A/N: Okay so the song this chapter is based on from the album is my third fave song on the whole damn thing. And this chapter literally only relates to the first verse. Ignore the second one, pretend it doesn't exist pft. (But don't forget it's there because agh this song just pumps my goddamn blood)

I was putting this off but I've been shuffling through my songs the last few days and this song was always one of the first ten I hit. So I was like 'okay. Fate is yelling at me. Let's just do it.'

Either way, enjoy~

ALSO there will be blood in this chapter. There's your warning :)

The two boys slithering side-by-side in the night had been through everything together in their short eighteen years. Loves, losses, heartaches, battles, and triumphs all. However, the situation that they had been thrown into a few years prior had rocked them to the core, where they found themselves becoming closer to each other than they ever thought possible, regardless of their heightened stance within one another to begin with. They held each other tightly as they watched their family members dropping one by one.

Kyle's mother had been the first to go. Stan remembered with a frightening clarity the complete loss behind his acidic eyes as he attempted a joke about not having to study so much anymore through wavering sobs convulsing through his slender throat.

When Stan's sister went next, Kyle was right there beside him, listening to him begging Shelly to come and punch him in the face and call him a turd just one more time. How he promised he'd let her watch her shows without being a dick about it. He promised her his entire world as he sobbed desperately into Kyle's shoulder.

As everything around them fell apart, their friendship seemed to be the only thing that remained in their lives. They knew that losing each other would be the end-all to either one of them, so an unspoken pact was forged between them: Protect the other with your life. If they saw a gun being raised to one, they would jump in the path. The thought of losing one another was something that was never spoken of between them, but in the bare comforts of their separate alcoves at base, it never stopped circulating their minds.

Kyle knew that Stan was a frontman. He was always straight in the path of attack. His life was almost always waiting to be cut as simply as Damocles' Sword. It terrified the redhead beyond all measure, but he knew that it had to be done. It never stopped him from trying like hell to keep Stan towards the back of the assault, however. Were it not for Christophe calling shots on the battlefield, he'd probably never let Stan out of base were it up to him.

Stan had similar concerns, he knew that the enemy knew who Kyle was. They'd seen him on his scouts multiple times, luckily the Jew was far too wiry and nimble to be caught by them. But he knew that the boy next to him was in way over his head. He was always trying to figure it out, always trying to be the voice of reason that brought the team to a head. He'd always been like that, ever since they were children. And Stan took his rightful place beside him, murmuring agreements and aiding him when the team needed talked up out of a bad spot. But the days where the two of them could exit each day with a lesson were long gone and passed.

The lessons of the day were replaced instead by blueprints and weapons. Their dreams of peace amongst themselves and the world were pushed into the back of their minds. The hope was still there, buried under years of plots and strategies in the deeps of their subconscious', but never did they bring it up with one another. The only ones who could break the two of them was each other, and they knew that. So they had to stay strong for each other; not that it was hard. They'd always been each other's rocks, and they never planned to waver from that path.

However, as they crept silently through a large patch of tall grass, both of them covered from head to toe in black scarves and combat uniforms, the thoughts of reaching out and hugging one another and talking through the stress never crossed their minds. What lied in front of them was far too important.

They came to a halt when Kyle placed his hand on Stan's shoulder. His bright hair was smashed down under a heavy scarf, his mouth in the same fashion. However, in the pale moonlight, Stan could still see his steely eyes laced with determination to get his target. There was only one person in the world who could give him that look and flood his worries out of his system, make him feel like they had a fighting chance. He lucked out that that person happened to be his best friend.

"Stay low," Kyle whispered, barely audible over the shuffling of the blades between them in the soft Colorado winds. He jerked his head towards the woods where himself and Christophe had escaped through not seven hours ago. "Don't forget your signal."

Stan nodded, placing his hand on Kyle's on his shoulder. "Be careful."

The next words cut through the both of them like a knife, "If anything happens to me..." Kyle started softly. "You run. You fucking run and get back home, you understand?"

