And now, the conclusion to last week's cliffhanger... Mwahaha. And it's quite a bit longer than usual, as promised. ^_^

Prats 'R' Us: "Robin couldn't survive without Much, just like Much would be lost without Robin" – beautifully said, and absolutely true! Thanks for your review! :D

ZeDancingHobbit: I approve of your approval of this Much-whump. ^_^

EternallyEC: Thanks so much! I agree – Much would do or endure just about anything for Robin's sake. I don't think Robin realizes how much power he has when it comes to Much, which is kind of a scary thought. :/

I couldn't tell you all how many revisions this chapter has seen. It's always such a temptation for me, on these chapters I really love, to try to include every single microscopic detail. I'm pleased with the final result, though, and I hope you all will be, too – the outlaws aren't out of the woods yet (no pun intended…)!

Robin had seen the worst side of humankind, seen atrocities committed he still had no words to describe. Those black memories woke him in the night, tried to hound him in his waking hours. They danced bloody and cold before his eyes every time he raised his bow. But even in the Holy Land, living in the midst of those horrors, Robin had remained stalwart, resolutely carving a path through the oncoming horde in the name of the King. None of those sights had turned his stomach over, sent such cold fear into his heart as seeing Much lying silent and bloody on the dirty stone.

Heart thudding in his throat, Robin dropped to the unyielding flagstones beside his best friend just as Will hurried over. The younger man crouched beside him, breathlessly reporting, "All clear," but Robin only registered the words peripherally. Much still lay half-curled, shackled arm shielding his face, trapped in shivering tableau though his tormentor was in a crumpled heap across the room. The white fabric of his sleeve was slowly darkening with scarlet, and the only movement Robin could see in the torchlight was the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. Not enough to go on, not enough to stop his ribs rattling with his heart's vicious beat. He needed to hear Much's voice, for Much to tell him what had happened so he could pay Gisborne back ten times over for the suffering he'd caused. Setting his sword aside within easy reach, Robin laid a gentle hand on Much's shoulder – and jerked back, reflexively catching the hand that clawed up at his face in a jangle of iron links.

"Much! Much, it's us!" The hand in his grip was slippery with blood, but Robin clung on tightly as Much tried to wrest his arm free, the pale face against the stone transformed almost beyond recognition by bruises and the glaze of instinctive fear. Snaring Much's wrist in his own left hand, Robin pressed his free hand to the side of Much's face despite his struggles, and said, "Much, it's all right! It's me!"

The panicked man's breath caught, wide eyes skittering upward to find Robin's face.

"M-master? Robin?" Robin worked up a reassuring smile from somewhere, and Much practically melted with relief, slumping back onto the stone with a whimper. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry… I thought… He was…" A quick backwards glance at the jailer's unconscious body sent anger lancing through Robin's chest, because he could guess all too easily what they'd interrupted. With Gisborne away, the repulsive excuse for a man could have a go at the prisoner without fear of interruption or reprimand… or so he'd thought.

"It's all right," Robin repeated, adjusting his grip on Much's hand to help him sit up, as Will slipped an arm under his shoulders. The effort drew a thin groan from his friend's lips, twisted his face under the bruises, and Robin pulled Much close against his shoulder as soon as they had him upright. Much half-collapsed against him, and for a long moment Robin simply breathed, thanking God or fate or whoever was listening that the man leaning against him was alive, that they hadn't been too late.

Will plucked a slender lockpick from his cuff as he knelt in front of them, dark brows contracting when Much flinched back at his sudden appearance.

"Just need to get those off you, Much," he explained softly. Comprehension tinged with guilt blossomed on Much's tired face and he meekly held out his shackled wrists, looking anywhere except down at his hands.

