Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: "You are not going to fall asleep. Understood?"

Date: Dec. 30th - 3.30 am, between Innocence and Smile (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

Edited: 08.12.10

11. Memory

When he was eight, Ian had taken Alex to Germany for five months. The first week they had spent in Munich and Alex hadn't seen much of the city. The next two weeks they had been in Berlin and Ian had three free days which he used to tour the city with his nephew. The rest of the time they had spent in Nuremberg.

They had moved into a small flat in the city and Alex had to go to a German school. He didn't like it much, but since Ian only ever talked German with him even at home, Alex made sure to learn the language as soon as he could.

Ian had had to work a lot and was gone often but on his few off days he had taken Alex all around the city, teaching him little tricks to remember the way back to their home, the way between two coffee shops, his way to wherever he wanted to go... He had gotten to know a lot of back alleys and shortcuts that tourists and shoppers generally kept away from on these occasions.

Now he used that knowledge to outrun his pursuers.

He had picked them up minutes after leaving the hotel. At first it had only been one guy, tall and large and dressed in dark clothes. He had been suspicious-looking from the moment he had stepped out of a side alley, and when a second man of similar build started coming Alex's way from up ahead it had been more than obvious what they were trying to do.

Alex had waited until he reached the shadow of the corner of a building, then he slipped into a side street and started running. A few second later, the men started running after him, and they were fast.

The railway station was a good ways off, and on the other side of a river to boot, but he knew that if he could reach it he could escape these men. It was his only chance, and really, after what they had done to Barner [don'tthinkaboutitdon'tthinkaboutit] he would rather avoid his pursuers, thank you very much.

Their hotel had been close to the castle and now Alex steered his way towards the main market, hoping to cross the huge bridge close-by the square. If there still were any people outside then they'd be there, on the main streets, and the two goons wouldn't dare capture him with witnesses around.

He used his knowledge about the area to cut corners and his size to squeeze through tight places like closely parked cars to force the goons to take the long way around. It worked, in that his head start grew and one of the men fell behind, but the second one kept following him like a shark that had smelled blood.

He reached the main square from one of the smaller side streets and raced across it, dodging between closed down booths; his panting breath was incredibly loud in his ears. Sweat ran down his face and stuck his clothes to his back, but the night air was freezing and he had to be careful not to put his feet on one of the almost invisible sheets of ice everywhere.

Unfortunately he wasn't used to running on cobbled streets and when he raced around a corner he lost his footing and fell. He hit the ground hard, but it saved his life.

A bullet exploded against the corner he had just turner, raining plaster down on him. The next second he was up on his feet again, running up a slight hill now, and why weren't there any people here?

His knee must've pulsed with pain from the fall and his wrists should've hurt form catching himself, but those sensations vanished in the adrenaline-induced haze clouding and yet sharpening his senses. They'd hurt later, if he survived that long.

Cresting the hill and past a huge fountain, another shot exploded into the night. If he was lucky someone had heard that and alerted the police.

His side was starting to ache, his breaths coming in shorter and shorter gasps, and his pursuers were catching up again. If only he could reach the main streets at least, there would be cars for sure. There had to be.

He ran out onto the large cobblestone bridge spanning the river ["It's called the Fleischerbrücke, Alex." - "Butcher's Bridge? Strange name."] and another shot hit next to his foot, sparks flying through the air for a split second. A shadow stepped out into the streetlight at the other end of the bridge and there was a shout from behind him.

"Knall ihn ab!" ["Shoot him!"]

Without thinking, he veered to the right. He could feel the bullet whizzing past behind him and absurdly thought that this time, he had at least managed to avoid hitting the floor. Then he reached the banister and vaulted over it [ohmygodfuckwhatamIdoing], nothing but cold water beneath him. He had a split second to panic, then a line of white-hot fire was drawn across his shoulder.

His jump became an uncontrolled fall, he screamed-

The freezing water hit him like a punch to the gut.

