Reddington stood at the dirty window, peering out at the storm. "As soon as this lets up, we need to get going again," he said, turning back to Ressler worriedly. The agent didn't look like he could go much further.

"Are you okay?" Red asked.

"Yes."

Ressler half heard the criminal through his pounding headache. Hail was bouncing off the roof of the small building, and he couldn't hear himself think. In the dim light of the shed, he moved a little, his breath catching at the pain. But he wasn't okay, and he knew it. He'd also made a decision. "You go. I'll only slow you down."

"What? No, Donald. Those men may want me alive," he said, leaning down to Ressler, "well, some of them," he added, "but they'll kill you in an instant if they find you. You can't stay here."

"I'm armed," Ressler panted, patting his jacket where his shoulder holster lay.

"That may be, but you're in no shape to fire it. By the looks of it, you can't even see straight."

"I can still shoot the bastards," Ressler gasped, then leaned his head forward off the wall to face Red, opening his eyes slowly in the darkness. "Go and meet Dembe. Whoever those men are, they could catch up to you if you wait on me."

Reddington shook his head. "Not an option."

"You need to get out of here," Ressler said, raising his voice now. "You're an informant for the Bureau, and it's my job to make sure you get out of here in one piece."

"This isn't about your job, Agent Ressler. Don't give me that line. We both go or we both stay," Red countered.

"No." Ressler shook his head. "You can send someone back for me."

"We don't have that sort of time, Donald. If you stay here, you die, either at our pursuers hand or you bleed out." He moved closer to Ressler in the semi dark, "And I will not let that happen to you, do you understand? End of discussion."

In response, Ressler closed his eyes as a wave of pain and nausea hit him, and a gasp escaped his lips. Reddington's hand found his right shoulder in support. "We don't have any choice. And I'm well aware of how difficult it's going to be for you to keep moving. I'm sorry, Donald."

"Fine," Ressler panted, his determination now returning with their path settled, or rather, it settled for him. "Then let's get it over with."

"If it helps, I wish there were an easier option for you," Red told him, leaning down to Ressler. "Come on, let's get you up. The sun has almost set and Dembe will not be able to hold them off once it's dark."

Ressler let out an involuntary cry of pain as Reddington put his hand around his back and helped him up. He leaned on Red while his dizziness and nausea settled a little, hating once more that he needed the support.

"I've got you," Red told him, hoisting Ressler's right arm over his shoulders as he held him on his feet. "One foot in front of the other, and you and I will both make it out of this alive."

Before they exited the shed, Red paused to light an old, dry candle and placed it near the small window.

Ressler averted his eyes from the sudden painful flicker of light. "You have matches?" he asked, finding that almost funny under the circumstances.

"I do. I make it a rule never to go anywhere without a few water resistant matches. Handy in situations such as this," he said, looking around them, "or if you need to cauterize someone's leg," he added.

Ressler groaned at that memory. "Don't set fire to me today, you bastard," he replied, leaning on Reddington.

Red chuckled, as he kept hold of Ressler. "This will keep them focused on the shed for a little while, once they start tracking us."

They made their way from the shed, as it dripped with the rain that was now down to a soft sprinkle. They sidestepped puddles in the gravel of the excavated ground, before dropping over the edge and back under the trees, heading downward toward the creek. Ressler was only half aware of their descent. In the dark the trees loomed up around them as a light mist circled, while the wet undergrowth was slippery underfoot. Half way down he gasped to Red. "Stop. Stop." And as Red paused Ressler leaned against a tree and threw up, his vision red and pounding behind his closed eyes with every retch. "Oh, God," he gasped at the pain in his head, trying to steady himself. His head was about to explode. "Leave me here," he whispered in the dark. "I can't..."

"Yes you can. You must," Red told him, hoisting Ressler back up again.

Ressler tried to hang back and assert his authority even though it was obvious who was in charge. And that forced a glimmer of anger back into his brain which he immediately nurtured and encouraged. "No," he said, trying to hold back. But Reddington was stronger and dragged him on.

"Dammit, Red!"

Reddington stopped, and patiently turned to Ressler.

"I don't care how angry you are at me; I'm not leaving you behind. You're not staying behind, and we will get to that Ranger Station together."

"You son of a bitch," Ressler told him, panting, needing to stop, but knowing deep down that he couldn't.

"Yes, Donald. If being angry at me helps you keep moving, then bring it on."

"Damn you," he whispered, but stopped holding back and continued on.