"Please- Just be careful, please…" Much whispered as Will bent to his work, eyes shut in concentration, and Robin's gut clenched more tightly at the thin voice. Each breath came a little too quickly, a few shades too shallow for Robin's liking, and he glanced briefly at the dungeon door again, where all was still silent for now. The glassy distance in the blue eyes, the way Much didn't lean forward, stiffly upright despite his obvious discomfort, the way even Will's careful movements with the shackles left Much tremblingly tense, weathering a new wash of pain from a source Robin could only guess at – these details warned Robin that Gisborne had been as merciless as they'd feared. It would take precious minutes to ascertain just how badly Much was hurt, but they would spare the time and trust the rest of the gang to keep Gisborne occupied.

The first cuff clicked open, and Will's deft fingers moved to the next. Much's sigh of relief was cut off in a violent grimace, jaw clenching hard as he withdrew his hand. By now, Robin had expected to be bombarded with relieved exclamations, had braced himself for tearful embraces and questions like, "What took you so long?", and Much's continued silence was wearing on his nerves. This mute, pliable relief was entirely unlike him. Whatever had happened in these dungeons while Robin paced and planned in Sherwood had either broken Much's strength and will – a thought that tightened his arm around the bowed shoulders and set a dozen methods of killing Gisborne swirling through his mind – or Much was in enough pain right now that even he didn't feel like talking. Robin hoped it was the latter, cruel as the thought was, because the prospect of the former was too dark to bear thinking of.

A few seconds later, the shackles fell away, and Will immediately dragged them aside, disgust flickering across his usually stoic features. Pausing only to secure the lockpick in his sleeve again, Will tugged his faded green scarf loose to bandage Much's bleeding arm, and Robin decided he could not wait any longer. Much's pained breathing was no better, and they had only a little time left before they risked discovery.

"Much," Robin began, trying to catch his friend's gaze through the disheveled hair, past the darkly swelling bruise that held one eye half-shut. "Much, I need to know how badly you're hurt, all right?"

He waited through a careful breath, then another, before Much managed, "The worst… worst of it's my… my hand, I think." Will's expression was stricken, eyes already dark and tight on Much's right hand, his own hands paused in the process of bandaging Much's left arm. The hand held protectively against Much's chest was swollen and discolored, dark with bruises. Seen against the white linen, lit only by the torches above them, the contrast in color was stomach-turning. Some or all of his fingers had to be broken, and a tingle of unwelcome familiarity at the back of Robin's mind grew into a burning anger he had to exert all his strength not to show, lest Much think it was directed at him. He'd seen this before, heard of it among the villagers; apparently this was a favorite technique of Gisborne's. First one finger, then another, then another, until either the victim gave in to the agony or the limb was rendered useless, which was doubly cruel for those farmers and craftsmen whose livelihood depended on the use of their hands. Perhaps the only thing even marginally lucky about this was that Gisborne had apparently assumed Much was right-handed, leaving his dominant hand unharmed.

"All right," Robin said quietly as Will gently knotted the cloth. "What else, Much? We need to know."

"My side," Much rasped obediently, his eyes shutting wearily. "I think- Might have a… a cracked rib, or…" He paused for air, confirming Robin's guess, then summoned enough energy to continue, "Broken – a-a bit broken, maybe." He sniffed and scrubbed his face gingerly with the edge of his bloodied sleeve, streaking his cheek with scarlet. "Not to mention… beaten like a rug…." The faint trace of his usual petulant tone drew a small chuckle from Robin, an easing of the knot his heart had been since Much had been captured.

Will stood and caught Robin's eye, nodding meaningfully toward the room at the end of the corridor behind Much; that's where any of Much's belongings would be, probably in a heap against the wall, but it wouldn't do to call attention to Gisborne's personal torture chamber just now, and Robin was grateful for the younger man's tact. As Will slipped off, Robin moved to crouch in front of Much and offered a bracing smile, his hand on Much's shoulder doing more than Much himself to keep him upright.