Stan gulped, his silent promises to his best friend flooding over his mind in a vociferous cloud of terror. He squeezed Kyle's hand, biting his lip and nodding again. "Be careful," he repeated. He couldn't think of what else to say. He had a million different speeches of their past clouding his mind, but he couldn't do that to Kyle. He couldn't shake any of the boy's reserve. Regardless of his stoney appearance, Stan knew him better than anyone. He was still that sensitive and terrified of the unpredictable world boy that he'd grown up with. He'd just gotten a lot better at hiding it the past few years.

Kyle gave him the best smile he could, squeezing his shoulder before the both of them broke apart, crawling through the grass and making their ways to their separate pieces of foliage. Stan sped himself as well as he could, trying not to let his weight make the sounds that it so easily could. He knew that Kyle was like a snake, he could sliver through anything without so much as a sweat. Christophe had taught him well in a very short amount of time to be the ultimate stealth of the night. Stan hadn't had such training, he was far too busy teaching himself how to not vomit at the sight of blood and how to work a gun.

He bit his lip, wishing that he had his trusty gun, Sparky, on him right now. One to take out all the Rats where they needed to be. But Kyle told him no, that it made far too much noise. They'd have the entire armada on them in an instant if there were any gunshots echoing throughout the stillness of the night.

Stan knew he was right, Sparky was a powerful friend of his, stolen two years ago by Kyle himself on one of the raids for food and supplies. He'd given it to Stan as an early birthday present, and everyone at home knew never to touch it. That was Stan's pride and joy. A plain, standard M16A4, it was nothing special to anyone but the boy himself. Not only was it his first gun of his own, not only did he have his first kill by him, but it was something that Kyle had given him when lord knows he could have used it himself just as easily. Kyle told him when he handed it over that something about it screamed Stan's name, and the boy was inclined to agree. The way Sparky slipped in his hands, the way the cool steel gripped back onto his palms. It was one of the few times that Stan felt in control, he felt that they would win. The only other moments he got those feelings was watching Kyle formulate his plans. But he knew the redhead was running low on those, luckily, Sparky still had a crate of bullets to keep him sated.

Kyle's eyes darted to and from as he crept through the grass, his back arched, his toes firmly planted as he crouched along. He remembered vaguely how Kenny watched him practice this one day a few years back, how he laughed and said he looked like a cat with a tumor trying to hunt a mouse. However, Kyle was able to prove its effectiveness by successfully stalking Kenny and scaring the piss out of him while he ate on a rock outside their old shack. He remembered that night the both of them laughed until they cried at Kenny's reaction, how the blonde said that no one on Earth could possibly do that as well as Kyle could. Kyle knew that wasn't true, he still was no expert, but he also had a twinge of pride in the knowledge that he was still damn good at what he did. His eyes stung yet again as memories of Kenny raced through his mind. He shook them away, silently promising his friend that he would do nothing but reminisce about him when his mission was accomplished. He couldn't let emotion get in the way. Not this time.

He'd done it once and only once before, nearly a year and a half ago. His worries for Scott on a particularly difficult scout had left him unnerved, unable to cohesively plot out where to go when a rogue Rat stood in their path. He watched Scott die from the bushes where he'd concealed himself. He watched the bullet shot through the boy's skull, splattering the nearly-catatonic boy in fragments of bone and tissue. He had stayed in that spot for hours until the Rats had rotated. Staring at the boy in front of him, watching as skin turned blue, his green eyes unable to tear away from what he had caused.

That night nearly broke him. He considered doing nothing more than running into the line of fire. But Kyle was never a coward. He never let any of his enemies win, and he knew that Scott would have told him to stop being a pussy and keep fighting. So he did. He did for Scott, for his parents, for everyone that he ever came across in his lifetime. It was not an easy task, but he'd built himself up from that terrified young boy in the bushes into a resilient leader. He and Stan worked together on that, pushing each other to the edge of their limits day in and day out, watching each other nearly crumble before standing back up and trying again.

They were all they had. And, if it stayed as such, they knew that they could be content with nothing more than that.