"Keep moving, Donald. I hear the creek," Red said, his voice a little strained as he took Ressler's weight. In a few minutes, the sound of rushing water filled their ears and moments later the creek came into view. It was now much wider, running deep and fast after the rain and gleaming in the faint light of the rapidly disappearing twilight.

"If the situation weren't so dire, I'd stop right here. It is rather captivating."

"You have my permission," Ressler told him between clenched teeth as a cold shiver went through him.

With a soft chuckle, Red grasped Ressler tighter and turned them down stream, heading toward the lake and the Ranger's Station. "Keep going. We just have to follow this to the lake and we're there, Donald. We got this," he encouraged.

"Speak for yourself," Ressler gasped.

Together they made their way through the woods, following the creek on a gentle descent. As they walked, the sun set fully, leaving them in darkness. Both men knew the advantage they had of Dembe keeping Peterson's men at bay up at the mine was now gone. Someone could be climbing down the slope behind them, even now, in the darkness. "Keep going, Donald," Red whispered, echoing their thoughts.

They trudged along together beside the fast running water, slowly descending. After a while the creek took a slightly steeper route, the water rushing down over some rocks. The view spread out around them, and Red stopped. "There it is. We're almost there." The lake was wide and silver before them, and on its shore, the outline of a building to their right. Ressler was unable to think beyond taking one step, then another, his body a mass of pain and his head pounding, feeling as if he were about to collapse.

"Red," he gasped after a while, shivering in the humid night air.

"I know, keep going," Red whispered in return, his voice coming out of the darkness close to his ear.

"Something..." Ressler staggered and Red pulled him back up. "... is wrong."

"You're still losing blood. It's affecting you badly now," Red reassured him as the ground leveled out, the trees dropped behind them and the lake filled their view. "We're almost there. Just a bit longer, and then we wait for Dembe and I'll get you out of here."

Ressler suddenly felt close to tears at the sight of the building, and his breath hitched. He couldn't find the words, nor did he have the breath to put into words what he was feeling, or understand where the sudden emotion had come from. As if aware of the agent's mood, Red spoke softly to him as he hauled Ressler along, one step at a time as made their way toward a small wooden bridge that traversed the creek, leading toward the Ranger Station ahead. Beside the main building was a smaller work shed.

"I know this is hard for you. I'm not going to let you die out here, Donald. I won't." He paused a moment. "I can't."

Rain was starting again as a stiff breeze blew off the lake. Large individual drops fell around them, with the promise of more to come as lightning flashed on the other side of the lake.

Ressler felt, more than saw Reddington despite their close proximity in the darkness. "I can count on one hand the number of people in this world whose life I value above my own. Elizabeth, of course. Dembe, absolutely." He paused again as they maneuvered past a large tree near the low chain link fence surround the station parking lot. "And you, Donald. And that's why that bastard out there is not going to get either of us tonight. I promise you that."

Ressler's breath hitched again, still fighting back tears. He would never understand Reddington. He'd killed Prescott the day before, killed Ethan in cold blood today, and now was doing his utmost to save his life. Again. The thought of Ethan gave him something to cling to. He had to know. "Ethan," he whispered, struggling to keep moving. "Why?"

"Because he asked me to," Red replied softly. "He would rather die at my hand than Peterson's, and I gave him that."

"But he...betrayed you," Ressler panted.

"Yes, but it was not of his choosing. He made the final choice for his life though, and I honored that."

Ressler tried to make sense of that as Red dragged him across the wet parking lot, but it was hard to form thoughts through his massive headache. Rain was now falling steadily on the lake in front of them, but they were almost under cover.

"He had pancreatic cancer. The doctors had given him two more months and he wanted to set things right in this world before he left it. It's why he gave me the information on Landmark. I doubt he counted on them betraying him with his son, Christopher, to get to me."

Ressler listened, finding himself unable to comment anymore. As they climbed the few steps onto the porch, Red was searching the area with his eyes. Dembe should have been there by now. "Dembe," he said softly, more to himself than Ressler. "Where are you?" There was no sign of anyone else.

Depositing Ressler on an outside wicker chair on the porch, Red tried the front door. Of course, it was locked and there was no window near the door. This would take more than a rock to break a padlock. "Stay here," Red said, then looked at the agent. Staying there was about the only thing Ressler could do now. "Hang in there, Donald," he added, then stepped off the porch into the rain to check out the perimeter of the building.

Ressler waited, slumped on the chair as the rain came down heavily around him, cocooning him in a dry shelter. The lake was no longer visible, except for each time the lightning flashed above them, flooding Ressler's eyes with pain. In less than a minute after Red had left, the door beside him opened, and a wet Reddington stepped out. "Come on, the power is out, but we have shelter and safety in here," Red told him as he hauled Ressler to his feet and helped him inside, closing the door and shutting out the storm behind them.