All his muscles locked up and for four precious seconds he simply hung suspended in the black water, time standing still. Then a bullet hit the surface next to him and he moved, frantically swimming against the slight current. He had no air, he couldn't see, but he couldn't go up just yet either. His limbs hurt, the cold invading his body with painful stings, and it was sapping his strength with alarming speed. His lungs hurt, his clothes tried to drag him down, the darkness became absolute-

He broke the surface with a gasp, hidden in the shadows beneath the bridge.

Alex couldn't hear over the sound of his own blood rushing through his veins and breathing was both wonderful and painful. The river was trying to drag him both down and back into the streetlight, so he shrugged off his heavy coat and let it float away. Almost immediately, it was hit by several bullets.

He tried to swim, but it was made difficult by the fact that he was losing all feeling in his hands and feet. The cold. If he couldn't get out of here it'd kill him.

He kept swimming, further under the large bridge and into absolute blackness, swallowing water again and again as he fought not to sink. Now his legs were going numb too and he felt weak, the coldness working against him. He had to get out of the water. He couldn't have escaped these bastards just to drown here now.

Downriver there was a bank where he could crawl out, but he couldn't risk it yet. The men were probably still waiting. The problem was that he couldn't wait, he couldn't even see down here-

His fingers touched something cold and slimy and he flinched back, going under and swallowing water again. He came up coughing and gasping for air. A quick look around showed that he had simply reached the side of the bridge. In the absolute darkness down here he had lost all sense of direction for a moment. He felt along the [cold, slimy, ugh] stone wall, hoping for something, anything, to drag himself out of the water, or to hold on to...

The current was dragging him back the few metres he had swam and his thoughts became foggy with panic and exhaustion, his hands scrabbling uselessly for something to grab. He went under again, deeper this time, and his legs wouldn't obey him, he was going to freezedrowndie-

His shoulder exploded in pain as he hit a pillar. It was probably there to support the bridge, or maybe to moore a boat to it, but Alex didn't care either way. With the last of his strength he dragged himself out of the river and onto the low stone square just barely above the water level. He would have laughed in relief if his teeth hadn't been chattering uncontrollably and his breath hadn't come in painful gasps, his body already starting to go into shock.

It was still cold, the temperature out here below freezing and he was soaking wet, but at least he was out of the water. He was still going to die most likely, but that was okay. He could live with [haha] freezing to death, but he was so, so sick of drowning. No, he would rather freeze to death crouching here beneath a bridge on a random stone pillar like some deranged gargoyle than drown yet again.

[He had the pesky habit of surviving that, again and again and again...]

Alex was shaking violently and all feeling had left his feet up to his knees. At least he could still move his fingers a little. Probably not for long, though.

Maybe he could find something to hold onto to float out of here, just until he reached the riverbank. If he was lucky then he'd still have enough strength to drag himself out of the water. And if he was really lucky maybe he wouldn't even be shot dead the second he left the shadow of the bridge.

He huddled himself into a tighter crouch, his thighs pressing against his chest, and wondered how long it took to die of hypothermia.

He rubbed his stiff hands against his legs, hoping to get a little warmth back, but especially on his right his leg felt hard and numb. Kind of square, really.

His phone.

It had been given to him by Smithers, hence it should have survived his plunge into the river. Hope flared up inside of him and he shakily forced himself to stand up on the slick stone. It was difficult to get his fingers into the pocket of his soaked jeans and even more difficult to grasp the slim phone.

Somehow though, he managed, and he could have cried with relief when he finally held his cell in his numb, aching, trembling fingers.

He'd survive. Somehow, he would.

The teen wavered on his perch and sank back down into a crouch before his weak legs could give out beneath him. A gust of wind blew by and his whole body was wracked by shivers; for a few seconds it was all he could do not to let himself fall back down into the black water and be done with it. He was so cold.

But no. Didn't he just decide that there'd be no more drowning? Besides, it was entirely ridiculous to die here in winter, underneath some lousy bridge just because he couldn't swim twenty-five metres. He had survived plane crashes, atomic bombs, assassins and even assassins in space. Dying underneath a bridge was simply out of the question.

The screen lit up when he flipped the phone open and a ghostly green light lit the area, though the water stayed pitch black. It looked like a malevolent current of thick oil, breathing death and coldness at him.

