The smoke surrounding him was too thick to make out any shapes. As the fumes entered his lungs, replacing oxygen with deadly carbon monoxide, Mike coughed, his body desperate for air but receiving none.

The still body below his felt cool to the touch despite the intense heat surrounding them.

Even if he tried to check Steve's pulse at this point, his burnt and shaking fingers would be of no use, the angry red blisters an early indication of the severe tissue damage he'd suffered.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard another explosion followed by the sound of collapsing merchandise, as the huge shelves full of toys, bedding and other imports yielded to the fire.

The deafening roaring of the flames eating away at the walls and ceiling around them seemed to make the ground shake, drowning out any outside noise for miles.

Mike could feel the flames at his back, digging into the fabric of his overcoat and singing the hairs on the back of his neck, making his sweat sizzle.

Curling tighter around his partner, he drew in another wheezy breath, his vision growing blurry from the strain of fighting the poison entering his lungs.

Mike bit his lip when he felt the flames touching his left hand, burning his skin relentlessly, the searing pain clouding his mind. In a final effort, he curled tighter around his partner, using his body as a shield, his chin resting on Steve's shoulder, their cheeks nearly touching.

It was the end of the road, Mike was sure of it.

There was no way that anybody would be able to reach them in time, their fate sealed beneath the locked doors of the massive warehouse.

Saying a silent prayer for a quick and painless death, Mike almost missed the bone-chilling laughter filling the air, the devious sounds of Osorro's baritone voice that even the fire was yielding.

For a moment, it seemed to be coming from everywhere, then suddenly, it was right above them.

As Mike felt his clothes catch on fire and burning his back and legs, a masked figure appeared in front of him, a set of calculating brown eyes studying him with utter joy.

"I told you it wasn't over, Stone!", the man hissed, before his face was consumed by the flames, disappearing just in time before the fire could overtake them completely.

And suddenly, everything was still.

It was the nearby sound of a fire engine that finally made Mike wake up in a cold sweat, his injured back immediately making him regret the move.

With is breaths coming in short, wheezy gasps, he stayed upright for a moment, his hands clenching the mattress with a death grip, his heart hammering in his chest.

As the wailing of sirens faded away, Mike swallowed hard, before using his good hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead, woefully realizing that the sheets were soaked and his bed was a glorious mess.

And yet, despite his best affirmation that he was home and safe, his couldn't shake the images of his dream, a mixture of reality and worst-case scenario that made the blood freeze in his veins.

Drawing in another shaky breath, Mike reached for the light switch by his nightstand, checking the clock, only to see that he'd barely slept a couple of hours so far.

It would be too late to call Steve now, and way too early to head into the office.

Still feeling guilty about keeping the young Inspector at his house longer than expected after helping him change the bandages on his back; Mike contemplated getting up and reading for a while, hoping to settle his nerves.

It would give him time to change the sheets and take another stab at sleeping later on.

That was, if he would be able to brush off the overwhelming notion that Osorro was still around, waiting for them to make a mistake in order to finish what he started.