###

Ressler lay on a single bed in the Ranger's station, relieved that he was no longer on his feet. It wasn't a large room, but after being in the woods and shed it felt like the Sheraton. His bloody jacket and shirt were draped over the rail at the foot of the bed, while his holster hung from the bed head. He lay on top of the bedspread in his wet jeans, cold and slowly bleeding through his dressings. His head throbbed against the pillow. In the main room down the short hallway, the reception area was filled with pamphlets and photos of the park, along with maps on the wall showing the park outline, highlights and hiking trails. Ressler could hear Reddington in a room across the hallway that turned out to be a break room with a small bathroom attached.

"Not one phone in here works," Red told Ressler, coming back into the sleeping area. "Why in God's name was it considered progress to render phones inoperable when there is no power?" he fumed. Frustrated, he set down a bowl of water and a few things on a small set of drawers near the bed. "Alexander Graham Bell would turn in his grave."

"Radio?" Ressler asked, amazed that his brain was that alert.

"Couldn't find one. Apparently that's also a sign of progress, that these Smokey Bears no longer use them and now use cell phones. I tell you, Donald, cell phones will be the death of society as we know it." Red pulled up a chair and sat down by the bed at Ressler's side. "Good news is they do have a rather extensive first aid kit," Red told him, "to cater to all those summer tourists who do things that signs tell them not to," he said. He unwrapped rolls of bandages and gauze as Ressler's flashlight sat on the chest of drawers, illuminating the immediate area. "I think this will do the job better than my t-shirt has. Though it has performed admirably as a temporary measure."

Ressler didn't reply, aware that Reddington was mainly talking to help keep him awake. And so far, it was working.

Reddington paused, holding a roll of bandages. "You know, Donald, despite the fact you're angry at me over Henry Prescott's demise, and what happened with Ethan today, I do understand how you feel."

Ressler looked up at him in the dark, judging whether he should say anything. Yes, he was angry about Prescott. He and Prescott should both have been in jail today. Instead, he laying bleeding on a narrow bed in the middle of the woods. Life had a way of throwing curve balls at you. Especially where Reddington was involved.

"The truth is, I envy you, Donald," Red said quietly.

"You can switch places with me any time," Ressler said, shivering, "be my guest."

Red chuckled at that. "Well, I'm afraid I'm not all that good at being the one who is hurt." He placed the bandage on the set of drawers and reached for some gauze. "No, I envy you that you were willing to go to jail to face what you had done."

"Yeah, well, I never got that chance, did I?"

"No, you didn't. And I for one am very glad not to see you in leg irons today, working the chain gang."

Ressler thought of a snappy come back to that, but he was too exhausted to offer it.

"But it's eating at you. That you did wrong and didn't get to pay for your sins. And I envy that in you. Oh, I know I've teased you over the years for it, but it's just my way of covering up the fact that I admire who you are."

Ressler closed his eyes.

"You're a better man than I, Donald."

Ressler could have said something sarcastic, if he'd had a mind too. He could have brushed it off. But he didn't. "Thank you," he said. The truth was that his anger had seemingly evaporated the worse he felt. But he missed it. He'd felt more in charge when he was angry.

Reddington paused in what he was doing. "I don't want you to go down the same path I did. I once told Elizabeth I was her sin eater. It's a role I find myself accepting more and more. It's too late for me. But your honor and integrity is worth saving."

Ressler didn't have anything to say to that. He was no longer sure he had anything worth saving. He'd gone down a terribly dark path, and it was going to be a long climb back out of. But actions spoke louder than words, and it was obvious Reddington was doing everything in his power to save him today, just as he had yesterday. But it didn't mean he 100% agreed with Reddington's methods.

"Well, let's have you sit up here, so we can take care of this," Red said, effectively ending their conversation. Putting his arm under Ressler's back he helped him up to sit on the edge of the bed. Ressler groaned at the movement, but sat up, wavering as Red placed his hand on Ressler's chest for support. As Red peeled off the soaked t-shirt bandages that stuck to the wound, Ressler tried not to cry out. Breath hissing between his teeth, he sat still but couldn't stop shaking as Red exposed the wound in his side again.

"This is going to hurt," Red told him.

"I know. Just do it," Ressler panted, his eyes closed against the flashlight.

