"What's up?" Allen asked as he closed the green room door behind him.
"It's Kanda," Tyki said. "Come on, there isn't much time!"
Since Tyki took off at a jog, Allen had no choice but to run after him. "I thought you wanted to talk to me."
"I needed to get you out of there without causing a riot. Kanda's in trouble, and we need someone he knows."
"I'm not your best choice," Allen said. "He hates me. What's happening?"
"I can't explain," Tyki said. "I don't have time and you'll understand in a minute." He swore under his breath. "I know this is what he was brought here for, but I am finished with this! I've had enough. There's been enough damage done, especially to that poor bastard."
"What?" Allen asked, confused.
"There," Tyki said, pointing.
In the hall not far from the backstage door were two figures standing face to face. One of them was in street clothes, his white head bent slightly as if whispering. The other was Kanda.
He was neither moving nor speaking, just leaning against the wall, his head bowed, his glossy ponytail hanging down over his shoulder.
"Oy!" Allen said. "What's all this?"
"You must be Allen Walker," the white-haired one said. "What did you do to your hair?"
"Washed out the dye, as best I could anyway," Allen said. "You're Winston Campbell, right?" He held out his hand. "Nice to meet you."
Winston ignored the hand. "You're the little shit who gave the Earl a heart attack."
"Sorry?" Allen said.
"The man who collapsed while you were onstage," Winston said. "That was the Earl Campbell."
"Was it?" Allen asked, turning to look at Tyki.
Tyki nodded. "Sorry, kid."
Allen turned back to Winston. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize. Is he all right?"
"I don't know," Winston said. "But while I've been waiting to find out, me and Kanda have been having a little chat about comas. Fascinating things, comas. After a certain point, they're a living death. They can force air into the lungs, pump the body full of nutrients, but the person's still dying, just ever so slowly and miserably."
"That's enough," Allen said, stepping forward. Even if he hadn't known that Kanda had a friend in serious condition, there would have been no mistaking the effect this was having on the man. At first glance, he looked like he was listening, but a closer look suggested that he was trying hard not to listen. "I understand why you might have a problem with me, but leave Kanda out of it."
"Why?" Winston said. "Here's the thing. You've already danced. I can't do anything to you, but Kanda is up in a few minutes. The more we talk about comas, the less likely he is to make a good job of it, and then what will happen to him?" Winston gazed at Kanda. "Will he kill himself if he loses? After what he's done, I'm surprised he hasn't already."
Allen took a deep breath. Kanda's heart was breaking, and it was clear that Winston was unreachable by any appeal to compassion or decency. Allen had met a few people like that, acquaintances of Cross, people who could only connect with others by hurting them, and Kanda had been hurt enough. Whatever it took, he had to get Kanda out of this.
He smiled in a way he knew Kanda loathed. "Oh for God's sake, BaKanda, what are you doing? You're dancing in a few. What are you thinking listening to this garbage?"
Kanda lifted his head as if lifting a great weight. "Fuck off, bean sprout."
That was a start. "Kanda," Allen said. "Go pull yourself together. I'll deal with Winston. His problem's really with me, not you."
"How touching," Winston said, his voice overflowing with sarcasm. "Yes, go, Kanda, and have a nice cry. I'm sure you'll feel much better when it's over."
Allen saw the storm gathering in Kanda's eyes. "Don't let him get to you," he said softly. "Kanda…"
"What!" Kanda snapped, drawing himself up to his full height. "Do you have any idea how much I fucking hate you? You waltzed into that studio like you had nothing to lose, and now you're standing there smiling like an idiot. What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I know you have a lot to lose," Allen said quietly, steadily. "I know you have a friend whose life depends on your dancing."
"Who told you that?" Kanda demanded.
"That's not important," Allen said. "What's important..."
"Don't you dare pity me!" Kanda said through clenched teeth. "Don't you fucking dare!"
"I don't," Allen said. "Believe me, it's not like that at all."
Kanda's fist curled, probably without him being aware of it, but he was shaking with pent-up rage. "Then what is it? What the fuck is your problem? Don't you understand that there's a price for everything? Or don't you have anything you care about?"
The fist flew, catching Allen on the cheek, and he reeled back a step. It was far from the first time he'd been hit, or the hardest, so he was more pleased than not. He'd managed to get Kanda's attention off Winston, which was a start, but the man was still in no shape to dance. "What I cared about," he said, rubbing his cheek, "I lost a long time ago. You're right. I don't give a damn about the Order, or this Holy War, or anything like that. What matters most to me is what's in front of me right now. I care that what happens to your friend is up to you." He gestured toward Winston. "Not him."
Kanda shook his head.
"Yes," Allen said. "You go out there and beat Tyki, or you don't if you'd rather not, or you turn around and walk away, but it's your decision, not Winston's, not even Rouvellier's. Yours. You're the only one who has the right."
Kanda stood, both fists clenched, chest heaving.
"Don't let him do it for you. He's not worth it."
"You don't understand!" Kanda said. "God, you are so stupid!" And he lashed out, his fist flying again at Allen's face.
This time, Allen blocked it, drawing on his childhood karate lessons, but Kanda didn't stop. There was a sound of triumph from Winston, a curse from Tyki, a cry from someone down the hall. How many punches could Kanda throw before he broke Allen's guard; how many blows could Allen parry before Kanda got tired of trying? There was no way to know, because in Kanda's eyes, there was no thought at all, just anger and pain and a wordless, desperate plea, and he would not stop until he got what he needed.
What did he need?
Allen heard Tyki's voice as if through a wind tunnel, speaking French. "Yes, I know you've sent an ambulance here already. We need another one. There's a kid in a fight and he has an ICD. An implantable defibrillator, you jackass! He has a heart condition. If he's hit in the chest he could die!"
There was a gasp, but the fight was drawing a crowd, and now they knew what the consequences could be. Allen had to end it, before someone tried to intervene and made it worse, but how?
What did Kanda need?
Then he saw it, so clearly that he wondered why he hadn't seen it before. The only question left was whether or not he would have time to get it right. Someone was going to call security, if they hadn't already, and if security got there first, it would be too late.
Kanda was aiming high, for Allen's face, but Allen had been taught to redirect force. He just needed the right kind of force to work with. There were rapid footsteps in the distance, a shout, a jingle of keys hooked to a belt, shit, he was running out of time. He would have to take the next chance, no matter how bad it was, a left hook aimed at his chin. Tim, he thought at the device in his chest. We can do this!
He brought his arm up and over, drove the blow downward, and closed his eyes, bracing himself, hoping he didn't miscalculate and take the hit on his windpipe.
Kanda's fist landed just right of Allen's sternum with a searing stab of deep, unexpected pain, and Allen reeled back, clutching his chest and struggling for breath. He felt the world recede, heard the pounding in his ears as his heart staggered, trying to regain its normal pace. "Bean sprout?" someone said in the distance. "Allen!" Then the impact hit as Timcampy fired, but it felt wrong, something was wrong, it wasn't working. Allen's knees gave way, he felt his head hit something warm, someone screamed, he tried to breathe but he'd forgotten how.
Timcampy fired a second time, and the world went black and silent.