"Enjoyed enough of the Sheriff's hospitality, then? Ready to come home?" The hope in Much's blue eyes was answer enough, but the words got lost for a bit and failed to escape Much's throat, and he finally settled for croaking earnestly, "Yes, just…. Just yes, please…" He shivered under Robin's hand, and Robin was relieved to hear Will's quiet steps returning. The younger man knelt and separated out Much's cloak and ragged beggar's jacket from the rest; these he handed over to Robin, while storing Much's sword, vest, and cap at his own belt for now. He also passed Robin a familiar pair of grey boots, and Robin ground his teeth when he realized Much's feet were bare against the icy stone, because Gisborne couldn't resist the chance to increase a prisoner's misery by any degree.

The jacket they tossed into a corner, since working Much's hand through the sleeve was out of the question. Wrapped in his cloak, wearing his boots again, Much's shivering finally began to lessen, and Robin's instincts warned him urgently that they'd spent all the time they could afford. One of the crumpled guards shifted minutely, the silvery sound of chainmail making them all tense instinctively. Robin glanced up at Will, murmuring, "Time to go," and received a short nod. To Much, he said, "We'll have a horse once we're outside the gates, but we'll have to make it that far on foot."

"I can make it," came the immediate reply, a little rough at the edges but determined. Robin crouched and pulled his friend's left arm across his shoulders, hearing the small sound in Much's throat when the bandaged wounds were aggravated but left with little choice. Better the discomfort of a few gashes reopened than trying to hold onto Robin's shoulder with broken fingers.

"On three, all right?"

When Robin stood, Much staggered heavily into him with a yelp that echoed around the dark cells, bent nearly double. They swayed there for several long seconds, Robin with his feet planted to steady Much, whose eyes were scrunched shut tightly, each breath a sharp gasp. Will took a half step forward as if to help, but Robin motioned him back; they needed one man free to wield a weapon, in case they were unlucky enough to run into trouble on the way out. Will withdrew reluctantly, watching with clear concern. They both knew that if Much couldn't even stand, their chances of getting out were next to nothing.

Then Much took a short breath, the decisive sniff they knew accompanied sudden resolve on his part, straightened almost upright and gasped, "Right… Let's go." Robin could feel Much's arm trembling with effort against the back of his neck, but he held his tongue and nodded Will toward the doors.

"Same way out," he nodded to Will, who took the stairs at a bound and listened closely at the seam between the door and wall. Miraculously, the corridors were silent, for Will gestured them onward almost at once, lifting the oak bar and pushing the door wide to allow Robin to squeeze through with Much. Apparently, with both the Sheriff and Gisborne away from home, the remaining guards had decided to spend their time more enjoyably than by guarding a nearly empty castle. This suited Robin just fine, and they set off after Will, who crept silently ahead with both axe and hatchet in hand.

The empty corridors proved a blessing, for retracing their steps to the kitchen entrance took almost twice as long. The balance between haste and allowing for Much's limping steps was a painful one, and Robin had to content himself with Much's valiant attempt to keep pace with Robin's quick walk. Hall to hall, down each long corridor with Will scouting ahead, once waving them back urgently, sending them staggering into a side passage while half a dozen guards hustled past in the opposite direction, until finally they neared the kitchens, and Robin growled low in his throat at the clatter of pans and cooks calling orders.

They had no other choice, and Will seemed to understand that in the same instant as Robin, changing course to lead them away from the firelit warmth and activity of the kitchen and down the corridor that opened onto the main courtyard of the castle. They'd be walking out right through Nottingham Castle's front door, but they'd run out of time and options, so Robin only murmured, "Come on, Much", and hurried onward again, supporting most of Much's weight for a long second when he stumbled.

