was good enough for Starsky. Hutch's pulse was still a little fast, but it was also still strong. Starsky sent a prayer heavenwards and noticed the sun was sinking even lower. The night would be cold, but not dangerously so. They would survive it.

"So you mean to tell me," Hutch started, his weak voice breaking the near-silence around them, "that you crawled out of Nam but can't crawl up this mountain?"

Starsky smiled. "This knee can barely support me, I'll never be able to get us up there."

"Who said anything about me?"

Something pierced Starsky's heart. "I'm not going anywhere without you, Hutch."

He felt Hutch sigh against him, and Starsky wished he could see his partner's face. Hutch's voice was calm. "You can go get help. Bring them back."

"It's at least fifteen miles back to that gas station," Starsky argued. "I can't go that far like this." It would be suicide. For both of them.

"So… after all these years of arresting drug lords and pimps and gun runners," Hutch said, his voice growing weaker by the second, "We're gonna die 'cuz of some kids?"

"We're not going to die," Starsky said harshly, almost vehemently. "Don't think like that Hutch. I'm serious. We're going to get off this mountain."

Seconds ticked by and Starsky was worried that Hutch didn't believe him. But then he felt Hutch relax completely, his head rolling back to land on Starsky's collarbone, and Starsky smiled softly.

As he listened to Hutch's slow, easy breathing, Starsky began working on a plan.

o0O0o

He knew he should be scared, but Hutch just didn't have the strength.

He was laying on his back in the dirt, with a particularly long and knobby stick pressing painfully into his tailbone, no idea how on earth he got here, and he was looking straight into the blue eyes of Terry Roberts.

Terry Roberts, one of Starsky's few true loves, who also happened to be dead.

She was standing about five feet away, her dark hair shining in the sunlight that filtered through the trees, her clothes plain and form-fitting, and she was looking very much alive.

He had to be dreaming. Hutch pinched his eyes shut, held his breath until it burned, then exhaled and opened his eyes.

A bird swooped between two trees, and its shadow danced across the ground.

Nothing. No Terry. Nothing that even hinted she had been standing there.

Hutch sighed. His head was starting to hurt. Pound, actually - his temples were pounding harder and harder the more the thought about it. His ribs ached and Hutch tried to breath as shallowly as possible. He was leaning back against something warm and solid, and after Hutch concentrated on his surroundings, he heard a soft snoring that matched the gentle rhythm to which the softness rose and fell.

So Starsky was behind him, and obviously asleep - or knocked out. Where were they? Had Starsky come to rescue him and got hurt in the process?

Hutch glanced around for the LTD but didn't see it. A little further down the hill, caught awkwardly against a tree, sat the crumpled Torino. Hutch squinted in concentration. He was remembering now… there were flashes of driving up the mountain, then Starsky's shout, then free falling and… nothing?

Not nothing.

Pain.

Hutch let his eyes fall shut as he tilted his head back against Starsky's chest, swallowing a wave of nausea. Couldn't they ever catch a break? He furrowed his brows against the sun's brightness through his eyelids and waited for his stomach to stop its flip-flops.

A hand clamped down on his leg and he jumped, pulling his head forward so fast that he nearly fell over.

Terry was right beside him now, kneeling on the dirt and dead leaves, her hand on his leg just above the knee, and she was looking straight into his eyes.

He stopped breathing, his breath caught in his throat.

She blinked, and he panicked.

Hutch planted his hands on either side of him and pushed back, trying to buck her off. He didn't care who she was, the fact remained that she was still dead and dead people should not be touching him. His head hit Starsky's sternum hard and the pressure on his ribcage ignited a searing pain in his chest. His throat closed off and hot tears filled his eyes, blurring his surroundings as he blinked rapidly. Hutch's entire universe came down to the agony of his ribs, and the lack of oxygen was causing black spots to blossom in his vision. His ears were ringing, and terror gave him strength to continue struggling, trying to draw air into his lungs. The pain was all-consuming, paralyzing his lungs in its intensity. It was mind over matter, he knew that in the back of his mind, but Hutch found himself stuck in a downward spiral.

Arms wrapped around him with gentle, firm pressure, and Hutch slowly stopped struggling. When the ringing in his ears faded, he could hear Starsky's soft voice in his ear and his warm breath on his neck, raising the hair there.

"…Just calm down Hutch… breathe through it. Quit fightin' me, ya dummy."

At last, Hutch relaxed enough to breath and he gulped in the air like a fish out of water. The numbness in his arms and legs was replaced by a sharp tingling sensation, and the darkness slowly receded from his vision. His head rested limply against Starsky's chest, and he didn't have the strength to be embarrassed by the position. He blinked the moisture from his eyes and looked around, panting softly through the pain.

Terry was gone.

"What happened, huh?" Starsky asked, breaking the near-silence. "One minute I'm sleeping and the next, you're not breathing. Something else I need to worry about here?"

Hutch focused on slowing his breathing. The less he had to move his ribs, the better. Starsky's words were blowing by him too fast, and he didn't even try to understand. He couldn't concentrate on breathing and holding a conversation at the same time.

"Hutch?"

Hutch blinked and continued staring at the dirt. He was dying, he knew it. Terry was the angel of death - albeit a very pretty one - and she was here to take Hutch away.

He didn't want to go.

"Here, drink this. You're white as a ghost."

Hutch's head was tipped back and he closed his eyes against the sun. Something lukewarm and wet filled his mouth and he swallowed on instinct, like a helpless baby bird.

Helpless though he might have been, the water seemed to help clear his thoughts. He pulled his head down and raised an arm to push away the water bottle.

"You with me now?" Starsky asked, and Hutch heard the bottle hit the leaves.

Hutch started to nod but stopped himself, afraid his head might roll off if he did so. "Yeah," he grunted instead, his voice hoarse even to his own ears.

"How ya feelin'?"

Hutch snorted very softly and closed his eyes, lacking the strength to roll them. "Jus' peachy."

Starsky shifted behind him and Hutch felt him tense, suppressing a yelp. He had forgotten that Starsky was hurt too. That was the reason they were still sitting here.

"You okay?" he asked. The water was threatening to come back up.

"Peachy."

Hutch was pulled back against Starsky chest and the pressure from his ribs lessened a little. "Hey Starsk?" he asked, relaxing against his partner's warm body. "Do you believe in ghosts?"

Starsky was very still. Then, "Yeah, I guess. Sometimes. Why?"

"Just wondering." Sleep was pulling at him hard, turning his limbs to stone. If he was going to have an angel of death, he was glad it was Terry.

"You're not thinking of anything stupid, are ya?"

Hutch shook his head against the uneven surface of Starsky's chest. "Don't wanna leave."

Blackness took him quickly, just as Starsky answered:

"Then don't."