Kyle's hands fumbled into his patch of woods, quietly sneaking through leaves and discarded twigs, trying like hell not to bring attention to himself. He managed to make his way to the forefront elm and took a heavy breath, scaling up the side of it, praying to Moses that his worn and torn boots would have enough tread to keep him afoot. He found himself on a branch pointed directly towards his target. He kept himself against the trunk, hidden beneath the quiet rustle of leaves in his face. Green passed through green as he scanned the area, finding two guards at the wall, his target window clear of any protection. He sighed in relief. As small as Ike's transmitter was, there was no doubt that it'd make some kind of sound if he hit the building or the clear pane. The Rats could easily pass it off as a squirrel or something of the sort if standing as far as they were from it. He reached into his pocket of his thin, black vest and pulled out the device, bobbing his hand up and down as he weighed it.

It wouldn't take much to make it sail through the night. It was no heavier than one of Kyle's old flashdrives he'd used in school. It was getting it through the crack that was going to be his biggest concern. His sharp eyes found his target and a dry tongue passed over his lips. His eyes fleeted over towards Stan's target area, watching for his signal. A part of him hated that Stan had came with him. He would have much preferred doing this alone, the risk of losing his best friend was a lot to bear after he'd already lost one today. But he wasn't stupid, he knew that the suggestion came out of the fact that if he himself was killed, someone needed to report it. In his other solitary scouts, he'd kept a great distance between himself and the Rats, easily able to pass himself off as merely taking a leisurely stroll about town when confronted. But here? Here he was breathing down the enemy's neck. He had no doubts about what would happen should he be caught.

His eyes widened a bit as he watched two small flashes appear from Stan's location, Stan using his knife and catching light off of the building to communicate with the redhead. Two guards at the front of the wall. Excellent. He was working with a much smaller crowd. All he had to do was toss it in, signal back, and they would be home free.

His teeth grated over his lip nervously as his body contorted through the leaves, moving himself as far onto the edge of the branch as he possibly could. His free fingers methodically raised and brushed against the hunting knife on his side. 'Always make sure you 'ave your weapon before you strike,' Christophe's advice from his training rang through his ears. Not much he could do with a knife compared to the heavy guns perched on the Rats' shoulders, but it was a force of habit at this point. He took a slow, shuddery breath, raising his arm back with the device clasped tightly in his fingerless gloves. His eyes trained and locked on target.

'One shot. Only one. Make it count.'

He rushed his arm forward, squinting as his shoulder cracked under the sudden movement, his eyes watching as the device flew from his hand towards the window. He bit his lip, leaning forward as it sailed through the air. His face lightened as he watched it smoothly pass into the small crack of the window, all of a sudden extremely grateful for the competitions he and Kenny used to have at throwing popcorn into each other's mouths in boredom. He couldn't help but smile in relief, moving his hand to grab at his knife to signal Stan back. He paused as he felt a shift beneath him.

"No," he whispered, his eyes widening as his legs tried to silently maneuver him back towards the stronger part of the limb.

Stan watched from the distance with narrowed eyes. Kyle hadn't signaled him yet, he could just barely make out the small form slowly moving back onto the branch. "What are you-" he stopped his quiet questioning short, his eyes widening and his breath hitching in panic as he watched the branch Kyle was situated on snap cleanly and begin falling to the ground.

"NO NO NO!" he whispered desperately, running his fingers through his hair under his scarf in horror. What could he do?! What should he do?!

He watched in a blind panic, his old habit of bile rising beginning to slowly creep up on him as he watched Kyle being surrounded. "Grab him!" he heard from the commotion.

Kyle jumped onto his feet, watching as he was surrounded by the four guards. His mouth fell into a scowl, his teeth bared with unbridled ferocity as he stared each one of them in the face. His hand automatically went down and grabbed his knife out of his side holster, holding it up threateningly. "Try me you fucking cowards," he spat from behind his scarf. He knew he would lose this. But he wasn't about to go down without taking someone with him.

The men around him chuckled, not even bothering to raise their guns to the boy. Kyle knew their reflexes were quick enough they didn't need to stare him down with their weapons. There was no way he could stab all of them before being shot regardless.