By the time they caught up to Will, the younger outlaw had already scouted across the courtyard and knocked out the single guard loitering by the gates. He looked up sharply when they set foot on the cobblestones, nodding encouragement and falling back into the shadows by the gate where he had dragged the hapless guard's body. Robin would have flown across the distance if he could have, chafing at their slow progress even as his heart ached at the pain in each clumsy step beside him, at the way Much was panting, faltering, free arm bracing his ribs uselessly – the pressure would only make his hand and side worse. Despite all his misgivings, all his instincts screaming at him to find cover, Robin stopped beside the tree where the Sheriff liked to chain his surplus prisoners and let Much try to catch his breath.

He let a count of ten pass, and was about to urge Much onward again, when a cacophony of shouts broke out from the direction of the main city gates. Horses' hooves met stone at a gallop, one after another, the unmistakable bellow of Sir Guy of Gisborne rising over the chaos. Standing in the courtyard as it collected the setting sun's rays, they were as exposed as they could be, and it was only a matter of seconds before one of the horsemen would clatter through and the absent guards would rush back to their posts.

"Come on!" Robin said, hurrying them both forward as Will dashed to meet them and take Much's other arm. Fueled by the threat of Gisborne and all his men descending upon them, Much found some reserves of strength somewhere, and the trio staggered into the lengthening shadows behind a shop just as the first guards rushed from the castle to meet their companions, reaching for bridles and shouting questions.

Robin handed Much's weight into Will's waiting arms and leaned around the corner, hand on sword-hilt, just far enough to keep an eye on the commotion and be sure nobody had seen them. After a few seconds without pursuit, he let out a breath, dismissing that concern for the moment, and turned back to his companions.

Will scanned the nearby streets with hawk-like intensity, axe ready in one hand while he supported Much with his free arm. Beside the lean carpenter, Much looked utterly wretched. The setting sun left dirty smudges of shadow under his eyes and hollowed his cheeks, and it looked as though Will's arm and Much's white-knuckled grip on Will's shoulder were the only things holding him up. Still, he met Robin's eyes with resigned readiness and an almost-childlike trust that made something ache in Robin's chest.

"How are we getting past Gisborne?" Will asked, glancing at Robin with new concern in his eyes, the din from the main courtyard only increasing as the townspeople flocked to the scene.

Robin only shook his head, thinking hard. Things just couldn't go smoothly, now could they? Gisborne would only be back so soon, riding as if to outrun a storm, if something had gone wrong with the meeting. Allan's disguise must have failed, which meant the rest of the gang might be running for their lives right now, unable to reach Nottingham as planned.

The town would be closed off as soon as Gisborne realized his dungeons were empty. Staying inside the walls was out of the question, certain death, but reaching their camp deep inside Sherwood Forest on foot was equally impossible with Much hardly able to stand.

"Rob," Will said softly, urgently, "They're gonna close the gates. We can't stay here."

"I know, Will! But we can't-" Then a thought came to him, wonderful in its simplicity. They were trapped between two places, unable to stay and unable to return home, in the exact same situation that faced dozens of unfortunate villagers, the same poor men and women who now made a meager living begging at the town gates. Nobody looked twice at those homeless souls, and that disinterest would save their lives now.

"Follow me!"

Shopkeepers were milling about, taking down their wares in anticipation of closing up for the day, but had stopped their chores to watch the tumult. The crowd along the storefronts was the perfect cover for the trio as they began to work their way toward the main gates, Will up ahead once more while Robin and Much followed.

"And bring me that jailer now!" Gisborne shouted as they edged behind the shops, Robin's arm tight around Much; he felt the other man flinch at the lieutenant's roar. Will peered around the next building and waved them forward with one hand, the fingers of the other tight on the haft of his hatchet. Soon, they were a few seconds' sprint from the gates, leaning warily around the Trip to Jerusalem Inn. The main entrance was still choked with soldiers shoving past each other, horses shying at the commotion, and curious townsfolk cluttering up the edges of the scene. The guards were vigilant in keeping the townspeople off to the sides, however; three men trying to get through the main gates, with all the guards at their most alert… impossible. They were well and truly trapped, at least for now, and they didn't have long to wait for an opening.