In the light of the flashlight, the gash in Ressler's side was a deep, ugly brown. It was deep, and Reddington could see the membrane that covered Ressler's intestines. He hadn't told the agent that. No point in worrying him further. "I can't stitch it," he told Ressler, who was rather relieved to hear that, "but I can hold it together somewhat with these butterfly strips, after I clean it out," Red added. Placing a rolled towel below it to catch the water runoff, Red asked if Ressler was ready, and at the agent's nod he began to wash out the wound with water. Panting hard at the pain, Ressler leaned forward and tried not to pass out. "Hurry," he gasped.

Red was moving as fast as he could. "That was actually the easy part. Now I need to wash it out with Betadine," Red said, holding the yellow bottle, "which is going to be horribly painful for you, as deep as it is."

As the antiseptic filled the gash, Ressler screamed. The world wavered in front of his eyes and he slumped against Red who stopped him falling. "I've got you," Red whispered, and lay Ressler back down, turning him to his side with the wound facing him. "I need to do it again, Donald. I'm sorry," Red told him, pouring more Betadine into the large wound. Ressler hollered again, and this time, the world did fade mercifully to black as he passed out.

###

When Ressler woke, the first thing he felt was his head exploding with pain. Unaware for a moment where he was, the burning pain in his side brought everything sharply back in focus. He was laying on his back in the small bed in the Ranger station, his head feeling huge on the pillow. It was dark, the only light coming through a window where lightning flashed every few moments. As he turned his head toward the window, more lightning flashed and he slammed his eyes shut. He gasped, grimacing in pain in the dark.

"Donald, there you are. How are you feeling?"

He was feeling terrible. Alarmingly so. "Red." Ressler moved his hand to his forehead almost afraid to touch his head for fear that it really would be twice it's normal size. "Red," he repeated, feeling helpless under the pain.

"What is it, Donald?" Red asked, switching on the flashlight, keeping it pointed toward the floor.

"Head," he said, knowing he wasn't making much sense. "Hurts." He turned his head away from the window, rolling a little to that side, ignoring the flare of pain in his torso in an attempt to block the surge of light from each flash of lightning.

Reddington was off the chair, standing above Ressler.

"Let me check," he said, and without waiting for Ressler to answer, Red's hands found Ressler's scalp. With the flashlight held in his mouth, his fingers probed until he found the small egg shape two inches above Ressler's right ear. "There it is," Red said, removing the flashlight and dropping his hands.

Ressler held his hands over his eyes, shutting out the light.

"We know you have a concussion," Red told him, "but you've had enough to know. Does this feel different?"

"Yes!" Ressler hissed through his teeth.

"I'd like to check your eyes, Donald." Red moved the flashlight up, and Ressler slowly shook his head on the pillow. "Can you open them for me, please?" Red asked.

"Can't," Ressler whispered, keeping his hands up, despite the throbbing from his ribs.

"Donald, I really need to look." Reddington leaned over him, holding the flashlight.

With an effort, Ressler uncovered and opened his eyes at Red's request. As the beam from the flashlight hit his left eye, he slammed them shut at the pain. "Dammit, Red!"

"I know. I need to though," Red said softly.

Ressler held his left eye open with his thumb and index finger as Red shone the light in it. He cried out, tears streaming from his eyes, but kept his eye open. Red watched Ressler's pupil reacting to the light. With a sigh of relief, Red took the flashlight away and Ressler closed his eyes again.

"That one looks good. I'm sorry, Donald. I know this is unbearable. Ready?"

Ressler nodded, then Red flicked the light back up. Ressler forced his eye open as before, and hollered as the light from the flashlight hit his right eye, piercing his skull like a knife. "Hang in there," Red said softly, concentrating on the pupil of Ressler's right eye. It didn't move. It didn't react to the light and was black and wide open. He'd seen enough and shut off the flashlight, patting Ressler's chest as he gasped and panted under him.

"I'm sorry, my friend," Red told him, then stood up and closed the curtains on the window, blocking out the lightning flashes of the storm.

They were silent in the dark for a moment, Ressler in too much pain to ask, and Red not wanting to face it, yet his suspicion had been confirmed.

"Donald," Red said after a couple of minutes, waiting for a response.

"Tell me," Ressler replied, his voice coarse with pain.

"It's bad. You're bleeding under your skull. Your brain is being compressed by a clot in there that's been slowly filling with blood since you first fell down the hillside hours ago."

Ressler didn't reply, taking in that information. Or attempting to. It was literally too much to digest.

Reddington stood in the dark, listening to Ressler's panting breaths. He didn't know where Dembe was, or even if he was okay. Nor did he know how to get Ressler out of here and to the help he desperately needed.