Kyle's feet pivoted sharply, daring one of them to make the first move. He was rewarded with such as one of them went to grab at him. His knife flew quickly into the man's throat, cleanly slicing through the soft palpable flesh and tearing out with a sickening squish of blood. He tried moving again before he was snared by two of them, the fourth leaning down and shouting at his fellow rat as he lied beneath them, bleeding out. The Rat's hands went over his comrade's neck, trying to stop the blood flowing out onto the dirt.

A sickening choking filled the air and Kyle paid it no mind, trying to make quick work of the two of them holding him. They grunted, one of them hitting the back of his head. He yelped and his knees buckled slightly before replanting themselves and twisting madly trying to pull away from their strong, callused hands. One of said hands came up and twisted his arm holding his knife back, contorting his spine back with it. Kyle yowled as the pressure continued to increase before his fingers finally let loose the handle, letting the blade and Kyle's only chance fall onto the dirt beneath them.

"Let go of me you fuckers!" he spat.

"Fuck, Charlie's dead!" the Rat helping his fallen friend exclaimed, deep brown eyes raising to meet Kyle's in the dim lights of the building. The both of them stared each other down, Kyle still struggling to get a hold. "Check him," the man breathed angrily.

Kyle felt the scarf being forcefully ripped of his head, yelping as some of his hair got tangled in the attack. Red tresses fell down into his eyes as he continued to snarl at the man in front of him, his breathing coming out in furious hisses between his teeth. The man stared and narrowed his eyes, "That's him." He let loose his hand and slapped Kyle across the face, leaving a clear mark from Charlie's blood across his ivory cheek. It slipped down in droves, leaking off his chin and onto his shoulder.

"Take him to the room, I'll let the boss know we found him," the man huffed, bending down and beginning to pick Charlie's limp body off the ground.

Kyle narrowed his eyes confusedly, beginning to get dragged by the others towards the main building. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his boots trying desperately to keep contact with the ground. The men had to have at least fifty pounds each on him, his sleek form looking nothing short of puny against the towering Rats. "Let me go you fucks!" he screeched. The back part of his mind screamed to look for Stan, to plead for his help. But he knew better, he knew that he couldn't take that chance. He couldn't let Stan get dragged in with him, or worse yet, shot.

His mind flurried in panic over his options, over what was happening. They didn't interrogate, they just shot, no questions asked. What the hell could they possibly want with him? Much less their boss? "Goddammit, I said to let go of me!" he screeched before he found his scarf being shoved down into his mouth, the dirt from his mission splaying out dustily over his tongue and making him gag uncontrollably. His legs were forcefully kicked out from behind him and the toes of his shoes drug in the dirt while he tried to regain a proper stance.

Stan watched the scene in absolute terror and confusion, unable to will his limbs to begin moving as Kyle had instructed. His mind fleeted to Sparky, wishing like hell that he had him and could snipe those fuckers off from Kyle. What the hell were they taking him for? He was more than aware of the chance of Kyle being shot, but not this. He had no idea how to proceed from here.

He ground his teeth over his lip, his blue eyes scanning around frantically as he watched Kyle being forced into the main building. The night around him fell eerily still, his breath barely making it out through his lips into the air around him. He watched as the Rat saluted his fallen comrade and walked off towards the back of the building with the other slung over his back.

Stan stayed in that tree for quite awhile, watching in shock, letting the pine needles surrounding him brush against his face irritably. His eyes locked again on the door he watched Kyle being dragged through and he let out a long, shuddery breath. Only one word could possibly work its way out with all of the multitude of thoughts circulating through his mind: "Fuck."

A/N: Aggghhhhh why did I wait so long to write this I had so much fun pffff

I'm trying so friggin' hard to delve away from my usual style of doing way too much dialogue, aside from the chapters (like next one) that have to focus on the conversations at hand. I'm legitimately asking for some constructive criticism here, am I doing it well? Help is much appreciated =u=

Thanks for R&Ring