His fingers' trembling had gotten so bad that he hit the four instead of the one. He had intended to call the police, or maybe the hospital - either way, these numbers were all something with one, zero, and three digits long in Germany.

Now, though, he hesitated.

Yassen's number started with a four. The Russian was still here in Nuremberg. And judging from past experiences, the police probably wouldn't believe him, and if they did, their arrival would just tell whoever had hunted Alex that the teen was still alive.

He had memorized Yassen's number on the ride back to the hotel. Now he dialed it.

It took him three attempts and by the third time he was close to tears again. His hands hurt, everything hurt, and he was so, so cold. He knew the number, he knew it, but his hands just wouldn't obey him.

At long last he thought he got the long number right and he pressed the phone tightly up against his ear, afraid that it would slip out of his trembling fingers and vanish into the freezing river around him if he wasn't careful.

He got a long dial tone and then he waited for Yassen to accept the call. And waited. And waited.

Oh god. What if the Russian was asleep? What if he was in another room and didn't hear the phone? Or if Alex had gotten the number wrong? He didn't think he'd be able to dial again. His fingers had stopped shaking and instead had gone numb and greenish-white, illuminated as they were by his cell's light. No, this was his last call. And maybe the one wrong decision that would finally kill him.

"F-fuck," a rasping whisper, barely audible over his panicked panting.

Then the call was accepted.

His breath stopped short - he noticed that he was close to hyperventilating - and for a moment he found himself unable to think of a single thing to say.

"Yes?"

Yassen was as calm and composed as ever, the deep, slightly rough voice damping down Alex' panic like a thick blanket suffocating a fire. His breath rushed out of him in a huge sigh, almost a sob, and his voice came out as nothing more than a near-soundless whisper.

"Yassen."

There was a beat of silence, then a clearly surprised, "Alex?"

He nodded and smiled for no reason at all. "Y-yeah." Damn, he just couldn't get his teeth to stop chattering. His jaw hurt. "C-can you d-do me a, a fa-vour? Please?"

The silence was longer this time and Alex felt the panic creeping up on his fragile calm once more. What if the Russian simply hung up? He didn't owe Alex anything. There was no reason why he would want to help the teen. Why hadn't Alex thought of that before?

"What do you need?"

This time his relief was so intense that the world wavered around him - oh, wait, no. That was his own body teetering dangerously, threatening to give out on him. He braced himself more securely against the wall at his back, breathing harshly.

"Alex?"

Oh, right. Yassen.

"Ss-sor-ry. C-can, can you, come ff-fetch me, p-plea-se? I ca-can't...I nee-ed hhelp."

"Where are you? Are you hurt?"

Huh. Yassen's voice was kinda nice. All rough and focused and deep. Alex found that he really liked it.

"Alex!"

He jumped in surprise at the harsh bark and almost fell off the pillar again. His head felt strangely muzzy. A side effect of the cold? Or from the blood loss? He'd gotten clipped by a bullet, hadn't he?

What was the question again? Oh, right.

"Unn-der-neath the Fleisch-er-brr-brücke. Th-the Butch-cher's Bridge. You knn-ow it?"

"Yes. What happened?"

He wished Yassen would save his questions for later. "G-got shhot at. Had'o, t'jump off. Th' wa-ter's c-c-cold."

Was it just him or was his speech getting more and more slurred? That was bad, right?

"I'll be there shortly. Don't fall asleep."

No falling asleep, okay. And no falling into the water, either. And no freezing to death would be good, too.

"Alex?"

What? Was he supposed to have answered? He blinked blearily, black dots dancing in his vision.

"Hmm-mmh?"

"You are not going to fall asleep. Understood?"

For a moment he had no idea what Yassen was talking about and simply marvelled at the utter strictness of the man's voice. It reminded Alex of a police officer telling some stupid bystander to step away from the open high voltage line slowly, please, now. Then his brain caught up again and he nodded.

"Y-yeah. 'kay."

There was the sound of a car door being shut forcefully. "I'll be there soon."

Yassen ended the call.

Alex tried not to close his eyes.